Jazz is a music of presence. It lives in the moment of its creation, in the breath that precedes a phrase, in the energy exchanged between performers who listen as closely as they play. It is music that thrives in openness and responsiveness. Yet, the stories told about jazz have not always reflected that same openness. Many of the women who shaped this music at crucial moments have often been included in history only as side notes, background voices, or exceptional anomalies. This exhibition brings them back into the center. It acknowledges that their work did not sit alongside jazz. It formed jazz.
When I was asked to design the visual identity of Rhythm is My Business, I understood from the beginning that this work was not only graphic design in a traditional sense. It was an act of framing. It was a matter of how history would be encountered by the public. The question was how to create a visual language that supports the recognition of these women without flattening them into symbols or reintroducing the hierarchy that had obscured them in the first place.
My process began not with images but with sound. I spent time listening to recordings featured in the exhibition. Some were studio sessions. Some were live broadcasts where applause was faint, but the sense of intimacy was strong. I listened for patterns in phrasing. I paid attention to pauses and held notes. Jazz often moves forward not by accelerating but by allowing time to expand. I wanted the design to reflect that quality. The most powerful moments are sometimes the ones that take their time.
This led to a visual identity built around the spacing, rhythm, and pacing of text. Instead of treating typography as static messaging, the design considers typography as performance. The shape of a word on a page can slow the reader or let them glide. A line break can mimic the intake of breath before a vocal riff. Vertical arrangements suggest the height of a phrase rising, while generous margins give space for interpretation. The viewer is not rushed. The design allows them to arrive at meaning gradually, in their own time. The slower the reading, the more presence the viewer brings.
Color plays an equally intentional role. The palette draws from photographic archives that show rehearsal rooms, club environments, and after-hours spaces where musicians gathered away from the spotlight. In the final stages of developing the exhibition palette, I chose a blue with a measured level of saturation. Blue has long been associated with jazz, not as a symbol but as an emotional register. The term “blue notes” speaks to the bending of pitch, the slight shift from expected tone that brings intimacy and vulnerability to the music. The color suggests memory, reflection, and interior life. It allows space for the viewer to feel rather than to be instructed.
Through the visual system, blue becomes an environment that holds the work of these artists with respect. It creates a field where history can be encountered with care.
Working at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts made this approach not only appropriate but necessary. The Library is a public institution with a direct mission: to hold culture in trust for everyone. This environment shapes how design functions. It cannot be authoritarian. It cannot lecture. It must offer space for discovery.
Our team worked closely across curatorial, archival, fabrication, and administrative departments to understand how the exhibition would be experienced. The design needed to speak clearly to visitors who might walk in by chance, and also offer nuance to scholars, musicians, students, and artists who come with existing knowledge. That balance was essential. A public cultural institution is not a museum of static objects. It is a place where learning is ongoing, and understanding is layered.
The artists highlighted in this exhibition each carried a world of influence. Billie Holiday changed the emotional vocabulary of singing. Mary Lou Williams shaped generations of musicians through composition, mentorship, and arrangement. Melba Liston developed horn arrangements that remain foundational to jazz orchestration. Ella Fitzgerald created a standard of vocal clarity and improvisation that remains unmatched. Betty Carter redefined the dynamics of phrasing and breath. Toshiko Akiyoshi built an entire orchestra around a personal vision that expanded the identity of jazz beyond national borders. These women did not simply participate. They created directions.
Yet their stories also contain realities of exclusion, restricted opportunity, and the need to sustain artistic conviction in environments that did not always welcome them. Part of designing this exhibition meant acknowledging these complexities while not reducing these women to struggle narratives. The design honors their musicianship, leadership, intellectual rigor, and cultural influence. Their resilience is understood through their work, not imposed as a summary of their identities.
The location of this exhibition in the heart of Lincoln Center carries a particular cultural significance. Lincoln Center is a symbolic center of American performing arts history. Presenting the exhibition here offers a visibility that integrates the contributions of these women into the ongoing cultural life of the city. Visitors may come to hear the Philharmonic, to attend jazz performances, to see ballet, to study in the Library, or simply to walk through the plaza. They encounter the exhibition in a shared cultural commons. This invites recognition without ceremony. The exhibition becomes part of the daily movement. It becomes lived.
As the visual identity extended into banners, exterior signage, interior graphics, print materials, and digital communication, the intention was always to maintain clarity and dignity. Nothing in the design seeks attention through spectacle. The work seeks to be seen, but not through force. The presence is steady. It acknowledges the artists rather than speaking over them.
I believe that design in this context becomes an act of cultural care. It supports visibility without imposing narrative. It allows history to breathe. It provides room for the viewer to realize something for themselves. When visitors say the names of these women out loud in conversation, when they recall a lyric or a phrase, when they go home and look up a recording they had never heard before, the exhibition is continuing to do its work.
Jazz is not finished. It is still being made, reinterpreted, and lived. These women are not figures of the past. They remain active through influence, transmission, memory, and sound. Their rhythm continues in musicians who learn from them, in listeners who find resonance in their voices, and in cultural spaces that honor their presence.
This exhibition is one way of making sure that their rhythm continues to be heard. It invites the visitor to slow down, to look closely, to listen with intention. It offers space for recognition. It brings forward what has always been there.
