Sol Lewitt, "Bands in Four Directions," 1980, used as a family coat of arms. Courtesy The Lewitt Collection, Chester, CT.
Many speak of Sol Lewitt's artistic genius and his profound effect on generations of artists and art lovers, but to me, it was his unpretentiousness, intelligence, wit, generosity and high ethical standards that defined his total being. He was an American original, the antithesis of the romantic, self-possessed artist. He lived his life like he practiced his art, without focus on himself. He always said, "It's the art that's important, not the artist."
I first met Sol in 1986, when he and Carol and their young daughters moved to Chester, Connecticut, a small town on the Connecticut River where I have a graphic design studio. We met at an opening at the Chester Gallery, a gallery that would exhibit his prints, drawings and gouaches, many times over the years. Sol published numerous books and occasionally he would ask me to help him with the typography for a book cover, an invitation, a letterhead or postcard. I learned very quickly that one does not give Sol LeWitt advice on typefaces. He would listen, politely and patiently and then simply say, "Let's use Franklin Gothic Bold Condensed." (It was one of his favorites.) Sol had professional training in the Graphic Arts early in his career, so he was familiar with typographic conventions. But, as with his art, he seemed to possess a very private and mysterious compass that guided his decision making. Volumes have been written on his art, and theories proliferate in attempts to decode its essence and meaning, but it all tends to be enigmatic because of the inherent contradictions which are an integral part of his genius. As soon as you think you have figured him out, he delights, surprises, transforms and reinvents.
Of course, I was pleased, as was everyone in the large community of artists and craftsmen who worked on his prints, wall drawings and sculptures, to assist him in any way I could. To me, his choices of typography — clear, simple, un-selfconscious, un-trendy, and un-stylized — related to his art. He preferred sans-serif fonts, usually bold in weight, and produced in black and white. Sol had such an extraordinary range of expression, from subtle glossy black forms on matte black, to high chroma primary colors; but a special delight for him, which relates to his typographic preferences, was his graphic work with stripes. I used to tell him that he's the only contemporary artist with his own brand. In the 1970s, his graphic, playful, bold and primal approach to lines in various arrangements became an essential part of his vocabulary. "Lines in Four Directions," one of his iconic motifs, could be called a contemporary coat of arms. So powerful and appealing, this design has appeared as large wall drawings, prints, tables, screens, and even on watches and scarves.
And just as his art changed whenever there was a hint of predictability, he always surprised me with his choice of typeface. In redoing his personal stationery recently, I asked, "Same Chelt as last time?" He thought, looked at me with his charming smile, and said mischieviously, "How about Beton Bold Condensed?"
This article originally appeared in The Architect's Newspaper, May 9, 2007.
