Taking a cue from Transcendentalism, we can write—and rewrite—our own history through the decisions we make about language in our products.
Innovation and preservation are inherently in tension. But if we can innovate on the way we preserve, we’ll make our work accessible to future generations.
Childhood memories of the Chihuahuan Desert give way to an imagined desert: the haunting landscape of the archived, abandoned web.
An old radio show about nothing gained widespread popularity during WWII. Today it offers some relief from the dissonance between everyday life and a broader, broken world.
The file formats that define the web range from audacious to disturbing, and an examination of their idiosyncracies offers an illuminating glimpse of history.
As the evolution of the reading experience unfolds from text to hypertext, there's new opportunity and responsibility to be found in bringing text to life.
The history of hypertext reaches as far back as the history of storytelling. Its future, in turn, is characterized by the power of building connections across an ever-expanding body of knowledge.
In order to establish a sense of history, web design will need to find ways to make allusion to predecessors, acknowledge its influences, and learn from the past.
Playing off our enthusiasm for the new, galleries misrepresent web design as a state, not a process. In the exhibition and archival of web design, more context is essential.
The concept of the page has lasting influence on our understanding of the web. An awareness of the history and meaning of the term makes room for new possibilities in the evolution of the web.
In our new public, behavior is not an etiquette we can memorize. The web yields space for a multiplicity of identities, and a greater sensitivity to context is required.