Theory1F10

Design as Rupture by Kate Johnston and Scott Massey

Andrew Blauvelt, in his introductory essay to the catalog for the 2003 show Strangely Familiar: Design and Everyday Life at the Walker Art Center, speaks of the impact that can be brought about by encountering an object such as Dunne and Raby's Placebo Project table. The very fact that the object is created to perform a function not dictated by the market or demanded by a consumer means that it begins to "probe social behaviors and cultural values through long-term investigations." Once an every day object such as a table performs a role not traditionally attributed to it, such as picking up electromagnetic radiation, it forces the user to become very aware of what their actual relationship to the table is to begin with. When the everyday object is reconfigured to have an unexpected function, it becomes a site of rupture.

Rupture can be defined as a moment of "seeing" an object as if for the first time. Elizabeth K. Meyer, in her Sustaining Beauty, The Performance of Appearance: A Manifesto, speaks of this type of seeing as a moment of decentering. She quotes Elaine Scarry: "The moment we see something beautiful, we undergo a radical decentering. Beauty requires us to give up our imaginary position as the center... a transformation then takes place at the very roots of our sensibility... we find we are standing in a different relationship to the world than we were the moment before. It is not that we cease to stand at the center of the world, for we never stood there. It is that we cease to stand even at the center of our own world. We willingly cede ground to the thing that stands before us" (Scarry 1999: 3, 24, 109-110).

Meyer makes the case for beauty as a specific site of decentering, but the object which functions as a site of rupture need not be beautiful per se, it need only to be unexpected in its mode of use. New York's High Line is a perfect example. The re-purposing of a run-down elevated train track as a public park allows the user to re-think their own relationship to each of its elements; the train track, the park, even the space of Chelsea as a neighborhood simply by experiencing them from an unexpected viewpoint.

Although neither traditionally beautiful nor an actual object, The Il Monumento Continuo project of Italy's Superstudio in the 1960's functions as a site of rupture as well. By showing the world encased in a monolithic white grid structure, Superstudio re-purposes the whole world as the site of rupture: by encountering the strangely alien compositions of the grid and the collages of tribal formations of its proposed "dwellers," we are forced to re-evaluate our relationship to the world as a whole. As Jonathan Glancey notes, "The point was exaggerated but well made: Superstudio were commenting on the way globalization was swamping the world. Given the way the world was developing, we might as well all live in one anonymous megastructure, with local cultures stripped away" (Glancey 2003: The Guardian UK )  

The Placebo Project, New York's High Line, and Il Monumento Continuo are all designed objects whose demand of a non market-defined function cause the user to re-examine their relationship with the objects and the systems they exist within, but non designed phenomena can unconsciously operate as sites of rupture as well. The immensely popular meme "Double Rainbow Guy" is one such example. The video of a man named Yosemitebear thrown into a state of sublime rapture when encountering a double rainbow while camping in Yosemitie national park has the effect of forcing those who are familiar with the piece to re-think their own reactions to beautiful phenomena. The reason his emotional response is so fascinating is because of its striking difference from the hardened nonchalance with which the typical modern consumer reacts to moments of breathtaking natural beauty. Once we, as viewers, have experienced his rapture in the video, we are compelled think of it every time we see a rainbow in our own lives, and to experience the rainbow, perhaps, in a more profound way than we would have before. Yosemitebear unknowingly creates a site of rupture with his profound emotionality.

 

Good Design is Not Enough

by Sarah Gottesdiener and David Karwan 

Recently, the masters graphic design students currently in their first year at CalArts met to discuss ways to make their education more fruitful, rewarding, and rigorous in light of frustrations they were having with the current model. We discussed our action items and then drew up a plan of action to take for the future, one that would hopefully positively affect the rest of our tenure, as well as enhance generations in the future. 

An equal balance of criticality, skill, high conceptual thinking and questioning, along with action and activist-based solutions are the only solution to the future of design, as inextricably linked to our society as well as the global state. The seemingly never ending discussions over taste and style, ornament or no ornament, is no longer applicable to our ideology. While we were all busy clicking away at our keyboards and writing insular comments on design blogs, the tea party was forming, immigrants' rights, and the rights of queer people were taken away, the poverty divide got larger by the minute, and now a post-Palin stench and general malaise hangs in the air of our nation. 

“The pressure on the young designer is not to become a star, a master or mistress of the universal, but to become a participant in the communication process, a co-conspirator, a co-author, maybe even an author/designer.” Lorraine Wilds, "Graphic Design: Lost and Found". We would agree with this comment, and take it one step further, to place the designer in the inescapable role of activist. We are already creating action and we would argue change everything we respond to a brief, make a logo, add to the visual landscape of the world, no matter on how small a scale. Indeed, the creative process, no matter how commercial, is a choice and an action in itself. In other words, we need to be become engaged, active and informed citizens of the world. 

Looking to the past to ignite today 

History has taught us that all good graphic design can be powerful propaganda. To what end we want to use it for is up to us. Obama's campaign would not have been as successful if his design and marketing team were not as savvy as they were. The activists of Gran Fury/Act Up brought AIDS/HIV awareness to the masses, and created legislative action for healthcare and testing protocol. The Black Panthers, Riot Grrrl, the punk movement of the 1980's as encapsulated by SST/Raymond Pettibon, Kalle Lasn’s Adbusters, the above mentioned Obama Campaign and Gran Fury--any of the social or political movements in this country was accompanied by intelligent marketing and a compelling graphic look. 

Since the 60‘s, the Western World has been peppered with individuals and groups personifying the designer activist role, but early 20th century Russians were the ones who set a strong blueprint for how to combine the visual with the social / political. Russian Constructivism was visual movement that originated cira 1919 which rejected the notion of “art for art sake” in favor for art as a practice directed towards social purposes. Done with the enthusiast embrace for the Bolshevik revolution, the constructivists produced books, posters, exhibitions and other print materials that furthered the spread and ideas of Communism. The most impressive vehicles designed to communicate their ideals was Propaganda trains. Designed by artists, designers, and architects, these locomotives were sent far off into the countryside to communicate, to potentially illiterate, communities through their spectacle, powerful use of imagery and mini-film studios held within the train’s interior. Short lived and later persecuted for their ideas and designs by Lenin, these influential soviet designers are widely admired for their mixture of revolutionary aesthetics and social positions. 

 

 

If we navigate sixty-some years past the Constructivists, we can identify Tibor Kalman as somewhat of a moral compass, a designer that fused graphic design with social activism. Kalman may be best known for Colors magazine, but it was his actions like devoting M&Co’s seasonal self-promotional gifts to advocating support for the homeless that made his practice special. One Christmas Kalman sent over 300 clients and colleagues a small cardboard box stuffed with the banal contents of a homeless-shelter meal (a sandwich, candy bar, crackers) and offered to match any donations that the recipients made to an agency for the homeless. The following year he sent a book sprinkled with facts about poverty with twenty dollars and a stamped envelope addressed to another charity. His criticality of not only his own work, but the world in which it resided in is something that is poorly lacking in the present day world of graphic design. 

 

The present is the future 

What do we stand for? How do we translate that visually in a helpful way, for useful causes?

As designers, we are initially taught abstract forms, color wheels, and abstract composition in a visual cave sealed off from the world at large. Are we led away from design as political the first day we compose with typography? An additional question is what would a progressive design curriculum look like? How does one teach political awareness? We must be activists, critical thinkers, and catalysts for positive change in our society and our profession. We must lead by example. 

 

Is Design a Super-Power?

It seems the question of the designer’s subjective voice is one with which the discipline has always been grappling: from Morris’ longing for the authenticity of craftsmanship, to Muller-Brockman’s almost clinical treatment of typography, to McCoy’s revolt against objectivity, to our burgeoning contemporary tendency towards process-based, left-to-chance design. A belief keeps resurfacing over time that designers have a special power that they should tap into, only to be warned of the dangers of using it for self-gain at the inevitable expense of the people. “The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author.” For many, Barthes’ claim provides a valid hypothesis for the dilemma of how ‘identifiable’ a designer’s opinion should be through their work. The statement has a romantic ring to it, like a benevolent sacrifice of power from the tyrannical designer for the greater good of the reader's freedom. 

 

Katherine McCoy was on a quest to ‘free’ the designer from the constraints of the client’s message, and simultaneously to ‘free’ the readers of the designer’s subjectivity. In her piece, “American Graphic Design Expression”, she called for the “authoring [of] additional content and a self-conscious critique of the message” from the designer, and urged the readers “to make individual interpretations in graphic design that ‘decenters’ the message”. I believe, however, that the deconstructed form that this endeavor has taken actually puts the designer at a disadvantage. What role has s/he taken besides the provider of form? Does the designer’s intellect have to be obliterated in order to encourage reader criticality? In her quest for what she perceived as ‘intellectual freedom for all’, she jeopardizes the designer’s right to be understood. 

 

At the diverse stages it was posed, the question of a designer’s voice was the product of the structure of the society in which it was born. Due to design’s history of strong involvement in political propaganda, the post industrial-revolution perception of designers was perceived as authoritative figures that could impose their opinion on people while being oblivious to their corresponding opinions. This made the relationship between designer and reader a hierarchical, one-way stream. Regardless of his impetus (whether client-based or personal), the designer did have the super-power of influence, if only for the rare and precious ability to be heard by a mass audience. 

 

In his book, Objects of Desire, Adrian Forty attempts to thwart what he perceives as designers’ superiority complexes; “everything they do is [not] the result of their own conscious will and determination”, they have a “myth of their own omnipotence and [...] wholly ignore their role as agents of ideology.” He reiterates that the designer does not exist in a vacuum, and that the work s/he produces is as much a product of the context and society from which it originates as it is of the designer’s genius. 

 

Following this notion in view of our contemporary times, the question of the designer’s subjectivity has become obsolete. The answer to the question of how much the designer’s voice should be heard, ultimately, was neither with the designer nor the design. The solution lies within the audience itself. In this particular instance, the position of the designer hasn’t changed. S/he is still a person capable of disseminating a message to an audience. But whereas previously the reader was a relatively passive recipient, through technology, the reader today has gained a voice that it never has had before. It was the voice of the people that made Gap change their logo back to the old one after it was met with negative public opinion. Rather than having a hierarchical relationship, today’s designers and readers occupy equal grounds as disseminators and authors of their opinions/values. Attempting to ‘shield’ the readers from a specific stance on matters undermines their intelligence and ability to formulate their own opinion regardless of the one presented to them. Having a discernible message should not deter the readers from being critical. It provides them with more intellectual challenges. Today’s audiences are very active and vocal about their opinions. Threadless, a graphic T-shirt company, selects their designs based on audience votes. When they decided to introduce a new color for their candy, M&M’S made the people vote on what it should be. The designer today is in discourse with his/her audience, considering their opinions in the design process.

 

Designers’ super-power, today, is obsolete. The power to influence is no longer ours alone, design is just the way some of us choose to exercise it. Keen public awareness of what we do demystifies what we say, and allows design to be accepted as the opinion of a specific group about a specific instance. In a time when every individual has an opportunity to project their values and ideals, neither the designer’s nor the reader’s voice need be sacrificed. When everyone has the means to be heard, regardless of what they are, the world can finally engage in a discourse based on feedback. 

Noura Al-Naggar

Searching for the Design Auteur

By Tim Belonax

In his essay, "Designer as Author" Michael Rock presents auteur theory as a means for evaluating graphic designers. The similarities between a film director and a designer seem ripe for comparison. Both professionals share a certain distance from their material, are require to collaborate with others to produce a piece of work, and both complete a series of projects over time with varying degrees of creative input. Borrowed from film criticism, auteur theory posits three categories for a director's consideration as an auteur: demonstration of virtuous technical skill, the presence of a stylistic signature (present over several projects), and consistency of vision and interior meaning. Rock narrows the list of graphic design notables to those with the first two characteristics: technical proficiency and a consistent style. He delves deeper by introducing the third characteristic (vision and interior meaning); cutting the list down to a handful of "masters." While I agree with the parallels Rock draws, my interest lies on the periphery of this rubric, in an unexplored combination. Is a unifying visual style necessary to the definition of a great graphic designer, even if s/he exhibits excellent technical skills and a consistent vision?

While Rock used auteur theory as a stepping stone to a larger argument, he reveals a suspicion that design has been judged in this manner for some time. We first experience a work visually, so our prejudice toward "retinal" matters is expected. But, if we ignore the constraint of visual style, will we broaden the list of great designers (and studios) we should be considering?

Daniel Eatock is the prototypical designer for this inquiry. Eatock, a British-born graphic designer, is well known for a number of projects that forgo the authorial signature of a typical graphic designer. Many of his pieces revolve around the creation of a system, like his Prismacolor Pen Prints and Line Navigation Time Trial Challenge.

Prismacolor Pen Prints setup


One of 31 Prismacolor Pen Prints

Line Navigation Time Trial Challenge

Both pieces establish rules for creation, yet Eatock submits the execution to the result of the system itself. Eatock isn't the first to use systems in graphic design. Swiss design legend, Josef Müller-Brockmann is perhaps the first champion of systems in design. But a noticeable difference between Müller-Brockmann and Eatock is the amount of identifiable signature style evident in their work over time. The results of the two cited Eatock works result in pieces that reflect the system in which they were created, all while maintaining a certain level of craft and avoiding stylistic cues. Eatock's work approaches a type of recursion that results in a different visual summation after each piece completes its systemic cycle. Due to his lack of visual style and unique client deliverables, some have challenged whether Eatock is even a graphic designer (preferring the term artist or graphic artist). Aren't such questions the result of testing the evaluation of graphic design? 

In the traditional realm of the profession, with the familiar gargoyles— clients and deadlines— exists a studio whose deafening intelligence and visual acuity have surpassed the summation of a signature style. The New York-based studio, 2x4, has produced work in virtually every medium, spanning every design deliverable, for clients in art, fashion, publishing, business, and education. Michael Rock (noted at the beginning of the essay) is a partner in 2x4, along with Susan Sellers and Georgie Stout. They oversee a cornucopia of creative professionals, from animators to programmers. As told to Joseph Rosa, new director of the University of Michigan Museum of Art, 2x4 describes their studio as one that, "… puts theory into practice and process into ideology." This form of working has resulted in beautifully intelligent designs for Prada, Vitra, OMA and a host of other institutions. Perusing the studio's latest book, "It Is What It Is" reveals an all-at-once portrait of a moving body of design that eschews a favorite color or typeface for concepts and impact. Charts and graphs are as present as logo sketches and on-site photographs, exposing the process-based ideology they practice. While a style isn't noticeable among their work, an intelligence and creative spirit is. The kaleidoscopic furniture for Vitra or the delightful pictogram Moiré patterns for IIT in Chicago represent work at either ends of the work/play spectrum—smart and sexy. Among many other awards, the studio was recognized in 2006 for its work in Communication Design by the Cooper Hewitt National Design Museum. While their work is visually beautiful, I doubt their recognition and commercial commissions are a result of a signature "2x4 style."

2x4's latest book

Chair patterns for Vitra

From the intimacy of Eatock to the leviathan-like 2x4, graphic design that resists a signature style can successfully exist in various sizes and affect a few friends or a few million people. While Eatock's age may prevent his consideration as a "design master," his current trajectory is promising. He spoke at the most recent AIGA National conference and continues to create work of high caliber. 2x4's contribution to the profession is immeasurable—conceptually and visually. Based on these two examples, have we truly found new graphic design by ignoring visual style? No. But it doesn't mean we can't. Eatock and 2x4 represent ends of a creative spectrum: Eatock, the lone designer and 2x4, the studio juggernaut. A commonality between the two is their willingness to work with others and establish systems for creation. Between them, a sea of professionals are waiting to be noticed and introduced into the global design conversation. The avoidance of a consistent visual style is a break from our past designer-as-hero model, when recognition preceded cognition. Our future as graphic designers is a collaborative one, presenting many voices instead of just one.

After all, "What difference does it make who designed it." (Michael Rock)

MaryKim and Danae: What's Legacy Got to do With it? (Got to do With it)

Often when selecting a program to pursue graduate study, prospective students grapple with factors larger than the courses offered, facilities availability, and geographic location of the establishment. They weigh considerations including the histories and contributions of faculty members, student work being produced, trajectories of alumni, and the school’s presence in the global discussion of communication design. Past successes of the institution, design faculty, and alumni often influence an individual’s evaluation of a program with the commonly held hope that studying among design “heroes” will better position a designer for a similar model of success in the future, whether through network or experience. To some degree, these prospective students are buying into a perceived cultural legacy when determining which program will best support their growth and assertion in the design conversation.

The legacies of graduate schools are often calculated based on the visibility of each school in the global design scene. But are graduate programs fixated with looking in the mirror? If a school is not visible, i.e., current work isn't circulating outside the school’s immediate body, no one has an accurate view of the program and its true legacy. This insularity perpetuates images of schools, which include perceived validity, strengths, and weaknesses, that are no longer relevant. Most students are seeking the best opportunity to prepare them for a future practice in an ever-shifting arena of design criticism and practice, but how can they make this decision based on relatively flat depictions of schools? 

Programs like MICA and Yale are, at the moment, making great strides to outwardly project the inner workings of their establishments. At MICA, under the direction of Ellen Lupton, students are publishing their writings, which not only encourages a greater investment in projects that share something of value, but communicates the activities of the program to a larger community. Participating in design events outside of the school, as with Yale's non-traditional contribution to the 2010 New York Book Fair, have not only fed the design conversation but have elevated awareness of programmatic strengths. In both instances, students are working to encourage a new definition of graphic design, departing from historical precedents, and signifying the forward-thinking frameworks of their programs. 

Unfortunately, the pace of change in most schools seems intolerably slow. The truth of the matter is that faculty members have had their success and can draw from their experience as a point of reference, but it’s now ultimately in the hands of current students to direct where design and design education is headed next and to shape the outside world’s understanding of their programs.

Over the course of design history, a few programs have gained notoriety for their terrain-shifting developments in the field of graphic design. One such program is Cranbrook, which fostered the experimental environment that sprung forth the framework for deconstruction and post-structuralist thinking in graphic design. Jeffery Keedy, a student at Cranbrook from 1983–1985, has been credited with introducing literary theory to fellow classmates, which lead to investigations into the possibilities of meaning, language, and typography. While Katherine McCoy, as co-chair of the program, may have set the stage by removing constraints and encouraging experimentation, the plain was shifted by the combined efforts of the students. Participants in this program have gone on to become teachers at some of the most recognized design schools in the nation, including CalArts. As seen in Cranbrook’s revolutionary design work in the 1980s, it is in fact the student body that has the most opportunity to give shape to a program and to the perception of that program. Young designers have the power, position, and responsibility to shape the future of design practice and criticism. 

A CalArts practice that has not extended outside our walls is the tradition of screen printed posters; such coveted pieces that they can't even stay on the walls long enough to announce the event that birthed them. These beautiful posters contribute to a nugget of the CalArts legacy as it emphasizes exploratory form, but a practice too that contributes to perhaps the antiquated practices also associated with institution. As referenced by Ellen Lupton in her article, “Deconstruction and Graphic Design: History Meets Theory,” the CalArts design program is viewed in allegiance with Deconstruction. 

What we should be asking ourselves now is how we as CalArts students can help shape the design program and encourage it to reach outside its walls? How can the celebrated history of the program inform what comes next? How can our poster tradition better participate in the discussion of where design is headed? What if our posters embraced sound or space? What aren't we saying in the global design conversation that we should be?

Questions 11.22.10 (Revolution)

Tags for this week's questions: consumerism, responsibility, theory, good, corporate, commercial, formal, writing, critical/criticality, debates, culture.

We mixed it up this week and had two sets of questions: One set of questions (2) before discussion and another set of questions (2) after class discussion. 

Before:

Is consumerism the scapegoat for designers? De we need something to blame for our lack of responsibility?

Why does so much theory concerning the social responsibility of designers speak in somewhat general terms? Why doesn't someone attempting to start doing good instead of theorizing it?

If all the great designers of the world focus on non-commercial work, what will our designed environment look like? Will overall design suffer? Will it affect our language and understanding of design as a whole or will designers of corporate material just re-appropriate the formal surface?

Can [?] it out to make a difference? Is it you?

Will the corporate structure collapse without the aid of design's brightest or will it reign with ineptness and delight through the globe?

Is the language that critical discourse uses shooting itself in the foot?

To what extent does Dilnot live out his theory?

Is America capable of altering our accelerated consumeristic society for the betterment of the world?

Is academic writing required when being critical in graphic design — do magazines like Adbusters do more harm than good?

I feel like a lot of what we talk about in class are not limited to the profession of graphic design (specifically about political and social conditions in the world). So where do these debates belong? Among designers or among all citizens?

Why aren't we talking more about ways to change the system so that it is financially viable to do design that benefits and changes the world? We just talk about how you can chose to do "good" and starve or work for ad agencies and make money. Can we make "good" design and money or is that a losing debate and I should just move on?

Is there a way to bracket the commercial and move towards a critical practice? (That is, to stop handwringing about our existence within the market and just move forward.)

Must criticality always be political? Must it be moral?

Will resolution of current economic climate eradicate the artificial horizon?

How can we resolve such a widespread issue as the lack of criticality in design to reintroduce meaning the work when client-based audience can hardly comprehend the importance?

How does today's "critical" design affect culture at-large?

How do design awards influence "critical" design?

 

After:

Are destructive forces designed or inherited? Nature/Nurture.

Did the Apocalypse begin in 1945 and bloom in the 80s?

Is Guerilla street art the answer to hyper advertising in urban areas?

If we seem happy enough to earn a living in blind freedom as designers, are non-designers living in the ignorance-as-bliss model? [not sure I've got the question right.]

I feel like designers are sometimes in a bubble — how do we reach a larger audience? What are the most effective tools/approaches?

How do non-designers see the role of design? How do they approach these social issues and do they understand design's power?

How do we preach outside the choir? Doesn't this reek of imperialism? Are there any back-ups to use to preach to make preaching okay? (moral/economic)

My question remains: Can a designer be completely a part of the market and still be a critical thinker? Must criticism be political/moral? Can criticality exist with tension like this?

How can we captivate a broad audience with messages of criticality? Which message should come first?

Can we start a revolution using the grad school network?

Does criticality presuppose elitism? Can criticality be popular? Can it infiltrate pop culture?

 

 

"Revolution" presentation

Here's the presentation that I made in class yesterday covering the Clive Dilnot's "The Critical in Design" reading. This PDF includes slides an notes. Keep in mind that the examples of "critical design" are not that extensive and much much much is missing!  Download Revolution

Culture is not always popular

Here's the link to their presentation from the AIGA Conference in Vancouver (2003).
http://winterhouse.com/vancouver/index.html

 

Bill Strickland also spoke at this conference. I've heard it's pretty moving. Here's a TEDtalk of his.

Questions 11.15.10 (Postmodern aesthetic)

Have we fought so hard for subjectivity and individuality to the extent that it's harming us? When everything is right and valid, how do we defend anything?

Who has power in today's design? Designer, client, or receiver?

Who is the elite in design today?

Can graphic design be different for everyone, or does that harm/limit/stunt the profession?

Do you have to know the rules to break them?

Eric Berlow: How complexity leads to simplicity

Here's a little nugget of encouragement for our complex (not complicated) mapping project. It also references the military PowerPoint dilemma.

Enjoy!

Danae