aesthetics of joy

Why do we say “Merry Christmas” and yet so rarely use the word merry at other times of the year? I got curious and did a little research. Merry seems to have been popularized by Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol, published in 1843, the same year as the first commercial Christmas card, which also uses the phrase. “Merry Christmas” appears as early as 1565, but doesn’t seem to have gained currency until the 1840s, when Queen Victoria popularized several of the rituals we now think of as commonplace at Christmas: decorating a tree and sending cards to family and friends. It was Prince Albert who brought the traditions from Germany, and desire to emulate the royal family spread the traditions throughout the world.

Ironically, the modern-day English usually wish each other a happy Christmas, rather than a merry one. This may be attributed to the fact that “merry” retains some connotation of drunkenness in the UK, which perhaps was lost in the more puritanical eras of US history.

But the most interesting aspect of merry’s history has nothing to do with Christmas at all. Merry is a palimpsest of a word, dating back to the most distant roots of European languages. Merry’s ancestry includes the word murgijaz, a Proto-Germanic word meaning “short-lasting,” and the Proto-Indo-European root mreghu- which simply meant “short.” It is suggested that the connection to pleasure comes from the notion of “making time fly” — that time feels short in a pleasurable state. So within merry, the ideas of enjoyment and evanescence find themselves inextricably linked. To wish someone a “Merry Christmas,” in the very old sense, is to wish them pleasure and to express a hope that they’ll savor that pleasure acutely before it passes.

All of which seems a perfect sentiment for a holiday that comes once a year. I hope you’re enjoying the time with friends and family, and send wishes for lots of joy. Merry Christmas, or Merry whatever-you-celebrate!

Image: Vintage Christmas card from 1955, available on Etsy

Every year at this time, I find myself thinking about just how lucky I am to do what I do, and to have found such a wonderful community with you all. Thank you for your tips, your comments, your thoughtful contributions and suggestions, and the work you do towards making the world a more joyful place. Because of you, it is.

I hope you’re spending today with good friends and family, sharing good food, good conversation, and gratitude. Happy Thanksgiving!

Xx Ingrid

Last year on the 4th of July, I gathered with a horde of others on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade to try to catch a glimpse of the Hudson River fireworks display. It was a crowd united by optimism. We had the whole city of Manhattan between us and the lights, as imposing fence as could exist, but still we were all there, hopeful and wanting. So when the first booms sounded, and a few reflected glimmers sneaked through the slices of sky between buildings, there were cheers and hollers. Like a bunch of vagabonds peering into a theater from the rafters, we saw only halos and flecks, but it didn’t matter because we part of it. Celebration is so abundant, even its detritus is joyful. You can bask in its leftovers for weeks.

These amazing vintage fireworks labels (courtesy of British pyrotechnics enthusiast and historian Steven Johnson and his Firework Heritage Museum) give off no light or noise, but they have a similar kind of joyful residue. The various stars and sunbursts, flickers and flames, twinkles and sparks: they’re so evocative, you can almost hear the pops, hisses, and crackles, building a kind of aesthetic anticipation. You can’t wait to strike a match and see what happens.

And the names! One year my mother, Nana, and I all watched the fireworks together, coming up with names for all the different effects. But Spangled Star Bomb? Brock’s Twinkler? Radium Dazzler? Those old firework-makers had a poetic flair and a joyful spirit that has us completely beat. (Though I think “Wonder Banger” might have shifted meaning a bit since then.)

I’m off to try to see the fireworks again, this time from the slightly better vantage point of some friends’ rooftop. If I see any, you’ll find them on Instagram. I hope you’re seeing fireworks somewhere tonight too. But if not, be like the clever Sean Ohlenkamp and make some of your own. Have a Flambo Jambo 4th of July!

Tonight I had the privilege of speaking at makeCalgary, a conference that looks to design for inspiration on instigating catalytic change in cities. The theme is “provoking Calgary’s next chapter,” and to that end I’ll be sharing some design principles for joyful cities, using examples from New York (which has been experiencing its own waves of inspiring change lately). I was incredibly impressed with the level of dialogue and especially the sensitivity to emotion among the crowd. Calgary is clearly primed for joyful change.

One fascinating discussion emerged around the idea of winter. A commenter observed that very few images in the presentations showed winter, of which Calgary has a hefty one. How do we create joy when the landscape forces us indoors, or at least makes it less natural to want to be outside? A fellow speaker, Rob Adams, head of urban design for the city of Melbourne offered a nice piece of advice from the Danes: “There is no bad weather. Only bad clothing.” I love this because it underscores that joy so often lives outside of the comfort zone. In North America we overwhelmingly design for comfort. But comfort is often inimical to joy because it is so cozy we become complacent and insular, rather than openminded, exploratory, and social. Better to take the advice of a commenter from Winnipeg who noted that residents of that city often skate to work on their river once it has frozen over!

Tomorrow, I’ll be helping to lead a charrette to apply some of the diverse inspirations from different cities to a site within Calgary. Looking forward to sharing back after the conference.

If you’re curious to hear more about what I’ll be sharing, here’s a link to a podcast interview I did with two of the conference’s organizers, Matt Knapik and Kate van Fraassen. Fun!

Two years ago today I started this blog as a way of launching this little idea I had out into the world and seeing if it could be real. I feel as if I set one of those little toy boats into the circular pool in Central Park, only to find it’s become a real boat on a broad, blue ocean.

In the past two years, some of my greatest joys have come through this forum. From your thoughtful emails and comments to your inspiring tips and links, I find myself bowled over daily by the curiosity and generosity with which you engage with me in this adventure. I’m humbled and grateful that you share your time and insight with me on how you see the potential for more joy to be designed into the world. If only you knew how much you’ve challenged, encouraged, and motivated me over the past two years, as I’ve undertaken this daunting task of trying to understand and codify the aesthetics of joy.

In truth, this blog started as a way to catalog inspiration and think out loud while I worked on my book. It’s become so much more than that. The book is still not done, but when it is it will be immeasurably richer for the dialogue here. But more than that, I’ve seen the purpose of the blog in its own right, and it has given me ideas for other projects – exhibits, designs, essays – that I hope will also come to fruition.

Thank you for a wonderful two years, and here’s hoping for more joy in the years to come!

Xx Ingrid

Image: paper lanterns by and available at uguisu

Indian summer is the gift that keeps on giving in New York this year. Perhaps to make up for the drizzly summer, we keep getting these gorgeous sunny, mild weekend days. This Saturday I walked through the park and met my friend Emily on the steps of the Met. We set out in search of the Vermeers, which are quietly luminous and very worth the trip. But we soon discovered what felt like the real find of the visit: visible storage.

I’ve been going to the Met for a long time, since I was a child, but I was surprised and delighted to find this wonderful set of displays. It feels like you’re getting a behind-the-scenes tour, with all the paintings and artifacts crammed in together in row after row of glass partitions. The closeness of everything forces new connections, new relationships between items. Without the artful arranging, you’re free to see things in a new way. It feels a little like a treasure hunt, and was easily the most exciting part of the visit.

The roof is still open for drinks, and we arrived just in time for the spectacular sunset above. It’s always hard to believe when the blue sky turns pink and purple, and the art took a back seat for a moment as everyone turned towards the city and watched the beautiful spectacle unfold.

Sunset image, mine. Met images, pazzia.

My best friend is in town from London this weekend, and we have a whole day to ourselves and a whole city to explore. I’m pretty sure ice cream will be on the agenda.

I’ve known Annie longer than I’ve known ice cream, even. We’ve been best friends since we met in nursery school, at the age of two. Once we got driver’s licenses we would regularly bounce between Ben & Jerry’s and Friendly’s, thanking our metabolisms all the way. At Friendly’s we had standard orders: a peanut butter cup sundae for me, a mint chip sundae with butterscotch sauce and gummy bears for Anne. (Which I still think is gross.) Last time she came to town we had a wild goose chase across Manhattan looking for a mythical Friendly’s (save yourself some time, Manhattanites — there isn’t one). It’s one thing we can count on in our ever-changing lives; we will both always be up for a cone, anytime, anywhere.

So this NYT review of the city’s gourmet ice cream carts is perfectly timed. I think 87 flavors is a bit excessive even for us, so it’s nice to be able to cut to the chase. I’d say that Cookshop’s strawberry would go perfectly with a visit to the High Line…

Happy long weekend — enjoy the last taste of summer!

NYT: 87 Scoops Later, A Sweet Meltdown