Javier Mariscal: The Spanish Woody Allen

Last fall, during our trip to the Habitat furniture fair in Valencia, Spain, Jill and I had the honor of having tea with the Valencia-born graphic designer Javier Mariscal—for no less than three hours. While we sipped chamomile in the lobby of the Westin, he regaled us with long, detailed stories from his past: of hedonistic drug use, of summering with Ron Arad’s family, of staying in Spain after the fall of Franco to help rebuild the creative scene, of how he’d always dreamed of being a rock star. The two of us couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but in our minds we declared him the Spanish Woody Allen—rumpled, eccentric, charmingly self-deprecating—and we wondered whether he volunteered the seemingly intimate details of his private life to just anyone, or if it was something about the reverent twinkle in our eyes.

Mariscal is by no means a household name in America, and yet we felt very acutely that we were in the presence of a legend. He designed Cobi, the massively profitable 1992 Olympics mascot, and the graphic identity for Barcelona. In 1973 he helped create Spain’s first underground comic, which was promptly confiscated by the regime, and in 1981 he was part of the legendary Memphis exhibition in Milan. When we arrived for our meeting with him in Valencia and found no one was there to greet us (the 59-year-old designer hadn’t yet roused himself from bed), we asked the nondescript young woman at the front desk to ring Mariscal’s room. She broke into a shy smile: I know who this Mariscal is, she said. What American designer would cause a hotel employee to swoon like that? (And please don’t say Karim Rashid.)

Considering the renaissance Mariscal is in the midst of, his mainstream recognition may soon spread well beyond the borders of his home country. Following the opening of his first H&M store interior last fall, he has a monograph coming out from Phaidon and an animated feature film in the works. And last week, London’s Design Museum opened the major Mariscal retrospective “Drawing Life,” replete with his signature 2-D doodles, messy illustrated typography, New Yorker covers, Camper collabs, goofy kids furniture for Magis, and a custom mural on the exterior of the museum.

Granted, if you’re not already a fan and/or haven’t experienced his raffish charm in person, there’s a chance you might find his aesthetic a wee bit dated. But still, know that the man is a genius. And after all, one could say the same for Annie Hall, right? — Monica Khemsurov