The Subjectivity of Failure
“It was one of the first times the Eameses were ever criticized.”
“They’re trying to give the visitor a hypertext experience, but they’re doing it in physical space- and it doesn’t work,” says architect and curator Donald Albrecht of the Eames’ grandest endeavor, a massive exhibit called “The World of Franklin & Jefferson.” The exhibit, meant to commemorate the American Revolution Bicentennial, was a culmination of film, text, artifacts, and- perhaps most notably- a stuffed bison.
I was most intrigued by Albrecht’s categorization of the exhibit as a failure in the film “Eames: The Architect and The Painter.” The film mentions that it was the largest undertaking the Eames office ever, and that the criticism deeply affected Charles Eames in particular. In a way, it’s comforting to know that even once designers reach legendary status, they’re not immune to failure. Though we’re taught so much rhetoric around accepting failure as part of the design process, it’s rarely in the context of legendary figures like the Eameses.
It’s also important to keep in mind that not all failures are created equal. If anything, the Eames’ failure was the gold standard: a failure of excessive ambition, as opposed to one of ability or morality. Albrecht goes on to say that “They’re pushing up against the envelope of what technology could do. They are anticipating what the computer can do today very easily” With this assessment in mind, I question why “The World of Franklin & Jefferson” should be called a failure at all. Failure implies total and absolute defeat, but I think there’s something to be admired about the complexity of an exhibit so ahead of its time. At the same time, the criticism it received is also an important part of the narrative that seems to be either highlighted or erased.
Interestingly, the Eames Official Site makes no mention of any negative reception under its page on “The World of Franklin & Jefferson.” There are plenty of glowing excerpts of praise from various newspapers, but the harsh New York Times review is absent. From the description on the website, the exhibit seems to have been nothing short of a resounding success.
I’m an advocate for a healthier outlook on the so-called failure of this exhibit, as well as failure in general. It’s not something to hide; it’s humanizing and universal. Though I find myself wishing for an alternate word to ascribe to “The World of Franklin & Jefferson,” I think I need to become more comfortable with failure myself, and accept that there’s room for good in the word.
“So it’s a failure, but it’s an honest failure,” says Albrecht. I, for one, think that’s something worth remembering.
