Something people with creative jobs always struggle with, myself included, is that creativity often likes to take its sweet damned time. We're forced into all sorts of habits and rituals that we feel will help us get to ideas more quickly. Totems of one such ritual sits on my desk: a pile of postcards at least three inches tall, sent to my wife and me from people all over the world. They serve as a reminder that creativity flows from well-considered constraint, married to daily discipline.
The following I'd written in preparation for my presentation with Justin Maguire, "Work in Progress: Thoughts on Design Leadership", delivered on April 14 for AIGA Seattle's "Design Business for Breakfast" Series.
I'd like to pose a question to you: What does it mean to be a design leader?
When I first started working at frog, the people around me kept referring to the problems we were tackling as "problem spaces." When pressed, no one could give me an answer as to why, so I went out and tried to find one for myself. And I think the beginnings of an answer just might be—at least metaphorically—in the splendor of the night sky, full of glistening stars.
Imagining a sustainable future is like observing a series of waves crashing upon a shore, imperceptibly eroding the sand away.
It isn't clear whether we're at high or low tide, so we can't be sure how far to stand from the water. We try to judge, in the far distance, if there are large waves that may get our feet wet, or even worse, pull us out in the undertow. There are a fearless few out surfing the breakers, but most people are content to rest on their towels, sun themselves, and read a book or two. There is no clear understanding of how our actions on the shore will change the quality of the water, or what lives beneath the surface. Our influence on the known world is intangible.