The Usability of Things

Back when I was heavily involved in a few Graphic Design communities, I was talking to a friend I worked with regularly about different influences and reasons people become designers. We had the standard stereotypes covered. There were some people that just loved playing with the tools, like Photoshop and Illustrator. There were some that really wanted to be artists, but were afraid of trying to live without a steady paycheck. And there were some that were always trying to push themselves to new levels, to invent their own tools, to express things in new ways. We enthusiastically concurred that the latter were the people we liked and wanted to see more of in the world.

That’s when my friend asked me if I knew about John Maeda.

I didn’t.

My friend mocked a gasp, and reached into his bag to hand me some photocopied articles he had been reading. After our conversation, I sat down and began thumbing through the articles. Each one started with a short biography, the tale of a kid in a working-class family who had grown up with his parents stressing how important mathematics were, pushing him to study hard and strive to get into a university that they mentioned repeatedly as if it were a mythical place, nearly impossible to reach. MIT. It was not just a place of learning, it was the ultimate goal of achievement.

With a steady stream of dedication, this kid burned through years of courses in mathematics. It became a second language for him, a new way of seeing the world through numbers, variables, and complex equations, and how they all worked together in harmony to provide simple, direct conclusions.

As he neared the end of his high school career and it was time to choose a college, the decision had been made in his head for years. He applied, and was accepted. He immersed himself in all of the technology and knowledge that living in a hub of mathematic activity afforded him. He continued to work hard and develop his innate sense of formulas and algorithms, and as he became more and more advanced, he started discovering that he was slowly becoming less intrigued by the actual nuts and bolts of the mechanics of how mathematics worked.

Instead, he was growing entranced with the visual output of the solutions to his equations. The lines, diagrams, and shapes that were formed from repetitive calculations and computer programs started becoming lush, textured landscapes. He shifted his focus toward these images, and his professors immediately noticed his predilection toward the beauty of the results.

John Maeda’s “Infinity” (1993). 10,000 interconnected loops, generated by algorithm.

John stayed focused on the mathematics program at MIT, but developed more and more computer programs whose sole purpose was to generate a specific image he had constructed in his mind. He didn’t use real-time image editing tools like Photoshop or Illustrator, as they couldn’t handle algorithms this complex. Instead, he had to use his knowledge of mathematics to expand simple equations into flowering bursts of texture and color. He spent many long nights huddled in front of a computer screen, working on the code that could transfer his vision onto paper.

As John was working through the curriculum at MIT, he felt more and more like his purpose was different from the rest of his classmates. While he loved working in mathematics, his goal was not to get a numeric result, but to enjoy the representation of the results in their various possible forms. As he experimented with colors and repetition to eke out the most beautiful solutions, it occurred to him that he wanted to break away from the mathematics that now seemed so stifling. Instead, he wanted to focus on devoting himself to a classical training in the arts.

He hatched his plan of escape to leave the country, and flew halfway across the world to study at the Tsukuba University Institute of Art and Design in Japan. Before he left, however, a professor learned of his plans and pulled him aside. The professor advised him to do “something young”. “The classics,” he stated, “will be there when you are old and have the time to leisurely enjoy them.”

Maeda took this advice to heart, and incorporated his love of mathematics into his newly dedicated voyage into art. Soon he began developing complex interactive pieces that seemed simple, encouraging the user to play with them like toys.

John Maeda’s “Sunflowers” (2005). Repeating shifting segments of a single sunflower image.

When I read these stories, a wave of empathy rushed over me. I identified with his reasons, his experience, and his choices. The struggles he had gone through seemed so familiar, so similar to my own. The way he handled growing through different paths in life served as inspiration for choices I have made in life since, and I know many of the experiences I have been through wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for this tale of courage and determination.

John Maeda has since entrenched himself in the field of Interaction Design. He served as the Associate Director of the MIT Media Lab, started the Aesthetics + Computation Group to foster creativity in growing careers, and has written several books on interaction and media. He currently calls Maeda Studio his home, and you can see a wide selection of his work there.

The reason this all comes to the forefront right now is that for the last year he has been working on his “Laws of Simplicity”. Each law cuts down to a core truth about creating things that are well-designed, usable, simple, and most of all, fun. He has finally finished fleshing out all of these concepts into a book, appropriately titled The Laws of Simplicity.

I expect this book, like his others, to become standard reading for anyone creating things that require interaction with people. His writing is appropriately simple and light-hearted, getting across his points with explanations and metaphors that are identifiable and true. Check out his overview, with brief explanations of all of the laws. If it leaves you wanting more, get the book.