Fun with Googling Colors

I was on the phone with Friend of IBD Howard Aprill not long ago, when he described something as being the color “vermillion.” Because Shea and I are going to present a graphic design workshop this summer at Wehr Nature Center in Milwaukee, where Howard works, and because I am a graphic designer, I felt I should know what color vermillion was. Rather than ask, I changed the subject of the conversation to baseball and on the side, quietly Googled “What color is vermillion?”

Of course, the rest of my afternoon was shot. I’ve always wanted to know the difference between sea foam…

…and sea mist. (Not much.)

Or the difference between cerulean…

…and manganese. (Cerulean’s a little darker, maybe?)

Then, of course, this led to further exploration. (All while Howard and I were still talking, mind you. This may explain why I apparently agreed to sing “I’m a Little Teacup” during our workshop in Milwaukee this summer.) What if you Googled “What color is [something that is not a color]?” Some (but not all) of these turned up interesting results.

What color is nature? (I thought this would come back overwhelmingly green. Kind of refreshing that it did not.)

What color is energy?

What color is Greece?

What color is New Jersey?

And, of course, this led to even more exploration. (At this point in the conversation, evidently, I’ve agreed to buy everyone Brewers tickets and wear a T-shirt that says “I’m Ryan Braun’s pharmacist” to the game.) I took a few of the screen captures above and uploaded them to my favorite color-palette generator, Kuler, which I wrote about way back when.

Here’s what I got for vermillion:

Cerulean:

Energy:

Nature (I love this one):

And New Jersey:

I think what this amounts to is a kind of fun, Internet-based brainstorming—and sometimes it works better than others. I would never commit myself to generating a color palette for a project exclusively using this method, but the results that it returns could be a springboard for thinking about colors in ways that you haven’t before.

I plan to explore this more in the future, and I’d love to see some of the results IBD readers come up with in the comments of this post. In the meantime, I have to figure out why my presenter’s agreement with the Wehr Nature Center says I’m doing Howard Aprill’s laundry.

Finger Fishing

I just wanted to share two pictures that I took this week. I don’t care how mature you think you are, dam jokes are funny. Paul will say something below about the quotation marks, so I don’t have to.

Some times it is important to send you messages in a way that makes people think.  This picture taken at the Central Arkansas Nature Center in Little Rock, Arkansas does that exactly. If you have any funny sign pictures send them our way or post them on the IBD Facebook page.

Good Flag, Bad Flag

I recently received a 1,019-word email from Friend of IBD Howard Aprill on the subject of flag design. Howard does this sort of thing because he blames us for the fact that he now notices design stuff and reads blogs, and he wants to get back at us for wasting his time.

I received Howard’s email about a month ago and I just finished reading it, so I thought I’d share parts of it with you. Evidently, Howard stumbled across a website for the North American Vexillological Association (NAVA), which I was disappointed to learn has nothing to do with making people angry. Turns out, according to the organization’s website, vexillology is “the scientific and scholarly study of flag history and symbolism.”

NAVA’s website (which, ironically, is a jumbled mess, full of boxes and centered type) links to a pdf of a brochure called “Good Flag, Bad Flag: How to Design a Great Flag.” The brochure contains this sage advice, with Howard’s comments in parentheses:

  1. Keep it simple. (Duh.)
  2. Use meaningful symbolism. (Double duh.)
  3. Use 2–3 basic colors. (Makes sense to me but I’m interested in your thoughts on this.)
  4. No lettering or seals. (Apparently this is the Comic Sans equivalent of the flag world.)
  5. Be distinctive or be related.

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These points are consistent with the advice graphic designers and interpreters offer—essentially, keep it clean, use a defined color palette, and above all be meaningful. (Though I would argue, related to point #4, that it would be okay for an organization devoted to the conservation and understanding of sea mammals to use a seal in its design.)

Even better than NAVA’s five design principles, NAVA’s website features a link to the results of a 2004 survey that ranks the design of flags from 150 U.S. cities. The ratings go from #1, Washington, DC (on the left, above) to #150, Pocatello, Idaho, where they are as proud of their mountains as they are their Microsoft WordArt.

Howard’s hometown of Milwaukee ranks 147th on the list. While he recognizes that the flag, designed in the 1950s, violates all stated and most unwritten rules of design (and a couple international laws related to the Geneva Convention), Howard offers this impassioned defense:

I think it’s a time capsule that captures the essence of post World War II Milwaukee. You notice that it’s busy filled with LOTS of things. Well that’s how folks felt about their town. The gear represents industry (at one time we actually MADE things in this town), the Native American head represents our original inhabitants, the ship represents the busy port, the golden barley stalk on the left represents our beer brewing industry. It even features the old County Stadium for the Milwaukee Braves. You have to understand, the Braves moved here from Boston in 1953 and this town was INSANELY proud to get a big league team.

I told Howard that I hope Milwaukee gets a big-league baseball team again some day.

The NAVA flag brochure says, “All rules have exceptions…but depart from these five principles only with caution and purpose.” The brochure holds up the Colorado state flag (pictured at the top of the post) as an example of a successful departure. It violates the rule of not using type in a flag, but does so elegantly and simply. I’d say that while the folks in Milwaukee departed from the rules with purpose, they also did so with reckless abandon.

Ultimately, flag design and interpretive design have a lot in common, in that they strive to be impactful, accessible, and meaningful. Because he makes the point far better than I could, I leave you with this thought from Howard:

In my opinion the challenges and components of flag design are very related to what we do in interpretation—trying to give relevance and meaning, building connections, tangibles (a piece of cloth) vs. intangibles (love of country, sacrifice, etc). We’ve all seen good flags and bad flags, just like we’ve all seen good interpretive panels and bad interpretive panels. I dare say there are things we can take away from the study of vexillology and apply to interpretation.

Missouri Compromise-Experience 1

Editors Note: This post along with my next two posts will revolve around three distinct interpretive experiences that my family and I had on a recent trip to Missouri. I tell you this so that if that you had already planned on not reading Thursday posts (as well as Monday posts) you now have a valid excuse.

Last week I had the honor of presenting an IBD workshop for employees of the Missouri Department of Conservation (MDC) as well as other area interpreters in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. I consider it an honor because of comments about my pants, I most likely won’t be invited back. My family was along for this trip, not for the presentation (in fact they didn’t want to hear me talk about anything besides pools and ice cream), but were there primarily due to the post-presentation weekend getaway to St. Louis.

On this mini-vacation, my family and I had three very distinct interpretive experiences at very different locations. It is not my goal to transform this blog into a “what I did on my summer vacation” blog or take away from our serious writing. But while visiting all three of these locations, I couldn’t stop thinking about sharing them with you and re-finding my family, who left me behind reading and photographing. My wife has accepted this compromise and has become aware that what used to be simply family fun is now IBD fodder.

The first location was the Cape Girardeau Conservation Nature Center, managed and operated by MDC (which also happened to be the site of the presentation). Several weeks back I wrote about another MDC facility in my post A Marriage of Sorts. This is the second MDC site that I have been to and my love of their work continues. Based on what I have seen from the MDC they excel at getting things right.

We all know that a nature center should be the base for getting folks into nature and not the experience itself. One of the most effective elements to the design of this nature center is how the layout replicated nature, kept you guessing, and was filled with surprises. Upon entry you are immediately drawn into the exhibit area. The asymmetrical flow allows you to wander as if in a natural environment off of the trail. There are many directions for you to go.

My children loved this and immediately split up, going towards whatever met their fancy. I split off in search of illicit uses of Papyrus. My wife split off in search of single men. William (my three year old) split off and we haven’t seen him since. The layout makes the exhibit area feel larger that what it actually is. Upon my second pass though the exhibits, this became more apparent to me. The flow also naturally pushes you towards the trailhead and into the conservation area.

Three exhibits really stood out to me as being interesting, unique, or providing an interesting design.

This beaver lodge and trapper cabin exhibit is an excellent way of providing an opportunity for something that otherwise would be impossible to see the inside of. The interactive panels inside the lodge are a great way of illustrating life in the lodge while you are in a lodge. You can’t visit this center and not climb through the lodge. The trapper cabin exhibit adjacent to the lodge effectively illustrates the relationship between humans, beavers, and settlement of the area. The exhibit is supplemented with artifacts and real items to add character as well as authenticity to the interpretation.

What can a typeface do for an exhibit? Besides annoy freaks like Paul and me. It can evoke a sense of time and place. That’s the case in this mercantile exhibit. I don’t know if a historian would say that this is really the typeface that was historically accurate for trading posts or stores in southeast Missouri at the turn of the century, but it works here at setting the stage for an era.

Who’s to say we know it all? Well, my wife for one, Paul talking about grammar for two, but that’s not the case here. Maybe visitors should do more interpretation. This simple but well-designed exhibit allows visitors to reflect and add their own touch to what is being interpreted.

Looking at the artwork reveals what kids take from their visit to the nature center. It is also amazing to see what my children can take from the gift shop while unsupervised. MDC, I’ll put a check in the mail.

Here are a few other observations.

There are other options besides Comic Sans.

Interpretation of the building itself is a great way to show visitors how seriously you take your mission and provides them with information about making green choices in their own homes or workplaces.

The best-designed non-personal interpretive products cannot compete with personal approaches, even if the interpreter is Jeremy Soucy.

Live from Australia, Part 3: Three Interpretive Experiences in Melbourne

The great Australian adventure finds me in the country’s second largest city, Melbourne, which the locals pronounce MEL-bun. We’re lucky to be staying with friends who have the time and patience to tote us around to some amazing sites. While I normally write about graphic design, three of our interpretive experiences in Melbourne have stood out, so I’m going to venture into Shea’s area of expertise and write about interpretation.

The Melbourne Zoo: Don’t Palm Us Off
One of the many great things about events like the NAI International Conference is that it affords you the opportunity to meet talented interpreters who work in amazing places around the world. One of the many great things about using vacation time immediately following the NAI International Conference is that you’re bound to go to a site where someone you just met works.

During the conference, I had the good fortune to meet Scott Killeen, visitor experiences manager for Zoos Victoria, who is based out of the Melbourne Zoo. After the conference, I had the good fortune to go to the Melbourne Zoo, where they have a sign that uses my new favorite word, Platypusary. Scott graciously took time out of his schedule to meet my family and friends and me. He introduced us to one of his recent projects, an orangutan exhibit that uses an advocacy-based interpretive message to alert visitors to the damage the palm oil industry does to the orangutan’s habitat. The zoo and its employees were covered with this “Don’t Palm Us Off” message, and visitors were asked to support a proposed bill that would cause products that use palm oil to be labeled as such. (Find out more at http://www.zoo.org.au/palmoil.)

The interpretive message itself focused on creating an understanding of the relationship between the products we buy at the local grocery store and the rapidly diminishing habitat of the animals immediately in front of us at that moment, and it was powerful. In fact, our friends in Melbourne are members of the zoo, and told us that they had already stopped buying products with palm oil because of an article in the zoo newsletter.

So soon after the NAI conference, it was invigorating to see interpretation at work in such a rewarding way.

The Penguin Parade
Every night at dusk, the southern shore of Phillip Island in Port Phillip Bay plays host to an amazing scene. Hundreds of fairy penguins (sometimes called little penguins) come tumbling onto land after spending the day swimming in the sea. These little guys (the smallest species of penguin) wait until dark to avoid detection by predators, then scramble in groups across the beach to the cover of the brush for the night. At Phillip Island Nature Parks, visitors can witness this event from stadium-style seating on the beach. They don’t allow photography of any kind because people don’t know how to turn off the flash on their cameras, so I’ve borrowed the image here from Wikimedia.

After enjoying this amazing event, visitors have the chance to tour through an attractive nature center (with the exception of one inexplicable and inexcusable use of Comic Sans), where you can learn all about the gruesome nature of these adorable animals’ deaths. After seeing stuffed cats and birds mauling our tiny feathered friends, we walked through the exhibit pictured here. My six-year-old son Joel, feeling protective of and connected to the penguins, saw the shark and asked, “Why does this building have to haunted?”

The exhibit included other information, but I was disappointed that visually, the emphasis seemed to be on stuff that kills fairy penguins. There was no take-home message that there was something we could do to help them, as the focus was mostly on natural predators. If I had to identify the theme of the park, it would be, “It’s a miracle that you got to see this amazing natural event at all because sharks eat these guys like popcorn shrimp at a Vegas buffet.”

Koala Conservation Centre
I didn’t fully appreciate the majesty of these beautiful beasts until I learned how much they sleep. At the Koala Conservation Centre on Phillip Island, we had the opportunity to witness koalas (as well as wallabies) in their native habitat. Noticing how droopy they all seemed, I asked an interpreter whether they were nocturnal. He told me no, they sleep 22 hours a day, and when they’re awake, they eat eucalyptus leaves, which are extremely low in nutrients, so therefore they have no energy. During their waking moments scattered throughout the day, they eat. I told him it reminded me of college.

At another site earlier on this trip, we had the opportunity to pay money to hold a koala and have our photo taken, and we jumped on it (the opportunity, not the koala). I love the photo and will enjoy showing it off, but I will have much fonder memories of moments like the one pictured above, where a sleepy koala (which I now understand is a redundancy) roused himself momentarily to look around and take in the scenery. Knowing what I know about koalas now, I think he looks like he’s trying to remember where the heck he is, what day it is, and whether it’s worth the effort to lift his paw to eat a eucalyptus leaf—all of which I find very endearing.

I’ve always liked koalas, but now because of one interaction with a knowledgable interpreter, I like them more than ever.