Will the “blind” men and women of info/dataviz ever see the viz-elephant as a complete whole?

If the word “infographic” is starting to cause heart palpitations and uncontrollable urges to click associated links, then the term “data visualization” or anything plus “viz” is guaranteed to pack the house at events covering the subject. This bottomless appetite isn’t all about empty calories, however. There is growing interest in the rationale behind visualization and a curiosity to hear professionals reveal the “secrets” of their trade. Yesterday evening’s hybrid talk/panel discussion at the New York Public Library, enticingly titled “What Makes Good Data Visualization?”, certainly tapped into the current info/dataviz trend; Isabel Graves, organizer of the event and co-founder of Leaders in Software and Art, mentioned in her introduction that 240 people signed up for only 177 available seats. Compelling data in itself. The lineup of speakers didn’t hurt either: recognized figures in data visualization such as Manuel Lima and Kaiser Fung shared the stage with statisticians Mark Hansen and Andrew Gelman, creative director/multimedia artist Tahir Hemphill, and journalist/computer scientist Jonathan Stray, who moderated the discussion.

Before giving my overview this particular talk, some personal context is necessary. For years, I’ve made it a habit to go to as many information design and data visualization happenings as possible in the NYC area. I’ve put together a mini chronology of events I have attended (some more notable than others):

• May 23, 2008: IN/VISIBLE with John Maeda, Steve Duenes, Fernanda Viegas, and Andrew Kuo (AIGA NY)
• March 21, 2009: Laura Kurgan, “Mapping Justice” (SVA – D-Crit Program)
• May 1, 2010: OneZero – Dataism (Parsons)
• January 12, 2011: DATA VISUALIZATION: METHODS AND MADNESS with Lisa Strausfeld, Laura Kurgan, and Kate Carmody (AIGA NY)
• December 6, 2011: Peter Hall, “Infoviz: Where’s the Critique?” (SVA – D-Crit Program)
• January 21, 2012: On the Verge: Mike Migurski and Sarah Williams (SVA – Interaction Design Program)
• February 23, 2012: DATA VISUALIZATION WITH HYPERAKT / TICTRAC / FAST CO. (AIGA)
• March 23, 2012: On the Verge: Geoff Manaugh and Jer Thorp (SVA – Interaction Design Program)

Time after time, I sign up for these events with the same high expectation: maybe they’ll break through the surface of show-and-tell self-promotion and finally, finally dig into the real issues of information design (yes, I use the term broadly). One can’t expect truly deep, engaged dialogue to happen in the space of 1-1.5 hours at the end of a work day, but there should at least be an effort to unpack and clarify the difficult work of data analysis and visualization, or simply acknowledge that there is a bigger picture to define. More often than not, however, I walk away disappointed at repeated servings of appetizer-like slideshows and tepid Q&A. These events present only one tightly-framed glimpse into a larger realm: generally speaking, designers tend to speak from a design perspective, programmers from a technology perspective, journalists from an infographics perspective, and so on. Nevertheless, I always remain hopeful that the next talk will broaden the view, or that I’ll be bold enough to raise the more pressing questions myself at the very end.

Much to my delight, yesterday’s event broke the mold. For once, professionals from diverse backgrounds were brought together to actually discuss each other’s points of view and address real questions about data visualization. Some of those questions were even baked into the agenda:

• What perspectives should be considered in judging data visualizations (and why)?
• Where does the data come from, and why does it matter?
• Can a discipline of data visualization be established based on scientific or design principles?
• How do I get started?

I appreciated that there was a deliberate decision to scale back the usual canned presentations and allow more dialogue to take place around the above questions. For their part, each speaker was forced to distill their points as concisely as possible in uniformly formatted slides, which helped keep the audience attentive and attuned to the juxtaposition of viewpoints. During discussion, each speaker was given the opportunity to comment, so that no perspective would be left out. When the inevitable question of utility versus aesthetics came up, a mild debate ensued between Kaiser Fung and Manuel Lima. Each presented a well-reasoned case in support of their position (I tended to side with Fung’s advocacy of a more sparse aesthetic to invite attention and investigation, rather than Lima’s defense of visual appeal as a cognitive hook for attention). It was also great to hear Mark Hansen speak to both the analytical and artistic sides with equal enthusiasm; his comments on enforcing data checking and standards for training data visualization professionals were most welcome. An interesting moment occurred towards the end of the discussion when Tahir Hemphill made reference to a photo of data art sculpture by Marius Watz. When Kaiser Fung asked “What is that?” (or more likely, what data set it was meant to represent), Tahir replied bluntly “It’s art!” to jolt the “numbers guy” out of his frame of reference. Everyone seemed to get a kick out of that.

I had hoped that there would be more time spent on the question of formalizing the discipline of data visualization, but breadth won out over depth, and time was short. The point of the event, I think, was really to show that the exploration and untangling of these issues is a work in progress — an imperfect and slow one that has taken considerable effort to get this far. As long as fuzziness and ambiguity exist within the realm of information design and across data-focused disciplines, more forums for discussion and knowledge exchange are needed to build shared understanding. Designers alone will not achieve this, nor will just programmers or statisticians or academics: the effort must be cross-disciplinary. Otherwise, the elusive viz-elephant representing the massive information design & visualization space will remain a fragmented creature, never to be seen by the public or professionals alike for what it really is.

(For those who may be interested, full video of the event is available here.)

23 years, 36 sketchbooks (stacked in order by size)

Back in 2008, Michael Bierut wrote an excellent post on Design Observer about his collection of notebooks — how he started, what kind he uses, what purpose they serve. His reflections on note taking and the habit of recording thoughts regularly on paper stuck with me, not just as an insight into his creative process, but as a motivation to reflect on my own relationship with my sketchbooks.

I have been drawing my entire life. As a child, I drew on whatever paper I could get my hands on: notepads, copy paper, legal pads, napkins, envelopes. Cartoons and comic books were my inspiration and my “goal” as a young artist. I would spend hours recreating scenes from my favorite shows, like Voltron and the Thundercats, or tracing panels from Fantastic Four and Wolverine comics (among many others). Over time, I accumulated a lot of paper of varying sizes and types, which I eventually kept in a portfolio. But I came to realize that this method would prove inefficient if I was to take my drawing more seriously.

Superhero drawings, 1989-1992 (yep, I was a Marvel guy)

I started keeping regular sketchbooks around the age of twelve, but exactly how I came into possession of my first one escapes me (it is likely that my mother or my cousin may have bought me my first official sketchbook, which I no longer have). My earliest sketchbooks were large, back when scale mattered more than portability, and they were usually cheap Aquabee drawing pads with coarse-tooth paper. When I got tired of pages falling out from constantly folding them back, I switched to higher quality Strathmore and Canson sketchbooks with smoother, brighter paper and sturdier binding.

I’ve never stuck exclusively to one particular brand or style of sketchbook. I like holding a different book in my hands every now and then, perhaps to make me feel like I’m producing new thoughts and ideas. My only lasting criteria for a sketchbook are that the pages be free of lines and that the paper accept ink well. I make exceptions only under special circumstances: when I want to do guilt-free experimentation, when I find a handsome sketchbook that inspires me, or when I receive a sketchbook for free or as a gift. My preference lately has been for the Moleskine Classic Large Plain Notebook because it’s just the right size for my needs, it withstands daily abuse, and it closes securely with the trademark elastic band.

Two favorites: a generic newsprint pad (left) and an Italian notebook covered in medieval imagery (right)

Anything goes inside the pages of my sketchbooks: if I can think it, I draw it. My early sketchbooks were playgrounds for my imagination, full of bizarre creatures, invented landscapes, idealized superheroes, and impromptu drawing lessons. Sometimes pages would be crammed with lots of little ideas, and other times a single small idea would occupy a page on its own. I would try out mixed media, watercolor, and collage on occasion, but I typically work in pencil or ink out of sheer immediacy — never in ballpoint pen. These days, my medium of choice tends to be a Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball, fine point, although any good rolling ball pen with rich black ink will do.

A small watercolor sketch for a potential children’s book, 2002

Drawing from life is one of my favorite activities, especially while traveling. I always try to carve out time to just sit somewhere and fill my sketchbook with observations of my surroundings, to impress them on my memory. Museum visits also allow me to engage in sustained, active seeing. Ancient artifacts, modern masterworks, and even museum spaces reveal hidden lessons only after lengthy analysis with pencil and paper. It often takes several tries and many pages for me to really understand what I’m looking at.

Selected sketchbook pages from a trip to England, 1999

Christian Science Mother Church, Boston, MA, 2000

In college, I started out as an art major, so my sketchbook was an invaluable learning space and work space. As in my childhood, I found myself recreating works by other artists, but with a deeper appreciation for volume, space, and proportion. I planned out compositions for paintings and occasionally took notes for other classes and assignments in my trusty sketchbook. (The pages below are from my best college sketchbook, which I nearly lost in a flood after moving back home from school. Luckily, I was able to remove the saturated cover and let the damp pages dry. Thankfully, all of the sketches survived.)

Studies of heads after masterworks by Watteau, Fragonard, and de Ribera, 1997

Life drawing sketch to establish correct figure proportion, 1997

From the end of college up to the present, my sketchbooks have become less artistic and expressive in nature, more functional and diagrammatic. My information design and graphic design sensibilities took shape in the late 1990′s and early 2000′s through logo studies, thumbnails of page layouts, and sketches for personal portfolio projects. I mainly use sketchbooks now for project work, to capture notes from meetings, construct concept models showing relationships between ideas, or figure out how to represent data.

Logo studies, 1999

My most productive work moments typically happen during my morning or evening train commute, and only occasionally at the office. With headphones on and a block of uninterrupted time (usually 20-30 minutes), I am able to dive into a problem in my sketchbook and rapidly explore every angle. I enjoy looking back at old project sketches and seeing how my thinking evolved on a particular diagram. My first attempts are never successful.

Sketches to figure out concept diagrams and layout for a work project, 2008

My sketchbook also serves as a journal when my mind needs an outlet for non-work thinking. I rely on words for the most part, but I also try to create simple pictures when it helps me put different ideas together. Sometimes ideas will carry over from one sketchbook to the next as new ideas emerge, in which case I rewrite or redraw the relevant bits.

Random quotes and thoughts, 2009

A brain dump on content and the digital world, 2011

The role of sketchbooks in my life has evolved considerably, although I long for simpler times when the only purpose I had was to let my mind wander. Creative freedom took on a much different meaning in my childhood than it does today. For all the latitude that design work affords me, I still feel that my most recent sketchbooks and drawings represent a form of commercial art — artistic production in the service of business. That, fundamentally, is the nature of my work (though not it’s sole purpose), and yet it has led me further away from what compelled me to start drawing in the first place.

The tension I feel between “formal” art and “functional” art is something I hope to explore in my current sketchbook. I want to revive old ways of seeing and creating and allow them to coexist with and even inform my more structured design work. For me, truly fulfilling art work is a convergence of deep concentration, visual reasoning, and artistic production — without the pressure of time, intent, or anticipated outcomes. The state of flow, as described by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, came naturally to me in my childhood, but as school and work grew to dominate my life, it became harder and harder to evoke. Collage, for instance, is one means of rekindling flow: it allows me to experiment freely, make spontaneous associations, and assemble my thoughts easily with a minimum of craft. Through this form of “play,” I can break conventions that have become ingrained in my drawing habits and open up more possibilities in how I synthesize information visually.

Sketchbook #37, customized with a hand-painted network pattern, 2012

As comfortable as I’ve become with ink on paper, I am very curious about the role of devices and software in extending or redefining the sketchbook. I have tested countless drawing apps on my iPad, and while a handful come close to simulating real-live drawing (Bamboo Paper, SketchBook, Procreate, and more recently, Paper), the experience is still rife with shortcomings: the clumsiness of using a nubby stylus, crude recreation of different media, and unnatural control of the page/canvas (never mind the lack of tactility). Still, those don’t deter me from continuing to test them out and finding ways to fold them into a digital design workflow.

Test drawing on iPad 2 done with Sketchbook app and a Targus stylus, 2012

Technology will eventually open up new creative possibilities beyond what we can imagine today, but for the time being, I’m quite content pushing the boundaries of a good old-fashioned bound paper sketchbook.

Finally, here’s the conclusion to my four-part rant, picking up from The Boundaries of Design…

Products are passé. Brands are boring. Websites are wearisome. Many designers are trying to break out of the mold of conventional design and tackle bigger challenges. Corporate clients don’t cut it any more. They want their work to have meaning and impact in the world. They want to make a difference. But how? What kind of impact can design really have in the world? Should we even think of design in that way?

Most design schools teach skills and tools to fulfill market demand for “traditional” designers around whom an economy is already built — architects, product designers, web designers, et cetera. The reigning model is to create more goods and services and stuff to support a standard of living that developed countries such as the U.S. have fought to establish and preserve.* Everybody from the unseen overseas manufacturers to the retail superstores to the ad-laden consumer magazines knows we need newer, better, nicer stuff in our homes, on our bodies, and in our culture. Design exists to address these human needs and to drive commerce through a continuous cycle of fueling and satisfying desire.**

Incrementally, design schools and the design industry are broadening the scope of design’s capacity for doing good, though well within the purview of traditional design. Many are rethinking unsustainable practices as they relate to the production, commercialization, consumption, and disposal of physical design artifacts. But addressing environmental concerns only makes for more green design, not “world-changing” design. While that may ease the guilt of buying more stuff that may harm the world and reduce the waste we generate, the consumerist status quo will likely remain unchanged.

Design has increasingly been moving into the social space, further nudging the boundaries of traditional design’s reach. Some designers are directing their efforts toward supporting non-profit ventures by doing design work for existing charities and organizations, as has been the case for many years. Others are launching initiatives themselves to tackle very specific areas of interest (Architecture for Humanity is a great, highly-visible example of this). Again, while tremendous good is being done, design’s impact is still limited to what it can directly affect, whether it’s increasing the public’s awareness or understanding of social issues or helping to provide communities with basic necessities for survival.

Meanwhile at the macro-level of world problems, massive change is sweeping across the world. Regimes are falling, economies are crumbling, jobs are vanishing, and insecurity still prevails. The cost of living and staying alive continues to skyrocket, while quality of life is declining. Cities are aging, infrustructures deteriorating, capacities stretched to the max. Even natural events have become more unpredictable and more destructive, as we saw with the Japan tsunami and more recently with Hurricane Irene. What we’re experiencing now goes beyond independent, isolated events. It’s a network of revolutions — a wholesale paradigm shift in how the world fundamentally works.

Can design solve problems of this magnitude? I don’t think so. Design was never designed to handle large-scale complexity, and for all their best intentions, many designers are incapable of bridging the gap between the work they do and the systemic change that needs to happen in the world. Even the falsely-named “design thinking” as an approach for understanding and solving systemic problems falls short in the face of global turmoil. However, at a strategic level, designers can help map complex situations and draw meaning from data to enable different stakeholders to make sense of a problem (more on this in a future post).

Design alone can’t and won’t change the world, and if you read my last post, I think design actually needs to get over itself and make sense of its own mess first. Contrary to what some in the design cheerleader press like Co.Design think, design isn’t living up to the hype of being “such an important discipline in today’s world.” And I’m sorry to say that “integration, rather than raw technology” has not become “the pressing problem of our world” — complex problems tangled inside other complex problems have become the pressing problem of our world. It takes a lot of different people pooling serious brainpower and resources to even make a dent in that.

I think we should stop celebrating design as the hero and bring our notions of design’s role in the world back down to earth. I know that might not sit well with many designers, but considering the ego trip of the past 10 years or so, it’s about time design was reacquainted with reality and what kind of difference design can actually make.

To close out my rant, I’ve taken a stab at drafting a pseudo design manifesto to sum up my own principles for design in, for, and with the real world:

1. Design is an enabler of change in the world, not the cause or source.
2. Designers should be facilitators of dialogue, collaboration, and understanding, not simply creators or producers of design artifacts.
3. Designers are problem solvers by nature and should be skillful as such, but they should not presume to be able to solve every problem.
4. Designers should provide greater clarity and honesty in services they are qualified to offer.
5. Designers should connect closely and directly with those they serve.
6. Design’s impact should be genuine impact, regardless of whether it’s hard or soft.
7. Design journalism of all types should be practiced responsibly when covering design and “change-making.”
8. Design schools and programs should be proactive in orienting newer generations of designers to be service-minded (not to be confused with “service design”).
9. Design should be an inclusive process that involves more than just designers.
10. Designers should receive recognition not for the aesthetic appeal of their solutions but for effectiveness and impact. Isn’t that the point?

So what do you think? If you’re a designer reading this, what’s your take on the whole “design saving the world” phenomenon? If you’re not a designer, do you think design can tackle big, world-sized challenges?

_____________

Notes:

* I realize that’s a problematic statement. Is it better to say that design is an enabler of the “American,” “Western” or “northern” way of life? Am I digging a deeper hole for myself?

** Another problematic statement, which is directed toward design for advertising and marketing specifically. Design is a big, diverse field, but the most visible and influential aspects of design are manifest in selling stuff.

This is the third part in an extended rant. Before you start a rant in response, check out Part I, Over Design, and Part II, In Praise of the Design Underdog.

Part of what makes it so hard — and so frustrating — to advance dialogue about the design profession in any constructive way is that it’s getting harder to set boundaries around what design actually is. Defining it by its deliverables, like identities and websites, is too narrow. Positioning it purely as problem solving is too broad. One could attempt to bridge the two and say that design is a problem solving process that may result in an identity or a website, but that still doesn’t do it justice. Intangibles such as services and processes can be designed conceptually, and their basic function modeled visually, but the end result lives in the experience of it and the outcome — like, say, an optimized document management workflow that improves findability or a streamlined hospital admissions process that reduces wait times.

As design’s application extends and its impact increases, its inner complexity grows. New subsets of design practice emerge to satisfy new needs. New methods and tools start to complement the traditional design arsenal. And, inevitably, new players enter the marketplace wielding new expertise. Consider the many flavors of design that exist, and how many new words have been added to the design lexicon just in the past 5-10 years (not exhaustive and in no particular order):

• Strategic design
• Transformation design
• Service design
• Social business design
• Experience design
• Interaction design
• Design thinking
• Sustainable design
• Infographic design
• Information design
• Graphic design
• Communications design
• Publication design
• Web design
• Environmental design
• Product design
• Industrial design
• Motion graphics design
• Architecture
• Information architecture
• Game design
• Fashion design
• Et cetera

To me, the primary challenge becomes making sense of all these “designs” for the benefit of the profession at large. Some design disciplines are better defined than others, but is there a hierarchy or unifying structure here? Are we just tossing words around, or are there genuine differences among the newer design phenomena? Can we create some governing logic about design? Has anything come close?

If we can succeed in mapping the landscape of design in any meaningful way, perhaps we can start to tackle the second challenge: understanding and aligning needs to the right services and ultimately, to the right service providers. This is an immensely difficult task given the nature of our free market economy and the multitude of players in the market, not to mention defining what needs design can really address (all of them?). Professional organizations like AIGA have worked to define what design business should look like (running a business, conducting business, etc.), but what about the initial contact between designer and client? How would a client know if they’re engaging the right designer or agency to help them? The converse — a designer or agency knowing if they’re the right ones to take on the work — is a trickier subject, since a common approach is to secure the work first, then scramble to figure out how to do it afterwards, regardless of capability. So how do we set professional boundaries around design practices? Can we certify designers and agencies to practice certain types of design and not others? And how do we protect people from design fraud? Is any of this possible?

It would be great if there was some governing body to make all these distinctions and set standards of practice, like a Better Business Bureau for design. Something like an AIGA on steroids and with the authority to enforce standards. How much power would such an organization wield? How many designers would be receptive to this idea?

Are we just accumulating more unanswerable questions than answers?

Next and final installment (coming soon): The World Can Change Design

The rant continues from Over Design, in all its crudeness…

At one time, graphic design was about as sexy as chimney sweeping. It was messy, unglamorous, and quite labor intensive, even as technology afforded the profession new tools and enhanced methods of production over time. It was truly an art, a craft, and a science all in one. Those who chose the path of the designer likely did so out of sheer necessity and market demand, as graphic arts and printing services went hand-in-hand, although there were probably those innately drawn to graphic design work as well. There was no fame or fortune in it — just a job, really — and if one got to flex their artistic and creative skills while doing it, all the better.

More recently, the designer’s skillset and toolset have been radically simplified and consolidated thanks to the computer, so there’s less craft involved. Without the burden of rubber cement and proportion wheels, designers could produce more work faster and were thus freed up to explore the more self-expressive side of graphic design work. So began the rise of design culture — design by and for designers — and the emergence of design as a lifestyle.

Becoming a designer these days is essentially a socialization process. To really make it in design, you need to start by going to the right school, following a legacy system of design education (that is, become a student of so-and-so who studied under so-and-so, ad nauseum), and really designing yourself from head to toe with the right specs, the right wardrobe, the right gadgets, and the right social life. Once you graduate, you can plug right into the professional network that your design school affords you. From there you ply your trade among the top shops, producing killer, award-winning “creative” for deep-pocketed clients. You gradually ascend the ranks, annual after annual, conference after conference, until you find yourself feeding into the very system that made you, spawning the next generation of aspiring designers.

Of course, it’s unfair to make such sweeping generalizations about designers according to some chic urban design stereotype popularized by the design press. The spectrum of designers is far more diverse than that. I want to shift the focus away from the spotlight of design culture and specifically focus on the unsung designer who carries on the tradition and the spirit of the early designers, quietly toiling away in the shadows: the design underdog.

Here is a short profile of the design underdog:

• Went to a non-design school to study design and gain exposure to a broad range of disciplines and intellectual pursuits
• Learns the tools and techniques of design inside and out, often spending long hours at the computer mastering key commands and shortcuts
• Loves typography, but disinterested in fonts (there is a difference)
• Loves design history, but bored by design celebrity (also a difference there)
• Irritated by “show and tell” design lectures and the schmoozing that goes with them
• Tends to work in lesser-known agencies, in-house design departments, and print shops
• Delights in challenging work that has impact and practical value, even if it might never grace the pages of a design annual
• Works long hours to get the client presentation done right while others just get the job done and go home
• More interested in client recognition than peer recognition through design competitions
• Often spends more time trying to understand a problem and what the client needs than on the graphic design of the solution and whether it will look cool
• Makes little to no effort to assume the designer look (often can’t afford it or the workplace doesn’t call for it)

Design underdogs do the dirty work of figuring stuff out, making things work. They see the job through from start to finish. They put the client first, and reflect that commitment in every aspect of their work. They keep trying until they nail it — even if it means occasional late nights or skipping some social event. They care above all about doing the work right.

The point here isn’t to just shift the spotlight to the underdogs and place them on a pedestal for all their hard work and dedication while spiting everyone else. Not at all. It’s that, on some level, all designers should aspire to be the underdogs. If design is now a navel-gazing profession that sees the world through itself, then it’s time we invert that model and see ourselves as the world sees us and use that perspective to frame our work and our role in the world. The public perception of design should be less glossy and superficial, more textured and deep. The value of design should be that it doesn’t just make you look better — it helps you live better and do better as a human being, organization, or society. Designers’ priority should be to deliver on that promise.

More to come in the next post: The Boundaries of Design