Design is not a matter of beauty, for “beauty” does not exist here below. I do not doubt that it exists somewhere else. God’s work is beautiful for those who believe in something above us. But for us humans, beauty does not exist. Nor does ugliness, for that matter. Only the idea we form of it matters. For the neophyte that I am, the work of art that I find most beautiful—the one that synthesizes all creative work—is Malevich’s famous “White on White.” It is the work I find most beautiful because it offers me the widest horizons. “In the middle of the vastest desert, there is always a waterhole,” said Saint-Exupéry. Passing before the white wall of Malevich’s painting, I am free—provided I make the effort—to see a “waterhole” in it; the greatest beauty of all, in essence. Beauty is not absolute; it is my responsibility to see it.
The desert, the hope for a waterhole, the desire for what I lack, and the act of seeing something in it—I have just told you a story to explain Malevich’s painting. Objectively, it is empty; subjectively, it is rich with everything. This summarizes the power of storytelling.
To declare that Malevich’s painting is “beautiful” is a challenge that makes little sense. On the other hand, witnessing what it inspires in us, the reflections it provokes, or even the emotions it generates, is essential to its understanding and admiration. One must tell a story to explain, to understand, to appreciate, to love, and—thanks to narration—to share. To love is to share. It is about allowing the other to project themselves. Art is not an object, a painting, a sculpture, or any other artifact; it is the relationship between the spectator and the object. Beauty is worthless; meaning is everything, and meaning is the responsibility of Mankind. It is Promethean.
After 25 years at the head of a design school, I can measure the evolution of students. It does not lie in creative quality; the students of 25 years ago were just as creative as those of today. But back then, the design student thought that their work—or more modestly, their project—was self-justifying. A drawing, a model, and proof of technical skill were enough to be qualified as a designer. This is still the case in most Applied Arts schools: “No need to explain, my work justifies itself, and being misunderstood is part of my recognition,” the young student believed then. Fortunately, everything has changed. More mature now, they know that their responsibility lies not in imagining the world, but in building it. And one does not build alone; every student must be an entrepreneur of their own ideas, otherwise they are worthless. To achieve this, one must share, and create buy-in for a story, a reality, and a common project. Storytelling becomes strategic; it is the vehicle for action.
Creation is a transgression of reality; it is not immediately acceptable. It is essential to explain it, and to do so, it must be placed in a context. A story must be told around it so that it may take hold of us. The power of creativity stems from the quality of the story and the projection one can make from it. Today’s students have learned this; they have understood that communication and sharing are essential to recognition, desire, and action. L’Oréal does not sell beauty products; L’Oréal sells hope—the hope of eternal youth. The entire narrative of endless youth is at the root of the company’s recognition and glorifies the work of its creatives.
Storytelling and creation are intimately linked; the former gives meaning to the latter. Narration makes the work understandable, but it goes much further: it gives it purpose and humanity.
Christian GuellerinExecutive Director of L’École de design Nantes Atlantique
Honorary President of Cumulus – International Association of Universities and Colleges of Art, Design and Media