Pixelgawker

By: Megan Deal

Failure. To lack success. To cease all function. To fall short. Failure is that doomed state that human beings, from all walks of life, indefinitely attempt to avoid. For many design students, failure is the unwelcome condition that we tend to block from our minds. The thought of being denied the personal or creative success that we all feel we deserve, is enough to send us running home to our parents in tears, straight to the local bar, or at the very least, to consider dropping all design related courses and enrolling in a business and accounting program at the closest state university. For some, the fear of failure becomes so prominent that the afore mentioned scenarios inevitably become the final “fix” in failure avoidance. But for others, all of us who are still here, still progressing forward, and still loosing every ounce of heart and soul in every single project that we complete, we’ve somehow managed to successfully suppress our fears of failure, and/or figured out how to still be productive when the possibility of defeat looms nearby.

I began to piece together the following essay towards the end of last semester, only drawing my final conclusions when the semester was over and I had time to reflect on my experience.This is not an step-by-step guide in failure avoidance. Nor is it an essay that will tell it’s readers how to succeed in this, or any, graphic design program. Rather, it is a personal reflection on a very personal fear of failure, addressing how such anxieties can limit progress, and ultimately confine one’s creative development.

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After three consecutive semesters of existing within, what I’ve called, my ‘”design plateau,” I’ve come to realize that the fear of failure has kept my creativity from advancing forward. As I sit here reflecting upon the semesters that were, I’ve come to conclude that this lack of progressiveness, has nothing to do with laziness, has very little to do with lack of effort, and even less to do with a poor attitude or overall “I hate design, I hate my teachers, and I hate this school” viewpoint. Rather, it would seem, that I’m simply afraid of failure.

Of course, failure means something different to every young designer who happens upon it. Student A might be afraid that her low grades will require her to retake some required courses again, while Student B might view her low grades as the factor that keeps her from making the Dean’s list. Student C may think that his mediocre final projects will make it difficult to develop a complete and presentable portfolio, while Student D might worry that his underdeveloped public speaking skills will keep him from presenting his pristine portfolio the way he knows it should be presented. Failure, no matter how it is interpreted, or what role it plays in one’s life, has the ability to instill some serious complexes within each of us.

In my personal design process, I attempt to avoid failure by sticking to what I know. I only use typefaces that I’m familiar with, I choose conservative modular alignments, allowing the computer’s grid lines to tell me that I’m correct, and I often prefer a simple black and white color palette, completely underutilizing the plethora of other colors in my swatch menu. Indeed, it would seem that I’ve never really left the cut and dry world of Type 1. My peers on the other hand, seem to have moved past their basic lessons in composition and typography, developing appropriate and visually stimulating solutions for complex concepts. Their work draws attention and engages the viewer, while mine sinks slowly into the background amongst the other “tastefully” designed pieces. It is as if somewhere along the path of my design process development, I skipped an important step. Or perhaps I just never inherited that “risk-taker” gene; that heriditary unit possessed by the roller-coaster riders, bungee jumpers, and, apparently, “grid breakers” of the world. (Indeed, roller-coasters are not my forte.)

I generally think that I avoid the risk of failure, continually opting for the safe route, in order to ensure that I complete my work “successfully,” and on time. We are very lucky here at CCS to be given the opportunity to experiment both conceptually and formally, as we develop our ideas. But when its all said and done, our experimentation and play is only that until we’re able to mold our new discoveries into a practical piece. Naturally, we’re expected to deliver a final “something” by the end of the semester, and a subsequent collection of these final “somethings” by the time we’re handed our diploma. So for me, as much as I strive to push my work formally, I seem to continually end up back in my safety zone; the comfortable place that ensures me a satisfactorily completed final project.

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As I mentioned, I wrote the above jumble of thoughts towards the end of last semester. As I sat looking at my final projects and comparing them to the work of my peer’s, I felt as if somehow I had fallen behind everyone else. I felt like my work was fairly plain and simple, and even a bit boring. I wondered how others were able to add so much visual interest to their pieces, and began to ask myself questions: Perhaps they were using a different process? Perhaps my design process was flawed? No. That wasn’t it. I’ve always been fairly confident in my ability to work through a problem. I begin with lots and lots of reading and reserach, then move into a brainstorming/sketching phase, then sometimes go back to more research (often at this point more visual), eventually deciding on a direction that I’m comfortable executing, and continue with the actual production through until the end…so what was it? Why and how was my work ending up so stale by the time it reached its final completion?

Then it hit me.

I realized that my process lacked a key factor. It lacked my own personal trust. Instead of trusting that my process will take me to new and exciting solutions, I bail out before I ever get there, falling back on my tried and true methods. By utilizing what I already know works, I greatly reduce my risk of failure. Or so I thought.

When one disallows their process to take them somewhere new, its only natural to rely on the basic methods we’ve been taught from day one. But what fun is that? If one already knows what they’ll end up with when they start, what good is a design process? Not knowing exactly where you’re going is a scary thing, but sometimes it is this very uncertainty that can help breath life into our work. Attempting to plan out every single aspect of a design process places limits on the possibilities, can deprive results, and eliminates room for chance or spontaneity.

I’ll end with a piece that I recently stumbled upon, written by Umberto Eco, the great philosopher, novelist, and semiotician. He writes about the principle of fallibilism in modern day science, stating that, “science progresses by continually correcting itself, falsifying its hypotheses by trial and error, admitting its own mistakes – and by considering that an experiment that doesn’t work out is not a failure but is worth as much as a successful one.” (1) Perhaps designers should start to look at their process is this way. I know that I certainly will. Failure is an inevitable component to what we do, but fearing these mistakes, and placing limits on ourselves and our process, might be the greatest failure of all.

1. Adrian Shaughnessy, How to be a Graphic Designer Without Losing Your Soul, (New York, Princeton Architectural Press), 2005, p. 145.

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