The Flourish, or All About the Excess

I consider myself to be foremost a modernist inclined designer. When I see big, black, Helvetica on a white poster, geometric shapes, or cross-processed colors I get a bit over zealous. A sublime combination of the three is likely to send me into a veritable designgasm.

Modernism came with good reason. It allowed us to cast off the shackles of script and the burden of excess that came with pre-'60s advertisements—although not entirely, as this sort of design can be seen in your local grocery store flyer, or the Comic Sans e-mail your co-worker Rick just sent around the office announcing Friday's lunch party with no less than four exclamation points.

However, there is a way in which excess can be done to grandeur, that evokes the spirit of a Victorian sophistication that seems lost on our generation. We've grown up around either modernism or a David Carson backlash it seems like, and I think it's high time we re-examine what the fat has to offer courtesy of images on ffffound I've collected.


The style is something I've always been a bit jealous of when I set my eyes on it. I've never attempted anything in this realm, perhaps because my projects never warranted it.


This example certainly has its underlying grid and modern sensibility. The hierarhcy is quite clearly arranged with thought. Yet, it's ornate, delicate and carefully considered, while managing not to be completely restrained.


This logotype evokes the thought of a pub down the street. It is a dark, musty place and has as much character as each of its patrons within. Even if it's brand new, it still seems like your grandfather walked in there when he was your age. This is in stark contrast to something like this:


Granted, I'm being particularly abusive—or making a statement of how often I see it—picking an instance that uses Century Gothic. As opposed to Boulton's rustic connotation, this says I am over 30 but trying to be 20, my martini's probably cost as much as an hour's worth of work, I'm definitely new, and there is a line to get in.

Perhaps because, to some degree, modernism can seem a bit exclusive at times and a bit of flourish adds wanted warmth and compassion to a project. It need not even come with an exaggeration of line:



A simple selection of typeface and its arrangment can alter the mood. This piece, I think particularly well done, uses a H&FJ Gotham-esque typeface that elicits a particular 1940s feel, while markedly absent of the 'script' in the other two examples.

These elements are not superfluous affections of the designer… Well, to some degree they are, but with purpose. Intent is the operative clause, it adds to the image and delivers a very crafted message. Call it floursih for lack of a better distinction, but it is most certainly not excess.

It's Pronounced Bez-E-Ay

If I were to get a tattoo, it would be of this:


Well, maybe not, but it's still important, albeit maybe not enough to warrant a permanent place upon my skin. It's the basic equation for the Bézier curve.

Pierre Bézier was working for Renault—a French automobile maker—in the early '60s when he needed a way to more precisely render the contours of the car bodies he worked on. Although Bézier did not create the curve, because of his application it forever shares his namesake.


So why does it matter?

This curve creates the smooth vector lines modern designers and 3D artists rely on entirely. The equation for this curve is used every time you open up Illustrator or Maya, draw a path in Photoshop, write text in InDesign, and even modify WordArt.


It is the differenece between the jagged, rasterized, edges on the left and the smooth, infinitely scalable, contours on the right. These lines are manipulated by control points, which alter the severity of the curve.

So while it may not be physically on my body, it certainly has shaped the life of anyone who has sat in front of a computer.