Digital Bibliography

Technologies are social and political. More than merely functional objects and software packages, technologies of all sorts represent the intersection of myriad social, political, economic, and cultural forces. Using a technology is a political act. Purchasing (or stealing, for that matter) is also a political act. We have a material impact on the world when we use a technology; that same technology has an impact on us when we use it. None of these assertions is new or novel. Marcuse, Ellul, Feenberg, Heidegger. More germane to this blog’s projects: Ong, (C) Haas, Bolter, Drucker, Chartier. But I want to take a step back and expand the scope of this reflection to include discussions of technology in general. Because lately I’ve been feeling like a contradiction. But it’s a contradiction that I seem to be embracing. I’m making the switch to Mac. It’s a transition, sure, but I’m committed to it at this point.

But what, exactly, is it to which I’m committing? Apple is now the biggest, most dominant technology company in the world. They are a company who basically blew-off their relationship with the die-hard fan base that helped same them from extinction in the nineties. They purposely leave out functionalities for their products in order to include them in a later model to encourage their customers to purchase more items. They are the pot calling the kettle “closed and proprietary” in terms of their ongoing battle with Flash. They are a company who, in their attempt to revolutionize (this is gonna change everything) the way we use computers, gave us a device which made it much, much harder for users to actively produce and contribute mediated cultural content. And yet, in the last year, I’ve purchased a phone, a laptop, and and iPad from them. What sort of a political gesture is this? Read the rest of this entry »

A continuation of my post from yesterday…

In what ways do you know the materials? What do we associate with the material culturally? (Why are so many courthouses designed with columns, even though most of the columns are merely skinned with stone?) What are the physical characteristics of the material? (Steel and glass can be either smooth or sharp. But they could rarely, if ever, be exchanged for cotton balls or air.) In what ways does a material or shape compel a user to act? (How can you tell when a button need to be pushed? And when it should be turned?) We get to know our materials through experience, specifications, and testing.

I want to return to the example I created. A man enters the room. At some point, he will push the button. When he does, he’ll heighten his awareness for possible effects of his pushing. Nothing happens. He brushes his fingers over at least some of the different panels. And he looks through the glass into the interior of the box. I’ve left out several details. They’re not important.

Buttons compel us to push. A glass cut-out compels us to peer through. Texture compels us to touch. These are predictable reactions based on strong, cultural habits. Less strong, but possibly still true, are the notions that putting the object in a room with nothing else makes it likely that a visitor will take notice, consider, and possibly interact with the object. Making the glass eye-level strengthens the likelihood that someone will look through. Making the box out of stainless steel makes it durable, sanitary, and familiar, each of which help to suggest permission to act on the impulses to touch or interact.

My impulse is to say that design can be simply defined as “action structured in absence.” But that’s an awfully abstract notion. There are nuances that are necessary to the definition if it’s going to be useful in considering the effectiveness of design, rather than merely a user’s action in response to the design. Too simply, but suggestively, it’s question of quantitative versus qualitative evaluation. It’s one thing to measure clicks, speed, and efficiency. But it’s another question entirely to start to consider aspects of the user’s experience such as: comfort, confidence, pleasure, freedom, predictability, closure. More complex still are design questions related to meaning-making and expression.

So… an adjustment. User action. Material structure. Designer absence. All essential for questions of design. But I think function, action, and use are very different aspects of design. Function is conceptual. What needs to be accomplished. Action is very simply what a user does. Click. Drag. Type. And use is the intent that a user has when interacting with a design.

And that last sentence is a segue of sorts. It’s important that I switched from talking about objects to designs. Because what I really want to starting thinking about his interface design for digital documents. And in that regard, a designer (you and me) won’t really have much control over screen technology. Just pixels, and even then, designs gotta be flexible. But that’s nothing new. HTML made fluid design ubiquitous. And vector graphics (read: Flash) has significantly expanded its possibilities.

What I want to start thinking about is how we might go about making ourselves better designers of digital academic texts. And I guess those will be my three primary terms: Digital. Academic. Text.

This is a cool project. Not one that needs to be started or organized or ever completed. Just an impulse I’m articulating for myself. To keep myself thinking through it here on the blog.

As far as texts go, I’m going to be reading and critiquing at least two texts. Donald A. Norman’s print-book, The Design of Everyday Things, and some of the ideas Jakob Nielsen’s Website, useit.com.

I just started watching a documentary called Objectified. It’s amazing so far. Here’s the trailer. Really… I wouldn’t put the trailer up front here unless I thought it would structure the way you read my subsequent post. So watch it. Please. (he, he.)

After watching about 30 minutes of the documentary so far, I’ve started really thinking through what I myself know about design. Those thoughts quickly led me to rephrase my reflection as “What are some of the central ideas to my own philosophy of design?”

What follow is me starting to think about that question…

Objects should somehow express their use. Objects (interfaces) should be their own instruction manuals. (Is this Norman’s idea of affordance? We seem to have co-opted the term to mean not just what use is suggested, but instead what uses is a thing (a modality in reference to Kress’s work) good for? To what uses does it lend itself? There’s an element of inherence. Mmmm. I don’t know. That seems to be a bit too rooted in material, and not enough in design. There’s got to be some sort of balance.

There are all sorts of ways for an interface to suggest function. (Or should this discussion be about possibility? About option?)

Years ago, buttons not only marked something as clickable, but also made a sort of argument for clicking. Before that, the altered color of linked text performed much the same function.

Here are two ways to think about affordances and design. Sort of two different relationships between a designer and an object. Do people react to something inherent (read: cultural) in a shape, material, or design decision? Another way to ask the question is to ask if there are certain predictable solutions to elicit desired actions on the part of a user?

For example, let’s say you walk into a completely white, featureless room. You approach t

For example, imagine a completely white, relatively featureless room. Only a doorway. The only object in the room is a seamless 6′ x 6′ x 6′ stainless steel box. Each side of the box is broken into even 12″ x 12″ squares of different textures. Some resembling different textures of rock. Some with tiny, raised dots. Some perfectly smooth. Some with parallel lines of in different weights. On the side of the box opposite from the door through which you entered, one of the 12″ panels, at eye level, has been cut out and replaced with clear glass. On the side of the box facing the door through which you entered is a circle of stainless steel, raised about 1/4″ with a ring of space separating it from the panel in which it is centered. Now imagine someone entering the room without any instructions. How strongly do you sense that you can guess what might happen?

This, I think, is one essential way of thinking about design as both a process and form. The question I ask at the end of the description is really important. I don’t ask what will happen because there’s no way to know what will happen. Instead, what’s important to think about with this example is the strength of association between intended function, designed form, use predicted, and function realized. All of it is guesswork. But it’s guesswork based on many, many different factors.

Which I’ll try to get to tomorrow…

Question: I’ve had a very difficult time finding books (or sites) about designing the sorts of design challenges that interest me: Academic. Digital. Most Web-design books focus on e-commerce, non-profits organizations, or portfolios. Not much about digital argument. Any ideas? Touchstones for you folks?

(I’ve noticed that most people who respond to questions on my blog tend to email me instead of posting the question. I try to respond to them all, posted or not. So if you’ve got a question, comment, suggestion, or response, and you don’t feel like posting as a comment, that’s cool. Feel free to send me the message directly. Best… T.)