In 1998, Apple released the most colorful computer ever—the Bondi Blue iMac. After decades of beige computers, it was breath taking. The iMac sold like hotcakes. Apple followed up this success with the candy colored iMacs, announced with a Yum! The colored iMacs helped relaunch Apple as a maker of consumer products and put them on a path to becoming the most valuable company ever.
Then Apples’ designers became depressed.
They stopped making colorful computers. Everything became aluminum gray. And now the iMac Pro coming out in December will be black. Shortly, we can expect Apple’s design team to commit mass suicide with arsenic laced lattes. Because that’s what happens when designers move from vivid color to gray. Their depressed mood over takes their work, everything moves towards black, and eventually the designer spirals downward into suicide. Right?
Or perhaps there is another explanation. Apple shifted focus.
The colorful iMacs did an excellent job of grabbing the public’s attention. In fact, hundreds of products showed up in storefronts around the country inspired by the form and color of the iMacs. But design trends, like fashion, only last so long. Apple experimented with Flower Power and Blue Dalmatian iMacs, but they didn’t have the same impact. When the design team reconsidered how they could move forward with the design of the iMac, they changed the form. The pivoting white sunflower iMac allowed the screen to float in mid-air so that the user could focus on the screen’s image. The move to the aluminum gray iMac on a pedestal allowed Apple to use a heavier monitor and allowed the image on the screen to take center place. Removing the color and decoration allowed the designers to focus on a crisp, clear form. The iMac became an object of precise engineering with the a kind of clarity found in Renaissance sculpture.
In the 1950s, Mark Rothko painted with striking color. Eye catching, heart throbbing, delicious colors. Then in the 1960s, his paintings shifted toward grays, blacks, whites, and earth tones. I have been told, and you may have heard, that that shift from bright colors to somber tones came from a descent into depression and eventual suicide.
Or perhaps there is another explanation. Gifford Phillips, founder of the Phillips Collection in DC, asked Mark Rothko in the 1950s, “Am I right…color means more to than any other element?” To which Rothko replied, “No, not color, but measures.” (Mark Rothko from the Inside Out, p. 53). Rothko wasn’t principally concerned with color. He was concerned with measures. He agonized over form. But how could someone who painted rectangles agonize over form? How can Apple who manufacturers rectangles agonize over form? The lowly rectangle serves the human form. When a device feels right, it possesses a magically quality of being an extension of the self and not merely an object outside the self.
You may have had an experience like this one: I walked into a shop on Vine Street in Berkeley. So many beautiful things. A shiny cheese knife caught my eye. I picked it up. The plane and the handle were so perfectly balanced, it felt weightless. It floated in my hand. I excitedly passed it to my brother-in-law and told him to try it. He was astonished at how weightless it felt. To wield it would be effortless. It had no color, no decoration, but it was beautiful because it fit the human form so perfectly.
Mark Rothko made humble rectangles float effortlessly on the canvas. What fits the human form more than a rectangle? Doors are rectangles, windows are rectangles, as are houses, beds, couches, sinks, mirrors, TVs, smartphones, tablets, and so many other things. The rectangle is a human form. After ten years of painting them in color, he removed the color. He removed the last possible element of perceived decoration so that the clarity of form could take on a new voice. Before he painted a number of his color paintings, Rothko drew them in black and white in order to get the proportions correct. Any architect building a dwelling place for the human form will tell you that you draw the space, the rectangles, before you pick the paint color and place the decorations.
Mark Rothko’s shift from color to grays wasn’t a slow march toward suicide. It was move to get closer to the human form.