Interview about Brooklyn Academy of Music Publication Design , winner of the A' Print and Published Media Design Award 2025
This concept design for BAM’s New Wave event captures the dynamic energy of theater through die-cut typography and stage-inspired lighting patterns. Drawing from the movement of drapes and the interplay of light and shadow, the design creates a layered, immersive experience. Each chapter features distinct patterns blended with imagery, forming a cohesive visual narrative that reflects the event’s diverse themes while maintaining a unified identity.
View detailed images, specifications, and award details on A' Design Award & Competition website.
View Design DetailsThe decision to use die-cut typography in the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication was driven by my desire to translate the physical and temporal qualities of live performance into a printed object. Theatre, opera, and dance are never experienced all at once; they unfold through layers of anticipation, partial visibility, and revelation. Die-cut typography allowed the publication to mirror that experience by forcing the reader to encounter text gradually, through openings, shadows, and overlaps rather than through immediate legibility.Unlike standard typography, the die-cut letters exist simultaneously as absence and presence. What is removed becomes just as important as what remains, echoing the way performance relies on negative space, silence, pauses, and implied movement. As pages turn, fragments of upcoming words are revealed early, creating a sense of suspense similar to watching a stage curtain lift or hearing music build before a climax. This sequencing transforms reading into an embodied act, where the reader becomes an active participant rather than a passive viewer.Additionally, the die-cut system introduces light and depth into the publication, allowing the environment to interact with the page. Shadows shift depending on how the book is held or where it is read, making each interaction slightly different—much like how every live performance is shaped by its audience and context. Through this technique, the publication moves beyond documentation and becomes a performative object itself, reinforcing BAM’s identity as a space where experimentation, risk, and sensory engagement are central to the cultural experience.
My approach to translating light and shadow into the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication began during my research into BAM’s history, particularly when I encountered photographs of its theater architecture. The spatial quality of the building immediately stood out to me. Rather than feeling static or monumental, the architecture felt highly active—defined by strong contrasts, deep recesses, and dramatic structural framing that naturally produce shifting shadows. This discovery reframed how I thought about the institution: BAM is not just a venue for performance, but itself a performative space shaped by light, movement, and time.That realization became the conceptual bridge between stage lighting and print design. On stage, light is used to guide attention, signal emotional shifts, and carve space out of darkness. I wanted the printed publication to operate in a similar way, using high-contrast patterns, layered forms, and die-cut elements to simulate how light behaves across architectural surfaces. The interaction between ink density, paper texture, and cut forms allows shadows to emerge naturally as the pages are handled, turning each spread into a small stage where visibility is constantly negotiated.Importantly, this approach embraces ephemerality rather than trying to fix it. Because light and shadow change depending on how the reader holds the book or where it is read, the design never appears exactly the same twice. This variability reflects the essence of live performance and BAM’s architectural identity, where experience is shaped by both structure and moment. By grounding the visual language in the physical reality of the theater itself, the publication becomes an extension of BAM’s environment, translating its architectural energy into a tactile, time-based reading experience.
The wave motifs and references to theater drapes emerged gradually through an iterative process of visual experimentation and conceptual refinement. Early in the project, I was searching for a graphic language that could communicate movement and rhythm—qualities that are essential to live performance but difficult to fix in print. I began by studying how sound waves, stage curtains, and fabric folds behave in theatrical settings, noticing that they all share a common visual logic: repetition with variation, tension between structure and fluidity, and moments of compression and release. These observations informed the development of wave-like typographic patterns that could suggest motion without relying on literal imagery.As the project evolved, maintaining functional clarity became a critical consideration. While the wave motifs introduced expressive energy, I was careful to assign them specific roles within the layout rather than allowing them to dominate indiscriminately. They often appear as transitional elements, section dividers, or background rhythms, while primary content—such as performance titles, dates, and program information—remains anchored in clear typographic hierarchies. This separation ensured that readers could navigate the publication intuitively, even as they encountered more experimental visual moments.The final balance was achieved by treating the expressive elements as part of the publication’s pacing system. Just as theater drapes frame and reveal action on stage, the wave motifs help control when the reader pauses, anticipates, or moves forward. By calibrating scale, contrast, and frequency, I was able to preserve legibility while allowing the design to breathe and perform. This approach reflects my broader design philosophy: expressive form and functional clarity are not opposing forces, but complementary tools that, when carefully orchestrated, can deepen engagement and understanding.
My decision to blend sans and serif typefaces in the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication was directly informed by BAM’s dual identity as both a historically rooted institution and a platform for contemporary, experimental performance. Through my research, I came to understand BAM as a space where classical forms—such as opera, orchestral music, and traditional theater—exist in constant dialogue with modern dance, avant-garde productions, and new musical expressions. I wanted the typographic system to embody this tension and complementarity rather than resolve it into a single stylistic voice.The serif typeface functions as a reference to tradition, craftsmanship, and cultural continuity. Its more elegant, formal qualities echo the legacy of classical music and theater that has shaped BAM’s reputation over time. In contrast, the sans serif typeface introduces a contemporary, forward-looking tone. Its cleaner structure and neutrality allow it to carry modern content, experimental programming, and navigational information with clarity and confidence. Rather than assigning these typefaces rigid roles, I allowed them to interact across spreads, creating moments where tradition and modernity visually overlap—much like BAM’s programming itself.Narratively, this typographic pairing helps guide the reader through shifts in tone and content. Serif typography often appears in contexts that invite reflection and depth, while sans serif type anchors the reader in the present, supporting readability and orientation. Together, they create a rhythmic structure that mirrors BAM’s artistic mission: honoring the past while actively reinventing it. This complementary system reinforces the publication’s identity as both elegant and contemporary, allowing typography to act not only as a carrier of information but as a storytelling device in its own right.
My approach to creating distinct patterns for each chapter was rooted in the idea that different performance categories at BAM—such as dance, opera, and theater—each possess their own spatial and emotional qualities, yet all exist within the same architectural and lighting environment. To maintain cohesion, I first established a shared visual foundation based on patterns and abstract shapes derived from the theater’s architecture and its relationship with light. These elements function as a unifying system, ensuring that every chapter feels part of the same visual language rather than a separate stylistic experiment.Within this framework, I then allowed each chapter’s pattern to evolve in response to the specific character of the performance category it represents. For dance, the patterns emphasize fluidity, repetition, and directional movement, echoing the continuous motion of bodies in space. In contrast, opera’s patterns are more dramatic and dense, with higher contrast and compressed forms that reflect the emotional intensity, scale, and heightened theatricality of operatic performance. Theater-based chapters sit somewhere between these extremes, using structured rhythms that reference dialogue, pacing, and staging.The key to cohesion was consistency in typographic treatment, scale relationships, and production techniques across all chapters. While the patterns shift in mood and behavior, they are built from the same formal logic, much like how different performances are staged within the same theater. This approach allowed each section to have its own identity while reinforcing BAM’s broader narrative as a cultural institution where diverse artistic expressions coexist within a single, architecturally and experientially unified space.
The dimensional constraints of the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication—particularly the 16.5 mm width and depth—played a formative role in shaping both the concept and the tactile experience of the design. I intentionally chose an album-cover-like format because of BAM’s strong connection to music and sound-based performance. This size immediately references vinyl records and physical music collections, objects that invite handling, flipping, and close, personal engagement. I wanted the publication to evoke that same sense of intimacy and ritual, where interacting with the object becomes part of the cultural experience.Working within this compact, dimensional format required careful consideration of hierarchy, sequencing, and material behavior. Because space was limited, every typographic and graphic decision needed to be purposeful. This led me to prioritize clarity in information design while allowing expressive elements—such as patterns, die-cuts, and layered forms—to operate through depth rather than scale. The thickness of the book became an asset rather than a limitation, enabling shadows, overlaps, and moments of partial reveal that reinforce the publication’s theatrical and architectural themes.These production constraints ultimately encouraged a more physical, performative approach to design. The reader must touch, rotate, and slowly move through the publication, mirroring how music is experienced over time rather than absorbed instantly. By embracing the album-cover dimensions, the project bridges visual design and auditory memory, transforming the publication into an object that does not simply communicate information but invites sensory engagement and emotional resonance.
I see the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication as part of a broader shift in how performing arts institutions can communicate their identity beyond traditional promotional formats. Rather than functioning solely as a container for schedules or archival documentation, this project positions the publication as an experiential object—one that reflects the values, atmosphere, and cultural ambition of the institution itself. By emphasizing tactility, dimensionality, and time-based interaction, the design suggests that print can still play a meaningful role in a digital-first era, especially when it offers something screens cannot replicate.In terms of future influence, I hope this work encourages designers and cultural organizations to think of publications as extensions of performance rather than representations of it. Techniques such as layered typography, pattern systems tied to architectural and lighting conditions, and category-specific visual identities demonstrate how editorial design can embody movement, sound, and emotion. This approach opens possibilities for publications to become interpretive spaces—where readers actively construct meaning through engagement, much like audiences do in a theater.Culturally, this project advocates for a more expressive and institution-specific design language in the performing arts. Instead of relying on neutral or standardized templates, future publications can embrace risk, abstraction, and physical experimentation to better reflect the complexity of contemporary performance culture. By doing so, printed materials can evolve into lasting cultural artifacts that document not only what was performed, but how it felt to experience it.
My research into stage design led me to think about theatrical space not as a backdrop, but as an active visual and emotional system that shapes how an audience experiences performance. Architecture, in this sense, becomes a form of visual expression in its own right. When attending live music or theater, the environment—its scale, lighting, materiality, and spatial rhythm—sets the tone long before a performance begins. I was interested in translating this pre-performance atmosphere into print, allowing the publication to carry the same sense of anticipation and immersion.Studying stage layouts and theater architecture helped me understand how space is constructed through framing, layering, and controlled visibility. Elements such as proscenium arches, curtains, lighting rigs, and structural beams all guide attention and choreograph movement within a performance. I reinterpreted these principles as a visual architecture for the publication, using layered typography, patterned structures, and controlled negative space to direct how the reader moves through the pages. Each spread functions like a stage, where information is revealed through rhythm and contrast rather than presented all at once.By using architecture as a conceptual foundation, the publication creates a unified visual experience that mirrors the spatial coherence of a live performance. Just as a theater environment shapes the emotional context for music and movement, the publication’s visual system establishes a consistent atmosphere that supports diverse content. This approach allows the design to operate as a holistic experience, where form, space, and narrative work together to echo the immersive qualities of BAM’s physical and cultural environment.
During the Brooklyn Academy of Music publication project, one of the most unexpected discoveries emerged from the relationship between lighting, paper texture, and die-cut structure. I have always been deeply fond of traditional print processes, and I see them as an essential part of the charm of physical publications. As I began testing materials, I realized how dramatically lighting interacts with matte surfaces and layered cutouts. The matte paper chosen for the cover absorbed light rather than reflecting it, creating a softer, more intimate visual experience that shifted depending on how the book was held or viewed. This subtle interaction reinforced my interest in print as a sensory medium rather than a purely visual one.The die-cut cover became both a design and technical challenge. While the clean white exterior conveyed elegance and modernity, the green and black patterned layer beneath offered a restrained glimpse of musical rhythm and movement, echoing BAM’s performative energy. Through extensive testing, I discovered how paper thickness directly affected not only durability but also how shadows formed through the die-cut openings. I also had to carefully consider how the reverse side of each cut would visually align with the interior spreads, especially at chapter openings. These constraints ultimately strengthened the design, pushing me to think more holistically about structure, sequencing, and tactility. The final outcome reflects a balance between experimentation and precision, and reinforced my belief that thoughtful print decisions can evoke emotion in ways digital formats often cannot.
Given the diverse audience of the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I approached the visual language with a strong sense of respect for the range of cultural, artistic, and experiential backgrounds represented. While BAM’s audience spans many disciplines and identities, I realized that they share a fundamental connection: a curiosity and passion for music, performance, and live artistic experience. That shared interest became the anchor for my design decisions. Rather than referencing specific cultural aesthetics or visual traditions, I focused on translating the universal qualities of music—rhythm, tempo, repetition, and pause—into a typographic and spatial system.At the same time, I was very conscious that each event and artist carries a distinct voice. To honor this diversity, I intentionally avoided creating a visual language that favored any single performer or genre. Instead, I built a flexible grid system and modular typographic structure that could adapt to different content while maintaining cohesion. The system acts as a neutral stage, much like a performance venue itself, allowing each artist’s work to occupy the space without being visually overshadowed. This approach allowed the publication to remain inclusive and adaptable, reinforcing BAM’s role as a platform for many voices while maintaining a clear and unified identity throughout the publication.
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