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Some good ole (un)common sense
So, two nights ago, the current editor, Brandon Hopp, and I suddenly decided to do the unthinkable: we cut the piece in about half. After working, reworking, and working again, a section that wasn’t coming together, we just took it out. Now, keep in mind, that section was the climax of the film. But, upon its removal…alas, a functioning film arose. I was floored to realize that we’d spent 6 months forcing something that just needed to go.
This was a reminder: less, often, is more. And, the original vision shouldn’t always be the final - not if you’re paying attention to what is really happening, rather than focusing too hard on what you first had in mind. One of the hardest, but most successful tricks in the creative process (that I’ve discovered, anyway), is the ability to step back and, as they say at Adaptive Path, kill your darlings. Being willing to hack your work up for the sake of experimentation, sometimes, redeems it.
Sounds like common sense. Unfortunately, good sense isn't common. That's why we need to be reminded. Do you need to kill a project? Do it. That could be its saving grace. Thanks Teresa.
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Apple: "Twitter. Triumph of humanity."
Twitter’s meteoric rise to ubiquity is proof positive that the world, in all its complexity, is eager to embrace simplicity. Wielding more impact on social networking than most communication tools this generation has yet seen, Twitter is one of those universal phenomena where the product name self-conjugates. To engage with Twitter is to “tweet.
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On Typographica
Visually awful cocktails of interpretation notwithstanding, the new Typographica is a brilliant example of how subtle typographic decisions about face, size, weight, leading, measure, and white space can at once summon centuries of measured harmony and challenge conventional visual hierarchy to which we web designers may unnecessarily cling.
Look more closely at our Typographica screenshot. What do you see?
I’ll tell you what I saw at first — a stark, striking page with no nav bar, no indication of “you are here,” and a type specimen with text set so large that it, though beautiful, was kind of overpowering compared to the site’s masthead. Although the content is clearly aligned on a grid, the different headings and text chunks seemed scattered.
Then I read the review.
Spending some time reading relieved me of my self-righteous initial reaction, and I began to see the composition for what it actually is: a wonderfully orchestrated hierarchy of content meant to envelop the reader at a particular moment in time: when the reader is reading.
Look at the same page again. This time, squint (or better yet, take a minute and enjoy reading the review). Notice how, either by squinting or by engaging in the act of reading, compositional pieces are forced into your periphery and the visual hierarchy becomes clear.
This hierarchical clarity isn’t achieved through the typeface choices for display or body text, nor is it due to sizing, weight, arrangement of the composition, or the balance of white space via leading and spacing.
Its success is the cumulative result of all of these small decisions.
I'm a sucker for details like these. *Superb* analysis by Mr. Brown.
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