Keywords

Designers primarily create something new. They see reality—and in it the potential for change (Fulton Suri 2011, p. 31). But a design process never starts from scratch, because “to design is always to redesign. There is always something that exists first as a given, as an issue, as a problem” (Latour 2008, p. 5). Design makes reference to something preexisting from which it must differentiate itself. Design requires and generates knowledge.

Generally, the concept of design is associated with industrialization and the division of labor. These are the processes that led to the decoupling of conception and production. Products are designed first and then mass-produced afterward. Industrially produced things are “made more beautiful” and “given a form.” In the German-speaking world, until the 1970s designers were referred to as “form-givers” (Krippendorff 2013, p. 29). Design-specific functionalism should be mentioned in this context. In 1896, the architect Louis H. Sullivan, of the architectural (not to be confused with the sociological) Chicago School, formulated the famous dictum “form ever follows function” (1896, p. 408). The form thus aesthetisizes the intended use, as illustrated in an exemplary manner by an aerodynamic car. Functionalism was taken further by the Bauhaus, where the focus was on eschewing all ornament and flourish and practicality stood at the center (Gropius 1996, p. 149 ff.). Klaus Krippendorff criticizes functionalism as “an expression of blind acceptance of the role assigned to designers by society, and especially by their industrial clients” (2013, p. 28). Krippendorff pleads instead for a semantic shift: “People can neither see nor react to the physical properties of things. They always act in accordance with what the things mean to them” (2013, p. 75).

Other theorists have also criticized the notion of design as “form-giving.” In the 1970s, Bazon Brock called for a “socio-design” and an “expansion of the concept of design” that would emancipate itself from the industrial production of goods to focus on the formation of ways of life, values, and linguistic gestures (1977, p. 446). With this idea of socio-design, Brock formulated something that is inherent in design itself: Design is something genuinely social, which is why Brandes et al. speak of the “sociality of design” (2009, p. 90 ff.). The cultural sociologist Yana Milev criticizes the fact that “the utilitarian and doggedly functional view of design” ideologizes design as a progressive force for consumer goods (2011, p. 46). She calls for “an anthropological and participatory form of design research” (Milev 2011, p. 46).

Undoubtedly, the concept of design has been undergoing an explosive expansion for some time now, which is reflected in the proliferation of differentiated disciplines such as game design, interaction design, experience design, event design, fashion design, graphic design, communication design, system design, spatial design, cultural design, knowledge visualization, etc. Design has thus emancipated itself from thingness and form-giving. According to the design theorist Claudia Mareis, the concept of design encompasses “an immense spectrum of discourses, methods, activities, and artifacts, from the design of mass-produced goods to individually formed unique objects to generalized planning and problem-solving processes” (2014, p. 37).

This “cultural technique of ‘designing’” (Mareis 2014, p. 152 ff.) is therefore situated between different disciplines—which is precisely why perspectives within design can be ascribed to distinct individual disciplines. A design problem may be defined as social, economic, ecological, political, formal, ergonomic, technical, or atmospheric—whereby these definitions already say something about the direction in which the solutions will be sought (Götz 2010, p. 55 f.).

The sociologist Franz Schultheis argues for a disciplining of design so that it can “transform itself […] from an ‘illegitimate art’ into a legitimate field of scientific theory and research” (2005, p. 68). Anthropologist Lucy A. Suchman calls for design to find its “place”—“to locate itself as a one (albeit multiple) figure and practice of change” (2011, p. 3). The fact that theory and practice play a part in design does not make this search for location any easier. Although design is fundamentally practical, it is not free of theory. This is evident from scholarly journals such as Design Studies and Design Issues, the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Designtheorie und -forschung (www.dgtf.de) and die English Design Research Society. Mareis speaks of Design as Knowledge Culture (2011) and traces the interpositioning of the discourses of design and knowledge since the emergence of the Design Methods Movement in the 1960 (Gregory 1966; Mareis 2010, p. 17 ff., 2011, p. 34 ff., 2014, p. 162 ff.). Sydney A. Gregory defines Design Science as a discipline that deals with the study, investigation, and accumulation of knowledge in design processes and their essential operations (1966, p. 323). In his book Designerly Ways of Knowing, design theorist Nigel Cross proposes the thesis that individual figures such as Le Courbusier had already laid the foundation for the Design Methods Movement of the 1960s back in the 1920s (2007a, p. 119 ff.). Cross distinguishes between three categories of design research (2007b, p. 48): (1) Design epistemology—study of designerly ways of knowing; (2) Design praxeology—study of the practices and processes of design; and (3) Design phenomenology—study of the form and configuration of artifacts.

4.1 Warm, Involving, and Risky

Bruno Latour writes: “Science is certainty; research is uncertainty. Science is supposed to be cold, straight, and detached; research is warm, involving, and risky” (1998, p. 208). Research leads into unknown territory. The knowledge it generates is particular and based on experience, not universal. This is especially the case for ethnography: “Ethnographic truths are thus inherently partial—committed and incomplete” (Clifford 1986, p. 7).

In contrast to Science the term Research implies that previously existing knowledge functions as a reference point, given that something is being searched for again. This knowledge can be explicit or implicit. We have recourse to explicit knowledge if it has already been articulated—for instance, when we access cultural studies texts in libraries, or search on-line databases for e-papers. Implicit knowledge signifies internalized practical knowledge—it is the everyday knowledge discussed above, which we use among other things to move about in the supermarket. Uriel Orlow writes:

At stake, then, is not chiefly a form of new knowledge that is teleologically targeted, but rather a reticulated, branched feeling out of latent knowledge that is in part already there, but is not immediately visible or graspable, and which is made accessible again and combined anew in the process of research. (Orlow 2014, p. 201)

This aligns with the thesis that people know more than they can articulate (Schön 1983, p. 51 ff.). By observing, articulating, and translating into text practical and everyday knowledge, we make it explicit—and make it possible to reflect on it. In her various studies, Sarah Pink, for example, has ethnographically investigated how long-standing everyday practices—such as those in the kitchen (2012, p. 48ff.), the laundry (2012, p. 66 ff.), or the garden (2012, p. 84 ff.)—are carried out and what specific knowledge the relevant actors possess.

Design ethnography has many possibilities to experiment with methods. It can intervene, disrupt situations, develop and test prototypes. It does not have to adhere to a linear research process, but rather involves iterative processes and increased awareness. Designers should operate with reflective practices (Schön 1983) and quickly switch between the roles of researcher and designer. In research, they attempt to shed light on the things and connections of our social and cultural world from as many perspectives as possible. This requires openness, empathy, sensitivity, exploration, and participatory approaches undertaken with the people in the field of inquiry. In design, on the other hand, they adopt an attitude that focuses as much as possible on a small, identifiable, and changeable portion of reality—that is to say, a “place” where design can have an impact and change something. Design always pertains to something that does not yet exist and is therefore speculative—in contrast to descriptive ethnography in social research. Design wants to change the world. Every change is driven by assumptions that are prospective. Design is always directed towards an (uncertain) future and helps shape it: “Everyone designs who devises courses of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones” (Simon 1996, p. 111). In a design ethnography, these two dimensions—the descriptive and the prospective—come together. These are “Ethnographies of the Possible” (Halse 2013), which do not simply investigate social lifeworlds but also ask: “What happens if we look at it this way?” (Halse 2013, p. 182). Design thinks in alternatives. Design is speculative. Speculation requires avoiding prejudices and moral judgments and striving for an unbiased view. Design proceeds from empirical observations and hypotheses that change people’s behavior, interactions, and even identities. Design holds a conception of mankind that to a certain extent it itself brings forth.

4.2 Research Through Design

There is a typology occasionally called upon in the context of design research that originally goes back to the art theorist Herbert Read (1944) and was adapted for art and design by Christopher Frayling: research into art and design, research through art and design and research for art and design (Frayling 1993, p. 5). Alain Findeli has modified this typology specifically for design, replacing the focus on art history with a present-oriented orientation on popular culture (2004, p. 42). He proposes the following three types of design research (2004, p. 41 ff.):

  • Research for design: These are projects at design schools in which students do research before designing a product or system. It is also applied in professional design practice—for instance, in the research departments of design firms. This research often draws on existing knowledge.

  • Research on design: This category is mainly practiced at colleges and universities. Here design is put in the context of academic theory (economics, art history, technology, sociology, etc.).

  • Research through design: This research centers on people and is active. Design here operates as a method to generate knowledge. It requires praxis, exploration, and self-reflection.

Findeli criticizes the first two approaches. Research for design has no memory. It begins anew with every project and because for the most part it draws on already existing knowledge, it is not accepted in the sciences. The converse is the case for research on design, which may have a place in scholarly discourse, but has no relevance for design praxis. Findeli favors research through design, which he describes as “project-led research” (2004, p. 44). He emphasizes the potential of interpretive (hermeneutics, phenomenology, personal history) and active methods (participatory research, action research, grounded theory, etc.) (2004, p. 45).

Design ethnography corresponds to what Findeli calls “project-led research.” It is interpretative, qualitative, engaged, active, constructivistic, interactionistic, phenomenological, explorative, and abductive. It is—to use Bruno Latour’s differentiation between research and science—a risky research method. It can disrupt conventions, push boundaries, and expand mental horizons. Design ethnography can mean passively observing social situations in order to alter them afterward through intervention, and then observe them again, etc. It is not a linear but an iterative process, in which observation, analysis, and conception are inextricable:

Design ethnography offers a powerful way to examine the circulations of meanings, objects, and identities in diffuse time-space and bring these to fruition, not in new description of localities, but in new objects and services that will make sense to these localities. (Salvador et al. 1999, p. 41)

The design ethnographer observes actions—and acts. They generate knowledge—through praxis. Design ethnography not only investigates designed realities—it also brings them forth.

This explorative approach eludes inductive and deductive methods. Proceeding inductively leads to generalizing one’s own observations—even though these may have no universal relevance at all but are only specific to the case. If I observe white swans on the lake shore, this does not mean that many swans are white (Popper 1935, p. 1). The hypothesis that all swans are white is therefore only valid until a gray swan comes along; then it is falsified (Popper 1935, p. 5 ff.). Those who proceed deductively from the start of their research project will construct and test their hypotheses. This begs the questions, however—where did the preliminary knowledge for the construction come from, given that there is still very little knowledge available about the research field at the start of the investigation. Much of what we know comes from self-referential peer-group discourses, digital bubbles, and mass media. It would be banal to “test” this pre-given knowledge in the context of a social lifeworld. Anyone who knows from the start what they are looking for will view reality through tunnel vision and will therefore fail to see many phenomena that might turn out to be relevant (Blumer 1986, p. 21 ff.). Hypotheses constructed in advance carry the risk of narrowing one’s perspective in the field. At best, hypotheses should be understood as tools that lead one into the field but become obsolete there through serendipity:

If a man sets out on an expedition, determined to prove certain hypotheses, if he is incapable of changing his views constantly and casting them off ungrudgingly under the pressure of evidence, needless to say his work will be worthless. (Malinowski 1932, p. 16)

4.3 Contingency and Serendipity

The founders of Grounded Theory described their methods as inductive (Glaser and Strauss 1995, p. 114). Strübing describes this as an “inductivist self-misunderstanding” and assigns Grounded Theory to abduction (2008, p. 44 ff.). Abduction, which was introduced into the social sciences by Charles S. Pierce (2004, p. 209 ff.), is intended to lead to new insights specifically through experience, not through paths charted by logic. In the context of abduction, Jo Reichertz puts emphasis on the new, which flares up as an idea: “[…] abduction is sensible and scientific as a form of inference, however it reaches to the sphere of deep insight and new knowledge” (2007, p. 216). The phenomenologist Thomas S. Eberle sees abduction as an attitude that consists in curiosity, intense observation, and the openness to bracket one’s own convictions (2011, p. 41). The design theorist Michael Erlhoff points to the potential of fuzziness and undogmatic approaches in the context of design research (2010, p. 41). The sociologist Anne Honer insists that an ethnographer must always be ready to allow themselves to become confused, experience shocks, and set aside their moral judgments for a time (2008, p. 203).

An abductive process entails a kind of chaotic interplay of induction and deduction, in which observations and internalized implicit practical knowledge (of participants in a field) are continually made explicit. It is an immersive process in which one becomes sensitized to a lifeworld to the point that one discovers something about its “cosmology” (Goffman 1986, p. 27). The point is that the researcher does not simply find something in the data, but also adds something to it, which makes abduction constructivist (Bryant and Charmaz 2007, p. 44 ff.). With abduction, new hypotheses can be developed that could be transferred into the process of design.

Methods therefore must not be applied dogmatically—rather, they may and should be adapted and developed further. Ton Otto and Rachel Charlotte Smith emphasize the potential for interventions in and disruptions of natural situations in the context of design ethnography (2013, p. 12). To prevent the research from becoming completely arbitrary, these methods must be made transparent, that is to say, they should be reflected upon. Only then can the demand for intersubjectivity in research be satisfied. In this respect, design research resembles a voyage of discovery—but one that is very well documented, charted, and reflected upon, so it is always comprehensible to those who were not a part of it.

In the context of abduction, it is important to consider serendipity. Serendipity refers to what Ludwig Fleck described as the “Columbus Effect” (1980, p. 91): Columbus was looking for a new route to India and discovered America. The history of science can point to many such examples: for instance, penicillin, LSD, or Viagra. It is in the nature of searching that one enters into new territory. “The fundamental problem of such a process of searching consists in the fact that it is not possible to precisely determine what one doesn’t know” (Rheinberger 2014, p. 232). For this reason, Peter Friedrich Stephan suggests that not knowing should no longer be seen exclusively as a deficit, but rather also as a resource (2010, p. 85). Michael Dellwing and Robert Prus posit the thesis that very open, interactionist ethnography is per se serendipitous. At the same time, however—as the examples from the history of science demonstrate—the pure natural sciences are not free of it either, although they are not allowed to show it, since they do not ascribe any meaningful role to chaos and contingency (Dellwing and Prus 2012, p. 206). Thus, what is hidden in the pure sciences may be revealed in design ethnography. Dealing with serendipity requires openness, attentiveness, and sensitivity.