Who were the two Soviets who revolutionized Manhattan in the 1950s?
BarcelonaHe lit the cigarette. The smoke was smooth and aromatic. After being surrounded by photographers, stylists, and models, Alexey Brodovitch liked this solitude at the end of the day. Only one light illuminated his drawing table. On the counter lay the first double-page spread of the main story: a sketched girl opening an umbrella. He picked up the pages and went to the next room, where the floor was lined with leaves arranged in perfect order. He placed the girl with the umbrella in the only empty space. Very serious, he looked at the arrangement. He went to the window. Outside it was dark and snowing heavily. The cigarette filter warmed his fingers. Alexey Brodovitch smiled. At 572 Madison Avenue, in Midtown Manhattan, hundreds of yellow taxis looked like ants from the floor where the newsroom was located. Harper's Bazaar
Very close by, at 20 Lexington Avenue, next to Grand Central, Alexander Liberman led the art department of Vogue Before becoming the editorial director of Condé Nast until 1994, the year he passed the torch to Anna Wintour, "the devil wears Prada."
Brodovitch was born in Ogoltsovka, Russia, in 1898, and Liberman in 1912 in Kyiv. During their 15 years of direct competition (1943-1958), they transformed Manhattan into the epicenter of world design. Brodovitch, trained in Paris designing sets for the Ballets Russes, championed a surreal and cinematic aesthetic. Liberman, having fled the Nazi occupation, introduced Vogue An almost architectural clarity, a museum-like aesthetic that combined haute couture with contemporary art. Both collaborated with great photographers such as Cartier-Bresson, Richard Avedon, Irving Penn, and Man Ray. Both made the Bodoni and, above all, Didot typefaces the symbol of elegance. This approach continues to influence readers today with its stylized design, reminiscent of the slender models on the interior pages. But the most transcendent legacy for all designers, editors, and art directors is that Brodovitch understood that the eye doesn't see two isolated pages, but rather a single horizontal surface. He broke down the spine barrier to create'spread or a double-page spread. Thus, an image could cross from one side to the other, like the girl with the umbrella. If on the left there was an ordinary model, the right wasn't empty space, but the air necessary for movement. The text was no longer information, but a form integrated into the image. Until that moment, the design of a double-page spread had always been understood like that of a book: two independent parts. A detail that is anything but minor.
When Alexander Liberman entered Grand Central Station it was already late. Outside it was snowing. He was pleased with the next issue of the magazine; it would be a magnificent spring special. In front of him, a tall, thin man with black-rimmed glasses left a trail of soft, aromatic smoke.
