The Internet is a place of constantly shifting content and services. New sites are added every second, and more infrastructure is developed in the blink of an eye. But…

Rarely have we had to deal with the equivalent of a mass extinction of web content. To a great degree, we assume that anything that is placed on the Internet will be there forever (or what we narrow-mindedly view as “forever”). And as such we build trust into services that are deployed: Facebook, Flickr, Twitter, WordPress, Delicious, etc. (just to name a few).

Last week, the well-known design resource site Smashing Magazine made a move that was abrupt and unexpected. Visitors viewing their site on March 22nd were automatically redirected to a landing page with the title “Smashing Magazine Needs Use Your Help Today“. This page urged viewers to purchase a $10 copy of content articles collected in PDF, vaguely indicating that the site and its Smashing Network parent company were possibly maybe in some infinitesimal way on the verge of utter collapse and please, sir, give us some money?

Whatever the internal situation maybe have been, it was unfortunate because Smashing Mag is a good provider of useful and (more importantly) original content for creative professionals – specifically those in my area(s) of expertise. And as suddenly dire as the situation seemed to be, I began wondering what would happen if Smashing Magazine powered down the servers tomorrow and closed up shop forever.

Bookmarks have been a staple of web browsing since… well, forever? While physically possible, it’s highly impractical to store a local copy of all content you find on the web – defeating the purpose of the Internet and information sharing in general. The idea is simple enough: you’ve found something in the tubes you’d like to take note of but don’t want to keep a running spreadsheet somewhere, so just use the browser’s bookmarking options. In recent times, this has migrated out of the browser and moved to services like Delicious, Diigo, and Ma.gnolia (more on them in a moment).

Suppose that Smashing Mag simply ceases to exist. They would almost assuredly try and sell their existing content to cover their outstanding bills, which would then end up making its way into the archives of various other sites around the net. But by-and-large, a great many people who have saved references to articles will be set adrift. I can easily think of ten articles I have bookmarked from their site that I’ve referred to for help or a tutorial in the past week. If SM goes, so go those resources.

This brought back some of the thoughts I had at the time Ma.gnolia went under, for reasons much less sublime than the delicate dance of revenue vs. the bills that have to be paid. Ma.gnolia’s servers simply blew up. Ka-boom. Gone. All those bookmarks and bits of info someone thought were worth keeping? Not there anymore. Some lucky people were able to get partial data recovery, but the disaster wiped out most everyone’s information permanently and effectively ended Ma.gnolia’s service.

We’ve built up trust in a variety of services, services that we go so far as to place intimate information into and to store significant resources and (speaking metaphysically) important parts of our lives. But we tend to forget that these services are largely free and exist from funding because of third-party interest (most likely for your ad revenue), ignoring a sad reality that when the bill collectors (or worse, the database grim reaper) come calling all the userbase-loyalty in the world isn’t necessarily going to save your data – be it created or bookmarked. What happens if Yahoo! Decides that Flickr is too much a drain on their resources? What if Google suddenly scraps Gmail? Unlikely for companies that are so large, but the point is you don’t know because you don’t have direct control over it.

You can make the same arguments for brick-and-mortar providers. What happens if my utility company moves to another region? What if my bank goes under? What if my insurance company stops supporting me? These things happen all the time, and they would happen much more often on the Internet but for the fact that, despite its world-wide nature, there still exist relatively few major services on the web. When they happen in the real world they are potentially life-altering, and the increasing degree to which we store information externally means that the same result could happen on the web.

So what am I getting at? I don’t know – just musing I suppose. Events like this cause me to worry about this wonderful, magical online world where we build and share and ride ponies while petting kittens. It’s fantastic, and the fantasy can make us forget that the only truly safe place for your data is burned onto a disc in a fireproof safe. Just something to ponder.

Six inches. Six inches is all they needed to move over to the left to let me have enough space to make a desperately needed right turn and set me trundling merrily on home toward the leftover chili that was (I’m certain) eagerly awaiting my patronage. I had just finished an hour-long workout at the gym after a gloomy Monday at work, and I just wanted to go home. Chili. Water. Sitting. Six inches.

The occupant – I won’t mention age or gender – sat blissfully unaware of the world outside, concentrating instead on something incredibly interesting on their cellphone. At times like this I try and dissect my anger, to attempt to put reasoning behind my feelings and determine if they are justified or not. I quickly determined in this case that they were, namely because I always make sure the people behind me have room to turn if the road permits it. This got me thinking about why I always make the effort to be aware of my surroundings, accommodate people as best I can, and generally try not to be a total idiot or a jackass.

I think it stems from an incident when I was very young. To be frank, I can’t remember how old I was or where the event took place. However, I distinctly recall being in a very crowded environment (possibly a mall or Wal-Mart) bumbling around in front of people who were trying to get from point A to point B when my dad grabbed me by my shoulders, spun me around, and very loudly and succinctly declared “PAY ATTENTION”.

This always stuck with me, and I think the world would be a better place if more people remembered that direction. I spend a significant portion of my mental capabilities in paying attention to the world around me, and making sure that I help out when I can or at the very least avoid being an obstacle. I try and bring this into all of my activities, whether it’s checking behind me to see if I need to hold the door for someone entering the locker room at the gym, planning, designing, and coding my projects so that people after me will be able to handle them, or (yes) making sure that the person behind me who desperately wants to get home after a tiring day of drudgery has room to turn.

The typical mode of human thought is: I am all. I am the most important thing. Others should be courteous to me. It takes effort to look outside yourself and see if there is something you can do to make life just a bit easier for someone else, which is probably why most people don’t do it. It’s infuriatingly simple to do, especially considering that you don’t have to go out of your way for it – you’re already going to stand at the printer for 20 minutes while your 700 page report prints; why not let the poor chap behind you with five copies go first?

Take a little extra time and mentally remove yourself from the picture in favor of examining your actions from the point of others – specifically, the inconvenience you’re probably causing them. With any luck, you might end up behind someone who ticks the same way you do and you’ll make it home five minutes early.

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me (even vaguely) that my life has changed substantially within the last year or so. I had never considered myself unhappy; I’ve been fortunate enough to have fantastic friends throughout the years, a supportive and loving (if somewhat eccentric) family, the blessing of a keen intellect, a stable upbringing, financial common sense, etc. etc. The list continues on to the point that I start to become vapid and lose the humility I strive so carefully to cultivate.

That being said, I was unhappy… whether I knew it or not. I spent most of my college years in a relationship that everyone but myself knew was going nowhere. There were fights, there were good times, there was ambivalence – the details are unimportant. I knew what an ideal relationship should be, and this wasn’t it. I felt like a hopeless romantic, and was teetering on the point of coming to terms with a reality in which love is just another imperfect facet of a flawed existence.

I’m rambling here. I want to describe my wedding day.

Fast forward to 2008. Relationship has been on the rocks and is finally over. I’m working a job I see going nowhere but can’t leave because I absolutely love the family of friends I’ve developed there. One in particular. Brenda and I had worked together for roughly two years, becoming very close friends. Best friends. More than friends. Everyone but us knew we were destined to be together in the type of relationship that makes other people’s teeth rot from the cuteness – the same people who, of course, knew my previous relationship was heading to the landfill.

The series of events that led to the day I am laboriously attempting to even try to describe are legion – saved some day for our children and grandchildren. On September 1^st, 2008 at roughly 12:15ish AM I proposed to Brenda after a wonderful party with all of our friends at the townhouse I lived in at the time. A little over a year later, on October 17^th, 2009… we were married. Let me describe that day:

Like most important events in our all too brief lives, our wedding day arrived at once much too quickly and after what seemed an eternity of planning. Flowers had been ordered, food prepared, expensive and uncomfortable garments leased for ridiculous prices, friends and family briefed, cameras readied, cakes baked, rehearsal dinners consumed, and money spent, money spent, money spent. We were frugal, but also keenly aware that we only intended to do this once. It wasn’t going to be big, it wasn’t going to be lavish, but it was going to be ours.

The day started oddly. I had spent the night in the guest bedroom because of the strange idea of waking up next to my imminent wife-to-be and languidly saying “Good morning, dear… shall we get married today?” A good friend of ours who would be an usher had stayed the evening on the couch after he and I had consumed a nontrivial amount of wine (beer in his case), recalling old times, weird co-workers, and general philosophy. I awoke to the sound of Brenda knocking on the door, telling me she loved me, and that she would see me in a little while.

Our friend, Eric, went off to run some pre-event errands while I bathed and groomed hurriedly in an attempt to make to time get my car washed so I could pick Brenda up in it at the end of the day. I went to Auto Magic where the salesman on duty tried to sell me the full package. I waved him off with a grin and said “I’m in a bit of a hurry… getting married today. She won’t care what the inside looks like. Probably won’t care what the outside looks like either.” I pulled on through and spent the next 30 minutes contemplating the buying decisions of the owners of the cars that rolled through the wash through the large windows inside, out of the cold. The day was overcast and windy, but not insurmountably so. I thought about the past, the road – sometimes rocky – that Brenda and I had traveled and reflected on how lucky I felt to be standing here, fidgeting while I waited for my car to be made presentable for the most important day of my life.

I drove to the church, which had been the subject of much discussion in the planning phase. It was not our home church but one that we held only loose associations with, largely to do with their college student ministry and our involvement therein. Entering in through the main doors I stared up into the space of the atrium and, much like the night we made the decision to have our wedding here, banished all thought of this day of days being held anywhere else. The church proper was beautiful, a modern testament to the love of people for God and his blessings in return. And what the reception area had in Gothic architectural appeal, the sanctuary matched in the classical wonder of its stained glass, stone, and wood facades.

Much of the next few hours until immediately before the ceremony is a blur. Brenda and her entourage were getting ready in the bridal suite located below the sanctuary, while I spent a brief period of time pouring myself into a tux and then relaxing in the downstairs lounge. Relatives came and went, jokes were made in the vein of “It’s not too late to back out now.. ha ha!”, stories were shared, and we generally attempted to keep the nerves and boredom from consuming us. There was ping pong. Some pictures were taken. And then the time came. I and four of my closest friends were standing behind the side door to the sanctuary, ears straining to hear if the processional tune had been struck up. Brian, our minister, looked around to us and said “Here we go.”

I only remember clearly two items after that. The first was Brenda, walking down the isle on the arm of our friend Kyle… grinning at me. She had purposefully kept her dress a secret, and the amazing beauty of it – of her – was well worth the wait. White strapless, with burgundy floral workings up the bodice, completed with the perfectly arranged bouquet of orange calla lilies. Second, I remember our kiss. It wasn’t unique or even particularly memorable in itself, but I remember understanding that this marks the beginning of what will hopefully be a very, very long journey together.

And then we’re running down the spiral stairs to the bridal suite, stopping to stare at each other for a moment, kiss, hug, breathe… and now back up. Pictures must be taken! The government document that allows us to get married (I’m still angry about that whole pretense) must be signed! Hugs must be given! Congratulations received! We cut the pictures short because we just didn’t care anymore; we wanted to see our friends, talk with the family, eat our freaking cake we paid for.

The cake was fantastic. So was the food – Qdoba catered in. I don’t remember much of it in detail except a profound irony that we had paid for all of this food and that I really wasn’t hungry at all, and that we wouldn’t be able to eat the leftovers because we would be in Chicago on our honeymoon. A bouquet was thrown at some people, and I flung a garter belt at some suspiciously eager male peers – a product of the thankfully bygone practice of needing proof that the marriage has been consummated.

We talked. People ate. People left. Our parents gathered up the ridiculous amount of gifts we had received, to be dropped by our house at a later time. I pulled the gleaming Mustang around, we got in the car, and left. I remember holding hands on the way home. We always do that when we drive, but I took particular note of it now. We laughed at the absurdity of the frenetic activity of the day, all so we could come home to a house we already lived in and prove to the world what we already had long known in our own hearts. I’ve forgotten a lot of the little details, but the end result is the same. I had married my best friend that day.

“This article was originally posted on Matthew Stublefield’s website.”

Recognizing that “design” can refer to a great many things, this article will focus on web design specifically. I encourage you to mentally translate “web design” as any sort of design, because the same ideas apply, but I think it is significantly simpler and probably more helpful to write specifically rather than ambiguously.

Design takes a whole different sort of thinking. As I struggled to move a sidebar over about two hundred pixels to create a wider content area for my blog posts, I sweated and struggled to make everything line up right without breaking the entire page. After three hours of screwing with it, I gave up. Even if I did finally get everything where and how I kind of wanted it, the site as a whole simply wasn’t right. I could look at my theme and organization and know that it was lacking. The truth of the matter is that I am not only not a designer, but I just can’t do it.

My brain doesn’t work that way, so while I can write at great length on a subject, troubleshoot software incompatibilities with relative ease, and brew a great pot of coffee, I cannot push my way forward with visually artistic endeavours. I enjoy looking at art and architecture and can spend hours upon hours doing so, but I cannot draw, paint, or design my own. I look at a spartan, bland design and think it looks OK–black and white appeals to me just fine, and all the text (the important part) is there, so it’s good–but I recognize at the same time that it is lacking and subsequently fails.

When I was in elementary school, my mother enrolled me in the Phelps School for the Gifted. I had to take an IQ test prior to enrollment to discover/prove that I was in the top 2% of the intelligence quotient (fun fact: Mensa has lower standards for acceptance), after which I began taking classes at Phelps one day a week. Though the classes were altogether interesting, one of the greatest lessons regarded the myriad types of intelligence.

There was a boy in my morning class who, in a regular school, would probably have been referred to as “retarded.” He had a speech impediment, seemed sort of slow, and his social skills were rather lacking. He was a nice enough guy and I sat at his table generally, interacting with him on a regular basis, but he was also difficult to be around or talk with. Yet I knew that he, like me, was a genius. You couldn’t be at this school if you weren’t.

This was my first introduction to the concept that intelligence is not measured in a straight line denoting the retention of facts and figures. Though one person may be a genius with words, another might be a genius with colours and shapes, and another with mathematics. One is no “smarter” than the other–we are all simply different.

It is easy for me to belittle myself for being incapable of producing good visual designs, but it is silly as well. Visual design, or in this case, “web design,” is something at which I am simply no good. That doesn’t make me any less smart, I am simply intelligent in a different way.

And that being the case, the most intelligent thing I can do is to recognize this fact, move on, and find a way around it. A more spurious author might drive their way forward, ignoring their shortcomings and either 1) choose to create for themselves a poor design or 2) choose to pretend that design is irrelevant. In this sort of situation, I think it is better to refer to a master.

If you aren’t good at something, don’t let it get you down. Instead, refer to someone who is good at that task. I don’t try to repair my roof or my car myself, and I go to doctors when I’m really sick, so why should I try and design my website? I’m no good at it, and I recognize that forcing a poor design has negative consequences, so it is best to let someone whose intelligence lends itself to that pursuit take the reins.

It takes all kinds to make a world.

Chris Orcutt posted the following joke on his blog a while back, and I think it is fitting, so I’ll conclude with this:

A published novelist goes to a heart surgeon for some tests. During the exam, the doctor says, “Hey, could you give me the name of your publisher?”

“Sure, why?” says the novelist.

“Well, I have a six-month sabbatical coming up, and I’d like to write a novel and see it published.”

The novelist thinks about this for a moment before replying.

“Sure, sure,” the novelist says, “I can do that. But do me a favor, will you?”

“Name it,” the doctor says.

“Well, I have six months free myself, and I’ve always wanted to perform open-heart surgery. Could you talk to your hospital and set something up for me?”

“This article was originally posted on Matthew Stublefield’s website.”

I was recently having a conversation with a young photographer I know about his aspirations for having a fancy new website designed. He was looking at spending a decent amount of cash to have something really slick put together for his photo gallery, and though the company was going to charge him a reasonable rate for that level of design work and manageability (meaning that it would be easily updated by the photographer himself), I wasn’t sure spending that much money on a website was a good idea at this point in his career. Though a fancy website is nice and will help accent, present, and convey your material, it is secondary to the material itself.

This might seem a bit contradictory to my earlier post which detailed how a poor design will stymie communication, so allow me to elaborate.

I read an article several years ago that looked with great curiousity at a number of online businesses that seemed to be succeeding despite their best efforts. These businesses had ugly, poorly formatted websites with outdated modes of communication and little information about their business or product. Designed in a style I usually refer to as “Angelfire-esque” or “Geocities ghetto,” the independent owners had put together something on the web that looked similar to what a cat might produce after eating too fast. They had a product, but they had no idea how to market it on the web.

And yet, they were succeeding. They were doing business online and turning a decent profit, to the confusion of everyone else who felt that a great design was needed to make your voice heard.

When surveying their customers, the journalist discovered that the people ordering goods from these sites actually preferred the poor design. It communicated to the customer that the owner cared less about a fancy website and more about them, the customers; that they spent more time on their product than on marketing; and that the end-result was higher quality service and goods.

I would never go so far as to say that this is always the case. Rather, I tend to think that if you are a seller of repute and quality, all aspects of your business should be of similar quality, and that extends to your website. But I do think the story highlights something that a lot of people are beginning to forget: the Content is More Important than the Wrapper.

Yes, a good design will help sell your product better, and once you’ve got a good product, your next step should be a good marketing approach and/or website design.  If your product is no good, though, the fanciness of your website becomes irrelevant.

I have known numerous photographers, webcomic artists, and authors whose websites were little more than a page with a single picture and the most rudimentary of navigation, or maybe they just threw their work onto a Blogger account (note: I personally detest Blogger and highly recommend WordPress as an alternative), and yet they were remarkable successes. This is because their work was of high quality and appealed to people. The content was good, so the wrapper or site design didn’t matter as much.

And generally speaking, once you’ve got the audience and fans, things move of their own accord and you eventually get a nicer website. But no one starts at the top, and likewise it probably isn’t wise to invest like you’re already there when you’re not.

A beginning musician doesn’t buy a five-million dollar Stradivarius violin, just like a beginning photographer doesn’t learn how to shoot photos on a ten-thousand dollar camera and a beginning author usually has nothing but a pen and paper. We all have to start somewhere and learn what we’re doing. We move up to the higher quality tools as we learn how to use them most effectively. Eventually, we reach a point where our work demands a better toolset, and we adjust accordingly.

But just because you have a Stradivarius doesn’t mean you can play like a master, and just because you have spent a few thousand dollars on a site doesn’t mean you’ll instantly have a booming business. So start small and focus on the quality of your product. Your customers will be attracted by your work, and they’ll be more attracted if they know that your focus is on them, not on yourself or your site. Put your work and your fans first and the rest will fall into place.

In my first post in this collaborative series, I worked to develop a broader definition of what Design is – something more than what we tend to think about.  I touched on the idea of Design being a multi-edged sword, a force that can be used for many causes.  Commonly, we think of it as a tool for branding, presentation of ideas, and aesthetic pleasantness.  But can design be used for destruction?  A weapon for good or evil – against the mind or body?

A Branding of War & Nations

For most of recorded history, nations and tribes have had some form of designating visual symbol.  Empires have had crests, banners, and flags.  Rulers have had signets, sigils, and emblems.  The adornments of soldiers and royalty, the style of weapons, and even the architecture of a culture were all visual decisions designed (consciously or subconsciously) to set a society apart.  The idea is twofold: instill national pride, and make sure your enemies know who you are.  The crest of a warlord or the flag of a nation could strike fear into the hearts of an enemy, or herald the return of hope to a beleaguered country.

In more recent times, we’ve seen the transition from cultural art to dedicated design when it comes to the presentation of power and force.  Ancient symbols have now become sanitized and placed on our flags, with thought put in to their alignment and presentation.  Think of the Nazi swastika, a foreboding cross in a white sphere on a field of red – a brutal herald of an extremist movement.  Or the American military badge that was its contemporary, a shining white star on an expansive blue background, backed by a crimson bar.  The former stereotypical Russian hammer and sickle imparted a sense of pride in strength and power, of struggle and dominance.  To this day, all military units possess some sort of badge that serves to identify their unit affiliation, as well as a herald of sorts that proclaims their past deeds and exploits.  These icons were not casually or idly created, but were designed to install certain thoughts in the viewer’s perception.  Colors, images, shape, line, form, and placement have all been employed to create signs of status – the logos of the world’s societies and military powers.

A Weapon of the Mind

Whatever the perceived powers of Design may be, the true strength of it remains within the realm of the human psyche.  Design’s results affect those who view them, and the viewer may be irrevocably changed because of it.  A poster cannot will you to fire a rifle, but it may impart a deep emotional response that fires your sense of nationalism – which is perhaps more dangerous.  A billboard sign can’t make you suspicious of your neighbor for treason, but it can instill a sense of the extreme importance of national security and doing your part to keep it.

The term I’m dancing around here is “propaganda”, the famous posters and advertisements of the World War II era perhaps being the most exemplary.  Propaganda is little more than defined rumor, but rumors have so much more weight when a visual element is applied.

A Weapon for Weapons

The industrial design and architecture involved in creating the physical weapons of war cannot be ignored either.  In ancient times, weapons were not only functional but highly stylized.  A great warrior’s heavily embellished sword and scabbard would set him apart from other combatants, bringing fear and respect.  I’m reminded of the fantastic Arms & Armor book I read as a child which contained hundreds of examples of deadly, beautiful, and intriguingly functional weapons.  The brilliance of their designs was not simply in their stylized appearance, but in the fact that they were highly effective as well.

The design behind combat and an arsenal is part utility, part engineering, and part emotional impact.  A weapon must work, it must do its job with a minimum of extra effort and expense, and it must be intimidating.  Think of the sight of Apache helicopters hovering over a battlefield, or the iconic bulky, brooding Russian tanks of the Cold War era.  Imagine the sleek appearance of the first Messerschmitt combat jet in World War II, and the reaction of the enemy pilots in their clunky piston engine flyers trundling through the sky.  In war, the design behind combat can be just as important as the force.

A New Face for Modern Warfare

In the modern day, the American armed forces perhaps more than any other military organization before or present have focused on defining themselves to the public via visual presentations and marketing.  The Army and Air Force specifically have developed logos for themselves that obviously attempt to modernize their images.  They have created slogans, and these have been given over to any number of print ads, websites, music videos, and commercials to tout becoming a part of “An army of one” or setting off “Into the blue”.  And driving home the meaning behind these ideas is a huge design force, making sure that the branding has consistency, the presentation is visually engaging, the information is shown clearly, and (above all) that everything that goes out makes the expected impact.

This is the darker side of Design – a creative force for destruction, and a huge contributing factor in the politics, propaganda, execution, and mentality of warfare.  I invite you to take a closer look at the symbolism of the nations of the world, and to research the motives behind those symbols.  Design reaches much further than the idealized notion of printed graphic tees and magazine ads we think of; the tip of the blade can be turned many ways.

“This article was originally posted on Matthew Stublefield’s website.”

Students in Creative Writing must become intimately familiar with the workshop process in writing and revising their work. We put something together under a rather intensely short deadline, get it to the teacher who photocopies it for the class, and then our peers read, dissect, and tear apart our work so they can tell us what’s wrong and help us improve.

In my experience, this has been a fairly benign process because most people are afraid to be too critical or in-depth with their comments. If you know me at all, you know that I’m a pretty blunt, straight-forward person, so though I tempered my tone and always made sure to comment on a positive aspect of the piece in question, I didn’t see anything to be gained by coddling someone. If they aren’t told what needs to be fixed, they’ll never improve.

I write this by way of introduction because there was one remark I seemed forced to make on probably half of the poems I have workshopped over the years. Poetry is a particularly ambiguous medium, one where the writer must learn all of the rules and how to conform oneself to them so that the writer can in turn break all of those rules. Strangely enough, if you start off breaking them, your poetry will suck. But if you learn what you’re doing first, you can deviate wisely and write something beautiful. Many of my peers never bothered to read much poetry or learn, though.

The primary goal of poetry, like any writing, art, or design, is to communicate something. An idea, a phrase, something and/or anything… a poem does not exist in a vaccuum. But if it isn’t structured, worded, designed, and written correctly, it will communicate nothing. And what’s worse, if the author doesn’t fully understand what they are trying to communicate, then the piece is worthless. What’s the point of creating a communicative piece when you don’t know what you are trying to communicate?

Just the same, even if you know what you are trying to communicate, if it is not designed correctly your message will be lessened. You might have the greatest idea in the world, but without the proper medium, formatting, and structure, it will either be ignored or lessened. Your impact will be less because the design did not fit the piece.

This is something with which I have been struggling in regards to the design of my web site. There are a great many things I want to do with SilverPen Publishing, but the stock theme I have been using is rather inflexible and it is difficult to cram my ideas into its borders. Looking at the year ahead, I have a number of goals I want to accomplish and several involve publishing different pieces through my website, but its current design would hamper that. I knew that if I went ahead and threw my content into and behind this design, there was a decent chance that the message would be lost.

And yet, I cannot design something wonderful myself. I have enough artistic intelligence to recognize the inherent weakness of my site, but not the skill or vision to create something evocative, communicative, and fitting for the accomplishment of my goals.

Settling is rarely, if ever, an option to me. With poetry, I can do a decent job communicating my heart and message, but I am not the greatest poet and so sometimes (read often) am completely incapable of conveying my meaning. I am perhaps better at communicating through verbal communication, where I can blend diction, volume, speed and pausing, and word choice to design a complex message to reach people’s hearts. Likewise, I am decent at non-poetical writing, and between these three, I know enough to know how to learn and improve if I am not currently able to communicate the message I desire. I can get where I need to go to reach my goals.

But with a website, I cannot. My next article in this series will focus on the recognition that we can’t all do everything, and what we should do when we realize we are incapable of designing what is needed.

“This article was originally posted on Matthew Stublefield’s website.”

As Ryan observed, design is more than making something look pretty. It is the first line of assault against your senses, charging in to make room for a deeper truth–for the greater message being communicated through the whole of a piece. Design is the underlying foundation of everything, and much like our own skeletons, it is likewise hidden and sometimes forgotten.

There are two things I understand decently well amongst all the things in the world, and so it is those two upon which I will focus in the context of this series. The first is architecture, with which I will begin because (of the two) I understand it least. The second is writing in general and poetry in specific.

Architectural design is not something with which many Americans (by which I am referring to the residents of the United States of America) are preoccupied. We might admire a fine building and snap a picture while on tour, but it isn’t something we study, stare at, and marvel. Yet architecture is one of the great fascinations of my life, and when I am in a distant city, I spend the vast majority of my time wandering the streets, eyes fixed to the walls, roofs, and doors of all the buildings I can see. I have spent hours lying on the lawn of Westminster Abbey so that I could look upon its vast facade and out across the square at its neighbours. Days beside the river Thames marveling at the wall that skirts the river, or wandering the streets and hills of San Francisco, or the wide sidewalks of Chicago. I derived a great deal of enjoyment from comparing German Switzerland to German Germany and the similarities and differences in how the walls meet the roofs, the materials used, and the arrangement of their towns. Architecture fascinates me in a way similar to the hypnotic stare of a dragon preparing to pounce on a meal.

The USA is very utilitarian in its construction, but once upon a time architecture was not just a pragmatic means of getting a building upright. Rather, it was an art designed to communicate something to the passerby. A non-Christian friend admitted to me once that she began to cry as she entered a cathedral in Europe simply due to its beauty. This is a design done right. This assails our senses, demanding entry to our heart because of its power and majesty.

And it is not unique to architecture. Though you may not admire buildings as I do, I imagine that you can sympathize with and understand what I have written above, because it is a very obvious example of the purpose, power, and presence of design. Less obvious is the placement and depth of a thumb scoop on a MacBook, the resistance and length of a switch on a coffee pot, or the arrangement of words in a poem.

I can communicate an idea to you with a straight-forward statement of fact in a simple, well organized sentence, and in so doing you will understand the words and potentially their implications. Yet such a statement will not touch your heart, nor will it influence your soul, for that is the purview of poetry. There are many who malign the ambiguity and obtuseness of poetry, wishing instead that the writers would be more direct with their intentions, but that directness is not of the greatest design.

There are times when communicating with your head is sufficient, such as at work or when figuring out where to go for lunch. But there are other times when that will not do, when I will need to build a bridge from my heart to yours if you are ever to truly understand what I mean. A simple sentence will not suffice. And it is in these instances that the power of design is made manifest in writing.

A good design not only joins our hearts and souls, but it satisfies something deep within our selves. No, the switch on a coffee pot is not a cathedral or a poem, but you will know it is right. You will flip that switch to turn the coffee pot on and think, “Ah, there we have it. This is good.” A good design is more than just functional, it is beautiful. It was created with love and an attention to detail that surpasses a mere statement and that goes beyond simple pragmatism.

Good design, like our skeletons, holds us up and drives us forward. It is a powerful charge we can only refuse by closing our eyes and ignoring the world.

“This article was originally posted on Steve Moore’s theSpigot.”

Today, you hear a lot about the importance of branding, in the online world. Whether you’re selling T-shirts for your band, writing Op-Eds for a periodical, or mocking up websites for photographers, you are aware of the idea of brand control and its potential impact. Business owners need to be sure that the products they put out are consistent with their plans for objectives as a company. It is the same in education; a teacher needs to be consistent in his or her message to the class about his lessons. If the rules appear to change for no reason, then you lose credibility. You lose your audience. Such is the purpose of design, to help you communicate your brand’s message clearly. But how does good design contribute to your objective? Isn’t such a thing as ephemeral as “design” only a subjective screen covering a person’s idea? How does good design help define who you are as a professional?

These are all questions with dangerously simple answers. They are questions specific to expression, that we all think we understand. The truth is, the ideas of design and expression boil your idea, your product, or your company down to one thing: Identity.

Being the good little scholar of literary concepts that I am, I naturally connect this concept which some may see as strictly economic, like “branding,” or rooted in art, like “design,” as a question of narrative importance. Design is all about who you are; it’s all about building, maintaining, and sharing your identity. So design becomes much less murky if you know who you are (or who/what you are representing). That’s simple, right!? Dang, that’s two posts in a row an interrobang could have come in handy. Sure it’s simple. Just open your chest up and look inside. Pop the hood. Crack open the server case. Read your old book-jacket cover. Well, if only life came with instr–resisting the urge to use cliche–if only, people were so simple, so static…

If design is inherently connected to identity, then marketers had better get on the couch and start self-discovering. Building web pages, you hear a lot about optimization through the use of “meta tags” that mark your domain with keywords. Looking at the word  “meta,” (which is really more of a prefix) we find that it means  “in reference to,” “about,” or “from within.” So websites and their designers need to do a little soul searching before their designs are complete. If you don’t understand the “within” for a particular job (web designers), then you most likely won’t be able to meet the needs of your client. Business owners, on the other hand, need to understand themselves before having new design implemented.

What questions can I ask myself related to establishing identity?

What language do I speak?

This is not as simple as it sounds; language is as deep and pervasive as any aspect of our identities. Furthermore, this question goes beyond what geographical tongue you use, but makes you describe who your audience is. Who are you trying to reach? Design, by definition, should fit a pre-determined purpose. Your website should be designed to fit a group or type of person with specific objectives. Maybe you are a blogger yourself and so, in considering design, you can access your own metacognitive habits and thoughts. Considering that I have a lot of readers who are, themselves, bloggers, web designers, and writers, I do my best to casually tailor my posts to fit their lexicons. I have an education blog too; I use different language off-the-cuff there than I would here.

For example, I may very easily dip into the educational “alphabet soup,” as one of my professors called it, and confuse readers if I am not careful. I wouldn’t dare write this sentence here without explanation:

“While NCLB may be considered to drive more action-based WFSGs and PDCs, there is  only correlative data to support this claim.”

Most people in the field of education (or very active parents) would understand that I’m writing about No Child Left Behind, Whole Faculty Study Groups, and Professional Development Communities, but a web designer would be rather perplexed most likely. On the same hand, I wouldn’t want to write this sentence in an education blog post:

“While pervasive in the development world, recursive acronyms like PHP, GNU, and TIP are humorous in ways often not understood by those outside of the field.”

What is your history?

Knowing where you have been is crucial to knowing where you are and where you want to go. So understanding the origins of your ideas is very helpful in forming a dialogue with your audience. If your readers perceive that you have an appropriate level of authority, then it will be much more likely for them to subscribe to your ideas. Being able to express where you are coming from is key to building a base upon which to prop your design (whatever it may be). Consider the classic frame of the Hero’s Journey, as Joseph Campbell describes it:

Inception: the hero’s call to action (expressing the origins of your idea)

Trial by fire: the hero’s challenge (show your work and experience)

Return: the hero finds his/her way home, changed (explain how you are unique)

I have always understood the basic plan for design to be rooted in this information. Maybe it’s your updated business plan, your master’s thesis, or an autobiographical reflection; find useful ways to incorporate this information, and your design will be more authentic for it.

If you’d like to contribute an article to our conversation,  comment here, on RyanBurrell.com or at SilverPenPub.net. We’re also all active on Twitter:

Steve, Ryan, and Matthew.

To say that “design” is all around us would be a supreme understatement. It impacts the very nature of our perceptions, and does so most of the time without our conscious thought or notice. It is a subtle tool, often altering our opinions in ways we can’t really explain or quantify, yet will strongly defend if pressed. Design is a sword with many edges – it can cut deeply, deflect blows, or lead a charge. But, to ask the obvious lead-in question: What is design? Is it art, theory, math, philosophy, or some unholy combination of these areas and more? Is design purely visual, or does it hide a much deeper algorithmic structure?

An Underlying Order

The common view of design, in generalized terms, is to make “something” look “nice”, or “better”, or “pretty”, or [insert ambiguous subjective visual terminology here]. A designer makes shirts, or business cards, or websites, or… branded coffee mugs or something. Newsletters and brochures – that type of thing comes to mind immediately. Yet this is a very narrow viewpoint of what design is and of what the duties of a designer are.

While design’s final products typically inhabit the visual world, a designer is not by nature possessed of a purely aesthetic skill set. The title Designer can better be equated with Problem Solver, specifically within the realm of how information is presented. Design strives to be as much an analytical set of tasks as an encompassing set of visual trends. A graphic designer does not simply make a t-shirt “look nice.” Instead, they deal with a complex set of mental algorithms and practices to determine the best placement of their visual components on the palette, taking advantage of the use of space, color, line, shape, and form to produce the most effective visual result. What the end result appears as is simply a piece of clothing, but to the designer it is a set of guidelines, wrapped in equations, coated in emotions, and finally covered in their own creative spin.

Art and design are similar, yet fundamentally different, areas of expression. Art relies heavily on emotion, highly abstract ideas, and an intense desire to reflect the world around you from an individual viewpoint. Design, while using aspects that make up the nature of pure art, merges these with analytical ideals more in line with science or math. The foundation of all design relies on standards, conformity, rules, grids, and numbers. Margins, measurements, columns, padding, spacing, clearance; these are the elements that make up the essence of design.

An Overarching Chaos

Yet, while the foundations for design are firmly entrenched in the realm of numbers and grids, it is the more ethereal aspects that make it so unique. An intimate understanding of spacing will only work so far; a designer must also understand their audience, the goals of their project, and emotive methods to achieve their intended results. Once the framework of a task has been determined, a designer develops his or her “in the box” thinking. The borders and restrictions have been defined, and this can open up as much or more creative potential than having a boundless field to work in.

A designer’s task is to use the guidelines that have been set and take them to the limits of creativity, while still keeping a sharp eye on how the final result will be usable. It is a frenetic juggling act of limitless creativity within a walled garden. The more artistic core of the designer emerges, yet must be restrained by the warden of practicality that remains in the back of their mind at all times. Visual appeal means nothing without functionality, but usefulness can be dulled if aesthetics are ignored. A designer must be mad – a Jekyll & Hyde combination of control and raw potential.

A Wider Path

Practically, there are many names and titles for designers. Commonly, we think of those that practice design as the people who create calendars, cards, and promotional products. But design is so vast and applicable to so many fields, that the job descriptions are almost as limitless. Interior designers deal with the feel of three dimensional space in architecture – with lighting, mood, and balance. Industrial designers concern themselves with the visual appeal of products as well as their functionality, ergonomics, and practicality. Web designers and interaction designers focus on creating visually appealing Internet interfaces, but all under the aegis of superb usability, accessibility, and optimization. Database designers work only in charts and arrows, but are responsible for laying out the interaction between the vast methods of storage that are now so commonplace.

Nearly any sort of planning that concerns not only the visual output, but how that output is best presented and used involves design. It is a constant and integral part of our lives, evidenced by the fact that we don’t even notice it most of the time. The hallmark of good design is when it slips beneath our conscious radar, instead allowing the user of its final product to easily adapt to its requirements and efficiently bend them to their needs. Poor design is easily noticeable, taking the form of unreadable text, confusing interfaces, uncomfortable chairs, breakable parts, and unexpected reactions.

Few professions require such a variety of skills, interests, knowledge, and the drive to use them effectively. Because of this, design is not typically thought of as a job by those who do it. A job is something you do to pay the bills – design is a way of life, a way of quantifying what we see around us, and still allowing for the vast creative potential that fuels the human spirit.