Venn Diagrams, SmartArt, and A Call for Graphic Excellence

Two unrelated items converged for me today:

• Recent failure of the Romney campaign to create a valid Venn diagram. (Ezra Klein reviewed on the Rachel Maddow show July 3rd, referencing fantastic post on Upworthy.) 
• Proliferation of meaningless “SmartArt” diagrams and bad charts in files that come through my inbox. (SmartArt: neither smart nor art.) 

Both represent a bad and growing habit in business, politics, and culture that involves “spicing up your text” without the requisite critical thinking about why and how to do it. It’s part of a broader trend that I call the template culture that confuses actual design skill with the ability to use hackneyed software features and bright colors to create something ”that really pops.“

Unfortunately for all of us, cardboard cutout designers get it wrong. Frequently.

It’s bad for their clients and customers, it’s bad for the design profession, and it’s bad for civil society at large when flash and bullshit take the place of good design – the kind of design that helps clarify and reveal ideas instead of clouding and concealing them. At best, this kind of graphic nonsense is an amusing and colorful waste of space, but at worst it can actually do harm. It can misrepresent ideas and facts, confuse audiences, and generally muddy any topic.

Edward Tufte, the patron saint of information graphics, used the term Graphical Integrity to describe a sort of Hippocratic oath for designing charts and diagrams. It’s pretty simple: don’t lie. Of course, to not lie, one first has to think about and understand some things before jumping into Powerpoint world, such as:

• What does the data mean (if you don’t have data, this could be an issue)? 
• Who is the audience? 
• What is the goal of the overall piece, the goal of the graphic? 
• What s the most effective way to present that information graphically to help clarify an idea? 

Sadly, none of these questions can be answered with the SmartArt selector (or similar tools in Keynote, Prezi, etc.). It’s not Microsoft’s fault, they do a great job – and have gotten much better – at trying to embed some of this thinking into their products. But templates, no matter how well-designed, aren’t a substitute for a critical-thinking person, like an experienced graphic designer.

Marketing person, graphic artist, business person, journalist, educator – I’m talking to you. Here’s a challenge:

• If you don’t know who Edward Tufte is, you should. Look it up, read one of his books, take his class. Dan Roam is a good substitute (less theory, more humor). 
• If you’ve used SmartArt in any Microsoft product without first sketching something by hand, stop. Draw your next idea by hand first (a whiteboard is fine). 
• If you have ever used the phrase “punchy” or “really pop“ when describing the need for a graphic, please avoid these and other similar phrases for the next six months. Instead, try this one: “what is the purpose of this chart or diagram?” 
• If you don’t know how to edit every part of a Microsoft chart, including what to take out, please learn this skill and, more importantly, why you might want to do that. 
• If you use charts and diagrams in your work, and you don’t know a genuine graphic designer, you should get to know one. They will help you succeed. (Hint: they often refer to what they do as “problem solving” and rarely lead with a list of software mastery or use terms like “innovative solutions.”) 

Let’s start a movement for graphic excellence. Everyone wins.

(I also discussed diagrams without meaning 18 months ago.)

Steve Jobs. 1955–2011

Like many people who work at the intersection of design, media, and technology, I am very sad to hear of Steve’s death. Though I never met the man, right now I feel like I have lost a mentor and inspirational friend. 

I first started using a Mac in 1986, with some new-fangled programs called PageMaker and Adobe Illustrator. I was a designer and typographer and thought I had no use for a computer – until I used a Macintosh.

And since then, I have seen and participated in almost every communication technology wave (always on the disruptive side – go figure). Most follow a pattern: old-timers pointing out shortcomings in the new technology, established players protecting their turf, up-and-comers trying new tools and techniques, old eventually giving way to new. And through each, I imagine Steve giggling because he saw it coming and loved to create great products that would help enable the new in ways that even he couldn’t imagine.

I am not a religious man, but I hope wherever Steve is now he is at peace, and smiling at the world he has most certainly made a dent in.

My Grandfather’s Map

For Christmas, my mother gave me one of the most meaningful gifts I have received for some time. She had framed a map my grandfather drew when he was in his Tertia year at Penn Charter (the 1915-1916 school year, I think). I get weepy when I really think about it.

Though he was only around 15 when he drew it, it shows an attention to detail and craftsmanship that I have always associated with my grandfather, and also reminded me why I think making real things is so important.

Some disclaimers:

• I loved my grand-pop and have long considered him to be the spiritual source from which both my father and I inherited our respect of and devotion to making well-constructed things. (My wife probably labels this trait as compulsive and occasionally annoying. Sorry Hun.)
• I love steel pen-and-ink drawings. The line weight variations that are introduced as one changes pressure on the nib are a wonderful artifact that says a human being has made this.
• I love cartography and maps – the more detailed and well-designed the better. They may be one of the last graphic forms where the combination of good design and good printing yield something that just cannot be duplicated electronically.

You can’t read it on the image, but the title (in carefully lettered capitals) is Historical Map of the British Isles. It documents Heptarchy boundaries (I had to look that up), Roman roads, battles, and treaties. I assume it was done as part of a history study.

This map required homework and some serious thinking to execute – no Google Maps in 1915. For example, look at the latitude lines. If you had to draw a smooth, thin, shallow, 12-inch long arc with pen-and-ink today, how would you do it? (The map is about 12 x 18 inches.) You may not be able to tell, but the latitude lines are very thin and very smooth. And this is a 15-year old kid.

Ok, here’s the point…

This sort of thing matters today too. Everyone has Powerpoint and everyone can draw boxes and arrows and lines. And we know that everyone can add bullets galore. But evidence suggests that not everyone can draw a useful diagram, or construct a meaningful 2x2 model. And giving a presentation with really good typography and well-crafted graphics is a rarity.

Details matter.

I’m not sure if you can test for it, but the really good presentations that are continually referenced (Jobs, MLK, Godin, Gore, etc.) all reflect really good craftsmanship – these people pay attention to lots of details. And you should too, especially if your presentation includes tangible stuff like on-screen slides or paper handouts.

It doesn’t matter if you’re building a deck, carving a turkey, or drawing a map, paying attention to the details matter.

The value of making real things

My father was a well-respected civil engineer. A colleague of his told me he was an “engineer’s engineer, the go-to guy when you had any question.” But he was also a craftsman who took pride in doing things well and paid attention small details. His father (my grandfather) was the same way: he did so many things with the intentional precision of a of a fine cabinetmaker.

I’ve been thinking about this recently as I try to discover meaning in the second half of my own life, and trying to better articulate the organizational value of craftsmanship and good work when good enough seems to be the measure for many in business.

Soft issues like feelings, intuition, aesthetics, style, or behavior really matter to an organization’s health in ways that are difficult to measure. It’s not that smart people don’t understand this (intellectually), it’s that they can’t act on it (emotionally). And I think there’s a connection between that emotional engagement (or lack of it) and craftsmanship.

Fewer and fewer people today actually make stuff – real tangible things, not abstract ideas like wealth or solutions – and so fewer and fewer people have the opportunity to develop an appreciation for the meticulousness that is required to excel at a craft and do really good work.

When you enter a craft, you quickly realize that it takes both patience (time) and persistence (effort) to master it. The idea of building fine furniture or cooking a world-class meal is straight-forward, but actually doing it exposes you to feelings and emotions that don’t ever appear in the measured drawings or recipe. And the only way to get good at it is to keep trying. And trying. And trying (that is, just because you’ve tried something 50 times doesn’t mean the result is going to be wonderful).

In many business activities, good enough seems to be sufficient – the presentation, brochure, report, website, product, event is good enough. Good enough to make it to the next stage, meet the immediate expectation, satisfy the boss, check it off the list. Which is fine – but that doesn’t mean it’s good (or great). Think Oldsmobile.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when good enough is just fine. When the stakes are low it would be silly to use limited resources to produce world-class stuff. The slide show on the company picnic probably doesn’t need the $300/hour agency treatment. Of course the challenge is if one can’t really distinguish between good enough and good (or excellent), then how can one know when good enough isn’t?

My theory is that those with little experience in making real things also lack certain emotional experiences that help them understand and act on the softer ideas that help give an organization meaning and soul.

Well, that’s my theory (or maybe half-theory). I’m still working on it.