I’ve been troubled by minimalism for a while now, beginning near the end of my study of Interactive Media Design a number of years ago. I remember sitting in a class which sought to strengthen our portfolio development. The subject was raised as to what a student more versed in development rather than design should do in order to compete with more polished, aesthetically-pleasing, designerly portfolios.
“Keep it simple and call your style ‘minimalist.'”
I have the utmost respect for the instructor (and this “tip” was delivered with the sort of dry wit we had come to expect of him), but it struck me then the problem with minimalism. Unlike nearly all other stylistic descriptors, it’s defining characteristic is the absence of elements.
This statement is surely an oversimplification, but it is authentic. Wikipedia describes minimalism in art and design as work which is “stripped down to its most fundamental features”. Dictionary.com describes minimalism in music as “reductive” and possessing “minimal embellishment or orchestrational complexity”.
Stripped down. Reductive. Minimal. Minimalism.
Minimalism, when executed correctly, is powerful and moving. To make the greatest impact in the most economic way should be the goal of any designer (and certainly a fair share more artists). But any term encompassing the art of reduction is a natural target for the lazy and careless.
As a designer and instructor, I’ve seen peers and students alike justify ham-fisted work under the guise of minimalism. Their work is not minimalist, but graceless. The absence of extranious elements is not the result of careful deduction, but of careless convenience. The former deliberate, the latter unsophisticated.
When I design, I will determine if my compositions are born of purpose or convenience. I will strive to promote minimalism over gracelessness in my work.
An excerpt from the letters of Piet Mondrian (Wikipedia):
I construct lines and color combinations on a flat surface, in order to express general beauty with the utmost awareness. Nature (or, that which I see) inspires me, puts me, as with any painter, in an emotional state so that an urge comes about to make something, but I want to come as close as possible to the truth and abstract everything from that, until I reach the foundation (still just an external foundation!) of things…
I believe it is possible that, through horizontal and vertical lines constructed with awareness, but not with calculation, led by high intuition, and brought to harmony and rhythm, these basic forms of beauty, supplemented if necessary by other direct lines or curves, can become a work of art, as strong as it is true.