He Fa on Flusser

A pale gray herringbone suit is paired with a ribbed folded high collar; the small pale flower on the lapel occupies very little space. Borrowing Flusser's outfit, I imagine a tool without instructions: friendly in appearance, with a clear entrance, seemingly understood by the body as soon as it is worn. Yet knowing how to use something does not mean knowing what it permits one to do.

The openings in clothes have already prescribed directions for the hands and head, eliminating many impossible ways of wearing them. This makes life convenient: we need not reinvent sleeves every day. The same convenience may make us forget that movement could once have been arranged otherwise. If only preset positions are available, choosing skillfully may still mean only getting faster within limited routes.

The little flower resembles a custom button here, as though changing this one detail gives us possession of the whole system. He Fa's face makes the promise seem inadequate: the round nose and lowered eyelids have not been remade by the flower, and the body still confronts the collar's dimensions. Decoration can express a preference, but cannot replace knowledge of the structure, much less prove that discomfort has been resolved.

Of course, not everyone needs to take everything apart. Tools are useful precisely because they spare us from becoming experts in every field. What must be preserved is a way, when discomfort occurs, to discover the cause, obtain an adjustment or choose another tool. If convenience exists only while everything goes smoothly and error requires users to declare themselves incompetent, responsibility for explanation has effectively been hidden.

I leave the little flower on the lapel, preserving a very personal liking. At the same time, I am willing to reach toward the seams and see where changes remain possible. An interface can be clear, and its structure open to questions. When both exist, practiced use need not gradually wear the possibilities of choice narrower.