Decoration vs. Design

Professor Elizabeth Ridenhower in 1970: She Who Knows All

When I was an ungrad art major at Trinity University back in the (yikes!) 60’s, my elegant professor, Elizabeth Ridenhower, told us something that has stayed with me for decades. I think we were looking at an collage I was trying to complete. She said, “You need to know, dear, that there is a difference between decoration and design.”

Oh yeah?? But I finally internalized what she meant  – in short, design works at multiple levels—functional, emotional, and aesthetic—whereas decoration is more about surface appeal alone. A decorative collage might use colorful magazine cutouts, sequins, and fabric swatches scattered across the canvas without much thought to their relationship. The sequins might be glued on in random places to make the piece sparkle, but they don’t contribute to a cohesive message. The elements don’t interact in a way that enhances a narrative or evokes a specific feeling beyond surface-level observation.

I reminded myself of this while I was trying to figure out how to resolve a mixed-media encaustic piece that came together by accident. This photograph of a white clay vessel was on the work table with an earthenware face and a piece of rusty steel sitting on top of it, just because that’s where it landed while I was working.

The bowl really is printed on a piece of paper even though it looks three-dimensional. I challenged myself to make a collage/assemblage with these two things to see if it could work.

I bonded the photograph to a 10×10″ birch cradleboard panel, and then attached the head and the rusty wing to the top of the board before I put wax on the surface. I added a chopstick to the bottom to balance the heavy top shape and to act a s a visual “shelf” for the photo of the bowl. So far, so good.

After I added two coats of encaustic medium, I started adorning the collage with little scraps of paper that had mysterious words typed on them. The idea was that the words were coming out of the bowl.

But when I put wax over the scraps, it was a mess – the paper looked like decorations, not good design, plus the edges were sticking up, and so I scraped the whole thing off. It may look OK in the photo, below, but those words just didn’t do anything but sit on the surface as a distraction.

So I had to solve the problem of how to use the idea of the words,  make them fit in to a cohesive, conceptual design — and then how to make the whole piece come together as an integrated work, and not just a few random elements stuck on a board.

Here is what happened:

I printed the words out in a straight column on rice paper and waxed them into the surface in two columns. The wax paper disappeared into the background. The words were now subtle and mysterious and looked as if they belonged in the piece. They were IN the surface and not ON the surface.

Much as I loved the rust, I veiled the wing shape with a pale chalk medium compound to integrate it into the object-as-icon. I did the same with the earthenware face and the sticks at the bottom. At this point, it became something believable and all-of-a-piece – something found – something mysterious.

 

You can look at the details and see how everything seems to come from the same unknown place:

The previous version might have been “prettier” with its torn paper decorations – but I am infinitely more pleased with the more complex design of the finished piece.

It’s always helpful to me to think of Design vs. Decoration – decoration has its place. for sure, and I can have fun decorating things.

But the well-designed artwork engages the viewer by creating layers of interaction between the objects and ideas. It offers a sense of purpose and invites reflection. The decorative piece, while visually pleasant, might lack that deeper connection and resonance. In art, the most powerful works are often those where the design allows the viewer to discover new meanings and emotions each time they look.

I hope Elizabeth Ridenhower is proud of me!

PS – if you have the patience to read a bit more, here is the narrative that resonates behind this piece, written by a pretty clever app — interesting!

In ancient times, a celestial being descended from the heavens, their face a symbol of wisdom and eternal vision. They came not as a ruler, but as a guide, offering a pathway between realms. As they moved through the void, wings of light unfolded from their presence, hovering above the world. Beneath this ethereal figure lay an ancient vessel, a bowl that had endured the trials of time. Its weathered surface, marked by the soft yellows and grays of the earth, was a container for lost stories, for forgotten truths.

The face and bowl, connected by their placement, symbolized the link between the divine and the mortal. The bowl, a sacred keeper of wisdom, held the weight of history and whispered its mysteries to those who sought deeper knowledge. Behind these figures, a series of words softly emerged in the background, their meanings vague yet powerful, offering clues to the seekers of ancient truths.

The piece, in its ethereal quality, became a portal—inviting viewers to contemplate the delicate balance between spirit and substance, thought and emotion, and the eternal flow of wisdom from ancient worlds to the present day. It was a story of connection, of the ever-present link between what is seen and what lies beyond.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Emergent Narrative from Discards

“Emergent narrative” refers to a story that develops naturally and unexpectedly as you work with a piece of art, arising from the process itself rather than being planned beforehand. When I set out to make art, it seems almost impossible to do it without some kind of story creeping in during the creation process.

Here’s an example.

The Fiber Artists of San Antonio recently had a Call for Entry for their annual Juried Competition. This year’s theme is “Circularity” and refers to reuse of materials, recycling,  and zero-waste. I thought it would be  appropriate to “recycle” an old collage process of mine from the past and make a large-scale origami kimono like those that used to be my signature mixed-media work. This time, I would make this piece from discarded materials to fit the theme of the exhibition.

There were some newspapers in the recycling bin, so I glued three sheets of old newspaper together longways, and folded them into an origami kimono like I used to make in the 80’s and 90’s. It looked pretty cool, sort of like this one:

But it just sat there. No story, no spark.

I added some cardboard and sticks. No story – what to do??

Suddenly, I had a weird urge to paint it white. And the narrative began to emerge.

“A young, poor artist, with nothing but dreams, crafted a wedding kimono from old newspapers and recycled white house paint . . .”

“Each fold held stories of hope, every brushstroke whispered love. On her wedding day, she shimmered in her masterpiece, a creation of beauty from discarded remnants.”

“After the vows, the kimono was carefully refolded and wrapped in cheesecloth, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the couple’s small apartment.”

“Decades passed. The building fell into disrepair, and during demolition, workers uncovered an old trunk containing the fragile kimono.”

“It was intact, preserved in time. A local historian saw its value, and soon it was displayed in a museum as a ceremonial garment, its true origins lost. Visitors marveled at its mystery and beauty, unaware of the young artist who had once poured her dreams into its folds.”

“Though the artist’s name was forgotten, her creation lived on, telling its own story—one of resilience, of finding beauty in the discarded, and creating art from the remnants of life.”

So that’s the story! I added some dried rose petals and some dragonfly wings as the meaning became clearer. Of course, if this piece is juried into the exhibition and people see it, they won’t know the narrative that emerged from my imagination.

But they might have their own interpretation of the piece. And I truly think that having a narrative develop as we work gives a certain hidden richness to the art whether the story is evident or not.

I have always thought of myself as narrative artist, but had not really thought about the idea of “emergent narratives” (and didn’t even know there was a term for that). So I dug a little deeper.

Narrative art and emergent narratives in the art process are closely connected, as both involve storytelling, but they do so in slightly different ways:

  • Narrative art typically has a clear intention to tell a specific story, with visual elements that guide the viewer through a structured sequence of events or themes. The artist often starts with a defined idea of the story they want to convey and creates the artwork to express that narrative.
  • Emergent narratives in the art process, on the other hand, are more spontaneous and intuitive. They arise organically as the artist engages with the materials and allows the artwork to evolve. In this approach, the story is not fully formed when the artist begins; instead, it unfolds during the creative process, often surprising the artist as much as the viewer. The narrative reveals itself through unexpected connections, shapes, or symbols that appear during the making of the piece.

The connection between the two lies in their shared focus on storytelling and both highlight the powerful role of intuition and interpretation in transforming an artwork into a visual tale. Isn’t it fun??

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unlike purely abstract or conceptual art, narrative art seeks to communicate meaning through recognizable imagery and symbolic elements that build a visual narrative. Narrative art doesn’t always present a clear or linear story; it can invite the viewer to interpret the story in their own way, leaving room for imagination and diverse interpretations. The storytelling element in narrative art distinguishes it from other forms of visual expression, as it actively engages the audience in uncovering layers of meaning or following a storyline depicted through the visuals.