From a capacity-building "fishing instructor" perspective, better than a killer logo is a simple style guide. Better than the meticulously-kerned name on a business card is the business card template the girl at the front desk can update and print. Better than a file full of printing quotes is a 15-minute training on the factors that influence those prices. In short, better than great design (even great free design) from an outside source are the basic skills and resources to produce passable or even mediocre design internally.

There are notable exceptions to this value proposition. If the piece in question is the branding for a once-a-decade gala, I would say by all means do it and do it right. But for the postcards, the newsletters, the funding reports, even the annual reports, I'd argue that a capacity building approach, with all its potential for tortured aesthetics, is the better long-term contribution.

So let's sum up. All in favor of slower, messier, more demanding capacity building over simple pro bono work?

Aye.

While the current reality of my life is a beautiful fragmented mess with projects ranging from re-branding a talented wedding photojournalist to designing curriculum for a self-sustaining school in Mali, new media technology means none of you have to know that unless you want to. I can maintain a crisp, professional [if still somewhat eclectic] web presence as a designer and still gallivant off to Paraguay or South Africa without most of the world being the wiser.

The months before this latest venture, my posts here got a little schizophrenic--the part of my brain that can't stop thinking about international development and cultural literacy just couldn't keep quiet. The move down to Paraguay galvanized my need for an outlet for those thoughts and theories and I created venturesarajoy.wordpress.com--a quick and dirty [read: still pretty ugly] improvisation in the hopes of not completely confusing anyone who came to my site looking for SaraJoy the graphic designer. The start of the new semester this week has lead me to the conclusion that this dual network personality should be permanent.

So, just to clarify:

• This blog [right here, the one we're both admiring] is about design...probably some tangential meanderings and an occasional burst of complete randomness, but mostly design.


• And this blog is about, well, everything else: school, work, adventures, quests etc.

I, too, enjoyed Mr. Rusesabagina's address at the BYU forum. Perhaps the most interesting part of the experience for me, however, occurred on the walk back to class afterward: Engulfed in a crowd of milling students crossing the street, I found myself puzzling over half a dozen remarkably similar conversations hanging in the frigid air. They all went something like this:

It made me want to promise all the charitable, capable, well-intentioned but un-obsessed people of the world that I will never prick at their sleeping social consciences, never pay stirring tribute to their power and influence, never paint mental murals of the world as it could be with them on their metaphorical feet without actually giving them something to DO.

It made me worry that some of our most valiant and passionate efforts to bring the crises of the world into the heart and mind of the average American may inadvertently perpetuate the "they'll say, 'oh, that's awful'--and go back to eating their dinner" response that was one of the most gut-wrenching scenes in "Hotel Rwanda." Truthfully, what other option do they have? It seems unreasonable to me to leave an audience cheering, and crying, on its feet and then expect them to somehow dig up, search out, or invent the means to make a difference. It seems unfair to generate that kind of energy without providing an actionable channel for it.

Until we have in place mechanisms for action and support accessible to the public we are trying to mobilize, passing notice [perhaps intense, but seldom lasting] is all we can reasonably expect. And I suppose that's fine if all we're going for is awareness, but I--for one--want change.

After weeks of leaning across aisles to whisper to classmates; "can you read that!?" months of feeling like a dolt because I couldn't seem to figure out the street number intervals in Provo, and years of going to bed with a splitting headache any time I watched a movie, I finally went in for an eye exam.

The ophthalmologist [gotta love that silent "l"] made sure I still knew the alphabet, flicked dozens of corrections in front of my face for several minutes--changing everything from the aspect ratio to the contrast, resolution, angle and skew of my world [made me a little loopy, actually] and then, with obvious relish, led me to a big bay window overlooking the South face of Mount Timponogos. "This is what you've been missing."

The biggest change I've noticed is the heightened contrast my glasses provide. Though, logically, I know the amount of light spattering my cornea is the same as it ever was, the world seems a brighter...and a darker...place. The bark on young trees seems to split and peel one layer at a time, and the resulting creases mature to black crackled gouges in the trunks of older ones. Approaching headlights have contracted to piercing pin-points in an almost velvety blackness. My favorite red patent Mary Janes leave prints of a delicate flowering vine when I walk in new snow.

The sudden sharpening of a world I didn't realize was blurred has left me probing other areas of life; testing my focus, squinting at distant decisions in the past and future, wondering what a little "vision" correction might change.

I might have lasted 90 seconds. While the comparison says nothing about the absolute levels of either, I still must have more curiosity than pride, because I instantly began to make mental note of instructional strategies, complementary theoretical frameworks, effective and ineffective interactions and uses of technology and classroom management. Soon it wasn't just mental notes I was taking. As if the fact was not firmly established by the last post, I am a NERD! But I was fascinated.

I wondered what kind of training the officer had received, whether the curriculum had been "designed" or simply pieced together, ad hoc, to fill a pressing need. I wondered whether the instructor was consciously following a dialectic track [presenting, validating and then debunking assumptions], whether he had been trained to provide advance organizers in the form of objectives and systematically build the new knowledge around them. I wondered if it would increase acceptance by certain target populations if the citations [different kind of citation, I was reminded later] for the various "statistics" referenced were included in the presentation. I wondered whether someone had designed the course for a mixed population of "offenders" so that as the instructor worked through the possible citations; speeding, failure to yield, unsafe following distance, etc. other class members [who hadn't been cited for a particular violation] would chime in, expressing their frustration at violators of that particular ordinance and their support for the ticketing of said individuals, thus reinforcing the corrective objectives of the instructor.

I listened, and scribbled, and puzzled for the whole 90 minutes.

Then I waited around till everyone had left and chatted with the instructor for another 20 minutes.

I may be ruined again, unable to simply attend a class for the rest of my life, but I left traffic school energized, optimistic, and busily criss-crossing connections to coursework, experiences, and plans for the future. Oh, and I am probably less likely to speed on 9th South.

Several days earlier, I was talking with some classmates at the Wednesday department "soup kitchen," and voiced my enthusiasm for said perfect gift. Imagine my surprise when, instead of the delighted-if somewhat jealous-exclamations I anticipated, my enthusiasm was met with dumbfounded-if not pitying-stares and the awed pronouncement; "Wow, you really ARE a nerd."

A three volume, 18-pound copy of Merriam-Websters Third International Dictionary-Unabridged.

That dictionary has been the companion of my forays into the English language for as long as I can remember:

At least 70% of the questions posed to my father by a person under the age of 10 will be answered one of three ways; "I love you," "17," or "Go look it up." I have vivid memories of [after the obligatory groan and my best 8-year-old attempt at rolling my eyes] dragging the volumes out one at a time [the one you needed was always on the bottom] the ends clunking to the ground because I could barely get my hands around the spine, let along hold the thing up, and singing through the alphabet several times through as I flipped page after crinkly gossamer page full of words like anachronism and polydactyl.

It would be generous to suggest I completed even half of those vocabulary quests. Some impossibly long word would catch my eye and send me skittering off after Latin roots and colloquial usages; erratic, forgetful, and utterly entranced.

Reading Evangeline in 4th grade I remember falling asleep pinned under the covers, one massive volume on each side of me and one splayed open across my chest. I also remember the first time I felt my imagination crackle and raw green paths open up like a new dimension from looking up a word I thought I already knew...[do you know what a druid is?]

And so it's gone.

That dictionary has provided revelation for a change of heart and the ammunition to win many an intellectual scuffle. I've found words I say to myself when I need a smile [try "persimmon," it's pretty much my favorite] and words that have defined emotions I thought might tear me apart. And though a professor recently told me definitions might be the best way to kill a reader's interest in anything I have to say, just yesterday, I used my dictionary to start a paper and discovered that the Latin root of "application" means "a joining to" or "attaching to oneself."

So, there it is, I am unabashedly, unequivocally, most likely irreversibly a word nerd, and my dictionary is the best birthday present ever!

"Landscape is very technical! You have to consider soil composition, drainage, growing seasons..."
"Yes, but in the end, what they really care about is that it looks good."

"The end result of engineering is a functional product."
"Sure, but the best engineering happens when you think outside the box, stretch the norms, get creative..."

Even at the risk of being branded an overbearing shrew (at least for the semester), I felt compelled to push, rather loudly, for a unilateral criterion. If we can't judge by the intent, the process, or the end product, what can we judge by? Can we judge at all? We discussed, debated, proposed ideas and shot them down, and finally agreed to place professions on the ART-TECH continuum based on this; If a professional were forced to FAIL in one of these two areas, which would they most likely choose?

Obviously, this method is not truly unilateral either, but we were able to come to some mostly-mutually acceptable conclusions. If a fashion designer were forced to fail, it would likely be in the technical aspects of a piece rather than the artistry. An engineer, on the other hand, would be more likely to choose an artistic failure for her designs.

Here is a representation of the fields we classified on our design continuum:

We didn't dislodge any paradigms, probably didn't even raise any truly significant questions. But the process of relinquishing assumptions, of consciously adjusting vantage points and doggedly searching for an underlying truth felt very much, to me, like what higher education is all about.

It's been more than 6 months since I've posted here, and nearly as long since I've written anything apart from casual personal correspondence. At first, of course, I was just busy. [ I think it had something to do with a 300-page book put together in just under 3 weeks :) ] But those weeks turned into months, [as they usually do] my schedule quieted, [as it usually does] and still I didn't post.

"Write a blog post" has been [near the bottom] on my personal task list for several weeks now, but only after some gentle prodding from a friend did I consider WHY it wasn't getting done.

I was afraid.

In climbing/canyoneering it's called the PFF--the Penalty for Failure. The level of care I take setting a line, the number and nature of backups and safeties I employ is directly proportionate to the probable injury I'll sustain should something go dreadfully wrong. If the worst-case scenario is a splinter, I probably won't even bother with a hand line.

But "failure" in any sort of creative endeavor is anything but a splinter. I didn't paint that day because the PFF was terrifying; what if I actually can't paint? what if I never really could? what if all the beautiful things I want to express end up scrambled, broken or lost, trapped and desiccating somewhere between my heart and that canvas? It's exactly the kind of visceral surge of fear I get looking over the edge of a 200ft free rappel.

So why can I turn and, grinning, walk backward over the edge of that rappel? Because I have a rope. And regardless of the PFF, if I've set it properly, I can trust the rope. Here's the fun part: I think these months of creative paralysis have shown me the "rope" for adventures of the heart and mind.

I think it's practice.

Even if it did nothing in the area of honing skills, sharpening responses, and refining taste, practice would still be invaluable for its fundamental side-effect of bolstering confidence. If I fight something nearly every day, I'm much less likely to be devastated if today's foray onto the creative battlefield feels sinkingly like defeat--if the words won't come, the colors all run together, or my fingers trip all over themselves through a simple arpeggio. And, if I commit to practice as not just a principle but a, well...practice, I set myself up with a historical perspective and a long-range plan. That in itself cuts the PFF to a much more manageable level.

I'm not yet convinced that "practice makes perfect," but in this sense at least, I believe "practice makes possible." It creates a protective buffer of time between my intentions and the sometimes stark reality of my achievements. It lends, through conditioning, a sense of familiarity and ease to the mental and physical rigors of the work. It facilitates a more tangible connection between where I started, where I am, and where eventually I want to be. It gives me a rope. And I plan to try trusting the rope.

The experience reaffirmed my conviction in the rejuvenating, re-invigorating, even resuscitating power of beauty--and the importance, therefore, of keeping it literally always within arm's reach.

Still, I have to believe that making a space for beauty in our lives will in turn make us more able to create it, both around and within us.

Anyway, I have had the singular pleasure of working the past couple of weeks with a professional who has opened up a revisionist view of consulting for me. In the past, my experience has shown "consultants" to be overpaid, overbearing, and overestimated...pricey gorillas of various weights who spend an inordinant amount of time bashing things around and leave before anything's been reassembled. I've seen these people lauded (and compensated handsomely) for their "vision" and heard many times how lucky [we] were to have them, but I've never really felt it. Don't get me wrong, I relish the snip of scissors (or the crash of a machete) through red tape as much as anyone. And I'm no crusader for the status quo. But my previous experience has not shown consultants to be worth the price.

Not, that is, until I worked with Shauna. So far, she's everything I thought a consultant would be when I started out naive and fresh in the world of business. She's quick and flexible and visciously efficient. She's free and open with her opinion, and quite insightful, but doesn't slight the experience or intuition of others. She's a fresh perspective but she's not analyzing an entirely different painting. Plus, she's given me enhanced access and added clout with the management. Approval on this over-due magazine insertion in 10 minutes instead of 2 days? I'm not complaining. Part of this, I'm sure, is that she's a consultant of the investing variety and $2M in an outstretched hand gets management attention much more quickly than even my most frenzied leaping and shouting. Perhaps if we required all consultants to make such an investment...

I'm still not entirely convinced, but the flow of bad karma has definitely ebbed.

It's the writer (my latest favorite example being Sue Monk Kidd--I've read "The Secret Life of Bees" twice in the past 9 months for just this reason) who can begin a sentence with a phrase so tired I can't help but roll my eyes, then turn it on its ear with such unexpected brilliance I burst into giggles.

It's the designer who creates a mark from the first icon that comes to mind for a company (needle and thread for a tailor, hammer for construction, etc.) and yet I'm forced to admit I've never seen anything like it--and it's perfect.

It's the musician whose song is so formulaic I can sing along the first time I hear it, yet when I find it on repeat in the back of my mind that afternoon, I don't mind.

And finally, this weekend, I can say it's me...

I'd tunneled a good distance through said mountain, up to my elbows in suds, when I suddenly caught my reflection [no joke] in the side of an overturned stock pot and realized I was washing dishes in high heels and pearls.

I--the 20-something, single, independent career woman who's been called a feminist since she realized she was a girl and seldom spends more than 2 waking hours a day at home--was standing in the kitchen the quintessential image of a 1950's housewife.

Dripping alone in my kitchen, I had a good laugh and on the wave of that thrill, I move forward with renewed faith that somewhere in my subconscious waits a capsizer of cliches, a refurbisher of the rhetorical, a transformer of the trite...a true creative genius.

Receiving my very own (long overdue) toolbox for my birthday this year has rendered me both nostalgic and metaphorical...

Here are a few of the tools, old and new, in my Branding Toolbox:

It works especially well for in-house shops, but is fantastic at agencies or even freelance. The entire concept is a large (we're talking floor to ceiling covering the better part of a wall) magnetic/dry erase/whatever board dedicated to the worship of all things "________" (brand.)
I've used it to post logo iterations, ad concepts, storyboards, email rants and napkin doodles from off-site lunches. In a high-traffic area and supplied with plenty of markers and Post-its, it becomes a veritable petri dish of creative thinking. Anyone can, and everyone seems to, contribute. I've found it speeds up the approval process by putting feedback on their time, but also in their face (also speeds up meetings as they tend to be standing). I've felt an increased investment in and appreciation of the creative process at all levels in a company. I've even seen it avert potential disaster: umm...those look like breasts, did you mean that?

All hail the brand shrine.

The Metaphor Match
This is a fairly common concept, but can really help a client who has trouble understanding, let alone expressing, their brand in concrete terms. Tune in during casual conversation to find something the client finds interesting, then go back to it during the brand discussion in terms of a metaphor. "If [your company] was a [car, line of clothing, drink at Starbuck's, etc.] what would it be?" "why?" If things go well, or if they're still having trouble, you might ask what their competitors would be and try to extrapolate from the comparison.

The Identity Spectrum
This one comes straight from Mark Bixby--albeit 2 months ago--and is a brilliantly simple application of a concept I'm sure most of us have played with. I've never been able to get the delivery just right, until now. The idea is to come up with 4-6 pairs of words, not necessarily opposites but representative of competing values within a market segment: "Grounded-Innovative" "Authority-Commonality" etc. Not only does this provide a mini SWOT, it gives you a window into what the company values, which aspects of their identity matter to them, how they feel about the industry in general.

I'd like to build an actual board with movable slider knobs and slots to insert the word pairings (since they change with every client) just to see the kind of discussions that would happen with this as a tactile element in the conversation.

The Good'Old Questionnaire
My favorite twist on this has been to let clients envision their own "extreme makeover." I have them fill out one copy of the questionnaire according to the daily reality of the business and one guided by the vision of what they want it to be. I find they are much more honest and accurate about the realities when given a forum where their grandiosity has free rein.

Just as important as having quality tools is knowing which ones to use for a particular application. I have pounded in my share of nails with the butt of a screwdriver (both literally and figuratively) and am a firm believer--and metaphor mixer--in the old adage about not using cannons when a shotgun will do.

Measure Twice, Cut Once
Occasionally, a client will come to the table with a fully developed brand concept and the vocabulary to go with it. Usually, however, a successful campaign will require some definition/refinement of the brand itself and some groundwork for effective decision making. In my [limited] experience, a few minutes of thoughtful questioning and purposeful application of one or more of the forgoing strategies can save hours if not weeks of aggravating managerial vacillation, not to mention all but eliminate the phrase "I'll know it when I see it" from the discussion. (And what designer wouldn't leap tall buildings, jump in front of trains, or "waste" a couple hours analyzing annual reports for a reward like that?)

But flipping through a magazine on the flight home (from LA, not Kaua'i--spent that one crashed out across a whole row of empty seats) enjoying the ramblings of my internal ad critic, I realized that particular voice sounded oddly unfamiliar. Scanning back in wonderment over the preceding 6 days, I realized I couldn't recall a single piece of paid advertising from the entire trip.

The second realization, almost paradoxial at first, was that I felt strangely inspired...creative...energized. Something in the plumeria-scented breeze, the crashing waves, the searing sunsets had driven me to be a better designer, a better communicator.

Perhaps there's more than one way to go back to the source material.

Reminiscence aside, the gist of the phrase is if you have to do something unpleasant; eating crow, for example, best to do it right away because chances are it will only get more unpleasant with time.

As it has been nearly two months since my last post here--or anywhere for that matter--I figure I've got a little crow on the menu.

Starting...(gulp)...now.