MICHAEL MCWATTERSThoughts on digital design, and other nonsense.

Le Hameau d'Optevoz by Charles-Francois Daubigny

We move too fast. Or, at least, I do.

There was a time when I would go to the museum and make it my goal to take in one painting for as long as I could. I’d wander the halls, looking for a piece that grabbed me and, once I found it, park myself as comfortably as I could, and stare. I’d come close, then pull back. I’d look from one angle, then the next. I’d take in the individual details, then try to absorb the entire composition.

The last time I did this was several years ago, at least five, at the Met, in front of Charles-Francois Daubigny’s Le Hameau d’Optevoz.

This simple, pastoral painting surprised me. I was moved, my senses tingling. I could feel the artist’s hand at work but, more importantly, I could feel the scene, smell it, hear it.

And the painting is very modern in its composition: simple, bold geometric shapes; a solid but sweeping composition; restrained color belied by jewel-like highlights. The aesthetic term sublime would apply.

I spent at least 45 minutes staring at it, barely moving…transported. I wandered away, only to return before I left for the day.

I was reminded of this painting today. I’m not sure why. But as hungry as I am for visual stimulation, to see new things, to be constantly energized by unusual, unexpected images, few things have moved me as deeply as this quiet little painting in a corner at the Met.

If you have the chance, I encourage you to see it. In fact, don’t just see it. Take it in. You deserve the time away.

…

Here are some other paintings by Daubigny that are quite special:

Les Bords De Loise

Harvest

The River Seine at Mantes

Risky business.

I was having lunch today with my friend and colleague, Graham Ericksen, and we discussed what it takes for a company to become truly great.

We concluded that greatness can only happen where failure is an option. We’re not suggesting that companies should encourage failure, or aim for it. However, if a company is unwilling to permit failure as a possible outcome, that company will never take the kinds of risks that lead to greatness.

Graham and I have worked together and separately for companies that fall into both camps: those that risk failure, and those that do not. One thing is clear: where failure is permitted, boundaries get pushed and reputations are made. Where failure is punishable by death, everyone may be safe, but greatness is never an option.

Of course, in reality, companies need to keep the lights on and payroll flowing, but somehow great companies budget for failure, accept it as a cost of doing business, and reap the rewards when the great risks turn out to be great successes.

Smart copying is not a sin.

Here’s a dirty secret: a big part of the design process involves copying the work of others, intentionally or not.

Sure, every designer espouses the idea of originality, and few actually start out by copying others. But the truth is, none of us designs anything in a vacuum, so everything we create is really the product of what we’ve seen somewhere else.

So here’s my controversial proposition: stop denying that copying happens, and simply start copying what works best. Look, even if you don’t want to copy something, the likelihood that you’re going to end up with something no one has ever seen before is highly unlikely. Instead of going around in circles for hours or days, find your inspiration, and then incorporate that into your work.

Think of a great photographer: she doesn’t create what she shoots. No, she makes a copy of something. But the creativity is in the interpretation, the composing and framing, the processing and presentation. The originality is in how she makes the image her own: distinctive, unique, and compelling.

This is not a novel concept; any designer who has ever pulled swipe for a project (a collage of inspirational tidbits torn from magazines, copied from books, stolen from the Web, etc.), knows what I’m talking about. We use those inspirational bits to form our new idea; the better the swipe, the better the final output.

The same is true of information architecture. We often want to create an entirely unique way to navigate a website or application. And, sometimes it works. But most change that works is evolutionary in nature. Rarely does someone propose and develop an entirely new information architecture that works, primarily because the user is not ready for something entirely new. Gradual change is the key.

For example, I was recently working on an iPhone application, and I noticed that the competing apps fell into two categories: those with completely novel navigation scenarios, and those with tried-and-true navigation scenarios. It’s not surprising that those with novel navigation had lower user reviews than those that just accepted the conventions. Who wants to learn a new navigation structure when what they really want to do is to get to the content? Anything else just gets in the way.

Pick your battles. When something calls for invention, then by all means invent. But, whenever possible, copy what works, but copy it smartly.

Ah, yes.

Look, I’m not going to defend the fact that I still love The Smiths. Call me sentimental, morbid, whatever. I don’t care. When I listen to The Smiths (and, yes, Morrissey), I’m transported back in time. Where and when, you ask?

Well, specifically, I fly back nearly 20 years to the garage behind my grandmother’s house in North Hollywood, which I was using as my painting studio. I would blast The Smiths and paint paint paint: large canvases, small canvases, panels, boards, cardboard, whatever.

I’d breathe in the turpentine and feel electricity charge from my nose down to my toes. I’d taste the paint from the brush handle in my mouth.

I’d paint late into the night, a single bulb overhead not offering nearly enough light. Occasionally I’d leave the garage and sit on the lawn in the darkness and stare up into the night sky over Los Angeles.

Then, I’d hear The Smiths again from the garage, and back I’d go, reinvigorated and alive alive alive.

No, not my hands.

And today I wonder: will I ever paint with such abandon again? Will I ever paint again? Maybe. Maybe if I keep listening to The Smiths.

I once heard that getting old is simply the process of letting go of your dreams. Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the act of feeling guilty about the music we once loved.

I love The Smiths. Yes, I do. (And Joy Division, New Order, The Sundays, etc., etc., etc.)

Is anyone actually using Google Wave? I mean, yes, of course people are using it, but having tried the beta, I’ll be honest, I’m left scratching my head, wondering why

Or, as my friend Carl put it in a recent email to me, “Have you used google wave at all? What the f**k am I supposed to do with it?”

Are you riding the wave?

Sure, it can be argued I simply haven’t spent enough time learning how to use it, or getting my contacts to join with me. (I did watch most of the introductory videos.)

But if it’s that much work, I wonder: will it really catch on? Will people really catch the wave?

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s an interesting idea, but unless it really proves its value quickly, and is extremely easy to adopt, I worry about its future. (Well, maybe “worry” is overstating my level of concern.)

So, I’m wondering: are you Waving yet?

One false step..

My first step will be a two-month full-time freelance gig as interim creative director for a technology firm (they had some tasty projects I couldn’t resist). After that, however, the future is pretty much wide open.

I have some thoughts (and hopes) as to what might happen next, but the truth is that anything is possible: I could end up full-time someplace else; I might find I enjoy the life of a freelancer so much I continue on; or I might decide it’s time to switch careers altogether (though this last option is pretty unlikely).

Anyway, since I’ve made the news of my departure public, reactions from friends and family have been quite interesting. Some people are shocked that, “in this economy,” I would choose to strike out on my own. Others applaud the adventurous nature of such an endeavor. Still others asked why I didn’t take this step earlier.

But the truth is this: while I have the greatest affection for my friends and clients at Sullivan, I found myself repeating things; I wasn’t growing at the pace I desire; and I needed exposure to a broader range of projects and challenges. I’d started to dig myself (and my portfolio) into what could potentially become an inescapable hole. So it was time to move on.

As a creative professional, when you feel yourself standing still, you’re probably moving backward. It was time. Sure, I’m nervous about the future. But I’m also excited. Every time I’ve shaken things up, good things happen. I have a lot of exciting ideas about the future of digital, and I’m excited at the prospect of making them happen.

Stay tuned.

Everyone in business these days is trying to cut costs. However, two recent examples from my career demonstrate why cutting costs doesn’t always result in cost savings.

Example No. 1 – Outsource

My firm has been trying to send our HTML implementation overseas to low-cost foreign providers. To do so, we’ve been getting quotes from elance. Unfortunately, our experiences have been mixed. Meanwhile, our trusty local implementer consistently saves our bacon by going over and above what is required of him. He asks questions about our designs; he talks with clients; he finds unique solutions to problems; and he finds new and innovative ways to do things rather than simply being an order taker. (Today, for example, he pointed out a mistake in our wireframes, something no overseas developer would notice or take the time to mention.) Our clients appreciate him, and our portfolio of work benefits from the level of quality he brings.

Could we find a cheaper implementation partner? Without a doubt. Would it have a negative effect on our business? I believe it would, undoubtedly.

Example No. 2 – Spec

Clients, once afraid to ask for spec creative, are now emboldened, and hardly an RFP comes through that doesn’t require some level of free work. While there are many good reasons not to give work away for free, the pragmatics of business are such that sometimes we don’t have that choice. If we want to be in the running, we have to play the game.

The other day, we presented semi-spec creative to a client (they’d paid about 20% of our costs to do the work). However, when we decide to do spec, we put all the resources to it; we don’t act as if we can do less work, or provide less quality, simply because we’re not getting paid. (As my friend and colleague Renee likes to say, if you’re going to go for it, go full guns.)

Our presentation was a smash, and the client said our work was far superior to the work from the competing agencies. We, of course, asked to see the other agencies’ work, and it was clear all they had done was taken the wireframes provided by the client and colored them in. We, on the other hand, had not only provided a far higher level of design, we questioned the IA and provided some very unique and compelling alternatives. The client now sees us as more than an implementation shop: we are a trusted partner.

So how does this come back to money? The client, in trying to save money, paid as much to several agencies as they would have paid to one agency. In the end, instead of getting a lot of great work, they got one solid solution, and it could have gone far worse: we might not have been the type of agency to go full guns, and they would have ended up with NO decent solutions.

Pennywise and pound foolish is no way to do business. Even in the toughest of times.

François-Marie Arouet (aka, Voltaire)

“The perfect is the enemy of the good.”
— Voltaire

It’s an old trope that’s been said many ways since Voltaire uttered it in 1772 (my favorite version: “Perfect is the death of good.”).

And yet I’m reminded of it today, as we continue to make the tiniest of tweaks based on a heaping pile of consensus-laden design feedback, and the client said, “Hmmmm…it seems to have lost something from where we started.”

Yes, yes it has. It’s lost all spontaneity. In the pursuit of perfection, we’ve ended up with mediocrity. We could have had good, and now we’ll have average.

No place to stick this notice.

The building in which I work has nice, wood-paneled elevators. The elevators are one of the few places everyone in the building passes through, so they provide a logical location for building notices. Unfortunately, the architects didn’t anticipate this use, so now when the building staff need to make an announcement, they simply tape it to the inside wall of the elevators, creating a rather unsightly mess.

Designers need to anticipate how things will be used in the real world; they should not frown upon people who need to post notices in elevators, for example. Instead, the designer should provide the best way for them to do so.

The ability to anticipate usage is a crucial skill for the designer, and the best way to anticipate usage is to watch and learn.

Even teapots need good designs.

“I prefer design by experts — by people who know what they are doing.”
— Donald Norman

Crowd-sourcing your corporate identity. Spec work for pitches. Blind contests for Web site redesigns.

As commerce tries desperately to convert design into a commodity, it’s critical to realize that great design — game-shifting design — will never result from such enterprises. Now, as always, great design comes from experts, people with an authoritative and comprehensive knowledge not just of their trade, but of the challenges faced by their clients.

A good designer isn’t an aesthete or artiste or, worse, a Mac monkey. A good designer is an expert thinker, one who is not only versed in tools and techniques, but in human behavior. The great designer is as much a thinker as a doer, and they are as excited by an intellectual challenge as an aesthetic one.