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Concept of Design

Concept of Design

Dec 4, 2009

What many think of as an aesthe­tic pro­fes­sion has become so much more.

By Andrian Kreye*

There are few pla­ces oozing tra­di­tion like Oxford’s Ran­dolph Hotel. During the TED­Glo­bal con­fe­rence you would pass the res­tau­rant where tea sandwi­ches are ser­ved on ornate étagè­res and enter a thic­kly car­pe­ted room full of shel­ves fil­led with the works of pro­gres­sive thin­kers. The local bookshop had set up a satel­lite store for the event. Right there against the wall, a futu­ris­tic gad­get was on dis­play in a fancy jewel case. It loo­ked like a military-grade USB stick made of brushed metal. A fri­en­dly gen­tle­man from Bos­ton explai­ned that this was the Genome Key, made by his com­pany, Knome. For a hand­some fee, they would decipher your com­plete genome and deli­ver it on this small stick. Your bio­lo­gi­cal pre­sent sto­red for a “gen­tech” future.

The Genome Key had all the mar­kings of a great design object: the metal­lic sheen, the shiny box, the futu­ris­tic lines. But it wasn’t the look that made the Genome Key such a great exam­ple of intri­guing design. It was the sys­tem sur­roun­ding and sup­por­ting this sto­rage device; the aesthe­tic allure was just an afterthought. The Genome Key can record one’s com­plete genome, not just the part that is usa­ble today. This avoids making it a soon-to-be-obsolete tech­no­logy. Also, all of your gene­tic data is exclu­si­vely sto­red on this device only, so cus­to­mers don’t have to worry that their most inti­mate infor­ma­tion will be hac­ked from an institution’s data­base. The Genome Key, albeit far from a mass con­su­mer pro­duct, embo­died the new role of design that had become evi­dent during the TED talks.

It has always been hard to explain what effect TED has on glo­bal trends. Each con­fe­rence can be something like a high-voltage engine that gives ideas a velo­city that pro­pels them into the public mind with the impact of a Tesla Roads­ter on the shoul­der of a clog­ged fre­eway. Peo­ple take notice. Revo­lu­ti­o­nary ideas about design might not have ori­gi­na­ted at TED, but they did get the neces­sary expo­sure to gain further thrust.

Seis­mic shifts in thin­king never hap­pen as sud­denly as an earth­quake. The first tre­mors can be felt years or even deca­des before. As usual, a few thre­ads mate­ri­a­li­zed at this year’s TED­Glo­bal con­fe­rence under the topic “The Subs­tance of Things Not Seen.” None exem­pli­fied the essence of TED bet­ter than the para­dig­ma­tic shift in thin­king about design.

This change of pers­pec­tive might not be per­cei­ved as such a seis­mic shift in the design world itself, a world that has never been mono­lithic. Still, ask most peo­ple about design, and they will tell you that it belongs in the realm of aesthe­tics. And who could blame them for having this per­cep­tion? Even basic texts, from Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger to Wal­ter Ben­ja­min to The­o­dor Adorno, say the same thing: Art and design will change how the world looks, not how the world is.

There are excep­ti­ons. In 1980, at the “Forum Design”“ exhi­bi­tion in the Aus­trian city of Linz, the Swiss art his­to­rian and soci­o­lo­gist Lucius Burckhart intro­du­ced his essay “Design is Invi­si­ble.” He didn’t accept design as an art form. He explai­ned how design can only func­tion if put in the con­text of a real-life situ­a­tion. A city. An inter­sec­tion. A work­place. Burckhart wasn’t just ahead of his time. He embo­died the zeit­geist of the day. In 1980, design had just star­ted to make inro­ads into gene­ral soci­ety. Chain sto­res such as IKEA and Habi­tat intro­du­ced design to the subur­ban home. Later, maga­zi­nes such as Wall­pa­per tur­ned the refi­ned kno­wledge of design experts into mass-market values, just as Julia Child trans­for­med the eli­tist art of French coo­king into an every­day skill.

What design see­med to never lose, des­pite its popu­list efforts — from Bauhaus to Design Within Reach— was the stigma of being either a luxury or a means of seduc­tion by indus­tries trying to sell elec­tro­nic gad­gets or hou­sewa­res. Marx’s essay on com­mo­dity fetishism kept the public’s per­cep­tion of design hos­tage. This ide­o­lo­gi­cal strug­gle is as appa­rent as ever in the fight over the future of New York’s Ground Zero between the archi­tects Daniel Libes­kind and David Childs. Libes­kind had an artis­tic vision with sym­bo­list gran­deur. Childs just wan­ted to make the site a wor­king part of the city.

What had been a con­tra­dic­tion in New York has become a new way of thin­king that uni­tes two for­merly anta­go­nis­tic ways of viewing design. What has emer­ged at TED con­fe­ren­ces through the years is a vision of design that does not limit itself to the para­me­ters of form and func­tion. Design has become the engine of inno­va­tion, giving mere ideas shape and subs­tance. It has evol­ved into the highest form of com­mu­ni­ca­tion, tur­ning ideas into solu­ti­ons. In fact, giving the TED Prize to the archi­tect Came­ron Sin­clair in 2006 was a miles­tone event. Here was a young man with a vision of cre­a­ting a network for open-source archi­tec­ture to solve pro­blems in emer­gency situ­a­ti­ons such as disas­ters and wars.

The work Sin­clair has done with Archi­tec­ture for Huma­nity has eased the suf­fe­ring of thou­sands in the areas affec­ted by the Indian Ocean tsu­nami, in the hur­ri­cane zone of Katrina, and in refu­gee cen­ters around the world. He still embo­dies what many of this year’s TED­Glo­bal spe­a­kers put forth in Oxford.Ross Love­grove defi­ned his design as ins­pi­red by evo­lu­tion. Janine Benyus dis­cus­sed bio­mi­mi­cry, a the­ory of design in which man-made objects imi­tate the les­sons of nature. Mathieu Lehan­neur told us he had been desig­ning this way without ever having heard about Benyus’ concepts.

Design has become a way of fin­ding solu­ti­ons. Aesthe­tics is just a part of this pro­cess. Maybe in a few deca­des we will look back at TED­Glo­bal and remem­ber that shiny stick next to the bookshel­ves. For future gene­ra­ti­ons, the Genome Key might very well become for the gene­tic age what the Walk­man was for today’s digi­tal age: the fore­father of a revo­lu­tion of omni­pre­sent infor­ma­tion per­me­a­ting every part of our lives.

*Andrian Kreye edits the Arts and Essays sec­tion of the Süd­deuts­che Zei­tung daily in Ger­many and was one of a hand­ful of inter­na­ti­o­nal jour­na­lists invi­ted to attend TEDGlobal.

This arti­cle was ori­gi­naly pos­ted on design mind




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