The Curiosity Chronicles

Curious About…Feral Ideas.

Indulge me for a second, what I am about to tell you will make sense in a second.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in Australia, and one thing that has fascinated me here is the absolute rigor of the Australian customs process, one of the most thorough and certainly the most articulate in terms of what can, and more specifically cannot, be brought into the country. I understand not bringing raw food into a country for obvious reasons, but a wooden cuckoo-clock? I was recently told by a customs official that “Australia is a self-contained island that has worked hard to stay immune from diseases from the outside, and that the introduction of new germs that often lie dormant in products such as foreign wood can have devastating effects.”

I was discussing this with some Australian clients and we got onto the subject of Australian wildlife and how in recent years, much of it has gone “feral.” The word feral is used to describe domesticated species returning to the wild, and derives from Latin fera, meaning “a wild beast”. Feral animals are increasingly common here, often going rogue and obliterating other species, where on a “self-contained island” they have few natural predators or natural control mechanisms, so you have feral cats, pigs, dogs and even feral camels, who now number in the millions, wreaking havoc on property and agricultural resources. Feral animals essentially become the self-anointed kings of their kingdom and multiply faster than normal, with no one challenging them in their natural ecosystem. Introduced randomly without any meaningful plan or context, they overtake, drain life and challenge the natural balance of a country.

The same could be said for ideas, if you ask me.

Ideas can get very feral too: if introduced into an organization without any meaningful context or strategy, they can act like predators, creating havoc and going rogue, preying on the people around them and disturbing the natural balance of things. I’ve seen it happen many times.

Frequently we find ourselves in boardrooms in various parts of the world where we can feel a palpable tension in the room. Usually, the tension comes from some sort of misalignment between members of an executive team, where the CEO has singlehandedly and somewhat myopically decided on a direction for change and the rest of the team feel like it is the wrong direction. As we are considered to be expert designers of change, we are often asked for an opinion as to what makes a successful transformation. My response is usually to ask two questions: firstly, how ready is the organization to accept new ideas from the outside - what is their plan to introduce new species into their ecosystem, so to speak? And secondly do they have a shared and communicated vision of how those ideas will play inside their current system? In other words, will they play well with the others ideas inside and not go rogue and take over, become feral.

A long time ago we took on a project where the client demanded “absolute disruption” of their category. They hand-picked a team to “live outside the lines,” to work alongside us and together we were sequestered away in secret, against our wishes, to create a new product for them that was indeed revolutionary to say the least. The problem was not the product, which never saw the light of day. It was the absolute collapse of the ecosystem around it that was the problem. Rather than see what we were creating as the way forward, our new radical product started to defocus the entire organization, this new species threatening their island status quo, and creating huge panic and conspiracy in its wake, everyone fearing that it would destabilize their business. It started to cannibalize all the time and effort of those around it, in turn those who were not involved were jealous that they were not getting the attention and focus that the “secret team” and their shiny new product were getting. In record time, the entire project collapsed. The project went feral.

Why am I telling you this? I am not suggesting for a second that companies become isolated islands, in fact quite the opposite, I am a huge advocate of ideas being inculcated from everywhere. I am suggesting that you need, like Australia, to be really smart, intentional and communicative about what you are bringing in from the outside and what it means, both positively and negatively for your ecosystem. You also need to be equally deliberate and empathic to how the ecosystem that you currently have will be impacted by those ideas. If you allow ideas and methods to become random, they quickly become feral, with no natural predators, they take over and become wild, making no sense to the system in which they belong and often collapsing it. Making sure that you have deliberate biological harmony in your kingdom rather than a series of feral species at war with each other is a critical factor for the success of new ideas.

To Harmony.         

Curious About…Collective Suspension of Disbelief.

(From my Chinese Column, as usual, presented in its original Mandarin and English.)

Years ago I read an article in a magazine about flying. I have no idea why as I am not remotely interested at all in aviation, but this piece really spoke to me. In it, a pilot was interviewed and asked how an airplane stayed in the air. His answer was pretty shocking. “The reason why an airplane stays in the sky has absolutely nothing at all to do with mechanics, hydraulics or engineering,” he said, “the reason an airplane stays in the sky is because everyone flying in it believes that it can. Flying is merely the collective suspension of disbelief.” He went on: “The second someone sitting in the plane, usually in Business Class, questions: ‘How come this thing is up here?’ it crashes to the ground.”

I have thought long and hard about that story and have quoted it often. The pilot is right on a metaphorical level, and this provides a powerful backbone for the work that my colleagues and I do.

I am in Australia right now on a business trip, and am always amazed by the overwhelming sentiment in the air down here -  call it a uniquely Antipodean mindset - but Australians and New Zealanders are so…incredibly optimistic. They clearly believe in their ability to create great futures for their countries, and are collectively suspending any disbelief that that future will not be better, more vibrant, better for them all, and that they will transcend any threat of recession and move forward and onward. It is very inspiring and empowering to be around people like this. To use my pilot’s metaphor, nobody in Business Class is sitting thinking “How come this thing is up here?” and nobody is attempting anything other than ebullient, vibrant optimism.

Much of what IDEO does requires mental shifts like this. We are asked by our clients to help them conceive bold new futures for them and to help bring those futures to life. We are, without a doubt, in the Leap-of-Faith business. There is often trepidation in our clients’ minds and hearts when we start working together – we can often see the thoughts rising from their heads in our initial conversations -  “These people are expensive…Am I going to get value for my money…Are they for real…Are we going to get what was promised…Will my boss think I’m nuts…Will I get fired if this fails…” The list goes on and on, and I don’t blame them at all for feeling this way. But what we get them to very quickly do is move past their fear, to suspend their disbelief, and to flip to the optimistic and generative aspects of themselves, to start building towards a common goal - nothing alleviates fear like realizing that you are not in it alone, and that your teammates are going to support you on your journey.

As the theme of this piece is flying, let me end with a story about an aviation client. Air New Zealand came to us a few years ago with the bold goal of “transforming long-haul travel,” to rethink the entire experience - from the cabin layout and equipment (such as the seating in economy and business class) to the in-flight service and entertainment. We also took a look at the customer experience inside and beyond the terminal.

Curious about…Extreme Macramé.

Macramé is a form of textile-making using knotting rather than weaving or knitting. It was long crafted by sailors, especially in elaborate or ornamental knotting forms, to decorate anything from knife handles to bottles to parts of ships. 

 As a child of the seventies, I grew up with the ubiquitous knotted wall hangings, plant-pot holders and various bits of threadbare string holding up beads, feathers and, on occasion, even macaroni and other exotic pasta shapes woven into them that were de-rigueur at the time. However, it seems as if macramé is having something of a revival, brought, like many crafts, into a new context by a whole new generation of crafty designers.

In the Western Hemisphere, macramé is believed to have originated with 13th century Arab weavers. These artisans knotted the excess thread and yarn along the edges of hand-loomed fabrics into decorative fringes on bath towels, shawls, and veils. The Spanish word macramé is derived from the Arabic migramah (مقرمة), believed to mean “striped towel”, “ornamental fringe” or “embroidered veil.” After the Moorish conquest, the art was taken to Spain, and then spread through Europe. It was introduced into England at the court of Mary II in the late 17th century.

 Michael Schmidt is best known for his outrageous futuristic, chain maille costumes for Cher, Debbie Harry, Lady Gaga and many more.

But for years he has also been creating interior design art installations for luxe hotels and nightclubs including a massive bamboo ‘Wave’ construction at the restaurant Simon At The Palms, Palms Casino, Las Vegas; and for the VIP room of the Palladium nightclub in NYC he created black leather floors whose silver studs spelled out the lyrics to the Iggy Pop song ‘Nightclubbing’ in Braille. He got a call from the hip new Ace Hotel in Palm Springs to create a knotted rope curtain for the lobby, woven from more than a mile of white cotton rope.

““I found antique pulleys and hardware from marine stores, and used Japanese bondage techniques to do a modern take on macramé. I didn’t want it look like that 70s hippie stuff,” he says.

The result is a beautiful, elaborate curtain of draped, knotted rope that festoons the floor to ceiling windows in the lobby. It took Schmidt weeks to create and is on permanent display.

Last week in Australia I came across a modern macramé studio based in Melbourne called Smalltown. http://smalltown.net.au/ These guys are really going for it, with modern interpretations of the classics: plant hangers, wall hangings, lights, the whole shebang. Fantastic plays on material, scale and technique abound.

 

What Of It? I love craft and particularly love it when a traditional, or even, as in this case, dated craft finds a new context and a new audience. 

 

I am Curious about the journey of old becoming new again.

 

 And On Sundays We Rest.

Curious Inspiration. Finishing off a week in Australia is Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, an Indigenous Australian musician who sings in the Yolngu language. Born in Galiwin’ku off the coast of Arnhem Land, Northern Australia, about 350 miles from Darwin, he is from the Gumatj clan of the Yolngu and his mother from the Galpu nation. He was born blind, has never learned Braille and does not have a guide dog or use a white cane. Yunupingu speaks only a few words of English, and is said to be acutely shy. But his music truly moves. Close your eyes and enjoy.

Curious about…Ancient Energy as a Design Tool.

 

Songlines, also called Dreaming tracks by Indigenous Australians within the indigenous belief system, are paths across the land (or, sometimes the sky) which mark the route followed by localised ‘creator-beings’ during the Dreaming. The paths of the songlines are recorded in traditional songs, stories, dance, and painting.

A knowledgeable person is able to navigate across the land by repeating the words of the song, which describe the location of landmarks, waterholes, and other natural phenomena. In some cases, the path of the creator-beings are said to be evident from their marks on the land, such as large depressions, which are said to be their footprints.

By singing the songs in the appropriate sequence, indigenous people could navigate vast distances, often travelling through the deserts of country’s interior. The Australian continent contains an extensive system of songlines, some of which are of a few kilometres whilst others traverse hundreds of kilometres through lands of many different Indigenous peoples - peoples who may speak markedly different languages and have different cultural traditions.

Since a songline can span the lands of several different language groups, different parts of the song are said to be in those different languages. Languages are not a barrier because the melodic contour of the song describes the nature of the land over which the song passes. The rhythm is what is crucial to understanding the song. Listening to the song of the land is the same as walking on this songline and observing the land.

In some cases, a songline has a particular direction, and walking the wrong way along a songline may be a sacrilegious act. Traditional Aboriginal people regard all land as sacred, and the songs must be continually sung to keep the land “alive”.

Ley lines are alleged alignments of a number of places of geographical interest, such as ancient monuments, natural ridge-tops and water-fords. Their existence was suggested in 1921 by the amateur archaeologist Alfred Watkins in his books Early British Trackways and The Old Straight Track. Watkins theorized that these alignments were created for ease of overland trekking by line of sight navigation during neolithic times and had persisted in the landscape over millennia. In more recent times, the term ley lines has come to be associated with spiritual and mystical theories about land forms, including Chinese Feng Shui.

Feng Shui is an ancient Chinese system of aesthetics and energy movement believed to use the laws of both Heaven (astronomy) and Earth (geography) to help one improve life by receiving positive energy, or Qi. Historically, Feng Shui was widely used to orient buildings - often spiritually significant structures such as tombs, but also dwellings and other structures. Depending on the particular style of feng shui being used, an auspicious site could be determined by reference to local features such as bodies of water, stars, or a compass. Feng shui was suppressed in China during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s, but has since seen an increase in popularity.

What Of It? As designers we spend so much time designing highly rational journeys, experiences that logically unfold over time. I wonder how we might explore designing emotional, spiritual, energetic journeys as well?

I am Curious to learn more about how ancient cultures “designed,” using the tools of the day: land, sky, energy.

Curious about…Dreamtime.

Aborigines have a deep storytelling myth of what they describe as “Creation Beings,” people who were equipped to bring their ideas to life and storytell them on walls of caves and rocks; they describe this creation period as “The Dreamtime.” 

 The Australian Aborigines speak of jiva or guruwari, a seed power deposited in the earth. In the Aboriginal world view, every meaningful activity, event, or life process that occurs at a particular place leaves behind a vibrational residue in the earth, as plants leave an image of themselves as seeds. The shape of the land - its mountains, rocks, riverbeds, and water holes - and its unseen vibrations echo the events that brought that place into creation. Everything in the natural world is a symbolic footprint of the metaphysical beings whose actions created our world. As with a seed, the potency of an earthly location is wedded to the memory of its origin.

The Aborigines called this potency the “Dreaming” of a place, and this Dreaming constitutes the sacredness of the earth. Only in extraordinary states of consciousness can one be aware of, or attuned to, the inner dreaming of the Earth.

“Dreaming” is also often used to refer to an individual’s or group’s set of beliefs or spirituality. For instance, an Indigenous Australian might say that they have Kangaroo Dreaming, or Shark Dreaming, or Honey Ant Dreaming, or any combination of Dreamings pertinent to their “country”. However, many Indigenous Australians also refer to the creation time as “The Dreaming”. The Dreamtime laid down the patterns of life for the Aboriginal people.

“Creation Beings” were designated members of a tribe allowed to interpret the Dreatime for the rest of the village. Often on walls of caves, they would sit and orate, tales of how things came to be, what it meant for them, and everyone joined in creating large murals that depicted their lives, hopes, and well, dreams.

What Of It? Designated individuals channeling creative inner visions on walls sounds very similar to what I do for a living: this is an early precursor to the world of design. I wonder if today’s workshops can be framed as a modernized Dreamtime, where we collective Creation Beings dream up future ideas together?

I am curious to explore how we can look back at how ancient civilizations used design and what we can be inspired by them. Much to learn.

Curious about…Shamanism.

 

Shamanism is an anthropological term referencing a range of beliefs and practices regarding communication with the spiritual world, the belief being that shamans are intermediaries or messengers between the human and spirit worlds. Often, they lived on the periphery of remote villages, acting as bridges and translators between the village and the “outside” world, helping to bring new ideas in or conversely keep them out.

Traditional lore believes that shamans are normally “called” by dreams or signs which require lengthy training, however, in some societies, shamanic powers are inherited.

In Australia various Aboriginal groups refer to their “shamans” as “clever men” and “clever women” also as kadji. These Aboriginal shamans use maban or mabain, the material that is believed to give them their purported magical powers. Besides healing, contact with spiritual beings, involvement in initiation and other secret ceremonies, they are also enforcers of tribal laws, keepers of special knowledge and may “hex” to death one who breaks a social taboo by singing a song only known to the “clever men”.

What Of It: I’ve been thinking a lot lately about design as a form of shamanism. The role of the designer today is to interpret the outside world and help it make sense to the inside world, to sit between the village and the external, bridging ideas from one to the other. We are interpreters that have one foot in each of two worlds; one foot in the users’ world and one foot in the client’s world.

I am curious how we can better learn from the ancient and apply to the modern.