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Logo Echo

I must have been around five or six when I at least subconsciously realised that my dad worked for 'a brand'. 
Taxiing through Schipol yesterday I saw the iconic KLM logo everywhere and it was for the Dutch airline, with its consistently modern, clean, emblematic branding, that my dad worked.

 


 
As children my sister and I saw plenty of that logo. On company Christmas cards and letterheads that lay around our home. On the multilayered paper tickets (always standby, always a nervy adventure) that took us away to places I now realised were exotic destinations in the 70s. And everywhere in the office at Heathrow, where we sometimes spent the day with Dad at work, in the dog days of the summer holidays.

 
And so yesterday it struck me that my taste in design might hark back to those days, to that logo. The simple morse-like arrangement of cross, over four dots over long dash. The discreetly powerful, squatly confident KLM in Noa Light font. An imprinting of intelligent, stylised, corporate identity leading to a fondness for deliberately bland urbanity. An interest in unplaces. The appreciation of the aesthetics of the shipping container and transport logistics hubs. Digitally rendered fictional suburbia. Street view art.

 

And taxiing through Schipol I thought about this. And this small thought, the memories, speak to the power of good design and branding and how a logo, assuredly deployed, can imprint itself on a person and shape them, years later, like a paternal hand from the past.

 


Some of the things I have eaten today

I was actually googling 'gin and bingara' when i found this. Thanks, lovely lovely web.'The only 

I was actually googling 'gin and bingara' when i found this. Thanks, lovely lovely web. 'The only hardboiled-type guy I can think of who regularly drank a mixed drink is Marid Audran, the hero of George Alec Effinger's Budayeen novels (When Gravity Fails, A Fire in the Sun, and The Exile Kiss; they're near-future science fiction, but very much in the hard-boiled detective tradition). Marid always drank something called "gin and bingara" with a splash of Rose's Lime. I've always wanted to try it, but I have no idea what bingara is. Every once in a while, I remember Marid and do a Google search for bingara...but the closest I've come is that Bingara is the name of a town in New South Wales, Australia. Maybe Effinger made it up. We can't ask him, because he died in 2002 at 55 years old. Which is sad. What's infinitely sadder is that he only wrote those three Marid Audran novels. They're fantastic, and when you reach the end of the third and realize there aren't any more...well, it's kinda like an alcoholic realizing the bottle's empty and there's never going to be another one.'

Rio on a tilt

I'm an absolute sucker for tilt-shift and Keith Loutit is probably the best there is...

The City of Samba from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

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