Occams Razor states that what can be done with fewer, is done in vain with more.

This premise applies to both display of information and the implementation of action. Chiapas has little, as a result of economic and infrastructure considerations, so a key function of the implementation approach should be to achieve as much as possible with as little expenditure (financial/energy/resource) as possible. A consideration is also that providing excess of anything to anyone tends to create greater reliance and dependency on these gratuitous things.

The modernist tradition rejected the mythical and religious views of the world and gave rise to science, democracy, liberation movements and a belief in the supremacy of rationality. Within this tradition there was an implicit belief that there existed a given external reality and that the task of all enquiry was to develop a better and better model (or map) of that external reality.

The postmodernist perspective is that the assumption about a pre-given external reality is not valid, especially in the domain of human culture, values, beliefs and organisations. In general, and particularly in these social domains, it is impossible for anyone to have a model of reality that does not constrain their perception in some way. So while postmodernists do not say that there is not an external reality, they would claim that it is impossible to have an unbiased perspective on what it is.

At 5:30 am the plaza outside the San Cristóbal bus station is quiet other than the sound of birds, crickets and the occasional distant motor, as an unseen vehicle turns onto an unknown road. These streets are still wet with the remains of an earlier rain and the smell of the damp mixes with that of the soil and the stone. How is it that stone smells? It seems implausible but there it is. Even the plaster and paint is there and, of course, the poo. Dogs live their perilous lives out here on these streets, cowering in the darkened spaces where safety from some unknown threat seems elusive. As night’s darkness slowly succumbs to the dominance of day’s light, it soon becomes apparent that the writing is on the wall. Down every street, unheard voices speak through the medium of paint. This could be the time when they normally shout silently their words of anger and frustration, but at this moment they’re invisible. What lingers is an echoing of feelings, the traces of a part of society that is disenfranchised and relegated to communicating their message in the dark of night.

Though the graffiti of the streets may speak more directly than the scent of soil, both these experiences, and a myriad more, contribute to a sense of place. They are aesthetic experiences that contribute to a greater understanding, experiences that can help bring one closer to a state of empathy. My hope is, that by being here, I get closer to both these experiences.

Homecoming

Normally, walking down darkened streets can be an unsettling experience. But these streets feel safe somehow—if not for the dogs—at least for me. The shadows and fog bring with them a spirit and an energy, a revitalisation after a long winter in the north that seems to have sapped my strength. Walking this last mile to my destination, I’m happy as I begin to hear a familiar clip-clopping sound. It sounds like a horse, but I’ve been fooled before by this sound, so this time I don’t need to look to know its just a car approaching over the cobblestones. I realise that this is something of a homecoming.

Destination & Departure

San Cristóbal de las Casas is both a destination and a departure point for a journey toward understanding. It is a centre of cultural commerce for the southern Mexican state of Chiapas, and the centre of a long struggle for social justice. The people who come to this place all have their own personal reasons for doing so and traditionally it hasn’t been an easy place to get to, so its rare that someone arrives by accident. And yet all of us who have come to this place have arrived somewhere else. Our own past experiences and our own intentions inform our perception of this place and individualise our experience of it. This will impact each of us in ways that will affect our ability to connect with the place and the people here.

Intention

The objective of this visit to San Cristóbal is to investigate the situation in Chiapas and learn, through first hand experience, about the complexities of the social problem that exists here. The large body of knowledge and documentation that already exists on the subject is invaluable, but a phenomenological approach to understanding is also imperative. The personal experience provides a knowledge that is informed by sensate, emotional and intuitive responses to people, places and things, a knowledge that can’t be attained through solely empirical approaches. Who are the stakeholders in this situation, what are their concerns, and what are exigencies of the problem? These are the immediate questions that come to mind but with time and through the iterative nature of the design process, others will reveal themselves.

Communication

These streets are a mix of economic and political activity. Retail stores, restaurants, internet cafés, art galleries and book stores populate the city just like any other. But look more closely and you’ll see that there is something different about many of these establishments. Propaganda T-shirts are a popular product in both retail spaces and in the markets, many restaurants are meeting places for activism, and flyers in internet cafe’s announce political meetings or documentaries taking place in one of the town’s many underground cinemas. Yet its the bookstore that speaks to the unique nature of this place. Virtually every one is stocked to the ceiling with an incredible selection of knowledge from philosophy and poetry to sociology, anthropology and political science. The vast majority of the material is Spanish language and intended for a local audience rather than the tourist market. This reflects the highly literate and critically engaged nature of the local population, a characteristic that becomes all the more obvious when you speak with them.

This could be one reason why the communication campaign by the Zapatistas is primarily focused on words, it’s the understanding that both San Cristóbal and the larger Mexican community are very sociopolitically literate. In fact it appears that the verbal and written aspect of the Zapatista organisation is almost the only official vehicle for such communication. It is expressed in print through authorised publications of the words of Subcomandante Marcos—these often take the form of poetry, prose or indigenous myth—and by an internet presence through sites such as Radio Insurgente and Enlace Zapatista. Here text, audio, and video files are disseminated to a wider national and international audience, and while images do mix with the words, they take a back seat. Even the ubiquitous socialist red star is slowly disappearing as the symbol for the organisation, as brighter colours and representations of the natural history replace it.

Rhetorical Currency

What is certain though is that, while only a limited amount of official visual communication exists, there is an immense collection of apparently accepted unauthorised material. This takes the form of T-shirts, posters, books, DVDs, and thematic hand-crafted objects, all of which is for sale and most of which appears to be marketed toward the politically engaged tourist. These products are distinctive for their direct attempt to convey messages of support and many of them appear to reflect a growing change in the organization’s policy and identity. Though many of these objects could be considered arts or craft, the fact that they are intended primarily as political messages makes it more difficult to accept them as art08. They can be regarded as rhetorical tools with the specific intention of persuading an audience of a particular belief. The consumer is a participant in this rhetorical communication, as they tend to be supporters of the belief, and their act of displaying or circulating the message is both an extension and contribution to the dissemination of the belief or ideology. Just as a pair of sneakers or designer label help to create a social identity in the wearer, the consumer of these rhetorical devices is also making a public statement regarding their social and political identity.

Culture

Other objects of art and craft exist here too. Pieces that reflect the culture of various indigenous communities that live in San Cristóbal and throughout Chiapas. In many respects these objects appear more authentic than those whose original intention is to communicate a political message. They are personal expressions, and as such, bring us closer to the lives of the people who create them. Through encounters with these cultural artefacts and conversations with local people in the community, an understanding can begin to develop that sheds light on the social and cultural foundations that inform, not just their thinking and beliefs, but also their ways of seeing.

Another Destination

It’s a new day—it’s almost hot—and for the first time I can wear a t-shirt and shorts. I’m hanging out my laundry to dry on the roof of the family home where I’m staying. The city I’ve been experiencing for the past week or so is all around me but I’m being beckoned by the mountains in the distance and the unknown that lies beyond them. I realise that to get a greater understanding of the larger problems behind this movement, I need to go there. So tomorrow, a friend and I will hop into the VW and quite literally head for the hills.

We’ve dropped off my friend’s children at school and are driving into the mountains toward the small community of Oventic. This village is a central figure in the Zapatista movement and I hope to learn more about the issues directly from those at the heart of this struggle.

The drive from San Cristóbal to Oventic takes about an hour as the road winds through hills and valleys that reflect the rugged landscape of Chiapas and its often difficult living conditions. This short trip also foreshadows many of the concerns that will be expressed by the people of Oventic. The land, from an agricultural perspective is often marginal at best, and shelter is basic—mud floors, scraps of wood, and metal sheeting are the common construction material—a cinder block home is almost a luxury. Corn, the staple crop for all of Mexico and an historical link to traditional Mayan cultivation and culture, is growing in the smallest of gullies and the steepest of slopes. In one of the valley bottoms a horribly polluted river wends its way through a families garden while children bathe in it’s apparent chemical contamination. No one needs to be told what the problems are here, it’s apparent everywhere you look. The landscape is at times very beautiful but in its current state, sadly, it provides only a very marginal existence for the people of the region.

At the entrance to Oventic the air is still and the sun beats down on the road where a heavy gate blocks further access to the community. A man guarding the gate wears a black balaclava to mask his individual identity, this also defines his collective identity as a member of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation. We’ve come to meet with local officials and community members and, after conferring with others nearby, the guard allows us to pass and arrangements are made for us to meet with the “bien gobierno”, or good government council.

Walking down the steep road to the office, we pass brilliantly coloured murals on clapboard buildings, paintings promoting the movements ideological message. They reflect a Mexican tradition of using art as a vehicle for communicating ideas, a tradition exemplified in the work of artists such as Diego Riviera and David Alfaro Siquieros, but something about these murals seems surreal. Every space is occupied by these paintings as if there is some frenetic rush to cover over the past, but it also feels unreal in it’s excess. We would later learn that all the murals were painted by visiting volunteers from other parts of Mexico and the world—these are not the expressive creations of the people who live their lives here. At first this visual rhetoric overshadows the substantive characteristics of the village, such as the health care facility with ambulance outside or the school yard in the distance, complete with basketball court.

After a few minutes we’re escorted into a windowless room and were directed to sit before 2 men and a woman who were also wearing the same black balaclavas. After introductions one of them begins to slowly and quietly explain the history of their struggle for greater social well being and security. As the man describes the problems that plague their communities his speech becomes broken and his eyes and voice well up with emotion. He’s describing a life experienced as constant fear and uncertainty. Food, shelter, health and security are daily concerns and it had been that way for as long as he or the others can remember.

The meeting revealed that many of the problems we’d seen earlier are representative of the concerns these people have; health, sanitation, housing, education, security and yet the most abstract concern is also their foremost demand—justice. As we visit the rest of the community it’s apparent that things have improved in Oventic. The school is busy with at least six classrooms filled with active and enthusiastic students, farmers are coming back from the fields for lunch and sitting down with some men who’ve been erecting a new building, a meeting between community representatives and international volunteers is just getting underway, and four men are carrying an old woman on stretcher to the health facility we’d seen earlier just up the hill. This place has the feel and appearance of a vibrant and seemingly healthy community. It seems they are on the path to a better life. This is a model community, an expression of Zapatista will and ideology, a model to show the world what the movement can do for the people of Chiapas.

Hiking back up the hill to leave Oventic I feel a chill against the back of my neck that causes me to turn. A fog has begun to settle in the valley. Looking back over the town as the sun disappears, the cold begins to lay down upon the homes and I realise that, in many respects, this town is a mirage. Clearly it’s seeing real changes, but this is just one town and there are hundreds of others throughout Chiapas that are truly struggling. It seems that, for this movement and at this moment at least, real progress is elusive.

The noise isn’t just auditory, it’s visual, it’s cerebral, and it’s unavoidable. Today, in urban centres around the world, we are immersed in it, we are inundated by it. Down 5th Avenue, across to Königsallee, over to Roppongi Hills, and across the Pacific to Robson Street in Vancouver, the din grows ever louder. There’s an almost chaotic amplification of sights, sounds, and signals all vying for our attention and the more we try to ignore it, the louder it gets. A word becomes a brand and a sentence in turn becomes a slogan. Soon the conversation of the streets is mediated by banners, billboards, broadcasts and a seemingly endless bombardment of every form of communication and persuasion imaginable. It is the modern consumer society, a kind of social and economic insanity.
Yet walk just a little further along Robson Street and you’ll come to a quiet spot, on a pristine beach, that overlooks the ocean and the mountains in one spectacular sweeping vista. Sometimes it’s wet here, usually in fact, and the soft sound of rain collapsing into the water is peaceful. In the spring, from this very spot, you can literally smell the mountains thaw under May’s warming sun—it’s easy to forget what’s behind you just a few blocks away.
This is the frontier between the natural world and the designed world, but it doesn’t have to be a battleground. This semiotic pollution isn’t really design—it’s an aberration—it’s a transformation of design resulting from a capitalism that is uncontrolled and largely gone awry. Design has provided the vast majority of this commercial noise in response to capitalism’s growing demand for consumer persuasion, and yet design is much more than this very large part of its whole.

Design is precisely not surface design or the production of visual stimuli. [This] Post-Modernism with its borrowings from art and fashion is a regression into randomness and waste. Its formalism follows the cult of the superfluous and it is not for nothing that it reaches its peak in the “useful object that can no longer be used.” (Stock qtd in Aicher 13)

Instead design is about the product as a whole not just about its outward form. It can be evaluated by both its social and ecological impact, and as a result, the domain of Design carries with it great responsibility. Otl Aicher wrote that “the modern world is defined by its design condition. Modern civilization is one that is made by man, and therefore designed. The quality of the designs is the quality of the world.”

About 3 years ago, after leaving a job interview with a Vancouver design company, I found myself walking that same Robson Street, flush with confidence and the prospect of a nice salary. Moments after leaving the interview I was checking out expensive furniture, electronics, and the latest fashions. It seemed I was no less immune than any other to obsessive consumerism, I just needed to let down my defences for a moment and I was infected.

Passing all the big brand stores with their elaborate merchandising, slick graphics and emotional messaging, I was confounded by my situation. Soon, I began reflecting upon some of the open criticisms of design that were circulating in the media at the time. Recent Canadian publications such as NO LOGO and The Corporation were bringing to light issues of globalisation and social injustices. Design’s practices, particularly in the area of advertising and communication, were being painted with a wide brush of impropriety. I was having a crisis of conscience, both as a designer and as an individual. It had been 20 years since my time on the coffee farm in Nicaragua, an idealistic young man who wanted to contribute to a better world. There on Robson Street I asked the question—what’s happened to me?

Design of a different kind

Fortunately, at this time I was also taking a course in Contemporary Design Issues at Emily Carr Institute. I enrolled in the course ostensibly for the purpose of extending my credentials in design, but significantly, the course instead extended the credentials of design. After a few months of reading and discussing the thoughts of people such as Gui Bonsiepe, Richard Buchanan and Luz María Jiménez Narváez, I had developed a renewed enthusiasm for design and an optimism that was fuelled by new ideas in design thinking, ideas that offered exciting possibilities for the future of design.

This movement in design thinking is often said to have started in 1969 with Victor Papanek’s “Design for the real world” yet there is a much earlier precedence for this type of design praxis. In 1936 Nikolaus Pevsner wrote a “seminal text” titled “Pioneers of Modern Design: From William Morris to Walter Gropius”, a paper that emphasised notions of honesty, fitness for purpose and humanistic values. An introduction to the paper suggested that “the best that surrounds us today was laid then by men who thought and taught as well as designed.”(Woodham 7) In Britain, notions of design for social progress prevailed as early as the late 19th century under the influence of designers such as William Morris and John Ruskin. Along with other followers of Arts and Crafts movement and early modern design, they were a response to rampant industrialisation and its negative influence on culture and social well being. Later, on the continent, design praxis would find its voice in the emancipatory and egalitarian ideals of a new modernist period. This internationalist style, named so for its impact in many countries around the world, was informed and influenced by the leading European designers such as Walter Gropius in Germany, and Le Corbusier in France.

This social utopian commitment was potently expressed in the housing and design programmes implemented by progressive municipalities in Holland and Germany and, with considerable variation […] in a wide range of other countries including France, Italy, the USSR, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, Sweden, Denmark, Britain, the United States, and Japan. At its heart modernism was committed to a social and cultural agenda which was not constrained by national boundaries.

There is extensive documentation of the implementation of these efforts to bring about social change, with varying degrees of success and failure, all of which offers lessons and contributes to design’s larger body of knowledge and more specifically to knowledge within the domain of design praxis.

Design thinking

Recent developments in design thinking do not have the same depth of exemplars as it’s relatively new and the opportunities to apply these developing concepts have been fewer. There are however a few examples of design thinking and action being applied as praxis and they shine light upon not just what is happening now but what might be achieved in the future. For example, designers in England used co-creative approaches, working with the community in Kent to develop Activmobs, a project that discovered new ways to encourage and maintain healthy living choices. Over in Lewisham another group of designers lived out, experientially, a series of unique and intriguing energy efficiency solutions that are now being put into practice in a 5,000 home trial in London. These new notions of design have taken such root in the UK that a project titled dott07, or Design of the time, last year kicked off a decade long design based enterprise. In the first year alone saw significant community based projects that ranged from urban farming and public education to working happiness and design centred approaches to sexual health. And it’s not just happening in the UK, at Stanford University’s Institute of Design, or d.school, there are exciting things happening in design pedagogy. Headed by IDEO founder, David Kelley, d.school is bringing together leaders from diverse domains of knowledge and experience such as sociology, business and economics, philosophy, engineering, and design. Through an emphasis on collaboration, co-creation and design thinking, the d.school is educating a new generation of designers, encouraging social centred practice, and enabling them with knowledge and opportunities for change. These are a few examples of design thinking in action, examples that expand the domain of design activity and its significance as a contributor to social progress.

A Scenario for designing social progress

Gui Bonsiepe recently wrote that “it is no longer feasible to limit the notion of design to disciplines such as architecture, industrial design, or communication design”—this paper reflects such a belief. It is informed by recent ideas in design thinking and progressive approaches to design practice, and it seeks to reveal another space where design can make valuable contributions to society.
These examples of design thinking and practice, along with the wider body of design knowledge, will be used to outline an approach to achieving greater social progress and justice in large scale and deeply complex environments. It will specifically address the role of co-creation and collaboration in the process of facilitating interactions between the various stakeholders including, but not limited to, the local population, governments, social movement organisations, and interest groups.
As an exemplar upon which to apply these principles and approaches, I will use the ongoing social struggle in Chiapas, Mexico, addressing the concerns and exigencies of that problem as a way of showing design’s possible contribution. This project, not as yet implemented, can’t really be considered a case study. It’s better to think of this as something of an action plan—it’s a place to start and a possible expression of a way forward.
This paper illustrates a framework, or scenario, that is comprised of three main components; understanding, implementation, and communication. Understanding reflects a phenomenological approach to researching the problem in order to better understand the concerns and exigencies of the situation. With a clearer understanding, an implementation model can be developed to address these issues and find viable solutions that will bring about improvements for the various stakeholders involved. Finally, recognising that the implementation of such a highly complex and large-scale project will require the support of the larger national and international community, a communication approach must be developed that both creates awareness and encourages support for the project.

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Driving home that night I wondered why I felt the need to defend this notion of praxis. Beyond the issues of language, what was it about the concept of praxis that was so important to me? Why was I so concerned about applying design to the process of social progress? In fact, I knew very well that it started over 20 years ago on Christmas day in 1987. I’ve never forgotten.

At 5:30 am the plaza outside the San Cristóbal bus station is quiet other than the sound of birds, crickets and the occasional distant motor, as an unseen vehicle turns onto an unknown road. These streets are still wet with the remains of an earlier rain and the smell of the damp mixes with that of the soil and the stone. How is it that stone smells? It seems implausible but there it is. Even the plaster and paint is there and, of course, the poo⁰¹. Dogs live their perilous lives out here on these streets, cowering in the darkened spaces where safety from some unknown threat seems elusive. As night’s darkness slowly succumbs to the dominance of day’s light, it soon becomes apparent that the writing is on the wall. Down every street, unheard voices speak through the medium of paint. This could be the time when they normally shout silently their words of anger and frustration, but at this moment they’re invisible. What lingers is an echoing of feelings, the traces of a part of society that is disenfranchised and relegated to communicating their message in the dark of night⁰².

Though the graffiti of the streets may speak more directly than the scent of soil, both these experiences, and a myriad more, contribute to a sense of place. They are aesthetic experiences that contribute to a greater understanding⁰³, experiences that can help bring one closer to a state of empathy⁰⁴. My hope is, that by being here, I get closer to both these experiences⁰⁵.

Homecoming

Normally, walking down darkened streets can be an unsettling experience. But these streets feel safe somehow—if not for the dogs—at least for me. The shadows and fog bring with them a spirit and an energy, a revitalisation after a long winter in the north that seems to have sapped my strength. Walking this last mile to my destination, I’m happy as I begin to hear a familiar clip-clopping sound. It sounds like a horse, but I’ve been fooled before by this sound, so this time I don’t need to look to know its just a car approaching over the cobblestones. I realise that this is something of a homecoming.

Destination & Departure

San Cristóbal de las Casas is both a destination and a departure point for a journey toward understanding. It is a centre of cultural commerce for the southern Mexican state of Chiapas, and the centre of a long struggle for social justice. The people who come to this place all have their own personal reasons for doing so and traditionally it hasn’t been an easy place to get to, so its rare that someone arrives by accident. And yet all of us who have come to this place have arrived somewhere else. Our own past experiences and our own intentions⁰⁶ inform our perception of this place and individualise our experience of it. This will impact each of us in ways that will affect our ability to connect with the place and the people here.

Intention

I have come to San Cristóbal to investigate the communication approach of a sociopolitical organisation called the Zapatista Army of National Liberation. I’m interested in the apparent success they’ve had in communicating their message to a wide international audience and the difficulties they’ve had communicating locally and nationally. As a result of this interest, I’m drawn to the various images that I associate with communication and how these images are presented. Others have come to gain a better understanding of the social concerns of the people who are living their often difficult lives both here, in San Cristóbal, and beyond the mountains that surround us.

Communication

These streets are a mix of economic and political activity. Retail stores, restaurants, internet cafés, art galleries and book stores populate the city just like any other. But look more closely and you’ll see that there is something different about many of these establishments. Propaganda t-shirts are a popular product in both retail spaces and in the markets, many restaurants are meeting places for activism, and fliers in internet cafe’s announce political meetings or documentaries taking place in one of the town’s many underground cinemas. Yet its the bookstore that speaks to the unique nature of this place. Virtually every one is stocked to the ceiling with an incredible selection of knowledge from philosophy and poetry to sociology, anthropology and political science. The vast majority of the material is Spanish language and intended for a local audience rather than the tourist market. This reflects the highly literate and critically engaged nature of the local population, a characteristic that becomes all the more obvious when you speak with them. This isn’t to say that everyone is engaged and thoughtful but they appear to be more so than other communities.

This could be one reason why the communication campaign by the Zapatistas is primarily focused on words, its the understanding that both San Cristóbal and the larger Mexican community are very sociopolitically literate. In fact it appears that the verbal and written aspect of the Zapatista organisation is almost the only official vehicle for such communication. It is expressed in print through authorised publications of the words of Subcomandante Marcos—these often take the form of poetry, prose or indigenous myth⁰⁷—and by an internet presence through sites such as Radio Insurgente and Enlace Zapatista. Here text, audio, and video files are disseminated to a wider national and international audience, and while images do mix with the words, they take a back seat. Even the ubiquitous socialist red star is slowly disappearing as the symbol for the organisation, being replaced by that of the Sexta Campaña or simply not being used at all—though its hard to tell at this point whether this is deliberate or merely incidental.

Rhetorical Currency

What is certain though is that, while there exists only a limited amount of official visual communication, there is an immense collection of apparently accepted unauthorised material. This largely takes the form of t-shirts, posters, books, dvds, and thematic hand-crafted objects, all of which is for sale and most of which appears to be directed toward the political tourist market. These products are distinctive for their direct attempt to convey messages of support and many of them appear to reflect a growing change in the organization’s policy and identity. Though many of these objects could be considered arts or craft, the fact that they are intended primarily as political messages makes it more difficult to accept them as art⁰⁸.

Culture

Other objects of art and craft exist here too. Pieces that reflect the culture of various indigenous communities that live in San Cristóbal and throughout Chiapas. In many respects these objects appear more authentic than those whose original intention is to communicate a political message. They are personal expressions, and as such, bring us closer to the lives of the people who create them⁰⁹. Through encounters with these cultural artefacts and conversations with local people in the community, I am beginning to feel that I may have lost sight of the forest for all the trees. I worry that this will affect my work and its practical intentions, but most of all I worry that I’m not doing justice to the issues or the people concerned.

Another Destination

I’ve been thinking about the larger systemic problems lately, and wondering about how design can play a more constitutive role in addressing them. These problems are messy but I think that design’s own knowledge and its iterative approach to problem solving, can play a role here. Recent ideas in design thinking, such as co-creation and collaboration, might also prove to be invaluable¹⁰.

It’s a new day—it’s almost hot—and for the first time I can wear a t-shirt and shorts. I’m hanging out my laundry to dry on the roof of the family home where I’m staying. The city I’ve been experiencing for the past week or so is all around me but I’m being beckoned by the mountains in the distance and the unknown that lies beyond them. I realise that to get a greater understanding of the larger problems behind this movement, I need to go there. So tomorrow, a friend and I will hop into the VW and quite literally head for the hills, except we won’t be running from something, we’ll be running to it. I don’t know what I’ll find there, though I have some ideas. I just hope it brings me closer to the answers I’m seeking, whatever they end up being.

Footnotes—–

01 This is similar to other experiences I’ve had in the past and as a result, my perception of them is different than it would otherwise be. As Santayana wrote “The treasures of the memory have been melted and dissolved, and are now gilding the object that supplants them; they are giving this object expression.” My memories, as they are recalled in the present, affect my perception.

02 I have attempted here to express what Susan Langer refers to as the subjective aspect of experience. It’s not possible for me to define or “name” the feeling associated. I accept that it is “perhaps impossible to communicate” this feeling but I’ve done my best to get closer to it.

03 I don’t presuppose that understanding is an easily attainable goal. One must reflect upon one’s own perception, be aware of imagination, and “look more closely” in order to “discover new significations.” As Mikel Dufrenne writes, “Understanding is the imagination as conscious of itself and as imposing a rule on the spontaneity of its associations. (370-373) In other words, one should think about what one is feeling, where those feelings come from, and why.

04 This notion of empathy is based on the ideas of Edith Stein. She argued that while empathy is not primordial in outer perception, ideational, or reflective experience, it is primordial in present experience, but not in content (Michau 25). In summary:

Empathy… is the experience of foreign consciousness in general, irrespective of the kind of experiencing subject or of the subject whose consciousness is experienced. (28)

Maybe our ability to feel empathy is itself a product of some collective unconscious, but the particulars of the felt emotion such as our thoughts or perceptions of it, are subject to our own experiences.

05 Yet both experiences are different in nature. Understanding is the domain of logic and empathy that of feeling. As Dufrenne also points out, “understanding must not drag us into the field of purely objective significations which only serve to confirm our power or our indifference.” (377) So we should be careful not to let excessive rationality condemn us to living with a cold heart.

06 This intention is different from what Dufrenne refers to as intentionality. The distinction he makes is that “intentionality is no longer an aim or mere intention toward but a participation with.” [his emphasis] (406) This brings us closer to Stein’s above-mentioned notion of empathy, or of shared experience.

One’s attempt to gain a better understanding (as described below-left) is not the same as “a participation with”, it is more distant, more objective. Yet somehow I feel as though the objective significations (note 03) that Dufrenne writes about also bring us closer to “a participation with”. It seems to me that understanding frees us from our constrained scepticism, enabling us to trust our own judgements and allowing us to feel.

07 If, as Leo Tolstoy claims, religions have always furnished the guide to human progress (67), then, for many, Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos is a modern day prophet.
His writings are often referred to as works and perceived of as art. For many they express emotion and transmit feeling, characteristics that help define art according to Tolstoy, and, if one accepts the religious analogy, he would view it closer still to “true and good art.” (68)
Yet I’m more inclined to turn to Edward Bullough’s notion of Phychical Distance as a more objective explanation. In the context of the character of the object, that being Marcos’ writings, they are what Bullough calls idealistic, highly distanced Art. It is a “subordination of Art to some extraneous purpose of an impressive, exceptional character.” (378) But as he writes earlier, idealistic art suffers in that its excess of distance “turns generally into an under-distanced appeal.” (376) So in taking a higher moral ground, one that might be looked up to, he creates a certain aesthetic, but when something is too highly moral it risks collapsing into banality.

It appears that there is an attempt to attain some sort of optimal distance within Marcos’ writing, though at times it risks under-distancing and reducing itself to the banal or, perhaps worse, propaganda. How it is perceived may have much to do with ones own history and past experiences (see Dufrenne reference above in note 03).

08 The notion of distancing (as described in note 07) applies to the political objects here as well.

These objects are first commercial products, sometimes curiosities, but never really art. The premeditated decision as to what ought to be expressed makes impossible the true expression that develops during the process of creation. (Collingwood 117)

09 It could be argued that, because much of this is what Collingwood refers to as “representational art”, one could not conclude that it is “Art proper” (116). This may be so but there is a space here for something else I not sure how to define. Eugene Veron writes that “it is the manifestation of the faculties and qualities [the artist] possesses which attracts and fascinates us” (54), but I think it’s also their existential nature, their place in human existence, and our desire to know the Other. In a way it’s like when Dufrenne writes of feeling as being-in-depth. There is a sense that in that unknown there is “some truth to discover, some secret to abduct from the heart of the object” (389-399). Yet to observe the object in a store or gallery does not bring us much closer to feeling. Feeling as being-in-depth requires the extrapolation of the object to a further idea, one that is difficult to attain, one that requires courage to approach the “hidden” (ibid). For when we seek to understand the Other we also approach the hidden in ourselves and get a little closer to an unknown. Dufrenne says that “depth is not what is farthest but what is the most difficult” (ibid) and primitive art makes us somehow journey to a place inside ourselves where we rarely go, to a primordial self, to the collective nature of man. It is this, rather than novelty, that creates the feeling and depth in the aesthetic objects of primitive art and craft.

10 As I write this I’m thinking of Hans-Georg Gadamer’s notion of play (94-96) and how it relates to some of these areas in design thinking and practice. I’m thinking of design process as play, in its experimental and iterative approaches to problem solving (Gadamer refers to a “tendency to repetition” by players). The “to-and-fro” in play seems applicable here, but also in the sense of looking at how we can incorporate play into collaborative and co-creative approaches. This is about allowing the process to dictate what course the “game” of designing takes. It’s not quite trial and error, more like allowing a natural course of action or activity within a defined set of rules (ibid). The outcome is never certain, but incorporating play might at least ensure some uniquely spontaneous and interesting results.

Works Cited—–

Collingwood, R.G. “The Nature of Beauty,” A Modern Book of Esthetics. An Anthology. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973

Dufrenne, Mikel. The Phenomenology of Aesthetic Experience. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973

Gadamer, Hans-Georg. Truth and Method. New York: Crossroads, 1982

Langer, Susan K. Problems of Art. New York: Charles Scribner & Sons, 1957

Michau, Michael R. Edith Stein’s Contribution to a Phenomenology of Ethical (Self-)Revelation
Web access: web.ics.purdue.edu/~mmichau/Stein-revelation.pdf

Santayana, George. “The Nature of Beauty,” A Modern Book of Esthetics. An Anthology. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973

Veron, Eugene. “The Nature of Beauty,” A Modern Book of Esthetics. An Anthology. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973

intro to systems model here

[section 02] - 1st draft

The first consideration for the systems model is it’s hierarchical structure. Fuyuki Kurasawa writes of an existing system within social justice that is essentially “top down” (?, for now).

DIAGRAM          /\                (placeholder, real diagram to come)

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The above diagram provides an example of a constitutive model that reflects the traditional “top down” concept. According to Kurasawa this neglects the fundamental “realities of participants involved in the social labour of global justice.” The reality to which he is referring is that they play, or should play, a far more important role constitutively, than a top down model would suggest, and that this should be acknowledged within practical approaches.
An alternative to this system is one that is integrative, and rather than being “top down”, or “bottom up” for that matter, the system can be one of conjunction. Conjunction suggests a coming together of ideas from all participants and stakeholders where hierarchies of knowledge, value or authority don’t exist. From a rhetorical standpoint any such model must be perceived from outside our traditional frame of reference. The up-down orientational metaphor within our culture dictates the way we interpret much of our world including a systems model for social progress. Up metaphorically represents better, power, and authority while down represents worse, weak, and subjugation (Lakoff 14-15) . This requires a spatial substitution of verticality for linearity.