Designers are unlike the common folk, for they embody their craft entirely. Their existence is devoted to design, every hour, every fleeting moment. This is no curse; rather, it is a profound blessing. They perceive the world not as others do but through a lens of shapes and hues, forms and meanings — a grand tapestry entrusted to them, as though ordained by some divine will, to weave together into coherence.
To the ordinary eye, the world appears functional, complete. To the designer, however, it is fractured, begging for restoration — a riddle only they can solve. This knowledge, this vision, remains unspoken. They do not confide in their spouse, nor share it with anyone, for it is simply their nature, a truth they carry in solitude.
Destiny did not guide them to this path; the calling left no choice. Design itself claimed them.
Yet, as in all tales of heroism, a shadow lurks. Within the designer resides a secret, not sinister, yet heavy — a burden they bear alone. In the stillness of night, when all else sleeps, it stirs them from rest, compelling them to gaze at barren walls.
A single refrain echoes within, relentless as a drumbeat: “Too much design.”
This struggle, this unseen adversary, has lingered from the beginning, an omnipresent weight. An invisible war wages each day, unnoticed by those around them.
How does one combat such a foe?
The answer lies in paradox, defying the very instincts of eye and hand: Do less.
Create only enough so that meaning and form balance like dancers atop the finest needle’s point, poised and swaying yet never falling.
