Juan Miguel Marin’s extended remit of graphic design, better known as La Moutique, includes film posters, film titles and opening sequences, album art, book covers and cultural organization branding. Simplicity is what usually lies at the heart of his work and is a key component to the powerful imagery used for his film poster designs. But it is a simplicity, and sincerity, that denote the work of someone with a refined understanding of the film's meaning and of what the filmmaker is trying to say. It is a simplicity that also has a certain ambiguity that challenges the viewer. It makes you think. It denotes feeling as much as skill, that push Juan Miguel Marin’s perceptions of a film to a visible form always appropriate to both the visual and emotional load the film carries; always true to the film’s content and to its intent. His poster design for 52” for example (directed by Javier Andrade) presents us the story of a natural disaster through the prism of childhood, connecting the outer world to the inner world of the story in the most emotional and expressive way. In this interview, the artist talks to Beneficial Shock! about his formative years in Ecuador, about navigating the very thin line between art and design, and about how everything started with… music.
I would like to start by asking you: What is your first drawing memory, Juan Miguel?
Memory must be the most powerful faculty of us humans. It is certainly the one that I gravitate to the most when I need to express myself. But my first memory of drawing is a bit fuzzy. I do appreciate this question though, as I have spent too many days, trying to access that particular memory without much luck. Is it possible that someone told me that I wasn’t good at drawing at some point growing up, and that’s why I’ve blocked some of those early memories connected to art making? Very possible… So my final answer is: No actual memories of drawing (formally), but I do remember family vacations on the coast of Ecuador, and finding a strong connection with making marks in the sand, whether it was with an object like a stick, a coconut, or with my body.
That certainly counts as a first drawing memory. What did you prefer as a child, visual or written stories?
I’ve always been more drawn to stories that included some kind of visual component. And to be totally transparent, I still have a hard time sustaining focus with reading, unless it is a subject I am emotionally invested in. I’ve missed my stop on the train many times for that reason ; ).
Could you define the philosophy or approach of your work?
The short answer would be that I want my work to feel human.
And if I have to elaborate on that, I would say that over the years – and because I have a very personal art practice being nurtured in tandem with the work that I produce and publish under the moniker La Moutique – I’ve learned that my most honest, and perhaps my most celebrated works, have been those projects made by working away from the computer as much as possible. In my world, that means experimenting with elements and materiality that is intrinsically connected to the stories I’m designing for, both in fiction or in documentary.
It is important for me to create long-term relationships with the directors I choose to work with, and, for that, I want to create a level of trust that goes beyond connecting once the film is finished and ready for a “poster or titles”. My ideal project starts with directors sharing versions of their scripts with me –before the film is shot– as this opens a wealth of avenues to explore. Not to mention the possibility for me to make sure that they take their time to properly photograph and capture very specific objects, textures, characters, etc… while they are on set. A lot of directors/productions miss this opportunity.
And, of course, watching the actual films is critical. I am crafting a method in which I do a first pass of the film as if I were an audience member trying to absorb the film and not thinking that I have to work on it. Then, I do a second pass where I take meticulous notes about both obvious and completely obscure aspects of the film. Perhaps my discerning sensibility is what makes my work appealing to some people.
'It is important for me to create long-term relationships with the directors I choose to work with, and, for that, I want to create a level of trust that goes beyond connecting once the film is finished and ready for a “poster or titles”.'
You mention experimenting with elements connected to the stories you are designing for, yet not necessarily design related. Can you share a specific project and what exactly this design process implied?
In thinking about a project to share in order to elaborate on this subject, I came to realize that this type of experimentation applies to almost all of the projects I work on. To answer your question though, I will talk about an immensely meaningful documentary project my dear friend and collaborator Javier Andrade worked on in the aftermath of a major natural disaster.
On April 6th of 2016, a 7.8M earthquake shook the coast of Ecuador. This unprecedented catastrophe destroyed entire towns through the provinces of Manabí and Esmeraldas, hitting Portoviejo, the small city where I lived, particularly hard. Almost 80% of the center city crumbled, and nearly 700 hundred people died. I lived through this tragedy safely from Brooklyn, yet as more news and messages from family and friends were coming through, it was devastating to learn about high school friends and people I had known for years being amongst the fatal victims.
My friend Javier was in Quito during the earthquake, but made his way to Portoviejo only 72 hours after the earthquake to assist his family. As a filmmaker, Javier found a way to process what had happened, through his lens.
The project, titled 52” (seconds), is a universal first-person tale of memory, loss, and coming back home in the least likely of circumstances. In this very humble and intimate documentary film –literally a man with a camera–, Javier intertwines the chaos of the situation, with painfully poetic walks around what’s left of the city, and a unique family moment. Javier’s niece was turning 3 years old roughly one week after the tragic events. Although at age 3 our memory is still a bit disorganized, it is scientifically known that we as humans still retain a lot of those moments. So part of the film deals with how his family navigates that celebration and what that means considering the broader context.
52 Segundos Key Art
Obviously a project that affected me at a personal level, and one that allowed me to channel my own feelings from abroad. The project premiered at HOT DOCS Film Festival in Toronto, Canada, and I (La Moutique) contributed with titles and poster.
I once again chose to work away from the screen and with my hands as much as possible, eventually leaning towards the more intimate narrative of the film: the one about Javier’s niece. What turning three meant under those circumstances? What memories do we choose to keep or let go? And certainly the symbolic aspect of hope that a child brings into the rebuilding process.
After a process of experimentation, mostly in terms of composition, we ultimately landed in crafting a simple dress that a 3 year old girl would wear to be the main visual for the poster. The little dress was made with paper, using post-earthquake aerial photography of Portoviejo’s center city, as if it was printed on the fabric.
A long story here, but hopefully this makes the point about my process a bit more clear.
How much research, how much observation and how much conceptual work does your illustration involve? What matters most?
Hopefully my work involves a healthy balance of research, observation, and concept. All three are equally important, and I try to give them all their own time and space. Learning and understanding as much as you can about the narratives you are ultimately supporting with your work, is just as important as going for a long walk –or bike ride– out in the world, where one might land on that very specific pathway that will bridge an existing conceptual idea into a memorable visual execution. They are all so incredibly important.
How did you get into film poster and title design? And were there any early influences in your work?
This is a long story, but I will try my best to keep it interesting…
I wasn’t an art kid at all. Growing up in Ecuador, I was very much into sports (football, track and field, swimming, etc…), and loved representing my grade or my school in competitions. Knowing what I know now about myself, it was the performative aspect of sports that kept me engaged.
Like most kids, I made some art in elementary school, but I didn’t think of myself as being necessarily good at it. Certainly not better than anyone in my class. At home, there was always art on the walls, as my mom –who is originally from Chile– had pieces by celebrated Ecuadorian painters such as Oswaldo Guayasamin or Gonzalo Endara Crow. We didn’t come from money, but both of my parents ran their own businesses. My mother had a Beauty Salon/Spa, and my dad ran a small movie rental store. The “be kind and rewind” type. So movies, movie posters and covers were very much part of my environment as a kid.
Then, when I was about 9 years old, a sour business deal backfired on my parents and the family moved abruptly to Portoviejo, a small town on the coast of Ecuador. My parents lost everything they had built up until that point. We were broke.
While in Portoviejo, my brother (Herman), and I started our first band. He played bass guitar and I played the drums. And music became what got us through those very difficult high school years, in which we were very limited in many ways. For instance, I didn’t have one art class during high school. You could take technical drawing if you wanted to become a civil engineer, but that was as close as you could get to creating visually. Although I do remember making a logo for our band (Raíces), that eventually became a t-shirt.
Fast forward to starting college (in Ecuador), where I spent one year enrolled as a Computer Science Major. Mostly because I didn’t fully understand what a career in design could be, and also because there were no major institutions in Ecuador offering a legit Design program at the time. As for Art, that was absolutely out of reach for me, or for anyone around me. I didn’t know a single working artist in those years.
It was the late 90’s, and Ecuador was going through one of its biggest financial and political crises in modern history, which caused –amongst many things– arguably the largest wave of immigration of the last 30 years. And my family is a part of it.
This second migration took us to Charlotte, North Carolina, where I worked on all sorts of odd “immigrant” jobs, including unloading big containers from 7am-3pm, to then go packing groceries from 5-10pm. Eventually, I saved enough money to enroll in the Graphic Design Program at the local Community College. Simultaneously, the same company where I unloaded countless containers, offered me an internship in their Design Department. If I wasn’t in class, I was at this company mocking-up physical retail displays, cleaning-up product photos, and making a million copies of sales catalogs. It wasn’t sophisticated work at all, but I was able to pay for my own education. Upon finishing school, my first official job as a designer was a unique place that offered Engineering, Industrial Design, Web, and Graphic Design services, under one roof. There I did a lot of Branding, Packaging, and everything in-between.
All while living a double life chasing an indie band dream. My journey as a drummer is really what got me to explore design in a more expressive way, and slowly get closer to art. After plenty of years of this double life –most of my 20’s–, and many trips to New York, my partner and I decided to move to “the city”, and grow as individuals and perhaps find ourselves as artists. I landed a job as an Art Director at a large Advertising Agency, and that was my last full-time employment. After almost 1 year at that job –and almost reaching my 30’s–, I finally recognized and accepted that my calling was closer to art and music, than it was to a corporate design job. I had a lot to process and for that, I needed to give myself a chance. It was a big leap of faith but I finally quit that job.
During this big transition –and personal art quest–, I had convinced my partner and a dear friend to make a documentary about Los Amigos Invisibles, a band from Caracas, Venezuela, that in my opinion had a very unique story that involved David Byrne (Talking Heads). These were the early days of crowd-funding and platforms like Kickstarter, but this concert film –a passion project– was ultimately backed by 600 “associate producers” from around the world. La Casa del Ritmo, a film about Los Amigos Invisibles, became my first official film poster, titles sequence, and End Credits project.
Soon after, my dear friend, collaborator, and talented director Javier Andrade, was shooting his opera prima “Porcelain Horse”. For this film shot in Portoviejo –where I lived through high-school– I supported their Art Department with everything design related, including wardrobe, band and bank logos, fake cigarette and beer brands, pizza boxes, etc…. Eventually crafting the poster, and titles too. I can trace almost everything else that followed to those two projects.
When it comes to influences, I could go on and on about mentioning too many artists, musicians, designers, filmmakers, dancers, authors, poets, scientists, and people that have influenced my work, but ultimately, I think what La Moutique (me) does for films, aims to extend and amplify stories through work that’s discerning and expressive. All while navigating a very thin line between art and design. Designing for films has cycles in my year. And I have found a healthy balance between contributing to movies and documentaries, while nurturing a very personal art practice.
This work is also a way for me to honor my family’s immigrant journey.
'I think what La Moutique (me) does for films, aims to extend and amplify stories through work that’s discerning and expressive. All while navigating a very thin line between art and design.'
Thank you for telling us about your family background and path into the world of design. Do you still play the drums?
I still play the drums. After a 5 year hiatus, Legs, an indie-band I’ve been playing with since 2013, just released a new single. (Available on all streaming platforms). I also continue experimenting with sound in connection to memory within my personal art practice. As a matter of fact, I spent the last two years of my life in grad school working on an MFA in Sound Art at Brooklyn College.
I would like to talk a little about music, film and graphic design, because the name of Saul Bass inevitably comes to mind, as he was the one who made the case for the value of graphic design to the movie industry and his contribution also revealed how images and music could, from the very beginning, set the mood for the film that followed. How do you approach title design? What’s the message you want to get through to the viewers?
I understand the complexity and amount of work that it takes to get a film made, and why many title sequences –as well as end credits– can get overlooked, rushed, or completely ignored. And yes, Saul Bass is perhaps the most well known figure that gave title sequences their own recognition as part of a larger story.
Saul Bass was right. Titles, and even the last logo that appears during the end credits are a big part of a directors’ statement, and a meaningful component of the ultimate film experience. Titles don’t need to steal the show, yet, a considered approach to typography and visual elements will certainly strengthen and provide greater meaning to the story that is about to be told. It makes me sad to see beautiful films with overlooked titles and end credits.
Your posters have this old school, analogue feeling, very liberating, that usually comes from drawing with your hands, when the unexpected can occur more spontaneously. Digital or hand-drawing, or both, what do you prefer, and why?
When working on a poster, we can’t escape the fact that just about everything will go through a computer at some point, but we can still control how much of that process happens away from the screen, and how the source material can amplify the narratives we are making art for.
I find my best and most honest work happening at the intersection of hand-made, materiality, and playful experimentation. Embracing accidents, and discovering unorthodox techniques is where I find a lot of joy. And then the computer…
'I find my best and most honest work happening at the intersection of hand-made, materiality, and playful experimentation. Embracing accidents, and discovering unorthodox techniques is where I find a lot of joy.'
Your design work spans different fields. The poster was once the most popular and attractive of all pictorial advertising media, mainly because of its size. Now we sometimes get to see posters only on our screens. How has its role changed in advertising media?
My approach to designing a poster begins with the assumption that the piece will be printed at full scale, and that it will live in someone’s home. Even if that’s not the case, it is still my north star. In most cases you can make something great work on a smaller –and odd– digital format, but going the opposite way will be a disaster.
A great poster is a great poster first.
Tribeca Film Festival Identity
What’s the first film poster that you recall that made you go to the cinema and watch the movie?
The poster for Almodovar’s All About My Mother has to be one of them.
Music was the first creative path you embarked on. If you could choose one album to make the official cover art for, which one would it be?
Another big question…
The honest answer will be many albums, but in the spirit of this thoughtful interview, I will say that if a vinyl compilation of Afro-Ecuadorian musician Papá Roncón’s music is released, I’d love to throw my name in the hat to work on that project.
What film do you recommend to others most often and why?
Recently, I’ve talked to many people about a beautiful documentary by Sam Green called 32 Sounds. It is a thoughtful essay film that manages to touch on many emotions while sharing insightful information about the way we listen to the world around us. Highly recommended.
The great film critic Roger Ebert described film as an ’empathy machine’ suggesting it is a way for us to connect fully with lives and experiences of others that we will never ourselves live. With this in mind, what film have you watched that has had the greatest impact on you emotionally and tell us why, if you can
Roger Ebert was absolutely right. I will mention a Polish film titled Floating Skyscrapers, directed by Tomasz Wasilewski in 2013. One of the first Polish films confronting same-sex relationships. I’m lucky to have grown up as an ally to the LGBTQ+ community, but even in 2013, and already living in New York City, this story shook me to the ground. I don’t want to spoil any of it. Please find it and watch it for yourself.
Interview by Ada Pîrvu