Iconic graphic design: worth preserving?

This is the fourth part of a loosely-related “series” on visual iconography. See also part 1, part 2 and part 3.

So. Having explored what an iconic design is, how it becomes iconic and what significance this has for the people who interact with that design, I return to this subject to consider the interesting notion of graphic design and historic preservation.

I must credit designer Scott Stowell for opening up this still, otherwise, largely-unexplored topic, with his “First Report of the (Unofficial) Graphic Design Landmarks Preservation Commission” following the redesign of the UPS logo. I heard Stowell describe this novel idea several years ago in Minneapolis, and have never forgotten it.

I bring it up again, now, because it seems a very fitting final(?) stop on a tour of iconic graphic design that has included various community protests at planned “demolition” of iconic graphics (Wonder Woman’s costume, the U of Iowa Tiger Hawk), and ultimately arrived at the conclusion that the very essence of an iconic design is in its embrace, in one sense or other, by a community.

So it seems that there are more than a few parallels to be drawn with the issue of historic preservation. Historic preservation activism and landmark protection laws developed, in large part, through community dismay at seeing iconic structures like Penn Station (a loss regretted after it was too late) and Grand Central Terminal (saved from the wrecking ball) threatened with removal from the landscape.

Historic preservation has, by now, gone beyond exclusively “iconic” structures and become concerned with historic significance as well, some times even if that significance is little-known to a local community. (The battle over Steve Jobs’ desire to replace his house in Woodside, California, is probably one extreme example of this, depending on whom one asks.)

But there are, I believe, valid claims to be made regarding historic significance for various visual designs, as well.

Thus I think it’s entirely fair to ask the question: do we need a historic preservation movement for graphic design? And, probably more to the point, what would constitute an appropriate approach to historic preservation for iconic designs, if any?

At one end of the spectrum (short of a complete “who cares, who needs that old rubbish” dismissal of historic/iconic value), one could place an archival approach. From this perspective, as long as a record of designs exists, that’s entirely adequate “preservation.” As with film preservation, making sure that copies of the work are safe in libraries and vaults, ideally along with whatever relevant information about the work and its history can be found, would be enough to move a work out of the “endangered” category into “safe.”

Which seems sensible enough, but that was certainly not what Scott Stowell was pointing toward with his “Design Landmarks Preservation Commission” report.  I recall him wishing for an authority to tell UPS, for example, something like “sorry, but you can’t change that logo, gentlemen; it belongs to everyone.”

Now, I’ve never doubted that this suggestion was semi-serious at most, and in any event very consciously Quixotic. Because, obviously, it’s ludicrous to conceive of passing laws to prevent private businesses and organizations from changing their logo, right?

Except that, if you think about it, while the concept may be impractical, even ultimately undesirable, I submit that it’s not quite as completely ludicrous as it seems.

After all, this is one of the key elements of historic preservation of physical structures. So unless one considers that to be ludicrous as well—and some do, but many don’t—why should it be so outrageous to suggest applying the idea to visual designs?

Because a visual design is different from a building? Obviously so, but, there are some significant commonalities between the two when it comes to those things which form the justification for historic preservation policies.

Sure, a visual design can be preserved so long as it’s in a drawer somewhere, or even a pattern of bits on an electronic storage device. But I’m not sure that entirely preserves the real value. If Grand Central Terminal, for example, could have been teleported into the Utah desert, would that have been effective historic preservation of a community landmark?

Some would probably say yes, particularly property developers who longed to turn the site into high-rise office buildings. And they would have a point, after all. The building would be preserved, interested parties could go study it. It would not be “lost.”

And yet much, possibly including the majority of the value of a historic landmark, would be lost. Is a landmark even really a landmark, any more, once it’s completely removed from context and placed out of the way, “in storage?” Sure, you can collect documentation of the original context. But will all the photos, measurements and models in the world really come close to recording the experience of visiting and observing the building in use, in real life?

And beyond preservation for a historical record, what about preservation for the living community? The value of preserving a real, iconic landmark is at least as much about preserving the right of the community which has embraced it to continue to interact with it, as part of their everyday lives, as it is about preserving specialists’ access to artifacts.

Do these issues really have no relevance, whatsoever, to iconic and/or historically significant visual designs? For what it’s worth, I think there’s a good deal of relevance. Ask the people of Des Moines, Iowa, whether the Traveler’s Group umbrella sign is just a corporate advertisement that can be pulled down, now that the design has been replaced, without anyone caring. And is there really nothing lost—is there really all that much gained, in fact?—when simple, approachable and timeless icons like Saul Bass’ Bell System logo or Paul Rand’s UPS logo disappear from our environment, to be replaced by a weedy tangle of whizzy, flavor-of-the-week rebrandings instead?

I realize that, as one who makes a living from creating new designs, I’m on thin ice here… but I have my doubts. Ultimately, though, that’s all fine and dandy until one arrives at the business end of things, i.e., “What Is To Be Done?” Is there really any justification for trampling over not only private property rights but also, probably, rights of freedom of expression, in order to prevent a company from changing its logo or redesigning its storefronts?

Aside from the fact that anything of the sort is extraordinarily unlikely to happen… no, I couldn’t really support it anyway. And the inescapable reality is that one cannot have one’s cake and eat it, too: even if we see considerable value in preserving the heritage of our past, we must recognize that it’s necessary to see some of that value lost in order to have a future. Preserving the entire world in amber is not really an option.

But there is room for compromise. We preserve some things, at least. Historic landmarks, nature reserves. Mostly physical things and places, yet people struggling to save a local parish church are motivated by more than just a building; in none of these cases are a folder of photos and interview transcripts really adequate.

The community, both today’s and the future’s, can have a real stake in things even when those things aren’t officially “community property,” and we have a precedent for recognizing that stake once in a while. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll one day start to recognize our own stake in a few of the predominantly-visual elements of our common heritage, too.

“You don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.”