What those new to the field should know, and how we as a design and tech industry can help.
Casual observations during travels in the region.
On a morning bike ride, I noticed Spreckels Lake in Golden Gate Park was completely drained. It’s not a very deep lake, probably just a couple of feet, but it’s not something you’d wade into. Mostly, people launch model boats there and watch the ducks float by. It’s serene and a popular spot to unwind.
“Get used to falling. Pick yourself up quick, and keep moving.”
When Laurel and I were in Brooklyn in 2011, I wanted to eat at Diner, located in Williamsburg, in the shadow of the bridge. Part of the Marlow & Sons empire, I’d heard things and had a very good direct recommendation earlier in the trip. We found our way down there on a Sunday as the late afternoon turned to evening and Diner was just opening.
As with anything I love doing, I struggle with plateaus. When you reach that point, it can be frustrating, hard and demoralizing to not see forward movement — the progress that demarcates “leveling up.”
We often talk about the idea of unicorn designers or developers — something I laugh at a little bit because much of our industry is comprised of people who do a lot more than just their speciality or field.
Here’s an observation: We’ve been creating content with more opinion and less fact.
There’s a saying: “Sharing is caring.” The spirit of that phrase has always meant to me that you would share something — food, a drink, a seat, advice — that would allow you to commune with your fellow person. That your generosity would be a way to show kindness, that you gave a damn.
Our current view of social media mimics our current state of attention-deficient, buffet-style appetites for digesting it — a constant cacophony of rapid short-burst content, anytime and anywhere.
Weightshift recently completed a new website for a great client. We started the project with a brief and scope, which we discussed at length before we delved into the design. All normal protocol for our process.
Ever since smartphones have become the new normal, it’s a common sight to see people engrossed in them. You know the stance: head down, eyes mesmerized by a four-inch screen of a world that exists intangibly. It is a world that connects the threads of our lives while it simultaneously disregards the immediate environment and context.
It’s March and this is the month I turn a year older. This year I turn thirty-five. With that, comes a certain perspective — a softening of opinion and a clarity of thought.
Lynn Hill is a legendary female rock climber. In the 1980s she helped define sport climbing in the United States, most notably by being the first person to make a free ascent up the Nose Route on El Capitan in Yosemite. Like any experienced, well-seasoned person whose passion speaks all the words they need not say, Hill’s climbing is fluid, graceful and timeless.
You’re at the table with fellow designers, an art director and a creative director. The large screen displays designs you’re about to collectively critique. This is the first time you’ll all consider the initial round of concepts. The designs go up, one by one, and the words begin to flow.
I have a rule about watching live music, particularly seeing specific artists more than once: I don’t.