Joyful journeys: Italy-bound

17 May 2013 by Ingrid

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From the moment I found out my friend Mara and her husband Andrew were going to be spending a year in Florence, I started dreaming about a trip. Not that I haven’t been before, but Mara, the calligrapher/journalist behind Neither Snow, has the best taste in just about everything. Yes, Italy is amazing, but Mara’s Italy is quadruply amazing.

So today I get on a plane bound for Italy, for five days in this inspiring world of languid names and soft colors, and I’m pretty much beside myself with excitement. You may have noticed it’s been quiet around here. I realized earlier this week how much I need a vacation. Life has been, in a word, abundant lately. Beautifully so, but the circuits can get overwhelmed, especially if you’re me and you don’t know when to rest or pause. I can’t tell you how many posts I’ve started over the last couple of months, and left hanging unfinished. I’ve learned that for me this is a sign of the need to rest and re-inspire with new images and new places, and new ways to be curious.

These images are all from Mara’s instagram feed. Follow her for more from her amazing eye, and I’ll see you, bursting with energy I’m sure, next week!

Xx Ingrid

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Seeing how we are

22 April 2013 by Ingrid
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I got rid of TV awhile ago (best decision ever, though only partly voluntary) so pretty much the only time I see commercials anymore is when they get sent around via social media. Usually that means they’re pretty good, or at least interesting, halfway between advertising and entertainment. Advertainment, let’s call it, which seems to be the holy grail of marketers these days.

This Dove ad is advertainment, and while I don’t love this blog being a vehicle for furthering marketer’s messages, there is a point I want to make here. If you don’t have time to watch the video, here’s the short version (spoiler alert!): Dove recruits a bunch of women for an experiment. They arrive at a location and are asked to get to know a stranger. Then they’re led into a room with a curtain, on the other side of which is a forensic artist. The artist asks them to describe themselves and uses this as fodder to create a sketch of each woman. Then the stranger who met that woman is led in, and the artist creates a second sketch of each woman using this description. Hung side-by-side gallery-style, the women view the paired portraits and are asked to take stock of the differences.

It is remarkable how much more attractive the second sketches are, universally. And though this a made-for-TV moment (with the music to match), it struck me as a uniquely tangible example of the power of perception. Anaïs Nin famously said, “We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.” If we are warm-hearted, open, and generous, we feel embraced by the world. If we are jealous, bitter, or narrow-minded, we interpret others’ actions harshly, and may be threatened by them. Convinced of our own objectivity, we believe this is how the world really is, while in reality we are attuning our senses to the information that affirms our view of the world. Psychologists call this confirmation bias, where we unconsciously look for evidence that affirms our beliefs about the world. But all of this happens in an amorphous way, so it’s hard to notice when we’ve slipped into some kind of negative way of viewing the world, or ourselves.

I love this experiment because it makes manifest the difference between negativity and positivity in aesthetic terms. Cold eyes, a flat gaze, a tight-lipped frown, odd facial proportions: these distortions are self-perception through a lens of negativity. Interestingly, these are also the facial expressions that correlate to negative emotions like sadness and anger. In his landmark study of facial expressions, Charles Darwin wrote about the faces of people in a state of sadness:

…the face [becomes] pale; the muscles flaccid; the eyelids droop… the lips, cheeks, and lower jaw all sink downwards from their own weight. Hence all the features are lengthened; and the face of a person who hears bad news is said to fall.

In other words, when we view ourselves through a critical lens, we are imagining our faces as though they were in pain. By contrast, a joyful face is inviting, with a bright gaze, good color, and contractions of muscles around the mouth and the eyes that make the whole face seem to smile. The same face under the two conditions is totally different.

We are inherently interested in faces, so much so that we have areas of the brain specifically devoted to processing them — scanning the faces of both strangers and intimates for signals that communicate their familiarity, their health, their disposition, and all the implications these things have for us. We invest a lot of energy in the aesthetics of our own faces. We rouge and pluck and paint and do countless other things to enhance the impressions our faces give to others. But I think so often we forget how much of beauty is in the expression, the temperament that emanates from within. This is a nice illustration of the beauty of not focusing on beauty. When asked to be open to getting to know a stranger, to be friendly, to simply engage with another — that’s when these women were at their most beautiful. Yes, there is a message here about being less hard on ourselves, and this is a point well-taken, but it’s not just about the removal of a negative. It’s about finding ways to lose yourself in things or people that kindle this kind of happiness. Beauty is just an outward signal of some kind of inner joy.

ps: For a critical take on the campaign, with some good points as well, read here.

A thousand cranes for Paulo

29 March 2013 by Ingrid

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A couple of days ago my friend and IDEO colleague Erika shared some sad news. A friend of hers who had been diagnosed with a brain tumor several years ago is now facing his last weeks. He is younger than me.

In these terrible moments, I think most of us have a comforting instinct: to make something. And designers especially. For the creative act is both a gift to the person leaving this world — a tangible expression of love — and an affirmation of life for the living. We exist to create: we build tools and buildings and cities, we make art and food and music, we make friendships and of course, we make families, extending ourselves through the lives we make possible. Creating something, anything, is how we grab ahold of the time between birth and death, and make it meaningful.

When Erika said she and her friends were making a thousand cranes for Paulo, and she coordinated an origami session at the studio yesterday, it felt bittersweet to be able to join in. A thousand origami cranes are a Japanese good luck tradition. It is a joyful tradition, one of vibrance and abundance — to receive a thousand cranes, carefully folded by hand, how could you not feel loved? I was moved by how joyful even just our small contribution of cranes looks together, and how unifying the experience was of folding them, knowing that others were folding for the same purpose, with the same prayers for someone who is a stranger to many of us, but very dear to someone we care about.

The late Irish philosopher John O’Donohue once described being with a friend in her last moments, a kind woman who was deeply loved by friends and family. He wrote:

It showed me that if you live in this world with kindness, if you do not add to other people’s burdens, but if you try to serve love, when the time comes for you to make the journey, you will receive a serenity, peace, and a welcoming freedom that will enable you to go to the other world with great elegance, grace, and acceptance.

Thank you, E, for letting us be part of your kindness to your friend. I hope they help Paulo, his friends, and family find some small moment of joy in the sadness.

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Spring-loaded

25 March 2013 by Ingrid

It’s been a long winter, hasn’t it? One that just doesn’t seem to want to leave. A few weeks ago spring felt inevitable; now it feels like it’s hiding from us. We are past the equinox, the vernal one, the one that is kin to a panoply of fresh green words like verdant and verdure and vert — yet here in New York I am donning snowboots.

Yesterday was my birthday, and it is a funny time to be born, this liminal space between seasons. I had not thought about it quite this way until I read a poem by Alice Walker in a book my friend Ashlea gave me yesterday. The book is called The World Will Follow Joy, so I think it may appeal to some of you. And inside it, I discovered a poem about being born in March. Here it is, if you’d like to read it.

March Births
by Alice Walker

Many brave souls
who inhabit my heart
entered the brightening
but still chilly door
of earthly Life in the changeable month
of March.

The deep, noble, easily bruised
Pisceans

Flowers
Themselves

Arrived in that part of the month
when hardly one white or lavender
crocus, daring, vulnerable
& sweet
can be found;
except perhaps
in the prescient
South.

And those others:
the late in the month
born
Ariesians—
Dragons
And butterflies—
Who were born
it seems
to set this world
of shyness
& daffodils
stunningly
on fire.

It was my destiny
to behold and to cherish
you all.

What these births
at winter’s end
teach us to believe
is that what looks
frozen or even dead
may burst into bloom
unexpectedly
at any time.

That to love
another,
any other, is to align oneself
with eternal spring.

It is in fact
Loving
any other being
all one ever needs
one’s self
To come to bud
& flower
once more
& be born
Again.

I don’t think you need to be March-born to find something inside this poem. It is really a poem about this time, the time before spring, when we believe we are emptied out from winter but the world tells us we can get still more empty, still more ready for the abundance to come. It’s about the anticipation that not-yet-spring holds, the coiled tightness of seed leaves pressed in their brown cases, the vigor of stamens and sepals spring-loaded into green buds. (You see them dotting the trees, like lightbulbs not yet wired up, and don’t you marvel at what force bursts them open? And then marvel again to think that it is nothing more than sunlight and water?) And it’s about renewal, more broadly: the life hidden below the surface of things, and how we can access it even in times it seems unavailable to us.

Sometimes we wonder what our birthdays mean, searching a horoscope for some reflection of ourselves in there, and for a few seconds we let ourselves believe that the alignment of planetary bodies at the moment of our first wail matters in some cosmic way. But rarely have I considered a far more practical question, which is how the earthly conditions of my birth matter in how I see the world. I wonder how it’s formed me, the condition of the earth, the temperature, the colors. And what does it say about me that though on my birthday it always feels like winter, I somehow still believe I am born in spring?

Though it’s hard to see it now, we are almost through this winter, and this week I will try to post some beautiful things to draw spring out. And in the meantime, savor the quiet! And make more space for the joy to fill…

Joy as ideology

9 March 2013 by Ingrid

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Do you read Erin Loechner’s wonderful Design for Mankind blog? She has long been finding some of the most beautiful, joyful findings on the web, but lately her blog has gotten even better as she’s adopted a “slow blogging” philosophy and taken time to share more about her approach. I respect the open and vulnerable way she puts her thoughts out there, and the community she has built around values that I share, namely that design (and specifically aesthetics) can change the world.

Back in February, Erin asked me to share some of my perspectives on “Why Design Matters” with her readers, and I realized I never linked back to it to share with you. It was fun to see how she translated my discursive ramblings and related them to her point of view. You can read the post here.

A couple of weeks ago, these beautiful images caught my eye on Design for Mankind, and I was struck by the philosophy of the artist, Evonne Bellefluer. She says, “I don’t think art should be about communicating some ideology. Art, like fashion, is meant to be enjoyed … something I look to to make me happy.”

I smiled to read that because of course that is an ideology, and not just any ideology, but the one I embrace in Aesthetics of Joy. Art can serve many legitimate purposes, among them provocation, representation, union, dissent, exploration, catharsis. Art can incite and art can woo, both credibly. But rarely can art be purely joyful without interrogation of its claim towards seriousness. And yet what higher purpose could art strive for than to improve wellbeing simply through beauty?

Erin quotes Evonne as saying, “I had a conversation with a friend the other day who suggested that my art didn’t belong in a gallery setting because it had nothing to say.” Must everything talk to our conscious minds to be meaningful? This ignores the reality that most of our brain is unconscious mind, which processes the deep, wordless notions of euphoria, yellowness, buoyancy, and belonging in chemical silence. We are much more sensation and emotion than we are ideas.

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Erin’s blog always makes me think. Here’s one more post about slowing down. I hope it sparks something for your too.

Link: “On Intention” on Design for Mankind
Images: via Evonne Bellefleur on Behance

ee

5 March 2013 by Ingrid

Have I written before about poetry in the mornings? Sometime last year I realized that all the news and feeds in the mornings was making me anxious. The endlessness of it all, the constantly refreshing twitter streams and feeds made me feel like I was already behind. I would stay in bed reading articles and tweets, unconsciously trying to catch up, when what I really wanted to do was get up and write. I know you can’t catch up with a river. It’s always flowing — all you can do is appreciate the part that happens to be where you are in the present moment.

My other problem was that most of that stuff was garbage: entertaining, attention-grabbing, but fluffy. So starting my day with it was like having sugar pops for breakfast. Lots of nervous energy and no substance. Garbage in, garbage out, they say, and the mind is no different. My solution was poetry. I keep a book on my bedside table and most mornings read a few poems before getting out of bed. Poetry is the anti-Twitter. It is slow, quiet, and deep. If Twitter is a river, poetry is a secluded swimming hole, yours only and exactly when you want it.

Over the past several months, I’ve had the great pleasure of rediscovering ee cummings and his joyous fracturing of language. I’ve been reading the wonderful Richard Kennedy-edited collection. Kennedy, as ee’s biographer, puts the poems in context of his life, which was deeply engaged with people, nature, and the vibrancy of art. As a child, ee grew up going with his family to a place they called Joy Farm (this thrilled me — I want to go!), and he continued to go into adulthood for the spring and summer months. Many of his poems share sensitive observations of natural phenomena and seasons, the love of which was clearly cultivated there.

I’ve been wanting to share this poem for awhile. I love how the colors unfold, pulled across the page in loose syllables like wispy clouds. I love how the breaks in the words force you to slow down to make sense of it, like the sky does. I have been dazzled to my toes by a sky like this; just reading the words, I can be there in my mind. It is nothing too profound — it is not the meaning of life in verse — but when I read it, I take the colors into my day and everything looks different.

Book: Selected Poems, by ee cummings, edited by Richard S. Kennedy

On clotheslines

22 February 2013 by Ingrid

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It doesn’t get more prosaic than the clothesline. Once a household staple, now replaced in most of the US with washer/dryer units, they’re a rare sight for many Americans. Yet go abroad and they’re still ubiquitous, used either by necessity or by desire, for a more eco-friendly life or the wonderful feeling of clothes dried in the sunshine.

I’ve always thought that clotheslines are like impromptu garlands. Though they are explicitly functional objects, as are the items that hang on them, they imbue a space with a celebratory feeling. They add color and draw the eye upwards. This is especially true in cities, where clotheslines festoon alleyways, swooping from window to window up several stories.

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On clotheslines, the clothes themselves become more than just pants or t-shirts; unified by color and drape, they are more like flags of different shapes. This is a great reminder of how grouping things together changes how we perceive them. And you can see some ideas of curation in the launderer, making choices about color adjacencies, patterns, and scale. In effect, this person, the unseen clothes-washer, is a designer of public space, changing how neighbors and tourists experience the buildings, streets, and passageways between them.

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I spotted these particular clothesline photos in the Instagram feed of my friend Sheena Matheiken; she has a wonderful, joyful eye and I had to share them with you. Clotheslines seem emblematic of the idea that joy is in your prism, in how you choose to see the world. You could see them as intrusions in the landscape, objects of toil or clutter. Or you can relish their quotidian beauty, the way the light shines through them, and the charming absurdity of seeing a stranger’s underwear fluttering in the open breeze. Anaïs Nin famously said, “We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.”

I think I see so much joy in the world because I choose to see it that way. Some people think that if you’re looking so much for joy, you’ll have high expectations that are often disappointed. But I don’t believe it works that way. Being joyful by nature, and by intention, I find it jumps out at me. I don’t actually have to look very hard; it finds me.

What are your “clotheslines?” What are your favorite examples of everyday things that become joyful when you really look at them?

Images: Sheena Matheiken

Glasses that give color to the colorblind

18 February 2013 by Ingrid

As a color-lover, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be colorblind. What would I miss, beyond the boundaries of my own visible spectrum? Would I understand the lack intuitively, or only by comparison with others?

The short film above, “Ishihara” by Yoav Brill, offers an emotional peek into the world of someone with severe color blindness. In the film, Brill cleverly co-opts the visual language of the Ishihara test, a series of dotted color plates used to determine whether someone has problems with their color vision. I’ve always found the Ishihara test to be joyful-looking, like clusters of colored bubbles, though bittersweet that something so beautiful could be the confirmation of bad news for someone. And I imagine it must be frustrating to know that there’s information hidden in the pattern, and yet be completely unable to detect it. (If you are color normal, you will see the numbers 6, 12, 2, and 42 in the charts below.)

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On the other hand, when I listened to this episode of Radiolab, I realized that lots of animals have better color vision than we do. Birds have one extra type of cone cell in their eyes, opening up a world of different colors than we have. And if that sounds amazing, think of butterflies, some types of which have seven cones, or the mantis shrimp, the organism with the world’s most complex eye, which has sixteen cone cells! Those guys must have a technicolor life!

All of which is to say that the colors that exist in the world are far more numerous than we can perceive, whether we are color blind or color normal. Maybe one day scientists will figure out a way to let us see what birds see. But more significantly, just recently scientists have figured out a way to help color blind people see more normally.

Neuroscientist Mark Changizi (whose work I first wrote about here) has written extensively on the evolutionary history of vision, and why everything from our depth perception to our written language evolved the way it did. His work on color vision is particularly interesting. He has put forth an alternative (or perhaps complementary) theory to the idea that human red-green color vision evolved to help us find nourishment, instead proposing that we evolved the ability to see color to understand the health and emotions of the people around us. Based on that work, a few years ago Changizi co-founded a company called 2AI Labs and started development of a set of glasses called O2Amps designed to amplify the visibility of blood oxygenation and other factors that help make these physical and emotional states more apparent.

Hospitals are using the glasses to help with diagnoses — they can make bruising under the skin from trauma and other disorders more obvious — and to help nurses find a patient’s vein. Another potential application is for security officers such as the TSA; the glasses may help officers better identify people in an agitated state. Once the glasses were released, though, Changizi and his collaborators began hearing from color blind people who had put them on and experienced the world in an entirely new way.

Here’s a quote from Dan Bor, a red-green color blind neuroscientist who tested the glasses:

I’ve just received a couple of special specs to attempt to reduce my colour blindness, from Mark Changizi and O2Amp. When I first put one of them on [the Oxy-Iso,], I got a shiver of excitement at how vibrant and red lips, clothes and other objects around me seemed. I’ve just done a quick 8 plate Ishihara colour blindness test. I scored 0/8 without the specs (so obviously colour blind), but 8/8 with them on (normal colour vision)! I’m pretty thrilled and can’t wait to explore more of the world with the specs over the next few days.

The glasses aren’t without some issues — while red-green perception improves, other areas of color vision suffer. Bor observes that while red and blue were far more clear and intense while wearing the glasses (and I love that he says that lips looked red like he’d never seen them before), some shades of yellow seemed to disappear, and Changizi cautions that the glasses shouldn’t be worn while driving, as the yellow light in a traffic signal could become invisible. As magical as it seems to give color to the color blind, it’s not a pure gain, as the enhancement in one part of the spectrum comes by “spreading out” the loss across other regions. Still, Bor notes that it’s amazing to be able to have a sense of what someone who is color normal might see, and even better to have the choice. (He says he’d bring the glasses to an art gallery, but probably wouldn’t wear them every day.)

When I see anything, art or science, that can expand the boundaries of our world and give more vibrancy to it, I feel such a sense of awe. It’s like joy is hiding in front of us, sometimes in plain sight. And then one day someone just comes along and reveals it. A pretty wonderful world we live in, don’t you think?

Sources: Changizi blog and Scientific American
Images: Ishihara plates no. 1, 13, 19, and 23 from Wikipedia

Make your own fun

10 February 2013 by Ingrid

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I came home last Sunday evening to sounds of laughter and the smell of woodsmoke coming up from the backyard. It was one of those frigid nights we’ve been having, the kind of night when a balaclava seems to make sense for something other than a bank robbery. I pressed my nose up to the window to look outside, and it sent a chill right to the root of my spine. But then I saw it: first the flicker of the campfire, illuminating a handful of bundled revelers holding sticks with marshmallows. And then, squinting into the dim light, something even better: a slick of ice, and boys on skates.

This is a Brooklyn backyard we’re talking about here, about as small a patch of real estate as you could imagine. And yet, faced with an endless stretch of freezing temperatures, my neighbors decided to make their own fun. They flooded a patch of the concrete yard with a hose, let it freeze, and had their own ice-skating rink (barely larger than a dining table, mind you), their own winter wonderland.

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You might ask what this has to do with design. It has everything to do with design. This is people altering their environment, using the tools at hand, to create joy for themselves and others. We often say: design loves constraints. And this is a brilliant design under the constraints of winter in a dense northeastern city, a way to be outside and together when the mood gravitates towards being inside in solitude. It’s a beautifully aesthetic moment too—light, movement, warmth, the sweetness of marshmallows, and the small swooping curves of skaters on their tiny rink—an oasis in what can often be a bleak time.

Make your own fun, this winter or whenever. Make your own joy.

Colorful reflections

9 February 2013 by Ingrid

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Here’s something subtle, yet charming, in honor of today’s snowy day. Artist Toshihiko Shibuya adds color to snow through reflection. By painting metal disks and plates with bright colors, he creates a vibrant palette in the snow. I love the magic of this, letting the elements (in this case, snow) reveal a hidden hue. It’s very Japanese, to work with the landscape, to patiently tease out color from the interactions between forces rather than painting it thick across the top.

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I was enchanted by the same color reflections when doing space analysis in design school. I used to spend untold hours hanging colored planes in boxes made of foam core so that the light would tinge just so. Based on this fascination, I designed one of the pieces for my thesis using the same idea. I don’t often share my work on this site, but this seems relevant. I designed the stools below to almost disappear when looked at head on. Then when stacked, they reveal their hidden color.

The intent of my thesis was to illustrate different essential ideas of Aesthetics of Joy in simple furniture forms. I designed 10 pieces. If you like these, maybe I’ll post more… I miss furniture design. I love creating utilitarian things that brighten up everyday life. One day, when I finish this book, I’ll get back to it. (And hopefully that will be sooner, rather than later!)

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Images: Toshihiko Shibuya’s work courtesy of Designboom; mine are my own