Tibor's Class
By Peter Buchanan-Smith
I am so lucky. Everyone I meet assures me just how lucky I am. And I don't argue. Last winter, I took a twelve-week course through the MFA design program at School of Visual Arts called "1,000 Words." It was taught by the bad boy of graphic design, conceptual guru, and perverse optimist despite his terminal cancer. He was a man many of us worshipped. His name was Tibor Kalman, and yes, I admit that I was intimidated by him and absolutely uncertain of what to expect. I had never faced such a prospect, and I expect I never will again.
From the outset, mystery and suspense surrounded Tibor's class. "Forward motion, clarity and surprise, these three principles," Tibor taught us, "are at the heart of all great stories." As it turns out, they also underscored his course. My introduction to Tibor came in the form of a questionnaire. A week before the first class, one of his assistants handed out a sheet entitled "A few questions from Tibor." Through this simple document, he managed to cut to the chase, leaving me questioning my very existence and wanting to learn more. The questions were:
What is your name?
What do you hope to get out of this program?
What do you hope to get out of class? (Or do you just want to get out of class?)
What is your media diet?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What is your favorite candy?
The first time I actually met Tibor, he was holding forth from his favorite armchair in the living room of his West Village apartment. It was from this room and throne that he conducted all of his subsequent classes and crits. This first one began with a projected slide onto his living room wall, and for forty-five minutes, no one dared to breathe a word. The image on this slide was the foundation for the semester's work, and for some it was the catalyst for a personal design cause.
When the lights came on again, Tibor left us with one parting instruction: "Bring in one image that somehow reacts to the image on the wall." Each week, we flocked to Tibor with more and more images, all of which were (at the very least) a reaction to his image and the ensuing images we chose. Tibor not only wanted to teach us how to use our selected photographs to tell a good story, but demanded that we understand their impact: "A picture is worth a thousand words. Two pictures should be worth two thousand, or even eight thousand words," he said. More often than not, the images we selected were a reaction to the way he provoked, prodded, angered, and inspired us. Tibor wanted us to make decisions from the heart, because these, he assured us, would make the most compelling stories: "If it's going to be any good, it's going to be from the subconscious," he said. "I'm interested in how the story and the dynamics change. Not from a graphic level, but from an emotional one."
Despite Tibor's weakened health, I marveled at his wit, mental stamina, and passionate insistence on giving us students everything he possibly could. Tibor had only known us for a matter of weeks, yet remarkably he was determined to devote some of his precious last days to our enlightenment. I am grateful to Tibor's family for sharing him during this time. Perhaps they'll be glad to know that, like so many others, I now carry the torch of Tibor wherever I go.
Peter Buchanan-Smith is a graduate student of design at the School of Visual Arts.
I am so lucky. Everyone I meet assures me just how lucky I am. And I don't argue. Last winter, I took a twelve-week course through the MFA design program at School of Visual Arts called "1,000 Words." It was taught by the bad boy of graphic design, conceptual guru, and perverse optimist despite his terminal cancer. He was a man many of us worshipped. His name was Tibor Kalman, and yes, I admit that I was intimidated by him and absolutely uncertain of what to expect. I had never faced such a prospect, and I expect I never will again.
From the outset, mystery and suspense surrounded Tibor's class. "Forward motion, clarity and surprise, these three principles," Tibor taught us, "are at the heart of all great stories." As it turns out, they also underscored his course. My introduction to Tibor came in the form of a questionnaire. A week before the first class, one of his assistants handed out a sheet entitled "A few questions from Tibor." Through this simple document, he managed to cut to the chase, leaving me questioning my very existence and wanting to learn more. The questions were:
What is your name?
What do you hope to get out of this program?
What do you hope to get out of class? (Or do you just want to get out of class?)
What is your media diet?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What is your favorite candy?
The first time I actually met Tibor, he was holding forth from his favorite armchair in the living room of his West Village apartment. It was from this room and throne that he conducted all of his subsequent classes and crits. This first one began with a projected slide onto his living room wall, and for forty-five minutes, no one dared to breathe a word. The image on this slide was the foundation for the semester's work, and for some it was the catalyst for a personal design cause.
When the lights came on again, Tibor left us with one parting instruction: "Bring in one image that somehow reacts to the image on the wall." Each week, we flocked to Tibor with more and more images, all of which were (at the very least) a reaction to his image and the ensuing images we chose. Tibor not only wanted to teach us how to use our selected photographs to tell a good story, but demanded that we understand their impact: "A picture is worth a thousand words. Two pictures should be worth two thousand, or even eight thousand words," he said. More often than not, the images we selected were a reaction to the way he provoked, prodded, angered, and inspired us. Tibor wanted us to make decisions from the heart, because these, he assured us, would make the most compelling stories: "If it's going to be any good, it's going to be from the subconscious," he said. "I'm interested in how the story and the dynamics change. Not from a graphic level, but from an emotional one."
Despite Tibor's weakened health, I marveled at his wit, mental stamina, and passionate insistence on giving us students everything he possibly could. Tibor had only known us for a matter of weeks, yet remarkably he was determined to devote some of his precious last days to our enlightenment. I am grateful to Tibor's family for sharing him during this time. Perhaps they'll be glad to know that, like so many others, I now carry the torch of Tibor wherever I go.
Peter Buchanan-Smith is a graduate student of design at the School of Visual Arts.
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