From the Back:
War with Myself is a wide-ranging collection of essays spanning design, authenticity, Empire, decolonization and history. Hot on the heels of his books The Impossibility of Silence: Writing for Designers, Artists & Photographers and The Failed Painter (or Unchained by Material Anxiety), designer, writer and teacher Ian Lynam's latest body of work is an urgent and impassioned examination of the contemporary condition.
There aren’t many words I can find that best describe this series of essays by graphic designer and educator Ian Lynam; besides, he must think he is very cool and thoughtful. I purchased this book to hear more about the struggles of being in the design field and recognizing the multitudinal impacts one's profession holds in the past and the current contemporary moment. The brief on the back of the book suggests Ian Lynam is “spanning design, authenticity, empire, decolonization, and history”. I can’t argue with the fact that he does discuss these matters; however, space for material relevant to these concepts is minimal. Instead, much of this book was about Lynam talking about himself in a way that is neither self-critical nor introspective.
The good thing about War with Myself is that the sections where Lynam successfully intertwined his narrative into the topics of the violence of design and decolonizing it were genuinely compelling, and informative pieces were able to be extracted. Even though I think his way of writing sometimes fails at making his point explicit, its execution was successful, more or less. A portion of the book I highly enjoyed was the pages holding a black blurb filled with text. These portions worked to exemplify the violence of design through the facets of technology, consumption, capitalism, etc. They were short, yet provided enough interest for me to chew on the concept on my own, as well as be excited for the next chapter [despite that excitement often being left untapped].
A general takeaway from most of the commentary Lynam brings forth is that some of the essays about design and violence aren’t new to designers who are people of color. Lynam only lightly touches on the profound change that needs to occur in design so that it is more equitable for non-white individuals. This isn't entirely a fault, as these remarks do display that Lynam is concerned about the accessibility and inclusiveness of design for marginalized communities. However, although these thoughts are obviously good, they can come off as virtue signaling as he doesn’t provide any brief explanations as to why these imbalances exist or speculations on how this could occur in practice. I understand that he won’t have all the answers, nor does he have to produce an explanation to his audience in order for them to know that he is “with it,” nor does presenting solutions always have to be a takeaway but, recognizing the “why”, especially when talking critically about design, is the start of an active practice towards making things better for people who don’t look like you. It's important for white designers to express these concerns to other white designers as allies, but for me, as a POC, I was like, “Ok, cool”.
One of the best points Lynam makes throughout the entire book is the characterization of modernism as an aesthetic conveyance of white supremacy and imperialism. Lynam displays this idea in his sub-essay Interlude: Multiple Modernisms by illustrating the progression of Japanese imperialism beginning during the Meiji Period (1868-1912), then leading to the ambition of creating the “Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere” displayed throughout the Taishō (1912-1926) and Shōwa periods (1926-1989). What piqued my interest was the philosophical groundings of mingei, an aesthetic valuation of “hand-crafted utilitarian objects made by “ordinary people” that is “beyond beauty and ugliness,” along with the establishment of the Japanese-led Korean Folk Crafts Museum after Korea's annexation by Japan in 1910. It was understood that all work comprising mingei was considered to be made by “primitive, less evolved” people due to their non-Japanese Asian origins. During this period, a British studio potter and art teacher, Bernard Howell Leech (1887-1979), who was born in Hong Kong and lived most of his life throughout Asia with his father, would become highly involved in the mingei movement, contributing a lot of writing and design material for affiliated publications and events. As white foreigners, Howell and his father brought legitimacy to the Japanese movement and mingei’s notions of Japanese cultural supremacy.
Implicitly, Lynam brings forth the condition of white design validation as a sutble factor justifying (at that time) the Japanese empire's colonialistic violence against the people of Korea, China, and Russia pre- and during World War II. When I say this connection rocked my world, I mean it. There is a reason why, specifically, traditional Japanese design maintains popularity in the Western, if not global, contemporary design world. This linkage of admiration is an aesthetic, racial, and moral valuation that runs centuries deep. Cultural aesthetics are a powerful component in the act of subversion, conquering, and domination. Though the people of Japan were also victims to the West’s imperialistic fetishization of their minimalist aesthetics, the cause and effect of the mingei period has had significant waves regarding what is "good Asian design".
Lynam shined most in this essay, taking his background as an American, a long-term resident in Japan, and career as a design educator to make a very compelling connection about the assault of design on culture. What Lynam presents here is a very necessary investigation required when taking a fine-toothed comb to our current capitalist design conditions. It was great, and I wish there were more of that throughout the entire book.
Overall, the greatest letdown of this series of essays was how much Lynam talked about himself. I don’t necessarily think there is anything wrong with having a personal narrative lead into a critical analysis as long as it's kept terse and relevant. Providing background details helps give context as to why the author chose to further explore the topic. Lynam’s self-inserts were unproductive. His narratives took up too much space, led to nowhere, and were underwhelming due to their lack of focus. I gave this book many exceptions, such as hoping the next chapter would be about something not Lynam related; the title of the book is War with Myself; Lynam is talking about himself, but it’s only the beginning of the book; these are a set of essays that were written over the course of years, etc. Unfortunately, I had to make one too many justifications in order to complete this book. The topic range was wide, so my frustration came as a by-product of its continual avoidance. If the book were more autobiographically marketed, I wouldn’t have bought it in the first place.
A nitpick: Lynam is a “humorous deconstructor,” according to a reviewer on the back of the book. While I understand humor is subjective, there was no playfulness in this book. It’s okay to talk about serious things and not have comic relief; just don’t get me ready to laugh.
Despite my thoughts on the book, there are things to learn from this series of essays. If you are considering reading War with Myself, I would recommend only reading and annotating from pages 123 to 184 as well as all the black blurbs. If you want to continue, then skim pages 185 to 226; maybe even lightly mark them. The introduction, lead-up to page 123, and conclusion are for those who are curious about Lynam. It's a short read and shouldn't take more than a week, but it's also respectable if you invest your time in another short essay series.