“Japanese farmhouses are dark. Gradually, you can start seeing. (I have never seen cross beams like that before. Wow…) Spacious, and very high ceilings… ‘This is great,’ I thought. Just instinct. The aroma of this house is beautiful. Smell of the earth, smell of the wood, smell of the smoke, a little bit. I felt life, very healthy life, being led in that space.” -Yoshihiro Takishita

Priorities, and building your house on a rock

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about permanence. Humanity seems to find itself in a constant state of frenetic forward motion, trying to figure out what’s next and how to use it appropriately, which results in a rapid path from bubble to bubble through the modern age. This is especially easy to see in our field of design and branding, where the idea of “design” has already become so intrinsicly linked to technology that it’s difficult for the layman to separate the two concepts. Last week I was involved in a conversation about relevance, and if it’s possible to stay relevant long-term in the design field as it stands now. How can we possibly keep up with all of these new platforms and behaviours that we’re expected to master and then quickly move on to the next big thing? It seems unsustainable.

A Brief Aside:

After watching the Minka film, I took some time to consider a few questions that I definitely did not ask myself while watching it:

• Who made the hammer that built that house?
• What kind of hammer was it?
• What was the hammer made of?
• Was the hammer compatible on an Android device?

We forget that technology is a tool. Almost everything that we talk about at industry conferences today revolves around “the future of our industry” or “the mobile marketplace”, which is relevant, but it isn’t permanent. The key to remaining relevant in the branding industry isn’t just understanding technology. It’s understanding people. It’s understanding truth, history, and stories. Our job is to create things that speak to the core of the human sprit, which is why so many of us struggle with purpose. How are we even supposed to do that?

But the fact remains: that’s what branding is. It’s easy to be driven by commerce, and driven by conversions and technological fads, but if your brand isn’t built on a solid understanding of how people relate to the people, places, and products that they interact with, then it’s destined for a short life.

(Even the people who build McMansions and the latest in urban upscale condominiums with a mediterranean theme probably have a pretty good handle on how to use a laser level and hammer drill.)

Good brands are built to stand the test of time, and be flexible enough to remain relevant and beautiful, even as the technology and platforms change. They’re a reflection of how people see the world. So, as long as we understand people, craftsmanship, history, nature and the role of materials in tools in the whole process, then we should be fine as creators.

So, let’s all try and fill the world with Minkas. Just don’t get hung up on the tools, because no one will remember those.

The light was coming in just perfectly, and the weather allowed for an open window and a bit of a breeze. The joy that my kids take in a breeze is simple and amazing, and always a lesson in how everything is new.

“Recorded in AIR Studio’s Lyndurst Hall – a building that was originally a church and missionary school designed in 1880 by the great Victorian architect Alfred Waterhouse (designer of the Natural History Museum) – Vernon was joined only by Carey, with the pair positioning themselves opposite one another at two grand pianos.

Although neither Justin nor Sean’s first instrument is piano, they were able to remodel the songs in a way that showcases their complimentary vocals and, perhaps more strikingly, a seemingly effortless ability to experiment with form and structure.”

This is rapturously good. The simplicity of the instrumentation and vocals is really complemented by what I can only imagine is a sonically majestic recording space. Makes me want to record in a church.

If you know me well, you probably know that one of my longest-standing dreams has been to hang a photograph of Brian Eno above the crib(s) of my children, hoping that somehow his ephemeral genius would eke out of the image and embed itself in their brains. I can’t understand why, but my wife isn’t into this idea.

She can only hold out so long though…and we are young. In this lecture, Eno brings up a variety of interesting ideas related to recorded vs. live music.

A couple of my favorites:

1. Recorded music as plastic.

Recorded music is something that can be formed and molded. It isn’t limited by time, and the process isn’t linear. Whereas live music is performance and inherently structured as beginning to end, recorded music isn’t limited by time and space. It’s essentially a sculpture. He actually points out that recording is actually closer to painting than music.

2. Recorded music as Cinema

When theater was recorded, it became cinema. However, we refer to both recorded and live music as “music.” His idea that recorded music is a separate discipline that probably warrants a different name altogether is one that I hadn’t considered before. I’m especially intrigued by this idea.

So, if you have an hour or so to watch or listen, this is definitely worth it. Luckily the most interesting bits are at the beginning though if you’re short on time.