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Design and the Bibimbap Metaphor: Korean Cuisine and Interactive Frameworks

February 17, 2013
Design, Korea, Taste
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A popular dish in Korean cuisine is bibimbap (bibim means “mix” and bap means “rice”). It is a dish of rice, vegetables, meat, and egg. The vegetables and meat are stir-fried and arranged in individual circles on a bed of steamed rice. The fried egg is placed on top. When eaten, diners will mix everything together, sometimes adding chili or the many side dishes that accompanies a Korean meal.

Bibimbap is emblematic of many Korean dishes, in the sense that it consists of a staple (in this case, rice), that is mixed with other main ingredients and is served with a multitude of side dishes. It is one of my favorite foods, but I have never made it myself. This changed last Friday, when I took a bibimbap cooking class together with other artists at the Food and Culture Academy Korea.

The similarities of bibimbap and design nagged me throughout the process, from preparation to consumption. For me, Korean cuisine is quite an apt metaphor for many steps in design, both from the perspectives of the designer and the consumer.

DSC01781

basic bibimbap ingredients

Preparation: Bibimbap and Design from a Chef’s Perspective

1. Simplicity

The ingredients in Korean cuisine are very simple. In a basic bibimbap dish, there are bean sprouts, carrots, zucchini, mushrooms, onions, doraji (a Korean root crop) and an egg. (A little bit of beef is given to meat-eaters, but not for me; I’m pescetarian.) For me, the best products and experiences are those with few features.

2. Purpose

The ingredients in bibimbap all have a function. Their number and colors are important as well. The nutritional value of the food matters as much as the presentation of the dish. In comparison, the best products and experiences are those whose building blocks and functions are clearly articulated. Each piece has a purpose, and those pieces that do not are removed from the final design.

Consumption: Bibimbap and Design from a Diner’s Perspective 

3. Flexibility

Korean cuisine is a visual feast. Unlike Western meals where main courses are served one after the other,  everything is served together in a Korean meal. Rice and soup are always at the center of each diner’s place setting, with the side dishes surrounding them. As Korea started out as an agricultural society, all meals are designed to complement rice. Thus, diners can design their own meal to customize their tastes. This framework allows for a wide range of flexibility. One can order bibimbap every night in the same restaurant, yet his experience of the dish will always be different. Similarly, my favorite products and services adjust to my situation. Each encounter with them gives me a different experience. A smartphone enables me to call, send an SMS, take a photo, share a video with a friend, or download a file from an email, depending on my needs.

4. Recovery

Korean cuisine allows for each diner to recover from his “mistakes”. If he eats something too spicy, he can eat a side dish that is a bit more bland. If he is tired of a particular texture, he can move on to something else. The diner is given control of his experience. Moreover, while the chef of a Korean meal may not know of the diner’s tolerance for certain flavors, he gives the diner solutions in the form of complementary side dishes that allow him to compensate. This is in contrast to most Western meals where the diner has to focus on each course and, if he is unsatisfied, just wait for the next one. In design, my favorite products and services give me ways to rectify unpleasant situations. An email service can automatically send spam to a folder, delete viruses before they affect me, allow me to label messages so I can have a more orderly inbox, and so on.

But enough academic musing. Behold, my first (and hopefully not last) bowl of bibimbap I cooked myself:

The first bowl of bibimbap I have ever made in my life.

The first bowl of bibimbap I have ever made in my life.

I feel proud. Even though all I did was slice and stir-fry.

With thanks to the staff of the National Art Studio, Changdong and the Food and Culture Academy Korea!

La Monja Loca: Crazy Nuns, Cornettes, and Clockwork Orange Eyes

October 14, 2012
Design
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In the middle of art/science projects, I do say yes to doing graphic design, especially for awesome people. Creatively speaking, it’s a good break from the grind and practically speaking, it’s good to know that I can still do things like logos.

So this is a logo design project for a shop called La Monja Loca.

Yes, The Crazy Nun.

It’s the gift shop of Carlos Celdran. You may have gone on his tour. You may have seen the headlines. You may have seen him with his iconic top hat.

Years ago, I designed the logo for his Intramuros tours. Yes, it’s a top hat. And if you’ve received his Intramuros poster, yes, I designed that, too, many, many moons ago. Fun, fun project.

So. La Monja Loca. The brief given to me by Ria, the project manager / producer, was to generate an iconic crazy nun with one eye that was a cross between Clockwork Orange and Twiggy’s spiky eyelashes. In the beginning, I sketched out variations of eyes.

Version #9 was chosen. I also did some research on the wimples that Carlos wanted. These are called “cornettes.” (Hey, I didn’t know that! Now I do.)

The fourth one was the one they picked. I tried sketching out three different poses. First was one facing right (viewer’s angle). It was a bit too Clockwork Orange.

I sketched another version facing left.

Finally, I sketched a frontal symmetrical version, which was ultimately chosen. I like that version best, too.

They also liked the script lettering from the second version. It fits because a lot of script calligraphy fonts recall the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century, which is the time period that the store evokes.

To make sure things are symmetrical, I sketched the nun on graph paper. I always feel more connected with my work when I first draw them.

Afterwards, Carlos wanted the wingtips flattened so as not to resemble horns. He also took out the bib. I gave him a number of time-appropriate script fonts to choose from and he chose Flemish Script.  I then worked to make the resulting logo a bit older, “inkier” and less sharp to match the period. Carlos, Ria, and Tesa Celdran offered feedback last weekend. And voila, here we go:

Next time you’re passing through the Walled City of Manila, do check out the store! It’s located at the Plaza San Luis, Calle Real, Intramuros, Manila. Follow the store’s Tumblr here.

This project made me think of all the logos I’ve ever made. Check them out here. *tears*

Ok, now back to my regular sketching and prototyping and making grind.

Ghosts from Projects Past: Visitations from Old Designs

July 8, 2012
Art, Design, Journal
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You know you’re home when old projects haunt you like spirits.

While my work is primarily about the “intersections of science and art,” I do, from time to time, do design work for things I care a lot about. Here are two of them that have appeared on my radar, physically and online, almost as if to say, “Hi! Remember me? Look at me now!”

It’s as though they were orphans I raised and gave to caring homes.

So, here are the children I gave away:

1. A logo for the Philippine Taekwondo Association 

As my friends and colleagues know, taekwondo is something that’s really important to me, but not in a competitive way. I think it has helped me a lot personally and professionally. I wanted to give back, not through competing (which I assure you, does not suit me) but through something else—design. Around 2008, I reached out to my old teacher, Coach Jobet Morales, a former medalist and currently the Philippines’ national coach, who said that coincidentally, they needed a new logo. I already had something in mind, but I also met with Coach Morales and Grandmaster Sun Chong Hong who discussed what they needed. (I remember that day! It was lunchtime and I thought that being with these two black belts was the safest place in the world. We had Korean bibimbap.)

The logo they approved has the association’s initials, rendered in the colors of the Philippine flag. The blue letter has the profile of a bird, symbolic of the Philippine eagle. The red letter is a roundhouse kick, which was a compromise because I initially suggested a side kick (better suited with the T shape), though was told that roundhouse kicks were more frequent in taekwondo (actually, true). The yellow letter has a sun from the Philippine flag.

Now it’s 2012 and, training at the central taekwondo headquarters in Manila, I keep seeing it all the time. On certificates, belts, chest guards, banners, etc. It’s quite an honor, and I’m thrilled they’re still using it.

2. A poster for Carlos Celdran’s Intramuros tour

My friend Carlos, who does these awesome tours in Manila, tagged me on this photo emailed to him by some European tourists and newlyweds. The poster on the right was my first graphic design poster, which Carlos gives away on his tours. I did this around the same time as the taekwondo project, and both remain among the graphic design projects closest to my heart. What he has done for the Philippines is fantastic, and while his tours are primarily performance art, it has contributed to the discourse of critical issues in the country.

(To the people in this photo, shoot me an email if you’d like to be identified. And thank you so much! You made my day. Oh, and congrats!)

A Disclaimer

I did these projects without any graphic design education at the time. The only things I had experience in were molecular biology and journalism. I was just a girl with a curiosity for Adobe Illustrator and a thing about “making the world a better place.” Years have passed and I’m done with an art residency and an MFA in Interaction Design, and looking at back at these projects made me both smile at the exuberance of youth and cringe at some tiny mistakes. (The kerning! Rats. I need to fix that.) But my friends / clients still seem happy about them, so I suppose that’s what counts. That brief time I was in Manila, I just loved their work and what they’ve done for me, and I thought that this was the best way to help them out. I may never be in the Olympics or Games of any sort, but at least my logo will! And helping cultural gems like Carlos’s work is something that’s always rewarding to do.

I have a cold. And this is probably why I’m sentimental.

Hello World: Messages from The Listserve

July 1, 2012
Design
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Each time I open an email from The Listserve, I want to reply.

Oftentimes, I wonder what would happen if I did. Most of these people actually left a email address, as well as their location. I wonder if it would add any serendipity to their lives if someone sent a hello. I imagine many already have. In the emails I’ve received, few have chosen to remain anonymous.

I wonder what made them choose to write what they did. I think all human beings want to be heard at some point. To have such a large audience instantly available—what character will you inhabit? What intentions will you have?

It’s the digital version of sending a message in a bottle off to sea, only you’re guaranteed readers.

Some of them wrote short pieces of advice that would, in another context, sound like a daily horoscope, or from a very grandmotherly sounding inspirational app. “Do something fun.” “Forgive.” “Be generous.” “Don’t be afraid.”

Others had short anecdotes about their travels. A visit to Vietnam. India. Crete. Albania.

They send tales about people and things. I learned about Patrick of Ireland. The joy of beekeeping. It’s like getting an email from Wikipedia.

There are interesting essays. An encounter with a one-armed frog. A parrot named Bagel. A recipe for a good Bloody Mary, or a love potion.

I love the miscellany. Book recommendations. International cooking projects. Lists. Words in other languages. The things they did that changed their lives.

It’s like someone’s library exploded and we were emailed fragments of it.

It’s also wonderfully free. Go sign up now.

Dissolving Spaces: Cities and Memory

June 15, 2012
Art, Books, Design, Journal, Memory, Poetry
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Returning to a city after many years is both pleasurable and vexing.

You are both resident and stranger. The shapes, sounds, and smells have both changed and remained the same.

My three major “homes” so far—Manila, New York, and Barcelona—are all port cities. In both historic and modern times, they have been the site of international trade, cultural intermixing, and political upheavals. Their faces dissolve and stabilize with the ebb and flow of both tide and time.

I am reminded of Cities of You, a beautiful project by Brian Foo, a web developer and “joy evangelist” whom I first encountered online when he submitted a sketch for DrawHappy.

Cities of You is a project that envisions people as imaginary places. It was inspired by Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities. Each artwork represents a person and also a relationship. Brian writes:

“I travel through each city and describe their special properties—how the buildings are built, how the people live, its history, culture, and reputation. As the project progresses, I revisit some cities, describing how they evolve over time or enter unexplored parts of the cities. The intended result is to be able to imagine relationships as dynamic spaces in which one can visit, walk through, and explore.”

I enthusiastically backed his Kickstarter project, which surpassed his initial goal of $2,000 and raised $11,000. The project is the publication of the first 41 cities he designed. His book is a gorgeous labor of love, alive with drawings, paintings, and prose. An overwhelming response from his supporters also led him to upgrade all the rewards, including a lifetime of gifts. (Yes, you read that right. I and 140 other backers are looking forward to receiving annual presents for the rest of our lives.)

Cities of You, volume 1. Image by Brain Foo via his Kickstarter project page

A couple of weeks ago,  Brian drew me as a city, too. Voila, I’m City #44! It’s quite an honor. Even though we haven’t known each other for very long, I think he nailed it:

“If you walk through the city of Orynnaci, the buildings are tall, bare, and ordinary. However, if you stare at a building, look away, then look back again, the building may change. Or sometimes, a building can disappear, or merge with another one. As a tourist, you may begin to recognize past cities you have visited if you stare long enough. Some buildings lose their form entirely. Walk down Main Street and you will see most citizens standing still with their head tilted back, tracing shapes with an outstretched arm. On the face of city hall, three words are inscribed in Latin, loosely translating to ‘Imagination, Perception, Metaphor’.” —Brian Foo

City #44: Orynnaci
24 x 18″, Gouache and Colored Pencil on Paper
Image and Text copyright by Brian Foo

Visit the project’s site here.

Laurie Anderson and The Use of an Artist

May 21, 2012
Art, Design, Journal, Science
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Last May 10th, my class and I finally marched (!) on stage, culminating two years of graduate work here at the MFA program in Interaction Design at the School of Visual Arts.

Our commencement speaker was the incomparable Laurie Anderson, experimental musician, composer, performance artist, and inventor, among other hats she wears. During her speech, she recounted her time as NASA’s first artist-in-residence and recalled how she was also the last one, after a politician sought to amend a bill making sure no such thing happened in the future. Anderson suggested that really, we should create artist-in-residence positions in institutions such as NASA, Congress, and other such places, which generated applause and laughter from the audience.

Laurie Anderson. Image via The Guardian.

It’s strange to be listening about art when I spent two years studying to be a designer. I have always questioned my artistic leanings, especially coming from a scientific background. I am and will always be immensely grateful for my geeky past (and who am I kidding, present), although from my experience in that world, to want to be in the arts was almost tantamount to self-banishment.  Thinking about the past six years out of undergrad—all the cancer lab rotations at Memorial Sloan-Kettering, art school in Spain, the Poetry Brothel in Barcelona—and frankly, I have to ask myself whether I actually have found what I’m looking for in a design program. And to a large extent, I did in interaction design. I always thought it was a way to humanize the sciences and the arts, which thankfully doesn’t always have to translate to something on screen. Two years in a design program have found me to be stubbornly conceptual, not because I wanted to upset my class but because that’s what I came to graduate school for. I think that if I do work for a company, I will probably spend all my waking hours designing apps and websites, and I have all the time in the world to do that.

So what is the use of an artist? After being immersed in interaction design for two years, I think that IxD shares an important thing with the arts—empathy. To be an artist, at least for me, requires me to place myself in different shoes and absorb various identities. The same is true as an interaction designer. Perhaps one thing that has been enormously helpful to be a practicing artist is the familiarity of actually inhabiting a character instead of simply watching people from afar, taking down notes.

To be an artist is to challenge the norm. While it’s wonderful to design apps and websites, it’s not the first thing I turn to when trying to give form to a project. Ironically, I do not own a smartphone, which will probably give most interaction designers a heart attack. No smartphone? What do you do when figuring out a bill, trying to find a place, or bored in a subway? Well, I try to do the algebra by hand, I talk to strangers a lot, and I write and doodle in a sketchbook constantly. It’s not a perfect system but it is a cheaper and more entertaining one. I think that we are more than our gadgets, and I think that an artistic practice allows one to experiment not just with what is, but what could be.

But more importantly, at least for me, artists are always questioning the self. Art will never lose its relevance, particularly in a time that is rife with uncertainty, though as I get older, I think each year in human history is tumultuous and unstable. On a personal scale, art allows for the exploration of selfhood in a manner that is less contained. I suppose that’s why I keep hearing of the banker who finally turned to painting, or the lawyer who is now a musician. As a scientist (I’m still wondering if I can call myself this), there are certain terminologies and protocols I have had to use for the scientific institution to understand where I am coming from. As an interaction designer, I do feel sometimes limited (although “limited” isn’t always a bad thing) by the words I have to use (hello, “user”) and the media by which I practice (wireframes and sticky notes). As an artist, I am moored to no such arbitrary islands; I can easily experiment with musical instruments as much as kitchen appliances and be equally at home with both of them

But enough with all this labeling. As I leave the comforts of school—though my classmates and my teachers alike are betting I’ll go for a PhD eventually—I would like to embrace the hyphen the comes when saying that one is a writer-artist-interaction designer-etc. I sometimes cringe when I’m only referred to as one of these, because to seemingly pledge allegiance to one field may appear as though one is relinquishing all her other interests. And wouldn’t that be such a shame.

Laurie Anderson with a pillow speaker in her mouth

But back to the red landscape of graduation at Radio City Music Hall and the blinding strobe lights. My favorite part of Anderson’s speech was the finale, when she stuffed a pillow speaker in her mouth and proceeded to sing to us for quite a long period of time with a sound that resembled Darth Vader’s voice, waking up even those who were dozing off. Afterwards, the school gave her an honorary doctorate. Lady, I just adore you.

TEDxNewHaven Experience Design: Happiness and the Senses

May 5, 2012
Art, Design, Field Trips, Hearing, Play, Poetry, Science, Sight, Smell, Speaking
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Speaking at my first TEDx conference was a challenge. It was not just because it was a great platform for ideas, but because of the timing, design, and execution needed to pull off four interactive talks in one day.

TEDxNewHaven: The Art and Science of Happiness. Photo by Chris Randall

The theme for TEDxNewHaven was The Art and Science of Happiness. My goal for the talks was two-fold: to engage the audience in something interactive in the course of the day, and to enable them to view their senses as tools by which to achieve happiness. To achieve these, I had to produce 200 “sense kits” that contained physical, non-digital formats of my projects: HugPrints, Rorsketch, Smellbound, and EatPoetry.

Round One. Photo by Liz Danzico

First Talk: Touch

My first talk was about using our sense of touch. I presented HugPrints, my project where I am attempting to hug everyone in the world and getting visual feedback through a specially designed thermochromic vest. I asked volunteers to come up the stage to hug me.

Hugging on stage. Don’t you just love it? Photo by Chris Randall

Afterwards, I asked the rest of the audience to pull out the HugPrints cards in their sense kits, which contained hugging instructions so they can hug each other (if they wished).

Are you getting enough hugs a day? Photo by Chris Randall

Second Talk: Sight

For the second talk, I explained Rorsketch and first engaged the audience in a guessing game of what clouds looked like and then revealed what drawings I made. After doing this project for a while, I wasn’t surprised about how some people were calling out the same things, while other clouds had very different interpretations.

You know what my favorite Pixar movie is! Photo by Ruoxi Yu.

Yes, it’s a dragon! Photo by Chris Randall

I then asked the audience to pull out the blue Rorsketch cards and the Sharpies in their kits, and they drew their own interpretations on the clouds printed on their cards. To encourage them to draw, I did a live drawing session on a big cloud on stage.

Drawing on a cloud. The cloud I sketched on was taken by Nikki Sylianteng. Photo by Liz Danzico

One of my fellow speakers, Nima Tshering, sent me his cloud drawing. (Thanks, Nima!)

A fairy grandma with a baby by Nima Tshering

Third Talk: Smell, Hearing and Taste

I explained two projects for this post-lunch session: Smellbound and EatPoetry. First, I explained the connection between smell and memory and had the audience remove the Smellbound postcard which contained a printed smell. I showed them the book I made, An Olfactory Memoir of Three Cities. Afterwards, I read them After Apple-Picking by Robert Frost while they ate the apple lollipop inside their kits.

“Now please remove another envelope from your kits…” Photo by Chris Randall

Fourth Talk: Happiness and the Senses

For my fourth talk at the end of the conference, I summarized how we can use our senses to be happy. The key points were that we are all equipped with these tools; i.e. we all had the capacity to hug our loved ones, to interpret a cloud, to smell a memory, and to connect poetry with food, and that if we paid more attention to the world around us, it would promote our feelings of well-being and optimism. I also explained my own explorations with happiness by showing submissions from DrawHappy, as well as what I’ve learned from the project so far.

Photo by Liz Danzico

What Worked, and What I Would Do Differently Next Time

All the sleepless nights making sure all 200 kits had the right contents were definitely called for. So much craft and attention were given to every single detail—each postcard had to be sealed in an envelope so people can only view them as instructed, the envelopes had to match the main color of each project’s logo for easy recall, each postcard had to be branded and oriented in a specific direction, each kit had to contain envelopes in a particular order and needed both a Sharpie and a lollipop. Anything less would have taken away from the experience or would have confused people. Doing something onstage so that people can mirror my actions was also important, and getting all the props together also was something I had to keep in mind in addition to the actual slides.

I’ve also been onstage on different occasions and it was interesting to feel these variegations of audience contact. When performing for the Poetry Brothel in Barcelona, I had to inhabit a certain character and, depending on the piece we were doing, had to maintain a certain mystique. When doing poetry readings just as myself, there was a bit of conversation with the audience when I talk about the process of writing, but during the reading of the actual poem, it was just myself and the text. I felt this while reading the Frost poem to the TEDx crowd—the entire hall was dead silent in contrast to all the other times I was up there. (That was quite fun, actually.) But doing a talk that involved not just a Keynote presentation but an actual creative activity was another world altogether—it’s difficult to assess if everyone was enjoying the activity, although what was great about having a particularly open audience such as this one was that they weren’t afraid of trying new things.

For the next time I do something of this nature, I would have a card that had explicit instructions not to use the objects inside the kit unless asked. Although I anticipated this by making sure the envelopes were sealed, I did catch at least one person eating their candy before lunch. (We were running a bit late, and I suppose he was hungry.) One thing about having a sealed and long candy stick was that it affords a long eating session; they wouldn’t have finished it to begin with and they could just put the candy back in the plastic and in the kit. Hard candy was definitely the way to go.

Also, I would have split the third talk (Smellbound and EatPoetry) into two and let each project have its own 10 minutes. Thus, I would have placed EatPoetry for the fourth talk and followed it with a short summary of the senses. When I went up for the last talk and said that “Ok, I’m not going to make you do anything now,” I could swear I felt the disappointment of some people. If the schedule allowed it, giving each project its own time in the spotlight would have allowed the audience to absorb the concept more fully, instead of rushing to the next project right away. I can’t wait until I develop these projects more and more, and see what I will ask people to do the next time.

Finally

I have to say, I love this format of getting the audience to actually do something creative in a talk, instead of me just standing there telling them about myself. Thanks again to the audience for being open to these ideas, my friends and colleagues for helping me pull this off, and to the wonderful team at TEDxNewHaven who worked tireless to make it all happen!

Thanks to Kate Russell and Liz Danzico, my plus two!

The Story of 200 Red Boxes: TEDxNewHaven Sense Kits Production Process

May 1, 2012
Art, Design
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Last Saturday, I gave four talks at TEDxNewHaven: The Art and Science of Happiness, where I engaged the audience in my different interactive projects. The first goal was to get them to play throughout the day and the higher goal was to show them how paying more attention to the world promotes happiness. With the help of friends, I designed and produced 200 sense kits that contained objects that they interacted with at my instructions at different points of the conference.

The kit came in the form of a red box that matched the TEDx logo.

Each kit contained sealed envelopes with postcards containing postcards representing each project — HugPrints (a set of hugging instructions), Rorsketch (a cloud that can be drawn on), Smellbound (a piece of printed smell), and EatPoetry (text from Robert Frost’s After Apple-Picking), together with a mini-Sharpie (for Rorsketch) and a sealed kosher apple-flavored lollipop (for EatPoetry).

HugPrints cards, front and back:

Rorsketch cards, front and back:

Smellbound cards, front and back:

EatPoetry cards, front and back:

Here are all 200 of the kits (Two hundred! Madre mia. The TEDxNewHaven team were nice enough to have picked them up from the studio instead of me lugging all 200 to Connecticut.)

I would never have pulled this off without the help of these amazing people:

For graphic design guidance
Christine Aaron

For kit assembly
Kate Russell
Dan Fan
Desiree Go
Annika Yi-Wang

More about the actual conference and experience design in the next post.

An Olfactory Memoir of Three Cities: Manila, New York, Barcelona

April 25, 2012
Art, Books, Design, Experiments, Memory, Smell
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Due to my fascination with smell and its relationships with memory, I wrote and published a book that contains smells from Manila, New York and Barcelona—three cities I have lived in and have given me a lot of memories.

Each spread contains the memory on the left and the actual smell micro-encapsulated and printed on paper on the right.

Here’s one from Manila:

Burnt rubber
On busy streets
Particularly EDSA
The site of many a revolution
You can smell the worn tires.

Here’s one from New York:

Pumpkin pie
My first ever pumpkin pie was in 2007 on a martial arts retreat.
I remember not just the pie, but the knife lessons. We had a meditation room and went to a cemetery. We broke arrows with our throats.

Here’s one from Barcelona:

Strawberry
A birthday picnic for Harriet, up on Montjuic but closer to the museum. We wrote poems on a green Olivetti typewriter that we decorated with wildflowers.

Here are some people smelling my memories:

More photos up on Flickr.