It was Jennifer Sterling’s unapologetic audacity that both excited and angered me when she designed the (still) controversial AIGA 365 design annual in 2013. Never before, to my knowledge, had someone created a book of award-winning design that was more formidable than the work it was intended to showcase. But believing that a collection of the year’s best output should be every bit as revolutionary as what it celebrated, she took a leap. The AIGA community, however, did not expect their winning specimens to be used as players in Sterling’s comedie humaine; they expected the usual handsome frame adhering to convention. If the annual was to be refreshed or even reborn, that’s what the covers, front matter and section openers were for. Sterling had other ideas, which reduced the selected works to cropped excerpts. After a storm of complaints, the 2013 365 eventually fizzled into the haze of memory.
But what about Sterling? I stopped seeing her typographic experiments and lost track of her work until recently, when her animations began making cameos on Facebook. Sometime in the spring, she also started posting criticism of the AIGA, which has been going through an identity crisis since COVID. Her argument: AIGA was not proactively supporting design practice (good work) but rather design rhetoric—that the leaders had jumped (or were pushed off) ship, leaving the organization somewhat rudderless.
I did not disagree with the overall criticism, but took issue with some specifics, which I wrote to her in a private note. She responded immediately, ending the minor kerfuffle. Then, shockingly, a few weeks later, she announced that she had received a fatal health diagnosis (her friend Helayne Spivak launched a GoFundMe campaign to help cover related expenses).
Against this backdrop, I asked Sterling if she’d consent to an interview about her animation work. Did it have a direct relationship to the previous AIGA annual? Was it an outgrowth of her print typographic experiments? Was it triggered by learning of her diagnosis? The following interview offers some, but not all, of the answers.
You’ve always been something of a maverick designer. Your approach has gone against the waves. What do you feel is your role as a graphic designer?
My role as a graphic designer is to solve a problem, and the best way to discover that is to have a one-on-one dialogue with the CEO. Sometimes it’s as simple as my work for Nvidia. The CEO came to me and said no one can pronounce our name. Can you help with that? I turned the beginning letter “N” into an italic … problem solved. The reader would pause. I don’t believe you can speak to middle management to know what the company is really feeling; you have to develop a dialogue with the owner. It’s their baby, their child. Other times I did an annual report for Quickturn and the CEO wanted their engineers to be happy. This was when engineers were being scooped up by competitors. So I designed an annual report with the time of different items in various quadrants, showing, for example, the time life of a sloth, etc. It was very nerdy, and very cool; the engineers loved it. Yet mainly I think good designers are semi-engineers. Everything has to work—the milk has to stay in the carton, the key has to turn in the lock. Additionally, you need to give them something that addresses their audience. Not everyone has a 2-year-old to 90-year-old demographic … well, perhaps Apple. Then you have to give them something covetable. People love beauty. Does it feel good in your hand? Is it functional? And hopefully it is something they haven’t seen before. With that said, I don’t think of myself as a maverick … I’m just doing my job and supporting my son.
I see your work as hugging the line between art and graphic design, with one foot over it. Would you agree with that characterization?
I think because I’m additionally an illustrator and photographer, I believe that’s a good assessment. I was the child who was drawing or painting in my room since I was 3. Additionally, my dad had built a darkroom in our home. We also had an incredible library, so I was exposed to all these elements. I just didn’t know you could be a designer.
When and what triggered your entry into the world of animation?
I’ve animated on and off for decades, but before the pandemic, there was not a widespread need for it. Then people began washing their mail, and I thought, no one will ever buy a magazine again. Everything would become digital.
However, I had to have MOHS surgery on my face at the Mayo Clinic. I did try to hedge my bets with the doctor, inquiring how long would I live if I didn’t have it. He got my inquiry and replied, “You would be disfigured by cancer long before you died.” So I had it and I looked in the mirror when I got home and I looked like a monster. I vowed I would never look in the mirror again, and taught myself about 40 new programs during the pandemic. I’m all healed now.
What boundaries do you want to push? And is this work rooted in craft, technology or both?
I think it changes based on the world and their use of technology. Ideally, you want to have both, so I try to incorporate craft into technology—it makes it more human. I have started a series of illustrations interpreting famous Bauhaus chairs; this is a wonderful personal project for me which I’m selling on my website. (Apologies for the commercial.)
How has your recently diagnosed illness impacted your current work?
I was just diagnosed in mid-August 2024. It’s a long six-letter phrase but it has to do with white matter in the brain and nerve endings not connecting. My dad passed away from brain cancer that metastasized from his lungs (mine isn’t Alzheimer’s, dementia, etc.), yet I’m having trouble with forms, short-term memory and balance. All things I wasn’t particularly good at anyway. (Gallows humor.) But I’m so thankful it hasn’t affected my animation or design. In fact, my animation has gotten better.
Is the work your solace?
I would have said yes to this at any other point in my life, yet now it’s coupled with humanity. I went from being terrified and feeling like I just needed to run with my brain to the Mayo Clinic and pound on the door after realizing the Mayo Clinic is the one thing my insurance didn’t cover. It’s always been hard for me to ask for anything. A dear friend, Helayne Spivak, set up a GoFundMe page, and the sheer volume of people contacting me leaves me weeping. I feel light and God all around me. I’m not hallucinating, and I’m on no medication except for a low dose of antidepressants and baby aspirin, but I realize the volume of humanity that is helping me, and I’m so grateful. That’s my solace.
Martin Pederson, the owner of Graphis, recently called me; it’s strange, as I had just been thinking of him and he’s on a list of people I wanted to call. Just to thank him for all he’s done for the arts, and me, as well. The conversation was so beautiful and human and it made me realize he wasn’t just Graphis. After our call, I opened up the issue in which I was featured, and it said: “Jennifer Sterling – Flying Solo” … and I realized I’m not. I have so much humanity around me.
How long will you continue to push?
Until my last breath.