Abstract ‘Histories of Design Pedagogy’ gathers material from across three decades of the Journal of Design History to juxtapose distinct investigations into design education across various geographies, contexts, relationships and methodological concerns. By isolating three overarching themes to structure twelve articles, this introduction also makes an argument towards future design pedagogy, suggesting an Urmodell, or master plan, of elements in design pedagogy that is informed by key issues debated by and through the articles presented. ‘Design Systems and Projects’ addresses the meaning and concept of design, relationships between education and industry, and design training networks. ‘Ethics and Methods’ advocates greater attention to the identities, subjectivities and roles of the designer and of the user as stakeholders in a designed system, the increasing role of research in design practice, elements that affect practice from global design to emerging technologies, and object collections research. The final theme, ‘Critical Histories and Theories’, looks to changes in design history and design studies to inform interdisciplinary scholarship and the future of design practice. Tensions over proportions, boundaries and structures are addressed by this Urmodell, but in the preferred definition of modelling as a mediator, it exists here as a malleable framework over a steadfast solution. Contents Design Systems and Projects: Training, Industry, Art and Design 1 Stana Nenadic, ‘Designers in the Nineteenth-Century Scottish Fancy Textile Industry: Education, Employment and Exhibition’, Journal of Design History 27, no. 2 (2014): 115–130 2 Daniela N. Prina, ‘Design in Belgium before Art Nouveau: Art, Industry and the Reform of Artistic Education in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century’, Journal of Design History 23, no. 4 (2010): 329–350 3 Alain Findeli, ‘Design Education and Industry: the Laborious Beginnings of the Institute of Design in Chicago in 1944’, Journal of Design History 4, no. 2 (1991): 97–113 4 Susan Bittker, ‘[Education] Report on a Survey of Recent Crafts and Design Graduates of Scottish Art Colleges’, Journal of Design History 2, nos 2–3 (1989): 219–228 Ethics and Methods: Structures and Experiences of Design Pedagogy 5 Artemis Yagou, ‘First Steps: Early Design Education and Professionalization in Greece', Journal of Design History 23, no. 2 (2010): 145–161 6 Anna Rowland, ‘Business Management at the Weimar Bauhaus', Journal of Design History 1, no. 3–4 (1988): 153–175 7 Heiner Jacob, ‘HfG Ulm: A Personal View of an Experiment in Democracy and Design Education’, Journal of Design History 1, nos 3–4 (1998): 221–234 8 David Mulberg, ‘[Education] “Just Don’t Ask Me to Define It”: Perceptions of Technology in the National Curriculum’, Journal of Design History 6, no. 4 (1993): 301–305 9 Jane Pavitt, ‘[Archives and Collections] The Camberwell Collection of Applied Arts, Camberwell College of Arts, The London Institute’, Journal of Design History 10, no. 2 (1997), 225–229 Critical Histories and Theories: Turns and Articulations in Design History and Design Studies 10 Victoria Newhouse, ‘Margot Wittkower: Design Education and Practice, Berlin–London, 1919–1939’, Journal of Design History 3, nos 2–3 (1990): 83–101 11 Jilly Traganou, ‘[re: focus design] Architectural and Spatial Design Studies: Inscribing Architecture in Design Studies’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 2 (2009): 173–181 12 Sarah A. Lichtman, ‘Reconsidering the History of Design Survey’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 341–350 Introduction: Histories of Design Pedagogy The process by which forms are made, and the forms themselves, embody values and standards of behavior, which affect large numbers of people and every aspect of our lives. It is this integral relationship between individual creativity and social responsibility that draws me to the design arts. Sheila Levrant de Bretteville1 It seems to me that the most important thing that we have to do is improve the state of education in our schools. We’ve got to insert some level of culture, some level of history, some level of philosophy. Without that, we will have just a continuous stream of little designers and craftspersons, or paste-up people at best. We need to provide a cultural structure to our professions. Massimo Vignelli2 Research into histories of design pedagogy uncovers a spectrum of debates cantilevered around reform. What sustains this discourse of teaching and learning is an alchemy of politics, geography, culture and social history. The proportions of these elements shift depending on the agenda of whoever is advocating for improvements of educational institutions, resulting in a web of calls for change, disagreements over how said change should manifest and attempts to define a quicksilver pedagogical field. Pedagogy, like design and like design history, is the sum of epistemological, historiographic and cultural beliefs. Design is not an easy term to define, nor are the contours of its education, particularly at a time when the values and pathways of design training are so multifarious and under pressure. But then again, is this not always the vanguard for design, making it an extremely dynamic area of activity? Design pedagogy is also a conversation about design practice. How we train students today will steward and influence future practice. This, in turn, affects our daily lives, as Sheila Levrant de Bretteville points out above. As a graphic designer and design educator, de Bretteville’s position on design comes at a particular social and cultural moment in the United States. Written in 1972 while teaching at the California Institute of the Arts (later the California College of the Arts) and the Los Angeles-based Woman’s Building, she explains her practice and concept of design as part of an effort to ‘locate, create and use positive modes which reject the repressive elements of dominant culture’.3 Feminism influenced her design awareness, her work and her teaching, and she advocated design that was inclusive over exclusive, personal over universal and complex over simple. To instil these principles in practice, pedagogy should follow suit. This is where de Bretteville’s comments on design arts pairs with Massimo Vignelli’s. His suggestion would not only result in an improvement of design education but also an improvement in our professional ranks. This too involves culture and a critical awareness won of rigorous study and consideration of philosophy and history. Designers must interrogate, resituate and contemplate. A double epigraph for a dual task: de Bretteville and Vignelli foreshadow the themes presented in this virtual special issue for Journal of Design History (JDH) and encapsulate the spirit in which it was compiled. Both quotations are drawn from lectures delivered to design students and educators and both were uttered by practising designers who had strong ideas regarding design, design pedagogy and what constitutes sound, professional practice. They both advocate critical consideration of culture, history, ethics and method, in balance with the design system or project at hand. These ingredients, when embedded in pedagogical practice, improve design and enhance future cultural life. Since its first issue in 1988, the JDH has published a broad spectrum of contributions to design history: research methodologies, typologies, case studies and surveys of constituencies of design, as well as social, cultural, political and post-colonial histories, to name a few. A virtual special issue on histories of design pedagogy is an important addition to the portfolio of the JDH but also to the agenda of the affiliated Design History Society (DHS). Both of these bodies have played an important role in the emergence of design history as an academic field of inquiry, a history I discuss later on. The twelve articles presented in this issue were selected from back issues of the JDH because they address particular debates, interests and contexts in the history of design pedagogy that inform the shape of present and future practice. In addition to highlighting the specific role of the JDH and the DHS in the history of design, this issue is especially timely due to a range of anniversaries of societies and courses related to design and design history education. ‘40 Years On: The Domain of Design History—Looking Back Looking Forward’, a conference hosted at Milton Keynes in May 2015, hosted several scholars involved in the early stages of design history’s development as a discipline and its curriculum in higher education. The Design Research Society’s fiftieth anniversary conference proceedings at the University of Brighton in 2016 also considers histories of design research, to better understand present debates as well as emerging pedagogical approaches. The continued growth of these scholarly constituencies has also increased the number of attempts, and some would argue, the need, to define and assess their own remits as well as that of design. References to ‘design’ are increasingly lucrative. With present connotations of luxury and desirability, lifestyle magazines, boutiques and brands are equating the adjective ‘designer’ with exclusivity. A rise in appropriating design thinking in business, marketing and disruptive innovation turns design into a magpie concept that approaches the very kind of practice many designers have long since warned against. ‘The main idea’ of design thinking, explains Lucy Kimbell, ‘is that the ways professional designers problem-solve is of value to firms that try to innovate and to societies trying to make change happen’.4 As a resource for organizations or in a ‘cognitive style’ with loose general theory, the fashion of design thinking as it enters management academia and buzz-speak in innovation circles ignores the diversity of thinking and training that makes design practices effective tools for stewarding change. Misleading design thinking can ignore pedagogical principles that require time, which a culture of disruption cannot allow; examples can include reflexive, inclusive and critical frameworks, let alone experimentation. It can also generalize across disparate methods and practices of design. The rhetoric of design thinking is very exciting, but it must also be responsible. Victor Papanek reminded designers of their responsibility not to heed ‘market-oriented, profit-driven’ systems in his decades old but ever-relevant Design for the Real World.5 Ken Garland’s 1963 manifesto, with its call for graphic designers to avoid caving in to ‘inconsequential commercial work’, was re-instated and updated: ‘First Things First Manifesto 2000’ appeared—with a new list of signatories— in 1999 in Adbusters and influential design magazines across the world.6 These texts, and the principles they communicate, are hugely important as debates for students, and as design becomes increasingly massaged into strategies to sell, how we teach design practice; the histories we look to and critical questions we ask should also rise in direct correlation. Such reflexive questioning keeps design college education relevant in a market where consumers can teach themselves to use digital tools, or where short courses teach the basics in developing product design and brand management skills online. We have the tools to disrupt markets and make profit, but should we and what does it mean to do so? At the same time, students encounter and expect customer service-like resources within the college or university. In a changing consumer landscape, considering design via how it is and has been communicated to students lends invaluable insight into our hopes for design education and our future. This brings me to a fourth reason to consider design pedagogy here: while design-related industries grow, they influence job markets, gross domestic products and global trade. The Creative Industries Economic Estimates for January 2015 released by the UK Department for Culture Media & Sport reports employment statistics and gross value added figures for ‘those industries which have their origin in individual creativity, skill and talent and which have a potential for wealth and job creation through the generation and exploitation of intellectual property’. This includes design. In 2013, the creative industries accounted for 1.71 million jobs in 2013. This figure grew by 3.9 % annually between 1997 and 2013, resulting in a gross value added figure of £76.9 billion, or 5.0 % of the UK economy as a whole.7 I use the UK as an example case here because it is the base for the JDH, and the UK example also reflects a scenario experienced in other countries: design is lucrative. However, how will cuts to higher education, and proposed implementations of new budgetary constraints, proliferating excellence frameworks, fewer contracted teaching positions and increasing student numbers paying unprecedented fees, affect the education of future designers? Will the lucrative industry support or advocate stable investment in education, and who will have access to this training? What is design pedagogy? Examining design pedagogy allows educators, designers and design historians to assess their fields by looking critically and reflexively at how pedagogy is communicated and affected over time. This exercise should extend outside higher education to continuing education, public benefit and collections-based institutions, as well as to younger generations. It also requires an acceptance and ownership of exposed biases and subjectivities. As Sarah A. Lichtman points out in her article about design history surveys, discussed later, what we teach and how ‘rests on differing epistemological, pedagogical and historiographical assumptions’.8 Design discourse, including survey courses, studio briefs and professional practice, include all these influencers. This is not a negative aspect, but it is a challenge when educators call for consensus, definitions and distinctions within design pedagogy. Interpretations of design are becoming ever more diverse, as well as views on who designs and what the process means. This includes debates surrounding ethics, resources and power, to name a few. Identifying and debating histories of design pedagogy allow professionals (including studio as well as academic practitioners and policy advocates) to understand, analyse and develop how we support students in their learning and why: we can ask ourselves the ‘So What?’ of the rigorous crit. This begets epistemological clarity for students as well as for staff. It also informs the trajectory of a disciplinary pursuit and culture of practice. This process must be constant. Previous publications on pedagogy tend to take a historical survey of key schools, reformers and educators. A well-known example is the writing of the late David Thistlewood, former president of the National Society for Education in Art & Design (NSEAD) and editor of the International Journal on Art and Design Education. His edited volume, Histories of Art and Design Education: From Cole to Coldstream, chronicles various societies, institutes and reform initiatives, beginning with Henry Cole (art and design as a strategic economic necessity) and ending with Sir William Coldstream (art and design worthy of study for its own sake). Another collection of essays, edited by Mervyn Romans, Histories of Art and Design Education, concedes the rarity of such publications in Britain and acknowledges continuity with Thistlewood’s earlier contribution. Romans’ book contains essays on formal training and drawing, public education and taste, education and the institution, professionalization and influential figures and groups in British education. Finally, The History and Philosophy of Art Education by Stuart Macdonald offers another chronological view of European art and design education. First published in 1970 and reissued in 2004, Macdonald begins his study with guilds, academies and societies before the industrial revolution. The monograph that follows is a history of change in curriculum, political interest in art education and national leverage via reform and institutional funding; it surveys fine art and applied art to design.9 While these books provide valuable historical context, they lack critical application and often do not address non-Western education, self-taught agents, the everyday lives of students or failed pedagogical models, thus creating a positivistic and Eurocentric view. A third literature exists in the form of disciplinary textbooks that outline the scope and mandate of academic approaches to design and design history. They contain historiography, and guidance on methodology, applications and subject areas. A second volume from Thistlewood, Critical Studies in Art and Design Education, gathers fourteen essays from educators working in Critical Studies. He explains this is ‘an accepted abbreviated term for those parts of the art and design curriculum, in all levels of education, that embrace art history, aesthetic theories, and the social, economic, political, religious and numerous other contexts within which the practice of art and design exists, develops and fulfils its purpose’.10 Mandatory history of art and complementary studies for art and design students began formally with Sir William Coldstream, who cemented them as a degree requirement in his 1970 report. This ‘serious study’ was intended to: enable the student to understand relationships between his own activities and the culture within which he lives as it has evolved. Such studies should therefore offer him different ways of looking at art and design, and begin to build up a background against which he can view the experience of the studio. They should give him experience of alternative ways of collecting, ordering and evaluating information. Complementary studies should be an integral part of the student’s art and design education, informing but not dictating to the creative aspects of his work.11 Assessed at fifteen percent of a student’s total course weighting, the introduction of Critical Studies was not without debate, which ranged from the nature and content of course provision and assessment to measurable outcomes. Thistlewood’s book attempted to address these tensions, as have other texts, including early publications seeking to define design history and its delivery. Hazel Conway edited Design History: A Students’ Handbook and gathered together essays from early contributors to the discipline when its teaching involved targeted provision towards specialisms: dress and textiles, ceramics, furniture, interiors, industrial design and graphics. Conway also points out early challenges for students of design history: interpretation of the term design, the discipline with regards to other subject areas and histories, and the breadth of design history beyond (but also including) aesthetics, periods and styles.12 Two years later, John A Walker published Design History and the History of Design, geared towards later undergraduate and postgraduate students. His book documents early goals and methods of design history, some of which are lesser priorities today. Others, however, remain among its core mandates, particularly Walker’s affirmation that ‘design history also fulfils a critical role in respect of the discourse of design’.13 Until recently, a gap existed in this literature. Design historians, in a moment of reflection and disciplinary change, are updating mediations on methods and authoring new textbooks. Rebecca Houze and Grace Lees-Maffei’s Design History Reader is one such example. Its table of contents reveals not only a growth in scholarship but a sustained connection to allied fields, including texts that are also found in readers for visual culture, art history, sociology and material culture studies. It also adheres to important agendas in design history: a reflexive tone that questions what it is as well as what it ‘should be’; consideration of gender in the history of design; engaging non-Western geographies and discourses on design; exploration of new design cultures, practices and technologies. Kjetil Fallan’s Design History: Understanding Theory and Method is also a valuable addition to resources and sets down a historiography, renewing questions about definitions and methods posed by Walker, and assessing key debates and advocating interdisciplinarities—particularly towards science and technology studies.14 The literature and exchange on art and design education is much broader than this brief list, and has been ongoing for decades in key academic journals including Design & Culture, Design Journal and Art, Design & Communication in Higher Education. In 1990, Design Issues published a special issue, ‘Educating the Designer’. Editors Leon Bellin and Marco Diani invited practicing designers and educators to confront, refute, debate and perhaps clarify thoughts on design education, host ‘meaningful discussion’ and ‘perhaps lead to significant changes’.15 Five years later, Design Issues hosted a similar inquest specifically on the profile of history in design education. Compiled by the journal’s regular editors, Victor Margolin, Richard Buchanan and Dennis Doordan, ‘Telling the History of Design’ probed the status and ‘purpose in providing an historical account of the subject, particularly for a discipline and related professions that are primarily oriented towards present and future action’.16 While this issue considers the JDH’s initiative in exploring and publishing intellectual histories of design, I will also draw on texts and discourse outside the journal for contextual breadth and inclusive debate. Pedagogy in practice: an Urmodell Before discussing key debates arising from articles in this issue, I must clarify some definitions. This exercise comes with a caveat. Kjetil Fallan states in Design History: Understanding Theory and Method that the exercise of defining contains limitations: ‘the meaning of words and concepts are inextricably linked to their use and cultural context’.17 Quoting Wittgenstein, he posits that the indistinct definition can be precisely what is required. Since this is a collection of histories of design pedagogy, different definitions of design, design history and indeed interpretations of teaching and learning are bundled together. While I agree with Walker’s distinction that design occurs ‘at a point of intersection or mediation between different spheres’,18 these spheres are subject to change. And they have changed—from style, utility and material to ideological, social and economic concerns. Design processes have become more aware, more critical and more reflective. The study of its history has too. Its pedagogy should in turn. ‘Professional education is about developing pedagogies to link ideas, practices and values under conditions of inherent uncertainty that necessitate not only judgement in order to act, but also cognizance of the consequences of one’s action. In the presence of uncertainty, one is obligated to learn from experience.’19 There are particular pedagogies associated with professional training, and design is no exception. Mike Tovey, Professor of Industrial Design and Reader in Design Pedagogy at Coventry University, explains that design pedagogy involves engagement in the ‘creative synthesis of ideas’ to gain entry into professional practice. It draws on a mix of elements that enable students to become independent, self-analytical and critical thinkers and to acquire tacit knowledge of their specialized area of work. Tovey provides an institutional definition where pedagogy is comparable to a liminal phase marked with rituals of training, open-ended briefs for creative thinking, research, crits and assessment—so-called ‘signature pedagogies’ in design.20 Education transforms the student into the professional in a way that differs from proliferating commercial courses or self-training design programmes. I prefer here to emphasize the qualities rather than expectations of design pedagogy: practical, embodied, experiential. I argue that these qualities bridge the studio and research and practice and theory gaps. In my selections for this issue, I consider research and writing to be a creative practices that share the qualities usually assigned to studio work. They are creative, physical and transformative processes that are essential to the work and development of design. In ‘Rethinking Design Education for the 21st Century’, Alain Findeli explains his own model for pedagogy. His thinking is informed by research into histories of design pedagogy, particularly the Bauhaus, that inform a concept he presents as an Urmodell, or master plan, of design curriculum. Findeli explains its elements are comprised of equal parts art, science and technology; his method of visualizing this model consists of a Venn diagram with three linked circles representing these elements.21 His analysis of the pedagogical structures across three case studies—the Bauhaus in Weimar and Dessau, the New Bauhaus in Chicago and the Hochschule fur Gestaltung (HfG) in Ulm—suggests they implemented alternative versions of this balance but with the same core elements. HfG, for example, prioritized science and technology over an artistic-focused curriculum. The adapted model he presents to visualize pedagogy at HfG involves two concentric circles representing the prioritization of science and technology and a separate, detached circle for artistry. This visualization exercise is compelling and allows one to question what the overall model would look like when translated from the metaphorical into a particular, given context. This is Findeli’s project. Debates related to pedagogy, as Findeli concedes, involve disagreements over the ‘relative importance’ and ‘respective function’ of curricular elements. It is a difficult quality to measure. Analysis requires taking the educator’s intent and pedagogical framing into account but also the student’s retention and translated experience, resulting in a measured outcome that may differ from the original model. The result, in Findeli’s concept, should adapt elements from the Urmodell into a balanced ‘design purpose/project’. This requires ethical awareness to achieve balance, in addition to a shift from the applied to the epistemological and away from the problem/solution orientation. Findeli advocates a process where designers see themselves alongside users as intelligent, responsible stakeholders in a system: (1) The problem becomes State A of a System; (2) The solution becomes State B of that system; (3) The designer and user are stakeholders in the system or product and are transformed via its emergence and implementation. State B, after time, begets another state, resulting in perpetual development, which is more considered and stable than the popular term ‘innovation’ is often understood to connote. To support his model, Findeli emphasizes attention to the human aspect of a design brief rather than its product, followed by a shift from production, aesthetics or ergonomics to services and less material consumption. Design systems and projects are embedded and involved rather than applied and consumed.22 Ostensibly, as design states go from A to B to A2 to B2, these elements will metamorphose to accommodate best practice in a particular design context. The manner and process of this perpetual system also begets perpetual debate. Areas of debate raised in this issue: a new Urmodell Art and design pedagogy vary within and outside institutions and according to social, geographic and cultural conditions. As such, this issue addresses histories of design pedagogy, rather than an overarching, comprehensive history.23 Articles gathered here were published between 1989 and 2014, with focuses ranging from applied arts in Scotland to design history curriculum in twenty-first century design schools. Thematic categories structure their presentation and identify what I suggest are key elements in pedagogical development in design and design history education. The exercise of selecting and organizing articles for this issue was a challenge; structures and tables of contents embody arguments, resources and scholarly investments.24 To explain my thinking, I draw upon Findeli’s methodology and present an Urmodell of my own, not to represent the practice of design, but to show how its education requires three constituencies in flux with one another : design systems and projects (work); ethics and method (reflexivity); and critical histories and theories (criticality). Fig 1. View largeDownload slide Urmodell for Design Pedagogy, in the manner of Alain Findeli, ‘Rethinking Design Education for the 21st Century: Theoretical, Methodological, and Ethical Discussion’, Design Issues 17, no. 1 (Winter 2001): 8. Fig 1. View largeDownload slide Urmodell for Design Pedagogy, in the manner of Alain Findeli, ‘Rethinking Design Education for the 21st Century: Theoretical, Methodological, and Ethical Discussion’, Design Issues 17, no. 1 (Winter 2001): 8. The proposed model is informed by my research within and outside the JDH and demonstrates how design history can inform future practice. Each article explains how these elements have affected design education, and their authors provide valuable contexts that help present scholars and practitioners understand these influences. As an Urmodell, the image shown is not a solid framework but a provocation. Models are a means of testing and disseminating speculative analogies of how phenomena operate; they bridge the abstraction between theory and reality or between the formal and unknown, which coaxes forth a representational programme for debate. Mary S. Morgan and Margaret Morrison describe the result as ‘a mixture of elements, including those from outside the original domain of investigation’ giving the model ‘partially independent status’.25 No model, therefore, can exist in a vacuum, and they necessarily draw upon known resources to form a navigable pathway between theories and empirical evidence. In other words, the proportion and dynamic relationship between constituent elements of the model will change depending on the context of its application. In mathematics, the act of applying models to known realities can generate positive or negative and neutral analogies. Positive analogies occur if the properties of the model directly correlate to the phenomenon, negative or neutral if they do not or if the properties of the phenomenon are not yet known, respectively.26 Models, therefore, are a mediating, rather than a stringent, construction. They can build connections, further other analogies or be replaced as knowledge grows—a working-through that requires flexibility and creativity in adaptation. The Urmodell, as a form of model provided to foster subsequent, interpretive models, suggests constituent elements and their natures but not their specific proportions. It is antithetical to my definition of pedagogy to enforce a global, overarching formula here. But I do suggest invaluable, core ingredients. ‘Design Systems and Projects’, the first thematic section in this issue, gathers four articles that span 100 years of design education in the UK and Europe, with a specific view to production and manufacturing practices in design work. Taking a chronological approach in this section delineates the importance of context when researching histories of design pedagogy. Each paper considers the changing meaning of design, relationships between industry and training institutes, and the evolving conception of professionalism in design practice. The section asks: What is the optimal balance between the college, workplace and studio; what influences this relationship in different contexts? National interests in design, commodity production, public education and taste, the status of the designer, and legislation are also raised in this selection. The second thematic section, ‘Ethics and Methods’, brings the discussion inside the design institution and takes a socio-historical view of emerging pedagogical structures and experiences. Ethics are assessed here; so too are the expanding roles of research into new methods, materials and applications of design practice (emerging technologies and new collaborations with science). Expanding degree study at new and advanced levels, including PhDs in design, is creating a broader base for design in higher education. This section asks how design pedagogy can reach wider audiences, facilitate global collaboration and maintain a critical position where development is paired with reflection and debate. The third and final section, ‘Critical Histories and Theories’, relates to design history and design studies from their growth in the 1970s to the present. This is often how histories and theories of design and their affiliated contextual studies are framed in higher education—in fractional proportion to design practice. My intention here is to place this element as an invaluable requirement in future design practice, not just for the benefits for students but also for the reflexive and analytical exercises it affords educators. Each essay in this third section discusses turns and articulations that seek to situate histories of design within studio practice and also speaks to the value design historians and their research methods have to enhancing design. Design systems and projects: training, industry, art and design Articles in this issue situate design within particular historical contexts that affect our understanding of the term ‘design’. How design was taught in these geographies and cultures aids our understanding of the value, process and agents involved in the conception of design, its production and its outcome. Artemis Yagou states, ‘When the word “design” is used to express a sole designer’s creative activity leading to an ultimate solution, it is in fact holding back the entire cooperative and past-related dimensions of designing.’27 A reflective approach to design allows us to consider not only the role of the designer in relation to an outcome but also contextual variations of how design is perceived as a product, process and mediated system of political, cultural and historical production and consumption.28 Some design historians suggest industrialization is the genesis of the history of design.29 This issue begins here not because it is in harmony with that definition, but because the articles portray specific pressures that I think are remerging in present discourses surrounding design pedagogy: training, social backgrounds of students, relationships to public taste and national interest in design. Stana Nenadic’s article, ‘Designers in the Nineteenth-Century Scottish Fancy Textile Industry: Education, Employment and Exhibition’, focuses on design education and reform, which developed to support a local textile industry. Her research describes the establishment of regional training courses to increase the quality, originality and volume of pattern design that allowed Scottish textile products to compete against continental imports and stronger English markets. Nenadic’s work is noted for its design historical methodology, making informative interpretations of the social status (low), gender (mainly male) and training (modest and reliant upon copying) of Scottish designers at the time, which she deduces via archival traces in pattern books, wage books, newspaper employment advertisements, post office directories, writings of designer–reformers and notices for exhibitions and competitions to foster public interest in design. Her research describes an era of manufacturing and political change, and the efforts of designers, rather than politicians, to direct reform. Analysis of the emerging educational system in Glasgow and Dunfermline is key for Nenadic’s argument, which builds a landscape of the ‘complex provincial engagement with the processes of textile design at the height of the industry’s commercial success’, as compared to British design training generally at this time.30 The localized system Nenadic describes resulted in networked movement, public engagement and proliferation of design roles, employment and specialisms in the Scottish trade. It showcases focused professional training and the accompanying hope for elevated artistic credentials and increased international market competition.31 Taking a similar focus on this period, Daniela Prina’s article, ‘Design in Belgium before Art Nouveau: Art, Industry and the Reform of Artistic Education in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century’, considers reformers’ aims of instructing craftsmen, artisans, manufacturers and the public across social classes in the importance and nature of ‘good taste’. Drawing was a key locus of debate in the process of improving design and design education. It was a means of raising the quality not only of ornamentation and products, but also of nationally-manufactured goods; that allowed competition at international levels and the consolidation of an identifiable Belgian niche in these markets.32 Prina explains how figureheads from across the arts, architecture and policy advocated the foundation of schools in regional centres and supported drawing as key instruction. They advocated abandoning ‘slavish copying of engravings’ in favour of new models inspired by botanical study and rational and geometric principles that approach drawing as a language for communication that embraced abstraction over representation.33 Reformists believed teaching craftsmen to use their imaginations would increase the aesthetic quality and appeal of Belgian products, and alternative models of education were influential in a shift from production to aesthetic refinement.34 There is a persistent debate about skills developed during design education and how they prepare students for work in their field, one that Nenadic and Prina describe in relation to histories of nationalism and industry. Alain Findeli, on the other hand, uses the tension between educational institution and industry—namely, the difficulty of pairing pedagogical priorities of intellectual development with industrial demands toward production—to address the possibility and inevitability of ‘teaching as industry’. His paper ‘Design Education and Industry: the Laborious Beginnings of the Institute of Design in Chicago in 1944’ begins with the suggestion: ‘If there is an area which is currently undergoing change under the pressure of industrialism, it is certainly that of university teaching’.35 László Moholy-Nagy’s involvement with the industrialist Walter Paepcke and the re-orientation of the Chicago School of Design into the Institute of Design provides Findeli’s statement with context and application. This short history includes rich material that narrates the transition from a communal studio without a structured curriculum to a wartime support for the Secretary of Defense.36 The Institute ran on an administrative structure that was separate from teaching, and planning and development was presided over by a Board of Directors drawn from industrial backgrounds and headed by Paepcke. For Findeli, ‘The Maholy Affair’ is a situation all too familiar for industrial design schools, not least in its assured separation of business-centred administration from pedagogical directorates, but also in the denial of relationships essential to the intellectual principles and priorities that defined the Chicago School of Design, and indeed its model, the Bauhaus. Re-orienting the Institute’s relationship to the needs of industry resulted in pressure points, from limited teaching staff to defined course outcomes over pedagogical discussion and distinct departments based on product outcomes, which compromised the school’s original structure and goals. What is the design school for? The Urmodell I put forward suggests design pedagogy is responsible for three elements. One is the acquisition of professional design skills through design work. It is important to understand historical attempts to structure design education in order to understand its failures and legacies. How we measure the profession and act of design post-education is also important in this project. So too are the discussions we have with students about what they are doing, why, and what they need. Susan Bittker’s ‘Report on a Survey of Recent Crafts and Design Graduates of Scottish Art Colleges’, is a compelling contribution to this perspective. Unlike the National Student Survey and statistical equivalents today, Bittker profiles the designer rather than institutional performance, by gathering statistical and qualitative data on Scottish art, craft and design graduates from four colleges, Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art, Edinburgh College of Art, Gray’s School of Art and Glasgow School of Art, between 1984 and 1986. As a recent graduate of Edinburgh College of Art, Bittker was concerned that fellow makers were under-equipped to enter the marketplace and workforce, which is a common anxiety for present day students who strive to be ‘industry ready’. She mailed comprehensive surveys with an explanatory covering letter to 475 graduates and received 158 completed surveys in return, with many respondents attaching supplementary material including business cards, promotional materials and extensive letters. A comprehensive summary of the questionnaire can be found in Bittker’s report, but the section on College Training is particularly relevant to this issue. It communicates a weak review on several points: business studies were criticized for being too narrow or ‘not sufficiently tied to the real world’; market preparation was lacking; and there was little encouragement to collaborate with other departments (a staple explained by Findeli in the Institute of Design before its departmental re-organization). As a result, ‘only 16 per cent of respondents felt their college had prepared them “well or very well” for their chosen career’, followed by fourteen percent adequately and seventy percent ‘not very well or not at all’. Eighty-four percent suggest changes to improve the curriculum.37 Utopia, a term from Findeli’s essay, summarizes this section.38 Attempts to balance the interests of design education, student feedback and industry requirements are in constant pursuit of a harmonious, seemingly impossible equilibrium. For Nenadic, the establishment of schools to directly support and improve industry was challenged by manufacturers’ preference to copy foreign designs and ignore locally-trained pattern designers; Prina’s battle between academies and drawing schools over the shaping of national identity via aesthetics of taste and industrial products was thwarted by traditional academies; Findeli’s emerging hierarchy of industrialist administration enveloped an educational project; and Bittker’s inquiry into the life of graduates revealed inadequacies in professional training. Findeli offers some compelling theories as to why this discord manifests itself: industrial alignment of design pedagogy requires different and occasionally irreconcilable time spans and priorities. Pedagogical initiatives germinate much more slowly. It is also a matter of ‘blue-sky’ thinking, the pedagogy of ambiguity, which students experience in college but find absent from the workplace. Findeli concludes that balance should and must be sought if the ethics and methods shared by design education and industry are to be valued as mutually interactive and supportive. Ethics and methods: Emerging structures of design education Whereas the previous section considered the design project or system in relation to industry (commodity, production and professionalization), this second element addresses the ethics and methods of designing specifically within the design school. Preparing students for the workplace should also mean teaching students how to be responsible designers: to be citizens that participate in the systems they introduce and that use the products they create. This section considers three case studies with differing pedagogical priorities that also relate to current factors facing students and college staff today: changing tools, student access, cultural geographies of practice, resource and budget constraints, and curriculum and assessment standards. Each article examines a different pedagogical project that attempts to nurture the practice of design rather than frame education for market profit. They do so by considering the responsibility of the college to teach students to be ethical, inclusive and socially engaged designers. In ‘First Steps: Early Design Education and Professionalization in Greece’, Artemis Yagou describes the absence of a recognizable design profession in inter-war Greece—a period of socio-political instability and powerful cultural exchange that commenced with significant refugee immigration.39 Population growth increased market demand and labour forces and brought new knowledge, including professional skills in weaving, ceramics, woodcarving, metalwork and decorative work. For Yagou, investigating education in this context means considering the structures of established professional specialization in emerging design practice, which includes the consolidation of art and engineering education as professional ideologies. This, in turn, influenced the difficult emergence of a professional design field. Education, explains Yagou, was ‘ideologically dominated by archaeolatry’ and was ‘suspicious towards pragmatism and despised the practical’: technical and vocational education was confined to a handful of commercial and naval schools.40 Need increased after 1922, and applied arts schools emerged to provide training and choreograph professional ranks of craftsmen for handicrafts as well as industry.41 Preliminary models looked to continental Europe with a particular interest in paid-workshop hybrids. By the mid-1930s, Yagou explains, three categories of institution provided design education: applied arts schools active in instructing toy construction, decorative arts and draughtsmanship; technical night schools and provincial schools for mechanics, woodcarving and ‘arts and professions’; and orphanages providing elementary technical education. Uncertain theorization around design pedagogy and its communication to students, coupled with a struggle to improve the curriculum’s social prestige, ranked design training behind the more distinguished and respected arts and engineering schools. This bias persisted despite avocation of technical training as the best, most relevant means of general education at a time of industrialization and modernization. The design professionalization project in Greece is a conflation of cultural factors and perceptions that are different from those encountered in post-industrialized global markets today. Design as a profession, however, is still hotly debated, particularly with new technology changing practice methods and vocabularies of specialization and training. Anna Rowland’s article, ‘Business Management in the Weimar Bauhaus’, challenges Findeli’s earlier argument on equalizing industry and pedagogy in design schools. Rowland describes Weimar’s Bauhaus, with productive workshops and externalized communication supported by Walter Gropius, who realized that the school relied financially upon ‘finding industrial manufacturers for the models developed in the workshops’; this relieved dependence on government funding and policy.42 Careful not to imply success but rather to explain the attempt, Rowland describes the establishment of a production department within the college led by a business manager (Syndikus), who streamlined the previously ad hoc commission process by communicating with sales representatives and by attending trade fairs. Running an educational institution with a view to profiteering, as Findeli shows in his discussion of the Institute of Design in Chicago, produces a problematic model. Rowland’s analyses of Bauhaus GmbH, a public company with an aim of supporting ‘the education of creatively gifted people to become artistic and technical productive workers in the field of construction in a productively active workshop’ also ended up clashing with Gropius’ pedagogical ideas.43 Heiner Jacob had direct experience of a pedagogical experiment derived from the Bauhaus’ precedent. In his article ‘HfG Ulm: A Personal View of an Experiment in Democracy and Design Education’, he explains how a project to re-educate young Germans towards ‘a spiritual regeneration’ begat plans for an adult education centre and eventually the school for environmental design in Ulm.44 The school had four departments: Industrial Design, Information (later Film-making), Visual Communication and Industrialized Building, which welcomed about 150 students a year with a staff-student ratio of 1:16. Funding was an issue due to the political affiliations of founders and wavering support from the State, which began to make stipulations on the HfG’s operations, including an attempt, subsequently, to absorb it into a State University. Jacob’s first-hand account of his studentship describes the diverse and active school community, its academic development and the custom facility that was designed by Max Bill with staff and student contributions on construction and furniture design and production. Joint meals were timed to ensure communication between departments and debates on design and philosophy: ‘design [was] viewed as the ethics underlying social developments’.45 The curriculum was reviewed and adjusted annually via an Educational Conference, resulting in fluid and argument-filled discussions that affected the school’s operations and reputation. Studios were small (no more than fifteen pupils) and visiting lecturers numbered four to every full-time staff member, providing stability, variety and counterpoint. ‘Most importantly,’ Jacob concludes, through a close relationship with tutors, students ‘acquired a methodology, a structured approach to work—something which was totally non-existent in many other colleges.’46 Jacob insists that even with several pioneering practices in design methods and materials, the key legacy of the HfG is sequential: its role-model alumni who now hold key positions in industry. For a more effective and ethically reflexive pedagogical framework to function, industry and cultural partners, as well as government and policy makers, must understand and support the design school’s role of educating not only its enrolled students but also the broader sector. Education, furthermore, goes beyond the technical, the ‘paste-up’ foreshadowed by Vignelli, and develops critical decision-making skills that improve rather than reiterate practice. Colin Mulberg’s report, ‘[Education] “Just Don’t Ask Me to Define It”: Perceptions of Technology in the National Curriculum’, provides a valuable perspective on the opinions of stakeholders regarding the impact of technology on design education in British schools.47 After building a foundational history of the tense position of the ‘technical’ in education, Mulberg points out that ‘technology’ as a term and locus of study is poorly defined compared to other disciplines; a familiar point after Yagou’s analysis of vocational training in Greece. In a Technology Working Group interim report, Mulberg explains: We recognize that each of the terms ‘design’ and ‘technology’ can convey different meanings to different people [. . .] we acknowledge that some differences in perceptions of both ‘design’ and ‘technology’ exist and [. . .] our image should [. . .] be easily understood, and where necessary readily translated into their own terms by teachers whatever their subject.48 Technology emerges as a malleable term beyond the hardware entering schools; it is also connected to social and subjective interpretation all of which must be understood to fully benefit from its operational and cultural functionality.49 Mulberg makes an important distinction here. As commercial courses and certificates—from General Assembly to YouTube tutorials—provide digital platforms for DIY design strategies, understanding a critical, creative process preserves the relevance and functionality of the design school curriculum. Mulberg explains of this report, ‘Educationalists all viewed technology as more than a physical skill to be taught in the classroom. On many issues they expressed similar views to those found in Social Studies of Technology, and studies of design history [. . .] Technology was seen as not just involving the technical, but was interwoven with the social, cultural and political.’50 The final piece in this section, Jane Pavitt’s Archives & Collections Report on the Camberwell Collection of Applied Arts, extends the discussion on education tools by giving an account of the formation and implementation of object collections in early and higher education schools. Facilitating learning via primary resources encourages students to be analytical, to see their everyday environment as filled with designed objects and agents, and to pursue the histories behind said objects, agents and designers. Some courses, such as the Royal College of Art/Victoria & Albert Museum History of Design MA and the Parsons/Cooper-Hewitt History of Design and Curatorial Studies MA were founded upon proximity to an object collection. Design schools have also cultivated their own collections, drawn from past classroom resources, alumni projects and considered acquisitions. Pavitt explains that Camberwell’s collection originated as a circulation collection for London schools, and consists of over 2,000 objects collected between 1951 and the mid-1970s, including wood, metal, ceramics, glass, textiles, plastic and paper objects. It aimed at educating and interesting young students, a sort of early intervention ensuring: [. . .] a right direction to the taste of boys and girls while they are still at school [. . .] making the understanding [that] the design of the things around us is part of our daily life, and our judgments and our appreciation depends much on our happiness in life. Design is not just something for those who can draw, anyone can get pleasure from the shape of a wooden desk or the satisfying curve of a handle.51 Camberwell College of Arts still maintains the ‘public and educational purpose’ of the largely intact collections, through research, cataloguing and exhibitions. This preserves an insight into how design was framed to young students as emotionally affective and moralizing.52 Yagou begins her article with a powerful remark: ‘Education reflects a society’s choices about how it wants to shape its future. Learning about education’s history is fundamental to understanding the present and guiding future choices’.53 Articles in this issue have so far addressed Western contexts over the past two centuries, but exploring the development of global design pedagogy would push this discussion further. Singanapalli Balaram, for example, argues that contemporary Indian design pedagogy is informed by a cultural understanding of design with a specific and complex cultural history.54 Traditional views that design is manifest in everyday life, an emphasis on tacit and generational teaching, and recognition of nineteenth-century colonial art school influences have all affected present educational philosophies. While retaining a Western model of higher education post-independence, schools such as the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad teach students design principles drawn from this history: utility, self-expression and concern for the physical environment and relevance to human need. Professionalism is measured in work and conduct, and responsibility lies with society before one’s self-interest or profit. Balaram’s article emphasizes design education as a nexus of specific factors that support communities whilst extending to international networks. What emerges from possible interactions across global educators is not just the realization that we share many concerns, but appreciation of the rich multiplicity of ideas and pedagogical approaches and experiments.55 As design engages with complicated issues, including technological disruptions, biology and sustainable design, it is important for educators to steward opportunities for design students to find agency and build personal ethical frameworks into their methods and work. Research and writing, which is often thought the work of a separate, academic curriculum, is part of this process. John Calvelli, for example, sees design history as a mechanism to teach complex topics such as ethics and sustainability. He argues, ‘This pedagogy raises questions regarding the issues of design history, the relationship between historical study and practice, the understanding of contemporary and historical frameworks and the engagement of an historical and ecological imagination.’56 Annabella Pollen’s writing in Design & Culture directly addresses the critical perspective, subjectivity and engaged learning that occurs in historical and contextual studies. Based on student feedback at the University of Brighton, Pollen concludes, ‘design students can experience historical and cultural studies as a fertile space for establishing their own subject positions as producers, consumers and interpreters of designed objects in a material world’.57 Many colleges, including those within the University of the Arts London, are looking to expand writing in the design curriculum through student blogging and greater flexibility across contextual studies remits to resemble studio briefs.58 Teaching & Learning events hosted by the DHS have addressed research practice communication, including writing and podcasting workshops; the 2009 Annual DHS Conference, ‘Writing Design: Object, Process, Discourse’, looked at disciplinary contributions that could inform pedagogy in this area. As the level of degree study in design increases, with several colleges now offering PhDs by practice and doctoral qualifications in design, the role of research and writing as design methods will continue to increase.59 During the incubation years at design school, however, the role of government, industry, and external forces will affect pedagogical models. Where possible, this flow should balance ethics and methods in both process and outcome stages, with the designer acting as an invested agent as well as the user of their implementation. As such, design education is not only a matter of acquiring tacit or procedural knowledge, although this is important; it should also expect students to become contributors to society, to become active, communicative citizens. Critical histories and theories: Turns and articulations in design history and design studies Design history is a relatively young discipline, and its place in education is bound up with the same challenges that face its object of study: the history of design.60 Several academics have published on this subject in the UK and abroad; it is not worth repeating these histories here.61 Instead, I wish to underscore the relationship of design history and related disciplines to studio teaching in design schools, and design history’s own growth as a disciplinary pursuit that has had several iterations, influences and goals. Histories are never fixed, nor can design be. Attitudes, contexts and perspectives change. Design history, while interdisciplinary in its present practice, has clear roots in art history, roots that some design historians felt were restrictive. In the October 1978 issue of the Bulletin of the Association of Art Historians, John A. Walker accused the annual conference sessions of being unreflective, without consideration of methods, and devoid of theories of practice or pedagogy. The art historical discipline was ‘static’.62 In 1976, Bridget Wilkins wrote about polytechnics’ demand for design history over universities; it was in this pedagogical environment that design historians could ‘develop a method to integrate other disciplines and pass this on to students, to integrate into their work’.63 It was the Association of Art Historians (AAH) that incubated early meetings of the Design History Research Group, a sub-committee of its members that assembled to discuss design history, ‘an academic area of great importance in institutions where students of design often outnumber fine art students’.64 Interests of this group included stimulating the growth of design history as a discipline, identifying these challenges, and coming out from beneath the wing of art history. Past Bulletins of the AAH published heated debates regarding the merits and challenges of this emergence. While the discipline was then ill-defined, without an organ for publication, lacking a recognized training or research centre, and yet to establish undergraduate degree programmes, there were clear reasons to gain stronger intellectual ground.65 Texts on design history methods as well as on the history of design studies have since expanded and strengthened the discipline, which has become increasingly self-aware. Johanna Drucker writes, ‘Design historians have the opportunity to pass on appreciation of the work of earlier generations into a broader recognition as accomplishments that shape the material world’. There is an aspect of cultural legacy as well as scholarly investment at hand. Drucker explains the need for an epistemological shift in design history methodology from knowledge to knowing, from positivist to probabilistic, from empirical to interpretive. The ‘distinction reorients our understanding, humbling us with a wake-up call to the ways our own thought processes, values and beliefs produce us as subjects of history and culture’.66 Similar calls are found in recent publications from Houze and Lees-Maffei (2010), Fallan (2010), Huppatz and Lees-Maffei (2013), Sparke (2013) and Fry, Dilnot and Stewart (2015).67 Sparke’s third edition of Introduction to Design and Culture observes the shift in design history from theoretical and material work on class, taste and consumption in the 1980s to the creation and reflection of meaning in everyday life and a recent focus on global, technological, social and cultural shifts. Jonathan Woodham mentions design history’s affiliation with social anthropology, material culture, gender studies, social and cultural history, cultural geography, histories of business, economics, politics and industry. Fallan adds methods from science and technology studies to this list.68 D. J. Huppatz and Grace Lees-Maffei put forward their own definition for design history as the ‘study of designed artefacts, practices and behaviour, and the discourses surrounding these, in order to understand the past, contextualise the present, and map possible trajectories for the future’. In addition to this ontological trajectory, there is a ‘distinctive engagement with the artefacts that shape our artificial worlds’, and this is what characterizes design history and ‘also its contribution to the humanities in general’—as well as future design.69 As the list of interests, methods and disciplinary affiliations grows, some scholars are calling for clearer nomenclature to make sense of these quicksilver interdisciplinary vanguards. Victor Margolin and Stuart Kendall, for example, prefer Design Studies, to expand the field and reconcile academia with the public.70 Growth of a design history preoccupied with context and ideas over forms and styles also means a different pedagogical structure and approach. As discussed in the previous theme, this pedagogical framework is a way to engage design students. But what does it look like? How do design historians construct and think about their curriculum? What can design historians do to help form pedagogical programs and future educational models and policy? In 2009, Hazel Clark and David Brody edited a special issue of JDH to collect revised papers from a 2008 Design Studies Forum meeting at the College Art Association in Dallas, Texas. Their introduction, ‘The Current State of Design History’, was named after that panel and also pays homage to Clive Dilnot’s ‘The State of Design History’, published decades earlier in Design Issues.71 Clark and Brody assess design history at the vanguard of interconnectivity, not only across colleagues and geographic borders, but also particularly in an interdisciplinary sense: ‘Networks of scholars working collaboratively, as well as independently as individuals, are drawing on diverse methodologies as design history engages with and builds upon the approaches of other scholarly fields’. Essays from Lisa Banu, Teal Triggs, Sarah Lichtman and Grace Lees-Maffei consider what it means ‘to use the framework of history to explicate design; discuss methodologies; demonstrate interdisciplinary scholarships; consider the margins, without marginalization; and to help us not only to address the current state of design history but also to move it forward’.72 A recurring argument in the articles in this issue is the need for design history to turn its attention to histories of design pedagogy. As the discipline develops its methodological palette, including anthropological methods such as oral history and visual ethnography—there is potential to expand experiences, processes and socio-historical contexts that influence designers and educators.73 Victoria Newhouse’s collaboration with Margot Wittkower is a case in point.74 Wittkower trained at the new Bauhaus at Weimar along with international students, including few women. Five years after graduating, she began practising as an interior designer, in Berlin from 1928 to 1933, and then in London until 1939. Newhouse’s article reflects its publication date in method, profiling the figure of the designer to ascertain her socio-historical context, but it is part of an important area of design history that provides perspectives of practising designers who were also women.75 Sue Clegg and Wendy Mayfield’s assertion finds traction here: ‘as educators, we can, do, and should challenge dominant disciplinary discourses which naturalise the gendering of technologies’.76 Failure to do so leads to distortion and exclusion. Newhouse makes ample use of Wittkower’s perspective to inform the article, including recollections, translated letters and collaborative input on draft work. Details on the atmosphere of the workshop, day schedules, social structure, briefs, crits and visits to museums give rare insights into pedagogy from the student’s point of view. Newhouse expands upon Wittkower’s notes by giving background information on the history of design schools in Germany and what would have been available for Wittkower to consider as a Jewish woman in Berlin wishing to pursue interior design. Wittkower’s insight as an educator is also rare; however, there is little of this experience or of her personal pedagogical views given in the article. Design history should be a reflexive practice, which does scholarship credit; those engaged in its work develop new approaches and articulations to advance investigations into design and design practice. In ‘Architectural and Spatial Design Studies: Inscribing Architecture in Design Studies’, Jilly Traganou suggests an inclusive disciplinary metamorphosis. This involves ‘reorganization of the field of spatio-architectural studies and the creation of a new scholarly public realm that bridges between existing disciplines and fields, rather than delineating a new disciplinary space’.77 Extensions of the spatial range from interior space to geographic regions and critical analysis of representations and narratives, as well as policies, are part of this epistemological shift. The possibilities are inclusive and inquisitive, and Traganou carefully explains the ethos of the reorganization she endorses as bridge-like spanning interstitial gaps, rather than a restructuring. She advocates for architecture’s ‘relationship with broader socio-cultural and political contexts’ with open versions, narratives and authorships instead of lineages, heroicisms and the study of Architecture as a static, built history. Furthermore, the co-ordination of architecture and spatial design studies would place new methodological and pedagogical tools at the disposal of practitioners and students alike, which promises to dispel miscommunication and foster new ideas, colloquia and collaboration. Studying non-canonical or non-paradigmatic architectural themes will yield critical perspectives that further the ethics and remits of practice and policies that affect the lives of those connected, as we all are, to spatial environments, thus framing the architect as citizen, intellectual and design professional.78 The final article in this issue sums up its main themes. Strategies and philosophies applied to teaching and learning in design and its history rest ‘on differing epistemological, pedagogical and historiographical assumptions’. Sarah Lichtman points out, via the introductory design history survey class at Parsons, ‘History of Design, 1850–2000’, that there is little consensus on the definition of design, the content of its survey or, as themes in this issue demonstrate, relationships with industry or the optimum balance of ethics and method and experimentation in practice. To teach the survey class requires educators to consider their assumptions and ask what the aim is of their course: is it to make better historians or better designers? Perhaps the answer is neither. We do not need to and cannot forecast the students’ eventual intellectual application of this material: ‘Only by articulating our own expectations—and by emphasizing students’ own agency in relation to course material—can history of design surveys remain meaningful and useful.’79 Similar to Pollen’s conclusions, she argues that contextual studies in design history and critical theories inspire students to think and form their own connections and pursue intellectual growth—a component of design pedagogy laid down by Tovey as discussed earlier in this introduction. Lecturers should endeavour to encourage these agencies and relationships to course material. Strategies here include asking students what histories or narratives are missing from dominant discourses, revealing institutional frameworks and power, contextualizing current practice and helping students situate themselves in pedagogical narratives. This is a theoretical way of intertwining the theory–practice gap—knowing-in-action won by the intrinsic motivation of exploring design. Lichtman confronts the question of what history can teach designers (who, according to Jacob, should continue to influence education after their graduation) and what the responsibility of design historians is in this work: ‘formulating a history of design survey for designers entails important questions of content, goals, structure and pedagogy. It presents an opportunity for design historians to reconsider diverse methodologies and a multiplicity of ways within which to frame the field.’80 Future applications of histories of design pedagogy This issue raises critical questions about histories of design education, in order to provoke current educators and designers to make links across social and historical contexts to inform present practices. To do so, I suggest that the themes structuring these twelve articles can also provide core elements in an Urmodell of future design pedagogy . Historical influences on design are still relevant: national identities, power politics, political investment, industry involvement, class, methods of production, standards of professionalization and education reform continue to affect today’s designers, but in different ways. This is partly because how we understand, explain and engage with design is always changing. So too are our ethics and methods of making, researching and formulating subjective and professional relationships to design and designing. Recalling the theoretical function of a model, I would like to end this article by re-emphasizing that the elements presented in the Urmodell are suggestions for constituent inclusion and not proportional prescriptions. Depending on the pedagogical context, there will be positive, negative and neutral analogies that link these themes to the educational reality of the student and educator. While it is my hope that readers, with their own design backgrounds and subjectivities, will find many interpretations via this Urmodell, there are a number worth elucidating here to demonstrate possible encounters with this arrangement of work. For example, design education, historically, lies at the core of several ambitious initiatives meant to bolster national industries by improving the quality of product and design output. What narratives exist outside a dominant historical perspective of industry, and who else was involved in production outside these frameworks? Both Nenadic and Bittker are assigned to the first theme in this issue, but they offer compelling and contrasting approaches to similar questions surrounding the importance, influence or interference of industry in design education and regional histories and voices. How do we document and communicate these voices? Another question arises between Sarah Lichtman’s essay and Jilly Traganou’s argumentation: how do we effectively facilitate and communicate the importance of critical research and socio-historical context in design practice? What role can design history research continue to play in the articulation of such diverse approaches to design pedagogy, and will this direct a more ethical practice of consumption sprung from informed awareness? Shifts in pedagogy are inevitable. Indeed, they should change and present divergences. The Urmodell accommodates and requires this adaptation and variation. John Steers claims, ‘we need to cherish multiple visions of teaching and learning about, for and through’ art and design, and thus to perceive, accept and respect a diversity of cultures and their knowledge, ideas and acts. We must avoid ‘insidious international pedagogy and recognize that alternative approaches to curriculum and assessment are increasingly being erased by the dominant ideologies of some governments and influential, wealthy organizations’.81 This chimes with Vignelli’s educational sabre rattling and his emphasis on culture. There is value in sound pedagogical training that fosters ethical and socially responsible practice, considers production in some balance with intellectual interrogation and strategizes structures of curriculum that observe but do not acquiesce to the quicksilver demands of industry. Meanwhile, it should harbour the reflexive ability to assess and change and improve. I began this essay with the words of a favoured graphic designer, and I will end it with another. Before doing so, I should clarify that I do not enjoy TED Talks. I discuss their peculiar niche with my design students and suggest they are best incorporated into research with a critical, even cynical lens. Paula Scher’s 2008 talk, I confess, is an exception. In twenty-two minutes, she discusses her career, various projects (informed by design history) and a mantra she lives and works by. It is an invaluable pedagogical guide: design, Scher suggests, should be ‘serious, not solemn’. ‘Being solemn is easy. Being serious is hard.’82 Her examples explain that seriousness is complex, creative, experiential, spontaneous, accidental, imperfect and rare. ‘It’s achieved through all those kind of crazy parts of human behavior that don’t really make any sense.’ In the application of design, this alchemy must involve history and asking critical questions; it must involve considerations as to why and who and how; it must involve an idea that seriously engages its author and its audience. This is the goal of design pedagogy. If you have any comments to make in relation to this article, please go to the journal website on http://jdh.oxfordjournals.org and access this article. There is a facility on the site for sending e-mail responses to the editorial board and other readers. Acknowledgements: I would like to thank my teaching and Design History Society colleagues with whom I have had several enduring conversations about pedagogy and the state of design education today. Thank you also to the four anonymous reviewers and their valuable feedback that helped shape this issue, and to Grace Lees-Maffei as managing editor during the process. I especially hold much appreciation and gratitude for Dipti Bhagat for her support and confidence in me undertaking this project and for her continued passion for teaching and learning. Notes 1 Sheila Levrant de Bretteville, ‘A Reexamination of Some of the Design Arts from the Perspective of a Woman Designer’, Arts in Society: Women and the Arts (Spring–Summer 1974): 115. This text is developed from a lecture delivered at Hunter College in 1972. 2 Quoted in Victor Margolin, ‘A Decade of Design History in the United States 1977–1987’, Journal of Design History 1, no. 1 (1988): 55. Original italics. Vignelli made this comment in a keynote address at the ‘Coming of Age’ symposium, Rochester Institute of Technology, 1983. 3 De Bretteville, op. cit., 115. The Woman’s Building was committed to women’s education and feminist art and ran studio classes, talks and seminars. 4 Lucy Kimbell. ‘Rethinking Design Thinking: Part I’, Design & Culture 3, no. 3 (2011): 285. 5 Victor Papanek, Design for the Real World (London: Thames & Hudson, 1985), 102. 6 Michael Beirut, ‘Ten Footnotes to a Manifesto’, in 79 Short Essays on Design, ed. Michael Beirut (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2007), 52. Beirut publishes the updated manifesto with footnotes that explain the history and background of its contents. Garland’s original can be found in Michael Beirut et al., Looking Closer 3: Classic Writings on Graphic Design, New York: Allworth Press, 1999. 7 Department of Culture, Media & Sport, ‘Creative Industries Economic Estimates January 2015—Key Findings’. Accessed 30 January 2016. https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/creative-industries-economic-estimates-january-2015/creative-industries-economic-estimates-january-2015-key-findings. 8 Sarah Lichtman, ‘Reconsidering the History of Design Survey’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 345. 9 David Thistlewood, ‘Introduction’, in Histories of Art and Design Education: From Cole to Coldstream, ed. David Thistlewood (Burnt Mill, Harlow, Essex: National Society for Education in Art and Design, 1992), 8; Mervyn Romans, ed., Histories of Art and Design Education: Collected Essays, Bristol: Intellect Books, 2005; Stuart Macdonald, The History and Philosophy of Art Education, Cambridge: Lutterworth Press, 2004 . 10 David Thistlewood, ‘Introduction’, in Critical Studies in Art and Design Education, ed. David Thistlewood (Burnt Mill, Harlow, Essex: Longman Group & NSEAD, 1989), 1. 11 Department of Education and Science, National Advisory Council on Art Education, The Structure of Art and Design Education in the Further Education Sector. Report of a Joint Committee of the National Advisory Council on Art Education and the National Council for Diplomas in Art and Design, (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1970), 11. 12 Hazel Conway, ‘Design History Basics’ in Design History A Students’ Handbook, ed. Hazel Conway (London: Unwin Hyman, 1987), 4. 13 John A. Walker, Design History and the History of Design (London: Pluto Press, 1989), 20. 14 Grace Lees-Maffei, ‘General Introduction’, in The Design History Reader, eds Rebecca Houze and Grace Lees-Maffei (London: Bloomsbury, 2010), 1; Kjetil Fallan, Design History: Understanding Theory and Method, London: Berg, 2010. 15 Leon Bellin and Marco Diani, ‘Introduction: Educating the Designer, Beginning a Dialog’, Design Issues 7, no. 1 (Autumn 1990): 3. 16 Victor Margolin et al., ‘Introduction: Telling the History of Design’, Design Issues 11, no. 1 (1995): 1. 17 Fallan, op. cit., xvii. 18 Walker, op. cit., ix. 19 Lee S. Shulman, ‘Pedagogies of Uncertainty’, Liberal Education 91 (2005): 19. 20 Mike Tovey, Design Pedagogy: Developments in Art and Design Education (Farnham: Gower Publishing, 2015), 1. 21 Alain Findeli, ‘Rethinking Design Education for the 21st Century: Theoretical, Methodological, and Ethical Discussion’, Design Issues 17, no. 1 (Winter 2001): 8. 22 Ibid., pp. 15, 9. 23 In making this statement, of histories over history, I pay homage to past editors who have taken up this discussion. See Mervyn Romans, ‘Introduction: Rethinking Art and Design Education Histories’, in Romans, Histories of Art and Design Education, pp. 11–18. 24 See Houze and Lees-Maffei, op. cit., and Penny Sparke, ‘Introduction: Twentieth-century Design and Culture Revisited’, in Introduction to Design & Culture: 1900 to the Present, 3rd edn (London: Routledge, 2013), 1–9. 25 Mary S. Morgan and Margaret Morrison, ‘Models as Mediating Instruments’, in Models as Mediators: Perspectives on Natural and Social Science, eds Mary S. Morgan and Margaret Morrison (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 14. 26 Mary Hesse, Models and Analogies in Science (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1966), 8. 27 Artemis Yagou, ‘Rethinking Design History from an Evolutionary Perspective’, The Design Journal 8, no. 3 (2005): 52. 28 For a more detailed discussion on definitions of design see Fallan, op. cit., ix. 29 Stephen Bayley, Art and Industry, London: Boilerhouse Project, 1982. 30 Stana Nenadic, ‘Designers in the Nineteenth-Century Scottish Fancy Textile Industry: Education, Employment and Exhibition’, Journal of Design History 27, no. 2 (2014): 115. British training comprised of three pathways: the private art school, societies or local and mechanics’ institutes. Schools and societies emphasized formal training in drawing and showings in industrial art—weaving, textiles and cabinet making—were of lesser interest. Institutes, the forebears of polytechnics, provided curricula for the professional training of artisans and industrial workers, including drawing, modelling and lectures. See Stuart Macdonald, ‘Guilds, Societies, Academies and Institutes’, in The History and Philosophy of Art Education, pp. 17–40. 31 Nenadic, op. cit., 121. Nenadic cites formal design training in Edinburgh since 1760: the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Manufactures and Fisheries founded a drawing school to improve manufacturing using government funds. The Foulis Academy at Glasgow was also founded around the same time to improve textile design and artistic engravings. Ibid., p. 119. 32 See also Anne Puetz, ‘Design Instruction for Artisans in Eighteenth-Century Britain’, Journal of Design History 12, no. 3 (1999): 217–239, for a related discussion of an international, market-driven need for improved training via drawing. 33 Daniela N. Prina, ‘Design in Belgium before Art Nouveau: Art, Industry and the Reform of Artistic Education in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century’, Journal of Design History 23, no. 4 (2010): 329–350. 34 Ibid., p. 333. 35 Alain Findeli, ‘Design Education and Industry: the Laborious Beginnings of the Institute of Design in Chicago in 1944’, Journal of Design History 4, no. 2 (1991). 97. 36 Findeli explains that the ‘availability of unsalaried teachers and the spirit of initiative of students avid for initiation into modern art, architecture and design constituted the principle resources’ of this arrangement over the separation into specific curriculum based on specialized design disciplines. Ibid., p. 100. 37 Susan Bittker, ‘[Education] Report on a Survey of Recent Crafts and Design Graduates of Scottish Art Colleges’, Journal of Design History 2, nos 2–3 (1989): 221. 38 Several articles published by the Journal of Design History are not included in this issue but are worth mentioning for the additional scope they add here. Robin Kinross’ ‘Herbert Read’s Art and Industry: A History’, Journal of Design History 1, no. 1 (1988): 35–50, reflects upon the influence of Read’s text on British design. Adrian Rifkin, ‘Success Disavowed: The Schools of Design in Mid-nineteenth-century Britain. (An Allegory)’, Journal of Design History 1, no. 2 (1988): 89–102; Jonathan M. Woodham, ‘Managing British Design Reform I: Fresh Perspectives on the Early Years of the Council of Industrial Design’, Journal of Design History 9, no. 1 (1996): 55–60; Annalisa B. Pesando and Daniela N. Prina, ‘To Educate with the Hand and the Mind. Design Reform in Post-Unification Italy (1884–1908)’, Journal of Design History 25, no. 1 (2012): 32–54: these examine different narratives of design education related to national consciousness, cultivation of consumers and the role of institutions and government in design education reform, in order to further industry. Also of note is John Turpin, ‘The School of Design in Victorian Dublin’, Journal of Design History 2, no. 4 (1989): 243–256, which focuses on the history of the Dublin School of Design, the influence of the Act of Union, changes to curriculum and administration, and an increased pressure on drawing to improve Irish industry via products and patterns. 39 Artemis Yagou, ‘First Steps: Early Design Education and Professionalization in Greece’, Journal of Design History 23, no. 2 (2010): 145. 40 Ibid., p. 147. 41 Yagou refers to a range of terms used in Greece within the broader label of design: applied arts, decorative arts, industrial arts, simple arts and ‘brutal arts’—as distinguished from fine arts. 42 Anna Rowland, ‘Business Management at the Weimar Bauhaus’, Journal of Design History 1, nos 3–4 (1988): 153. 43 Ibid., p. 168. Workshops were intended to be efficient and business-like with minimal delays and solid scheduling, but this was not always achieved. Student pay was calculated upon completion of the product to mitigate wastage, reduce dilettantism across workshops and alleviate poverty of nearly all students. Workshops were not wholly effective in generating income. Lack of capital to pay staff and order raw materials kept the venture low, as did lack of publicity and explanatory materials to contextualize the Bauhaus and prices of products. 44 Heiner Jacob, ‘HfG Ulm: A Personal View of an Experiment in Democracy and Design Education’, Journal of Design History 1, nos 3–4 (1988): 221–234. Founding members included Inge Scholl, Otl Aicher (sculptor), writer Hans Werner Richter and architect and Bauhaus alumni Max Bill; they wished to pay homage to Hans and Sophie Scholl who were executed for supporting the anti-fascist resistance in Germany in the Second World War. 45 Ibid., p. 233. Of particular interest are comments made by founding tutor Otl Aicher: ‘The educational model of Ulm is taking shape, based on the technology and science of Design, with the designer not seen as being a superior, but rather as a team member in the decision-making process of industrial production.’ Ibid., p. 232. Courses included a foundation year, information theory and an even divide of theory and practice. 46 Ibid., p. 227. 47 Tim Benton’s writings for the Journal of Design History are also noteworthy on this subject. See Tim Benton, ‘Multiple Media and Multimedia: Some Possible Options for the History of Art and Design’, Journal of Design History 9, no. 3 (1996): 203–214, and Charlotte Benton’s review of the Council for National Academic Awards’ report Technological Change in Industrial Design Education, Journal of Design History 6, no. 3 (1993): 225–226. 48 Colin Mulberg, ‘[Education] ‘Just Don’t Ask Me to Define It’: Perceptions of Technology in the National Curriculum’, Journal of Design History 6, no. 4 (1993): 302. 49 Melissa Niederhelman, ‘Education through Design’, Design Issues 17, no. 3 (Summer 2001): 83–87. 50 Mulberg, op. cit., 304. 51 Jane Pavitt, ‘[Archives and Collections] The Camberwell Collection of Applied Arts, Camberwell College of Arts, The London Institute’, Journal of Design History 10, no. 2 (1997): 225. 52 Ibid., p. 225. 53 Yagou, ‘First Steps’, p. 145. 54 Singanapalli Balaram, ‘Design Pedagogy in India: A Perspective’, Design Issues 21, no. 4 (Autumn 2005): 11–22. 55 John Steers, ‘InSEA: Past, Present and Future’, in Romans, Histories of Art and Design Education, p. 141. 56 John Calvelli, ‘Design History Education and the Use of the Design Brief as an Interpretive Framework for Sustainable Practice’, Design & Complexity: Design Research Society: DRS 2010, Montreal, 7–9 July, Conference Proceedings, 2010, 1. Accessed 31 January 2016. http://www.drs2010.umontreal.ca/data/PDF/023.pdf. 57 Annabella Pollen, ‘My Position in the Design World: Locating Subjectivity in the Design Curriculum’, Design & Culture 7, no. 1 (2015): 87. 58 Kieron Devlin, ‘Is the Academic Essay becoming a Fossil through Lack of Authorial Voice? The Case for More Stylish and Exploratory Writing’, Spark: UAL Creative Teaching & Learning Journal 1, no. 1 (2016): 35. As budgets become increasingly tighter, some UK-based structures are returning to the previous model of embedding a theory and critical studies tutor within the studio department. 59 For example, see the increase of design PhDs in Germany to compete with changes in European degree bodies: Katharina Bredies and Christian Wolfel, ‘Long Live the Late Bloomers: Current State of the Design PhD in Germany’, Design Issues 31, no. 1 (Winter 2015): 37–41. See also H. Alpay Er and Nigan Bayazit, ‘Redefining the “PhD in Design” in the Periphery: Doctoral Education in Industrial Design in Turkey’, Design Issues 15, no. 3 (Autumn 1999): 34–44, who explain a political intervention to control teaching and standards in design education. In 1999, Alex Seago and Anthony Dunne advocated a doctoral programme that prioritized ‘action research’ over academic definitions of rigour, methodology and originality, but some scholars express concern over the lack of consensus of subject matter, methods and communities of research. Victor Margolin calls for frameworks to assure not only the discipline itself but also students seeking employment: is it a symbolic or pragmatic qualification? See Victor Margolin, ‘Doctoral Education in Design: Problems and Prospects’ Design Issues 26, no. 3 (Summer 2010): 75. 60 Walker, op. cit., 10. 61 Walker, op. cit.; Woodham, op. cit.; Fallan, op. cit.; Houze and Lees-Maffei, op. cit.; D. J. Huppatz and Grace Lees-Maffei. ‘Why Design History? A Multi-national Perspective on the State and Purpose of the Field’, Arts and Humanities in Higher Education 12, nos 2–3 (April–July 2013): 310–330; Tony Fry, Clive Dilnot and Susan C. Stewart, Design and the Question of History, London: Bloomsbury, 2015. 62 John A. Walker, ‘Correspondence’, Bulletin of the Association of Art Historians (7 October 1978): 3. 63 Bridget Wilkins, ‘Teaching Design History’, Bulletin of the Association of Art Historians (2 February 1976): 7. 64 Philip Barlow, ‘Art & Design History Courses in Polytechnics’, Bulletin of the Association of Art Historians (1 November 1975): 2. 65 Philip Barlow, ‘Group for Art History in Art Education’, Bulletin of the Association of Art Historians (1 November 1975): 3. See also Jonathan M. Woodham, ‘Designing Design History: From Pevsner to Postmodernism’ (paper presented at the Digitisation and Knowledge Conference, Auckland University, February 2001), and Fallan, op. cit. 66 Johanna Drucker argues waxing attention for design history by analysing Philip Meggs and Richard Hollis’ well-known histories of graphic design. She suggests the changing material qualities of these books reflect the status of these works both pedagogically and in publishing. See Johanna Drucker, ‘Philip Meggs and Richard Hollis: Models of Graphic Design History’, Design & Culture 1, no. 1 (2009): 70. 67 Houze and Lees-Maffei, op. cit.; Fallan, op. cit.; Huppatz and Lees-Maffei, op. cit.; Sparke, Introduction to Design & Culture; Fry, Dilnot and Stewart, op. cit. 68 Sparke, ‘Introduction’, p. 3; Woodham, ‘Designing Design History’; Fallan, op. cit. 69 Huppatz and Lees-Maffei, op. cit., 310. 70 Stuart Kendall, ‘Positioning Design Studies’, Design & Culture 6, no. 3 (2014): 345–368. 71 Clive Dilnot, ‘The State of Design History, Part I: Mapping the Field’, Design Issues 1, no. 1 (Spring 1984): 4–23, and Stuart Kendall, ‘The State of Design History, Part II: Problems and Possibilities’, Design Issues 1, no. 2 (Autumn 1984): 3–20. See also Denise Whitehouse, ‘The State of Design History as a Discipline’, in Design Studies: A Reader, eds Hazel Clark and David Brody (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 54–63. 72 Hazel Clark and David Brody, ‘The Current State of Design History’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 305. The essays are Lisa S. Banu, ‘Defining the Design Deficit in Bangladesh’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 309–323; Teal Triggs, ‘Designing Graphic Design History’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 325–340; Lichtman, op. cit., 341–350; Grace Lees-Maffei, ‘The Production–Consumption–Mediation Paradigm’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 4 (2009): 351–376. 73 Linda Sandino, ‘Introduction Oral Histories and Design: Objects and Subjects’, Journal of Design History 19, no. 4 (2006): 276. 74 Victoria Newhouse, ‘Margot Wittkower: Design Education and Practice, Berlin–London, 1919–1939’, Journal of Design History 3, nos 2–3 (1990): 83–101. 75 In addition to de Bretteville, op. cit., see Cheryl Buckley, ‘Made in Patriarchy: Toward a Feminist Analysis of Women and Design’, Design Issues 3, no. 2 (1986): 3–14; Judy Attfield, ‘FORM/female FOLLOWS FUNCTION/male: Feminist Critiques of Design’, in Design History and the History of Design, by John A. Walker (London: Pluto Press, 1987), 199–225; Jill Seddon and Suzette Worden, Women Designing: Redefining Design in Britain between the Wars, Brighton: University of Brighton, 1994; Sue Clegg and Wendy Mayfield, ‘Gendered by Design: How Women’s Place in Design is still Defined by Gender’, Design Issues 15, no. 3 (Autumn 1999): 3–16. 76 Clegg and Mayfield, op. cit., 16. 77 Jilly Traganou, ‘[re: focus design] Architectural and Spatial Design Studies: Inscribing Architecture in Design Studies’, Journal of Design History 22, no. 2 (2009): 173. 78 Ibid., p. 179. 79 Lichtman, op. cit., 345, 343. 80 Ibid., pp. 341–342. 81 Steers, op. cit., 141, 138. 82 Paula Scher, ‘Great Design is Serious, Not Solemn’, TED Talk, May 2008. Accessed 31 January 2016. https://www.ted.com/talks/paula_scher_gets_serious/transcript?language=en. © The Author . Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of The Design History Society. All rights reserved.
Journal of Design History – Oxford University Press
Published: Jun 15, 2016
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