This is the second installment of our interview series featuring former OUP designers. Julie Fry worked at our office after completing an MFA in graphic design at the Yale School of Art in 2000; she later returned to our office for a year in 2008 (she also graduated from Yale College, where she double majored in Architecture and History of Art). After working in a variety of design settings, she now manages her own design practice, which specializes in book design. Her work evinces a passion for the arts and humanities, as well as a strong commitment to invigorating and elucidating content through design. In her generous answers, Julie reflects on her career trajectory, design process, and major influences.
(Pictured above: a spread from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum’s annual report, which Julie redesigned in 2012 and now oversees yearly. It received First Place in the New England Museum Association’s Publication Awards Program for annual report design.)
How did you become interested in graphic design? Did you take any graphic design classes when you were at Yale College, and why did you double major in Architecture and History of Art?
Graphic design is a field I only became aware of after college. That may seem implausible now, but when I was an undergraduate we used our computers for word processing, we were barely aware that email and the Internet existed, and we spoke on the phone using shared landlines—it was a much less visually designed environment than it is now. I was aware of the advertising and branding industries, but those were of little interest to me. I studied art history, so you would think graphic design would pop up at some point in the historical trajectory, but I focused on early 20th-century art and earlier periods.
As an undergraduate I was focused on becoming an architect. At the time, Yale’s major in Architecture was somewhat disjointed and probably too flexible, so I took on a second major in History of Art to have more historical understanding of architecture and a more structured curriculum. My postgraduation plan was to work for a couple of years in an architecture office and then apply to graduate programs in architecture. But then I started working in an architecture office, and coworkers strongly advised me to change plans. The economy was not so great, projects and jobs were hard to come by, and CAD starting to take over offices; it wasn’t a good time to be a young architect.
In my first job I sometimes assisted the architectural office’s marketing department, and we did a fabulous proposal for a new project. We had to call in the “graphic designers.” Once I figured out what those people did, I started to think their jobs were much better than mine.
To transition from architecture to graphic design, I quit my job and started waitressing. And, most importantly, I volunteered to work on an architecture brochure that John Gambell had to get done. Volunteering turned into regular employment, and then I was on my way. I am thankful for my good luck in meeting John, and I will always be grateful for the first exposure to and training in design that he provided.
Why did you decide to go back to Yale for an MFA, and how did your graduate education change your approach to design?
Graduate school in graphic design seemed like a logical step in lieu of graduate school in architecture. A very high percentage of Yale undergrads go on to advanced study, so my peers were all heading to law school, business school, etc. I applied to the Yale and RISD programs, and, on the spurious advice that “they are basically the same program, and Providence is a much better place to live,” I started at RISD. I quickly realized I was much better suited to a university environment than to an art school, so after one year of grad studies at RISD I completed two years of the Yale program and received my MFA there instead.
I was not the happiest graduate student. I missed having fascinating clients and materials to work with, and the back-and-forth of a real-life project’s demands. In grad school we were charged with developing our own content, our own personal responses to the world, and I preferred responding to and being in dialogue with other people’s ideas. Plus, I didn’t think that approach necessarily brought out the best in my classmates. Designing diagrams about who was friends with whom in the studio and the paths from their apartments to their desks didn’t seem nearly as compelling as things going on in the outside world.
It wasn’t all miserable, though. My favorite parts of graduate school were my photography classes and video projects (also: slide dissolve!); I wouldn’t have had those experiences otherwise, and I have a much better understanding of those fields after making my own efforts in them. In the end I think what I appreciated most about graduate school was the discipline of having to stand in front of people five days a week to present and defend my work. It was exhausting and often harrowing but it was excellent training. Because of that experience, I’ve always felt confident speaking to clients about my ideas and work.
When, and for how long, did you work at the Office of the University Printer? What is the most valuable thing you learned during your time at OUP, and what is the most memorable project that you worked on?
I worked at the Office of the University Printer for a few months after graduate school while I was looking for a job in Toronto. And then, years later, when I was living and working on my own in Providence, a one-year position became available at OUP that was a really good fit and pretty much perfect timing for that phase of my life. My year at OUP functioned almost like a sabbatical: a much-needed and much-appreciated change of environment.
For me, the most valuable aspect of working at OUP was learning the perspective of the administrative staff who keep Yale operating at a high level year after year. It made me understand the university in a much broader way than I had experienced it as a student.
During my year at OUP I worked with John to develop the Yale branding system and the first iteration of a course locator website. A project I particularly enjoyed was the reworking of the Yale College Programs of Study (YCPS) course catalog, to bring it in line with the other university bulletins. The YCPS staff were devoted to the “Blue Book,” they cared about every single letter and mark, so it was very detailed and challenging work to implement a new typographic system. But it was enjoyable, especially learning about the different academic departments at Yale and their requirements and course offerings.
You’ve worked extensively with publishers, cultural institutions, artists, and nonprofits. Do you find that kind of work to be the most rewarding?
I’ve been very fortunate to have a steady client base in these fields. I can’t imagine working for organizations or individuals whose objectives I didn’t feel an affinity for. I also prefer to design in a manner that foregrounds the content rather than the graphic design itself, and to work with the project’s assets in a very focused and deliberate way. These types of clients produce the content I like to engage with. And they’re usually focused on a long-term mission rather than a short-term profit.
I’ve often been advised that I could/should take on more commercial work, which typically pays better. But by keeping my operation small (i.e., just me, with some outside help now and then) I’ve managed financially. If I had a large studio and staff to support I’d probably have to change my client mix substantially.
As someone who focuses on print and publication design, how do you situate yourself in an increasingly digital world? What do you envision to be your role or mission as a graphic designer?
Fortunately, there is more than enough print and publication design work to support my business. As print becomes a smaller share in the sphere of visual production, the print work that is done has to be higher in quality. For example, readers devoted to physical books as opposed to ebooks expect a better-produced book, with the design adding critical enhancements to the reading experience. Fewer but higher-quality books is a trend I can be happy about.
I am by no means a Luddite; I make an effort to keep up with all of the latest software and publishing technologies. There is actually a large amount of technical information that goes into print work (paper, presses, binding, special effects) and I’d rather be an expert in that realm than moderately well informed across a number of platforms. For me, it is also important to create physical objects that have some longevity in this world, i.e., not ephemeral advertisements or promotions, and not websites that are eventually deleted and forgotten.
I’ve always understood my role as a graphic designer being to present content in the most appropriate and compelling form so that readers are drawn to the content and supported in their comprehension of it.
You’ve worked in a wide range of design settings, from studios such as Bruce Mau Design to institutions such as RISD to, currently, your own design practice. You were also a member of the Design Office, a collaborative design space in Providence. What were the challenges and advantages of working in these different settings, and why did you decide to start your own practice?
In studio practices such as Bruce Mau Design the projects were large and complex and exciting. But office politics and team meetings took up an inordinate amount of one’s time and attention. Institutional settings such as RISD’s communications office offered a steady workload and wonderful colleagues, but it was hard to be in an educational environment and not have much contact with students. Also, with any full-time job, the design process was not always amenable to a 9 to 5 schedule. Some afternoons you’d be better off taking a walk, visiting an art museum, having a nice dinner, and then tackling your design challenge in the evening.
The Design Office and another collaborative workspace in Providence (the Box Office) were great working environments at specific points of my life. Working at home by oneself can grow tedious, so it’s nice to have a desk in a space with other designers. But eventually the appeal of that wears thin, so it’s back to a home office for a while. I think it’s good to not be in the same physical space, or around the same people, years on end. I enjoyed the colleagues I met in those workspaces, though, and I have stayed in touch with a number of them. The Design Office has grown into an impressive design community, with various events and projects, a real asset to Providence.
To start my own practice, I had always done projects on the side in addition to my full-time employment, but at one point I received two separate commissions for books of 600+ pages each, and it wasn’t really possible to keep a full-time job and get those done. Also, I was a single parent and I needed a lot more flexibility than even my wonderfully supportive work situation could provide.
I also liked—and still prefer—the scale of the projects I was able to tackle on my own, and the close relationships I was able to develop with clients.
A spread from Intimate Enemy, a book that Julie designed in 2006. It features photographs and interviews related to the aftermath of the 1994 Rwandan genocide.
What designers and artists have influenced you the most over the years? Whose work do you find yourself constantly returning to?
I’ve never thought that designers and artists directly influenced my work. It’s a more subtle engagement. I think the content and the context of a project influence me much more. For example, I recently designed a complete edition of Emily Dickinson’s nearly 1,800 poems. My inspiration for that project was learning about her life and how she worked and saved her poems, and then focusing on my favorites among the poems. Those aspects influenced the design more than other poetry books.
There are a few designers whose approaches to the field are very important to me; familiar names, to be sure. Jan Tschichold’s essay “Graphic Arts and Book Design” sets out the differences between graphic artists and book designers in a really clear way and always reminds me of why book design is the perfect field for me. I’ve always been impressed by the career of W.A. Dwiggins, how he transitioned from advertising to publishing and really raised the standards of the latter. His typefaces have a lot of character; I use them as often as I can. Robert Bringhurst’s Elements of Typographic Style was one of the first books on typography I read. Because he’s a poet, all of his descriptions of typography are very imaginative and lyrical. And I refer to his charts of page proportions at the start of every project, asking myself, is this book better served by a (musical) major or a minor proportion? Or perhaps the double square, or the Golden Section? The contemporary practicing designer I admire most is without a doubt Abbott Miller. He’s amazing, almost discouragingly so.
I have my favorite photographers: William Eggleston, Andreas Gursky, Thomas Struth, Thomas Demand, Edward Burtynsky. It’s hard to not love photography as a book designer because photo books are usually so gorgeous, the two mediums work well together. In general, I prefer to look at art that is refined and beautiful rather than messy or strident or unfinished or deliberately ugly. There is enough ugliness in our sightlines. I think art should contribute a visual improvement. Design as well.
Do you have any advice for young designers who are just starting out?
Engage with content that you love. It makes the days and years so pleasurable to always have images and words in front of you that you care about, and to work with people who share your devotion to that material.