i mentioned previously that i take photo after photo of found gloves. as my daughter grew, she became my spotter. “dad,” she’d say, “there's a good one.” how did she learn which one was a good one was? i must have articulated the finer points of a run-over glove. having a child has it rewards and one of my favorite memories is of hearing my daughter answer this question: "what does your dad do?" "he's an art director." "what does an art director do? "well, he knows when a picture is good or not." how about that. do i really? i guess that's as good as any explanation i've heard. when i first came to new york and had the opportunity to work as an art director for bergdorf goodman, i attended a new york dinner with models, art directors, photographers—a serious fashion crowd. i was excited. they were all consumed by their work and life, as i was. since i had lived in the city only for a short while, i was as green as green could be. this scene and its myriad levels of sophistication intrigued and intimidated me. i was seated next to a fashionable blonde and, when she asked what i did for a living, i replied that i was a graphic designer. at the time, i was designing an identity for bergdorf's new men's store. i asked what she did. "an art director." "what’s the difference?" i asked naïvely. she looked at me coldly and blankly and said, quite seriously, “the difference is a graphic designer takes a photograph, places it on a page and puts white space all around it. an art director takes that same photo and bleeds it on all four sides." i laughed; she didn't. when i saw this cartoon in the new yorker years ago, i cut it out and added it to all the others i have saved over the years. the memory of all this came back to me upon seeing the cartoon. it’s certainly another explanation to consider.
