These stairs are my favorite. I've said it. These stairs are my favorite.
It is rare that something so immediately catches my eye, but if you are not a victim of colorblind, I can not see how you could possibly pass up this incredible sight!

"Scala" was created by the artist Horst Gläsker and is located in Wuppertal, Germany.
The color is of course what initially makes Gläsker's work extremely successful. The rainbow of color is eye-catching to say the least and there is something incredibly poetic about it's liberal usage of color amidst the everyday architecture tans and browns.
Written upon each step is an emotion. This creates a synesthetic relationship between emotion and color.

Some translations: (Click for source)
1 - HANDKUSS = kissing her hand...
2 - TANZEN = to dance ...
3 - ZUNEIGUNG = attachment / sympathy
4 - VERLIEBEN = to fall in love
5 - SCHMACHTEN = longing for, to pine for
6 - VERFÜHRUNG = temptation
7 - ZUSAMMENKOMMEN = coming together

Synesthetic design is admittedly one of the more incredible things on earth. It is design that reaches across to so many levels of perception and understanding. Gläsker presents the viewer with contrasting emotions seemingly putting into words the obvious contrast his piece makes with its surroundings.

Scala is a monument, an exclamation point amidst the dreary and the everyday.
Scale is design that challenges and inspires only what is fresh and new and unexpected.
Stair could be just stairs and life would go on. The plain type do in fact get you from point A (level 1) to point B (level 2). But living life as such would be living the status quo. Gläsker challenges the viewer, the everyday pedestrian, to take control and live extravagantly.
Design is not about settling with what we already have. Design is living on the edge.

Ahhh.. the mysteries of design, of function, of reason, of life!
Twitter. Does this fall within my bloggable category of design? The curious reader may ask so. Twitter, the social networking website, does indeed fall under a gamut of categories and labels.
It is, fundamentally, a website. But a website not only with a specific visual design, but a website with even more specific user design.

Unlike Facebook (where new gadgets and games and gizmos are added daily), Twitter aims to keep things simple. They limit your character count to 140. No paragraph quotations or intense and gruesome musings on life. The layout seems decidedly permanent. A news feed of the most current tweets from your tweethearts, a limited box for response and randomness, the ability to see all tweets from a single user. It would seem that in comparison to Facebook's plethora of capabilites, Twitter would fail almost instantly.

The creators of Twitter, however, take advantage of one of the fail-proof principles of design: simplicity.
There is a danger, as any user of Facebook would know, of over promoting yourself. I believe it is the fundamental desire of humans to be heard, to have the sensation that they are being "followed" in the Twitter sense.
Users of both Facebook and Twitter thrive on the feeling that someone is reading their tweets/status updates and that someone is finding interest in their lives.
There is always that fear, however, that overdoing it will expose your desire for attention.
The 140 character limit and the simple layout of Twitter seems to trick the user into believing that it is the happy medium between getting attention and seeming like you don't want attention at all.

Twitter thrives on this quiet desire, and as such stands as a fantastic example for simple and effective design.

The theory of Gestalt is a curious one. It is a capability that makes humans fundamentally greater than animals, yet it is perhaps the greatest flaw in human design.
The funny thing with the theory of Gestalt is that the mind is lying to itself.
The logical thing is to depend completely on only what is concrete. Design depends on the visual ability of the human. Design depends on the viewer seeing exactly what they present them with.

With the theory of Gestalt, however, the element of imagination is thrown in.
The element of seeing things that are not there, in reality. We could get really psychological with this and argue upon sensation vs. perception and the ever complicated workings of neurons and optical nerves... but let's just focus on our everyday confrontations with Gestalt.

Scout McCloud (in Understanding Comics) addresses the Gestalt theory with his own childhood fears that the world does not exist wherever he is not directly looking. In addition to imagination, Gestalt requires some degree of trust. We depend on the fact that our senses are in fact not lying to us and do indeed describe a world that is present even when we are looking away. Gestalt is about assumption based on fact, assumption that we know what is not being seen precisely at this moment based on past experiences and sensations.

Khristian Mendoza's photography, however, challenges this visual trust using both 2D and 3D elements.
Gestalt theory causes us to make the logical assumption that the holes in the boards will reveal to the viewer the stomach of the person holding them. Instead, the viewer is presented with what would logically be seen if the person wasn't there. This photoshopping of what is natural seems most uncanny to the viewer. The viewer struggles with the internal Gestalt arguing that this can not be possible. The unity sought by the eye is challenged with what is "factual". What if there were people with holes in their stomach? What if they were actually shifted to the side? What if there were a photo-manipulation program called photoshop? Gestalt does not think this. Gestalt will not even let you consider these ideas rational. Gestalt exists in the fumble to grasp this photo as a 2-dimensional photograph rather than a moment in time in the 3-dimensional world.

The Gestalt theory goes back to evolutionary skills. Despite all the photo-manipulation and over-designing in this world, it is a theory that can not be challenged. Gestalt, the desire for unity, is a powerful thing.

Packaging designer Eric Hollings has figured it out.

Oh Shit! kits aid in situations ranging from a “walk of shame” to an “auto debacle” providing a neat package of everything needed at the worst of times.

The product itself is something of an amazing idea. The product addresses a huge audience in subject matter as well as in appeal. The kits provide extreme convenience and lends itself well to the future-tending nature of human society.
The “walk of shame” kit, for example, contains a t-shirt, ibuprofen, sunglasses, socks, toothbrush, and mouthwash.

It is unclear whether the product aims to be practical or humorous, but I would like to believe that it aims to do both. The product appeals as a gag gift as well as a kit that might actually one day come in handy. The product, thus, seems to sell itself. The product also relates to the everyday person, most likely all too familiar with a majority of the situations presented. The consumer feels a sense of familiarity with the product, even before their first purchase.

Furthermore, Hollings' packaging seems to encompass the humorous practicality of the product completely. His design is mainly minimalistic. Each kit comes with a differently colored cross making identification easy. The typography of his design also lend to a minimalistic approach. As humorous as the items of each kit are, Hollings seems to note that at the bottom of it all, you just have to buck up and use the kit. The kits are practical and most likely a complete necessity. There are no flashing lights and dancing elves, the simplicity of the product (as well as the packaging) is Oh Shit’s best pitch.

Let us venture into the realm of design that we recognize as fashion.
My personal knowledge of fashion (in terms of high fashion, and the technical and cultural history of it) admittedly stems almost completely from episodes of Project Runway. Let my critique and praise of fashion be of the common man.

McQueen’s inspiration for his 2010 resort collection stems from the image of an artist in the studio. McQueen reflects the multiple sides of the artist. The blue and red striped suit of the first image seems to capture that sense of being both completely in and out of control as an artist. The artist holds the brush but the medium is the ultimate dictator of the piece. With his bold, simple patterns, McQueen teeters on the edge of letting the medium get the best of the designer. McQueen, however, masterfully manipulates the form of his fabric, creating extremely controlled and firm silhouettes. By doing such, McQueen emphasizes a beautiful contrast between art and artist. (Seen in the first two images.)

The collection also consists of pieces that are relatively gentle on the eye in comparison. McQueen creates a beautiful yellow dress utilizing lace overlay. Once again, McQueen allows the material to come to its own fruition. McQueen lets himself become inspired by the ink-like quality of the lace and brings the piece together as a piece both dark and soft in character.
Similarly the blue and white dress seems to be a fusion of edgy and simple. The paint splatter effect is a perfect compromise between the artist and the art. The artist gets the satisfaction of knowing that the imprint is his own while the art gets the satisfaction of being out of the complete control of the brush.

McQueen’s compositions are works of art. It is design, both in fabric and in silhouette. McQueen, who constantly explores the unpredictable, inspires me. McQueen is a true artist, both conquering and befriending his media.

Hair’em Scare’em is a book edited by R. Klanten, M. Huebner, and S. Ehmann. The book explores an unusual “medium”: hair.

It is easy to overlook the effect hair in art and design can have. Hair is, after all, everywhere. Because it is not an object of scarcity, we assume that it is and always will be a mundane aspect of everyday life. Hair’em Scare’em, however, challenges this idea.

Artists (or clever, thinking, and innovative ones at least) featured in this book find inspiration in the material of hair. Hair is explored as more than simple dead cells sprouting out from one’s head. It is manipulated to communicate a surprisingly larger array of emotions. Long and flowing hair can invoke ethereal beauty. Rough and jagged hair can be frighteningly threatening. Hair, as the artists of Hair’em Scare’em so clearly depict, is a unique medium in the fact that it treads the fine line between life and death. Hair can be both really. Attached to a well cared for head hair seems to imply life. Severed and hair seems to imply an unnerving death. Nearly all the works featured in the book are dictated by these inherent properties of hair. The designer is only bringing to fruition the potential the material always possessed.

Who knew there was so much to hair in the first place?
Inspiration is found where observation begins. Designers and artists must notice even the ordinary and mundane to create the extraordinary and new.

I will be the first to admit it. This short film was scary.
Dandy Dwarves’ surreal short Pencil Face seems at first glance to be a very innocent interpretation of the powers of creativity. A deeper evaluation of the film, however, reveals Dwarves’ critique on society.

A girl, ordinary in human wants and desires, stumbles upon an extraordinary pencil… with a (creepy) face. Or perhaps the girl is extraordinarily small and she stumbles upon an ordinary pencil (with a creepy face).
Either way, the girl takes hold of the pencil and draws simple icons of her desires- a cake, a kite. These icons spring to life as reality.

This short film is incredibly applicable to the designer, viewing the design process as an idea resulting in a physical product. As the designer it is easy to assume that you are always in control. We assume that we know when to improve and when to step back and stop. When the girl, satisfied by the products of her previous “designs”, seeks to draw a lollipop, she is presented instead with a black spiraling hole, which ultimately consumes her, literally (or figuratively, but because this is a surreal film… we’ll agree upon literally). Dwarves seems to comment on the importance of realizing that design can be dangerous. As we seek to improve every moment of life with plasma TVs and treadmill machines we are moving further and further away from enjoying what is real- nature’s designs. Nature, which originally was our inspiration for design, has now become forgotten and obsolete. Although it is natural for humans to create and improve, it is just as natural for humans to become obsessed with materialism and quantity. We are given the responsibility of not desiring too much, and thus not overdesigning.

What is it about the ordinary size, the ordinary black cover, the ordinary yellow-white pages?
The Moleskine notebook is true proof that some designs need not be improved on. "Design" (according to the Greek roots) refers to the quest to achieve the elusive. The Moleskine notebook seems, enigmatically, to defy this definition. Rather, the Moleskine shouts at the top of its lungs, “I’m perfect!!! (And I’ve already found the elusive.”

According to the handy little pamphlet inside my own personal Moleskine, the brand has been utilized and beloved by everyone from Picasso to Hemingway.
The design of the Moleskine remains relatively unchanged since its birth. The basic binding and outer-appearance is just as simple and pure as the original maker first intended.

There is something so inspiring about blankness. Perhaps this is the secret to Moleskine’s success. Design stems from the base. Humans want the world to be aesthetically pleasing, and the blank pages of the Moleskine provide space for beautification and the practice of it.
The Moleskine remains a static figure in design. The Moleskine allows the flowing stream of design to continue by the buyer of the notebook itself. In this case, the designer of the product isn’t the only one designing; we all design.

We begin at the beginning. We begin at the beginning accompanying the enigmatic spirals of the "colorful" Korean typography.
Specifically, we begin at the introduction welcoming us into the world of "Hangul".

According to the short introduction, "Hangul" is the work of two Korean designers: Hyunju Lee and Phil Choo. Their exhibit and manipulation of traditional Korean script attempts to "[offer] a contemporary glimpse into Korean life and culture."

The exhibit emphasizes the integration of a written language and physical and mental imagery. For many people viewing their work, all that can be seen is shape. It is the same with any foreigner to a language. “Hangul” strikes me at a personal level, however, because I am a Korean-American. Images don’t immediately jump out at me, words do. I don’t often use/read/write etc. Korean, but it is simply instinctual for me to read rather than simply admire when looking at their work.

“Ileona (Stand Up)” by Choo is an excellent example of the integration of imagery and words. On one hand, it is simply script. For foreigners, simply shapes and characters only assumed to be words because of the familiar prose-format they are arranged in. For Korean readers, they are lyrics laying quite inconspicuously upon the white canvas. Choo, however, takes his work from design to good design by personifying the characters. The words become powerful, leading by example and “standing up” themselves. And thus, Choo reiterates his “glimpse into Korean life and culture.” Or simply even, “life and culture”. Choo makes the characters and language people, and his work and composition becomes the society. The personification of the words in this piece in particular becomes a motivation. Not a motivation for text to jump up and dance around pages, but a motivation for the viewer himself.

For if words can do it, so can we.

jamielew

18
april 13, 1991
design @ uc davis
jamielew@gmail.com

October 2009
November 2009