I. The way to the typography classroom leads straight through the entire main building of the Düsseldorf Art Acad-emy, along the long corridors, past the numerous painting and sculpture classrooms. It smells of paint and dust; countless, large canvas stretchers with paintings in various stages of completion lean against the walls. The building is still empty of people in the morning, I can hear my own footsteps.
On the top floor and in the last part of the building, seen from the main entrance, are the two rooms – first, classroom 317, the studio, which is used primarily for work shown at the ‘Rundgang’ (an annual show of students’ work). It is an austere space with a solid, matt-black stone floor. The single window is semicircular, very geometrical and set centrally. The ceiling is interrupted by a skylight, which is reminiscent of a typographical grid: 8 times 8 fields enclosed in a thin, dark steel frame producing a graphic effect. A couple of steps further and you reach classroom 319, it is not large, but is a high space with ribbon windows immediately be-neath the ceiling. This is where teaching classes are held, always on Thursdays at 10.30 am. A large, square table, painted light grey, stands in the centre of the space. A calm, concentrated, bright space – the ideal place for typography.
II. Early in the day, before classes start, the lecture is pre-pared. Slides accompanying the subject in question are arranged in several rows on the large light-table. Walter Nikkels makes a selection and decides the exact sequence: some slides are added, others are rejected, until finally the ‘scenario’ for the lecture is fixed.
The slides have been taken from the very extensive and continuously expanding picture library, which virtually forms the backbone of the tuition. It contains reproductions from books, primarily in the fields of typography, art and archi-tecture, from all periods. They have been photographed in part or in full, and arranged alphabetically. This collection of fascinating and stunning material not only provides an in-exhaustible wealth of design scope for the course, but also reflects to some extent the extensive – and in its range per-haps unique – body of Walter Nikkels’ library. Moreover, it gives personal insight into his thoughts on design, his inte-rests and recurring themes which guide him as a designer. From the start of his professorship, Walter Nikkels intended his class to be accessible. Most of the students were enrolled in other courses in the liberal arts and attended classes each week for the lectures. Accordingly, painters, sculptors, photographers and architects came together. At the same time, the lecture was geared to ‘guest attendees interested in typography’, as it was formulated in the semes-ter programme. [p.358] So external students and students from other universities sometimes took part as well. The open structure resulted in a heterogeneous class make-up, in terms of knowledge and interests. At the start, I also went to the class as an ‘attendee’. At that time I was already more involved with typography and had gained some initial experience in practice. In my position as class tutor and Walter Nikkels’ assistant, I not only took part in the classes, but also always had the possibility of being involved in drawing up and preparing the lessons and selecting and compiling subject matter.
It is hardly possible to delve deeply into the considerable, as such complex content matter of the course. I shall try here to find some central topics, though I realise the danger of wanting to categorise things too strictly.
‘Classical’ subjects from the fields of typography/book design/typefaces certainly were a foundation of sorts for the lessons, from the presentation of the basics to explana-tions with definitions of the design problems and theoret-ical discussions. The use of typeface and typography in the work of visual artists, as, for example, in artists’ books or mural work (Lothar Baumgarten, Ed Ruscha, Lawrence Weiner), formed another important focus. It was always clear that the handling and understanding of typeface in the visual arts differs distinctly from that (applied art) of the typographer. From a historical point of view, the relative dimensions of typography and book design, and the theory thereof originate from classical architecture. The similarities (façade, floor plan/page, measurements, proportions), as well as later independent developments were subjects of many lectures. Topical tendencies from the fields of archi-tecture, visual arts and photography were often presented, examined as to their social significance and time and again analyzed with reference to typography – also prompted by current exhibitions and publications. Walter Nikkels has always been extremely interested in observing the positions and attitudes of personalities in the realms of typography, art and architecture. The person and his work would then be profiled in images and discussed at length. Discussions almost invariably involved cross-references between the disciplines, their mutual influences, but limita-tions too, their historical and current developments and similarities. They were never constructed didactically, but rather, in my frequent experience, correlations emerged at some stage, leading to very interesting and lasting insights and perceptions relating to design. III. The typography classroom resembled a neutral, pos-sibly also sheltered space. That climate meant that students frequently introduced work and projects on which they were currently working. For some, showing their own work was something like a test preceding a ‘public’ display, for instance in the framework of the ‘walkabout’. Walter Nikkels always insisted on that and was unfailingly interested in artefacts.
Discussions of work usually went as follows: work was resented and then discussed. To start with, Walter Nikkels generally refrained from comments, often reacting only briefly, assuring he had taken note of the work: ‘…I’ll think about it…’ That initial reaction unnerved many a student at the time; after all, it takes quite an effort to show your own work in public and, and even worse, causes anxiety that it might receive a negative verdict: of course, young artists they are always conscious of their own artistic position. To the surprise of the sometimes insecure students, Walter Nikkels would return – possibly after several weeks – to discussing the work.
Meanwhile he had grappled intensively with the works in question, analyzing them carefully: what is the social con-text of the work? how does it relate to the present day? And between times (we spoke about it on the phone) he might say something along the lines of, ‘…for now, I think…’ He never wanted to express an opinion hastily. So weeks later, he’d speak to the student: ‘I’ve been thinking about your work…’ He never passed an absolute judgement, no specific assessment, but rather explained problems and possible concomitant dilemmas. He formulated topics which came about as a result, and – often straight away – turned them into subject matter for tuition. He assembled material and slides to illustrate and explain the results of his highly perceptive analysis. There were times that he did not return to a work shown to him, meaning he did not consider it to be important. So it remained without comment.
If he considered a student’s work and artistic approach interesting, he encouraged him and took him under his wing, for instance giving him the opportunity to use the atelier for work or for the ‘walkabout’, or made recommendations for stipends. Indeed, Walter Nikkels was always of the opinion that his teaching function – his professorship – entailed considerable responsibility for the students. That was ap-parent in his commitment to and interest in students and the active care he took to maintain contacts after the per-son’s studies were finished. He monitored progress and developments carefully. He sought to prevent exaggerated and sudden ‘hype’ about the artist, slowing things down and protecting him from the mechanisms of the art market. The classroom was intended as a personal space where a student could develop artistically and personally, and work intensively on a project without a specific time frame, or study a topic he had chosen himself.
Often Walter Nikkels also took into the classes designs of his own on which he was working at the time. He appreci-ated the students’ opinions and their candid, unprejudiced view. It was not unusual for that to prompt him to reject a particular idea and change the design.
‘Making’ – the practical component of design – has always been of extreme importance for Walter Nikkels. He could not conceive pursuing the teaching of typography and ad-dressing the theoretical aspects of his profession without the practical work. Many issues he addressed theoretically originated in the practical side. IV. I. have always been delighted by Walter Nikkels’ unbri-dled curiosity and openly expressed enthusiasm for every-thing that is fresh, young and new, which has caused him to search ceaselessly for new material or, as he said ‘fresh produce’. It was usually books, but could also be work by visual artists, or buildings or type faces. He presented many of his discoveries in his classes, in order to subject them to critical analysis and discuss them in the group. Here too, he did not want a conclusive appraisal, but rather a provisional arrangement which could be verified at a later stage. Almost every year we went to Frankfurt together, to the Book Fair. Walter Nikkels took careful note of newly pub-lished art books or books relating to typography, and the catalogues of emergent publishing houses. For him the Book Fair was always an indicator of developments in books, especially art books.
Walter Nikkels always used critical comparison with the latest material unremittingly to examine his own work and idiom (as well as his profession), and to consider and ana-lyze them within the current social context. His objective was to continue developing and reformulating it. This open, enthusiastic yet critical approach to what is new is certainly one way (of many) to explain the fact that to the present day Walter Nikkels’ work is watched with the greatest interest by students, designers and artists, worldwide.
I was always greatly fascinated by material from the Neth-erlands with which I was not at first so familiar and which Walter Nikkels often brought with him. Take for instance works of Piet Zwart, Paul Schuitema, Willem Sandberg, Jan van Krimpen, or contemporaneous material such as art books and splendid booklets, completely fresh and often far more cheeky, more daring, yet in a pleasant way more modest than the typography from ‘reading devices’ (some from Germany). Such devices are no doubt artisanally and typo-graphically well made in every detail, but at times radiate a mood of overly trendy elegance or dreary frumpishness.
V. In retrospect, it is certainly true to say that in more than 20 years, a group of designer and artist personalities has emerged from the classroom whose ideas and work have been shaped by Walter Nikkels’ tuition. He labels this group of former students (with many of whom he is still in contact) decidedly somewhat ironically as the ‘church’. Its ‘members’ are bound together by an interpretation (in the main over-lapping) of fundamental questions about art and design. In part that features as a valid theory, a kind of ‘grammar’ of design which as yet does not exist in typography, unlike in architecture, for example. And certainly the idea that there might be a moral component in design also has a unifying function – the obligation to create, out of conviction, some-thing of the assignment and oneself compared with ‘right’ and ‘honest’.
As a designer, alongside a great many other things, I have learned from Walter Nikkels that in professional practice (in which we designers are usually people who undertake as-signments), it is of prime importance always to defend one’s independent, artistic position, to keep personal space, even when the parameters are difficult. It means opting to slow down when necessary and make precise choices; allowing for uncertainties and doubts, in order at crucial moments to reach the right decision with greater certainty, free from doubt. And: only an attitude like that will result in typogra-phy that never loses its vitality, beauty and relevance. This valuable insight is also something for which I have Walter Nikkels to thank. And finally, I have learned from him to cre-ate and keep personal space for typography – something he still does to this day.
