http://further-reading.club/
Further Reading, a publishing platform based in Bandung, Indonesia, recently published the fourth edition of its serial journal, Further Reading Print, titled “Learning Within, Learning Without (Modes of Design Enquiry).” Further Reading Print No. 4 compiles essays on the unique tasks of teaching and learning design within, Indonesia, greater southeast Asia, and beyond. In "Design Pedaggedon: Utopian Daydreams in Today's Dystopia,” design director Andriew Budiman reflects on how personal dislocation, colonial legacies, and rapid technological shifts within the region have shaped design education and practice. Budiman’s essay is reproduced in full below.
On September 16,, Further Reading’s founder, Januar Rianto, participated in the live program "Book Making on the Edge—Publishing Potentials in Asia" at the New York nonprofit organization initial research, alongside the founders of the Beijing and New York–based publishers te editions and Bangalore–based Reliable Copy. (Read Pramodha Weerasekera's Education piece on Reliable Copy's (Fine) Arts Dissertations series here.)
The misfit’s journey from utopia to dystopia
In the third quarter of 2004, as I entered my fifth semester of college, I was unexpectedly expelled. Two months later, I completed a makeshift one-shot comic on a sheet of HVS paper I’d taken from a friend’s dorm room. That paper, combined with a dash of audacity, became my ticket to a new job the next day. I was hired as an illustrator and layout assistant at a prominent gaming magazine in Surabaya. For the first time, I found myself working in an office with a computer and personal internet access, unknowingly starting an “education” at a different campus.
Navigating the design world has turned me into a misfit. Coming from a transmigrant family that moved from Java to Borneo, my upbringing was marked by frequent relocations. Dropping out of college added complexity, compelling me to forge my own path in design. Over the past 20 years, I’ve transitioned from being a misfit into a chameleon, chairing my city’s graphic designer association, running my own design studio, guest lecturing, initiating an interdisciplinary design conference, joining a workers’ union in media & creative industries, and serving on the committee of an independent library and community space.
My journey highlights ongoing challenges in design education and practice, shaped by both personal experiences and Indonesia’s historical context. This experience mirrors a broader struggle within design education today. Design has lost its core identity as a means of understanding complexities, becoming a surface-level pursuit focused on aesthetics and software skills. Colonial history and oppressive policies under the Soeharto regime stifled critical discourse, leaving Indonesian design education trapped in a reductionist framework, disconnected from context and critical engagement. Our design pedagogical realms remain colonised long after our independence.
As bleak as this sounds, the rise of Web 2.0 in the mid-2000s filled me with dreams of a liberating design process. I saw a surge of practices and discourses from e-magazines, blogs, and forums, to print publications. Engaging with these mediums as a dropout in 2004 energised me. It connected me with prolific graphic designers nationally and globally, far more than my college peers. The early 2010s brought the rise of Web 3.0—along with the decentralisation framework—that made my utopian vision of democratised design learning feel within reach. The internet’s role in democratisation dates back to 1994, when Indonesian activists organised protests against Soeharto’s regime through email.
However, over the past nine years, I’ve witnessed these digital utopian dreams take a dystopian turn. The promise of liberating technology now feels like a false advertisement. The democratisation of good ideas has failed to fully materialise, with oppression and control evolving into new forms, reminiscent of Black Mirror and Orwell’s 1984. Before we could fully decolonise our design education, we found ourselves facing techno-dystopian colonisation, complicating our journey further. What was once a tool for democratisation has transformed into a weapon of repression.
The misconception of design: a toxic reductionism
Before addressing design education, we must acknowledge the toxic design environment we’ve lived in. A pressing issue is the misconception that design is merely a visual endeavour. It frustrates me when people say, “I like the design; it’s so great!” only to later mention difficulties in navigating it. This means the design fails! They often mean the visuals are appealing, but visual appeal is irrelevant if it doesn’t serve its intended purpose.
This misunderstanding creates a catastrophic domino effect within the design community. If we fail to grasp what design truly entails, we must question whether we really know what we’re doing. This toxic mindset prevents healthy development in design practices. Design is often mistakenly seen as just how it looks, rather than how it works.
Aesthetic elements—texture, colour, composition, fonts, and images—are merely the articulation of design, not the design itself. At its core, design is a language: a means of communication that conveys ideas, emotions, and solutions. It involves systems thinking, problem-solving, and deep engagement with context. The dictionary defines “design” as planning or drawing a plan, embodying sophisticated thinking that understands nuances and creates solutions.
The term “design thinking” complicates this misunderstanding by suggesting design can be separated from the thinking process, misleading people into equating design solely with visuals. When people refer to “designing,” they often confuse it with crafting—working with software or creating visuals—overlooking the critical intellectual work that precedes it. We should use “design crafting,” as design refers to translating concepts into visual forms.
Another toxic paradigm is that design is perceived solely as a tool for industrialisation and commercialisation, detached from social realities. This view has roots in Indonesia’s colonial past and the Soeharto regime, which suppressed critical discourse. Oversimplifying design to a surface-level practice controls the exploration of intellectual and cultural ideas.
The impact of technological advancement
Technological advancements have profoundly influenced how design is perceived and practised today. From the 1950s to the 1970s, the focus was on conceptual depth, with Indonesian designers like Decenta’s members trained to think critically and engage with complex ideas. However, the rise of personal computers and design softwares shifted the emphasis from conceptual thinking to technical proficiency. Operating software became the primary marker of a designer’s skill, overshadowing planning and advanced thinking.
This shift has diluted the understanding of design. Proficiency in tools like Adobe Creative Suite or Figma is often mistaken for the essence of design, making it increasingly associated with software skills rather than thoughtful, purpose-driven planning. The allure of the latest technology creates a FOMO (fear of missing out) that drives us to keep up with trends, even while fundamental issues in our practice remain unaddressed.
Thanks to global internet penetration, we now live in what Manuel Castells describes as “the rise of the Network Society,” where these toxic elements spread rapidly. The advancement of information technology has become a ticking time bomb, as we fail to equip individuals with essential ethical, literary, and critical skills. Never before have so many reckless individuals had advanced technology at their fingertips.
The rise of artificial intelligence has further exacerbated this issue. The obsession with the latest tech pressures designers to stay current, reducing design to trivial skills and erasing the cognitive and ethical dimensions essential to the discipline. Ethical violations arise when AI-generated images use data from stolen artworks. As AI becomes more capable, humans risk becoming overly dependent on technology.
AI-driven tools can generate designs quickly, but they cannot replace the human insight required for meaningful and ethical decisions. This underscores the urgent need for designers to reclaim their roles as thoughtful planners and problem-solvers in a landscape increasingly dominated by technological distractions.
Microcosmic and macrocosmic considerations in design education
After examining pervasive toxic issues in the global design sphere, it’s time to scrutinise Indonesia’s formal education institutions. Problems arise from imported design curricula that are copied without considering our local socio-historical context, leading to a failure to capture everyday culture or culturally-rooted practices in Indonesia.
Reinventing design education requires attention to both microcosmic and macrocosmic levels. On a microcosmic level, design education should prioritise the learner—focusing on curiosity, critical questioning, experiential learning, and interdisciplinary collaboration. The current emphasis on linearity often limits students’ ability to think holistically. By breaking down rigid structures, students can develop a more comprehensive understanding of design. Academia should assess success based on competencies that promote lifelong learning, rather than merely measuring employment outcomes, which dominate accreditation criteria.
On a macrocosmic level, we must consider the broader ecosystem of design education, fostering collaborations between formal institutions and informal learning environments. In Indonesia, with only 10% of the population ever entering university, there’s a significant lack of infrastructure. Informal systems—community groups, alternative spaces, and reading clubs—can keep the joy of learning alive. By blending formal and informal learning, we can create a resilient system that values quality education over rigid metrics.
Indonesia’s informal networks have historically supported resilience in education and economics. Mimicking the diversity found in nature can foster a more organic approach, helping to prevent a toxic, monolithic educational model.
Timeless lessons from Indonesia's educational history
The genesis of Indonesia’s informal education system can be traced back to before independence, from the Nusantara period to the revolutionary movement. Today’s design education can draw valuable lessons from traditional Nyantrik practices, Ki Hajar Dewantara’s Taman Siswa, and Lekra’s Turba method. These models offer insights into creating a more holistic, learner-centred, and socially engaged educational experience.
Nyantrik Practices: learning through apprenticeship and hands-on experience
The Nyantrik model emphasises apprenticeship and practice-based learning. Rather than adhering to rigid, standardised curricula, this approach values personalised guidance from mentors and learning-by-doing. Modern design education could create flexible environments where students collaborate with experienced professionals on real-world challenges. Design schools can adopt a workshop-based model, emphasising mentorship, critique, and iterative practice, allowing students to develop their craft intuitively while learning the value of continuous improvement.
Taman Siswa and Ki Hajar Dewantara: education for liberation
Founded by Ki Hajar Dewantara in 1922, the Taman Siswa system countered the colonial education model, emphasising education as a tool for emancipation. Dewantara’s philosophy can apply to modern design education by fostering independence and critical inquiry. Educators should encourage students to take charge of their learning journeys. By implementing the motto “Tut Wuri Handayani,” educators can guide students from behind, allowing them to experiment and develop unique design perspectives.
Additionally, the Ministry of Education’s logo is missing elements of Dewantara’s complete trinity motto: “Ing Ngarsa Sung Tulodo” and “Ing Madya Mangun Karso.” If these principles are fully embraced, design education should also emphasise broader social and ethical responsibilities, ensuring that students understand the societal impact of their work.
Lekra’s Turba method: learning from the people
The turun ke bawah (Turba) method, championed by Lekra, emphasised direct, lived-in engagement with grassroots communities. For Lekra, creativity is tied to the experiences and struggles of the people—Lekra aimed to create art that reflects everyday life. In today’s design education, the Turba method could encourage students to engage with communities to grasp real-world problems and perspectives. This approach ensures that design solutions are contextually relevant and socially responsible.
By integrating these historical principles into the curriculum, design education can foster a more holistic and socially engaged approach. These pedagogical methods can similarly address contemporary challenges posed by network technology and promote a more equitable society.
The six hats of a complete designer
The toxicity in our design world stems from a misunderstanding of word meanings. Designers often overlook the importance of words, while prioritising merely the visual aspect. This is a fundamental mistake; design is about comprehensive thinking that begins in the mind, and words are the vessels that transport ideas. Many designers underestimate this; writing is designing, and words are the ultimate design tools. In our information age, the importance of visual communication and the designer’s role has never been greater.
I continue to argue that graphic design has always been an interface for human civilisation from the beginning. But never before have we seen how the impact of UI graphics on screens can radically determine the way humans live their lives. Inherently, editorial and literary skills are essential for graphic designers.
To navigate today’s complex information landscape, designers must embrace multiple ways of thinking. I propose that a complete designer wear six hats, each representing a vital role in the design process:
Researcher hat: Designers must seek knowledge, gather insights, and study various fields to inform their work.
Analyst hat: Once data is collected, designers interpret it, identifying patterns to make informed decisions.
Editor hat: Editing is essential; unnecessary elements must be stripped away to refine the work and convey the intended message clearly.
Writer hat: Designers synthesise insights to construct compelling narratives tailored to specific problems.
Translator hat: Designers translate verbal concepts into accessible and relatable visual forms that resonate with audiences.
Crafter hat: This final hat focuses on meticulous attention to detail and artistry.
Mastering these hats takes time, which is why most designers gravitate toward the ones they feel most comfortable wearing. Understanding the interplay between these roles underscores that design thinking and crafting are intertwined processes, vital for thoughtful creation and problem-solving. Awareness of this complete skill set is a crucial step toward detoxifying our design practices in today’s networked society.
Reclaiming the joy of learning and keeping the utopian daydreams alive
Being curious and critical is an inherent human skill essential for all learners. However, the current educational environment—marked by imported curricula, administrative burdens on teachers, rigid structures, and outdated methods—often suppresses students’ natural curiosity. Reclaiming the joy of learning is crucial for meaningful design education. As we’ve witnessed a transition in the designer’s role from a form-giver and meaning-giver to a context-giver—essentially a facilitator for understanding—design education must focus on fostering local exploration, creativity, and critical thinking.
Adam Greenfield, in his book Radical Technologies: The Design of Everyday Life, explores the dystopian dangers of modern technology. He warns against the erosion of human agency by “smart” technologies, such as smart TVs and social media algorithms, which control and manipulate behaviour. However, Greenfield also presents a more optimistic vision—advocating for a low-tech, more localised and human-centred approach that balances technology with human values. This hybrid approach can guide us toward a more sustainable and humane future.
Therefore, design schools need to stop obsessing over teaching the latest tech fads that quickly become obsolete. Instead, they should focus on building core competencies by teaching timeless design principles that will remain relevant regardless of technological trends.
Looking back at the history of Indonesia, we must recognise our cultural and geographical diversity; we are indeed a megadiverse nation. This diversity and decentralisation can be leveraged as strengths. We can reclaim our quintessential skills as “mash-up masters,” as articulated by Denys Lombard in Nusa Jawa: Silang Budaya. Honing an inter-local mindset—understanding our surroundings, identity, and collaborative potential—will better prepare us to face the complexities of radical technology and global networks.
The role of the government and national entities as policymakers is essential in this aspect. They must facilitate an educational framework that promotes inclusivity and creativity while ensuring that these values resonate within the broader context of global challenges. They need to align with independent and ethical tech advisors to invest more time and resources into developing human capacity, rather than granting blank checks to AI tech oligarchs.
Reflecting on my own teenage identity crisis, I now see it as a privilege. This embodied experience has been invaluable for me as a designer; it trained me to be adaptable and to approach challenges from cross-disciplinary perspectives. Real-life experiential learning is especially vital in an era where we are increasingly detached and swayed by the comforts of advanced technology. We must urgently democratise these approaches. One way or another, we must collaborate to ensure that collective human intelligence can scale with the exponential speed of machine intelligence to avert a dystopian future.
Ultimately, design education should focus not only on producing market-ready graduates but also on cultivating critical thinkers who can address real-world challenges. By reimagining design education as a collaborative process, we can move beyond superficial outcomes and foster a more meaningful engagement with the complexities of today’s world. This approach allows us to reclaim the joy of learning while equipping students to navigate and influence their environments effectively—to become active participants in shaping a future that reflects the true potential of democratised technology and not succumbing to the dystopian narratives that loom large. We gotta take the power back!
And now, having contemplated the complexities of design education and the looming threat of techno-dystopia, it’s time for a much-needed escape. Those three seasons of that long-awaited series on Netflix aren’t going to watch themselves!
