Julien Hébert’s projects, writings, and teachings have been my North Star since my third year of college. It started in a small classroom at my arts and design university in Calgary, Alberta. My art history professor tasked us with writing about a figure in Canadian design who inspired us. Like most students, we had predominantly been taught about American and European giants. I knew very little about Canadian influences despite living in Anglo-Canada for most of my life.

That assignment became a turning point. I decided to look back to my roots and steer my research toward Québec. Majoring in graphic design, I dug into the graphic history of the province and landed on the iconic 1967 Expo logo. I recognized the shape instantly. I had seen it on postcards and pictures countless times. Yet, I knew nothing of its origin, its creator, or why it looked the way it did.

That curiosity sparked a spiral. I fell down the rabbit hole of Julien Hébert. I scoured every article I could find (of which there were few) and devoured his proposals on pedagogy. Unfortunately, Hébert never wrote comprehensive treatises on his design philosophy or ethics like Jane Jacobs, Buckminster Fuller, Gui Bonsiepe, or Victor Papanek. His wisdom was scattered across proposals and lectures. To truly understand him, I had to turn to the scholars dedicated to preserving his legacy, particularly Martin Racine. This research became the foundation of my Master’s thesis at Concordia University.

With every new project I’ve set my mind to since then, Hébert seems to resurface. His work fuels my passions, and his ethics never cease to inspire me.

After graduating from my Master’s program, my husband and I made a radical choice. We sold everything, emptied our small Montreal apartment, and packed our entire lives into a newly adopted Sprinter van. We incorporated our studio practice, Studio Pumpo, and hit the road.

We wanted mobility. Staying in one city felt too limiting, despite our deep love for Montreal. We became cultural and geographical nomads, working remotely as we traversed the country from east to west, then west to east again, always with our dog by our side. This lifestyle fundamentally shapes how we see the world and approach our design partners.

As we drove cross-country, I saw the design opportunities everywhere. From roadside billboards that screamed generic advertising to store signs that struggled to communicate identity, to municipal branding that failed to capture local spirit. I realized that many individuals, communities, and businesses desperately needed design expertise but had no access to it simply because of their location. They were isolated, forgotten by the traditional hubs of creativity.

This realization echoed a specific proposal from Julien Hébert that I had studied years ago.

In 1971, Julien Hébert submitted a project proposal to the Federal Minister of Industry and Trade titled Le projet de récupération de travail chez les déshérités. Its goal was to use industrial design as a tool for creativity and socio-economic development. He targeted unemployed and isolated individuals, particularly in regional Québec.

Hébert (1917–1994), often called the father of modernist design in Québec, identified a critical problem in his community: the spirit of initiative and the desire to undertake had dissipated. His solution? The mini-industry.

He proposed setting up small-scale businesses for the production of simple objects requiring few materials and ordinary tools. These mini-industries would act as sparks. Hébert viewed industry as a noble institution, inscribed in the past, present, and future. By suggesting this model, he aimed to recreate the pride of producing useful, quality products that met the actual needs of local individuals and communities.

Crucially, Hébert envisioned teams of designers as agents of social change. But these designers were not there to stay; they were the spark plug. Once the mini-industry was established, workers were encouraged to take the wheel, propose their own projects, and collaborate on complex iterations. The goal was for these pilot projects to launch in regions plagued by unemployment, grow into small industries, and eventually transform into larger economic engines.

Hébert was convinced this would revive the initiative of isolated people in disadvantaged regions. He was fiercely critical of dehumanizing industry where the human spirit was absent. For him, design played a vital social role, with human needs at its centre.

Today, we carry Hébert’s torch in a different context. We are a mobile design duo on a mission to make good design accessible to everyone, regardless of your location.

Like Hébert’s researcher-designers, we don’t wait for clients to come to a downtown studio. We bridge the distance between vision and realization by meeting you exactly where you are. Whether you are a remote business in Northern Ontario, a rural community center in the Maritimes, or a roadside entrepreneur in the Prairies, our van is our office, and our workshop travels with us.

We believe in the same humanism Hébert championed: that design is not a luxury for the urban elite, but a tool for industry and connection. As we continue to drive back and forth across the country, we see ourselves not just as designers, but as participants in a long tradition of using creativity to rebuild local spirits.

Julien Hébert showed us that design can be a catalyst for the soul of a community. Now, as we roll down the highway with our dog and our tools, we strive to prove that those principles are just as relevant today as they were back then.