We recently hung our newest print: this 1972 silkscreen by Jimmy Ernst from the Paris Review print series. Ernst  (1920 – 1984) was a German-American abstract surrealist painter. The son of pioneering surrealist Max Ernst, Jimmy established his own career in art alongside other 20th century abstract contemporaries including Willem de Kooning, Robert Motherwell and Mark Rothko.

We enjoyed Ernst’s abstraction of the Paris Metro system in this handmade print, which ironically seems to be one of the more representational pieces he created in his career. The treatment of the map of metro lines and their stops creates a graphic abstract composition of its own that takes the viewer a moment to realize what they are seeing.

We keep our eyes on the Paris Review print series from time to time, as it is an interesting resource for relatively accessible prints from well-known artists. They do tend to sell out quickly, especially the works from the most well known artists such as Andy Warhol and  Roy Lichtenstein. And evidently, we got one of the last of these prints as it too is now listed as sold out!

This post has been a long time coming, but with a recent mass cleaning and some inspiring lighting I wanted to get it out of the way.

When we moved into our house in Southeast Portland in March of 2007, one of the features we were most excited about was the finished attic space. We knew it would make a perfect home studio for Sarah and I. It was a bit of a blank canvas to create a custom environment suited to our prospective hobbies.

Even though this process took place over two years ago, I’ve always wanted to share the result, as well as the “design” process, even though this was a small personal project.

BEFORE
I had a home-made but impractical door-desk on sawhorses and my old iMac. The space itself is lit by two North-facing skylights. A built-in bookshelf near the stairs set the theme of finding efficient storage solutions for this limited space.

Our requirements for the studio:

• One desk area for each person
• A separate “meeting” area with table and chairs that can serve as a sewing station for Sarah
• Storage for Sarah’s fabric in her antique green drawers
• Location for my Yamaha keyboard
• Placement for my large Epson printer
• As much extra storage as possible

DESIGN PROCESS

We figured we only really had one shot at getting it right. The space could quickly become cramped with too much in it, or awkward if everything didn’t fit just right. So I decided that as part of the process I would use Sketchup to refine the design as we went.

We started by measuring the room as accurately as possible, just using a tape measure. There was some very basic trigonometry for the angled roof, made easier through Sketchup to get the volume of the space.

Next we just started to find items in the Ikea catalog that we thought might work. I would just plug in the overall dimensions, and then roughly model in any additional detail as needed.

We considered keeping the door-desk to use jointly as a work table but it didn’t seem to fit. Although we loved this one-of-a-kind table, it didn’t really fit well into the space and had to go to a new home. Amazingly, that new home ended up being right down the street at a small company whose entire office decor was doors.

Then we started thinking we could have separate L-shaped desks which would give each of us a “digital” and “analog” area on our workspace. But, this option unfairly made one person sit in the corner away from the skylights. We did find a round white table that provided a nice extra bit of work surface for big projects.

Things really got interesting when we found a few additional items from Ikea. The Alex Drawers were perfect for the numerous flat storage needs we had. And they provided a lot of extra top surface area too.

The glass countertops fit almost across the entire length of the room under the skylights. Perfect for natural light during the day. We found these storage stands (technically table legs for a different table surface) for under-desk storage. A shelf above each desk would create some additional storage.

We created a shopping list right from our SketchUp components. This was several months before the Portland Ikea opened (if you can believe it), so we were off to Seattle to pick up everything (and then some).

AFTER

Space for two

Storage areas and room for Sarah’s serger.

The design library and Sarah’s dress form.

The reading nook, with long-term storage consisting of another Ikea unit and some antique crates from Sarah’s grandparents.

It originally took about a solid week of after-work unboxing and assembling to get everything in its place. But we love continuing to improve the studio for our numerous projects.

 

One of the things about growing up in the Northwest in the 80s and 90s is that you are indoctrinated into a lifestyle that makes you very careful about littering. Bestowed with the virtues of “reduce, reuse, recycle,” I’ve felt genuine guilt whenever I cannot find a recycle bin in which to drop a discarded plastic bottle. So when visiting my family’s cabin in remote Teton Valley, Idaho a couple years back, I had an amazing realization about the true nature of waste disposal.

There is no garbage service in the valley. Most residents have to collect and haul their own garbage to the county landfill located South of the town of Driggs. At the end of a visit to the cabin with my family, I rode out to the landfill one day with my parents to help drop off some garbage.

The landfill was simply a large depression carved into a field off the highway, dirt walls held back by a bulldozer. Trash is piled into a heap, to be eventually buried under a couple feet of dirt by heavy machinery. Recycling service for metal and glass only. We drive in, the car is weighed, drive up to the pile, get out and throw our garbage onto the heap. A plastic bottle I drank from the day before rattled across the ground. I wondered if I should pick it up, and realized it was pointless. This was it. This field is what was at the bottom of the trash can.

We got back in the car, paid a few dollars, and left. 

As innocuous as this experience may seem, I left with a very strong impression that we had proverbially swept our trash under the rug. We just put it out there in that field and they bury it? 

Looking at the things around me in the landfill, a lot of the things were designed: empty bottles of consumables, outdated consumer electronics, old furniture, shredded clothes. Small armies of designers, engineers and manufacturers had spent their time creating these things, modeling bottles in Rhino, debating color choices in Illustrator, setting up manufacturing, distribution and sales of these things. People who, just like me, probably loved the creative challenge to do what they do.

Whether a product’s life span is one day, one year, or one thousand, eventually the product will be discarded, no matter if it’s mundane or precious.  

Working in the product design field, it can be difficult to face this realization. Which means that getting in touch with the difficult reality of your product’s end-of-life (in consumer speak, this means trash disposal) makes you much more aware of your impact on the environment.

As product designers (broadly speaking), we are successful if our work has provided some genuine service and value as a tool for the user during its useful life. Minimizing the environmental impact of our work is simply another design challenge to be solved. And we even know how to do this, even if it is sometimes expensive today: design for disassembly, use of recycled and recyclable components, eliminate the use of toxic materials, minimize power consumption, etc.

As product design continues to evolve into the more holistic concept of Experience Design, we will have more opportunities to embrace these these design challenges. 

In the meantime, if you haven’t already, try to experience the landfill at the bottom of the trash can for yourself.

There are many compact home audio systems nowadays that try to integrate audio from iPods and FM radio. But in almost every product I checked out, there was some compromise that sacrificed connectivity or sound quality.

I wanted true stereo separation that is not possible with small all-in-one units. I wanted to feel the sound. I wanted “easy to use”, (difficult to quantify, I know). What this meant for me was an elimination of the “digital stuff” of audio setup (apart from the iPhone of course). I didn’t want a glorified clock radio.

And it still had to be a compact system to satisfy Sarah’s desires, and the constraints of our living room.

Back in December, Sarah bought me this very cool 1970s Sony FM tuner from Hawthorne Vintage. This unit is radio only (no amplifier) and offered a great retro centerpiece that was very easy and satisfying to use. Tuning the radio is a fun experience itself: turning the physical knob, watching the large dial turn and hearing each station blur past, aligning it so that the signal is strongest. It’s an activity that I think is missed on modern digital systems. It’s a bit like the fun you get from a manual transmission on a car: its probably not the most efficient system, but it can be more fun.

Next I set about finding the appropriate speakers to go with it. A subwoofer was out since there was no place for it. I settled on these AudioEngine A2 speakers purchased from Amazon. In addition to their great reviews for sound quality, I purchased them for their extremely simple and iconic design. They were just “speakers”. They sound great, and for the most part look great. The company did decide somewhere along the way to slap their logo on the front in the most unconsidered way, which does detract from their appearance.

So overall I am very happy with this setup, apart from the logo. Sometimes you just have to create your own setup to meet your needs.

Gizmodo has a nice overview of a topic I’ve been considering for quite some time: the complexity of Japanese cell phone interfaces. This is an issue that has seemingly plagued these phones for quite some time, but has recently been thrust into the limelight by a certain touchscreen phone designed in Cupertino.

Now, if you believe the rumors of the iPhone’s $150 million development cost, my guess is that most of that cost was not for the hardware design. It would not surprise me if the majority of that cost was for engineering the iPhone’s software stack.

This scale of expense begins to make sense when considering every layer of the iPhone–its OS, through the application UI and graphic support layers, to the apps themselves– are engineered for user experience first.

Seems obvious at first, but this type of no-compromises design approach to even the smallest details of the iPhone software experience has enormous ramifications on the customer’s emotional connection to the product. Imagine having a discussion with a software engineer to create the “jiggle” effect on the iPhone’s home screen icons on a “normal” product development cycle. Without the enormous investment in the iPhone’s software stack that makes this feature possible, it makes complete sense why this level of detail hasn’t made it into past products.

So now, as with whenever a paradigm-shifting product appears in the market, the industry will play catch-up.

http://gizmodo.com/5069366/why-zen-software-design-does-not-come-from-japan

PS: Don’t want an iPhone? Get a CiPhone!