Last Friday, a group from Adaptive Path went to see The Art of Participation exhibition at the SFMOMA. The show, which closed on Feb. 9th, was a collection of participatory art works, art that requires audience contribution in some form, created from 1950 to the present. It included work by Alan Kaprow (a painter associated strongly with Happenings), Yoko Ono (her Cut Piece), Fluxus, John Cage (4’33”), and Janet Cardiff. Unlike 99% of art museum exhibitions, visitors could and did interact directly with the work.
On one hand, I arranged the field trip to the SFMOMA for fun. But my not-so-hidden agenda was to challenge my understanding of “experience,” and gain some insight from my colleagues’ experience of the show.
I hear the words “interaction,” “participation,” and “experience” fifty times a day. I probably say them or type them or think them that many times, too. Don’t know about you, but when I use the same word that many times, their meaning becomes fuzzy. Worse, I start to believe I really know what the words mean. I start making assumptions. I need to check in with myself occasionally and push the reset button. Sometimes, this activity confirms my understanding. Sometimes it shifts subtly.
I’ve pulled together a couple of thoughts from the trip and subsequent discussions.
Experiences with a Big E
Teresa and I, at Peter Samis’ urging, did Janet Cardiff’s 2001 video piece “The Telephone Call.” Janet Cardiff is a sound artist who completed a video piece for the SFMOMA several years ago. You check out a video camera and stereo headphones from the main desk. Cardiff has pre-recorded a walk through the MOMA, recording all the sounds and sights there at the time. When you experience the piece, you follow her path through the museum. You literally see and hear what she did, while you see and hear what’s there now. It was the closest thing to a time machine I’ve ever seen. It was also an Experience with a Big “E.” The experience engaged me physically (heart racing, all senses firing), cognitively (trying to process two realities at the same time), emotionally (becoming invested in the story Cardiff was telling), and socially (Teresa and I interacting with each other, feeling some social awkwardness).
For me, other Experiences with a Big E include good theater, roller coasters, concerts, motorcycle riding, fun houses, playing in a band. I experience it with all my senses, in my body, in my mind, in my heart.
The Person and the Thing Behind the Glass
The show also had online pieces and installed kiosks throughout. I have rarely seen an installed kiosk in a museum that really works and engages people in the same way physically interactive exhibits, do. When you having Experiences with a Big E, the dull click of the mouse echoes through the hall with its dullness. Click… Sigh.
Yesterday, at our company meeting, I brought this up. I wondered out loud, when we say we are “designing experiences” that occur online or in a mobile device, what do we mean? Especially, when we are “designing experiences” for, as one colleague called it, the Thing Behind the Glass— mobile devices, screens, PCs, TVs, iPods or anything with a piece of plastic or glass between you and the thing you are interacting with. It was a passionate discussion. I was reminded that sometimes I have experiences online or with a Thing Behind the Glass that are, in fact, transformative. They do fire on multiple levels; sometimes my heart even races or I might exclaim loudly that something is awesome. But a lot of times, this experience happens with a lower case e – it’s subtle, it’s internal, it’s slowly transformative. It’s more of a cerebral experience.
Designing Opportunities for Experience
Recently, one of my colleagues pointed out a debate going on in the design community about the semantics of “experience design” and “designing experiences.” One designer goes so far to call the idea of “experience design,” as he says so eloquently puts it, horseshit. While I admit I love saying that word loudly over and over, I don’t get much else from black and white characterizations. Maybe I get a little over-stimulated, like a kid on fruit loops and apple juice, but not necessarily meaningfully engaged.
Human experience is messy. A layer of skin separates us from each other. I will never know what truly goes on in your head and you will never know what truly goes on in mine. With that in mind, of course the idea of “designing experiences” seems ludicrous. I do believe, though, that the value of these semantic debates is that they encourage us to think deeply and specify our meaning.
I use research tools to illuminate the human experience as it relates to a specific problem. Then, I design something with respect and attention to that experience. The outcome will support, assist, or facilitate a conversation with between human beings in a positive way. While I am not literally designing that person’s experience, I am designing opportunities for that person to have an experience.
Right now, most of the opportunities for experience I design are quieter experiemce, Things Behind the Glass. Someday I hope to design opportunities for Experiences with a Big E or some other hybrid experience that combines both.
What’s your experience with “experience?”


