I remember watching LA Story with Steve Martin when I was a teen; there's this scene where his impossibly 80's shoulder-padded girlfriend is talking at a party about how she stands dressed in front of a mirror, spins around really fast and the first accessory she sees, she gets rid of. "Marilyn Monroe did that," She says matter-of-factly, "Marilyn Monroe did that." I remember thinking: cool, simplify, don't overdo it--the key to elegance. I bet she's got something there. I color coordinated all my outfits from then on, down to the socks. Mostly neon and shocking colors, heavens forgive me.
Later on I got into another mantra, KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid. That one didn't have as much class, and I was happy to lose it again when arriving at design school. Finally I would learn reasons why less is more, a little bit goes a long way, and developed my personal preference--whitespace, whitespace, or even better, blackspace. An old classmate once christened me Snowstorm, because, as he put it: "You could sell a blank sheet of paper."
I took it as a complement, more on my gift of gab than my design, but it's true I brutalized information and imagery, chasing it off the page with a vengeance. I think the assignment that earned me the title was a yellow pages ad. As you might imagine, there wasn't much ink in my final design. (I'd wear red to a funeral, too.)
The appeal of the diamond necklace on a black velvet pillow, the stark chiaroscuro of classic Hollywood glamour photography in black and white, the appeal of Bauhaus architecture and form following function, the success of Ikea, Macintosh, Volkswagon Beetles and plaid Schoolgirl uniforms. Simplicity, unity, minimalism...unselfconscious design. It gets us excited, without always knowing exactly why.
Jeeves, the our P.G. Wodehouse classic butler is my hero. He is the personification of the art. Truly great designs, be they physically manifest or intricately psychological, are invisible. A great artist makes it all look like it fell together, and our common vulgar sensibilities seem to nod and splutter that yes, yes of course this is the most natural way, the most obvious choice. But it never is. Sit through the entire crawl at the end of a movie to see how many names it takes to fill two hours of your life. That's just pretend, think about the invisible credits for your morning coffee or favorite sweater.
Oh, and my favorite illustrative joke: A man goes all over town to every mechanic trying to get his car fixed, and either they admit they can't or they take his money and try their best--but the problem persists. Finally a friend of his recommends this one mechanic, a bit on the spendy side. He shows up, desperate for a cure, and watches as the man runs the engine, peers under the hood, purses his lips and cocks his head. Finally the mechanic takes a great ugly wrench, swings it high and WHAM! Hits a mysterious spot on the engine which resolves everything. When presented with the sizable bill the man protests, "By golly, you only hit it with a wrench, took you all of five minutes, how can it be this expensive?" The mechanic, unfazed, replies "Just a couple bucks for the tools and man hours, the rest is for knowing exactly where to hit it."
Aaaaand that's my excuse for college! :D
The perfectly manicured golf course has everything in common with the dimples on the golf ball, or the fuzz on a tennis ball for that matter. And the balance in an expensive salad fork can have as much history as a Japanese katana. These supreme accomplishments in craftsmanship are largely beneath mention except to connoisseurs...and their makers. It's not always a well-guarded secret. Most of the time people could just care less.
So the next time you make something, whether it's art, a decision, or a point--think of Marilyn and her horde of butlers, mechanics, jewelers, golfers, tennis coaches, knitters, samurai and coffeepots. Underlying all of it is this secret to outward perfection: if it doesn't serve your intent, lose it. Know your ideal and never waste a moment, a breath, or a decision that doesn't further it. Spin it around in the mirror of your mind's eye, be honest with yourself and then economize.
We could live our lives that way, as well as execute a beautiful design. If we habitually courted that original intent in its purest form, effective execution would be the automatic result. Marilyn meant to be an icon, it was her way of life. Mahatma Gandhi was a humanitarian before anything else, I'll wager. Michelangelo was a craftsman. These personalities ate, slept in and breathed their purposes. Whatever else you may say about life and people and the messes that ensue with the two combined, be mindful of the pattern of indelible things. Worry less about the how, and concentrate on the why. When you get good at it, the rest won't show.
