For years and years, I’ve wanted to start some kind of restaurant. It’s one of those foolish dreams you can’t quite kill and you find yourself looking into empty retail spaces, talking to people who’ve done it to hear their horror stories and fond memories, and making up concepts you think might work for some particular location.

When it came time to move our Corvallis office last year after 25 years in the same space, I looked for a place with a kitchen. I can’t really defend the decision on any Geologie-related grounds, but with the main part of our business having relocated to Portland, I liked the idea of the space being multi-purpose. An early concept was to run a coffee shop out of the space and just work at a table with our laptops. Most of what we do can be done on a MacBook Pro and we thought, we may as well own the coffee shop we’re going to work in.

But the appeal of real food and a real chef and a wine program grew and I slowly worked on some concepts with a chef friend of mine (also named Ian) and another close friend, a budding wine expert. They’d worked together before, knew how to run a restaurant, and were ready to work with me on a space of our own design. Geologie worked on logos and collateral for the project while Ian’s girlfriend did the interior design and purchasing of everything from plates to decor. We thought of it as an art project, not quite sure whether we’d open the doors for customers or just keep it for ourselves.

We did several private dinners in the space, with newspapers on the windows and with no proper licensing. A very small dinner with wild ducks was just for us, while two larger dinners seated 40 for multi-course tasting menus. At that point we knew we needed to just go for it and open the space as a restaurant.

So, in April 2010, we launched Luc publicly. I think of it as a side project of Geologie to some extent, because Geologie designers spent a lot of hours working on the printed pieces and the window vinyl and the website in their spare time. And because it’s run with the same philosophy, that creative people are best left alone as much as possible, with a minimum of governing rules and the most freedom possible to do their thing.

Maybe what Geologie and Luc have most in common, though, has something to do with scope, and conversations that are possible with small teams. Geologie (née Edge Design) once had 25 or so people around the turn of the century, and we were scattered and inefficient. We’ve been about 6–7 people for a few years now and it feels good to all fit around one table. Everyone’s voice gets heard, in the same way that you can have 6–8 people at your dinner party and beyond that, the din sort of takes over and no idea lasts long in conversation.

So, Luc. Our own little version of place-making—a place we made because we wanted it to be there. A place where several aesthetics merged to make one, and an art project that people take with them when they leave, in the realest way possible. I’m thankful to my pals at Geologie for letting my attention wander a little bit while this dream made its way to reality.

LUC, 134 SW Fourth Street, in Corvallis, Oregon.

Just a quick note about some of the banner photography on our site. As we mentioned, “Geologie” is a take on the word geology, all about solidity and the idea that there are deeper levels of meaning in the process of discovery. Well, there’s more than meets the eye, right here in front of you. The banner images that appear to be stratified sedimentary rock are nothing of the sort. They are actually the edges of a stack of basic, everyday 20lb copy paper. We used a hyper-macro lens to get these shots—one that is designed for scientific use, to shoot cells and plant structures and such. When pointed at the edge of a stack of paper, this lens created images of an otherworldly quality, in which the minuscule becomes monumental—one of my personal loves. Here are a few of the shots for you to enjoy, and maybe to be inspired, like we try to be, to dig deeper.

Although none of us alone can save the world (unless, of course, you happen to wear a big red S on your chest), it’s nice to feel like you’re on the good side of the struggle from time to time. All of us here at Geologie are proud to be a part of an exciting new venture called Launch. Simply stated, “Launch is a global initiative to identify and support the innovative work poised to contribute to a sustainable future and accelerate solutions to meet urgent challenges facing our society.”

Say what you will about the debate on climate change, but we think it goes without saying that comfortably sustaining human life on this planet is a good thing. Pretty simple stuff. Kevin Wolahan and his team at Nike designed a great brand around Launch, which guided our creation of the launch.org website. We’re proud and excited to be a part of this project.

The inaugural conference—Launch: Water—was held this past mid-March at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida, held against the dramatic backdrop of one of the few remaining shuttle launches. View the presenter videos on the site and start thinking about the possibilities. Like the name implies, this is only the beginning.

“No rosy-fingered dawn,” a friend lamented the other morning as we (for reasons that I won’t go into) watched a black Oregon night turn into an evenly gray dawn. This winter has been maddeningly mild and gray. Sameness rules the Portland skies in winter. Gray skies define us much more than rainfall, which is relatively slight, really.

Gray skies are meant to be accompanied by an appropriately cinematic soundtrack. I bought the new Beach House CD the other day (yes, I still buy CDs occasionally) and let it play through several times. They are one of those bands that work well in the foreground or the background. When you do listen, you sometimes hear Victoria Legrand, the singer, straining to fit melodies within her vocal range, because they’re melodies worth straining for.

I was reminded of another Legrand, did five seconds of internet searching, and sure enough her uncle is Michel Legrand, a composer credited with over 180 film scores (movies shabby and sublime). The ones I always think of when I think of Michel Legrand are the projects he did with Jacques Demy and Catherine Deneuve, especially The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

If you’ve ever wanted to watch a movie where a 21-year old Catherine Deneuve sings all of her lines (in fact, all the actors sing all their lines), and conducts a doomed romance from first spark to tragic end, all in a rainy town in northwest France, you should seek it out. Then, put on the Beach House record afterward to put the tear-stained ending of the movie just at arm’s length. That’s our double feature suggestion for a rainy February night.

At Geologie we sort of mistrust phones. I think this is partly due to relentless sales calls, but mostly, it’s a result of the steady general decline in call quality. Most of us have iPhones, life-changing devices that, let’s face it, are somewhat frustrating when used to talk to someone (although we don’t have the call-dropping fiascos that San Francisco and New York have). In our offices we’ve migrated from analog phones to multi-line systems, to multi-line VOIP, and we’ve just recently voluntarily re-entered the 1970s with a vintage phone in each office.

These phones are super comforting to use. (Yes, of course, we also have ones that generate touch tones.) I’m thinking of putting one in at home as well, with the intention of actually using it to talk to people over long distances. Cell phones just don’t lend themselves to long, focused dialogues—plus, most of us have adapted almost completely to asynchronous communications with our friends and the people we work with (texts, emails, etc.). To the effect that, when my phone rings, I just wonder why someone is calling me when a text would probably do the trick. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, it’s that it’s so much easier to fit communications in to times that work for  me, rather than when the bell tolls.

The old-school phone has one function, and a form that is completely tied to that function. The phone sits there and reminds you that talking to someone isn’t always about exchanging information and hanging up as quickly as possible. The act of sitting and talking on the phone with someone in a focused manner isn’t as big a part of our lives as it was decades ago—maybe it should be, when long distances separate us, at least.

It’s easy to understand why some people are beginning to reject social media. When I see someone’s Twitter feed and it’s got dozens of tweets per day, I wonder whether they have supernatural multitasking abilities, or just do not have much actual work to do. Maybe like the Slow Food movement, Slow Media will grow into something cohesive that, if not changing the way everyone consumes, will stand as a reminder that there are times to grab something and move on, and other times to pay undivided attention to what we are reading, what we are viewing, and what we are saying to each other.

With a long history dating back to 1984, Edge is now as old as the Mac. We’ve had great success over the years, but with a new era, a new team, new energy, and a bright new Portland office, we figured it was a good time to step into a new pair of shoes. Not that we want to forget our past, we just want to throw a big bear hug around a new future.

In many ways we’re still the same old Edge Design we’ve always been, but we’re working to push the level of quality and intellectual engagement in our work. We want to have fun, we want to enlighten, and we want to provoke discourse. In short, we want to dig deeper. We’re at the top of our game, so now seemed as good a time as any to reinvent the wheel. Everybody says they don’t want to do it, so we figured what the hell? Why not?

The renaming process was long. And fairly involved. Several names had fits and starts as top choices, and for a while the whole thing felt like watching dolphins cresting. There were Star Wars code names, favorite dishes, vehicles and devices, and even a cat. The list goes on. Each of us had our own favorites and brought them forward to the group. Some made it to top billing, while others… well, not so much. We added and deleted. We narrowed down. We lived with each of the front runners for a time. We investigated website domains. Checked for duplicates. It’s no small thing to name yourself, especially when branding is your business.

geologie

The result is a take on the word geology, which literally is “to talk about the earth.” It’s all about solidity. Foundation. The idea that there are deeper levels of meaning if one is inclined to look. A history. The creative process is one of discovery, of unearthing the truth, so it’s a name that seemed immediately appropriate. And it has a family history, so to speak, as Ian’s father was a long time geology professor at Oregon State University. So here we are. Welcome aboard.

Whenever we’re called upon to name a company, we go through an intense process to come to a solution. It’s a process of looking, listening, gathering, and collaborating. We start by opening up and learning about the client’s needs, goals, background, process, and product. We gather together a list of potential name candidates, sometimes working closely with the client to build a diverse pool. Genetic diversity, so to speak. With good clarity of what we’re all looking to communicate, we put each potential name up against a specific criteria list. On top of that, we work out the functional opportunities each top choice might offer—vetting them against the competition, investigating possible web domain and signage applications, and so on. Whatever is needed for that company’s specific identity. Believe us, it is no small matter to put a mark on a company. Here’s some of the stuff we ask ourselves when assessing a name:

1. Does it accurately reflect the qualities of the company? Does it fit with the company’s ethos?
2. Does it reflect the qualities of the company’s product or service?
3. Is there a depth of meaning? Some kind of a background narrative, something that makes a connection? Ideally there should be layers of meaning and concept that make multiple connections.
4. Does it stand out in a unique way? Is it distinctive in the marketplace?
5. Is it memorable, clear, and easy to spell and say?
6. Is it appropriate and relevant to the audience?
7. Will it work technically—that is, as a web address, product name, or any other necessary application?

After the long list of potential names is interrogated with these questions, we end up with a short list. Together with the client, we assess each once more, and start to get a feel for which ones shine and which simply don’t stand the test of time. Clear front runners start to emerge. Eventually there is a sense of which are the top two or three. In the end, maybe it comes down to a vote. Or maybe there’s a CEO who’s got a strong opinion one way or another. Or maybe the client uses a lifeline and phones a friend. Polls the audience. In any case, the process for the final decision usually reflects how the company itself works—top-down, democratic, or otherwise. Which, in the end, is a fitting conclusion, one more way in which the name reflects the company’s true nature.