"What is jazz?" my professor asks my Jazz in America class. We respond with blank stares. In my mind, I'm only imagining swing dancers, saxophones and Louis Armstrong.
But throughout this semester, he has revealed to us how broad and far reaching jazz really is. Originating as syncretism between African and European musical traditions by African slaves during colonial times in America, jazz emerged in the form of work songs and blues. This "musicking" eventually developed into the different subgenres of jazz as we know it. Ragtime, at the turn of the century, gave way to big band music and then swing. After swing came bebop, cool jazz, hard bop. Free jazz, fusion, new age and post modern followed suit, overlapping one another as they developed. As I listen to examples of pieces from all these different periods of jazz, I can't help but notice that the toe-tapping rhythm of Ellington can differ so greatly from the frenzied virtuosity of Coltrane, which in itself seems totally unrelated to the electric pastiche of John Zorn! And yet they are all collectively still considered jazz?
It is important to not just consider the music itself, but the circumstances from which jazz arose. Colonialism, wars, economic booms and busts, urbanization, the civil rights movement, black power, developing technology, newly emerging modes of entertainment, etc. all contributed to the development of jazz. One cannot simply say that jazz is a style of music that has a certain "sound" because history has told us otherwise. But rather, jazz is a form of musical behavior that arose and continues to develop as a response to circumstances, whether it be because of political, economic or social situations or as a reponse to another form of jazz itself.
Why is all of this even relevant to the history of industrial design? I think the history of jazz gives us a clear picture of history itself: actions and reactions to former reactions (think Hegel's thesis, antithesis and synthesis dialectic). Like jazz and its many subsets, industrial design history can be compartmentalized into individual movements through time with significant designers at the helm of each period. But to look solely through such a narrow lense calls for rote memorization and useless regurgiation. I think there is greater significance in seeing the larger picture and understanding the ways in which the events of the past are intertwined in a complex fabric called history.
Even though this semester's history of ID course has not been approached in a traditional, analytical and chronological sort of way, I feel that I have a greater understanding of industrial design as a whole. I've learned that just because something has passed, it is not relegated to death. History can still be very alive: it inspires us, it teaches us, it informs us. And it is constantly being made. It is also a balancing act of things in tension that indiviudals seek to mitigate. We look to history to better the present and to prepare for the future.
I'm also beginning to understand myself better as an industrial designer and the role that my classmates, the future designers of the world, and I will play in a place that is ever evolving and in need of solutions and change. Through these essays over the past semester, I've learned about the importance of the cross-disciplinary approach, design for social and environmental impact, meaning in design and the balance of art and design. But even more so, I've learned how all these things relate to me personally. To spare myself from sounding like a self help book, I will refrain from describing this as "The Beginning of the Road to Self Discovery." But given that I decided to say it anyway, you get my drift.
in conclusion,
this is not the end.
Friday, 28 November 2008
Saturday, 22 November 2008
art + design
Ask me who my favorite designer is, and you might be met with a hesitant pause.
But ask me which artists I admire, and I will gladly describe to you Tiepolo’s inspiring ink drawings or my favorite John Singer Sargent charcoal drawing that was once on display in the RISD museum. Or I could prattle on and on about the magnificent rawness of Rodin’s figures, the graceful balance of a Degas, or the lanky sculptures of Giacometti.
Somehow, the beautiful forms of Marianne Brandt or the imaginative architecture of Frank Gehry do not invoke an impassionate response the way a van Gogh painting can. And as pleasing to the eye as Apple or Starck products are, none have the breathtaking vibrancy of Turner’s landscapes. There’s something about the texture of paint, the potency of color, the illusion of light and form that is so engaging.
This is not to say I do not value prominent designers and their contributions to the world. Rather, I am simply admitting that, even though I call myself an industrial designer, I possess a greater appreciation for the “fine arts.” It’s not that one is superior. My interests are just piqued more by one than the other.
There’s timelessness to art that I sometimes find difficult to identify in design. Walk into any art museum and you’ll see art in various forms: paintings, drawings, prints, sculptures, photographs, video media, and various other objects. And more often than not, those objects are artifacts: pieces of antiquated materials that give testament to the achievements and musings of man throughout history. But how many of these pieces do we actually remember? Are they as instantly identifiable as a Picasso or a Calder? Do they speak about oppression the way Goya does, or can they express the anguish of a crucified Christ the way many depictions do? Even though some of these paintings were created centuries ago, the themes and emotions they express are still applicable today. When I see a work of art, I do not immediately note its place in history. I’m looking for meaning, for expression. But when I see objects of design, all I can see is its age and function. Newer technology has made it obsolete. What can the object say for itself beyond its once useful purpose?
Beyond the objects that have been deemed museum worthy, there are the everyday objects that surround us. Beautifully designed razors, mp3 players, shoes, and things don’t inspire me quite the way a painting or drawing does. And through writing this essay, I think I’ve discovered why. It is because they don’t possess any meaning for me, anything lasting that I can take away long after I can no longer see it.
But does that mean that everything we design must have some kind of thought provoking meaning behind it? If that were to be the circumstance, we might experience a dearth of objects! But I do believe it is something we, as designers, should keep in mind. Besides, with meaningful objects, people might actually be more inclined to keep them than to so quickly and carelessly dispose of them. As a young designer, I have not developed a solution for myself in combining art and design in a way that exudes a sense of meaning, timelessness and permanence. But it’s only the beginning of the journey.
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
objects and empathy
"Ask a developed world human to stop consuming and you might as well ask a vampire not to suck blood."
I've begun reading this book, Emotionally Durable Design: Objects, Experiences & Empathy by Jonathan Chapman, from which the above quote was taken. Chapman approaches sustainable design in a manner that we're not so accustomed to hearing. Though it does contain a good number of astonishing facts and statistics, it doesn't focus solely on the materials we should use, the methods we shouldn't employ or the ways in which we can attempt to reverse the damage already wrecked on our planet in order to have "green design." Rather, Chapman likens it to the difference between Western and Eastern medicine. The former is often concerned with alleviating symptoms; The latter holistically seeks to identify the root of the problem and attempts to eradicate the cause of discomfort. And according to Chapman, a root cause of the rampant, and wasteful consumerism that has developed in this past century is the lack of emotional connection between user and product. Chapman summarizes his own book:
"This book proposes a radical design about-face in order to reduce the impact of modern consumption without compromising commercial or creative edge...This book does not propose sweeping overhaul of the entire designed world. Instead, it espouses the emergence of a specialist design genre that caters for deeper, more profound and poetic human needs, taking users beyond the ephemeral world of technocentric design and toward a rich, interactive domain of emotionally durable objects and experiences. 'It is time for a new generation of products that can age slowly and in a dignified way...[to] become our partners in life and support our memories.'" (24)
At the Better World by Design conference last weekend, I attended a panel titled Appropriate Technology for the Developing World. One of the speakers present was a representative from KickStart, a company that develops products to help the poor out of poverty. This discussion of a more intimate relationship between user and object in Chapman's book reminds me of the way in which KickStart approaches its business. KickStart states: "Our mission is to get millions of people out of poverty quickly, cost-effectively and sustainably. And, in doing so, change the way the world fights poverty."
a local with a MoneyMaker water pump
Founders Nick Moon and Martin Fisher found that free aid and giveaways are essentially ineffective in the long term because it creates dependency on an organization that can only provide temporary alleviation. Instead, KickStart has developed irrigation pumps to sell to locals in Kenya, Tanzania and Mali to stimulate a sustainable local economy that eventually provides income to the poor. And by pulling the impoverished out of poverty, a better quality of life can be attained. By selling the pumps, instead of giving them, there is a stronger relationship between the user and the object. KickStart emphasizes, "Those who buy the tools are more likely to use them than those who are given them. This is true regardless of where you live or how wealthy you are." I remember the KickStart representative expressing that KickStart doesn't really make a profit selling these pumps to poor farmers. In fact, they might even be losing money. But the point is that those individuals who have worked hard to invest in their equipment will take care of it, make it last longer and in turn improve their lives with the income they generate. The increasing success stories inspire others in the community to do the same, and slowly, but steadily, this marks one company's approach to the beginning of the end of poverty.
Given Chapman's design approach and KickStart's innovative business model, it gives me hope that there is the possibility for change. And even though this change will encompass the complicated realms of economics, business, technology, anthropology, and many other discplines that I don't fully understand, I know that at the bottom of it all, it still links to the thing we all share and comprehend: the human heart and its compassion.
I've begun reading this book, Emotionally Durable Design: Objects, Experiences & Empathy by Jonathan Chapman, from which the above quote was taken. Chapman approaches sustainable design in a manner that we're not so accustomed to hearing. Though it does contain a good number of astonishing facts and statistics, it doesn't focus solely on the materials we should use, the methods we shouldn't employ or the ways in which we can attempt to reverse the damage already wrecked on our planet in order to have "green design." Rather, Chapman likens it to the difference between Western and Eastern medicine. The former is often concerned with alleviating symptoms; The latter holistically seeks to identify the root of the problem and attempts to eradicate the cause of discomfort. And according to Chapman, a root cause of the rampant, and wasteful consumerism that has developed in this past century is the lack of emotional connection between user and product. Chapman summarizes his own book:
"This book proposes a radical design about-face in order to reduce the impact of modern consumption without compromising commercial or creative edge...This book does not propose sweeping overhaul of the entire designed world. Instead, it espouses the emergence of a specialist design genre that caters for deeper, more profound and poetic human needs, taking users beyond the ephemeral world of technocentric design and toward a rich, interactive domain of emotionally durable objects and experiences. 'It is time for a new generation of products that can age slowly and in a dignified way...[to] become our partners in life and support our memories.'" (24)
At the Better World by Design conference last weekend, I attended a panel titled Appropriate Technology for the Developing World. One of the speakers present was a representative from KickStart, a company that develops products to help the poor out of poverty. This discussion of a more intimate relationship between user and object in Chapman's book reminds me of the way in which KickStart approaches its business. KickStart states: "Our mission is to get millions of people out of poverty quickly, cost-effectively and sustainably. And, in doing so, change the way the world fights poverty."
a local with a MoneyMaker water pumpFounders Nick Moon and Martin Fisher found that free aid and giveaways are essentially ineffective in the long term because it creates dependency on an organization that can only provide temporary alleviation. Instead, KickStart has developed irrigation pumps to sell to locals in Kenya, Tanzania and Mali to stimulate a sustainable local economy that eventually provides income to the poor. And by pulling the impoverished out of poverty, a better quality of life can be attained. By selling the pumps, instead of giving them, there is a stronger relationship between the user and the object. KickStart emphasizes, "Those who buy the tools are more likely to use them than those who are given them. This is true regardless of where you live or how wealthy you are." I remember the KickStart representative expressing that KickStart doesn't really make a profit selling these pumps to poor farmers. In fact, they might even be losing money. But the point is that those individuals who have worked hard to invest in their equipment will take care of it, make it last longer and in turn improve their lives with the income they generate. The increasing success stories inspire others in the community to do the same, and slowly, but steadily, this marks one company's approach to the beginning of the end of poverty.
Given Chapman's design approach and KickStart's innovative business model, it gives me hope that there is the possibility for change. And even though this change will encompass the complicated realms of economics, business, technology, anthropology, and many other discplines that I don't fully understand, I know that at the bottom of it all, it still links to the thing we all share and comprehend: the human heart and its compassion.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
bicing
Think they'll start this in the U.S.?
European Bicyling Sharing Programs
It'd be neat if a program like this could be implemented in Providence. It's like Zipcar, only greener ahd healthier. Tackling that hill might be an issue though...
European Bicyling Sharing Programs
It'd be neat if a program like this could be implemented in Providence. It's like Zipcar, only greener ahd healthier. Tackling that hill might be an issue though...
Saturday, 8 November 2008
a better world by design
design for social impact
Freshman year at RISD: I was considering Industrial Design as my major, and in order to verify my inclination, I opted to take "Product Design 101" over our wintersession semester. One of our assignments prompted us to visit a store and purchase a product to dissect. As I scanned aisle after aisle and noticed shelf upon shelf lined with stuff, I thought to myself, "Gee, I may potentially be responsible for creating the junk that litters this world." But with the hectic nature of school and the incessant deadlines looming and occupying my brain's limited capacity, I pushed my concern to a corner and filed it away as inconsequential.
Now, as a junior with only about a year and a half of college left and the job search faint on the horizon, I can no longer ignore what I once believed was simply a niggling thought. Who am I as a designer, and how will I utilize my skills outside the shelter of school?
How fitting it was then, that our most recent lecture in History of ID should coincide with this past weekend's "A Better World by Design" conference held on Brown and RISD's campuses. During last week's class, Professor Bruce Becker delivered an engaging presentation about disaster medicine, humanitarian relief, and how they interact with industrial design. It jumpstarted a thought of excitement within me: we can create design that matters. We can make the world better, as Professor Becker put it, "one soul at a time."
Today, at the conference, a number of speakers shared their thoughts about "Tech to Kickstart Economies." Erik Hersman, Founder of Afrigadget, struck me with a brief statement: "Ingenuity is born of necessity." He proceeded to show us several photographs and prompted us to play a sort of "I Spy" game with him. What do you see, he asked, as we observed what appeared to be a keyboard devoid of keys, lying haphazardly on a pile of useless scraps. It no longer functioned as a keyboard; it had become a shoe shiner's no-slip shoe shining platform. Other photographs of handmade welders, grinding wheels attached to bike chains and gears, tools made from machine parts meant for another purpose, gave testament to the ingenuity of creative Africans looking to solve their everyday problems with the resources at hand.
What we regard as trash, he emphasized, is actually opportunity. I think that this kind of problem solving should be considered in our design process. In an age where it is becoming alarmingly apparent that our resources are limited and that our planet cannot sustain this level of consumption much longer, it is important to be able to use the things we have already created. We've learned since elementary school the mantra "reduce, reuse, recycle." But now, it is more evident that this should extend beyond paper, cans and bottles. We have to ask ourselves, how can we use post industrial waste, outdated products, or seemingly useless scrap in innovative ways that can meet humanity's needs? Does it really need to be a complicated gadget with an amalgam of functions? Or can we learn from these inventive Africans who have taken what they already have to creatively and effectively accomplish the tasks they set out to do?
Although there is some cynicism that green design is just a fad or that some individuals are only economically motivated, this conference has given me a different perspective on my design practice. I am inspired by the enthusiasm of others in the design world who are also passionate about design that matters. I am encouraged by their hope for change. And to borrow from our new president elect, I am confident that "Yes, we can" create a better world by design.
In addendum: other interesting things mentioned during the conference:
KickStart and micro-irrigation: "Poor people are not victims awaiting rescue"
FrontlineSMS: communication for non-governmental organizations working in developing countries
Triple Bottom Line: People, Planet, Profit
Better Place: freedom from oil with an electric car network
Biomimicry: learning from nature's problem solving
Living Homes: sustainable housing
Architecture for Humanity: bringing design, construction and development to communities in need
Freshman year at RISD: I was considering Industrial Design as my major, and in order to verify my inclination, I opted to take "Product Design 101" over our wintersession semester. One of our assignments prompted us to visit a store and purchase a product to dissect. As I scanned aisle after aisle and noticed shelf upon shelf lined with stuff, I thought to myself, "Gee, I may potentially be responsible for creating the junk that litters this world." But with the hectic nature of school and the incessant deadlines looming and occupying my brain's limited capacity, I pushed my concern to a corner and filed it away as inconsequential.
Now, as a junior with only about a year and a half of college left and the job search faint on the horizon, I can no longer ignore what I once believed was simply a niggling thought. Who am I as a designer, and how will I utilize my skills outside the shelter of school?
How fitting it was then, that our most recent lecture in History of ID should coincide with this past weekend's "A Better World by Design" conference held on Brown and RISD's campuses. During last week's class, Professor Bruce Becker delivered an engaging presentation about disaster medicine, humanitarian relief, and how they interact with industrial design. It jumpstarted a thought of excitement within me: we can create design that matters. We can make the world better, as Professor Becker put it, "one soul at a time."
Today, at the conference, a number of speakers shared their thoughts about "Tech to Kickstart Economies." Erik Hersman, Founder of Afrigadget, struck me with a brief statement: "Ingenuity is born of necessity." He proceeded to show us several photographs and prompted us to play a sort of "I Spy" game with him. What do you see, he asked, as we observed what appeared to be a keyboard devoid of keys, lying haphazardly on a pile of useless scraps. It no longer functioned as a keyboard; it had become a shoe shiner's no-slip shoe shining platform. Other photographs of handmade welders, grinding wheels attached to bike chains and gears, tools made from machine parts meant for another purpose, gave testament to the ingenuity of creative Africans looking to solve their everyday problems with the resources at hand.
What we regard as trash, he emphasized, is actually opportunity. I think that this kind of problem solving should be considered in our design process. In an age where it is becoming alarmingly apparent that our resources are limited and that our planet cannot sustain this level of consumption much longer, it is important to be able to use the things we have already created. We've learned since elementary school the mantra "reduce, reuse, recycle." But now, it is more evident that this should extend beyond paper, cans and bottles. We have to ask ourselves, how can we use post industrial waste, outdated products, or seemingly useless scrap in innovative ways that can meet humanity's needs? Does it really need to be a complicated gadget with an amalgam of functions? Or can we learn from these inventive Africans who have taken what they already have to creatively and effectively accomplish the tasks they set out to do?
Although there is some cynicism that green design is just a fad or that some individuals are only economically motivated, this conference has given me a different perspective on my design practice. I am inspired by the enthusiasm of others in the design world who are also passionate about design that matters. I am encouraged by their hope for change. And to borrow from our new president elect, I am confident that "Yes, we can" create a better world by design.
In addendum: other interesting things mentioned during the conference:
KickStart and micro-irrigation: "Poor people are not victims awaiting rescue"
FrontlineSMS: communication for non-governmental organizations working in developing countries
Triple Bottom Line: People, Planet, Profit
Better Place: freedom from oil with an electric car network
Biomimicry: learning from nature's problem solving
Living Homes: sustainable housing
Architecture for Humanity: bringing design, construction and development to communities in need
Sunday, 2 November 2008
intent + interpretation
meaning in design
I think Toyota’s Prius look like a hefty loaf of bread- an inedible metallic hunk of mass that comes in an array of somber colors. I used to think that, because of its quiet engine, it would make the perfect getaway car. For about a block, that is, until its pursuers caught up with it in a matter of seconds. And, it certainly doesn’t do your wallet a favor. How much you save on gas as compared to how much more you’ve paid for the vehicle won’t be profitable for some time. So why is it so popular?
The Prius offers a unique power train system that combines an electric motor and internal combustion engine together. The braking system collects energy that is usually lost as heat and converts it into electricity to recharge the battery in the car. All the science and engineering stuff aside, what does this mean for us practically? It means lower emissions and greater fuel efficiency, which equates to “better for the environment” and “lower gasoline consumption.” These two aspects appeal to green-culture conscious people.
So what is Toyota actually intending by designing, marketing and selling this vehicle? Let’s say that they are truly eco-conscious idealists and desire to create a product that is less detrimental to the environment. And through the design of this vehicle, they hope to encourage Prius users to live “greener” lifestyles which in turn will decelerate global warming, revive species on the brink of extinction, decrease our oil gulping tendencies and let us live as a big, earth-loving family.
If this is truly the designers’ intent (which is, by the way, a really limited view, and I do not think that this is Toyota’s sole intent with the Prius), do the users respond in a way that is consistent with their intentions? The Prius’ unique look serves as a badge of green-ness for consumers. Lower gas bills and lower emissions scream, “Look! I’m green!” Simply by buying this car and driving it around, it means I’m green. But does it really? Does living a greener lifestyle mean spending big bucks on a vehicle that gets a few more miles per gallon? Or rather, is living green a total life style change that entails much more than the cars we drive? And has the Prius designer succeeded in provoking the Prius user to lead a more eco-conscious lifestyle? I think some Prius users are more concerned about their savings at the pump or the green image they project by purchasing the vehicle that is the cultural epitome of green-ness in American transportation. By purchasing and using this item, they have done their jobs as responsible citizens of the world.
This is not to say that the Prius hasn’t made a positive contribution. In fact, it has, and I think it’s a beginning step in the right direction for design that is sensitive to the effects of man’s behavior on the environment. I set up this discussion not so much to talk about the Prius ad nauseam but rather to illustrate the difference between intent and interpretation. The designers may have intended for the Prius to be the starting point for a green conscious lifestyle. But what happens after the customer takes it home is out of their direct control. After this purchase, do they begin to remodel their houses to adhere to green standards? Is the fridge stocked with only locally grown produce? Do they reduce their habits of consumption?
Much of design is not only what the creator has made, but how the user interprets and uses it. The designer can predict how a consumer will respond and make design decisions based upon research and experience, but prediction and reality are not synonymous. So while, yes, a designer can design something to influence the user to act a certain way, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will. The designer can create the perfect ergonomic handle with every visual and tactile indication of how to implement it, and still, someone will find a way to use it incorrectly. Or in terms of the Prius, many customers may not be concerned with saving the environment. Instead they desire to be a part of the new green trend while saving a few at the pump. Therefore, meaning in design is not determined solely by the designer. The audience’s response to design contributes to meaning as well. Thus, in design, there is this dialogue between designer and audience: intent and interpretation.
For those who are interested in reading more about the Prius or the green-ness trend:
"Being Skeptical of Green"
"How Green is the Toyota Prius?"
"Hybrid Marketers Might Take a Lesson from Toyota"
I think Toyota’s Prius look like a hefty loaf of bread- an inedible metallic hunk of mass that comes in an array of somber colors. I used to think that, because of its quiet engine, it would make the perfect getaway car. For about a block, that is, until its pursuers caught up with it in a matter of seconds. And, it certainly doesn’t do your wallet a favor. How much you save on gas as compared to how much more you’ve paid for the vehicle won’t be profitable for some time. So why is it so popular?
The Prius offers a unique power train system that combines an electric motor and internal combustion engine together. The braking system collects energy that is usually lost as heat and converts it into electricity to recharge the battery in the car. All the science and engineering stuff aside, what does this mean for us practically? It means lower emissions and greater fuel efficiency, which equates to “better for the environment” and “lower gasoline consumption.” These two aspects appeal to green-culture conscious people.
So what is Toyota actually intending by designing, marketing and selling this vehicle? Let’s say that they are truly eco-conscious idealists and desire to create a product that is less detrimental to the environment. And through the design of this vehicle, they hope to encourage Prius users to live “greener” lifestyles which in turn will decelerate global warming, revive species on the brink of extinction, decrease our oil gulping tendencies and let us live as a big, earth-loving family.
If this is truly the designers’ intent (which is, by the way, a really limited view, and I do not think that this is Toyota’s sole intent with the Prius), do the users respond in a way that is consistent with their intentions? The Prius’ unique look serves as a badge of green-ness for consumers. Lower gas bills and lower emissions scream, “Look! I’m green!” Simply by buying this car and driving it around, it means I’m green. But does it really? Does living a greener lifestyle mean spending big bucks on a vehicle that gets a few more miles per gallon? Or rather, is living green a total life style change that entails much more than the cars we drive? And has the Prius designer succeeded in provoking the Prius user to lead a more eco-conscious lifestyle? I think some Prius users are more concerned about their savings at the pump or the green image they project by purchasing the vehicle that is the cultural epitome of green-ness in American transportation. By purchasing and using this item, they have done their jobs as responsible citizens of the world.
This is not to say that the Prius hasn’t made a positive contribution. In fact, it has, and I think it’s a beginning step in the right direction for design that is sensitive to the effects of man’s behavior on the environment. I set up this discussion not so much to talk about the Prius ad nauseam but rather to illustrate the difference between intent and interpretation. The designers may have intended for the Prius to be the starting point for a green conscious lifestyle. But what happens after the customer takes it home is out of their direct control. After this purchase, do they begin to remodel their houses to adhere to green standards? Is the fridge stocked with only locally grown produce? Do they reduce their habits of consumption?
Much of design is not only what the creator has made, but how the user interprets and uses it. The designer can predict how a consumer will respond and make design decisions based upon research and experience, but prediction and reality are not synonymous. So while, yes, a designer can design something to influence the user to act a certain way, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will. The designer can create the perfect ergonomic handle with every visual and tactile indication of how to implement it, and still, someone will find a way to use it incorrectly. Or in terms of the Prius, many customers may not be concerned with saving the environment. Instead they desire to be a part of the new green trend while saving a few at the pump. Therefore, meaning in design is not determined solely by the designer. The audience’s response to design contributes to meaning as well. Thus, in design, there is this dialogue between designer and audience: intent and interpretation.
For those who are interested in reading more about the Prius or the green-ness trend:
"Being Skeptical of Green"
"How Green is the Toyota Prius?"
"Hybrid Marketers Might Take a Lesson from Toyota"
Sunday, 26 October 2008
symbiosis
a reflection on industrial design. and just about everything else.
My parents are engineers. Observing them while growing up, I assumed that they methodically approached everything in terms of numbers, computers and all the technological jumble of the speedy, interconnected world around us. Though I was not particularly clear on what exactly would occur in the office place from nine to five each day, I knew one thing for sure: I did not want to follow in their path. Instead, I wanted to pursue something that I perceived as the antithesis to them. I wanted to be an artist.
This semester, I am enrolled in a studio that is a collaborative project between RISD industrial design students and Brown engineering students. The main objective? To research, design and fabricate a prototype of an alternative, urban, commuter, biodiesel vehicle that can address the practical, economic, social and environmental needs of cities ranging from Providence, RI to Kisumu, Kenya. Or, really, to put it succinctly, it’s a challenging lesson in collaborating with others who often think, see and speak very differently from ourselves and about using our separate strengths in what we do to solve a set of problems to successfully reach a unified goal. In a farcical presentation about the differences between the designer and the engineer, the speaker, an engineer, pointed out that designers are often compelled to think beyond the box. “How can I defy convention?” they will ponder. Conversely, the engineer will ask, “How big is the box?” or “What’s it made of? Metal?” Another speaker, this time a designer, spoke of the time the design of his beautifully formed product later morphed at the hands of an engineer further down the production line. The product hit the shelves as an unattractive, unsatisfying blob. Clearly, there was little sensitive attention to effective communication. Here is a hypothetical conversation between the design student and the engineering student when discussing a potential concept concerning this class:
I say, “How about this?”
He says, “No, that’s not possible. Physics won’t allow it. It’ll be really unstable. What about this?”
Attempting to be tactful but honest, I say, “It’s… a block with wheels. Can it have a little more…style?”
Of course, these are stereotypical illustrations depicted for comic effect, but in my experience these past few weeks, I can say that yes, we are quite different. And despite the frustrations of not always seeing “eye to eye,” I’m glad we are. Working with the engineers has brought a different perspective on my approach to design. They present a great amount of knowledge about the technology that is available or the advances that are up and coming. They have an understanding of the way the world works in a scientific and physical sense. They can comprehend systems and mechanics and apply them to solving the problems we face. In a sense they, too, are designers. They create, innovate and instigate change, albeit in an ostensibly different way. And strangely enough, industrial designers can be part engineer as well. Outwardly, it may seem like we are only concerned with making things look good. But a good looking thing that does nothing well is simply no good at all. One is mindful of the mechanisms needed, the physical feasibility, the materials of choice, the manufacturing process and all the tools involved in production. In addition, the designer must consider the social, ecological, and technological impact of a design, its targeted user and interface, its marketability, and of course, the beauty it can bring to a place that is scarred by the problems that once remained unsolvable.
I suppose that up to this point, one would conclude that I’m saying industrial design pairs itself nicely with engineering. But it is not limited to only this relationship. I think that industrial design consists of many other areas that may not seem directly applicable at first glance.
In our first timeline, we considered the past and what has passed. Although this could refer to physical death, I chose to look at the topic in light of past discoveries, innovations and technological advancements. I think that as an industrial designer, it is important to consider history, whether it be antiquated or it be yesterday, and use those collective past experiences as a spring board in which to move forward. History shows us struggle and triumph and the ways in which design acts as a culprit or a hero. It gives us the encouragement that says, yes, the impossible can be done. Yesterday provides us with the inspiration to create for today. It humbles us with design that has lasted millennia and spurs us to reach that kind of significant simplicity. Overlapping with history, there’s science, politics, anthropology, you name it. Somehow all these things touch industrial design, and industrial design responds simultaneously in pronounced or subtle ways.
But I cannot dismiss its place in the art world. Industrial design is not limited to objects of mass production and the consumer culture in which it resides. Industrial design is art. It can be a source of beauty, a means of expression, and a museum worthy piece meant to be appreciated because it simply is.
In our second timeline, we were asked to examine light. Instead of looking at the history and technology of lighting in a utilitarian sense, I chose to see how artists and designers employed light as expression. I wanted this exploration to serve as a reminder that design, within industrial design, is more than a product that serves some useful purpose for some consumer. Again, industrial design is art. It, too, can embody emotions, articulate opinion, and convey thoughts and ideas that are often reserved for the category of fine arts.
My discussion here serves as rumination on the symbiotic relationships industrial design has with other disciplines that we have so neatly categorized and shelved into separate compartments. But the point is, industrial design cannot be segregated into its own corner, nor can industrial designers pay no heed to the things that are seemingly beyond the design world. We are all interconnected somehow, and it’s the recognition of these relationships that we can design for a better world. So, no longer can I see myself as the artist who has absolutely nothing to do with the engineer. Or with the historian, the painter, the scientist…In fact we are all collaborators in one grand project that is ever changing and ever moving.
My parents are engineers. Observing them while growing up, I assumed that they methodically approached everything in terms of numbers, computers and all the technological jumble of the speedy, interconnected world around us. Though I was not particularly clear on what exactly would occur in the office place from nine to five each day, I knew one thing for sure: I did not want to follow in their path. Instead, I wanted to pursue something that I perceived as the antithesis to them. I wanted to be an artist.
This semester, I am enrolled in a studio that is a collaborative project between RISD industrial design students and Brown engineering students. The main objective? To research, design and fabricate a prototype of an alternative, urban, commuter, biodiesel vehicle that can address the practical, economic, social and environmental needs of cities ranging from Providence, RI to Kisumu, Kenya. Or, really, to put it succinctly, it’s a challenging lesson in collaborating with others who often think, see and speak very differently from ourselves and about using our separate strengths in what we do to solve a set of problems to successfully reach a unified goal. In a farcical presentation about the differences between the designer and the engineer, the speaker, an engineer, pointed out that designers are often compelled to think beyond the box. “How can I defy convention?” they will ponder. Conversely, the engineer will ask, “How big is the box?” or “What’s it made of? Metal?” Another speaker, this time a designer, spoke of the time the design of his beautifully formed product later morphed at the hands of an engineer further down the production line. The product hit the shelves as an unattractive, unsatisfying blob. Clearly, there was little sensitive attention to effective communication. Here is a hypothetical conversation between the design student and the engineering student when discussing a potential concept concerning this class:
I say, “How about this?”
He says, “No, that’s not possible. Physics won’t allow it. It’ll be really unstable. What about this?”
Attempting to be tactful but honest, I say, “It’s… a block with wheels. Can it have a little more…style?”
Of course, these are stereotypical illustrations depicted for comic effect, but in my experience these past few weeks, I can say that yes, we are quite different. And despite the frustrations of not always seeing “eye to eye,” I’m glad we are. Working with the engineers has brought a different perspective on my approach to design. They present a great amount of knowledge about the technology that is available or the advances that are up and coming. They have an understanding of the way the world works in a scientific and physical sense. They can comprehend systems and mechanics and apply them to solving the problems we face. In a sense they, too, are designers. They create, innovate and instigate change, albeit in an ostensibly different way. And strangely enough, industrial designers can be part engineer as well. Outwardly, it may seem like we are only concerned with making things look good. But a good looking thing that does nothing well is simply no good at all. One is mindful of the mechanisms needed, the physical feasibility, the materials of choice, the manufacturing process and all the tools involved in production. In addition, the designer must consider the social, ecological, and technological impact of a design, its targeted user and interface, its marketability, and of course, the beauty it can bring to a place that is scarred by the problems that once remained unsolvable.
I suppose that up to this point, one would conclude that I’m saying industrial design pairs itself nicely with engineering. But it is not limited to only this relationship. I think that industrial design consists of many other areas that may not seem directly applicable at first glance.
In our first timeline, we considered the past and what has passed. Although this could refer to physical death, I chose to look at the topic in light of past discoveries, innovations and technological advancements. I think that as an industrial designer, it is important to consider history, whether it be antiquated or it be yesterday, and use those collective past experiences as a spring board in which to move forward. History shows us struggle and triumph and the ways in which design acts as a culprit or a hero. It gives us the encouragement that says, yes, the impossible can be done. Yesterday provides us with the inspiration to create for today. It humbles us with design that has lasted millennia and spurs us to reach that kind of significant simplicity. Overlapping with history, there’s science, politics, anthropology, you name it. Somehow all these things touch industrial design, and industrial design responds simultaneously in pronounced or subtle ways.
But I cannot dismiss its place in the art world. Industrial design is not limited to objects of mass production and the consumer culture in which it resides. Industrial design is art. It can be a source of beauty, a means of expression, and a museum worthy piece meant to be appreciated because it simply is.
In our second timeline, we were asked to examine light. Instead of looking at the history and technology of lighting in a utilitarian sense, I chose to see how artists and designers employed light as expression. I wanted this exploration to serve as a reminder that design, within industrial design, is more than a product that serves some useful purpose for some consumer. Again, industrial design is art. It, too, can embody emotions, articulate opinion, and convey thoughts and ideas that are often reserved for the category of fine arts.
My discussion here serves as rumination on the symbiotic relationships industrial design has with other disciplines that we have so neatly categorized and shelved into separate compartments. But the point is, industrial design cannot be segregated into its own corner, nor can industrial designers pay no heed to the things that are seemingly beyond the design world. We are all interconnected somehow, and it’s the recognition of these relationships that we can design for a better world. So, no longer can I see myself as the artist who has absolutely nothing to do with the engineer. Or with the historian, the painter, the scientist…In fact we are all collaborators in one grand project that is ever changing and ever moving.
Saturday, 18 October 2008
form follows function
seating in the early 20th century
riding in an elevator the other day, i realized that solely by observation inside the compartment, one probably wouldn't be able to figure out how it works in a mechanical and electrical sense. everything is hidden behind panels, shoved away out of sight, and by the simple push of a button, one can travel several floors in a matter of seconds.
over the summer, i worked at a small furniture design company that believed in producing "honest" design. everything was as minimal as possible, all joints were revealed, nothing was hidden out of sight. every part existed for a certain purpose. without a component, the piece would be incomplete. and even though each piece was so seemingly simple, it maintained a balance of elegance and practicality.
where, then, can we strike a balance between baring all and avoiding the unsightly? my experience in the furniture shop taught me to embrace things simply as they are. there is no need to hide. but in the case of the elevator, being able to see a tangled mass of wires and hydraulic cylinders may not be palatable for all. so now the challenge is, how can we design something, mechanisms included, that can be comfortable when exposed? how minimal can i design something and yet still have it function well if not better? those are challenges i'm willing to take on.
for my timeline, i examined 5 different chairs from the early to mid 20th century. i wanted to see how different designers used function to dictate form. not only did the functional purpose of the chair drive form, but the manufacturing processes and developing technologies existing at the time also contributed to the final design of the object. "form follows function" seems to have become rather trite and constricting, but i think that it is still a valid starting point in design. perhaps for my own practice, i will follow instead a more "honest" approach-- the kind that reveals all the innards of the elevator but still remains beautiful yet uncomplicated.
riding in an elevator the other day, i realized that solely by observation inside the compartment, one probably wouldn't be able to figure out how it works in a mechanical and electrical sense. everything is hidden behind panels, shoved away out of sight, and by the simple push of a button, one can travel several floors in a matter of seconds.
over the summer, i worked at a small furniture design company that believed in producing "honest" design. everything was as minimal as possible, all joints were revealed, nothing was hidden out of sight. every part existed for a certain purpose. without a component, the piece would be incomplete. and even though each piece was so seemingly simple, it maintained a balance of elegance and practicality.
where, then, can we strike a balance between baring all and avoiding the unsightly? my experience in the furniture shop taught me to embrace things simply as they are. there is no need to hide. but in the case of the elevator, being able to see a tangled mass of wires and hydraulic cylinders may not be palatable for all. so now the challenge is, how can we design something, mechanisms included, that can be comfortable when exposed? how minimal can i design something and yet still have it function well if not better? those are challenges i'm willing to take on.
for my timeline, i examined 5 different chairs from the early to mid 20th century. i wanted to see how different designers used function to dictate form. not only did the functional purpose of the chair drive form, but the manufacturing processes and developing technologies existing at the time also contributed to the final design of the object. "form follows function" seems to have become rather trite and constricting, but i think that it is still a valid starting point in design. perhaps for my own practice, i will follow instead a more "honest" approach-- the kind that reveals all the innards of the elevator but still remains beautiful yet uncomplicated.
building a better mousetrap...?
light as expression
what interests me about industrial design? i would say: solving the problems that we face and accomplishing it in a way that melds art with science and design with technology while still maintaining a social and ecological conscience. or to put it succinctly, i like helping to create things that will (hopefully) make our lives and the world around us better.
but even with all that pragmatism, we have to remember that designers are still artists after all. not only does a designer's work seek to have practical applications, it sometimes makes a statement about how they see themselves, the world or whatever subject matter they choose to express. thus, for my timeline, i chose to look at ways in which artists have utilized and manipulated light as a means of expression. though the pieces i chose to highlight may seem to serve no "practical purpose" and may seem more reminiscent of the fine arts, i feel like they are a good reminder of a way in which we can approach design. beneath the pragmatism and consumerism that drives design, there can also exist an artistic statement that expresses an artist's ideas at a more conceptual level.
the passed to the past
discovery and invention: an exploration of the unknown
in our first class, we talked dealing with the past/passed--in particular, those who are deceased and how artists and designers address the concept of death. a discussion of the past led me to my own interpretation, and i wanted to build off the play on words of past and passed. instead of further investigating the physical concept of death, i decided to examine the past in terms of scientific and technological discoveries and how those relate to what has passed in the past.
i began to think about knowledge and the human capacity to accumulate knowledge. what has become known cannot become forgotten, because what has been revealed cannot be hidden again. in my timeline, i looked at several points in history where something that was once unknown, became known, or what was once believed to be true proved to be the contrary. suddenly the unknown quality of something has passed and become a part of the past.
from the mapping of the new world to the mapping of the human genome, these discoveries are now a part of the past. it is not to say that these are now dead, but rather, they open many doors to future discoveries that will complete the cycle of moving from the unknown to the known, the passed to the past.
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