First Memories

As a child, I was given a hairbrush with a round, plastic back to which the bristles were attached. It was a travel hairbrush that folded in half and the bristles could be collapsed into the elastic plastic backing, turning the bulky brush into a compact piece of plastic. I recall the slightly addictive feel of pushing the bristles in and out of the brush, quickly, then more slowly, trying to figure out exactly how the bristles collapsed and flared out. I would try to take note of every movement, every angle of the bristles as they emerged from the depths of the soft, elastic plastic. I liked how I could store it easily and snap it open quickly to use to brush my hair with. The bristles were perfectly spaced, the perfect hardness to fulfill its purpose of untangling hair. The brush was smooth and slightly cool to the touch, smelled of plastic, and had a distinct snapping sound when opening it up. Back then, I was aware that its design worked well for my hair and for my entertainment during boredom. Now, I am aware of design in the simplest of objects. That hairbrush had to come from an idea, a plan, and had to be designed in a functional and aesthetically pleasing way.

Design is everywhere. Even in that little hairbrush. You can look anywhere in a room or on a street and find something that has been designed. In fact, most things you see are designed, except for nature. In Karl Blossfeldt’s Pumpkin Tendrils, Magnified 4x, we can see that the objects depicted, the pumpkin tendrils, are not designed, but the way they are depicted is.

Our world revolves around design, and even primitive humans had to design tools in order to survive. Design is in our past, present, and future. A hairbrush must have been invented and designed long ago, and the first brush must have looked much different than the one I used as a child. Design persists and evolves and will continue to expand in the future.


Photo credit: http://www.4cp.com.au/FoldingHairBrush.jpg