Good luck, Design Huskies

Good luck, 
Design Huskies

The University of Connecticut (UConn) graphic design program had invited Husky alumni to act as advisors for current students embarking on their senior projects. To help students select the advisors most applicable to their individual pursuits, we alums created video presentations of our work.

I wasn’t feeling myself—droopy with added pandemic weight and still a month or so from shaving off the denial of just how rapidly I was balding. Not that we advisors-to-be were necessarily required to be on camera for our video presentations, but the mere thought of that—and rediscovering ego in the context of this low-key class reunion vibe—made me chuckle. If you’re ever in danger of taking yourself too seriously, it’s disarming to instead lean into absurdity. And so “Balloon Man” was born. (And subsequently killed.) Though alumni of UConn’s Puppet Arts program would be rightfully appalled by my woefully untalented improvisation here, I did have their quiet yet acclaimed history in mind as I hid below frame gesturing wildly along to my own narrative audio track. (Shout out to UConn puppetry garage band, The Castasides.)

The 90% true story of my progression from UConn design senior, to my present professional-ish life as a 40-something balloon.

I’d earned my Bachelor of Fine Arts (BFA) from the University of Connecticut with a concentration in Graphic Design. (Although at that time it was billed as “Communication Design”—perhaps an attempt to better articulate design’s inherent reason for being, without limiting that form of complex problem solving to merely graphic solutions.) I fell backwards into the arts program almost by accident. As a confused and anxious high school student without a clue of what to aim for, I’d actually applied to UConn as an anthropology major. Meanwhile, my hobbies were music, computer programming, and illustration. By the end of my freshman year, that knack for drawing and an interest in photography had haphazardly lead me to the visual art building—where the “interesting” kids seemed to be congregating. But I still hadn’t realized the design concentration was were I belonged.

Ivy for the price of State

As I churned between interests, UConn’s art school was likewise churning. The dean had resigned (or died?), and a permanent replacement had yet to be appointed. I’m not certain if it was a result of this slow-motion leadership transition, or purely coincidence, but at the close of my sophomore year, the entirety of the graphic design faculty at UConn left for greener pastures. Everyone, except for Mr. Edvin Yegir. As the last instructor standing, Edvin was tasked with recruiting new faculty and creating a design program ahead of the fall semester—no small endeavor. In order to quickly scaffold a cohesive design curriculum and ensure a common vocabulary across the new faculty, Edvin turned to the pool of recent graduates from his own alma mater, Yale University’s graduate graphic design program. The first wave of recruits from what would grow into a longstanding informal relationship between the schools consisted of Mark Zurolo, Randall Hoyt, and David Frisco.

It’s difficult to convey the impact that this freshly minted UConn design program had on that 19 year old, rudderless version of myself. I’d more or less rolled out of bed into my local state school, yet found I was on the receiving end of an Ivy League graduate curriculum. (Not that we students always capitalized on this good fortune, but when we did manage to meet those high expectations the results were golden.)

In-progress painted portrait of what became the “UConn design trinity” from left to right: Randall Hoyt, Edvin Yegir, and Mark Zurolo. (Sadly I’ve forgotten the artist’s name; a then-graduate painting student at the University of Connecticut.) If I recall correctly, David Frisco had moved on from UConn by then, but several more Yale design grads would follow, continuing this newly established tradition of teaching UConn design students.

Mr. Edvin Yegir

Each instructor brought their own talents and personalities, but Edvin was undeniably the spiritual center of the program. Ever dressed in black with his floppy curls and John Lennon-esque spectacles, he was soft-spoken yet authoritative. He was insightful, kind, and patient.

After catching sight of Edvin in a phone booth wearing black leather gloves, his eyeglasses replaced by sunshades, we began to joke that he appeared to be an “international man of mystery.” He attempted to self-regulate his smoking habit, and when he did indulge he would hide this from students so as not to accidentally endorse a behavior that he knew to be destructive. (I will admit to, having already a habit of my own, occasionally purchasing a pack of his favorite Dunhill Reds in emulation. Not a clever thing to do, but we are human after all.) Edvin loved finely crafted vehicles—a patron of brands such as Ducati and Lotus (much to our wide-eyed amazement).

Rooftop proofing

In the spring of 2003 I was in my final semester as a Communication Design major, and also completing my year of Design Center—our portfolio-gated cadre of advanced (ridiculous) design students that collaborated on real-world (often UConn-related) design projects for university credit. In those days Design Center was physically located in a saltbox home adjacent to the old Print Shop on Storrs Road. (Here’s a Google Maps capture of Design Center from 2011—before it was leveled to make way for a goddamn Price Chopper parking lot.) As Design Center students, we were given keys to this tiny home and we effectively lived there together. (If only the shower had actually worked, we definitely would have.)

Edvin Yegir on the rooftop of UConn’s old Design Center building holding a fresh copy of UConn’s annual literary / arts journal, The Long River Review—a recent Design Center client. (That year’s edition featured a cover photograph by and of fellow graduating fine artist Laura Salierno.) Photograph by yours, truly. Spring 2003.

One of our collective projects was to design the 2003 exhibition catalog for the graduating MFA students. That year’s theme as chosen by the grads and faculty was “Intersection.” As fans of wordplay and association, we naturally chose to set the catalog in Interstate—created by one of our typographic heroes, Tobias Frere-Jones. Not content to merely pun around with fonts, we endeavored to go conceptually deeper by literally intersecting the work with itself through an elaborate folding design that we invented specifically for this catalog. I recall attempting to carefully explain this folding design over the phone to a representative from our local print shop, Thames Printing, only to be scolded by this confused employee that the proper term for what I was describing was a straight-forward saddle stitch (she was terribly mistaken), and that I really ought to choose a different career because I was not cut out for design. (Decades later the print industry’s been rather chastened, hasn’t it?) It’s worth giving our bizarre folding design a look over; see the UConn 2003 MFA “Intersection” exhibition catalog.

On a beautiful spring day several weeks later, a much kinder representative from Thames had swung by Design Center to share print proofs for our “Intersection” catalog. I argued that rather than color proofing the sheets indoors under poorly calibrated incandescent bulbs, we ought to do it outside in actual daylight. Edvin was perhaps reluctant but ultimately agreed, much to our shared joy. (If calmly sitting on that gently sloped rooftop just a single story from the grassy lawn below seems dangerous, you should have seen JP Chirdon skateboard off of it as we filmed him from underneath.)

Color proofing our “Intersection” 2003 MFA final exhibition catalog in actual daylight on the rooftop of UConn’s old Design Center building. From left to right: Apirat Infahsaeng, Anzelina (Okarmus) Coodey, our Thames Printing liaison (inside from window, barely visible), Mary Banas, Erica Flamand (obscured), Edvin Yegir (facing away from camera and holding a copy of our “Intersection”), John Paul Chirdon, and Bryan Langdeau. I was the photographer (and instigator). Spring 2003.

Beyond campus

Every so often Edvin would host a dinner at his home in Branford, Connecticut for design students and faculty; an old seafood restaurant converted into a residence along the shoreline. (It’s since been razed and replaced by something more fitting to its contemporary surroundings, but with considerably less character and warmth.) I recall a few years after graduation, meeting him in Manhattan for a brunch once; arriving outside and peering through the restaurant’s windowed facade just in time to catch him in a brief farewell embrace with a beautiful woman, who then left before I had arrived at the table, making introductions unnecessary. Some time into our meal I mentioned this and asked who she was. “Oh, that was just my sister,” he explained in his quiet Iranian accent. Spotting my confused expression he followed up with “You thought she was my lover?” and nearly doubled over in laughter. Those belly laughs are perhaps the loudest I have ever heard his voice.

I could easily go on about Mark, Randall, David, and other faculty as well. We were spoiled for examples of being. But those are stories for another time.

An unexpected phone call

In August of 2021 my old friend and UConn classmate, Mary Banas, phoned me with the news that Edvin had just been in a road accident. Riding his Ducati on a beautiful summer day, he drifted across lanes while taking a curve, was struck by an oncoming vehicle, and died at the scene. (See One killed in collision between motorcycle, car on Route 9 in Woodford and Rider identified in motorcycle vs. car fatal crash in Woodford.)

I hadn’t spoken to Edvin in nearly ten years; that last time was in London when he and Mark first established the design study-abroad program with Central Saint Martins—extracting a class of UConn design students from the backwaters of Storrs, Connecticut; dropping them into the heart of an international city. (I was living in London at the time, hence the meet-up.) How could it be that the death of a college professor that I hadn’t kept in touch with…why did I find his passing so significant? I think that’s a testament to the sort of person he was. The world was a better place with him in it; now lesser without him.

Edvin Yegir, Yale graphic design class of 1995. And so much more.
Photograph by Hunter Kelley, UConn BFA 2016.

From the original crew that revamped UConn’s graphic design program in the early 2000s, only Mark remains. Which is to say, the program remains in great hands. And he’s accompanied by a strong brace of talent that is of course anchored in that Yale design tradition. (So do take advantage, youngbloods. You’ve still got Ivy for the price of State.) Or do worry—in twenty years you, too, may find you’ve transformed into a balloon.

Annotated transcript

So that’s the context of the video; made about five months after Edvin’s passing. I claim above that “Balloon Man” was perhaps born of bruised vanity, but … after digging up those old photos and recalling those memories, I just wasn’t ready to be fully present; needed something distracting to cut the mood. (And I can only imagine the grief of Edvin’s family and colleagues.) Here’s the transcript of the video, annotated with notes and hyperlinks to help make better sense of the references contained within. Balloon Man’s wardrobe was helpfully curated by Mr. Atlas Smith.