Georgii and Vladimir Stenberg were graphic designers from Moscow who produced a range of amazing constructivist film posters during the 1920s.
Let's look at some of their work...
Vladimir and Georgii Stenberg were born in Moscow in 1899 and 1900 respectively. Their father was a Swedish artist who encouraged their interest in both painting and graphic design.
The Stenberg brothers were students at the Stroganov School of Applied Art when they first started to design posters. They founded the Society of Young Artists in 1919 and held their own constructivist art exhibition in 1922.
Visual arts were strongly supported in the early Soviet Union. Russia had a 60% illiteracy rate in the 1920s, so films and posters were widely used for mass communication.
The Stenberg bothers produced over 300 movie posters from 1923 until Georgii's death in 1933. They covered both Russian cinema and Hollywood imports.
Constructivism tries to make the audience an active viewer of the artwork; the Stenberg brothers used a playful mix of forced perspective, implied movement, expressive typography and bold colour to achieve this.
However their work wasn't pure constructivism; many avant garde influences - along with an expert knowledge of how film worked - helped create a unique approach to poster design.
As well as cinema posters the Stenberg brothers worked on magazine posters, set design and sculpture.
Much of what we take for granted in graphic design today was either pioneered by Georgii and Vladimir Stenberg or was shaped into effective and striking poster work.
It's both amazing and instructive to see the way the Stenberg brothers reinterpreted the Hollywood films for a Soviet audience: Buster Keaton and Mary Pickford were both given the constructivist treatment.
The Stenberg brothers understood the fundamental truth of poster design: no matter how clever or complex you may want to be, you only have a fleeting second to get across the emotion and the action of what you want to say.
Georgii and Vladimir Stenberg's work is as striking and captivating today as it was in the 1920s: bold, witty and direct. You can read more about them here: moma.org/interactives/e…
More posters another time...
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
Given the current heatwave, I feel obliged to ask my favourite question: is it time to bring back the leisure suit?
Let's find out...
Now we all know what a man's lounge suit is, but if we're honest it can be a bit... stuffy. Formal. Businesslike. Not what you'd wear 'in da club' as the young folks say.
So for many years tailors have been experimenting with less formal, but still upmarket gents attire. The sort of garb you could wear for both a high level business meeting AND for listening to the Moody Blues in an espresso bar. Something versatile.
Today in pulp I look back at the publishing phenomenon of gamebooks: novels in which YOU are the hero!
A pencil and dice may be required for this thread...
Gamebooks are a simple but addictive concept: you control the narrative. At the end of each section of the story you are offered a choice of outcomes, and based on that you turn to the page indicated to see what happens next.
Gamebook plots are in fact complicated decision tree maps: one or more branches end in success, but many more end in failure! It's down to you to decide which path to tread.
He was the terror of London; a demonic figure with glowing eyes and fiery breath who could leap ten feet high. The penny dreadfuls of the time wrote up his exploits in lurid terms. But who was he really?
Today I look at one of the earliest pulp legends: Spring-Heeled Jack!
London has always attracted ghosts, and in the 19th Century they increasingly left their haunted houses and graveyards and began to wader the capital's streets.
But one apparition caught the Victorian public attention more than most...
In October 1837 a 'leaping character' with a look of the Devil began to prey on Londoners. Often he would leap high into the air and land in front of a carriage, causing it to crash. It would then flee with a high-pitched laugh.