Whether at school, or at work, designers are encouraged(and required) to exercise precision in their descriptive works: drawings, and computer or physical models. After all, how can a mold be cut, or NC router be controlled without a precise directive? In contrast with that stands the fact that the creative mind can benefit from loose, expressive, passionate imagery in a way that would never satisfy a machinist. On this point, we might all learn a little something from a certain world famous architect.

Earlier this year, I was lucky enough to catch the Zaha Hadid retrospective at the Gugenheim Museum in New York. The largest exhibition of her work to date, this collection covered the last 30 years of her career, including some cute little notebooks from her college years (don't worry, they look pretty much like yours or mine, so there's hope for us yet, I guess).
The most interesting thing about the work wasn't the models, though those are breathtaking. No, question that lingered in my mind as I spiraled through the 5 floors of the exhibit was: "Where are the drawings?" Because, though the walls were covered with paintings, the lack of descriptive geometry, blueprints, or even dimensioned drawings was nearly absolute. But, as luck would have it, this was not without explanation.


As she has said in interviews nearly from the beginning, Zaha believes that in order to develop the emotion and movement that she wants (and for which her work is famous), sections, elevations, and orthographics are simply too cold. So, very early on, she began experimenting with extreme perspective and abstraction in paints to develop the feel of her pieces. I was this experimentation that lead to her, like Diller and Scofidio, being classified as a very beautifully experimental, but "computer" architect.
This is the classic dilemma of all creative pursuits, design perhaps most of all: We "must" produce. Whether it's during our annual review, at a trade show, on our resumes, or just making small talk about our work, the message is "put up or shut up".
And so, it is all too easy for us to fall into a habit starting with the question "what's possible now for this project?". This seems rational, even well reasoned. But Zaha (and many other great designers) know better.

Zaha's great trick has been to keep the extreme experimentation of her early days alive in her more concrete (and built) work. Her office still works in abstracted media for as long into the design process as possible. Even in their documentation, they strive for emotion loaded imagery, rather than pure description.


Of course, that's all well and good for architects, who's projects often stretch for years, and include highly experimental contest phases which invite such playfulness. But just because it isn't laid out for us, doesn't mean that we can't make it part of our work. A friend of mine working at a perfectly normal Chicago design firm subscribes to what she calls the "two for you, one for me" rule.
Basically, give the client one idea that you know they could do without effort and one that you're sure you could convince them is possible. Then, your last idea should be something so exciting and out there that you have no idea if it's possible with that client, but you have to show it. This takes a huge amount of guts, but you've got to believe two things. One, that thinking of this idea will push the other two in awesome directions, and two, that even if some of your clients don't appreciate the extra effort, there will be some few that make it all worth while.
Whatever works for you or your team, design needs more experimentation and emotion. Make something playful. Make something 3 times too big or small. Present it with a skit. Use only one material to make your next presentation model. Let that material be Popsicle sticks. Or corrugated cardboard. Or Jello.
However you do it, bring the emotion.
||Read more||Check out more great images of the show, and Zaha Hadid's other work on Flickr||