Yes. Magic.

This seemed like the very thing to do — especially for someone seeking to “make the world more loving, compassionate, sparkly and alive.”

I love it so very much. And thankfully, its new caretaker Rhiannon does too.

Riding them, of course, but wrenching on ‘em, too.

So when Matt Remington Wilson started talking about his vision for a DIY motorcycle repair shop — a cooperative, DIY repair shop (how Portland is that?) — I knew I’d have to climb on board.

Matt learned his craft in the military, so a brand that alluded to this fact (as well as to a simpler time, mechanically speaking), was called for. We decided that World War II bomber nose art would be our touchstone.

And thus was born the Ratchets Away “Flying Wrench Girl“:

I love this project for many reasons, but fooling around with hand-lettering (in homage to the DIY art of WW2 bomber crews) and a ’40s-era vibe are near the top of the list.

And the whole thing turned out beautifully.

Note: there’s a Kickstarter project currently underway to raise money to outfit the space. Feel free to throw some cash in the kitty.

Here’s the basic concept as I imagined it: the client would send a few parameters via the online form, and I’d give birth to a one-take, drop-dead gorgeous design.

It was kind of a nutty experiment on my part, but the results have been Quite Satisfactory … and so I’m extending the offer.

I want to get a poster-display-thing designed which shows the complex process I use for creating my awesome blank books.

This will make retail shop owners go HOLY BALLS THESE BOOKS ARE AWESOME (AND CHEAP FOR HOW HARD THEY ARE TO MAKE!) and be something I can use as a display, so customers can also be super impressed.

YEAH!

I was in. Obviously.

The books are awesome. And the process is complex. And though book making is the kind of old-world process which might suggest a crafty or precious approach, Ealasaid (and by extension her work) rolls with a rock-and-roll aesthetic — so that’s the direction we took for the design and illustration: Rough. Unpolished. Strong.

The illustrations were technical and challenging, and I learned a TON about how this kind of book is crafted in the process of creating them.

Which is to say I had a blast.

The poster and illustrations turned out beautifully, and will soon be seen in a bookstore near you.

That’s where Robert Peplin and Chicago Urban Energy come in — to measure the windspeed and help pick the turbine that’s right for you.

One of their clients suggested that hanging a poster in the windows of various testing sites might be a really useful way to spread the word.

I agreed:

I would LOVE to work on this for you, Robert. Not only do I have some space in my schedule, but you said the magic word: HATCH.

Yes, Hatch. As in “Hatch Show Print” of Nashville Tennessee, a classic of American vernacular folk printing. You know them even if you don’t know them.

» Click for a better look at the cool textures

And I LOVE that style, so even if Chicago Urban Energy wasn’t the kind of green, good-for-the-world, heart-of-gold company that I love to support, I would have jumped at the chance to create this kind of visual homage.

Wood cut typefaces. Letter-press textures. Carefully (if digitally) hand-created ragged edges and organic forms.

A sense of style and a sense of place. So beautiful, and SO MUCH FUN.

Word of mouth is the BEST. That’s how Judy Kinney found me when she needed help developing a new identity for the non-profit she heads up: NEST (North East Seattle Together). They needed a mark that was friendly, simple, approachable, and said “community”:

It’s a fantastic organization, firmly in the good-for-the-world camp — connecting neighbors, building grass-roots networks, all to help the aging members of the community stay out of “old-folks homes” and in their own. This includes help with transportation, yard work, gardening, computers, pet care and errands, etc.

Wonderful stuff. And I was proud to help.

I always create a wide range of options for brand/logo projects — just for fun, here are a few sketches that didn’t make the cut.

You may remember the amazing Noel Williams from a poster I did a few years ago for her award-winning one-woman commedia dell’arte show, “Party of One“

Noel is back, this time with her partner-in-clowning Allison Latta, in a new project called “Waiting for Pierrot”.

It’s a commedia twist on “Waiting for Godot” (inspired “by lawsuits, gender wars, and Esther Williams”), so we decided to fool around with archetypal images drawn from Beckett’s famous work.

Matt Thulson’s photos were all gorgeous, and of course I picked the one that gave me the most room to have some Typographical Clowning Fun!

Which I did.

Sections in the Army develop strong individual identities, and ours is no different.

“DIY” is vitally important to the culture of the Timbers Army, so even though I’m passionately opposed to entering design contests, when Ballistic Unit 103 needed a sectional patch, I pitched right in. As it turns out mine was not selected (democracy, dammit!), but I like the designs enough that I just can’t bear not showing you.

Green and gold are the Timbers’ colors. We were advised that red should be the differentiation from other section identities … and the eleven stars come from our unofficial motto, “We Go To Eleven!”.

And as long as I’m creating this repository for homemade supporters gear, here’s my contribution to the wave of stenciled T-shirts in the section this year. So far.

The owner of Roshambo Winery (yes, the Winery of the Roshambus) had an idea for a new line of top-shelf wine – not just to find a new market segment, but for her grandfather, Frank Johnson.

Frank Johnson planted the enormously successful vineyard that Roshambo Winery would be founded on decades later – and Naomi wanted to honor his memory. His first career was in dental equipment, his second in wine, but Naomi Brilliant’s vivid memories of grandpa in his machine shop are what inspired this graphic tribute.

The “FJ” logo is itself machined, closely fitted, and bracketed by register marks. The background imagery is borrowed from an vintage mechanics manual. And the pipe, arrowhead, and molar icons were all mined from Naomi’s childhood memories of grandpa.

Roshambo Winery evolved into something else before this label could be finished, but I’ve always had a soft spot for it.

I am currently starting a 20′s-30′s inspired men’s clothing line and I’m in need of a logo and woven label design so I can start making samples.

What I actually heard was “hey, an opportunity to canoodle with vintage typefaces.”

And that’s exactly what happened.

After creating roughly a zillion designs, I came up with the ideal combination of modified period typography. I had to redraw a couple of the letters, but that is what people like me call “fun”.

The elegant logotype that resulted didn’t fully communicate what we were after, though, and I realized that nothing would represent Prohibition era street-style better than a newsie cap. I put on my own illustration cap, and the mark was finished.

We finished up by developing a couple of labels for the clothing samples, a design for cloth packaging tape, and versions of the newsie cap that would work both in outline and solid forms – and Corey was off to the races.

Circumstances prevented us from working together in the next phase of his business, but it appears to be thriving. I’m delighted to have played a part.

She also happens to be a warm, generous human being with one of the loveliest voices you’ve ever heard, but that may (or may not!) be beside the point.

I’ve had the privilege of working with Hiro for years, and we’ve done a ton of work on a wide variety of web-related jobs. I’ll just share a couple of them here:

The logotype – an attempt to capture the soft, nurturing and fundamentally grounded aspect of Hiro herself.

The website – though it has gone through quite a few changes since I first installed it, the essential framework has remained the same: soft, calm, nurturing, and quietly beautiful. I can still feel my blood pressure drop whenever I visit.

Let’s see, what else should I show here … how about Hiro’s Deva Cards? Designed by yours truly, programmed by an associate. What these actually are I’ll allow you to discover by clicking on the image.

I’m a hybrid in most of the ways I can measure. I’m Desi, and totally American at the same time. A scientist and an artist, a prizer-of-reason and a simultaneous eye-rolling-but-enthusiastic practitioner of the woo-woo arts.

She is a creative strategist – creative, brilliant, and hard-to-categorize. And she offers creative, brilliant, hard-to-categorize people help in getting their work done and out into the world.

And she asked me to help develop an online visual identity for this new venture.

Among the ideas we tossed around appeared the thought of … RED. And that the site be pragmatic … and feminine. And possibly maybe an elephant, a wise one, perhaps even some sort of … hybrid?

It’s easy to break down what a design means once it’s complete, but it occurs to me that most of the best visual ideas don’t come about in a regimented way … they just pop into my cerebellum, fully formed. Such was the way of the elephant and the tulip tree trunk. (get it? get it?)

And I can barely express how much how much I enjoyed drawing her.

It’s a perfect fit. Wisdom. Botany. Color. Magic.

Comfort. Quiet. Ease.

After a few false starts, an image popped into my head: someone kicked back and relaxing at home, in an environment of pure comfort … not with a cup of tea, but in a teacup.

Illustration magic!

And as a native of the great state of Wyoming, capturing the vivid, transitory light of that western landscape has become his single consuming subject.

My job? Come up with a website/blog design that would enhance his work, and create a visual mood that would put the viewer in a Western state of mind at very first glance.

I drew inspiration from classic WPA-era National Park posters of the late twenties-early thirties … and what I arrived at seemed to hit just the right spot.

My brilliant artist friend Steve Lambert collaborated with fellow artist Packard Jennings in a project asking Bay Area architects, urban planners and transportation engineers this question:

“What would you do if you didn’t have to worry about budgets, bureaucracy, politics or physics?”

The result? A series of large format illustrated posters based on those answers, displayed on San Francisco streets: “Wish You Were Here! Postcards From Our Awesome Future”

Steve drafted me into creating the glossy, oversized catalog that documented the project and accompanied its formal launch — and I tremendously enjoyed creating the perfect frame for their slyly innovative work.

Though they already have a terrific team logo, it doesn’t read well at small sizes, and … well, no need for an “and”. Honestly, I just thought taking a crack at a sort of tribute design would be fun. And it was!

Influences poured in from tattoo art, from Oaxacan Dia de los Muertos imagery, and (natch) from the world of rock and roll.

I love the way it turned out (this is just a first tight sketch).

Most of the skaters liked it too – but since the Powers That Be at the league were not overjoyed at the thought of their logo being re-interpreted, let’s just keep this among ourselves.

A bitterly disappointing love affair might have had something to do with that, but the truth is that despite decades of cultural marination in the year-end hullabaloo, I’d never liked it. Rather than joy, inevitably what I felt was … melancholy

To, uh, “celebrate” my experience of the happy holiday that year, I put together a CD of sad and spooky songs and mailed it out in lieu of Christmas cards — the first Somewhat Mournful Seasonal Assortment.

One season led to another, and eleven years later the tradition persists. The strangest thing is how I’ve come to be able to recognize a song as a Mournful candidate pretty much instantaneously!

But choosing the music is only a part of it. I’ve discovered that the annual process of creating these things (and the handmade aspect is important) has become a ritual that I really look forward to. Noticing how my approach to design has evolved, thinking fondly of my friends on the mailing list — it all goes into getting a little Mournful every year a meditative and satisfying pleasure.

Anyway. Here’s eleven fourteen* years worth, all in one place. Enjoy …

*psst — I’ll be updating this post yearly.

» 1999 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2000 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2001 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2002 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2003 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2004 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2005 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2006 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2007 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2008 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2009 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2010 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2011 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

» 2012 track listing  |  iTunes cover art

Healdsburg, a tiny gem of a town snuggled into the heart of the Northern California wine country. Thanks to the wineries of the Dry Creek Valley, the town — loaded with history and charm — is practically guaranteed a steady flow of thirsty and well-heeled visitors.

Once there, you can’t walk into a shop or hotel without bumping into a stack of brochures offering maps of the wine country — but there’s a fundamental problem with this.

Those ubiquitous maps all direct tourists out of town.

This prompted Jennifer Burke of the online Healdsburg Magazine to approach me with an idea: an advertising-driven walking map of downtown Healdsburg, something hip and local and totally pick-up-able … something to keep those tourist dollars in town.

I loved the idea.

We got to work, trying to create a functional piece that also captured the historical charm of the place. Point of historical interest made the map as well as the coolest toy, bicycle, clothing and candy shops in town. On top of that, I designed it as a template that Jennifer would be able to update herself.

The results of our months-long collaborative project are now on the street, and “The Map” (as it’s been dubbed) is a smashing success.

Visitors love it, businesses love it, and those that didn’t make it into the layout are clamoring to be on the next one.

Yet another case of a blogger outgrowing a pre-canned WordPress theme.

Irene Seah is a sweet, funny, spiritual woman who (with occasional assistance from her two young daughters) has been writing a blog as part of her micro-business for a year or two.

It had become obvious to Irene that even though her generic blog looked nice, it didn’t really reflect her personality or that of her business. She was ready to take steps to remodel her digital digs — and that’s where I came in.

Because her business is so much about her, we decided to have an illustration of Irene interact with the shiny new logotype in the header graphic — to bring her literally right into the picture.

Simple, clean, calming and cool … we added stars, drenched everything in shades of blue (a colour with powerful spiritual significance for her) and created custom RSS, Email, and Twitter icons for the sidebar.

Irene loves her new online home, and even more satisfying — her daughters are delighted!

In another life, I was a wannabe luthier.

The intoxicating scent of Brazilian rosewood and Sitka spruce, the arcane and elegant tools and forms, the thrilling sensation of bringing an instrument to vibrating, singing life … ah well, turned out ’twas not to be.

I have built a couple of guitars, and fixed a whole bunch more, but the closest I ever came to becoming a Stradivarius of the six-string was spending an apprentice year in the terrific archtop-maker Tom Ribbecke’s workshop.

It was an amazing experience, and has deeply informed my life as a visual designer (more about that below), but why (you ask politely, as I continue what seems to be a random digression) am I bringing it up? Well, a good friend of mine happened upon the Mandolin Brothers in Staten Island, perhaps the finest purveyor of guitars in the country. He was knocked out by the joint, and — knowing I’d be interested — sent me a link.

Of course I knew about this place — Ribbecke had sold guitars through them, and so had most of the top-drawer luthiers I’d ever met. They seem to always have a spectacular inventory of handmade instruments, so I clicked straight through to the archtop section to see if I recognized anybody.

Well. Not only did I spot a few familiar names, but I ran across an instrument that I had actually worked on — and what an instrument!

Here’s the story:

J. R. Zeidler was one of the finest instrument makers I’ve ever met … a rough-edged Philly guy with visionary technical insights, exacting techniques, and an uncompromisingly personal aesthetic sense, he created some of the most uniquely stunning instruments that have ever graced this planet — and they sound as good as they look.

I got to meet the man only once, at the Healdsburg Guitar Festival. Zeidler came to an evening party at Ribbecke’s workshop. Whiskey was quaffed, war stories told, and I (the modest newbie) complimented him on his craft. He gave me advice about the importance of discovering your own style and sound, and then we argued about finishing techniques — “Hey Tom, your assistant is bustin’ my balls here!”

We shook hands. A great guy. Not much later J.R. got sick, and I never saw him again.

But I did get to participate in an incredible project inspired by both the man himself, and his (oh, the artisan life) lack of health insurance. That “project” is what I saw on the Mandolin Brothers website this morning.

The Zeidler Project:

Maybe I should just quote the “official” background.

“When fourteen of the world’s finest guitar makers decided to honor and support a colleague, they produced a unique and remarkable instrument — The Zeidler Project guitar. J. R. Zeidler was well known in the community of archtop makers. His instruments, and the man himself, were greatly respected by players and his peers.

When he was hospitalized with acute myelogenous leukemia, undergoing debilitating and expensive therapy, his fellow builders came together in support. They decided to make a collaborative guitar incorporating many of Zeidler’s touches and even using wood he chose.

The guitar will be sold to defray some of John’s medical expenses, and to help his family.”

The Zeidler Project was coordinated by the Canadian luthier, Linda Manzer. It was a spirited, bold project — never before had a group of so highly respected instrument makers attempted such collaboration.

Manzer said, “This was a chance for the archtop guitar building community to come together and focus all our skills on this one instrument to help our friend, John, and his family. These builders were just incredible to work with and we were all honored to be part of this truly unprecedented event. It was a very emotional and truly amazing experience. The end result is a guitar imbued with our collective spirit.”

The entire group, paying tribute to Zeidler’s style and preferences, worked out details of the design. The guitar traveled across the continent to the shop of every builder — each of them adding his or her own touch to it, then passing it to the next builder.

Ribbecke’s contribution involved the careful shaping of the gorgeously quilted maple back plate. My own was minimal, just helping to rough the thing out before Master Tom put his expert hands to work — but I felt honoured to play even the tiniest of roles in this historic project. Still do.

What the heck does any of this have to do with my current business?

Well … the success of a piece of visual work — just like a guitar — depends upon a careful accumulation of the smallest of details. Thus the importance of gently persuading every single element of a project to work together — in perfect harmony, as it were — can’t be exaggerated.

A millimeter too much or too little wood in the carved top plate of an archtop means the difference between an instrument that sings and a common plunker. Just so with a designed page or a drawing. A headline a few points too large, the wrong line weight, an ill-conceived colour choice …

Pay attention. Get it right.

And I guess it’s even more than that. My obsession with the making and playing of guitars has as much to do with my business as any of my hundreds of other interests and passions.

When an artist is confronted by the daily task of making “something out of nothing”, every experience that has ever been poured into the ol’ brain-hopper is called upon to fill that blank page or screen.Every moment becomes an ingredient in the creative stew, a whole life’s worth of experience transmuted into a pattern of ink or pixels, just like that.

Anyway.

The truth is, I was just delighted to be reminded of the existence of this wonderful guitar — and my own tiny contribution.

And as I learned just this morning, it’s actually still for sale — scroll down to the bottom of this page. For a paltry hundred grand you can take it home, but please call me if you do — I’ve still never played the thing!