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Comments (18) Posted 09.13.10 | PERMALINK | PRINT

Michael Bierut

Lella Vignelli

Painting of Lella Vignelli by Jessica Helfand after a photograph by Beatriz Cifuentes, 2010

Thirty years ago this summer, I graduated from design school in Ohio and moved to New York to take a job at Vignelli Associates. Even then, Massimo Vignelli was a legend. Other designers who heard where I would be working always seemed to have a story about him. Only a few of these were true, but most were outrageous. I knew next to nothing about Lella Vignelli, Massimo's wife and partner, alongside whom he had been working for his whole career. I remember running into a former Vignelli Associates intern. "Oh, wait till you meet Lella," he said, mysteriously.

It was at the end of my first day when I was presented to Mrs. Vignelli so she could examine firsthand the office's newest, youngest, most poorly dressed, and least experienced underling. "Oh, you are the kid from Cincinnati," she said with an enigmatic smile, giving that last word a slight emphasis as if in her mind it explained everything. God only knows how I looked to her. To me, she looked like a movie star. (Sophia Loren was the obvious comparison.) Over the next ten years, I would get used to Massimo. But around Lella, I would never quite escape the feeling that I was just a rube from Hicksville. 
I quickly came to understand the relationship between these two brilliant designers. Massimo would tend to play the role of idea generator. Lella served as the critic, editing the ideas and shaping the best ones to fit the solution. Massimo was the dreamer, focusing on the impossible. Lella was ruthlessly practical, never losing sight of the budgets, the deadlines, the politics, the real world. It was Massimo's worldview that had defined my studies in design school. Lella's concerns were entirely foreign to me. So I may as well say it right now: I learned an enormous amount from Massimo about how to be a good designer. But I learned how to be a successful designer from Lella. 
Although Massimo hired me, it was Lella who gave me my first break. After months and months of making photostats, doing mechanical artwork, assembling comps, and executing Massimo's amazingly accurate sketches, I was called in to meet a new fashion client from the west coast. Coming out of the meeting, I knew that Massimo would have some ideas of his own, but I decided for once to develop my own approach as well. After working after hours for a week or so on my own solution, I was called into a meeting with the Vignellis to plan our first design presentation. "Well," I said sort of sheepishly, "I've been doing some thinking about this." I spread out my designs — all pretty detailed by this point — and Massimo and Lella scrutinized them. "These are great," exclaimed Massimo, picking up his pencil. "Of course, you might change the main typeface, and probably make this line here a little heavier —" "Massimo, stop!" said Lella. "Don't you see the kid has got it all worked out already?" Massimo laughed. "You're right," he said. "Let's do it your way." And we did — thanks to Lella. Looking back now, I realize it wasn't the greatest design in the world, but it was the first real thing I could call my own. 
Lella taught me about the value of design, literally. "Don't either of you start talking about money," she would often joke as Massimo and I would go into a first-time client meeting. She knew that we would tend to give the work away for free just for a chance to see it realized. Once all three of us were in a meeting with a client who wanted Vignelli Associates to design a shoebox. At the end of the meeting, the client asked how much we would charge. Lella looked quickly at the two of us: leave this to me. I did the math in my head. Five sides, not counting the bottom, say $1,500 apiece, that makes $7,500 in fees. Then Lella spoke: "Thirty thousand dollars." "That sounds about right," said the client. After the meeting, Lella asked me what I would have charged, and I told her. "See?" she said triumphantly. "You just made $22,500 just by keeping your mouth shut!"
For some of the time I worked at Vignelli Associates, Lella was bothered by back problems, and occasionally would spend days in bed. Or rather, on her back in her office. Like the rest of the 14th floor of 475 Tenth Avenue, Lella's suite was furnished almost entirely with chairs, tables, couches and lamps that she had designed with Massimo. I remember more than once being summoned for conferences with Lella in that office which she conducted with supreme elegance from a reclining position on her Poltronova sofa. Often these would happen at year end, when raises were announced and bonuses were distributed. Naturally this was Lella's job. "Listen, kid, we have decided to give you an increase," she would announce in her languid accent. One wouldn't know whether to say thanks, bow, or genuflect. At least once I remember approaching the sofa to kiss her ring. I was only partly joking. But what else could you do?
I was young and naive when I started out. I thought that good design was its own best argument. You simply would show it to a client and how could they resist? I assumed that the mechanics of a successful design practice — payrolls, leases, taxes, balance sheets — all took care of themselves. I learned from Lella that talent and passion were crucial, but that alone they were not enough. If a designer really wanted to make a difference in the world, you needed to also have brains, cunning, confidence, and relentless drive. These traits turned abstractions into reality, converted doubtful clients into passionate advocates, and transformed trivial notions into ideas of consequence.

Massimo has often defined their working relationship like this: "I'm the engine, and Lella is the brakes." The first time I heard this as a young designer, it was clear to me which was more important. If you were a designer, wouldn't you want to be the engine, powerful, propulsive, driving forward? It was only years later that I remembered something my high school driving instructor once said: "You don't get killed in a car accident because the car won't start. You get killed because the breaks fail."

So thank you, Lella, for keeping Vignelli Associates, and the Vignelli design vision, alive and thriving for all these years.

Lella Vignelli, circa 1980
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Comments (18)   |   JUMP TO MOST RECENT COMMENT >>

Thanks for this... some great learnings here, and an insighful capture of the time. I'm liking Ms. Helfand's painting, too.
Iain Hamilton
09.13.10 at 11:08


i really agree with the section where you described how there is a dreamer and a critic.
We experience the same thing in our studio, we try not to take ownership of our ideas when it comes to design so we can share them with other and get the critics...
we can generate so many ideas and at the same time we need to kill most of them.

Thanks for sharing your experience, painting looks great!

Oscar French
Oscar French
09.13.10 at 12:48

Mr. Beirut,

I'd really like to see the following two things to help illustrate this essay:
1. The design that resulted from that first break Lella gave you.
2. The $30,000 shoe box.
Is anyone else with me on this?

Thanks for the essay, I really enjoy reading these personal humanizing reflections about designers with larger than life reputations.
Rob Henning
09.13.10 at 01:08

A great lesson. If only all of us could be so lucky.
09.13.10 at 01:08

Oh, yeah Rob good point; dying to see that shoebox.
09.13.10 at 01:10

I love this piece and I want all my students to read it between now and lunch.
And what a great portrait.
natalia ilyin
09.13.10 at 01:35

As crazy as this might sound, I say the words 'Lella Vignelli', no kidding, at least twice a day. 'Vignelli', probably twenty or fifty. I worked for the Vignelli's in the 90's, and yes, Lella Vignelli was the one who hired me. Ah, where to begin? I have so many stories to tell, my comments would be longer than this original post, but for now, here are ten of Lella's most memorable lines.

1- "In my office!" ( Spoken loudly over the intercom system )

2- "Two days doing what? I can't believe it!"

3- "As a matter of fact"

4- "I was just thinking"

5- "Massimo, we are late, give it to the kid, he is very good Massimo!"

6- "Massimo, the type is too tight, Rocco what do you think?" ( sitting at the computer, with Massimo on one side and Lella the other )

7- "Jesus"

8- "Massimo"

9- "Vignelli"

10- "Rocco, how is your love life?"

Lella, thank you for everything, I love you very much, and looking forward to celebrating with you and Massimo on Thursday.
Rocco Piscatello
09.13.10 at 01:36

Rocco, I can hear Lella's voice in every one of those quotes. Give it to the kid!
Michael Bierut
09.13.10 at 01:53

A lovely tribute to Lella!--a woman I've never known who I now feel a great affinity with thanks to your essay. Your prose makes me feel like I'm right alongside you, banging out comps in the day and kerning late into the night for the chance to prove myself to the big man.

P.S. Did you hear that Gordon, Joe, Heinz (and literally all the rest of our faculty [except Maureen, did you have her for photo?]) retired from DAAP this year? It will be a sad year without them!

Did you get an invite to their celebration in October? If not, I'll send one to you.

Cheers, Michael!
Izzie Zahorian
09.13.10 at 03:50

Natalia, I have now read this.

And now I know that I need a Lella Vignelli.
Jared Pechacek
09.13.10 at 04:23

It’s a pity that there are so few people like Massimo and Lella Vignelli, because I wish I could read more great stuff like all this writing about them.
James Puckett
09.13.10 at 06:28

Excellent piece — I am now smiling. Let this be a reminder to everyone to call his or her mentor. I know it's been too long for me and mine.
Prescott Perez-Fox
09.13.10 at 11:59

Fantastic write up! You never fail to inspire!
Isabel Gatuslao
09.14.10 at 01:09

Lella and Massimo were my mentors for a design workshop held in IIT Mumbai. Tough it was only for a week, but that week was the best thing to happen to my design education.

The most important thing i learned from them was "Attention to details" which now forms the basis of each of my design projects.

I remember acknowledging both of them by saying "What I have learned in these few days is more valuable then my last 2 year learning as a design student, and i can't thank you enough for that"

Thank you Mr. and Mrs.Vignelli
Soumya Jain
09.14.10 at 01:16

Oh God, I'm in love with the spirit you described in this woman.

Their relationship reminds me of my husband and myself – both designers, but I certainly take the "brakes" role. I often think I'm not outlandish enough to be the best creative as logical can hold me back at times – this article has inspired me to believe in myself more.

Thank you for sharing Michael.

Ivana Martinovic
09.14.10 at 02:45

Thanks for this wonderful essay, Michael!
Ricardo Cordoba
09.14.10 at 08:56

Great essay Michael.

I was lucky enough to participate in the Dialogues in Design workshop with the Vignellis and Armando Milani in France this past summer. I can easily relate to the young designer in awe of Lella's powerful elegance, eagerly listening to her critique of my work.

The week I spent with the designers was life changing, and I too have Lella to thank for that.
Samantha Salzano
09.15.10 at 01:03

Thank you Michael. And Lella. And Massimo.
Iulian Puiu
09.21.10 at 06:30

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Michael Bierut studied graphic design at the University of Cincinnati, and has been a partner in the New York office of Pentagram since 1990. Michael is a Senior Critic in Graphic Design at the Yale School of Art.
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