(Use whatever alternative you like, but should be something people will draw well on, and can move around on a table to find connections with.)
Tell them they’ve got to draw themselves as a Mundane Superhero.
Everyone has a Mundane Superhero power inside them.
It’s the thing you do really, really well. But is actually quite boring.
Introduce your own one as an example. My go to one is usually Parent IT Man – wherever I happen to be, I can usually resolve my parents IT problems in a single phone call.
Toban’s Mundane Superhero was Hairomania – because of the hair she has herself, she’s become the go-to person for friends and family to help style unruly locks.
Give people three minutes to think about their Superhero, draw it, and stand up.
Explain what a wonderful job everyone has done – in only three minutes, they’ve created a superhero world which is the rival of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And what happens in this world is the same – all the Superheros will bump into each other.
Invite everyone to move around the room, meeting people and hearing about who their Mundane Superhero is. Do this for… a while. You want everyone to have chatted to at least half of the room. Make sure everyone is listening to what the other people are saying, because they’ll need to know who their Mundane Superheroes are, and why…
Now, the final step.
In this Mundane Superhero Universe, we’ll see the sort of thing you see in any superhero universe.
Alliances. Team-ups. Nemeses.
Ask the group to find the people that they are connected with, and be ready to explain why.
Now, not everyone will have met everyone yet. But you should be at the point where the collective understand of ‘who is in the room’ will be able to help each other out and make matches.
Once they’ve done that for a few more minutes, invite them to stand around a table.
Ask the first team to place their Mundane Superhero cards down together, and explain their connections. If anyone feels their hero, or other team, are similar, they can go down next to that first group. Together as a group, work (and rework) your way to a place where everyone is down on the table, and connected to some others.
As a fast, fun and creative way to start a workshop, I’ve not found anything better – hence sticking with it for so long.
It also is designed to do some other things too, which helps the rest of a workshop unfold.
Firstly, it makes people draw. It swiftly gets past the ‘I can’t draw’ stage that you can bump into with some folk. Everyone’s been asked to draw a thing without having thought about being frightened of the drawing part. It means moving forwards, more of the material the group will produce and work with will be richer as a result.
Secondly, it’s a first practice run at what I’ve described before as the metamechanics of this type of work; movement, maps, loops and layers. It just gets people used to created free-moving representations of information, which can be clustered, mapped, regrouped, picked up, shuffled and more. From this mode of working, endless possibilities can emerge.
Which when I think about it now, is properly super, and not that mundane…
Metagov (for short) is an interdisciplinary research collective looking at standards and infrastructure for digital self governance. The video of the seminar will be up at some point, but I wanted to capture a few notes and thoughts whilst they were fresh.
Firstly, I’d put together the canvas below. I’ve also added an updated version of the compass below it, in case you’ve not read the previous posts. This could act as a prompt sheet if needed to consider deeper questions, though that’s not what we did in the seminar.
Then I set up a board on Miro with a set of blank canvases, plus an explanatory example.
The community I’d used for this example was radardao.xyz, which describes itself as follows: “RADAR is a decentralised global collective of 300+ researchers, early adopters and innovators accelerating better futures. We discover and validate emerging trends powered by collective intelligence.”
There are all sorts of interesting facets to the way it presents itself as a community that made it a good example to use, added to which I’ve used the compass previously to quickly examine it before with friends. I shan’t go into that here though, as the point is to capture what emerged from others in the session.
After running through the example, participants then started working on their own boards to think about a community they were part of, or perhaps one they wanted to research more about before joining.
I find it useful to distinguish between two facets of a community; how it actually works, and how it presents itself as working.
With the nature of digital communities nowadays, this is particularly interesting; they can be fairly complex in the machinations, and so a simplified version is presented to the world as an invitation to join. However, this simplified version can fail to capture the nuance, expectations, requirements and rights of being part of that community, and can often raise more questions than it answers.
With that in mind, my three main takeaways from the latter discussion in the seminar are:
1. The compass can be a tool for reflection
It was interesting to hear how people were using the compass to think about communities they were involved in, and start to realise how (in places) they knew comparatively little about aspects of them. Just having the space laid out seemed to encourage deeper research too, as people looked for answers to things they hadn’t previously considered.
2. Opportunity for comparisons across communities
As we started hearing about how different communities worked (for example, in how transparent debate and decisions spaces were on a platform like Discord), as a group we could start noting points for comparison. It’s not unreasonable to suggest that, at sufficient scale, by mapping a number of communities in the same way you could start to develop both ‘best practice’ guidance for particular sections (controls and freedoms). Additionally, the idea of archetypes emerged. Might there be communities with specific balances between the three controls and three freedoms, who can act as an example to follow?
3. It could hold an ongoing research enquiry
I have a phrase I sometimes use for ongoing online whiteboard sessions; continual partial workshopping. In watching the boards fill up yesterday in a fairly compressed period of time, I realised that setting them up this way for a longer period of time (a week, a month?) could be a good way to capture ongoing notes for a series of communities at once, or even just one person’s experiences over time with a community
What’s next, then?
I’m interested in continuing to experiment and refine the process; perhaps running a half day or day workshop on specific existing communities, or look at how you might use the Community Power Compass as a starting point in designing a new one.
Do get in touch if you have an idea where we could do this, or are just interested in learning more about the approach.
You may be thinking you’ve stumbled into the wrong blog. And I can understand why. Smithery is a strategic design practice, which admittedly encompasses many things. But never gardens. What follows, however, is a documentation of our personal experience of a nature-based design intervention, and then some broader systemic thoughts on what might have worked better, more broadly, for a community.
Dr Rob Phillips, of the RCA’s Design Products team, asked me if I had some pictures of our garden before and after we made our version of MyNatureWatch Camera. It was a project centred on “self-build cameras for engagement with local wildlife and digital DIY”. Essentially, a design intervention to make people think more about the natural world immediately outside their door. Or the lack of wildlife in our case.
In 2016, we moved to a wildlife desert.
It was a new build estate in Sussex, which had been essentially scraped clean of any nature in order to build the houses, roads and other infrastructure that would support the new development. This was long before the Biodiversity Net Gain clause in the 2021 Environment Act, which requires developers to plan and get approval for a minimum 10% gain (calculated using Biodiversity Metric) in habitat, which is secured for at least 30 years.
Luckily, I take photos often, and of a lot of things. So nowadays, given everything’s stamped with metadata, I can look back and see which garden pictures we have, and from when, so I can tell a story of what happened before we built the camera, and afterwards.
At the start
What was the garden like when we moved in? It’s probably a typical new-build story; some turf laid over rubble and builders rubbish (oh, the things we’ve dug out of the garden in the interim years), and then some woodchip and selection of small bushes.
The front garden space isn’t huge, and just ‘neatened’. I can understand the argument that some people don’t want much in the way of maintenance in a garden, especially as they move in, but it certainly feels that there would have been an opportunity to inspire people differently.
The back garden, in hindsight, was more problematic. You can see the ring of low brick wall around the right hand side here to the road, creating a hermetically sealed section of the estate between the three houses on this row. It makes it virtually impossible for wildlife to get into, or pass through, this area. The other communal areas planted through the estate were pretty new as well, and contained as sparse a wildlife environment as you can imagine.
Before the camera
June 2016 – That first summer, I made a bug house. I can’t quite remember where the instructions or impetus came from, but with a few scrap materials and some basic tools, I put this together. It is still somewhere deep in the undergrowth today, in what became our nature garden. I should go and look for it.
August 2016 – I clearly remember seeing this butterfly emerge from its chrysalis that was hanging on the gate. It was perhaps remarkable because it was the first time I felt I’d seen a living creature in the garden which had made its own way there. I spent about half an hour watching its progress unfold, as its raggedy wings stretched out and flapped for the first time.
Summer 2017 – When the children were smaller, the back garden was kept as mainly grass for play, a shed for toy, bike and lawnmower storage, and not a lot else. We did put a young apple tree in it, a traditional Sussex variety called the Egremont Russet. Yet around then, we fenced off the little bit of space around the apple tree, and called it ‘the nature garden’. We let the grass grow longer in the hope that things might want to live in there.
I remember a trip to a nearby meadow with our daughter and a tupperware pot, to catch crickets and grasshoppers to release in this little patch. Out in the front garden, we plant a cherry blossom tree, but largely leave the rest alone.
Spring 2018 – In the first of the transformative attempts, we start taking out some of the more pointless turfed areas at the side of the house, replacing them with plants and a rockery. We read about how to make a a small garden pond using an old washing up basin, and over the course of a sunny Saturday afternoon, my dad helped my son and I make our first pond in the corner of the nature garden.
Shortly after this, the kids and I did find some frogspawn locally, and take a little and put it into our pond. What I know now was probably not a great thing to do; there are various issues that can arise in move frogspawn between locations. Yet, given the sealed nature of the garden, though, it’s hard to know whether frogs would have ever been able to make their own way there.
Literally two days after the pond was finished, though, something did find its way to the water. I saw a pair of mating red damselflies by the side of the pond, and most summers since then we’ve seen them around again.
What we have before we build the camera, then, is best described as a small nature patch, perhaps 5-10% of the total garden space available, where we were experimenting with things that would bring more nature in.
Making the camera
March 2019 – We bought and made our camera, tipped off by Rob no doubt. You can still by the MyNaturewatch camera kit here from Pimoroni. It’s a Raspberry Pi Zero W with a camera module and a few other pieces, and it connects to your mobile phone or computer so that when it’s outside and the motion sensor goes off, you can look at the photos or the videos you’ve set it up to capture.
We set it up opposite some bird feeders we set up in a small tree, and… waited. And waited some more.
As the birds failed to materialise, we started looking around the development with a keener eye, whether on school runs or playing in the common area. There just weren’t a lot of birds around. You could see some flying high overhead, as if commuting along the bird bypass to spaces in which they could thrive. But we couldn’t go and ‘kidnap’ them, as we had done with the crickets or the frogspawn.
Putting a camera up really brought the message home; if you want to attract birds to your garden, you have to think about what birds want and need. Just like the red damselflies, who’d somehow spotted an environment that would work for laying their eggs.
Height, cover, food
Spring 2019 – The great thing about design gardens for wildlife is that there are so many resources available for inspiration, online and elsewhere. It’s really just a case of reading about what might work for you, where you are.
The core principles which seemed appropriate for us, trapped in the middle of a barren wilderness area, was to create an initial oasis into which birds could stop off, and find three things they needed; height, cover and food. The height would let them settle above the garden and survey if needed, the cover would offer places to retreat to, and then food would be provided by planting native species which would continue to attract different types of insects and the like on which the birds could feed.
The pond in the nature garden was upgraded using a preformed pond mould which was on sale, and alongside the apple tree we planted a gooseberry bush and a bramble. We then found a cheap garden arch in another sale, and placed that beside the nature garden. Then we started digging out borders around the garden, put in another tree, some trellis to grow climbing jasmine up, and made a wood pile in a darkened corner to encourage more bugs and grubs. We also let nettles grow in this patch to encourage butterflies to lay eggs.
It was a little bit of work across a couple of weekends, but it was fairly cost-effective and fun for the family too. And it became all the more worthwhile when in October that year we start getting visitors like this…
It definitely felt like validation of the work we’d been putting in, and the principles behind it. And over the following winter months, we are treated to many repeated visits from blue tits, all captured on the camera.
Spring 2020 – Moving in to the following year, we felt we could go further. Seeing the blue tits was great, of course, but it felt like it was a plan reliant on putting out bird food still, and it only really attracting one species at that. The plan evolved; what could we do to get different birds in the garden, and how could we provide food that doesn’t come from a packet?
June 2020 – It was peak pandemic time by then, of course, so we had extra time on our hands, and nowhere to go. We tore up the front garden, removing everything the house builders had put in there. We started with a rowan tree and a Boston ivy which could grow up the shady wall at the front. Going back to the principle of providing cover, I started looking around for where I can get a native wildlife hedge, and find an offer on what are known as ‘whips’.
Not long after, I took delivery of what I can best describe as fifty ‘sticks with roots’, a mix of hazel, bird cherry, field maple and purple berberis. We cobbled together enough buckets and pots to soak them, quickly planted some in the available space at the front of the house, and potted the rest until we could work out what to do with them.
July 2020 – The brick wall at the back of the rear garden was problematic; we couldn’t grow anything up it, as it technically wasn’t our wall. But we could grow things in front of it. We found some planters online we could assemble ourselves, and used more of the mixed hedge plants in them to start off a free standing hedge. The rest of the hedge plants we started giving away to neighbours, so they too could put some native hedging in.
Late 2020 – As autumn rolled around, the new planting was beginning to take, especially the Boston ivy which had begun to creep up the wall. In the subsequent January sales we find a bird box to go out at the front above it on the same shady wall. We had another couple of bird boxes in the back garden, both north facing too, but in hindsight they weren’t high enough, nor far enough away from trees. The hope, of course, is that the blue tits who still frequent the garden decide we’re hospitable enough to stay with for awhile in the spring.
Spring 2021 – It was time for more borders. We removed a fence from the bottom of the back garden, and dug out the space below where it stood for more low level planting. We wanted a bed of flowers to attract pollinators, predominantly, though they would also became a place we would find some of the young frogs who had made it out of the pond.
Summer 2021 – There was nothing to report in the bird box. Clearly the blue tits hadn’t got the message, or seen our listing on Rightmove. However, we were finally starting to see a lot of other birds around the garden too. Goldfinches, great tits, blackbirds, wrens, a fair few magpies, a goldcrest (just the once), a greater spotted woodpecker, and later in the year a black redstart. Plus all the other wildlife on top that was spreading out around the nature garden.
Spring 2022 – Last year, we finally got what we were hoping for; nesting birds. Except, not the blue tits we had been expecting, but great tits instead. In late autumn, we cleaned out the nest box and saw what they’d constructed. They’d used some of the wool packing which Helen had put in an old bird feeder around in the back garden. Pleasingly, they then came back again in 2023, and successfully fledging both years.
I can’t quite believe it’s been seven years already, and how much of a difference that moment of getting the camera in 2019 has made. As promised, now on to some reflections as to what it makes me think about when doing this at scale, across whole estates, towns, and the country as a whole, especially given the2021 Environment Act 10% Biodiversity Net Gain conditions for developers.
i) Measuring success
I wish I could tell you that the pictures above of the great tits at the bird box were taking using the MyNaturewatch Camera, but the truth is that it’s been sitting idle in my office since 2020. As a prompt, a thing to get us going, it was brilliant. It was the nudge we needed to change our behaviour, learn new things, and try them out.
But as with so much in the digital age, if success was somehow measured by tracking usage of the device, updates on the software, number of pictures downloaded, it would be judged as a failure. You need to set yourself up to measure the real effects, rather than orientating around the convenient data points. Number of cameras ordered, built, used, updated… I don’t think any of these stats would help you work out whether the project is a success or not. It feels like finding ways to make Citizen Science an active part of continual delivery against Biodiversity Net Gain would be appropriate.
ii) Planning collective efforts
Our garden is just one across the whole development. Other people have done things in their gardens, some haven’t. But they are so infrequently talked about by people in the collective context. Yes, you might well talk to your closest neighbours, but there’s no provision in the planning on emergent communities that might collaborative efforts easier. Imagine if every spring for three years whilst the development was filling up with new families, the housing developer had run a ‘planting plan’ weekend. Turn up with a few hundred whips for hedges, a few hundred bedding plants, and a leaflet on how to attract nature to your garden. What’s more, you would start to draw together people and families interested in making a difference at the point where they can rapidly accelerate regeneration of the natural environment.
iii) Regulation and incentives matter
A different example from our doorstep of the impact which regulation and incentives have. We live on the side of the estate which was completed around Christmas 2015. Each house has solar panels installed, as it came before the government slashed solar panel subsidies for house builders. I can look across right now to the other side of the development, where every house was built without solar panels. Even now, after the energy crisis, only a few houses have had them installed. It is maddening, and wholly predictable.
But it does show how quickly housing developers will react to changes in what they’re expected to deliver. Now imagine that building new houses in the UK came with a mix of regulations and incentives that prioritised not just the broad but set out some specific mixes of ways this could be achieved.
From our experience, then, here’s an initial list of things that would have made a difference when we started:
Let nature in, and stop fully sealed brick enclosures around gardens
Mandatory borders, ready for planting
Only pre-plant native species in gardens for handover
Locally specific nature guides to quickly restore areas
Ensure soil quality by removing all builders rubbish
Having watched a new build site emerge over the last seven years, and thinking about the challenges ahead in protecting biodiversity in the UK, I feel strongly that much more can be done, and it isn’t actually that hard to do.
(Also, if you want to talk more about any of this, and are in a position to make some changes that help, then do contact us, happy to chat.)
I started articulating some thoughts in the last newsletter about a triad, in the fashion of fragile–robust–antifragile (from Taleb’s 2012 book) , which contained the states of unsustainable, sustainable and regenerative.
The main thing bugging me was that making something sustainable, and moving towards a regenerative version of it, aren’t necessarily in the same direction.
I started sketching out this in a variety of ways, looking for a representation that showed that the sustainable being the same shape and size as the unsustainable, but just constituted differently. Below is a more formal version of that.
Where the central unsustainable model has fragile elements to address, moving to sustainability allows the same model to persist, just with differently parts in place of those unsustainable ones. Though whether anyone ever gets to true sustainability is a bigger point.
N.B. Whilst sustainability might commonly understood as being environmental, it’s also helpful to think of it in other ways. It could be values based – how do people perceive what you’re doing, and judge accordingly – or politically bound by imminent regulation, and so on.
Moving in the other direction, you peer into the gaps in the fragility of your current model, and exploring what breaking these apart would do. What do these constituent parts look like as part of a larger, emergent future? What else to the pieces mix with, which other actors? What grows when you encourage it?
It feels like these two things are moving in opposite directions… but only perhaps in certain circumstances. And we’ll come back to the context thing shortly.
But one key thing for me around the language used to describe the relationships between unsustainable, sustainable and regenerative, is just how directional it often is.
For instance, you read people describing “moving beyond” sustainability and towards regeneration. This language has a spatial dimension, and suggests that should you get to sustainability first, then the distance left to travel towards a regenerative state will surely be closer.
So perhaps, I thought, the right word is not beyond, but maybe after? A temporal understanding, rather than a spatial one.
Once you’ve been through the place where you can make an organisation think about sustainability, then perhaps they’re ready for regenerative design?
However, this is where context comes in. It depends. On the company, the culture, the effort requires, the industry standards, the customers and communities, and, well, everything.
As always, I’m interested in the how. And in this case, how do you work out which the right thing is to do?
I felt it was worth sharing an early stage version of something that might help with that which for the time being, I’m calling it Regenerative Triangulation.
The same three states exists; unsustainable, sustainable, regenerative. The starting point, where you are today, is unsustainable in some regard.
You then need to articulate two images of the future.
The first is what it means to get to a sustainable future, and whether or not that is above or below the line in Bill Reed’s original work.
The second point is what a regenerative future would look like for you, and how you might get there.
Now place each point at a distance which represents what it takes to get achieve those states; likely some combination of time, resources, mindsets, conditions that tells you how hard each will be.
(I suspect there’s a rough and ready formula which can help here that I don’t have quite yet.)
Now you can draw two lines from your starting position, to each of the two places on the map. The length of line x takes you to sustainable, and the length of line y takes you to regenerative.
But here’s the rub; if you stop off at sustainable first, you (or those who come after you) also have to traverse line z at some point in the future.
My initial hunch is that mapping out these context specific relationships will help organisations think about some indicative short and medium-term strategies.
In the example on the left here, if feels that sustainability might be in the same general direction as a regenerative future. It’s probably worth aiming for in the short term. Whereas the example on the right feels like sustainability would definitely mean taking the long way round.
I also think you could make an argument for saying that if you do stop at sustainability first, it changes the final destination point; in some cases because you’ve built in more resistance to achieving it, in others you might bring it closer as the journey has been started.
More to think about for sure. Drop me a message if there are other things you think I should look at, or you want to just discuss it a bit more. I might host an open session at some point if enough folk are interested in contributing.
I sent out the latest edition of the Artefacts newsletter earlier this week, 3000+ words on a variety of things. Interestingly, various people got in touch with contributions, thoughts, questions, and more, but all via different platforms. There was no one place to share responses which other people might see and get something from too.
…something something platform fragmentation…
Anyway, as a possible one-off, here’s the Artefacts Letter Page – a response to some of the correspondence which might be useful for others.
Having been in a set of Wardley Mapping sessions for the last couple of weeks – the point about the process of mapping being potentially of more value then the maps that come out of the process really hit home.
The pointer to Jeet Kune Do was both useful and fascinating, and something I can mine for metaphors. If I wanted to go one level deeper than Wikipedia in understanding the thinking behind it, do you have any recommended books before I start asking around?
I’m no expert in Wardley Mapping, though the quote from Dr Roser Pujadas in the newsletter (“Mapping is a social practice of sensemaking that shifts from individual cognition to shared understanding”.) was taken from her talk at one of the Map Camp conferences (2019 I think..?).
And not long after that, I tried some for a client, rather than with a client, as circumstances dictated, and it didn’t take. I walked through the stages of the mapping, and implicit recommendations… yet would have been better to stick to just the latter.
Maybe maps in general, and Wardley Maps in particular, are an artefact of a much deeper, richer conversation between people in this wort of work context, and hopeless if you just show people the map afterwards.
Good question on the Jeet Kune Do stuff, I think most of my learning about it was just internet reading rather than specific books. I’ve found an old talk I gave in Norway here, where I’m talking about it specifically as an approach to learn from, and uses the famous ‘Be Water’ clip to illustrate the deeper idea.
But another reader has something related…
I find myself wondering if (system) mapping is a zeitgeisty symptom of dominance and/or control issues (ergo also an acknowledgement of the increasing loss/lack of it in our late-stage civilisational entropy). Designers will presumably continue to make bigger, more complex maps to compensate?
Firstly, I agree in a roundabout way about some of the underpinning symptoms (dominance/control/existential dread etc). I also wonder if it’s in part because Designers (note the capital D) are furnished with the skill-sets and tools to, and the heart of make, make pretty visualisations of things. And the prettier something looks, the less people feel as if it’s an emerging invitation to question, rather than a final, declarative vision (and to be accepted or rejected wholesale).
Secondly, I love the shuhari and will fall down that rabbit hole a little more I think. On first glance, it makes me also think of the story of the apprentice / journeyman / guildmaster progress as told in The Craftsman by Richard Sennett; start just by copying the form (the rules), then travel to see how the rules are applied in different contexts, and then finally present to a local guild your own version of how the rules would be constituted in your own house.
I was also intrigued by the idea of how frameworks come and go – that they have a lifespan and that no one has really come up with one for the VUCA (Volatile, Uncertain, Complex, and Ambiguous) world we find ourselves in. A colleague and I have talked at length about how frameworks in these times might just be true artifacts – a snippet, a map, a place to take notes – but certainly not a way to make decisions when the minute after you fill in the framework, the world has changed.
Instead, we need tools to help us recognize the upcoming pivots we need to make. Take the decision….there are no wrong ones….and be watching for the signals that you need to adjust. How do we recognize these signals? What are the signals? Can we see them fast enough? Are we agile enough to change at the pace we need to? Can we make the initial decision fast enough and make the next one fast enough, etc?
A way, or even a ‘place’, to make these decisions, is maybe a good way to think about these artefacts/artifacts (choose whichever you wish, transatlantic friends). And then they can be discarded, as the decision is agreed. They’re more tools in that respect than maps, and support collective exploration and agreed direction. I’ve not used Cynefin nearly enough to properly understand it’s usefulness in different circumstances, but from what I do think I know is that it helps you see what sort of system you’re in, and what decision you might take next.
On finding those upcoming pivots and the like, one of the ways we’ve used Zenko Mapping as a framework in this case is to ask people to describe projects by identifying ‘5 key moments where a project changed’. Over time, you can start collecting these together across projects, and start to spot patterns around what needs to change and where.
I completely agree on the triad-ness of Unsustainability, Sustainability, Regenerative. There’s lots of people looking to reach closed-loop production systems first, then regenerative. Regenerative is going to have a completely different manifestation/impact than a closed-loop system, which can at times feel like a material version of the minor efficiency gains cars are chasing.
This is my gut feeling too, though lots more reading and thinking to be done. Just ‘making a sustainable version of X’ does not naturally led to ‘making Y which replaces the extractive nature of X in the first place, PLUS starts to regenerate some of etc damage done’.
I like the anti fragile and regenerative approach/idea. Are you aware of Frijof Capra and his Web of Life book?
I recently read it and what you wrote reminded me of the chaos and velocity of metabolism of cells and how that whole process is quite chaotic but also regenerative. I think this concept also links into entropy but I wouldn’t know how to combine all those ideas and make it fun and interactive in a workshop for a purpose.
I am not aware of The Web of Life, but it’s now added to the list. You pick up on a really good point too about how do you take these ideas, and embed them practically in formats (workshops, frameworks, even talks) that gives people more reason to do them than to not. I like to think that’s what I’m fairly good at after doing it for a while, but grappling something this complex is making me think very hard about it indeed.
Well, not no butter. But certainly less than you’d expect. Another example of what producers are having to do in the face of ever-rising input costs.
The wrappers are probably long paid for in bulk. The boxes they’re packed into measured for the original dimensions. The size expectations of what a portion of butter looks like set in the minds of people.
“So what if we… worked out how to put only 75% of the butter in there?”
📢 Calling all futurists, changemakers, change-seekers, innovators 📢 .
Come spend two weeks this summer at IED in Barcelona attending the Innovation and Future Thinking course. We will be bringing together a group of inspirational local and international lecturers, immersing ourselves in the local and regional context through a series of site visits, and applying practices from foresight and futures thinking. Keep reading for more details.
Apply now if you’d like a place, or send it on to someone you think might. See you on July 10, 2023!
Each year in the Innovation and Future Thinking course at IED Barcelona, we select a theme to ground our work. This provides students with a lens through which to explore the world, a platform to help understand the methods and tools used to critically assess possible futures, and a common language in which the cohort can communicate what they uncover.
Perhaps most importantly of all, given the global diversity of the course and the highly contextual nature of the field, we look for a theme that both connects students to the city, and is applicable to their practice and profession beyond the course. As always, we were making notes on potential themes for this year during the course last July. More than ever, we could keenly feel the presence of climate in every field trip, every conversation with residents, and every link found in secondary research.
When a city announces it is increasing the number of climate shelters for that summer to almost 200, it’s hard not to think about the implications for the future.
This summer we knew we wanted to explore the urgent and important challenges of the climate crisis, the impacts presently – and yet to be – felt in Barcelona as well as the wider region of Catalunya. How will Barcelona need to adapt as the city, the region, and the country all continue to get hotter year upon year?
It is a big question, and as the course is only two weeks long, we want to tighten the enquiry a little. So our theme for the course this year is Taking Care Of Water,a phrase taken directly from one of the key changes in the 2018-30 Barcelona Climate Plan.
Taking Care Of Water
How will the region prepare for a reduced availability of potable water in the context of drought? Or on the flip side, prepare for a greater increase of flooding due to unprecedented rainfall.What effects can we expect to see on the food people eat, the work they do, the communities they’re part of, the places they live, and the services which support them?
Usefully, the Climate Plan sets out some goals that we should by now be on the verge of seeing come to fruition (or not). We will use the first half of the course to see how much progress has been made, gaining first hand experience by 1) immersing ourselves in the city through a series of site visits – to build a deeper and broader understanding of the landscape, and 2) guest speakers – each of whom will bring a different perspective and set of priorities to the debate.
We will seek to identify where in Barcelona problems are likely to arise, the form they will appear in, and the evidence of how they manifest themselves already. Understanding the historic and present day dynamics are a vital first step in beginning to understand how potential futures may unfold.
The second half will build on the first week, informing the development of specific briefs – emerging from the research – for teams to respond to. We will introduce and guide teams through the creation of a variety of outcomes from speculative products, to prototyping services, imagining new roles for citizens, innovative infrastructure, radical policies, developing new mental models, or forging new narratives.
The course will culminate in a final presentation, an opportunity for students to share their work with a group of invited external guests, receive feedback, and engage in meaningful discussion. Central to all of this is making sure students leave with a practical, usable set of skills, and a firm understanding of what this kind of work can be used to achieve.
Over the past nine years of IEDIFT, we’ve seen how far students can get even in a short time; by creating a learning environment that invites exploration, challenges the status quo, and promotes new ways of doing and knowing, this course has always tried to prompt transformative action. This year, we want to harness that energy in order to think and act differently around one of the world’s most pressing challenges.
Apply now if you’d like a place, or send it on to someone you think might…
We’ll see you on the streets of Barcelona in July.
Set up by Scott Smith of Changeist in 2014, and taken over by John V Willshire of Smithery in 2017, and this year will be co-cordinated for the first time by John and Toban Shadlyn. This two week summer course was conceived and designed to be a practical futures course for the streets. Past themes have included the Futures of Payments, Identity, Food, Transport, The ‘Futures and Follies of the Full-Stack Habitat’, and the Expansion of the Superblocks (Superillas). Past guest lecturers have included Christina Bifano, Laura Cleries, Andres Colmenares, Susan Cox-Smith, Dan Hill, Fabien Girardin, Natalie Kane, Tobias Revell and Elisabet Roselló.
This week I read Zoe Scaman’s latest report on communities; there probably aren’t many (if any) people paying as much attention at the intersections behind brands, agencies and whatever community is in these conversations today. If that’s your bag, do check it out.
It did spur one particular thought in my mind; are we still missing the macro scalability piece? What happens when everyone does this?
Back in 2009, I published a thesis at the end of the IPA excellence diploma, entitled ‘The Communis Manifesto‘. The abstract neatly sums it up, as you’d hope:
“The brand communications which evolved in the mass media era are becoming more and more ineffective at changing peoples’ perceptions of companies and brands.
The connections people make and communities they form nowadays are increasingly where they source their information; people are influenced most by people and communities.
I believe that the future of brand communications lies in finding a way to become part of communities, and communicate with them in a way that is shared, participatory and reciprocal.
In this way companies can affect peoples’ perceptions of them, and make all of their brand communications more effective”
What was interesting, when I reflected on it for the Nick Kendall’s book celebrating the diploma (What is a 21st Century Brand?), was that I only thought in the micro scale.
Individual examples, plans for how a single company might do this, etc.
It largely misses the macro implications of trying to do this when everyone else is too.
The cognitive burden on people trying to interact deeply, properly, with mutual benefit accruing all round, doesn’t yet stack up when you think about being a member of multiple communities.
People only have so much time to give.
The exhaustion of active participation across too many communities is a real life issue for many anyway, never mind adding in more in a digital realm.
Yet a different thought struck me this morning.
Might we perhaps begin to see technology companies offer an alternative use of LLMs (Large Language Models, or ‘AI’ in the current vernacular… that’s a whole other blog post).
“Let us be you for you”.
How could you train AI agents to act and participate in communities as you would, without you having to be there?
What continually updated information would it need to work well, to be a representative of you now?
Would you have a regular check-in with all of your different prosthetic selves?
The house-party protocol from Iron Man 3, if you will…
The most crucial question of that line of thought is how would people reconcile these agents as part of themselves?
Social media profiles are one thing; they’re an extension of a specific type of self, but there’s always-on, active decision-making for the most part.
Because perhaps the most interesting part of Zoe’s presentation is her description of the societal shifts sparking this interest. Increased isolation, polarised discourse, generations set adrift from the established order of things.
It feels pretty bleak out there for a lot of people. How would having to manage even more of your prosthetic selves in that world help you find belonging?
Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should, etc etc
…wait, what, that’s not true, how can you even go about claiming that?
Of course I didn’t create LEGO Serious Play.
But ChatGPT claims I did…
It’s just so damn eager to please sometimes, it’ll say anything.
Not that I’m sitting all day asking LLMs who I am (now there’s an identity crisis waiting to happen).
Instead, I was rebuilding the Artefact Shop, and just as an experiment, was using ChatGPT as my copilot to do so. Initially of course, I was just using it as a sub-editor – how would you improve this text, please – and getting back the sort of wind-tunnelled prose you might expect. It’s fine. I’m going to leave it up for a while, see how folk respond.
Then I idly wondered how far I could take things? What sort of response might I get if I asked about Artefact Cards generally?
It starts well enough. There’s clearly enough online for it to get a sense of the core idea.
Then the drift begins, and it starts assuming some things Artefact Cards might do, perhaps based on what other design card decks do? Finally, it disappears into an alternative dimension, where an agency called More Than Minutes created them (they are real, I checked, but mostly do conference visualisations and the like).
The glaring errors in ChatGPT, and any other LLM, are easy to spot.
It’s the small ones that are harder.
If you just give it free rein to make associations, you can only expect it to make connections freely, and need to double, triple check what it produces (like the first diagram on the left). Whereas if you give it a bit more structure, bound by connections you know exist, maybe there’s less wiggle room to go off elsewhere.
Perhaps that’s a useful way to thinking about it. It’s not presenting you with a paragraph or two of opinion and facts; it doesn’t know anything. Instead, it’s bringing you back a cluster of proximate things which could be stitched together in a particular way, which can pass you by if you don’t know any better. Sometimes it gets lucky. Often it doesn’t. And the onus is on you to know the difference.
For the past five years or so, I’ve been taking photos at Gatwick Airport. No, not of planes taking off. Nothing as exciting as that.
Photos of the water refill machines.
I know. Exciting, right? It’s up there with my growing photo collection of crap hand dryers inspired by Dyson’s increasing terrible forays into the field. More on those another day, if you’re really unlucky.
What I’m really interested in with the water machines is the data. The small screen to the top right tells everyone how many disposable water bottles this machine ‘has saved’.
There are two machines I visit most often, and have a rough idea of how fast the ticker goes up. The one that’s been there longest is in the low hundreds of thousands. But as I mainly fly from Gatwick when I go anywhere, it’s been hard to know what *good* looks like.
Then I went to Heathrow this week, and saw this machine; possibly older, given the state of it, but it’s headed up over three million uses, which puts the Gatwick numbers in the shade.
If I was *really* interested enough, I guess I could write to both airports, perhaps, and ask if they track the data properly, and could send me it. It poses interesting questions about what’s behind the screen: does it save the data with a time stamp? Can an engineer download the historical data.
Is it, perhaps, even live – is someone sitting in the water machine company HQ watching all the data creep up?
I doubt it, to be honest, having worked with enough companies to understand what gets prioritised in shipping products and services.
Instead, I think this data is probably just leaked deliberately into public, inferring that good is being done, without really using the data to make sure good is done more regularly, at greater pace.
Imagine instead you* started analysing this data in the background, matching it up to flight patterns, country destinations, water bottle sales points in airports.
*Actually, not you. Some low level, narrow AI type thing that could make suggestions for you. Want to accelerate the rate of water bottle replacement? Here’s the first five things to do at your airport.
AI as a basic, low-level reckon-engine. I could get behind that.
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