3D Artist Mbee showed this creative setup.

In the court of public opinion, acolytes of great architects are rarely treated as legends themselves. Take Chicago-area architect Don Erickson, who apprenticed with Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesin from 1948 through 1951. Although the Chicago Tribune lauded Erickson’s work as “delicate, beautiful, and always original” after his death in 2006, local interior designer Jennie Bishop reports that most of his houses “are often purchased and torn down or so drastically changed that you can’t recognize them.”Bishop discovered an exception in 2021, when a friend in real estate suggested a meeting with clients who had just purchased the Winnetka, Illinois, residence that Erickson had designed for photographer Richard Boyer in 1966. “I went in blind and just gasped,” Bishop recalls of arriving at the impeccably preserved home, adding, “I was saying silent prayers that they would not rip things out or depart from Erickson’s vision.”Bishop sourced a circular sectional, designed by Adrian Pearsall, for the great room’s living area. She and one of the clients plan to replace its vintage upholstery when the homeowners’ two young sons are less rambunctious. In the living area, a pair of lounge chairs upholstered in a Schumacher checkerboard pattern stand guard over an original fireplace. Bishop’s invocations were answered quickly, when the husband and wife described their predilection for living in unique spaces. They also explained that they had promised the previous homeowner to steward this midcentury gem and envisioned a delicate renovation ahead. Bishop started the commission as cofounder of Chicago-based Studio Gild, and she completed the project under her recently launched AD PRO Directory firm Bishop Studio.The Winnetka residence features several hallmarks of a Frank Lloyd Wright–designed house. Applying Wright’s concept of “pressure and release” to the 6,000-square-foot interior, for example, Erickson created a skinny formal entry hall that he made even more narrow by arcing a raised fireplace hearth into the space. Just beyond the hearth, the newcomer overlooks a great room that is as expansive as the entry was constrained.“We didn’t want all the fixtures to look like they had been left there,” Bishop says of layering a contemporary lighting vocabulary into the well-preserved interior. For the kitchen island, she specified a Light Object 015 from Naama Hofman to shed strong uniform light on the work surface. The island’s Afternoon Plus stools are from DWR. The kitchen’s perimeter cabinetry traces one of the orioles with which original architect Don Erickson had lined the west elevation of the house. The millwork was done by Abruzzo Kitchen & Bath. The kitchen’s breakfast area, as seen from the hallway dividing the great room from the dining room: a Heritage Unicolor pendant from Taiwan-Lantern tops the custom table and banquette; leather sling dining chairs from CB2. Other aspects of the house, such as its fan-patterned brick floors, historically evocative windows, and balletic ceilings, suggest that Erickson counted himself among the likes of A. Quincy Jones and Edward Durrell Stone—architects who were trying to reshape High Modernism for a popular American audience.Bishop determined that the Winnetka project required neither window replacement nor ceiling removal. At first, she planned to leave the enchanting brick floor untouched too. “We thought that its muted colors were original,” she says, “but we discovered a warmer palette underneath the kitchen appliances.” While Boyer and the homeowners who followed him had maintained the interior with almost religious devotion, their years of cleaning and coating the floors had unintentionally dulled their appearance. So began an exhaustive process of diamond sanding and resealing the surface, which Bishop admits caused moments of second-guessing: “It was painful to get to where we are, but now I’m super happy for the rusty and spicy colors that we achieved. We dramatically changed the house and honored it simultaneously.”A Maho sectional sofa by Wendelbo and a pair of vintage hammock chairs anchor the Florida room, which distinguishes itself from the great room by stepping down from the living area. The Florida room is oriented south to the patio. Bishop completed the project’s other major intervention in a similar spirit. While redoing the primary and children’s bathrooms in the bedroom wing, the interior designer preserved the spaces’ organization into eight-by-eight-foot modules and specified surfaces featuring period-appropriate patterns and colors. To make the three-compartment primary bathroom more gracious, she converted a never-used sauna into a wet room that remains crowned in its original cedar. (Bishop notes that she could upgrade plumbing and electrical systems largely without touching the house’s historic fabric thanks to a crawl space that Erickson had presciently included under the bedroom wing.)For the house’s furnishings, Bishop dotted the interior with antiques. For new and custom pieces, she leaned more toward complementing rather than aping the past. “We’re surrounded by so much wood in this house that we expressed ourselves with stone,” she cites as one example. Bishop also explains that the trio’s admiration for this palimpsest has only grown with time, so much so that the homeowners have granted her right of first refusal, should they someday decide to sell the house.The house is ostensibly L-shaped in plan, its east- and south-facing crook enfolding a generous patio area. Bishop and the homeowners are spreading the love by including the nest in a home tour hosted by Community House. The annual event raises funds for the local nonprofit and, this year, it promises to raise the profile of Erickson too. Bishop reinvented the service entrance, located immediately adjacent to the three-bay garage, as a cozy entry wrapped in Cranes wallpaper by Milton & King. “Nothing in this house is super precious,” Bishop says, noting that the homeowners enjoy entertaining at home. To wit, the designer created a double-pedestal dining room table topped in Jadore Quartzite “that could be danced upon.” It is overseen by a Rib Vault Light by Talbot & Yoon. Within the great room, the Florida room’s glassed-in corner contains a vintage pedestal table surrounded by Crate & Barrel chairs upholstered in a House of Hackney bouclé. Bishop says she purchased and arranged the pieces on her own volition to help the then-unconvinced homeowners envision the vignette as a place for sipping wine or playing mah-jongg, “and they never left.” The primary bedroom occupies a semidetached volume at the easternmost end of the house. Here, a walnut Feve Desk from Ferm Living overlooks a custom king-size bed finished in wine-colored Kirkby Design upholstery. Like so many other original finishes in the house, the cedar ceilings in the primary bathroom suite were perfectly preserved. Bishop tacked a Mori pendant by RBW above the room’s middle module rather than tear into the cedar planks. The primary bath is a suite of three eight-by-eight-foot modules linked by travertine flooring. Jupiter’s Axis Wall Sconces flank the double vanity. The primary bath and this walk-in closet face one another across a hallway. Because the primary bedroom is so clearly distinguished from the rest of the house in plan, the two dressing areas form a metaphorical proscenium to the sanctum. The house’s privacy-giving serpentine wall is visible from the kids’ bathroom, in which a custom vanity sits against a backdrop of Claybrook Confiserie and Concrete Collaborative Pacifica tiles. The interior’s many swaths of pink are no accident—it is the husband’s favorite color. Bishop leaned into the hue with gusto for the powder room, using Sarah Von Dreele’s Brian XL wallpaper, a Twin 1.0 sconce, a slab of Quartzite, and other flamingo-like sources. Architect Don Erickson placed a serpentine brick wall in front of the house’s north elevation to shield the sleeping wing’s bathing and dressing areas.

“Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable. All images courtesy of Red Brick Art Museum Through Fairy Lights and Butterflies, Chiharu Shiota Tethers Presence and Absence May 22, 2025 Art Grace Ebert In one of the foundational texts of Taoism, Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou recalls a dream in which he was a butterfly, soaring through the sky with no recollection of his human form. Upon waking, though, he finds himself firmly in a bipedal body, prompting an important question: is he a butterfly dreaming he’s Zhuang Zhou or a man dreaming he’s a butterfly? This ancient story of transformation and the thin line between states of mind informs a dazzling new installation by Chiharu Shiota (previously). “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” suspends glimmering lights and faint butterfly wings above an iron-framed twin bed topped with a white blanket and pillow. Rejecting the strict separation between body and mind, Shiota references her belief in the spirit’s ability to endure long after one’s final breath. “While each time we slip into sleep, it is a rehearsal for death—a journey beyond the body,” she says. “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable Exemplary of the artist’s interest in memory and knowledge, “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” is just one of the immersive works in the monumental exhibition Silent Emptiness at Red Brick Art Museum in Beijing. On view through August 31, the show revolves around Shiota’s ongoing explorations into the “presence in absence,” this time extending such inquiries into ideas of emptiness as it relates to Eastern philosophy and enlightenment. Included in the exhibtion is an antique Tibetan Buddhist doorway that anchors “Gateway to Silence,” an explosive installation that entwines the elaborately carved wood structure in a dense, criss-crossing labyrinth of string. Red thread, one of the artist’s favored materials, symbolizes relationships. And in this case, it’s an invitation to introspection and finding an awareness of the present moment. Metaphorically interlacing art, memory, and faith, Shiota very literally visualizes the intextricable web in which we’re all bound, regardless of geography or era. Pieces like “Echoes of Time” and “Rooted Memories” incorporate materials like soil and large stones, presenting the passage of time as cyclical and the past as always shaping the present. Detail of “Gateway to Silence” (2025), antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable Born in Osaka, the artist has lived in Berlin for much of her life, and Silent Emptiness also tethers her roots to more global experiences. Shiota likened her understanding of herself to the way salt molecules appear as crystals only after water evaporates. “I was not visible as an individual in Japan,” she says. “Whereas I did not know who I was, what I wanted to do, and what was necessary in the water, I feel that I became an individual and crystal, and understood those things for the first time by coming to Germany.” Another example of finding presence in absence, Shiota’s migration and experience of discovery provides an important touchstone for her thinking and practice. She adds, “Absence does not signify disappearance but rather an integration into a vaster universe, re-entering the flow of time and forming new connections with all things.” (via designboom) “Gateway to Silence” (2025, antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable Detail of “Gateway to Silence” (2025, antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable Detail of “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable Detail of “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable “Multiple Realities” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable “Echoes of Time” (2025), black yarn and rock, dimensions variable “Echoes of Time” (2025), black yarn and rock, dimensions variable Next article

Designing without modern tools isn’t regression — it’s a stance against authoritative, tech-imposed aesthetics.The Art of Suminagashi Japanese Marbling | Image source: youtube.comI find most design trends irritating — not because they exist, but because too many designers follow them instead of forging their own. Then again, maybe that’s just my rebellious nature talking.There’s nothing wrong with using trends for inspiration or to practice various techniques. But latching onto a popular aesthetic as if it’s your identity? That’s just uninspired — especially if you consider yourself a creative professional.Take Airbnb’s recent Lava icon format — currently causing quite a stir among designers. The icons stand out for their dimensional look — a so-called break from the flat, minimal trend that’s really just recycled Web 2.0 aesthetics. But more importantly than the visuals, they use a custom animation format.https://medium.com/media/85cb356a935a5b28844c2b60587db172/hrefInstead of using standard video, Lottie, or WebGL, Airbnb created a lightweight proprietary format for animated UI icons. It supports transparency and runs smoothly across platforms using their own playback engine. The result is a low-key, technically efficient solution tailored to their design system.Cool? Sure. Game-changing? Not really.It’s just another gimmicky trend that’ll be overused by designers until the next shiny thing comes out of Silicon Valley — assuming we’re still employed by then. But hey, I’m sure our AI overlords will credit us in the footnotes.The video below by Michal Malewicz shows just how effortlessly AI can generate these dynamic icons — maybe too effortlessly. Aside from the animation, these icons remind me of 2010 all over again — minus the part where designers actually, you know, design stuff.https://medium.com/media/366d8d8678e02caa2971f432cb9c9832/hrefThis new aesthetic shift sparked a question in my mind — why are we so quick to react and follow design trends instead of creating them? And more importantly, why are we feeding those trends with the same technology that threatens to hollow out the value of creative work? That’s like a sheep teaching wolves how to season meat — it’s the opposite of self-preservation.Designers already have the tools — not just digital, but physical, emotional, and cultural — to shape what comes next. And with AI stripping creative work of depth and nuance, maybe the next shift shouldn’t be about advancing the tech, but about returning to what’s raw, handmade, and unpredictable. Less about outcomes, more about process.I’m not talking about arts and crafts. I’m talking about a process that requires both expertise and experimentation — where clear vision meets material intuition. Where the story of creation is just as important as the final result. And where the medium isn’t chosen for convenience, but for its ability to convey meaning through the craft itself.Most contemporary design leans on minimalism and “clean” aesthetics — traits that aren’t principles so much as trends, and like any trend, they’re fleeting. What passes for “usable” today often masks a deeper fear of disruption — a retreat into sterile, risk-averse conformity at the expense of expressive creativity.Maybe it’s time to be bold. Brave. Experimental. Unruly. Time to stop letting authoritarian tech giants like Google and Apple dictate the future of design. Maybe it’s time for humans — driven by imagination, emotion, and real creativity — to shape what comes next.We don’t need permission to create work that feels alive and personal. The trend should be the process of human craft, not the outcome.That being said, here are a few hands-on techniques that can reignite that spark — or at least offer an inspirational avenue for expression and experimentation as technology slowly strips away our creative soul.Hand Sketching with PurposeImage source: RedditNot as a wireframe or placeholder, but as a final aesthetic choice. Embrace smudges, uneven line weight, imperfect perspective — these things inject humanity. Digitize them, yes — but don’t correct them. The imperfections are the point.Suminagashi (Floating Ink Marbling)Image source: suminagashi.comThis ancient Japanese technique involves dropping ink onto water and manipulating the patterns with breath or tools before laying paper on top to capture the design. The result is a one-of-a-kind, fluid composition that feels spontaneous and alive. Scanning these marbled textures into digital work adds unpredictability and human touch.Gelli PrintingImage source: schack.orgA monoprinting technique using gelatin-based plates. You apply ink or paint to a soft surface and press textures into it — leaves, string, mesh — then transfer it to paper. The result is a layered, atmospheric texture full of nuance. Perfect for backgrounds, overlays, or subtle storytelling.Block PrintingImage source: mokuartstudio.comOne of the oldest and most tactile forms of printmaking. Carve a design into wood, linoleum, or rubber, roll ink across the surface, and press it onto paper or fabric. The pressure inconsistencies, ink bleed, and subtle misalignments give each print its own personality. Digitizing these prints introduces organic irregularity into otherwise sterile digital layouts.Photocopy TransferImage source: billchambers.netThis hands-on technique — something I picked up from a fellow faculty member at LIU — involves printing a design with a laser printer, placing it face-down on a new surface, and applying an alcohol-based solvent like acetone or eucalyptus oil to transfer the toner. The result is rough, imperfect, and full of texture — like a ghost of the original image. Perfect for adding grit, unpredictability, and a touch of rebellion to otherwise sterile digital work.Stop-Motion MicrointeractionsImage source: BehanceCreate frame-by-frame animations using physical materials — paper cutouts, clay, thread, even coffee stains. Photograph each frame and compile them into short animations using GIF or Lottie formats. These can be used for loading states, transitions, tooltips, or hover effects — anywhere your interface needs a moment of life.Analog CollageImage source: reddit.comRip up magazines. Cut out old photos. Layer tape, torn paper, brush strokes. Glue it down, scan it in. This physical interaction with media encourages spontaneous composition and leads to surprising juxtapositions that would never happen inside a grid system.Film Photography as Texture SourceImage source: behance.netShoot 35mm film, cross-process it, scratch the negatives, scan it all. Use these as grainy, unpredictable texture layers. It gives your design a worn-in honesty, unlike the sterile perfection of stock photos or digital renders.Hand-Lettering with Intentional InconsistencyImage source: youtube.comNot polished script or Instagram calligraphy. We’re talking rough, personal letterforms drawn with pencil, marker, or brush — complete with wobbly baselines, inconsistent kerning, and raw edges. The goal isn’t perfection — it’s character.Material Experiments with Failure in MindImage source: threadsmagazine.comWork with candle wax, clay, bleach on paper, or burning the edges of cardboard. These experiments are often messy and may “fail” by conventional standards — but the accidents are often the most expressive parts.Some might argue that AI can replicate the outcomes of these techniques — and they’d be right. But that misses the point. These aren’t just aesthetic choices — they’re philosophical stances. They resist convenience. They reject the sterile, corporate polish that defines so much of modern design. They demand time, intention, and effort. And that’s exactly the point.AI can churn out a thousand “good-enough” designs in seconds. And maybe that’s fine for companies that don’t value creativity. But for those of us who do? That’s not the bar. It’s an insult. I refuse to let corporations and tech platforms strip away the very thing that gives so many designers a sense of purpose.I believe we should be working toward a future where what truly sets a designer apart is their willingness to get their hands dirty — to make mistakes, challenge convention, and find meaning in the mess of the process itself.That’s how you create a trend worth following — not by imitating the machine, literally or metaphorically, but by doing what it can not — creating from passion, intuition, resistance, and imperfection. By making the process — and the story behind it — part of the value, you restore meaning to the work.Maybe if we’re brave enough, honest enough, the next big design trend won’t come from Figma templates or top-down tech mandates. Maybe it’ll come from a torn piece of paper, a botched ink spill, or a stubborn pencil stroke. Maybe the next trend begins the moment we stop chasing — and start making again.Don’t miss out! Join my email list and receive the latest content.The next design trend should start with your hands, not a computer was originally published in UX Collective on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Mini PCs are all the rage at the moment, cramming laptop parts into a teeny-tiny space to give you a desktop that’s cheap and powerful, and at least a little bit upgradeable. But with most of them relying on AMD APUs, their gaming is limited. Can you make that setup work in a larger desktop form factor? Asus thinks you can, and at Computex it’s game to try. The TUF Gaming T500 looks like a small-ish desktop tower, complete with a transparent window on the side to show off its parts. But while the pre-installed graphics card is obvious (an RTX 5060 Ti in this version). Take a gander above it, and you’ll see what looks like the smallest cooling setup ever on top of its processor, directly connected to a rear exhaust fan. It’s tiny because that’s a laptop processor, an Intel 13th-gen i5 or i7, depending on which version you buy. It’s also soldered in place — this is not an ATX or mATX motherboard, it’s proprietary. That CPU is the only one that the desktop will ever have. Which is not to say there are no upgrade options. With a desktop-style PCIe slot for the graphics card, two DDR5 SO-DIMM (laptop) RAM slots, a pair of M.2 gen 4 slots for storage, and even two SATA ports, you’ve got plenty of options for just about everything except the processor. And that extra space means cooling is much easier and more efficient than on any laptop or mini PC. You can even upgrade the wireless with another M.2 card if you like. The TUF series is Asus’ mid-range or budget gaming line, as opposed to ROG. So the T500 is, nominally, mid-range in terms of performance. But with a starting price of $1300, it’s not really hitting below many pre-built gaming desktops without its restrictions. A little quick shopping on PCPartPicker let me build a substantially more powerful desktop from parts, with an upgradeable 13th-gen Core i5, for at the same level…and that was even including a wildly inflated RTX 5060 Ti price in the current market. And that’s the top-end option according to the specs, I don’t think you’ll get that card for $1300. So like Adam on the floor at Computex, I am skeptical of to whom this gaming PC will actually appeal. Granted, there are plenty who just want to play and aren’t all that concerned about what’s under the metaphorical hood…even if you can see through this one. But I still think it needs to offer a better value compromise if it’s going to stand out from other pre-built designs. For more on the latest PC gaming hardware, be sure to subscribe to PCWorld on YouTube, and check out our weekly podcast The Full Nerd.

Designing for the British Pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale is never simply about surface-level graphics. For TEMPLO, now in its third year collaborating with the British Council on the project, it's become an exercise in turning complex political, historical, and geological themes into a rich, resonant visual language. This year's exhibition – GBR – Geology of Britannic Repair –is no exception. Curated by Jayden Ali, Meneesha Kellay, Victoria Broackes, and Rashid Ali, and with architecture by Nairobi-based cave_bureau, the 2025 Pavilion delves into ideas of extractivism, colonial legacies, and geopolitical fragmentation. It casts architecture not just as a practice of form but of land and memory (what the curators describe as an "earth practice"). TEMPLO's response is a brand identity that mirrors these themes in every detail, from tectonic type to movement-led visuals. It's an approach built not around a traditional logo-first mindset but through what managing director Anoushka Rodda calls a "graphic toolbox". It's flexible enough to span everything from wayfinding signage and social media posts to films, merchandise, and even sound. "Over our three years of working with the British Council in Venice, we've developed a deeply collaborative and interpretative approach," says Anoushka. "That requires a very close working relationship, which we built with an initial workshop and then regular catch-ups with the curatorial team." The result is an identity that doesn't shy away from complexity but embraces it. At its core is the symbolism of the Rift Valley, one of the most significant geological formations on Earth and a site rich with colonial, ecological, and geopolitical resonance. "Given the exhibition's thematic anchor in the Rift Valley, we had to develop an engaging and accessible visual system that could communicate multi-faceted and complex ideas, which could be all too easy to caricature," says co-founder and creative director Pali Palavathanan. The Rift Valley offered both metaphorical weight and formal inspiration for the project. Typography, in particular, was key, and the team began with a sharp, authoritative serif, which is a deliberate nod to imperial structures and colonial architecture. Through a process of carefully chipping away, serifs were softened, and corners were bevelled. The result is a custom treatment that feels weathered, precise and grounded. This softened, fragmented type treatment takes cues directly from the Pavilion's architecture. The British Pavilion's façade, typically defined by its neoclassical columns, has been veiled in a beaded skin by cave_bureau, crafted from agricultural waste, clay from Kenya and India, and shards of red glass. Inspired by Maasai manyatta dwellings, the veil transforms the building's tone from dominant to open, echoing the Pavilion's thematic commitment to repair and transformation. "We wanted to reflect this effect in the identity," says Pali. "So we chose a sharp-edged, authoritative typeface that conveys an impression of imperiousness – colonial authority, almost – which we then 'softened' by bevelling the edges, trimming the serifs and corners to create something more organic, earthy and geographic." Colour also plays a quiet but powerful role. Rather than using overt national or cultural motifs, TEMPLO wove in subtle references to Kenya, an intentional move given that the British Pavilion is part of the British Council's Year of Kenya season. Earthy tones inspired by the Kenyan flag lend the identity warmth and weight without leaning on cliché or pastiche. Movement truly brings the identity to life through type that fractures, shifts, pulls apart and converges. These tectonic actions are present both literally and symbolically, animated in digital formats and implied through dimensional perspective in static applications. "Movement was something that emerged organically early in the process," says Pali. "It soon became clear that movement is integral to the concept of architecture as earth practice, to the tectonic actions of the earth in forming the Rift Valley – the shifting of tectonic plates, the pulling apart and coming together – and to the extractive actions of humans upon the land." The effect is one of tension and possibility: a visual system always on the brink of something, whether it's collapse, repair, destruction, or reformation. That energy carries through all aspects of the campaign, from animated posters and online videos to physical lanyards and in-situ signage. "We are creating a digital campaign of film, audio and social media content for the world to experience, which to us is just as important as the experience in Venice," says Anoushka. Ensuring that cohesion across such a broad spectrum of media is no small task, but for TEMPLO, the answer was to resist the temptation of leading with a static mark. "If you start with a logo and treat everything else as secondary, it's easy to end up with something incoherent or introduce weaker visual elements," Anoushka continues. "But by transforming thematic ideas into a graphic toolbox that can be used to create brand elements of every kind – whether that's the logo, a piece of exhibition signage, a lanyard, or a piece of digital film – the identity becomes expansive, not restrictive." As with much of TEMPLO's work, the personal undercurrents are strong. The agency has long engaged with issues of climate justice, cultural restitution, and postcolonial narratives, but this year's Pavilion feels especially aligned. "Climate change and colonialism are at the heart of what we do," says Pali. "The curators' interests map perfectly onto our own values and personal stories. The Rift Valley begins in Lebanon, where Anoushka has roots, and my family came to the UK from a village in Sri Lanka that was used as a source for extraction." That emotional connection added extra weight to the Pavilion's opening, where the curators dedicated the space to colonised peoples (past and present) from Kenya to Palestine. For TEMPLO, it affirmed the value of design that moves beyond visual language into something more civic, ethical, and effective. "The British Pavilion is always about much more than architecture; it provides a platform for unheard voices and alternative perspectives," says Anoushka. "That's what drives us as an agency to continue to want to collaborate with the British Council – there's a consistent bravery to what they do." In Geology of Britannic Repair, that bravery takes shape through topography and typography, fracture and form, a quietly radical reimagining of what national representation at Venice can be. For TEMPLO, it's not about spectacle. It's about systems that move – across media, meanings, and geographies – with care, clarity, and conscience.