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Wayfinding in the rain

Heavy rainstorms in Dallas-Fort Worth this week blocked the usual unobstructed view of this prairie  metroplex — 9, 286 square miles in size or, according to Wikipedia, “roughly the size of New Hampshire.” Where ordinarily you see acres of tract housing, strip malls, and shopping centers and miles of streets, frontage roads, and highways, on Wednesday you saw sheets of rain blocking out the landscape and bouncing off the sidewalk.

Or so I surmise from The Dallas Morning News reports. From my limited perspective in my family’s home in Garland, Texas — among DFW’s 11 larger suburbs (pop. 222, 013, as of July 2009) –I saw the downpour, heard the thunder, and felt the fierce joy that storms bring out in me. I can’t help it. Storms are wild, beautiful, astonishing things.

I knew, of course, that the storm would likely cause accidents, injuries, property losses, and deaths. I knew, too, that family members would have to drive home from work in the storm, and that gave me pause. (My joy was fleeting but then restored when all returned safely home.)

Today the news has proved me right in that four storm-related deaths were reported statewide, and three people were reported missing. Two of the missing were swept away in the vehicles they were driving.

I don’t know the details of those accidents — whether limited visibility impeded the missing motorists’ ability to gauge road safety or whether inadequate road signage contributed to their doom. In any case, these are tragic losses.

I do know that wayfinding tools — used by architects, urban planners, and civil engineers to help people navigate the built environment, and by user-interface designers to help users navigate websites — are essential both to usable infrastructure (the real-world street and cityscape) and a usable virtual world.

The latter is my area of interest and investigation. If memory serves me, I first encountered the term “wayfinding” in a Human Factors International course titled “The Science and Art of Effective Web and Application Design,” or else in Information Architecture: Blueprints for the Web (Wodtke and Govella, 2009).

Wodtke and Govella explain that wayfinding lets people know where they are  — not only through signage but through other visual cues.

In the DFW metroplex, there are few landmarks to orient drivers. On some streets, street names remain the same from one city to the next (e.g., Garland to Richardson), but east-west or north-south designations change. On others, street names change. Often, the thoroughfare itself changes; for example, the street becomes a road or a highway.

As a motorist, I find these changes maddening. I feel like I think Alice in Alice in Wonderland must have felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. I mean no criticism of DFW urban planners or to the makers of interactive maps (Google Maps and MapQuest). I am sure planners do the best they can to make DFW streets navigable and that map makers do their best to stay abreast of changes and update their products accordingly. I don’t yet have a global positioning system in my car, but I’ve heard from those who do that they’re not foolproof — you still need a map — whether driving in the rain or on a clear day.

As a website visitor, I find similar changes (e.g. a linked-to page has a name different from the link clicked to access it) almost as maddening. It depends on the context, of course. A slip-up on the web usually isn’t life-threatening. A slip-up while driving can be, as was the case in this week’s storm-related traffic accidents.

Building with words, building with bricks


Early in my career, I was a prim copy editor annoying to those who had big ideas and wanted to express them quickly and forcefully. Armed with The Chicago Manual of Style and other references, I painstakingly edited documents to be used as guides in winning and managing client engagements — work done by consultants to improve their clients’ businesses and make them more profitable. It was in this context that I first came across the term, “information architecture.” Naturally (and annoyingly) I balked.

“What’s this?!” I demanded to anyone within earshot. The few who were — a cube mate and fellow workers who came to our cube to use the copy machine — could not or would not answer. They really weren’t interested in the coinage of the term that likens designing a structure of information, composed of words (or nowadays, bytes), to designing a structure built from bricks and concrete, wood, steel, and glass.

The term hadn’t made it into the print dictionary I had at the time (1997), nor is it in the current version of Merriam-Webster Online. I drew my own conclusion about the word’s meaning, but can no longer recall what it was. There are plenty of other online references, however. I just discovered on Wikipedia that Richard Saul Wurman, a bona fide architect, coined the phrase in 1976, “in response to the large amount of information generated in contemporary society, which is often presented with little care or order.” (An aside: I should have already known this.)

Anyway, I am delighted to learn the term’s provenance and am even more delighted to learn that there are other people who not only share my passion for buildings and words, but — more clearly than I — see a relationship between the design of structures for words (information) and of structures for people.

Over the coming weeks, I will delve into information architecture to learn more about it. I will look at my recently adopted city of Dallas to see and appreciate its structures with eyes not yet jaded by familiarity. Time permitting, I will begin again a mothballed correspondence course in home renovation repair and learn at last how to use a hammer and saw, in addition to the technology required by the Master of Science in Interactive Communications program at Quinnipiac University Online.

I will report my findings here. I hope you will find them interesting.