Monday, 8 March 2010
I feel a project coming on
Strolling down Northwold Road on a sunny Saturday morning I decided to look down, not up. Just about every two steps was some kind of manhole cover for the various different services—water. cable, phone, etc. The variety was quite astounding and I'm feeling a little project coming on to record the patterns, types and placement of these. I think I am creeping further along the spectrum... See more of them at my Flickr site.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Hackney Freecycle: Stuff part II
After drowning in data for weeks on end, the design aspect of the work on the Hackney Freecycle group came relatively quickly. The group is phenomenally active—approximately 400 messages a week. I had six months worth—July to December—so clearly had to sample to get anywhere near something that was digestible in terms of analysis. I chose to sample one week per month, starting on the second Sunday of each month.
I ploughed through the data in order to transfer it from the original email messages into a Word doucment for each month. I then transferred these from Word to Excel files that listed the date, type of post, item, brand, area, poster's name and whether or not an item had been taken or received. From these I then conducted a quantitative analysis in relation to a range of elements, for example, types of posts, types of items, prevalent brands and the most active areas of Hackney. During each phase of the handling of the data I was getting to know it better, seeing more and more details, noticing more and more quirky posts, strange coincidences, seasonal fluctuations and repetitive themes—moving more from a quantitative analysis to qualitative. This felt, in some ways, a similar process to that of the 'Stuff' book, though instead of building up relationships with contributors in person and getting to know their stories, I was developing a relationship with the data. I was getting to the point where I knew the data well and could therefore begin to comment on it both visually in terms of the design, and also in terms of generating the content and structure that would form the 'conceptual container' for the piece of work.
This process aligns with Seidel's (1998) qualitative data analysis process of 'Noticing, collecting and thinking' that I read and then wrote about in a very early methodology chapter about 18 months ago. It's worth reflecting on again here I think, as now I am at a point where the theory and practice are working in a much more symbiotic way—18 months ago there was no practice, there was just reading and writing. Anyway, I chose Seidel's method as I felt it reflects and complements the design process, in that it is not linear, but 'iterative, progressive, recursive and holographic.' Each of these characteristics is present in the design process—it is often drawn as a cycle or a spiral like form that enables the design practice to progress through many iterations, it offers recursive flexibility to revisit previous ideas in the light of new discoveries, and each step of the process cannot be taken in isolation.
The fact that Seidel describes the process as recursive (one part can call you back to a previous part) and holographic (each step in the process contains the entire process) gives a sense that it enables a holistic practice, one that will unite theory and practice. It also has a 'physicality' about its terms of reference—noticing, collecting, thinking—they are all 'active' words that align well with the notion of practice. These definitions also perhaps link, in turn, to Tuan and Massey's definitions of place that form a basis for this overall inquiry. Tuan's definition focuses on place as a container of memories, a palimpsest-like landscape, layered with partly visible inscriptions, and recursive in the way that a particular building or street can call you back to a previous time as you pass it. Massey sees place as being continually made and remade, a process that could be thought of as holographic.
Seidel's method works in the following way. Noticing works on two levels; firstly it relates to the actual fieldwork—producing a record of the things one has noticed; secondly, it relates to the coding of data. These codes are, in simplistic terms, a way of highlighting elements of interest, or patters within the content. They can then function as heuristic tools that enable further, deeper investigation and analysis of the content. Collecting refers to the sorting of the information that has been recorded and coded. The final step in the process, thinking, is the examination of the materials. This process, if looked at from a design perspective, could be seen as a form of editing. The goals are making sense out of the collection, identifying patterns and relationships in the materials and to make discoveries about the subject of your research.
What is interesting here, is that there weren't actually that many iterations in relation to the actual design. The iterations came very much in relation to the content. Through the analysis I noticed more and more things, that enabled me to develop not only a clearer idea of content and structure, but also a clearer picture of how I felt the Freecycle group operated. As I said before it is a hugely active group, with usually 60 messages a day. It exists solely in virtual space and because of this relentless amount of emails continually replacing the last one received, each one felt quite fleeting or ephemeral. To this end I felt another book would be appropriate in order to give a 'permanence' to the data in a format that offered a temporal aspect. I was able to make these judgements quickly as I was embedded in the data and it had become embedded in me. Subconsciously, the design was working itself out as I worked the content out.
The subtitle, 'This much I think I now now,' is deliberately something of an oxymoron type affair—I think & I know. A nudge in the direction of the fact that any analysis or re-presentation of everyday life and place always has something of a subjective element to it. The 'now' is a bit of a nod to the fact that things are always ongoing, so what I have shown is but a moment in time.
The book uses Univers throughout and adopts a fairly stripped back, content led approach, allowing the wording of the posts and my qualitative deductions to take centre stage. The minimal, dare I say it, Modernist 'style' seemed appropriate for an organisation that is focused on reducing consumerism and unnecessary waste. A seasonal trail of posts adds a little colour to pages and shows the idea of time passing—tents wanted in July and August, heaters and Christmas decorations in November and December.
Ultimately I will print this out on A4 recycled paper. I have designed it so it is an A5 french fold with no bleeds, so again it is as minimal as it can be in terms of its environmental impact. I did post a wanted ad on Freecycle for used paper but as of yet have not received anything. I shall make various versions, some will be made of redundant print outs of itself, some from A4 recycled paper found from various places—currently I have just acquired a random stack of sheets from the CSM research student space. If you are reading this and have some one side used A4, send it to me! I am also thinking of developing an 'art' series that is printed on the reverse of cropped down A2 letterpress posters of the statement pages.
What follows next will be a design project about Newsagents windows. The third part of the stuff trilogy. The three form a view from macro to micro of the stuff that is accumulated and circulated within Hackney.
I ploughed through the data in order to transfer it from the original email messages into a Word doucment for each month. I then transferred these from Word to Excel files that listed the date, type of post, item, brand, area, poster's name and whether or not an item had been taken or received. From these I then conducted a quantitative analysis in relation to a range of elements, for example, types of posts, types of items, prevalent brands and the most active areas of Hackney. During each phase of the handling of the data I was getting to know it better, seeing more and more details, noticing more and more quirky posts, strange coincidences, seasonal fluctuations and repetitive themes—moving more from a quantitative analysis to qualitative. This felt, in some ways, a similar process to that of the 'Stuff' book, though instead of building up relationships with contributors in person and getting to know their stories, I was developing a relationship with the data. I was getting to the point where I knew the data well and could therefore begin to comment on it both visually in terms of the design, and also in terms of generating the content and structure that would form the 'conceptual container' for the piece of work.
This process aligns with Seidel's (1998) qualitative data analysis process of 'Noticing, collecting and thinking' that I read and then wrote about in a very early methodology chapter about 18 months ago. It's worth reflecting on again here I think, as now I am at a point where the theory and practice are working in a much more symbiotic way—18 months ago there was no practice, there was just reading and writing. Anyway, I chose Seidel's method as I felt it reflects and complements the design process, in that it is not linear, but 'iterative, progressive, recursive and holographic.' Each of these characteristics is present in the design process—it is often drawn as a cycle or a spiral like form that enables the design practice to progress through many iterations, it offers recursive flexibility to revisit previous ideas in the light of new discoveries, and each step of the process cannot be taken in isolation.
The fact that Seidel describes the process as recursive (one part can call you back to a previous part) and holographic (each step in the process contains the entire process) gives a sense that it enables a holistic practice, one that will unite theory and practice. It also has a 'physicality' about its terms of reference—noticing, collecting, thinking—they are all 'active' words that align well with the notion of practice. These definitions also perhaps link, in turn, to Tuan and Massey's definitions of place that form a basis for this overall inquiry. Tuan's definition focuses on place as a container of memories, a palimpsest-like landscape, layered with partly visible inscriptions, and recursive in the way that a particular building or street can call you back to a previous time as you pass it. Massey sees place as being continually made and remade, a process that could be thought of as holographic.
Seidel's method works in the following way. Noticing works on two levels; firstly it relates to the actual fieldwork—producing a record of the things one has noticed; secondly, it relates to the coding of data. These codes are, in simplistic terms, a way of highlighting elements of interest, or patters within the content. They can then function as heuristic tools that enable further, deeper investigation and analysis of the content. Collecting refers to the sorting of the information that has been recorded and coded. The final step in the process, thinking, is the examination of the materials. This process, if looked at from a design perspective, could be seen as a form of editing. The goals are making sense out of the collection, identifying patterns and relationships in the materials and to make discoveries about the subject of your research.
What is interesting here, is that there weren't actually that many iterations in relation to the actual design. The iterations came very much in relation to the content. Through the analysis I noticed more and more things, that enabled me to develop not only a clearer idea of content and structure, but also a clearer picture of how I felt the Freecycle group operated. As I said before it is a hugely active group, with usually 60 messages a day. It exists solely in virtual space and because of this relentless amount of emails continually replacing the last one received, each one felt quite fleeting or ephemeral. To this end I felt another book would be appropriate in order to give a 'permanence' to the data in a format that offered a temporal aspect. I was able to make these judgements quickly as I was embedded in the data and it had become embedded in me. Subconsciously, the design was working itself out as I worked the content out.
The subtitle, 'This much I think I now now,' is deliberately something of an oxymoron type affair—I think & I know. A nudge in the direction of the fact that any analysis or re-presentation of everyday life and place always has something of a subjective element to it. The 'now' is a bit of a nod to the fact that things are always ongoing, so what I have shown is but a moment in time.
The book uses Univers throughout and adopts a fairly stripped back, content led approach, allowing the wording of the posts and my qualitative deductions to take centre stage. The minimal, dare I say it, Modernist 'style' seemed appropriate for an organisation that is focused on reducing consumerism and unnecessary waste. A seasonal trail of posts adds a little colour to pages and shows the idea of time passing—tents wanted in July and August, heaters and Christmas decorations in November and December.
Ultimately I will print this out on A4 recycled paper. I have designed it so it is an A5 french fold with no bleeds, so again it is as minimal as it can be in terms of its environmental impact. I did post a wanted ad on Freecycle for used paper but as of yet have not received anything. I shall make various versions, some will be made of redundant print outs of itself, some from A4 recycled paper found from various places—currently I have just acquired a random stack of sheets from the CSM research student space. If you are reading this and have some one side used A4, send it to me! I am also thinking of developing an 'art' series that is printed on the reverse of cropped down A2 letterpress posters of the statement pages.
What follows next will be a design project about Newsagents windows. The third part of the stuff trilogy. The three form a view from macro to micro of the stuff that is accumulated and circulated within Hackney.
Friday, 12 February 2010
Is there really little to think about?
Last Thursday I went to the talking graphics lecture at LCC. The speaker was Freidrich Forssman, a book designer and typographer who is little known outside of his native Germany. His lecture was entitled 'Book design as a way of thinking' and I thought a few points he made were worth remembering.
1. There is little to think about, but these little things should be thought about thoroughly.
This comes from a man who has written a 400 page book on the typographic possibilities one needs to consider when seeting one sentence of type. Yes, just one sentence, yes 400 pages. This is a man who knows how to think long and hard about the smallest detail! The point is true in typographic terms, but in the context of a PhD, the thought is overwhelming—so many 'little things' all to be thought about in such depth.
2. We don't invent things we have to discover them. They are always there, you just have to ask the right questions.
This sort of reminds me of the Bruce Mau Incomplete manifesto for growth point that states something like the wrong answer is the right answer in search of a different question. It is a great mantra for a practice PhD I think—the answers will come from the process, and the process needs to be allowed to develop in its own way, not forced.
3. Arrogant design doesn't look straight into the eyes of the reader—it looks down to the reader and has fellow designers in mind in a contest of coolness.
This is the only one I am not so sure of. Its a very subjective statement, which in itself isn't a problem, but it seems to be assuming the reader is incapable of understanding the work in the way a designer might. Beyond that I suppose one could also refer to Barthes' point that the text only becomes active when it is read—death of the author (or perhaps designer in this case), birth of the reader. But I've got a right headache, so I'll leave you to ponder on that yourself.
1. There is little to think about, but these little things should be thought about thoroughly.
This comes from a man who has written a 400 page book on the typographic possibilities one needs to consider when seeting one sentence of type. Yes, just one sentence, yes 400 pages. This is a man who knows how to think long and hard about the smallest detail! The point is true in typographic terms, but in the context of a PhD, the thought is overwhelming—so many 'little things' all to be thought about in such depth.
2. We don't invent things we have to discover them. They are always there, you just have to ask the right questions.
This sort of reminds me of the Bruce Mau Incomplete manifesto for growth point that states something like the wrong answer is the right answer in search of a different question. It is a great mantra for a practice PhD I think—the answers will come from the process, and the process needs to be allowed to develop in its own way, not forced.
3. Arrogant design doesn't look straight into the eyes of the reader—it looks down to the reader and has fellow designers in mind in a contest of coolness.
This is the only one I am not so sure of. Its a very subjective statement, which in itself isn't a problem, but it seems to be assuming the reader is incapable of understanding the work in the way a designer might. Beyond that I suppose one could also refer to Barthes' point that the text only becomes active when it is read—death of the author (or perhaps designer in this case), birth of the reader. But I've got a right headache, so I'll leave you to ponder on that yourself.
Friday, 29 January 2010
Firmitas, utilitas, venustas
I went to the LCC Graphic Design PhD forum this week. The speaker was Ranulph Glanville and his talk was entitled 'Designing®, researching, knowing'. The ® after the word is not a RSI induced spasm, but intentional. Glanville uses it to reinforce his use of the word 'Design' in a particular way—that is design as known and understood by designers. Implict here is, I think, not as 'understood' by design engineers, but that is another post entirely.
He started his talk with Vitruvius' characterisation of architecture, which as the title suggests, is 'Firmitas, utilitas, venustas' and he offered his own translation or interpretation of this—well made, useful and delightful. Glanville suggested that it is easy to do the well made and useful part of the equation, but that what is difficult is the 'delightful'and that this requires the designer to do more than is necessary, to make something better than what is there. It is the more than necessary that is the necessary bit—it is what brings the delight.
I can definitely see where he is coming from, but I am not sure about the word delight. At the time I suggested 'engaging' which he dismissed as too neutral and I agree with that, however, for me there is something about the word 'delight' that is too 'lightweight', too momentary and perhaps too much aligned with some kind of aesthetic pleasure. Reading over this again, maybe delight is also too subjective a term? As venustas means beauty this isn't surprising I guess, in fact it apparently literally means the salient qualities possessed by the goddess Venus and implied a visual quality in architecture that would arouse the emotion of love. However not all design is pleasurable in this way, nor does it intend to be. Even in architecture, the area of design and subject that Glanville's talk was originally given in, one only has to go to Berlin and visit the Holocaust memorial to know that the affect, whilst powerful, is not pleasurable or delightful.
So maybe what we are after is something that captures that effect or charge a building or piece of work can give you. This maybe brings us back to Barthes and his idea of 'punctum' in a photograph, an emotional response which is elicited by the ‘prick’ of an unexpected detail or contrast. I think these days it has been superceded by the idea of 'affect' so punctum might be a bit dated, but it seems to offer something to the discussion. Whether this charge is always related to something unexpected or some kind of contrast I don't know, we can get pleasure from familiarity also. But then perhaps the idea of the unexpected links nicely with the idea of the designer providing something extra, something that is more than necessary.
Two other things spring to mind in relation to this experience and design and designers' ability to construct it. Firstly, I recently re-read Gaston Bachelard's The poetics of space and he writes about eperiencing the 'reverberation' of 'poetic images.' I think he is referring to images that are conjured up in the mind through poetry, and if this is not too much of an over-simplification, it seems to me that this idea of 'reverberation' is also what Barthes is getting at with 'punctum', and perhaps Glanville with 'delight.' Secondly I recalled having read Malcom Barnard's Graphic design as communication and his description of the four functions of graphic design: Information, persuasion, decoration and magic. It is this idea of 'magic' that got me thinking in terms of how the 'delight' (or whatever I decide I might prefer to term it) is engendered. Barnard suggests that this idea of magic relates to Tibor Kalman's idea that what most graphic design is about is 'making something different from what it truly is.' That it makes absent or distant people or places 'present' to us, the spectator (Barnard 2005:15). This seems to tie in—that whether it be a logo or an advert, it is more than just type and image on a page. The Nike tick signifies a brand that offers more to some than a functional pair of trainers. The image and copy used in an advertisement for Barnardos puts us into the position of seeing the abuse and therefore offers us the opportunity to take part in ending such awful situations, or if we do nothing, collude in the perpetrator's actions. Maybe his title should have been Graphic design as teleporter?
That 'magic' then made me think of something I read that Bourdieu had said about a 'magical act.' Digging about I found it is referenced in David Crow's Visual signs. In this case Crow describes Bourdieu as defining this magical act in relation to the use of language. I find it a difficult idea to get my head round, and I wonder whether such a small snippet is being taken out of context here, and also possibly in Crow's text as neither of us quotes an original source. However, it seems to be about the possibilities of the performativity of language, that one can, in the sphere of social action, 'act through words beyond the limits of delegated authority' (Crow 2003:97). The written example Crow uses to explain this is of a passer by smashing the champagne bottle against the prow of a ready to be launched ship, instead of the diginatry who has been given the responsibilty, and in a sense, I guess, the power. What Crow doesn't make clear, at least to me, is does this mean the ship is named and can be launched, or does the fact that the passer by didn't have 'the power' mean it is null and void? The visual examples Crow uses are those of individuals subverting corporate communications to their own ends—Joe Magee's 2002 illustrations for the Daily Telegraph. The illustrations seemed to be decorated with dots as part of the design. What the Torygraph didn't realise was that these dots were actually braille and spelled out anti-capitalist sentiments. Anyhow, I am not sure I quite see the parallels between the word and image examples. Am I being dim? Never mind that, this post seems to be getting off topic. I suppose in a way there is magic in both of them. Someone who didn't have 'power' utters the magic words 'I name this ship...' and becomes powerful. Someone who was supposed to be the slave of the corporate fat cats uses their own media against them. So maybe there is some kind of magic in both.
But what of 'delight'? I'm still not sure it feels like the right term to me, I shall continue to ponder. If anyone has any better suggestions let me know. Oh, and if you can explain the 'magical act' better, that would be great too.
He started his talk with Vitruvius' characterisation of architecture, which as the title suggests, is 'Firmitas, utilitas, venustas' and he offered his own translation or interpretation of this—well made, useful and delightful. Glanville suggested that it is easy to do the well made and useful part of the equation, but that what is difficult is the 'delightful'and that this requires the designer to do more than is necessary, to make something better than what is there. It is the more than necessary that is the necessary bit—it is what brings the delight.
I can definitely see where he is coming from, but I am not sure about the word delight. At the time I suggested 'engaging' which he dismissed as too neutral and I agree with that, however, for me there is something about the word 'delight' that is too 'lightweight', too momentary and perhaps too much aligned with some kind of aesthetic pleasure. Reading over this again, maybe delight is also too subjective a term? As venustas means beauty this isn't surprising I guess, in fact it apparently literally means the salient qualities possessed by the goddess Venus and implied a visual quality in architecture that would arouse the emotion of love. However not all design is pleasurable in this way, nor does it intend to be. Even in architecture, the area of design and subject that Glanville's talk was originally given in, one only has to go to Berlin and visit the Holocaust memorial to know that the affect, whilst powerful, is not pleasurable or delightful.
So maybe what we are after is something that captures that effect or charge a building or piece of work can give you. This maybe brings us back to Barthes and his idea of 'punctum' in a photograph, an emotional response which is elicited by the ‘prick’ of an unexpected detail or contrast. I think these days it has been superceded by the idea of 'affect' so punctum might be a bit dated, but it seems to offer something to the discussion. Whether this charge is always related to something unexpected or some kind of contrast I don't know, we can get pleasure from familiarity also. But then perhaps the idea of the unexpected links nicely with the idea of the designer providing something extra, something that is more than necessary.
Two other things spring to mind in relation to this experience and design and designers' ability to construct it. Firstly, I recently re-read Gaston Bachelard's The poetics of space and he writes about eperiencing the 'reverberation' of 'poetic images.' I think he is referring to images that are conjured up in the mind through poetry, and if this is not too much of an over-simplification, it seems to me that this idea of 'reverberation' is also what Barthes is getting at with 'punctum', and perhaps Glanville with 'delight.' Secondly I recalled having read Malcom Barnard's Graphic design as communication and his description of the four functions of graphic design: Information, persuasion, decoration and magic. It is this idea of 'magic' that got me thinking in terms of how the 'delight' (or whatever I decide I might prefer to term it) is engendered. Barnard suggests that this idea of magic relates to Tibor Kalman's idea that what most graphic design is about is 'making something different from what it truly is.' That it makes absent or distant people or places 'present' to us, the spectator (Barnard 2005:15). This seems to tie in—that whether it be a logo or an advert, it is more than just type and image on a page. The Nike tick signifies a brand that offers more to some than a functional pair of trainers. The image and copy used in an advertisement for Barnardos puts us into the position of seeing the abuse and therefore offers us the opportunity to take part in ending such awful situations, or if we do nothing, collude in the perpetrator's actions. Maybe his title should have been Graphic design as teleporter?
That 'magic' then made me think of something I read that Bourdieu had said about a 'magical act.' Digging about I found it is referenced in David Crow's Visual signs. In this case Crow describes Bourdieu as defining this magical act in relation to the use of language. I find it a difficult idea to get my head round, and I wonder whether such a small snippet is being taken out of context here, and also possibly in Crow's text as neither of us quotes an original source. However, it seems to be about the possibilities of the performativity of language, that one can, in the sphere of social action, 'act through words beyond the limits of delegated authority' (Crow 2003:97). The written example Crow uses to explain this is of a passer by smashing the champagne bottle against the prow of a ready to be launched ship, instead of the diginatry who has been given the responsibilty, and in a sense, I guess, the power. What Crow doesn't make clear, at least to me, is does this mean the ship is named and can be launched, or does the fact that the passer by didn't have 'the power' mean it is null and void? The visual examples Crow uses are those of individuals subverting corporate communications to their own ends—Joe Magee's 2002 illustrations for the Daily Telegraph. The illustrations seemed to be decorated with dots as part of the design. What the Torygraph didn't realise was that these dots were actually braille and spelled out anti-capitalist sentiments. Anyhow, I am not sure I quite see the parallels between the word and image examples. Am I being dim? Never mind that, this post seems to be getting off topic. I suppose in a way there is magic in both of them. Someone who didn't have 'power' utters the magic words 'I name this ship...' and becomes powerful. Someone who was supposed to be the slave of the corporate fat cats uses their own media against them. So maybe there is some kind of magic in both.
But what of 'delight'? I'm still not sure it feels like the right term to me, I shall continue to ponder. If anyone has any better suggestions let me know. Oh, and if you can explain the 'magical act' better, that would be great too.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Two steps forward, no steps back, but a bit further to go
The next incarnation of the 'stuff' book is coming close to being finished I think. Using the same format and four different typefaces as the previous version, and reintroducing elements from the first draft, gives the book a much more lively, appropriate feel.
The 'Stuff of dreams' reverts to being set within the landscape format of the page and the asides retain their asterisks and daggers denoting their relevance to a particular part of the text. The brackets have been dropped—they were probably mostly resposible for creating too much visual noise on the page for what is, after all, a comment that is slightly tangential to the main thrust of the text.
Elements of the academic essay are allowed to explore more playful typographic settings, with changes in leading, line length and subversion of the grid all being utilised where appropriate to the content. These interventions are fewer and more minimal than the first draft and consequently the book does not become fragmented and lose a sense of rhythm as the pages are turned.
Without the rigid system of text positioning attempted in the previous version I was also able to integrate or isolate the different strands of content more productively throughout the book.
I have begun to introduce quite formal elements within the design. Folios are positioned in the outside margins and the opening of the book conforms to a traditional staged delivery of title, half-title, contents, etc. Here the type is centred and predominantly set in Monotype Modern condensed and it is embellished with occasional red fleurons. I'm not quite sure at what point and why I took this design decision—it seems to have been made subconsciounsly. But I think it is about wanting the book to seem quite 'usual' at first, but then on entering properly it begins to break with convention and the reader has to engage both physically and mentally to draw the strands of text together. In a sense this parallels the idea of the project about people's homes and their stuff—most houses alomg a row look not too disimilar, but on enetering what changes a house to a home is how it is lived in, how people interact with the space and how their lives unfold within it. To this end I am wondering whether I should perhaps formally bind the book with a traditional cloth and board cover.
However, before I get to that point I need to start exploring the idea of book as object. To really bring the work to life I want to introduce physical elements that engage the reader and their senses further. Picking up on ideas from the texts I think the book pages could explore a range of media—perhaps pages made out of used, saved wrapping paper or used envelopes. These envelopes could even contain items. I am interested in engaging the reader in such a way that they have to physically explore the space of the book as they would the space of the home. Hiding things in folds or inserting hidden leaves, etc would all add to the experience. As Bachelard says 'a house that has been experienced is not an inert box.' Just a little something to be getting on with along with everything else then...
The 'Stuff of dreams' reverts to being set within the landscape format of the page and the asides retain their asterisks and daggers denoting their relevance to a particular part of the text. The brackets have been dropped—they were probably mostly resposible for creating too much visual noise on the page for what is, after all, a comment that is slightly tangential to the main thrust of the text.
Elements of the academic essay are allowed to explore more playful typographic settings, with changes in leading, line length and subversion of the grid all being utilised where appropriate to the content. These interventions are fewer and more minimal than the first draft and consequently the book does not become fragmented and lose a sense of rhythm as the pages are turned.
Without the rigid system of text positioning attempted in the previous version I was also able to integrate or isolate the different strands of content more productively throughout the book.
I have begun to introduce quite formal elements within the design. Folios are positioned in the outside margins and the opening of the book conforms to a traditional staged delivery of title, half-title, contents, etc. Here the type is centred and predominantly set in Monotype Modern condensed and it is embellished with occasional red fleurons. I'm not quite sure at what point and why I took this design decision—it seems to have been made subconsciounsly. But I think it is about wanting the book to seem quite 'usual' at first, but then on entering properly it begins to break with convention and the reader has to engage both physically and mentally to draw the strands of text together. In a sense this parallels the idea of the project about people's homes and their stuff—most houses alomg a row look not too disimilar, but on enetering what changes a house to a home is how it is lived in, how people interact with the space and how their lives unfold within it. To this end I am wondering whether I should perhaps formally bind the book with a traditional cloth and board cover.
However, before I get to that point I need to start exploring the idea of book as object. To really bring the work to life I want to introduce physical elements that engage the reader and their senses further. Picking up on ideas from the texts I think the book pages could explore a range of media—perhaps pages made out of used, saved wrapping paper or used envelopes. These envelopes could even contain items. I am interested in engaging the reader in such a way that they have to physically explore the space of the book as they would the space of the home. Hiding things in folds or inserting hidden leaves, etc would all add to the experience. As Bachelard says 'a house that has been experienced is not an inert box.' Just a little something to be getting on with along with everything else then...
Sunday, 6 December 2009
One step forward, two steps back
Designing is a process, and one that is rarely linear, except probably when one writes about the work and edits and structures the piece so that it makes for easier reading—a linear path to follow. The stuff book is ongoing and its latest visual incarnation is evidence of the iterative, non-linear process of design. In this case, it's one step forward, two steps back.
Reflection on the last execution of the work led me to believe that there was too much in the way of typographic intervention interfering with the text, that the visual system for the asides, for example, was more visible than the text itself. Conversely, the attempt to identify subdivisions within stuf by using variations of Lucas de Groot's Thesis did not offer enough contrast for the reader to use in navigational terms. A clear idea of a concept sounding great in theory, but not working out in practice. There also seemed to be too much separation between the different strands of content within the book, and at this stage I was only dealing with two, not the four that need to be integrated in the final piece.
So, I decided a systematic approach might help me. Rather than leaving each page open to containing all or any number of types of content I decided to set some kind of parameter in order to give me something to lean, and perhaps push, against. It's funny how we always think it would be great to do anything we want with a piece of design, but in reality this endless choice of options becomes disempowering and we have to define our own parameters in order to progress.
In this case I decided to try two things. Firstly to give the different types of text very different typographic voices. The academic essay is set in Univers condensed, with a hierarchy developed using headings, sub-headings, pull quotes and references in different sizes and weights; the 'Stuff of dreams' is set in Monotype Modern condensed, a serif face with a bit of personality that I think works well with the tone of voice; memories of things are set, caption-like in Univers bold; and finally, conversations are set in ITC Century codensed italic with a subtle weight change indicating a change in speaker. Secondly I decided to have the 'Stuff of dreams' underpin, literally, the whole piece, by running it almost footer-like across the bottom of each spread using a deep enough leading that the asides could be positioned within the lines.
I thought by delineating this space and defining one consistent element on each spread it would enable me to work with the other elements both more easily and more productively. But no... many things about this decision proved to be wrong... scratch that... many things about this decision enabled me to more clearly see how to progress the piece in a more appropriate direction.
By simply running the text in this space I effectively lost editorial control of the content. It became impossible to engage different types of content productively on each page as the 'Stuff of dreams' was unfolding within a mechanistic system that was unrelated to its content and therefore to the narrative. In a very physical sense it also made a small format somehow even smaller. Not only was there less space free to work in with text it also meant images were constrained in their positioning and could never either fully bleed off the page or simply fill the whole of the text fields. This in turn led to much of the typography falling between two stools—neither expressive and related to the content nor creating an interesting well balanced, asymmetric page layout through good use of the grid and judicious use of white space.
At least the textures of the page showed possibiltites with the use of the different typefaces. One small step forward.
However, what this failed attempt also enabled me to do was to reasess the first attempt. Reflecting on them both together I was able to see more clearly some of the potential for using some of the more expressive earlier designs within a slightly more 'controlled' environment. I'm not sure controlled is quite the right word, but what I mean is that I could see possibilities of creating a book that could hang together visually, show a sense of visual connection through its spreads, but one that generated a rhythm that was not monotonous or predictable. In some ways I guess this is like a collection. Each thing/spread has its own individual features, but it evidently belongs to a bigger set.
Reflection on the last execution of the work led me to believe that there was too much in the way of typographic intervention interfering with the text, that the visual system for the asides, for example, was more visible than the text itself. Conversely, the attempt to identify subdivisions within stuf by using variations of Lucas de Groot's Thesis did not offer enough contrast for the reader to use in navigational terms. A clear idea of a concept sounding great in theory, but not working out in practice. There also seemed to be too much separation between the different strands of content within the book, and at this stage I was only dealing with two, not the four that need to be integrated in the final piece.
So, I decided a systematic approach might help me. Rather than leaving each page open to containing all or any number of types of content I decided to set some kind of parameter in order to give me something to lean, and perhaps push, against. It's funny how we always think it would be great to do anything we want with a piece of design, but in reality this endless choice of options becomes disempowering and we have to define our own parameters in order to progress.
In this case I decided to try two things. Firstly to give the different types of text very different typographic voices. The academic essay is set in Univers condensed, with a hierarchy developed using headings, sub-headings, pull quotes and references in different sizes and weights; the 'Stuff of dreams' is set in Monotype Modern condensed, a serif face with a bit of personality that I think works well with the tone of voice; memories of things are set, caption-like in Univers bold; and finally, conversations are set in ITC Century codensed italic with a subtle weight change indicating a change in speaker. Secondly I decided to have the 'Stuff of dreams' underpin, literally, the whole piece, by running it almost footer-like across the bottom of each spread using a deep enough leading that the asides could be positioned within the lines.
I thought by delineating this space and defining one consistent element on each spread it would enable me to work with the other elements both more easily and more productively. But no... many things about this decision proved to be wrong... scratch that... many things about this decision enabled me to more clearly see how to progress the piece in a more appropriate direction.
By simply running the text in this space I effectively lost editorial control of the content. It became impossible to engage different types of content productively on each page as the 'Stuff of dreams' was unfolding within a mechanistic system that was unrelated to its content and therefore to the narrative. In a very physical sense it also made a small format somehow even smaller. Not only was there less space free to work in with text it also meant images were constrained in their positioning and could never either fully bleed off the page or simply fill the whole of the text fields. This in turn led to much of the typography falling between two stools—neither expressive and related to the content nor creating an interesting well balanced, asymmetric page layout through good use of the grid and judicious use of white space.
At least the textures of the page showed possibiltites with the use of the different typefaces. One small step forward.
However, what this failed attempt also enabled me to do was to reasess the first attempt. Reflecting on them both together I was able to see more clearly some of the potential for using some of the more expressive earlier designs within a slightly more 'controlled' environment. I'm not sure controlled is quite the right word, but what I mean is that I could see possibilities of creating a book that could hang together visually, show a sense of visual connection through its spreads, but one that generated a rhythm that was not monotonous or predictable. In some ways I guess this is like a collection. Each thing/spread has its own individual features, but it evidently belongs to a bigger set.
Friday, 27 November 2009
On Typographic Reference
It is interesting to refer back to the original of this article - published in issue 36 of Emigre in 1995. The thrust of the argument is that...
The oversimplistic positioning of typographic work in relation to Modernism and Postmodernism is not a useful dualism within which to debate, describe or develop.
We need to shift from discussing work in terms of these 'isms' to discussing specific context, intention, etc.
Theory can provide new perspectives - designers need to work with other, more theoretical, disciplines.
Functionalities are multiple, relative and context specific—aesthetics have a part to play in typographic communication—a semiological function. Maybe this means the often trotted out Form v Function is another oversimplistic dualism... (This reminds me of Max Bruinsma's editorial in Eye 32 in 1999)
Looking at the design of the article one can immediately see there are 4 or 5 different voices or elements to the text—body text, references, footnotes, a case study and some occasional sides that are actually quite long, so less of footnote and more of some kind of intertextual/hypertextual linking.
Within this complexity there is a traditional hierarchy evident in terms of headings and sub-headings. The different elements are also clearly defined by use of quite different typeface, size, case and positioning.
So.... I think I need to look at the hierarchy in my piece, possibly something that works for the whole document, rather than something that is different for each piece. Each piece has a different number of potential 'levels'—the academic essay could possibly have five, from title through to references, whereas the conversation has far less of these formal devices—perhaps only two—distinctions between the speakers. I also need to integrate the texts in a constructive/meaningful way—to use the 'montage' to make connections, disruptions, etc—it needs to be content led. Maybe I also need to develop some kind of frontspiece that places the book in some kind of context in relation to contents, methods and aims?
Stuff book in process
Have just put together the first draft of the stuff book. Lots to work on yet though. Format has lost something, I think, and is now a little too big. Think I may need to drop the obsessive Fibonacci based grid in order to give myself more flexibility. The different threads of texts running through the book are also perhaps too separate - there is no productive use of montage in terms of juxtaposing things to make people think or create some kind of 'charge' - at present they exist on separate spreads and use a change from portrait to landscape layout to show very obvious difference.
In order to solve this I think I need to define the voices much more clearly in terms of the typography, before I even think about the layout, so they can interact within the spreads. Maybe I should look at Mermoz's original article On Typographic Reference for some inspiration...
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Excuses at the ready…
Supervision later today and here's a ready made excuse... the cat keeps sitting on my chair in the office, so I can't do any work!
Pecha Kucha night at The Building Exploratory
The lovely folk at The Building Exploratory have invited me to take part in a Pecha Kucha night entitled The Changing Face of Hackney on Thursday 26 November. Pecha Kucha involves a timed Powerpoint presentation of 20 slides of 20 second duration each - I'm not sure I'm known for my succinct summations, so it'll be a challenge!
Sunday, 8 November 2009
The 'stuff' of inhuman typography
I am starting to develop work for a series of projects that view place through the lives of objects. A series of three projects will take a micro to macro, or private to public, look at Hackney in relation to objets that are kept, recycled, bought, or sold. The first in the series is the 'close up' view of objects in the home - how we create our own intimate space through the accumulation of significant objects.
This project was inspired by probe pack returns that talked about personal possessions that related to memories, to the process of one's life unfolding over time. These objects can be used to create a kind of 'pause' within one's ongoing life. A chipped blue mug from Berlin is more than that—it is a memory of a time and place, of a shared experience—it enables one to seemingly suspend the daily grind and transport oneself back to a particular moment.
One can perhaps see parallels with the ongoing gentrification and 'regeneration' of parts of Hackney—residents can control the space of their own homes and keep things that nay no longer be functional in a practical sense, but that function in an emotional way. They have less power when it comes to the demolition of the Four Aces Club or the cottages of Roseberry Place.
The content for the project will consist of two, possibly three, aspects—an essay written about 'stuff' (some of which appears in the post dated 9 August 2009), more personal texts and images provided by participants relating to the 'stuff' they referred to in their original answers and possibly a conversation about 'stuff' between myself and one of the participants.
This mix of threads will give me an opportunity to explore the idea of 'montage writing' (Crang & Cook, 2007)—an experimental form of ethnographic writing—within the context of design. The use of extended texts also provides a more realistic test for the geo/graphic design process in terms of the view of geographers and ethnographers who routinely deal with such extended texts and in relation to Mermoz's (1995 on) thoughts with regard to typography. It also offers another opportunity to refute Ingold's (2007) claims about the 'silencing' of the page since the advent of mechanical print.
All well and good, as so often is the way with neatly constructed argument through theory. But, the proof of the pudding, and this PhD is to be found within the practice and I am finding it not nearly so easy to construct such a watertight argument.
The first section I have explored visually is that of the essay The images previous and the next one below) and I am reasonably happy with the interpretation of the text in relation to Mermoz—that the typography should work at the 'level of the text'— and with the way it challenges Ingold's ideas that the page has no voice and is no longer a landscape one can travel.
The layout is constructed using the golden section and uses a 6 pica modular grid to reference the order—or when the text breaks out the grid, the disorder—relating to collections and collectors. The typeface used is Lucas de Groot's Thesis, which comes in a serif, sans and mix version—used to denote the difference between specific collections and generic 'stuff.'
However it is the interpretation of the participants' story (the following images) that I am less happy with. Or at least I am now I have stepped back a little from the screen.
I had a conversation with the work, and as Schön speculated, it talked back to me. Unfortunately it told me I was working in such a way as to be making self referential typographic interventions within the design that related not to the content of the text, but to the system of reading and the 'landscape' of the page.
I may have been trying to take interesting elements from medieval manuscripts, from a time—pre-Gutenberg—when pages were a maze that one had to make their way through, following asides and notations from individual scribes. I may have been accidentally enjoying making work that looks like it fell from the pages of Emigre circa 1992.
But I'm not sure what I was doing was making work that reflected the human story, the real content—work that engaged at the 'level of the text.' It is inhuman typography—it has become perhaps too much about the system and not enough about the person.
So further conversations with the work need to be had, to ensure that the voice of the participant appears within the pages, not just the voice of the designer...
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