Where do our “original” ideas come from? I spent my early childhood in this building at the corner of 18th and Jefferson Street
in Oakland, California. It was my father’s printing plant. I sat at the feet of my father’s graphic artist, Hank, and watched him work. He leaned on his drawing board and drew with his rapidographs
. I wanted to grow up and be just like Hank (or marry him). He didn’t mind my watching. He wasn’t a very talkative fellow.
The building is still there. Here is a Google street view image.
I grew up and took many graphics classes in college. I became a graphic artist, book designer, and a printer. I had my own set of rapidographs. Thanks, Hank.
The building, I realize now, had a profound influence on the other choices I made later in life. Our house, which I designed with two architect friends, has a round window. It is straight and boxy with sharp angles and a flat roof surounded by a parapet; obviously influenced by the images I formed as a child.
Ha, I thought I was so original.
Labels: books, family, history, home, odd facts