Art museums hold a special place in the public imagination as storehouses of culture and history. What universities are for “knowledge,” art museums are for everything many people associate with our better nature. From that lofty perch, a Web site visitor might reasonably expect to receive a cultural experience commensurate with the status art museums hold.
Whether because, in terms of long-term cultural evolution, digital space is still too new, or whether these great institutions mistakenly see their Web sites as unavoidable necessities, the sites I visited did not live up to that expectation.
Cataloguing...
The site built for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, while elegant and sensitively designed is, at base, little more than an electronic catalogue. The one key function it does fulfill is a kind of distance learning, a way for people new to art history to get a general orientation to an astonishing array of works from many different eras and cultures.
As a digital experience, however, the site is highly unsatisfying and, consisting of ream after ream of thumbnail-and-text pages, is ultimately more overwhelming than inviting. Like the oracles of ancient Greek mythology, its message is profound, but rather inaccessible.
Considering how far removed many Americans are from the works of art themselves and their cultural contexts, the Museum does itself a disservice by failing to provide users with a clear point of orientation. The rudimentary search functionality on the home page is only minimally useful, and only to visitors with previous exposure to art history.
For those patient enough to dive in and start clicking, the breadth and depth of the collection itself makes up for the site’s inadequacy as a site. Just as important, the informative commentary, written in a crisp and perfume-free style, conveys a casual air of authority and scholarship that invites further exploration.
...Communicating...
In contrast, the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) more successfully engages visitors in the process of touring its vast collection. Instead of relying solely on thumbnail and text displays of individual works, the site includes an extensive collection of video and multimedia features. Laid out in bold colors and sensitive to proportion and scale, it invites interaction.
MOMA also offers a blog, linking out to major social networking sites, as well as Red Studio, a microsite oriented to younger teens. Red Studio includes interviews of artists, conducted by teens, articles on the themes of contemporary art and educational games.
While the site navigation lacks true coherence (try finding Red Studio), the site succeeds for one simple reason: MOMA recognizes that a Web site is a communications medium, not an object. It exists, in other words, to tell a story and invite your reactions.
...Consciousness.
Whether you turn to the Philadephia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis or a dozen other examples, the same themes recur, and the overall impact is actually kind of discouraging.
With the birth of digital space rapidly receding into the last century, it’s high time the majority of arts marketers shook off outdated ideas about its form and function. Whatever treasures the past holds, in this era nothing exists entirely offline. As such, an arts institution’s digital presence is every bit a part of its identity as its hallowed halls of stone.
Despite appearances, it’s not a question of financial resources. Of course, the inexcusably scattershot way the arts are funded in this country has no doubt taken its toll. It explains why a site built for a symphony orchestra should so closely resemble an e-commerce site.
Whether living large or hand-to-mouth, however, any and all of these organizations could improve its Web presence with very inexpensive change of perspective. In digital space, success is counted in how well and how often your audience interacts with your Web presence. It’s not what you display, but what you say that counts—in the new multimedia composite language of sight, sound and limitless cross reference that will one day lead us to a new level of consciousness.
Digital space, in other words, is itself an art form and, to unleash its full potential, needs to be treated as such. In the years ahead, there’s an opportunity for leaders of the arts community to take a leading role in developing that potential. The first step will come when they stop leaving their Web presence in the hands of vendors and engage the task with the full scope of their talent, training and vision.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Art on the Mart (Part 3)
The more sites I visit, the more I realize how far we are from realizing our potential in digital space. Leaving aside bad taste, slap-dash functionality and sheer hucksterism, the overwhelming majority of Web designs are still rooted in the world of print and TV.
Visit sites built for arts organizations and you can practically taste how much the designers wished they were working on a glossy five-color brochure. And that’s what the majority of them have produced: a static page turner—minus the tactile sensation, the rich aroma of fresh ink and the guilty pleasure of dog-earing a favorite page.
While some, like the LA Philharmonic’s, do offer some sparkle—more sites than I can count are little more than electronic brochures. Here, well-chosen still photography and an abundant library of video and sound clips almost convinces you that the site’s first language is Digital.
Only the oddly orgasmic photo of the music director, Gustavo Dudamel, spoils the effect. Reading like a caricature, it’s far more evocative of a classic movie short than a transcendent artistic experience. And yet, photoshopped images like this are the common coin of print brochures, where scale and placement would help mitigate the impact of such a horribly out-dated cultural cliché.
Dancing in No-Motion.
Western Classical Dance embodies movement, sound, color, passion—not to mention several hundred years of tradition, intercut with influences from many different cultures. So it may come as a surprise to see the static digital pamphlets proffered by the American Ballet Theatre, the New York City Ballet, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater or the Martha Graham Dance Company.
In each case, the presence or absence of video links is beside the point. Trapped in the narrow confines of brochure design, video is not integral to the overall structure of these sites. In the midst of such emotionless landscapes, video can only function like an animated still.
While sharing many of the same traits, the site for the Joffrey Ballet does include a blog, featuring photos of current productions, which visitors can comment on through Photobucket. These simple measures add a welcome dimension to “art as usual,” that claustrophobic miasma of intra-referential nonsense, which arts organizations routinely use to justify—quite unnecessarily—their very existence.
Artistic ’Vision.
In stark contrast to these examples is the standard set by the Netherlands Dance Theatre. Starting with the home page, the site is alive with sound and motion. Video captures a wide array of performances and the user experience—sleek, reactive—invites a lengthy stay.
More important, the site manages to convey something of what Dance is about: not a decorous display suitable for framing, but a vital expression of the human experience. As such, it embodies a key principle: A Web site representing the work of artists must itself be a work of art.
Visit sites built for arts organizations and you can practically taste how much the designers wished they were working on a glossy five-color brochure. And that’s what the majority of them have produced: a static page turner—minus the tactile sensation, the rich aroma of fresh ink and the guilty pleasure of dog-earing a favorite page.
While some, like the LA Philharmonic’s, do offer some sparkle—more sites than I can count are little more than electronic brochures. Here, well-chosen still photography and an abundant library of video and sound clips almost convinces you that the site’s first language is Digital.
Only the oddly orgasmic photo of the music director, Gustavo Dudamel, spoils the effect. Reading like a caricature, it’s far more evocative of a classic movie short than a transcendent artistic experience. And yet, photoshopped images like this are the common coin of print brochures, where scale and placement would help mitigate the impact of such a horribly out-dated cultural cliché.
Dancing in No-Motion.
Western Classical Dance embodies movement, sound, color, passion—not to mention several hundred years of tradition, intercut with influences from many different cultures. So it may come as a surprise to see the static digital pamphlets proffered by the American Ballet Theatre, the New York City Ballet, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater or the Martha Graham Dance Company.
In each case, the presence or absence of video links is beside the point. Trapped in the narrow confines of brochure design, video is not integral to the overall structure of these sites. In the midst of such emotionless landscapes, video can only function like an animated still.
While sharing many of the same traits, the site for the Joffrey Ballet does include a blog, featuring photos of current productions, which visitors can comment on through Photobucket. These simple measures add a welcome dimension to “art as usual,” that claustrophobic miasma of intra-referential nonsense, which arts organizations routinely use to justify—quite unnecessarily—their very existence.
Artistic ’Vision.
In stark contrast to these examples is the standard set by the Netherlands Dance Theatre. Starting with the home page, the site is alive with sound and motion. Video captures a wide array of performances and the user experience—sleek, reactive—invites a lengthy stay.
More important, the site manages to convey something of what Dance is about: not a decorous display suitable for framing, but a vital expression of the human experience. As such, it embodies a key principle: A Web site representing the work of artists must itself be a work of art.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Art on the Mart (Part 2)
As I continue to explore Web sites for major American orchestras, one thing is clear. These organizations see their digital presence as a collection of design protocols rather than as a communications medium. This by-the-numbers approach is on display at the Boston Symphony.
On the home page, a slideshow marquee features a random mix of photography and illustration—each in a conflicting graphic style. Supporting the marquee are lengthy, unarticulated columns of hyperlinked text and updated data. It’s hardly an engaging way to present one of America’s top cultural treasures.
Delving into the interior pages, I’m reminded of a text-heavy home design catalogue. And what text it is. Written in the pseudo-journalistic style of mass-produced public relations, it constructs a dense wall of formulaic nonsense between audience and orchestra. As such, it embodies precisely the raised-pinky mentality so alienating to the “uninitiated.”
You’d think the example set by Leonard Bernstein’s 1958–1971 Young People’s Concerts were all for nothing. Even at his most professorial, here’s a guy who knew how to reach across the footlights and connect. By contrast, the voice of the Boston Symphony, as with that of many an American arts organization, sounds as if it’s echoing in a closed, empty room.
Even given the difference in medium—though Lord knows there’s plenty of lifeless broadcast footage—Web developers have a lot to learn from Bernstein’s powers of engagement and communication.
To its credit, the Boston Symphony site connects to farther reaches of digital space with links to podcasts, iTunes, RSS feeds, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube. Here, the very nature of social networking and sharing forces the orchestra’s marketers to speak up and be heard. As I see it, the Symphony would benefit from integrating the immediacy and intimacy of these curated links into the site proper.
At an even farther remove from effective arts marketing are the sites built for the Cleveland, Minnesota and Philadelphia Orchestras. While I’m perfectly aware of the constraints a limited budget can put on technical finesse, the real issue is the lack of a clear messaging strategy.
In its place is a collection of information packets, whose cumulative effect conveys nothing that would compel audience members to take notice. As a result, these sites are all but indistinguishable from sites built for gift shops or movie theatres. In the absence of a distinct, unifying message, all these three sites can tell us is:
On the home page, a slideshow marquee features a random mix of photography and illustration—each in a conflicting graphic style. Supporting the marquee are lengthy, unarticulated columns of hyperlinked text and updated data. It’s hardly an engaging way to present one of America’s top cultural treasures.
Delving into the interior pages, I’m reminded of a text-heavy home design catalogue. And what text it is. Written in the pseudo-journalistic style of mass-produced public relations, it constructs a dense wall of formulaic nonsense between audience and orchestra. As such, it embodies precisely the raised-pinky mentality so alienating to the “uninitiated.”
You’d think the example set by Leonard Bernstein’s 1958–1971 Young People’s Concerts were all for nothing. Even at his most professorial, here’s a guy who knew how to reach across the footlights and connect. By contrast, the voice of the Boston Symphony, as with that of many an American arts organization, sounds as if it’s echoing in a closed, empty room.
Even given the difference in medium—though Lord knows there’s plenty of lifeless broadcast footage—Web developers have a lot to learn from Bernstein’s powers of engagement and communication.
To its credit, the Boston Symphony site connects to farther reaches of digital space with links to podcasts, iTunes, RSS feeds, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube. Here, the very nature of social networking and sharing forces the orchestra’s marketers to speak up and be heard. As I see it, the Symphony would benefit from integrating the immediacy and intimacy of these curated links into the site proper.
At an even farther remove from effective arts marketing are the sites built for the Cleveland, Minnesota and Philadelphia Orchestras. While I’m perfectly aware of the constraints a limited budget can put on technical finesse, the real issue is the lack of a clear messaging strategy.
In its place is a collection of information packets, whose cumulative effect conveys nothing that would compel audience members to take notice. As a result, these sites are all but indistinguishable from sites built for gift shops or movie theatres. In the absence of a distinct, unifying message, all these three sites can tell us is:
“Famous soloists appear with us. Our conductor is prestigious and we have a distinguished past. We reach out to ‘the community’ and have education programs to prove it. You can buy tickets here.”Even on the thinnest of shoestring budgets, any organization can still be a motivating presence in digital space. All you need is the courage to walk away from textbook “Communication-speak” and actually say something to your audience.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Art on the Mart (Part 1)
Considering how often the word “creative” or “creativity” pops up in agency life, I recently started wondering how organizations devoted to the classical arts are marketing themselves in digital space. Many of those involved claim to have achieved rare creative insight through classic works of art, music, dance and theatre. Surely here’s a group destined to give site designers and architects carte blanche to explore new solutions.
Tempering my expectations, however, was the realization that marketing departments manage Web site design, not the artists themselves. I might more reasonably expect a site built for an orchestra, for example, to follow standard marketing precepts than be exemplars of inspired creative thinking.
A tour of sites devoted to major American symphony orchestras confirmed my suspicions. While none of them are absolutely horrible, for the most part they confirm the most often-voiced criticism of the classical music industry. Predictable, pretentious and just plain dull, none conveyed even a scintilla of the drama, color, sound and heights of human emotion so unjustly encapsulated in the bland term “classical music.”
In fact, these sites are more likely to remind you of a Hallmark greeting card than of music created by some of history’s most unconventional minds. At their best, as in the case of The New York Philharmonic, they at least convey an open, welcoming feel without, you’ll notice, actually saying “welcome.” As always, the most effective marketing messages are those emerging naturally from a carefully cultivated context of image, word, design and architecture.
Equally successful is the layout, which has the common sense to realize the eye needs a clear path to follow. You’re caught up at first with the marquee image, then shift effortlessly to an array of links to digital audio, podcasts, radio broadcasts and video links.
No such site would be complete without a calendar hyperlinked to upcoming events. Atypically, the New York Philharmonic’s calendar is prominent, clear and accessible without being obtrusive. Figuring, rightly, that a calendar needs no explanation, none is given.
Finally, below the marquee, is the all-too-familiar featured article grid, here kept to reasonable proportions. After all, if everything is featured, nothing is featured, a simple principle that seems to have been scratched out of standard marketing textbooks in the ’70s when no one was looking.
Again, there’s nothing here even remotely commensurate with the actual experience of the music. Still, I have to concede it took a lot of artistry to develop something so clear, articulate and easy to use, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. My only real concern is that social networking links—to Twitter, MySpace, YouTube and Facebook—seem casually tacked on at the bottom. Want to reach out to a younger demographic? Don’t bury its very lifeline below the fold.
So, drained of emotion as it is, The New York Philharmonic site is relatively effective. In my next few posts, I’ll take a look at comparable sites across the wide spectrum of arts marketing.
Tempering my expectations, however, was the realization that marketing departments manage Web site design, not the artists themselves. I might more reasonably expect a site built for an orchestra, for example, to follow standard marketing precepts than be exemplars of inspired creative thinking.
A tour of sites devoted to major American symphony orchestras confirmed my suspicions. While none of them are absolutely horrible, for the most part they confirm the most often-voiced criticism of the classical music industry. Predictable, pretentious and just plain dull, none conveyed even a scintilla of the drama, color, sound and heights of human emotion so unjustly encapsulated in the bland term “classical music.”
In fact, these sites are more likely to remind you of a Hallmark greeting card than of music created by some of history’s most unconventional minds. At their best, as in the case of The New York Philharmonic, they at least convey an open, welcoming feel without, you’ll notice, actually saying “welcome.” As always, the most effective marketing messages are those emerging naturally from a carefully cultivated context of image, word, design and architecture.
Equally successful is the layout, which has the common sense to realize the eye needs a clear path to follow. You’re caught up at first with the marquee image, then shift effortlessly to an array of links to digital audio, podcasts, radio broadcasts and video links.
No such site would be complete without a calendar hyperlinked to upcoming events. Atypically, the New York Philharmonic’s calendar is prominent, clear and accessible without being obtrusive. Figuring, rightly, that a calendar needs no explanation, none is given.
Finally, below the marquee, is the all-too-familiar featured article grid, here kept to reasonable proportions. After all, if everything is featured, nothing is featured, a simple principle that seems to have been scratched out of standard marketing textbooks in the ’70s when no one was looking.
Again, there’s nothing here even remotely commensurate with the actual experience of the music. Still, I have to concede it took a lot of artistry to develop something so clear, articulate and easy to use, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. My only real concern is that social networking links—to Twitter, MySpace, YouTube and Facebook—seem casually tacked on at the bottom. Want to reach out to a younger demographic? Don’t bury its very lifeline below the fold.
So, drained of emotion as it is, The New York Philharmonic site is relatively effective. In my next few posts, I’ll take a look at comparable sites across the wide spectrum of arts marketing.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Information, Liberation
& The Mind’s Eye
The more digital space expands, the more people access information, news, entertainment—even personal communication—online than through any other medium.
I suppose it all boils down to immediacy. With ever-smaller lag times, you can now catch up with “the latest” on any topic whenever you choose. And if you want to look back at the topic that shook yesterday’s world to its knees, you’ll find limitless stockpiles of news articles. blog posts, user-comments, comments on comments, articles on articles ad infinitem et ad nauseam.
It’s a wonderful thing.
Growing up I was always hungry for information, but the only sources for answers to obscure questions were the aging encyclopedias in my family’s home library— heavier than a planet and smelling like a mausoleum. There was enough dust in one of those volumes to shut down an entire MacBook Air production facility. Not exactly an incentive to learning.
Linear & Limited
I lived in a small town in an un-gentrified sector of New Jersey, where curiosity in children was frowned on and “Why do you need to know that?” was not an uncommon question. “Look it up,” someone would invariably say, pointing me in the direction of a children’s encyclopedia, carefully edited to include no useful information at all.
Sure, it was full of facts, but offered no help in answering the only two questions that have ever interested me: “Why?” and “How?”
So the first time I saw a digital page, I greeted it with a sigh of relief. Finally, here was a way to address the nagging questions that plagued me as a child without having to go through a condescending human gatekeeper. Better yet, I wouldn’t have to enroll in a four-year degree program just to have little bits of information doled out to me by an educational system wedded to deadbeat linear thinking.
Associative & Free
Because if digital space has accomplished any one thing, it has established once and for all that every scrap of information and knowledge is holistically connected with every other. It proves a child’s interest in topic A doesn’t need to be justified, simply because the clock says it’s time to discuss topic B. Postponed perhaps, but not justified. In digital space, no one can challenge your desire to know—provided, of course, you don’t live in China.
It has proven a liberating experience for me and, I suspect, has inspired people to reach critical leap-frogging insights faster than ever before.
At the same time, even the most enlightening online experience is wasted unless you take time to reflect, correlate, interpret, edit, embrace and reject—the kind of things you can only do in your head. That just might be the only legacy from the past I want to preserve. The magic that happens when you switch off the power and re-imagine the world in your mind’s eye.
I suppose it all boils down to immediacy. With ever-smaller lag times, you can now catch up with “the latest” on any topic whenever you choose. And if you want to look back at the topic that shook yesterday’s world to its knees, you’ll find limitless stockpiles of news articles. blog posts, user-comments, comments on comments, articles on articles ad infinitem et ad nauseam.
It’s a wonderful thing.
Growing up I was always hungry for information, but the only sources for answers to obscure questions were the aging encyclopedias in my family’s home library— heavier than a planet and smelling like a mausoleum. There was enough dust in one of those volumes to shut down an entire MacBook Air production facility. Not exactly an incentive to learning.
Linear & Limited
I lived in a small town in an un-gentrified sector of New Jersey, where curiosity in children was frowned on and “Why do you need to know that?” was not an uncommon question. “Look it up,” someone would invariably say, pointing me in the direction of a children’s encyclopedia, carefully edited to include no useful information at all.
Sure, it was full of facts, but offered no help in answering the only two questions that have ever interested me: “Why?” and “How?”
So the first time I saw a digital page, I greeted it with a sigh of relief. Finally, here was a way to address the nagging questions that plagued me as a child without having to go through a condescending human gatekeeper. Better yet, I wouldn’t have to enroll in a four-year degree program just to have little bits of information doled out to me by an educational system wedded to deadbeat linear thinking.
Associative & Free
Because if digital space has accomplished any one thing, it has established once and for all that every scrap of information and knowledge is holistically connected with every other. It proves a child’s interest in topic A doesn’t need to be justified, simply because the clock says it’s time to discuss topic B. Postponed perhaps, but not justified. In digital space, no one can challenge your desire to know—provided, of course, you don’t live in China.
It has proven a liberating experience for me and, I suspect, has inspired people to reach critical leap-frogging insights faster than ever before.
At the same time, even the most enlightening online experience is wasted unless you take time to reflect, correlate, interpret, edit, embrace and reject—the kind of things you can only do in your head. That just might be the only legacy from the past I want to preserve. The magic that happens when you switch off the power and re-imagine the world in your mind’s eye.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
It's Not About the Words
During the execution phase of any Web site project, there’s a common expectation that, from a copy standpoint, “we just need to write it.” I suspect most people assume it's a process akin to playing Mad Libs.
Even within the Creative team, this process is often misunderstood. It’s not unusual to hear a digital Art Director say “I need a 50-word intro, five two-line lead-ins and a three-word teaser for the marquee.”
But as Copy creatives know, it just doesn’t work like that. Sure, we can work within word limits and even character counts. At a fundamental level, however, language needs room to breathe. It can’t be laid down like bricks, one word at a time to build a prefab module.
Analog synesthesia...
That’s because what communicates in language isn’t words, but meaning, which can’t be constructed. Instead, meaning emerges from the interplay of different factors, including context, tone, and the intricate web of associations enveloping every topic. To see what I mean, say the following words aloud:
You'll notice I’ve talked about the mechanics of writing well without mentioning grammar, a relative value having more to do with editorial style, and the decade you were born, in than with any absolute standard.
...builds a network of connections...
Regardless, the need to make a direct, emotionally grounded connection to the reader is far more important than writing mechanics. As much as you may wish to believe otherwise, the exact amount of copy required to make that connection is not quantifiable.
...in which content and design are one.
Now, I wouldn’t dream of saying that Web sites should be built entirely around the demands of language. I mean, I’d feel terrible if the sheer shock and horror of that thought made someone spend the night in an ICU.
What I would like to suggest is that Web design and architecture needs to be handled more flexibly. Not all topics lend themselves to the same treatment. Not all audiences absorb information in the same way. The more your process resembles what’s going on at Snappages, the farther you are from creating a motivating and emotionally engaging experience.
Even at that, I’m not saying Copy necessarily needs more physical space. What’s needed is better integration of so-called content with so-called design. That only makes sense, since the difference between the two is a flat-out semantic illusion. In reality, a great Web site channels all the meaning emerging from it—through its associative network of data, memory, visual and auditory output.
Even within the Creative team, this process is often misunderstood. It’s not unusual to hear a digital Art Director say “I need a 50-word intro, five two-line lead-ins and a three-word teaser for the marquee.”
But as Copy creatives know, it just doesn’t work like that. Sure, we can work within word limits and even character counts. At a fundamental level, however, language needs room to breathe. It can’t be laid down like bricks, one word at a time to build a prefab module.
Analog synesthesia...
That’s because what communicates in language isn’t words, but meaning, which can’t be constructed. Instead, meaning emerges from the interplay of different factors, including context, tone, and the intricate web of associations enveloping every topic. To see what I mean, say the following words aloud:
- Wedding
- Baby
- Love
- War
- Society Wedding
- Border Baby
- Puppy Love
- Bidding War
You'll notice I’ve talked about the mechanics of writing well without mentioning grammar, a relative value having more to do with editorial style, and the decade you were born, in than with any absolute standard.
...builds a network of connections...
Regardless, the need to make a direct, emotionally grounded connection to the reader is far more important than writing mechanics. As much as you may wish to believe otherwise, the exact amount of copy required to make that connection is not quantifiable.
...in which content and design are one.
Now, I wouldn’t dream of saying that Web sites should be built entirely around the demands of language. I mean, I’d feel terrible if the sheer shock and horror of that thought made someone spend the night in an ICU.
What I would like to suggest is that Web design and architecture needs to be handled more flexibly. Not all topics lend themselves to the same treatment. Not all audiences absorb information in the same way. The more your process resembles what’s going on at Snappages, the farther you are from creating a motivating and emotionally engaging experience.
Even at that, I’m not saying Copy necessarily needs more physical space. What’s needed is better integration of so-called content with so-called design. That only makes sense, since the difference between the two is a flat-out semantic illusion. In reality, a great Web site channels all the meaning emerging from it—through its associative network of data, memory, visual and auditory output.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Creative Process
& the Winds of Imagination
Like autumn leaves in November, Creatives are a varied lot, subject to the whims of every errant breeze. Some prefer to think like marketing experts, mapping out their work primarily in terms of the “facts on the ground,” from segmentation studies to Nielson trends to SEO data.
Others chase the latest cultural obsession. A subset of this group bases concepts on well-known pop-tunes, a practice raising issues of cultural sustainability. Overused, a pop icon’s voice sounds a tad too jingly to be taken seriously—just one more reason Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” is an unlikely shill for Friedrich Air Conditioners.
Then again, there are Creatives on a life quest for The Big Idea, a beast they pursue with quixotic zeal—whether they’re planning a national campaign for Apple or just scribbling up space ads for USA Today.
Despite these differences, I’m sure most Creatives would agree: the concepting phase is the most satisfying part of the process. It’s a time to close the conference room—and open the mind to the winds of imagination.
It’s a fragile process, even for the most technocratic Creatives, those hard-wired souls whose first words as a child were “user experience,” That's because creative concepts are rooted in a deeply personal inner narrative we can only access by making ourselves emotionally vulnerable.
Now, in the hard-knuckles world of American business, nobody expects brownie points for personally taxing work that falls flat. Risk and responsibility are part of the job description. Even so, if you want a work-atmosphere that fosters great creative, here are a few things I’d like to suggest you keep in mind:
Finally, understand that concept and execution are two separate things. A concept isn’t a finished product. It’s merely a structure, a tool to channel the flow of messages and a means to motivate and provide opportunities for action.
So when it’s time to evaluate a creative concept the only question you need to answer is whether the concept offers a structure clear enough to bring the marketing strategy to life.
Anything else lies in the realm of personal preference, where the truth rarely resides. Because, truth to tell, a creative strategy is never about you. It’s all and only about your audience, a varied lot of real people, with one thing in common. When gusts of Marketing Theory blow their way, they run straight for the storm cellar and slam the door tight.
Others chase the latest cultural obsession. A subset of this group bases concepts on well-known pop-tunes, a practice raising issues of cultural sustainability. Overused, a pop icon’s voice sounds a tad too jingly to be taken seriously—just one more reason Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” is an unlikely shill for Friedrich Air Conditioners.
Then again, there are Creatives on a life quest for The Big Idea, a beast they pursue with quixotic zeal—whether they’re planning a national campaign for Apple or just scribbling up space ads for USA Today.
Despite these differences, I’m sure most Creatives would agree: the concepting phase is the most satisfying part of the process. It’s a time to close the conference room—and open the mind to the winds of imagination.
It’s a fragile process, even for the most technocratic Creatives, those hard-wired souls whose first words as a child were “user experience,” That's because creative concepts are rooted in a deeply personal inner narrative we can only access by making ourselves emotionally vulnerable.
Now, in the hard-knuckles world of American business, nobody expects brownie points for personally taxing work that falls flat. Risk and responsibility are part of the job description. Even so, if you want a work-atmosphere that fosters great creative, here are a few things I’d like to suggest you keep in mind:
- Respond honestly.
Nothing kills creativty like a cold front rolling in
from false, political motives. - Expect to be challenged.
Cranking out the tried and true is what vendors are for. - Know that your audience is adaptable.
Finally, understand that concept and execution are two separate things. A concept isn’t a finished product. It’s merely a structure, a tool to channel the flow of messages and a means to motivate and provide opportunities for action.
So when it’s time to evaluate a creative concept the only question you need to answer is whether the concept offers a structure clear enough to bring the marketing strategy to life.
Anything else lies in the realm of personal preference, where the truth rarely resides. Because, truth to tell, a creative strategy is never about you. It’s all and only about your audience, a varied lot of real people, with one thing in common. When gusts of Marketing Theory blow their way, they run straight for the storm cellar and slam the door tight.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Health Portal, Heal Thyself
As any devotee of StumbleUpon knows, digital space offers an unparalleled range and depth of material. In some respects, this vastness is its undoing. The potential to deliver “everything and all” on any topic is a powerful temptation to site builders, one they often fail to resist. This has a devastating impact on user experience, as evidenced by the average health information portal.
Without in any way commenting on the quality of the information provided, it’s troubling to see how cluttered and confusing these sites can be. Case in point is WebMD. While the home page roughly adheres to current design standards, offering a slightly less cluttered look now than in recent years, WebMD shares a major deficit with most other sites of its kind: The lack of a clear information hierarchy.
Sure, the page layout helps a little. The central marquee area does focus our attention. It also creates contrast between a text-based left navigation, lesser features below the marquee and the assortment of additional links and advertisements over on the right. But my question is:
What does WebMD say to users beyond “We have lots of medical information for you?”
Absent a thematic point of orientation, the eye just wanders from one box to the other. More important, users can’t put this information in context, since WebMD espouses no explicit medical philosophy.
Adding to the disorientation is the random array of topics in featured content areas. As of today, on the home page, users can find articles about:
This approach is quite common, as visits to Men’s Health, MSN Health, Women’s Health, Medicine.net and many other sites confirm. Most likely the insight behind this approach is that people come to a health portal for many different reasons.
As I see it, the implications of that insight lead away from this model. Instead of presenting “everything and all,” health portals should make a clear distinction, up front, between health news, medical journalism and expert opinion. Whether through a self-selection menu or a category-specific visual vocabulary, users could discover what they need more efficiently—and be far more likely to revisit the site.
In the end, the average health portal resembles Times Square in high season—an erratic mish-mash of garish messaging and uninvited stimuli. Considering the effort needed to maintain the best health portals, it’s a shame so much of their impact is lost on poor user experience.
Without in any way commenting on the quality of the information provided, it’s troubling to see how cluttered and confusing these sites can be. Case in point is WebMD. While the home page roughly adheres to current design standards, offering a slightly less cluttered look now than in recent years, WebMD shares a major deficit with most other sites of its kind: The lack of a clear information hierarchy.
Sure, the page layout helps a little. The central marquee area does focus our attention. It also creates contrast between a text-based left navigation, lesser features below the marquee and the assortment of additional links and advertisements over on the right. But my question is:
What does WebMD say to users beyond “We have lots of medical information for you?”
Absent a thematic point of orientation, the eye just wanders from one box to the other. More important, users can’t put this information in context, since WebMD espouses no explicit medical philosophy.
Adding to the disorientation is the random array of topics in featured content areas. As of today, on the home page, users can find articles about:
- History of AIDS
- RA Symptoms
- Autism
- Diet and Depression
- Diabetes
- Flu Symptoms
This approach is quite common, as visits to Men’s Health, MSN Health, Women’s Health, Medicine.net and many other sites confirm. Most likely the insight behind this approach is that people come to a health portal for many different reasons.
As I see it, the implications of that insight lead away from this model. Instead of presenting “everything and all,” health portals should make a clear distinction, up front, between health news, medical journalism and expert opinion. Whether through a self-selection menu or a category-specific visual vocabulary, users could discover what they need more efficiently—and be far more likely to revisit the site.
In the end, the average health portal resembles Times Square in high season—an erratic mish-mash of garish messaging and uninvited stimuli. Considering the effort needed to maintain the best health portals, it’s a shame so much of their impact is lost on poor user experience.
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