Alan Giberson, the sign painter who founded Old Soul Sign Co. in 2014, painting gilded lettering at Anthology in September. Credit: Mark Oprea

Alan Giberson’s work is hard to miss.

The 34-year-old founder of Old Soul Sign Co., headquartered in its own hand-painted storefront off Madison Ave., has put his distinctive and timeless imprint on signs for Van Aken, Kate’s Fish, Rust Belt Riders and many others.

Amid the rise of AI-aided design, he said he’s actually seen an uptick in business from those who swear there’s a link between the front of a store or restaurant and the quality of what’s inside.

“I really think that having something hand-painted is a representative of the business,” Giberson said recently, noodling out a stencil of pencil-drawn letters for Anthology Cask House off West 25th Street.

“Signage is your first impression of that business,” he said. “It’s always like, I’m not gonna walk into a bar that doesn’t have any windows, right? How am I supposed to get a vibe from that?”

Earlier this summer, Giberson was hired by Anthology’s owners, Shaun Yasaki and Jeff Draeger, to paint both their sign over the front windows and gilded lettering underneath it. Letters calling up precisely the British pub vibe Anthology was aiming for: “Ales, Stouts & Porters,” and “Saisons, Lagers, Bitters & Milds.”

Giberson typically starts off with a pencil sketch he’ll use to stencil on his letters. Credit: Mark Oprea
Giberson’s toolbox. Credit: Mark Oprea
The finished sign and lettering at Anthology Cask House on West 25th. Credit: Mark Oprea

Draeger and Yasaki wouldn’t have it any other way. Giberson was hired to paint signs at their brewery, Noble Beast, in a style meant to convey something particular to those about to saunter inside for a beer.

“The experience you give your guests doesn’t start when they sit at a table or sit at a bar,” Yasaki said. “The experience starts just walking in the building.”

“When you sell your home, the first impression is your lawn going into the street, right?” he said.

Markets have always leaned on what sociologists call the principle of least effort. Paying $10 a month for an endless trove of music on Spotify is way easier than fiddling with a record player needle for a $35 vinyl.

But quality is always the variable. The gilded letters, which Giberson painstakingly traces on sketch paper and transfers to glass, can cost several thousand dollars once you factor in mockups, permits and design tweaks.

To compare, I asked ChatGPT to design a vinyl sign for a “European and British-style pub” called Anthology Cask House. In 45 seconds, it spit out green-and-gold signage complete with a book-and-cask emblem. AI said I could have the design printed out and shipped tomorrow—all for about $50.

Giberson says he understands the lure. An edit in his world could mean weeks for a client, especially if that design has to go through Cleveland’s Planning Commission. 

ChatGPT or Claude can slice days off the process: “If they want something changed,” he said, “they just change the prompt.”

A lot of Giberson’s sell at Old Sign seems to deal with cues that, if communicated right, could spell more profits for budding bars or shops than if they went another route.

Anthology owners Shaun Yasaki and Jeff Draeger said paying Giberson thousands to paint their signage was a no-brainer. Credit: Mark Oprea

Researchers are proving this. In a survey of hundreds of thousands of American shoppers by the Sign Research Foundation, a third said they were drawn into a store because of the store’s sign quality. Two in five made “quality assumptions about a business based on whether that company has clear and attractive signs.”

The study’s succinct conclusion: “Sign quality directly impacts a company’s ability to draw in customers.”

In late September, Giberson drove in his pickup to Anthology to finish the final touches on the gilded letters. (“It’s my office for the week,” he said.) He brought his usual mobile painter’s studio, tools packed away in a speckled, beige toolbox: blue painter’s tape, cans of One Shot oil-based enamel, Sprayway glass cleaner, rolls of paper towels, a pack of Lucky Strikes.

Giberson paints using a mahlstick to steady his grip. He’s long practiced from early-20th century instructionals, but his strokes of gold seem effortless.

“I think some people realize it on, like, a subconscious level,” he said, rounding off the s in Lagers. “They see something like this. Obviously it’s different than vinyl. It catches their eye more than the white stickers or AI stuff they put up.”

Giberson smiled. “They’re sort of like vinyl in a way,” he said. “They all look the same, you know?”

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Mark Oprea is a staff writer at Scene. He's covered Cleveland for the past decade, and has contributed to TIME, NPR, Narratively, the Pacific Standard and the Cleveland Magazine. He's the winner of two Press Club awards.