7 Things This Academic Learned from the World of Brand and Design

Design library, reorganized by topic
Design library (Photo credit: juhansonin)

I spent a postgraduate gap year working for the brand and design agency Ingenious Rapport, first in business development and then shortly after as Creative Account Manager.  In addition to working with some extraordinary colleagues (indeed, some leaders in the field), I had the opportunity to work on thrilling accounts, including a major UK bank, government agency, and several popular restaurants.  The experience was as eye-opening as it was edifying.   From thinking about how to use super high-speed personalized printing to promote books and cars, to tracking down someone who could make me a giant illuminated sign in 48 hours, my days were filled with extraordinary (and often extraordinarily fun) commissions.  I also learned a bit about print and digital design, social media, and the business world in general through the process, all of which has contributed to my approach to teaching, research, and academic practice.

  1. Design does matter. It was fascinating to see the design process take place.  A key part of my job was to meet with clients and figure out what it was they needed and how they wanted their brand to be communicated through print and/or digital media.  I then translated that into a brief for the designers, who would take it from there.  Serving as the intermediary between the designers and the client, I was often right at the centre of debates between design and practicality, between function and form, and I took one important thing away from this:  people choose to spend their time with the objects that intrigue them most.  This doesn’t just apply to advertising and websites, but to everything around us.  And, because of this, I have maintained my interest in design and typography into my academic life.  Is it something to become obsessive about?  Perhaps not.  But using BlairMdITC rather than Times New Roman for a syllabus is a simple detail that can make a difference to how your ideas are viewed, understood, and remembered. Continue reading “7 Things This Academic Learned from the World of Brand and Design”

Folksonomy

Katalog biblioteczny w Łodzi
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

www.duolingo.com

English: The Rosetta Stone in the British Muse...
The Rosetta Stone in the British Museum. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The language learning site Duolingo has recently left beta for a full release, and it is nothing short of thrilling.  It is a free site which, in its own words, helps users ‘learn a language and simultaneously translate the Web.’  Not only is the interface sharp, engaging, and extraordinarily intuitive, it personalizes language learning in a way that should keep language teachers salivating.  With each successive unit, you are given new translating tasks (most of which are from Wikipedia, though it appears this will become more diverse as the site grows) which build upon and help to assess what you have learned.

Whoever saw language learning as the start of crowd sources translations was definitely on to something.  When you translate authentic material from the web with Duolingo, it is assessed against all other submissions, ultimately identifying the most accurate or most correct.

Through this, it takes into account the fact that any language, at its most essential root, actually is an exercise in crowd sourcing.

The programming behind all of this magic must be pretty astonishing, but the entire learning process looks seamless and perfectly tailored to each learner (not to mention, entirely free and a new significant competitor to Rosetta Stone). French, German, and Spanish are already live.  I am looking forward to Swedish and an iPad version.

A Discovery of Academics

English: The courtyard of the Bodelian Library...
The courtyard of the Bodelian Library, looking out the north gate from the south gate. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve finally made peace with my Cloud, and come to terms with the fact that while I will continue to read books for pleasure on my Kindle, most of my actual research will be distinctly paper-based for the immediate future.  (I’m just waiting for the next great piece of kit to make that change.) But, oh, have I been reading a great book on my Kindle lately.  It might be about early modern history and written by Deborah Harkness, a well-regarded scholar in the field, but it is certainly not academic.  Here’s the run down:

An American academic is spending a year at the Bodleian working on her latest research on the history of alchemical science.   There she meets Matthew, a handsome, 30-something professor who has more publications to his name and more interdisciplinary interests than could ever be possible for a person his age. It’s a charming love story set amid the city of a thousand spires, but the salient fact here is that she is a witch and he is a vampire.

Everyone around me seems to reading Harkness’s A Discovery of Witches at the moment, and for good cause.  It is well-paced, inventive, a bit escapist, and quite stylish. What strikes me most, though, is its portrayal of academics and their circles.  Professorial phenoms, the book playfully suggests, are simply millenia old vampires who have had years to perfect their research and to develop their experience. Matthew’s poise, his polish, and his ability to turn out a slew of books in one semester seems supernatural precisely because it is. (And it’s a fun way to think of academics in the real world–just imagine how many thousands of years Harold Bloom has been around.)

More delightful, though, is the book’s portrayal of Diana, the American witch, and her understanding of academic insight.  As a child she shunned magic, not only because of the tragic death of her parents, but also because she wanted to be certain that her achievements really were her own.  And it’s a resolution, she is certain, which she has largely stuck to, particularly in her professional academic life.  When she happens to get stuck in her research or can’t see the next route her work will take, she simply imagines a large white table filled with the puzzle pieces of all that she needs to fit together–the dates, the events, the speculations, and the controversies of history.  And, in a snap, the puzzle comes together in her mind.  But it is only part way through the novel when Matthew finally explains to her that this visualization is magic, and, in fact, she had used magic all along.

Maybe there is something peculiar and even a bit supernatural about academics, from the young publishing wizards who defy their years, to the profoundly intuitive thinkers who can make sense of even the most illogical of analytical puzzles.   A Discovery of Witches is giving many readers an insight into the mania and joys of an academic life, and its an insight that perhaps many academics could learn from as well.

Writing the English Literature Exam

English: A portrait of Anton Chekhov by his br...
A portrait of Anton Chekhov by his brother Nikolay Chekhov (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If there is one element of university education that tends to strike fear in students, it is surely the dreaded end-of-semester exams. Exams do take a lot of preparation, and even once you think you have a pretty good handle on the module content, it is still going to take some hard work to make sure that you are prepared to demonstrate to the examiners what you have learned. But in the same way that essays are a learning tool as well as a form of assessment, the preparation leading up to exams is when the ideas from the semester will finally ‘click’, and you will finally begin to see the connections.

Writing an exam response is different to writing an essay for one vital reason: in an exam, you only have one chance to get it right. This one distinction has a lot of important connotations. Because you only get one chance to get it right, it is essential to know exactly where you are headed right from the beginning. Just like in an essay, your exam should present an argument and then offer the reader adequate evidence and support to validate that argument. The process of writing an essay is often when the shape of the argument emerges. But in exam conditions, you need to discover your argument a bit more quickly.

Students will often write in the margin of their scriptbook a list of topics in lieu of an outline. But this kind of record doesn’t really demonstrate much in the way of the shape of argumentation. Instead, you can actually use the creation of an outline to help you find your argument. In an exam, begin with what you know, and then consider what argument this information might be supporting. Let’s take a look at this with a sample exam question:

Consider the way in which social change was explored by at least two playwrights from the early 20th century.

Remember, our goal here is to ultimately present an argument. We need to be able to tell the examiners something along the lines of “X and Y were the ways in which social change was explored by playwrights from the early 20th century.” We have revised the material extensively, have an hour to write the response, and aren’t quite sure what this argument might be. Well, let’s start with what we know:

Thesis Statement (argument): X was the way in which social change was explored by playwrights from the early 20th century.

Topic Sentence: Chekhov utilized doctor figures in his plays to figuratively ‘diagnose’ the problems of modern Russian society.

Topic Sentence: Shaw used bold symbolism (e.g. the destruction of an ark-like house by an unexplained bomb) to depict the more subtle problems of movement into a modern world.

Once you have you topic sentences, try to figure out what argument they might be adding up to. You will be surprised by the kind of extraordinary new connections that will find by looking at your topic sentences in this way. What seems to be connecting these two topic sentences is the idea of symbolism: Chekhov uses doctors as a symbol of the treatment of modern society; Shaw uses physical symbols to convey the issues faced by modern society. Suddenly, we have an argument:

Even those early 20th playwrights often considered to be working in the realist style turned to bold symbolism in their work in order to explore the often painful and incomprehensible changes faced by the modern world.

That is an argument, and exactly the kind of thing that the exam markers will be looking for. By working backwards through the outline during the first 2 or 3 minutes of the exam, you have a clear and sustainable argument that can be used to structure the entire essay. This argument can be introduced in your opening paragraph, supported with evidence in each of your body paragraphs, and then recapitulated in your conclusion.

This post is based upon teaching resources I developed while teaching at the University of Leeds.