Exploring the essence of design can be quite complex, as it encompasses both a noun and a verb. Design is fundamentally what designers do when they engage in the creative process to shape, form, and structure change intentionally. While it is often simplistically equated to problem-solving, this definition is insufficient as it overlooks the subjective and intuitive aspects of design which are equally important.

Designers infuse their work with personal intention and performative acts, which result in aesthetic or organisational changes in the world. It is important to recognize that although functionality is often associated with design, it is not always a necessary condition. The value of a designed object can transcend its practical utility, as seen in Philippe Starck's "Juicy Salif" citrus juicer, which is celebrated more for its iconic aesthetic than its functionality. That is, it doesn't really work.

Ultimately, the true hallmark of design lies in its intention to create value and impart meaningful change, regardless of its functional success. This expansive view of design allows for both functional and dysfunctional outcomes, recognizing that the presence of value can exist independently of utility. In design, form is influenced by value and intention, more so than by functionality alone.

In "Signal. Image. Architecture.," John May argues that traditional drawing in architecture has been overtaken by technics of imaging since the advent of software like AutoCAD. He highlights that contemporary architectural practices are now focused on digital image creation, detaching from the hands-on skill of drawing. This shift has left younger architects with no familiarity with manual drawing techniques, reflecting a broader change in technical production methodologies.

This evolution signifies the replacement of orthographic production's historical and temporal relationships with a new culture centered on imaging. Despite the persistent, hand-crafted nature of architecture, the industry still relies on two-dimensional representations derived from digital models, awaiting a future where digital constructs play a direct role in building processes. In this context, senior practitioners strive to instill an understanding of traditional orthographic documents and their relevance, even as digital tools dominate.

The book prompts reflection on whether the analogy of ‘drawing with words’ still holds validity in a digital-first design landscape. It questions whether such analogies remain meaningful in a world where traditional drawing practices are essentially obsolete. This contemplation acknowledges the complexities and ongoing transitions within the field of architecture.

Writing here in the third person: in this reflective piece, I emphasize the importance of pausing to consider the motivations and beneficiaries of my efforts. By taking a moment to intentionally reflect, I aim to ensure my actions are aligned with my goals and values. This underscores a commitment to thoughtful, step-by-step progress rather than rushing forward without purpose. Or something like that.

In the summer of 1990, before starting architecture school, I watched the British documentary series "Architecture at the Crossroads," sparking a vocational and intense interest in this strange thing called architecture. This wasn't a burning emotional love, but rather an appreciation for a discipline I could bring into my world—a world of complex yet fascinating puzzles that influenced people's everyday lives.

The documentary portrayed architecture as a social endeavor, turning mundane built environments into compositions that spoke a physical language of form, repetition, pattern, materiality, and space. Particularly impactful was the episode on Japanese houses, with Hiroshi Hara's Awazu house standing out for its astonishingly literal and symmetrical design, vastly different from my suburban Australian upbringing, evoking a sense of open-ended possibility.

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