Homo Ludens

Johan Huizinga coined the term “homo ludens” with his book of the same title in 1938. Home ludens describes the “playing man” as a concept of necessity in culture. It describes man’s primary response to play and its applications throughout human (and pre-human) history. In the creation of systems and interaction, ludic design draws its origins from Huizinga’s work. The recent gamification craze in digital culture has made this approach widespread. While learning games, such as those developed by LeapFrog Technologies, have been popular among children, ludic design has been incorporated into many adult-centric systems. Since all humans have a natural affinity for play, this design strategy can have a broad impact.

Dozens of industries have adopted gamification to achieve their goals–from fitness programs to the U.S. Army. Jillian Michaels, for instance, incorporates goal-tracking and motivation to provide a fun means for people to get in shape. To recruit young men to join the forces, the U.S. army uses video game interfaces similar to those in popular first-person-shooters. Countless systems use the awarding of digital badges to highlight accomplishments or provide rewards–both within the game system or in real life. Most of these use cases have been successful in their endeavors, capitalizing off man’s playful nature. But ludic design isn’t bulletproof.

What if nobody wants to play your game?

Gamification has its problems, like anything else, but its widespread fame has led many people to use it incorrectly. When the games get too complicated, they lose their appeal to a general audience. When the games have too many ulterior motives, they no longer become fun. Countless implementations of ludic design have fallen down this path. A good ludic design must stay true to its core principle: playfulness. When too many items are added to the agenda, the game becomes heavy and bloated. Heavy and bloated things don’t play well–usually they’re too tired to move. Light and playful things, though, are plenty active.

When keeping the play in games, ludic design can be successful. The gamut of web and mobile applications demonstrate this. But homo ludens should not be limited to screens either. For the ascreenual pixelphobes out there, gamified physical or social systems can transform mundane tasks into enjoyable playtimes. When looked at broadly, much of gamification’s scope has yet to be explored. There are countless industries in need of fun and artistic innovations. Providing fun outlets for people to indulge their inner child can provide value on multiple fronts: economy, happiness, and discovery. Homo ludens can be engaged more–we just have to bring him out to play.

The War of Art

Sun Tzu wrote The Art of War in ancient China. As a military general, Sun Tsu philosophized the broad concepts surrounding war and wrote of strategies to win. The book has now been appropriated to multiple facets of contemporary life–such as business, politics, and marketing. The book is a brilliant work and highly regarded for its wisdom. It’s so well-read that its concepts could be referenced as common knowledge in some industries–those that involve the domination of others. Whether or not you believe that dominating others is an important or good thing, conquering yourself is vital. Another well-regarded Chinese philosopher, Confucius, once said that “He who conquers himself is the mightiest warrior.” In order to win wars or accomplish anything, we must first win the battles within.

Steven Pressfield provides insight into winning our inner battles in The War of Art. If you’ve ever had creative ambitions and care to fulfill them, buy the book now. It’s a no bullshit kick in the ass to stop making excuses and pursue your desires. The book doesn’t offer tips, tricks, or shortcuts to getting what you want. Pressfield tells the hard truth and gives you the perspective to push through it nonetheless. In order to succeed in anything, you have to put in the work: the blood, sweat, and tears. If you don’t care to do that, you aren’t cut out for your ambitions. And thats’ okay, most people aren’t. The sun will still come up tomorrow and the world will move on.

Because nobody cares about your dreams.

If you want to become a musician but fail to do so, nobody will care. If you want to write a novel but quit halfway through, nobody will care. If you want to start a business, create beautiful sculptures, or build the home of your dreams and fail, nobody will care. It’s your job to care. It may seem self-centered, but in order for you to do great things, you need to focus on conquering yourself. This means beating resistance.

Resistance is a force that afflicts us all. It causes us to procrastinate and fill our time with meaningless junk. It distracts us from pursuing our goals. Its only purpose is to make sure we don’t succeed. It is invisible, internal, insidious, implacable, impersonal, infallible, universal, unrelenting, feeds off fear, recruits allies, and is “strongest at the finish line.” If you are a painter who doesn’t paint or a writer who doesn’t write, resistance is beating you. It takes different forms–Facebook, sleepiness, drugs, alcohol, other work, and even your friends. When you start working against resistance–say, sitting down to write each evening–your friends may plead for you to hang out even more. This is resistance, and it is a strong objective force. Pressfield defines it well and, like Sun Tzu, offers strategies to combat it.

First: Do your art every day. Don’t wait for “inspiration.” That only comes after you’ve earned it. Somerset Maugham once said, “I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

Second: Find pleasure in misery. It isn’t fun to be dedicated to a goal. Resistance may offer fun distractions, but you must revel in misery. Art is fueled by that.

Third: Create order. A structured, organized, and simplified life leaves less space for distraction.

Fourth: Demystify your work. You aren’t creating art. You are honing your craft. You should not over-identify with your craft because you are not entitled to the fruits of your labor.

Fifth: No excuses. You beat resistance or you do not.

After striving to better ourselves and hone our craft on a daily basis, we can overcome resistance. We will find help in the form of other spirits, claims Pressfield. The Muses help us to achieve our goals once we have paid them commitment. And this commitment is simple to foster. You can begin today. Invoke the Muses…

O Divine Poesy
Goddess-daughter of Zeus,
Sustain for me
This song of the various-minded man,
Who after he had plundered
The innermost citadel of hallowed Troy
Was made to stray grievously
About the coasts of men,
The sport of their customs good or bad,
While his heart
Through all the seafaring
Ached in an agony to redeem himself
And bring his company safe home.

Vain hope – for them!
For his fellows he strove in vain,
Their own witlessness cast them away;
The fools,
To destroy for meat
The oxen of the most exalted sun!
Wherefore the sun-god blotted out
The day of their return.

Make the tale live for us
In all its many bearings,
O Muse.

…and beat resistance.

Postcards are Nice

When traveling for an extended period of time (or to a new place), sometimes we’ll send a postcard or two. We’ll find some iconic or ironic image, write a brief message on the back, and mail it to family and friends. It’s quick, easy, cheap, and mildly entertaining. But why does it exist anymore? With our various means of communication–phone calls, emails, text messages, tweets, blog posts, Instagrams, Vines, Snapchats, pins, re-blogs, and so on and so forth–why bother to give business to the postal service? We can instantly send a few words to family or friends, and if we find an iconic image (or several), we can send them along too. And it’s free! Postcards are an inferior means of communication in almost every way, shape, and…

Well, I guess not form. They are physical, and their tactile form separates them from their digital cousins. There’s something special about receiving a random chunk of paper. They’re small and inconspicuous. Unobtrusive and benign.

Conlie Postcard

The above image is the supposed “first printed postcard,” and appears to be sent from an army camp in 1870. They haven’t evolved much since. Postcards still serve as a variety of souvenir–a gentle reminder of a place where someone thought of you. Be it a beach or a mountain, a big city or an army camp, postcards are a subtle means of saying “Hey, I thought of you for a second.” That’s about it.

But there’s beauty in that. Sometimes the images aren’t the most flattering–or, rather, quite repulsive in aesthetics–but they deliver a good message. Their brevity is nice. They take only a second to read and a few moments to appreciate. They rarely warrant a response or demand a reply. They are the manifestation of noncommittal communication. Like a small wave or a quiet hello, they are a pleasantry that doesn’t expect reciprocation. This relaxed nature is refreshing amidst the slush of bills, emails, and advertisements pining for our attention. Postcards can decorate the doors of refrigerators or liven up the tawdry page of a scrapbook. Over time, they can form a nice collection that takes up little space. Stories and relationships are stored in each card. They can start conversations with guests and spark vicarious adventure. They’re a wonderful gift and pleasure to send. We should hope they don’t get lost in our clutter of modern communication. They may be small, but postcards are an embodiment of joy.

They’re just nice.

Art of the Box

We say that art is thinking out of the box. That freedom and open space offer inspiration and this inspiration is what forms art. The higher ceiling, we think, affords more wondrous creation. But I think this is wrong.

I think boxes create art.

Orson Welles, the director of Citizen Kane and other great films, believes that the best art rises out of constraints. Whether physical or financial, constraints force artists to push their creative limits, and it offers an economic edge to a work. Welles believes that constraints are necessary for art to exist. With no deadline, for instance, a work would never be finished. Or in the absence of a budget, unnecessary costs will occur. Without a container to provide shape, how could art hold any form?

The enemy of art is the absence of limitation.

Too often we push for divergent thinking and “innovation” but do not give it the proper limitations to grow. This may seem oxymoronic, but it carries weight. When given a white canvas and hundreds of paints, the possibilities are limitless. While this abundance is a wonderful privilege, the artist may struggle to make something beautiful–for there are no setbacks to excite her creative ingenuity. But this is not something the masses have understood, historically. For a renaissance period to occur, a civilization needed peace and prosperity. When basic functions have been satisfied, art could be produced. More time could be devoted to creative ventures, so the arts would flourish. But after a time, the period would end and some calamity would begin–famine, war, etc.–and the arts would go dormant. This makes sense, of course, because why would anyone paint a portrait when they should be growing food or building weapons?

But do these struggles not spark inspiration? The hardships and constraints of war and famine have motivated some of the greatest art. This is not to say that horrible things are necessary and that art can only exist in hard times, but unbridled freedom is not an incubator for art.

Some of the best ideas rise out of brainstorming sessions when clear requirements and constraints are defined. Once given boundaries, the creative process can ensue. Fresh ideas are sparked from the friction between constraints and can form thoughts that challenge the boundaries. As they burn, these ideas can find innovative means to operating within and around limitations. Some red-tape is good, for when it binds our hands, we let our feet do the creating. If our hands were never bound, our feet would’ve never had the chance to express themselves. Constraints can be frustrating, but they challenge us to think different. To think inside the box.

Dunne & Raby on Design Fiction

Anthony Dunne & Fiona Raby are an eccentric designer duo based in the U.K. Most of their work revolves around challenging cultural, social, and ethical concerns regarding technology. Their projects are truly one of a kind and spur many discussions amongst designers. Some of their most notable work involves design fiction.

As described by Dunne & Raby, design fiction is a process of storytelling that raises questions about our world. An application of speculative and critical design, design fiction illustrates futures that reflect on different trends in biology, architecture, anthropology, and technology at large. By combining concept art and a provocative storyline, design fiction stimulates new ideas for how things can be done–in ways that most of us would never imagine. For example, Dunne & Raby illustrate a future version of the United Kingdom–called “United Micro Kingdoms”–where four nations with varying political and technological views reside. One of these civilizations has embraced an authoritarian technocracy where people are tracked and monitored in high-tech “digicars.”

Digicars

This totalitarian nation is controlled by market forces and views nature as a gift-basket to consume. It provides its citizens with an illusory myriad of choices and may seem eerily similar to modern times. Another nation is a communist state built on a massive 75-carriage train with constantly moving landmasses.

United Micro Kingdoms Train

Design fiction can offer warnings about the future or idealist versions of a Utopian society. As an authoritarian state, the aforementioned train exemplifies the dangers of communism: Despite everyone living in luxury, they are perpetually trapped on a moving train. Ideas like this, although off-the-wall, can provide a great deal of value that other designers fail to create. Contemporary trends are much too concerned about the sex-appeal of a design and its accessibility to the public. While good design should improve our lives in a practical sense, great design should force us to question the way we live. Dunne & Raby exemplify these characteristics in their recent book, Speculative Everything: Design, Fiction, and Social Dreaming (2013). The prose is academic (it is published through the MIT Press), but the content is extraordinary. Unlike the consumable pulp we are exposed to daily, this refined media is refreshing. Although it’s a new space, design fiction may be a valid design method. I think this approach is necessary for society to move forward. It offers dreams that our minds, numbed to mediocrity, fail to produce. Design fiction combines our innate love of stories with pressing issues of our times to define a future that we could build. Without this vision, no progress could be made.

From Bauhütte to Bauhaus

The other day, I was surveyed about the recent renovations of university residence halls. The questions varied from “how do students use the public spaces?” to “which amenities are inhibiting the academic success of residents?” By and large, my responses were positive. I believe the residence halls at this university are top-tier–clean, functional, and beautiful. Of course there are always areas for improvement, but the general concept of the renovations is on point. I started to think about why this was. All of them seemed to embrace modern design elements–such as high ceilings, stone floors, light colors, and lots of glass. For those unfamiliar with the new buildings, here’s a representative (-ish) picture:

Alice Lloyd Umoja Lounge

Of course, anything defined as “modern” is  appealing in a contemporary sense–as it implies new, current, fresh, “in style,” etc. But a common fear is thus: Does modern design last in the long haul? Surely the style must go out of date. I’ve thought about this for a while, and I’m starting to think this isn’t the case. What we know to be modern design has a very functional nature associated it with it–it often strips to the essentials and focuses on the materials used. It abides by the “form follows function” principle–triggered by the birth of Bauhaus in the early 20th century.

Bauhaus design was sparked as a design principle in 1919  by the Staatliches Bauhaus (School of Building) in Germany. The design institute was focused on employing art for practical purposes–breathing beauty into the mundane. Furniture and buildings for the everyday person became more accessible and aesthetically pleasing. Daily interactions were streamlined, inline with the idea that people would be empowered by this ubiquitous support. The most current embodiment of these principles is in the digital realm. Most web design follows these principles, turning the fundamentalist web of the 1990s into the slick user interfaces of today.

But where did Bauhaus design stem? The focus on beautiful, facilitated mundanity was appropriated from the mason’s guild of the Bauhütte. This collective of journeymen took part in the design of Gothic cathedrals. This trade did not focus on design for everyday items and activities, and this is where the Bauhaus school diverged.

Bauhutte

Cathedrals, in their very design, focus on something this is above and beyond our daily existence. The spires of the buildings point toward the heavens, illustrating how our collective efforts on earth are directed toward our Creator. We can only receive support and empowerment from a force this is outside ourselves. This is the belief held by the Baumeisters, and their cathedrals illustrate it. The Bauhaus school, on the other hand, liked the idea of design affording empowerment, but manipulated the design principles to not support a higher power but personal power. It was an agnostic perspective that drove innovative design into many facets of our existence. While much of modern design has lost touch with this idea of user empowerment–we often design “modernly” to conform to trends–the benefits of good design in pragmatic circumstances has pushed us further. We’ve accomplished greater feats technologically and (arguably) socially than previous civilizations, and a small part of this can be attributed to the democratizing force of Bauhaus design. In order for this school of thought to be effective, though, we must not lose sight of the power of design. It should not simply make something beautiful. It should be merely pragmatic. It should strive to change a user’s thoughts–to become empowered and respect the power of others, seen and unseen.

The residence hall renovations at Michigan may have been a simple conformity to design trends. But maybe they could be leading to something greater.