POV: How valuable is the obscure creative reference?

Graphic design can be romantic. One concept that never fails to tug at my heartstrings is that of the besotted collector. The obsessive kind: someone whose “thing” is 20th-century toiletry labels. Better yet, sheets of toilet paper themselves. And I’m actually not kidding about that last one. Ten years ago, Charlotte de la Grandière, a stylist, set designer and upholstery specialist, began collecting sheets of toilet paper from bathrooms, “chosen for the diversity of their pattern, embossing, texture and thickness”. I’m not certain where they were kept before being catalogued, but imagine each new square being discovered, carefully torn, then pressed – perhaps temporarily stored in some secret receptacle to ensure its safety en route home. What could be more romantic than that?

The graphic design community could be likened to a community of collectors and naturally, graphic outputs gravitate toward similar stories. When a rebrand is launched, a popular narrative often relayed is of a small team descending into the weathered belly of a brand’s basement, blowing away dust to discover a drawing that will become the foundation of a new brand mark. Mention of “the archive” appears in designer’s portfolios, too, where references increasingly creep into the final display of imagery.

Not long ago, I saw a case study for a 40-year-old Spanish cured meat brand, Purlom, on Instagram. The lead image displayed not the logo, but a rotating selection of shots from Purlom’s archive, including an old supermarket sign. I clicked on it without question. This, for my brain, functioned as “proof”: this rebrand is good. I thought: “Look at the history! The focus on vernacular design legacy – the research! Those tasty old adverts with their illustrations of canned meats!” (The corresponding rebrand, it just so happens, was excellent, but my interest was sealed before I had seen the work in full.)

This collective interest in research-driven work could be read in many ways. It could mean appreciation is on the up for behind-the-scenes effort and dedicated research (only a good thing). Or, more cynically, it could be a reflection of a moodboard mindset. Branding, communication and in turn design as a whole, is a market that finds value in obscurity and nostalgia, to such an extent that the curator is placed on a higher pedestal than those that create.

Someone who creates and collects is Brent David Freaney. His creative studio, Special Offer, was the team behind the Brat album campaign, whose explosive graphic popularity perhaps makes Brent one of the best people to ask about the idea of creative currency. “I think references and research are truly – as a designer – one of your most valuable possessions,” says Brent. “In a world where finding something you have never seen before is becoming harder and harder, this collection illustrates your perspective as a designer.”

In fact, Brent believes so strongly in the power of the reference that he stands at odds with the majority on the issue of sharing them. (“I’m a big proponent of gatekeeping; I found it, I’m not telling you where I found it, and it’s mine... fuck off.”) On the surface, this fierce defense suggests that a reference can “lose value” when more people have it. It’s not dissimilar to the analogy of printing money. However, we’re entering potentially dangerous territory here, where the reference is overemphasised in determining the final work. Surely, a good tree does not maketh a good landscape painting?

In reality, Brent’s defense of gatekeeping is a defence of something larger: your toil. “The labour that goes into organising and maintaining a reference library is not to be discounted... it is work that you – as a designer – have done and you shouldn’t be giving that away.” Here we get into the idea of an “owner of a reference”, if there is such a thing. But, if we’re paying with regard, you might flesh out more to someone who has the first spark – to hunt for a specific reference – rather than the person who adopts it next. At the same time, Brent warns against becoming obsessed with these things, particularly in our visually crowded culture: “Don’t compete with other creatives, period... especially not with references.”

Of course, Brat was notable for not looking like other campaigns. But what about when you are working to a reference more strictly? Bringing an older wordmark out of retirement, or even leaving a historic one mostly untouched, as Collins recently did for Bose. To protect the “integrity” of the brand, the 1960s Bose logo was maintained, just having a haircut, rather than being clipped off entirely. These kinds of touch-ups are often received well by the creative majority. Perhaps the value of the reference, and our collective heritage-obsessed mindset, is also about our desire to make sense of meanings and changes. To hold onto things and prune them.

But, ultimately, does the use of an archive make a technically better project?

One thing that can be said is that the “hoarder” of niche references sits in an unusually favoured position in today’s creative society – perhaps for good reason. As reference gathering becomes easier, true nerdism – the fervour for cataloguing stamps or colour-graded toilet seats, feels rarer. But equally, and in graphic design particularly, our blanket admiration of those who can “cite” could potentially be better shared with those who are foolhardy enough to throw the reference in the bin.

Even Brent, a proud gatekeeper, echoes this sentiment: “References are extremely important to use as a starting point to communicate an idea. Once that idea has been communicated, and you’re past the first design sketch or ideation, ditch all of these references and never bring them up in the project again. You aren’t trying to remake the reference... you are trying to make a new reference.”