Thinking About Tools
April 25, 2012
A quick Twitter search for “GuideGuide” generally shows two types of feedback: “Holy crap, this is great,” and “I can’t believe this isn’t part of Photoshop already.” A lot of people like to hate on Adobe for being slow to add print/UI design tools to Photoshop, but I feel like this attitude wrongfully places the blame. Photoshop’s true purpose is in it’s name. It is photo manipulation software. It was never intended to be good with type styles, pixel perfect vector manipulation, or grid systems.
When people complain about Photoshop not being a robust tool for design, they’re essentially saying “I’m very frustrated that this tool I’m using beyond it’s scope doesn’t live up to my manufactured expectation.” You wouldn’t use a screwdriver as a hammer and complain that it doesn’t do a good job of hammering nails. So why do it with software?
Rather than complain about our applications not performing functions they were never intended to perform, why not start asking why no one is building tools that are designed specifically to solve the problems we complain about? I’m not talking about Photoshop plugins like GuideGuide. Things like that are just hacked together solutions to ease our pain. We need to start demanding, or better yet, creating bespoke tools and natural workflows that are created specifically for us.
I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, “Your sword should be an extension of your arm.” I’d venture to say our tools should be an extension of our creativity. We shouldn’t have to tolerate, hack, or be limited by our software. Our tools should be catalysts to the realization of our ideas.
What Inspires, Drives
May 6, 2010
A few months back I had a moment of inspiration and realization. As a relatively new designer, I look at myself as something akin to Michelangelo’s David, still a stone block up to the waist. I am very much a work in progress, looking for where it is that I can make my mark.
At the time I had just begun reading Middlesex, a fascinating book by Jeffrey Eugenides that spans three generations, two world wars, and a great depression. At particular lull in the narrative, the author mentions “the first photograph of a human being.” I’ve always been captivated by photography, particularly fashion photography, so it struck me to realize that this milestone had never crossed my mind. Imagine… the first human in a photo. Surely it would have been an aristocrat with a well trimmed yet somewhat pastiche mustache and a bespoke suit. He would likely have looked expressionless, nearly to the point of constipation, having gone down in history as being the first person to sit stone still for twenty minutes without being pronounced mad or dead.
I Googled “first photograph of a human” and was amazed by what I found. Not a stodgy noble, but a landscape. The setting: Boulevard du Temple, Paris, 1823. At first I thought I had found a bad link. Looking closer, however, I spotted a figure. Leg up on a stool, he etched his place in both in history and my mind, not posing for a photograph, but having his shoes shined.
Across the street, Louis Daguerre perched his newfangled light experiment in a window and aimed it at the best thing he could think of the time: the city out his window. For ten minutes, particles of light bounced off an experimental concoction of chemicals, slowly creating a stain in the shape of the only non-moving figures within its frame that would one day transform a young designer’s perspective as he sat in front of a book and a bowl of Cajun stew.
I began thinking about this man in the photograph. And let’s not forget the hunched at his feet meticulously polishing the man’s shoes, their conversation carried out in a language that is an art form in and of itself. What were they talking about? What were their names? Who were they thinking about as they passed through this moment? Had they been told they were about to be part of history, would they have found themselves in that particular spot on that particular day?
Thinking about this moment, I came to a bit of a realization. The mark people make in history is rarely a calculated one. I doubt some of the great figures in art, literature, or music started out thinking “Today is the day that no one forgets my name.” No, these moments of greatness, for the most part, happen in the course of events that were part of an otherwise standard existence.
So how does this affect me, the block of stone slowly being chiseled into something that will someday hopefully be viewed as a coherent and meaningful existence? For starters, it’s taught me to look at even the mundane tasks as places for greatness. I may not be building the next iPhone or designing the next I♥NY, but I’m still presented daily with chances to leave my mark on history. Sometimes small, sometimes large, each decision I make knits me deeper into the the world around me, and in turn stamps my name on what will one day become something that people look back upon. I can only hope that when my moment of greatness comes, I can exhibit such an inspiring force as a man with a smudged pair of shoes.
This Is A Comments Disabled Blog
May 1, 2010
Let’s conduct an experiment for a moment, shall we? Go to YouTube, click on any video you see, and scroll down to the comments. Read from top to bottom until you find something that makes you roll your eyes. I’m guessing you’re probably within the top five, right?
Now pop open iTunes and look up an artist from this decade. Check out the reviews. How long does it take to find one that calls the artist a sellout because their style has changed?
With the “anonymity” that the internet provides and the convenience of the submit button, the way we interject our opinions has become more like half-assed streams of consciousness rather than valid educated thoughts. I would love to believe that the graphic design industry is a group of people who can move beyond off topic political bickering or juvenile slander within its blog spaces, but a quick scan of any of the popular design blogs reveals that the community exhibits the same general maturity as any other sector of the internet.
I’m sure that there are plenty of people who would complain that by choosing to turn off The Conversation I remove the system of critique that comes along with the feedback element. To be honest, I encourage feedback. I love to hear what people think, even if they disagree. My problem lies with the poor quality of feedback provided by the majority of commenters. If you want to tell me what you think, email me. That way I know who you are, and you have yet another reason to to sound like an educated human being when you express your opinion.