Raw and Honest

An interview with graphic design Christian Teniswood

Who are some of the clients you’ve worked for?
No naming dropping here but big ones. The type that make students spit when they hear your name in sell-out disgust. But it was what I always wanted. I need to feel compelled to wear a suit to presentations. A bit of public speaking pressure and a thin tie bring out the best in me.

What should design students put in their folio?
It doesn’t really matter. I’d focus on your coffee making skills.

Anything else?
Oh, ok. Ideas. Ideas. More Ideas. Then a range of styles. Emphasise your design strengths. Don’t try to sell any poor imitations of the latest design trend. If you can’t do abstract 3D crystals with twenty five glowing layers of photoshop wizardry better than everyone else, then don’t show it. You are not Rinzen, you are not David Carson, you are not your khakis. You are the same decaying matter as the last fifty juniors who proudly showed up with a folio of cloned work. Unless you’re not. Then you'll be remembered.

What salary range should I be expecting as a junior designer?
That’s dependant on experience and the quality of your cappuccino.

Do you work long hours?
Think the eye scene from a clockwork orange. You do this job for love, not money. I walk uphill both ways to work, barefoot in the snow, just for the privilege to be in this industry. Someone is buying your ideas. Sure, they seem to come cheap compared to other career choices but it’s still the only thing I can ever see myself doing. Except for jelly wrestling, I could have been great at that. Damn trick knee.

Do you get to design much in your first year at a design studio?
On the good days the creative director will look at your best etch-a-sketch doodle and give you some feedback.

What was your first project as a junior designer?
It was an in-house exercise to develop a new 27th letter for the alphabet. I was asked to present my sketches to the team. I was full of enthusiasm as I pinned the work up on the wall in front of the assembled designers. The creative director then asked me to vocalize each so he and the excited congregation could better understand the concepts behind them. I pointed eagerly at each sketch and through lemon sucked lips vocalised my literary inventions. ‘Xerg!…sshdtx!…psssthx!…mthuph!….ghweghle!” I combined unheard before tones and flying spit into new worlds of alphabetic wonder. Saussure would have been proud.

As were the assembled creatives who were almost crying in an attempt to contain their laughter. ‘Well done’ said the creative director as he patted me on the back and handed me an etch-a-sketch. ‘You’ve earned this.’

How important are ideas?
Stupid question really. The more ideas you can have, the better a designer you become. What’s even more important is to never criticise an idea ever again, especially in team environments. Trust me, this isn’t easy. Your colleague shows you a mark that looks like a limping donkey in need of a mercy killing. You’re tempted to load your gun and say ‘Clipart might be free, but it’ll cost you your soul’ but instead (and for the rest of your career) you say ‘Interesting. Let’s keep it in the mix, and keep exploring’. He might come up with something better, or not, but his confidence won’t be dented and he’ll pay the compliment back the next time you proudly present your own struggling mule. The last thing any studio needs is fear of presenting ideas (you need lots of ideas to find a good idea, even more to find a great one).

Are the deadlines strict?
I don’t want to talk about it. We’ve lost good men to those ‘deadlines’.

Do you work with the latest technology?
Yes. The couches in reception impressively fold out into beds.

As a designer do you see the world differently to others?
I sure do. Where others see buildings, streets and corners I see strategic locations from which to launch water-balloons at unsuspecting passerbys. This is what separates us from the monkeys.

Is a career in design everything you thought it would be?
Absolutely. My children will be dentists, but this career is everything to me.

Is a little arrogance required to succeed in this industry?
I’m not sure. I don’t talk to other designers much, their lack of talent sometimes annoys me. I just focus on myself.

Other advice?
Be nice to each other. Backstabbing has no place in this industry. I’m going to steal an analogy used by Luke Sullivan in his fantastic book ‘Hey Whipple, Squeeze This’ in regards to teamwork. Whether you’re the mac master, mac monkey or coffee boy (read junior designer) just remember it’s a three legged race. One falls, we all fall.

So work together and don’t be afraid to ask for help or opinions from the guys you work with. We’re not here to practice the gentle art of making enemies (and coffee boys have long memories and a revenge list of people to crush on their rise to the top).

Thanks Christian
No, thank you.

Sick 'em rex

Ok, not a graphic design related story but I share it anyway to warn others of the danger

It seemed like any other morning, if anything it was extraordinary in being so ordinary. I'd awoken from a strange dream of leprechauns riding unicorns to the soundtrack from Grease, so the day had started off as most of my days had ... Except that I was running a little late.

I quickly prettied myself up in front of the mirror and dashed out the front door with barely time to wave goodbye to my teddybear. Running across the carpark toward the bus-stop I knew my timing was critical.

Across the overpass I sped, fearing to look up the highway and see Bus 961 preceding me. I danced down the stairs to the bus-stop to the startled amazement of several locals who were shying their eyes for some reason. I paused to consider their reactions before doing my fly up. Who'd have thought free-balling would be the first bad decision of the day?

Having under-estimated my superb physical condition, I'd reached the bus-stop early enough to catch my breath, with no bus yet in sight. Being quite over-heated and sweaty with my morning run, I walked around the edge of the bus-stop and stopped near the bin whilst fanning myself to cool down.

Thirty seconds passed as I stood on the spot before I noticed what felt like small electric shocks in my legs. I thought 'This is why I don't exercise. It hurts. I don't like it'. Still, I like to think my pain threshold is quite manly, so I stood still and ignored the little zaps that were coursing up my appendages.

I saw the bus come over the horizon and thought, 'about time, I need to sit down. These damn zaps aren't going away while I stand here.' In fact, they were spreading. I started feeling like I was tingling all over with painful little shocks, from my legs to my chest and neck. Even my nether regions were not immune. Ouch!

True, a strange reaction to the first exercise I had undertaken in three months but my own body turning against me in anger was nothing unusual. My brain reacted similarly to most of the exertions I tried to put it through.

So as I sat down next to an Auntie on a packed bus I noticed a small ant crawling along my arm which suddenly bit into my wrist with wreckless abandon. 'You bastard. Time to fly.' I flicked it off and noticed his brother was hiking up my shoulder. 'Oh, so you bought your friends? Now it's personal. Join your family in hell' I whispered as I flicked it onto an unsuspecting passerby.

It was then I started to make a connection.

Zaps all over body.

Crawling angry bitey ants.

Hmm. Could it be?

Worriedly, I began to massage my legs and thighs much to the horror of my fellow passengers who understandably thought I was touching myself. I stamped my feet and my fears were realised when a significant number of writhing ants fell out of my pants. Even in their death throes they were crunching their mandibles together in a last gasp effort to inflict more pain upon me. These were serious soldiers I was riddled with, kamikaze to the last! I started whacking myself all over, including places that no ant should ever venture near. Legs, arms, chest neck and nether regions were punched, whacked, grabbed and twisted. The auntie nearest to me actually began to try and squirm away in genuine fear. Some averted their eyes, thinking the strange foreign devil was experiencing a demonic episode. Still, there was little to do but bare with the pain until my final bus-stop appeared.

Faster than a speeding bullet I was off and into the Futurebrand office toilets, stripping down to essentials only (my socks of course) and vigorously rubbing myself all over (and not in the good way). Many ants died that day, and I still carry their bitey little scars on my body as I write this. Yet, as the general of the opposing army, I felt proud of my enemy's accomplishments. They feared not my size, or the thought of crawling into my underpants to fiercely bite at my tender spots. As Homer Simpson said in similar blissful ignore 'Ow. Oww. Owww! They are defending themselves somehow!'

Their queen would be proud. I will not stand near the bus-stop bin again.