HO: Do you frequently learn from your students?
TF: Directly no, but I learn from teaching. I have learnt to think very rapidly and see different points of view, which is valuable when you are in the office; it makes me receptive to different ideas. Students of architecture are young, they are learning architecture. My duty is to educate them. Occasionally I see work by a student that I like very much, and even more occasionally something that is brilliant. The last brilliant idea that I witnessed was, by the way, from a Portuguese student in Delft. Generally you like it because it’s made by your students. In order to teach you have to have sympathy for your students.
Interview: Tony Fretton, by Hugo Oliveira
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, March 31, 2008
Failings of Modernism
And to think, the Modernist movement was touted and intended to raise the standard of living for everyone - albeit through the virtues of industry. In my education there was a certain nostalgia and notion that the general public just didn’t get Modernism because of its abstract qualities and essential forms. Though a little radical this begins to make a lot of sense as you walk through desolate Boston City Hall Plaza.
“The messes we’ve made of places where we live and work is not solely the result of bad buildings, though there are plenty of them. But that hardly lets architects off the hook. Rather, with the hubris of religious zealots, they set out on a great purifying mission that damaged the whole physical setting for civilization of our time. The dogmas that guided them went by the name of modernism. Heretics and skeptics were anathematized as systematically as the opponents of the fifteenth–century Vatican.
Modernism did its immense damage in these ways: by divorcing the practice of building from the history and traditional meaning of building; by promoting a species of urbanism that destroyed age-old social arrangements and, with them, urban life as a general proposition; and by creating a physical setting for man that failed to respect the limits of scale, growth, and the consumption of natural resources, or to respect the lives of other things. The result of Modernism, especially in America, is a crisis of the human habitat: cities ruined by corporate gigantism and abstract renewal schemes, public buildings and public spaces unworthy of human affection, vast sprawling suburbs that lack any sense of community, housing that the un-rich cannot afford to live in, a slavish obeisance to the needs of automobiles and their dependent industries at the expense of human needs, and a gathering ecological calamity that we have only begun to measure.”
The Geography of Nowhere
James Howard Kunstler
“The messes we’ve made of places where we live and work is not solely the result of bad buildings, though there are plenty of them. But that hardly lets architects off the hook. Rather, with the hubris of religious zealots, they set out on a great purifying mission that damaged the whole physical setting for civilization of our time. The dogmas that guided them went by the name of modernism. Heretics and skeptics were anathematized as systematically as the opponents of the fifteenth–century Vatican.
Modernism did its immense damage in these ways: by divorcing the practice of building from the history and traditional meaning of building; by promoting a species of urbanism that destroyed age-old social arrangements and, with them, urban life as a general proposition; and by creating a physical setting for man that failed to respect the limits of scale, growth, and the consumption of natural resources, or to respect the lives of other things. The result of Modernism, especially in America, is a crisis of the human habitat: cities ruined by corporate gigantism and abstract renewal schemes, public buildings and public spaces unworthy of human affection, vast sprawling suburbs that lack any sense of community, housing that the un-rich cannot afford to live in, a slavish obeisance to the needs of automobiles and their dependent industries at the expense of human needs, and a gathering ecological calamity that we have only begun to measure.”
The Geography of Nowhere
James Howard Kunstler
Monday, March 3, 2008
Inanimate Objects
I sit here typing this post on my brand new Macbook Pro while my five year old Powerbook is sitting on the coffee table running though diagnostic tests. I unpacked my new computer, gave it a once over and turned it on. OsX asked if I would like to port my documents, settings, and applications from my old computer and I said yes. What a huge time saver. I closed all my files on the old computer, plugged in a firewire cable and pressed restart. The new computer waited a minute and then said: "please plug in a volume with OsX installed." I unplugged the firewire cable and restarted the old computer only to have the apple come up for a minute and then it just shuts down... every time I restart. Not a happy Apple.
I'm reading The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain De Botton and just finished a short section titled Consolation on Frustration describing the philosophies of Seneca. It goes on to talk about the idea of inanimate objects and that one may believe they do things to purposefully cause pain and aggravation. Blaming a wall or chair when you stub your toe or feeling that your computer is intending to disobey your commands when you ask it to give up it's files and retire. Good timing I guess, now what about inanimate objects having feelings of abandonment and neglect?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Drawing an Imitation
I don't know if this is by the same artist (I don't think it is) but I came across it and thought it would make an interesting addition to *boy's earlier post.
I don't know if this was done as an imitation of Peter Callesen's work. Maybe this designer originated the idea and it just happens to be one of those coincidences where two designers come up with the same concept. Maybe this was designed by Callesen. Regardless of the author issues, isn't it interesting how our perception of the design changes when the design changes context. The first work is presented in a void of the artist's own making: solid color field, intentional lighting and an absence of scale.
The second gives us far more information because of its literal surroundings and yet this additional information seems to limit the design's interpretation. The "meaning" has been decided on by the type and the context: it is an advertisement for a self-help organization. The first remains untethered and open for our own opinion, our own ideas.
Where is the line between art and design? Between beauty and advertising? Does the human race really need everything spelled out in black and white? Why can't negative space say everything that need be said? I'm in the process of working with my type students on this very idea. Its a tough one...
I don't know if this was done as an imitation of Peter Callesen's work. Maybe this designer originated the idea and it just happens to be one of those coincidences where two designers come up with the same concept. Maybe this was designed by Callesen. Regardless of the author issues, isn't it interesting how our perception of the design changes when the design changes context. The first work is presented in a void of the artist's own making: solid color field, intentional lighting and an absence of scale.
The second gives us far more information because of its literal surroundings and yet this additional information seems to limit the design's interpretation. The "meaning" has been decided on by the type and the context: it is an advertisement for a self-help organization. The first remains untethered and open for our own opinion, our own ideas.
Where is the line between art and design? Between beauty and advertising? Does the human race really need everything spelled out in black and white? Why can't negative space say everything that need be said? I'm in the process of working with my type students on this very idea. Its a tough one...
Monday, November 19, 2007
Adventures in Mind-Molding: What Language Looks Like
Ellen Lupton's says that typography is what language looks like. Wikipedia (not that it is to be trusted) defines typography as "the art and technique of type design, modifying type glyphs, and arranging type...The arrangement of type is the selection of typefaces, point size, line length, leading (line spacing) and letter spacing."
Next semester I will be teaching a typography class formerly titled "Computer Typography" - follow up to the sophomore class "Basic Typography" - now titled "Advanced Typography" and open only to graduate students. Long story, short: I was slated to teach sophomores a standard syllabus and am now teaching grad students a syllabi of my own concoction in a class that is the official pilot programme to a possible overhaul of the entire typographic teaching strategy. And it will be the second class I've ever taught. No, I'm not scared (well, not yet).
As a product of a traditional typographic education (using haberules, E-scales and rapidographs to hand-render type) and a designer working in the computer-dominated digital age, I see the huge disconnect between what designers are being taught and what they actually end up producing. There is a misstep somewhere between pen and paper and mouse and keyboard. The beautiful possibilities of working by hand are being suffocated by InDesign's default type settings and a flush-left existence.
As I piece together this experimental syllabi, I am constantly reminding myself that the most important concept I can teach them about type - and all design - is that all tools are relevant. Good designers draw upon any and all weapons they have; but to become a good designer, you must first build your arsenal.
A sneak peak at my ideas to bridge the disconnect between hand and machine.
Next semester I will be teaching a typography class formerly titled "Computer Typography" - follow up to the sophomore class "Basic Typography" - now titled "Advanced Typography" and open only to graduate students. Long story, short: I was slated to teach sophomores a standard syllabus and am now teaching grad students a syllabi of my own concoction in a class that is the official pilot programme to a possible overhaul of the entire typographic teaching strategy. And it will be the second class I've ever taught. No, I'm not scared (well, not yet).
As a product of a traditional typographic education (using haberules, E-scales and rapidographs to hand-render type) and a designer working in the computer-dominated digital age, I see the huge disconnect between what designers are being taught and what they actually end up producing. There is a misstep somewhere between pen and paper and mouse and keyboard. The beautiful possibilities of working by hand are being suffocated by InDesign's default type settings and a flush-left existence.
As I piece together this experimental syllabi, I am constantly reminding myself that the most important concept I can teach them about type - and all design - is that all tools are relevant. Good designers draw upon any and all weapons they have; but to become a good designer, you must first build your arsenal.
A sneak peak at my ideas to bridge the disconnect between hand and machine.
Images from the fantastic blog ffffound!
More for those who love Typography.
Monday, November 5, 2007
An Artist is Born
I was in the room when my nephew was born, saw his eyes open for the first time and even witnessed his first step exactly one year later. For someone who lives over 2000 miles away, I've been remarkably involved in this little life. My sister is not terribly artistic (when prompted she could not name the primary and secondary colors) so I have set up residence as the official artistic influence in my nephew's world.
I used to make him tiny, baby-sized books that he could put stickers in and color on; I have painted pictures for his room and, just last Christmas, I bought him his own easle and paints and taught him the fundamentals of color theory (blue + yellow = green). But it looks like I've been imposing the wrong medium on him.
This is his photograph taken with a Canon Digital Rebel SLR. He is 4 and a half years old. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying its a masterpiece, I'm just saying that its impressive—the light, the composition, even my brother-in-law's chopped-off head. I'm thinking this Christmas I'll buy him a camera. Maybe an Holga...
I used to make him tiny, baby-sized books that he could put stickers in and color on; I have painted pictures for his room and, just last Christmas, I bought him his own easle and paints and taught him the fundamentals of color theory (blue + yellow = green). But it looks like I've been imposing the wrong medium on him.
This is his photograph taken with a Canon Digital Rebel SLR. He is 4 and a half years old. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying its a masterpiece, I'm just saying that its impressive—the light, the composition, even my brother-in-law's chopped-off head. I'm thinking this Christmas I'll buy him a camera. Maybe an Holga...
Monday, October 15, 2007
Adventures in Mind-Molding
During last Thursday's class I did 2 things that officially welcomed me into the fold of those who teach: I had to give my first "F" and I made a student cry. It probably doesn't bode well that both happened the week before the students fill out my mid-semester faculty review.
Ok, now for some clarification. The "F" was not given as a reflection on the quality of work but rather as a direct result of a student failing to turn in any work at all. Design grades are subjective at the best of times but even amongst the questionable gray scale of grading art there are a few black-and-white constants: Was it complete? Was it on time? Beyond that, yes, I will admit - both as a former design student and now as a design instructor - grading gets sticky.
All 8 students were given explicit instructions of all the project requirements (correct format, correct organization and correct submission) that would be evaluated as part of their technical grade. They would also be given a conceptual grade (which included not only the original idea but how that idea was then developed, executed and ultimately comes across in the finished piece). There were several students who stumbled over a few of the requirements - some were missing their write-ups, some forgot to name their Photoshop layers and some completely overlooked my required folder and file organization - but at the start of class, 7 students sat in front of me with a finished mock-up of their book and a labelled CD with all of their files. The 8th student sat in front of an empty spot of table.
Its hard to argue "I couldn't get it done" when you're the only one with nothing to submit, staring at a room full of your fellow students who managed to "get it done" on time. In the end, I didn't have to say much, I simply glanced across the room and let the rest of the class make my case for me. But even this wasn't the reason for the F. That came later, after she had the opportunity to submit the project the following class with a one-letter reduction. She didn't do that, either. Then, one week after the project was due, she simply didn't show. Taking out my little red marker, I wrote "F" next to her name in my notebook.
The real kicker is that she did all the work - I saw it. I saw her working in class, I saw her progress, I even saw what looked to be finished compositions. What happened? Her concept was clever, her technical skills were developing well and she seemed to really enjoy the work. This sort of thing always confused me when I was student, too. I loved doing the work and submitting the final piece. Granted sometimes it felt like giving up my baby to the sacrificial alter of criticism but even in those instances I was confident that I had done the work and done it well - no matter what the opinion of the professor.
Thankfully, because of those black-and-white grades (attendance, participation, homework) an "F" on a project won't kill you. Its more equivalent to losing a limb. I hear they're doing wonders with prosthetics these days. At this point I don't even know if she plans to come back to class which is an incredibly helpless feeling. I hope she does. If she doesn't then I'm not sure she would make it in the design world, anyway. It takes thick skin and dedication - both of which are things we aren't all born with. That's part of what design school is all about.
As for the student who I made cry, it was really more that I was the final straw in a very long, bad day. This student can really think but her technical skills just aren't there yet. Thankfully the tears came after class and we were able to talk it out. She'll be fine. The world builds up on all of us and you've got to let it out somewhere, on someone. It just happened to be me.
Maybe she'll remember what a great listener I was when she fills out my review.
Ok, now for some clarification. The "F" was not given as a reflection on the quality of work but rather as a direct result of a student failing to turn in any work at all. Design grades are subjective at the best of times but even amongst the questionable gray scale of grading art there are a few black-and-white constants: Was it complete? Was it on time? Beyond that, yes, I will admit - both as a former design student and now as a design instructor - grading gets sticky.
All 8 students were given explicit instructions of all the project requirements (correct format, correct organization and correct submission) that would be evaluated as part of their technical grade. They would also be given a conceptual grade (which included not only the original idea but how that idea was then developed, executed and ultimately comes across in the finished piece). There were several students who stumbled over a few of the requirements - some were missing their write-ups, some forgot to name their Photoshop layers and some completely overlooked my required folder and file organization - but at the start of class, 7 students sat in front of me with a finished mock-up of their book and a labelled CD with all of their files. The 8th student sat in front of an empty spot of table.
Its hard to argue "I couldn't get it done" when you're the only one with nothing to submit, staring at a room full of your fellow students who managed to "get it done" on time. In the end, I didn't have to say much, I simply glanced across the room and let the rest of the class make my case for me. But even this wasn't the reason for the F. That came later, after she had the opportunity to submit the project the following class with a one-letter reduction. She didn't do that, either. Then, one week after the project was due, she simply didn't show. Taking out my little red marker, I wrote "F" next to her name in my notebook.
The real kicker is that she did all the work - I saw it. I saw her working in class, I saw her progress, I even saw what looked to be finished compositions. What happened? Her concept was clever, her technical skills were developing well and she seemed to really enjoy the work. This sort of thing always confused me when I was student, too. I loved doing the work and submitting the final piece. Granted sometimes it felt like giving up my baby to the sacrificial alter of criticism but even in those instances I was confident that I had done the work and done it well - no matter what the opinion of the professor.
Thankfully, because of those black-and-white grades (attendance, participation, homework) an "F" on a project won't kill you. Its more equivalent to losing a limb. I hear they're doing wonders with prosthetics these days. At this point I don't even know if she plans to come back to class which is an incredibly helpless feeling. I hope she does. If she doesn't then I'm not sure she would make it in the design world, anyway. It takes thick skin and dedication - both of which are things we aren't all born with. That's part of what design school is all about.
As for the student who I made cry, it was really more that I was the final straw in a very long, bad day. This student can really think but her technical skills just aren't there yet. Thankfully the tears came after class and we were able to talk it out. She'll be fine. The world builds up on all of us and you've got to let it out somewhere, on someone. It just happened to be me.
Maybe she'll remember what a great listener I was when she fills out my review.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Adventures in Mind-Molding
I've assigned my students an on-going project to present at least twice to the class with a little Design Show+Tell. Because most of my life as a designer is absorbing and processing the design around me, I'm trying to teach them the importance of keeping their eyes open - for both the good and the bad - because you never know how, when, where or why inspiration could strike you. So, to set an example, I went first.
I collect random pieces of design for a multitude of reasons: I love the color, I'm drawn to the typography, I'm struck by the composition or juxtoposition with other things, I'm intrigued by the idea, I'm impressed by the concept, I'm taken with the resounding simplicity or I just plain can't stand to live without it. I keep my little trinkets all over the place, surrounding myself with inspirational design both at work and at home. And although I never imagined myself saying this, I have now come to do the same thing on the internet.
As a paper-lover, the world wide web was a challenge for me, at first. You can't feel it or hold it; you can't untie it, unwrap it or unfold it; you can't tilt it in the light and watch the mesmorizing reaction of the inks; you can't smell it; and, perhaps most importantly, you can't pin it on the wall. But little by little, I've started to come around. I still prefer natural fibers over pixels and page-layout over web pages but the connecting power of the internet is undeniable and, through it alone, I have discovered some of my favorite bits of design (not to mention indispensible design tools). So, it was with both paper and pixel in mind that I presented my Show+Tell to class.
Because my example was also to give them ideas about the variety of places to look for design, I made it a 2-parter. On Tuesday, I shared some of my favorite pieces of print design (Illustration, Identity Systems, Publication) and Thursday night I set up the projector (like a real, bonafide teacher would) and showed them my favorite pieces of non-print design.
Possibly the most clever, intelligent, sophisticated and compelling commercial I've ever seen.
Beautiful simplicity, inspirational truths and fun to play with, to boot.
Because every designer feels this way and the first step to recovery (or at least real-world application) is admitting you have a problem (the design disease).
Statistics in use that won't put you to sleep.
Blog on new book cover design.
Blog on new identity design.
The soapbox of graphic designers.
A lesson on iteration.
Color Helper.
Blog on found type, print and stuff.
Watch how the pro's do it.
I collect random pieces of design for a multitude of reasons: I love the color, I'm drawn to the typography, I'm struck by the composition or juxtoposition with other things, I'm intrigued by the idea, I'm impressed by the concept, I'm taken with the resounding simplicity or I just plain can't stand to live without it. I keep my little trinkets all over the place, surrounding myself with inspirational design both at work and at home. And although I never imagined myself saying this, I have now come to do the same thing on the internet.
As a paper-lover, the world wide web was a challenge for me, at first. You can't feel it or hold it; you can't untie it, unwrap it or unfold it; you can't tilt it in the light and watch the mesmorizing reaction of the inks; you can't smell it; and, perhaps most importantly, you can't pin it on the wall. But little by little, I've started to come around. I still prefer natural fibers over pixels and page-layout over web pages but the connecting power of the internet is undeniable and, through it alone, I have discovered some of my favorite bits of design (not to mention indispensible design tools). So, it was with both paper and pixel in mind that I presented my Show+Tell to class.
Because my example was also to give them ideas about the variety of places to look for design, I made it a 2-parter. On Tuesday, I shared some of my favorite pieces of print design (Illustration, Identity Systems, Publication) and Thursday night I set up the projector (like a real, bonafide teacher would) and showed them my favorite pieces of non-print design.
Possibly the most clever, intelligent, sophisticated and compelling commercial I've ever seen.
Beautiful simplicity, inspirational truths and fun to play with, to boot.
Because every designer feels this way and the first step to recovery (or at least real-world application) is admitting you have a problem (the design disease).
Statistics in use that won't put you to sleep.
Blog on new book cover design.
Blog on new identity design.
The soapbox of graphic designers.
A lesson on iteration.
Color Helper.
Blog on found type, print and stuff.
Watch how the pro's do it.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Adventures in Mind-Molding
I taught my first class last night.
Well, "teach" might not be the right word. I attended a class meeting, introduced myself, read a syllabus and then asked them all to become members of Veer (its relevant, I swear). The only real teacher-ly thing I did was assign homework, which went pretty well - if I do say so, myself.
The class that I've been charged with the duty of instructing is a foundational computer applications course (teaching the Adobe Creative Suite). I have 10 students: 2 full-time undergrads and 8 part-time continuing ed students. In true haberdashery form, they come from all over the place. There are 2 former psychology majors, 2 former fine artists, a girl who works in publishing, a paralegal assistant from Brazil, a printer rep, a former computer science major, an art education major from Saudi Arabia and an advertising student - all with the desire to become graphic designers. Their experience ranges widely, from comfortably familiar with a few of the programs to borderline scared of Macs altogether.
I can think of no greater evidence of the power and consuming nature of design in today's world than these 10 people. I'm excited that they're mostly continuing ed - not that undergrads can't be serious and committed to their education, but continuing ed students are paying per class, out of their own pockets, working full-time and sacrificing a significant portion of their personal lives to return to academia because they have finally realized what they really want to do and they're willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Design has become a force of nature. People see it, get inspired by it and want to jump on the bandwagon. There is a lot of debate out there, especially in graphic design, about the DIY design culture and the inundation of "average" people doing "designer" things. With the spread of Mac-usage into the non-designer demographic and the prevalence of amazing, user-friendly design tools like iLife and Blurb, anyone with the most basic computer knowledge can design, publish, produce and create. I'm of the mindset that these tools can do nothing but make the world a prettier, better-designed home for all of us and that no amount of user-friendly software will ever replace true, artistic talent and a real design education.
That being said, I'm so excited that my students have choosen the latter, that they have decided to become real designers. I only hope that I'm up to the task of helping them on their way.
Well, "teach" might not be the right word. I attended a class meeting, introduced myself, read a syllabus and then asked them all to become members of Veer (its relevant, I swear). The only real teacher-ly thing I did was assign homework, which went pretty well - if I do say so, myself.
The class that I've been charged with the duty of instructing is a foundational computer applications course (teaching the Adobe Creative Suite). I have 10 students: 2 full-time undergrads and 8 part-time continuing ed students. In true haberdashery form, they come from all over the place. There are 2 former psychology majors, 2 former fine artists, a girl who works in publishing, a paralegal assistant from Brazil, a printer rep, a former computer science major, an art education major from Saudi Arabia and an advertising student - all with the desire to become graphic designers. Their experience ranges widely, from comfortably familiar with a few of the programs to borderline scared of Macs altogether.
I can think of no greater evidence of the power and consuming nature of design in today's world than these 10 people. I'm excited that they're mostly continuing ed - not that undergrads can't be serious and committed to their education, but continuing ed students are paying per class, out of their own pockets, working full-time and sacrificing a significant portion of their personal lives to return to academia because they have finally realized what they really want to do and they're willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Design has become a force of nature. People see it, get inspired by it and want to jump on the bandwagon. There is a lot of debate out there, especially in graphic design, about the DIY design culture and the inundation of "average" people doing "designer" things. With the spread of Mac-usage into the non-designer demographic and the prevalence of amazing, user-friendly design tools like iLife and Blurb, anyone with the most basic computer knowledge can design, publish, produce and create. I'm of the mindset that these tools can do nothing but make the world a prettier, better-designed home for all of us and that no amount of user-friendly software will ever replace true, artistic talent and a real design education.
That being said, I'm so excited that my students have choosen the latter, that they have decided to become real designers. I only hope that I'm up to the task of helping them on their way.
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