There is something hauntingly beautiful about how these structures interact with their surroundings. The contrast between the cold, hard lines of brick walls and welded steel against the surrounding landscape’s soft beauty creates a genuinely captivating sense of tension. It is as if these structures are attempting to conquer the natural world, yet they will always be at the mercy of its beauty and raw nature.

I enjoy exploring abandoned factories and uninhabited suburban areas. These locations are often forgotten, left to decay and crumble over time. But when photographed, they become monuments and witnesses of the past (and present).
The peeling paint and rusted metal create an eerie and stunning atmosphere amplified by the analogue warmth and appeal of 35mm film.

But it’s not just abandoned buildings that are worth documenting. Even active industrial facilities can be stunning subjects. The sheer scale of these structures can be awe-inspiring, and in the absence of human presence, the intricate details of architecture and machinery can be mesmerizing. From the towering smokestacks to the delicate gears and pistons, compelling textures and patterns exist to discover.

What I love most about photographing manmade topography is the sense of wonder and discovery that it brings. These structures may seem cold and lifeless at first glance, but they become surprisingly romantic, almost surreal through a camera lens.

AI can also help automate aspects of user interface design, such as generating layout variations, selecting color palettes, or suggesting typographic styling, to name just a few. But let’s recognize that AI-generated visuals are, to a high degree, based on existing human-created designs. AI generators are using deep learning techniques to train neural networks on large datasets of images that are extracted and derived from the visual output of artists and designers.

While AI tools can improve efficiency and provide designers with new input and inspiration, they will not become a replacement for the human touch, at least not in the foreseeable future.

It’s also crucial to strike a balance between machine-generated elements and human intuition in artificially creating user interfaces and to remain aware of the apparent limitations and biases that may exist within AI algorithms.

AI tools can be a powerful extension of a designer’s toolkit, but we must use them thoughtfully and intentionally. In an ideal world, the input and prompts we give AI tools should be thoroughly considered and based on human insights and carefully created design principles.

By leveraging AI in UI design, we can create systematically advanced interfaces that are more efficient and user-friendly than ever before. Still, it’s up to us as creatives to ensure that we use AI in ways that align with human-centered design objectives and values.

In addition to the importance of our input in AI-powered UI design, it’s also important to recognize that empathy is one, if not the most crucial, skill that machines and algorithms will likely struggle to learn. Understanding human reactions, emotions, and body language during research and analysis is essential for understanding human behavior and motivation and, thus, for creating interfaces that genuinely resonate with users.

Empathy allows creatives to read between the lines and anticipate needs and desires in ways that AIs may not be able to replicate. By combining these human-centric skills with machine-powered tools for visual creation, we can envision and build more advanced visual systems that help create simple yet powerful user experiences.
AI could also enable us to make better-informed design decisions and provide insights and patterns we may not have otherwise discovered or considered.

While AI has undoubtedly transformed the design tool landscape already, it’s important to remember that it’s only as powerful as the input we provide as humans and that skills such as empathy will continue to be crucial for creating software that meets the needs of the humans we build them for.

By combining the strengths of both AI and human design principles, we can create interfaces that are innovative, empathetic, and, most importantly, create value for people by solving actual problems.

As riding distances increase, I find myself in moments where I hit rock bottom and don’t feel ready for the efforts I want to get out of my body. When conditions feel just too tough to push through or when I come to realize that I’m underprepared for the situation.

The best thing about riding off-road is that you do not always have an option to evade these moments. You don’t want to call your wife to bail you out or jump on a train just because you missed bringing a spare part or didn’t prepare your gear right.

Proper preparation helps build the confidence you need to deal with everything a long-distance ride can throw your way. I’ve always been a planner and enjoy this part of cycling and bikepacking. Gear lists, proper bike checks before every ride, or smart route planning to ensure you hit just enough resupply points to make it home or to the finish line. There are many ways to prepare for sketchy moments or occasions when the going gets more challenging.

Another big confidence boost I get from continuity and regular riding. It helps to build strength and endurance but also trains your mind. If you have overcome obstacles or adversity many times and expect it to do again, it feels much more achievable or doable over time.

Interestingly, these positive mental effects also transfer to other parts of life. I’m curious to see how my evolution as a cyclist will influence who I can become.

Fast forward 27 years, and it feels as if I’ve just started my off-road explorations — this time on wider tires and more mechanically advanced vehicles. Since then, riding bikes has widened my horizon in more ways than I could have imagined, and the last three years have been quite transformational, both physically and mentally.

I’ve never been an athlete or aspired to be one, but with longer rides and more challenging terrain, I’ve realized that my body is much more capable than I initially thought. I learned more about my physical and mental boundaries and how these perceived borders start moving once you increase effort and intensity while creating a routine.

Being 43 and having a family with two kids adds its challenges – primarily time-related but also physically. Still, nothing should prevent anybody from enjoying time on a bike, independent of age or experience.

I’m passionate and almost obsessive when getting into something new — doing my research extensively and soaking it all up until I get to the core or add a personal twist on things. It’s incredible how we can learn almost everything about a topic from the comfort of our sofas and mobile devices!

About three years ago, I could barely fix a flat tire, let alone a miss-shifting derailleur. Now I’m building bikes from the ground up without losing a finger or breaking the precious parts I hand-picked and sourced over months.

I’ve never imagined pulling off the type of rides and distances I’m covering now. My tolerance to pain and exposure to unfavorable weather conditions has increased tremendously in the process (usually, I’m a wimp). Observing this evolution is quite something.

Riding longer distances and preparing for these rides helped build confidence and belief. As a result, I feel more confident about my skills as a cyclist – even if still rudimentary, and my ability to overcome and deal with challenging situations. I firmly believe that bikes are called an “accelerator for growth” for a reason.

There were plenty of ideas for the Berlin edition of the City Exploro. A night ride along the famous former border of East and West Berlin, teeming with architectural highlights and rich historical milestones, was initially planned. But somehow, it didn’t feel right. For some reason, trying to piece together a route through Berlin didn’t bring me the joy and thrill I usually have when going on a spontaneous ride northbound out of town.

I spent most of my childhood outdoors, either roaming the forest and plains nearby or going fishing in the lakes and backwaters near the Baltic Sea, where I grew up. After high school, I bought my first 35mm film camera, which quickly developed into another passion of mine, and enabled me to combine two things I love – shooting analog and digital and the great outdoors. From kayak trips in the Andalusian mountains to remote rivers and lakes in Japan to a road trip covering the entire length of Texas from east to west, I have spent the last decade finding the moments that matter through a lens.

I’ve been riding bikes my entire life but viewed cycling more as a means to get from A to B within the constraints of a city. But this changed when I decided to replace my classic singlespeed steel ride with a gravel bike. The Exploro became mine in February of this year, and I have never looked back since then. I began to enjoy longer distances, and the outdoors seemed much more attainable, thanks to my trusty new steed. More importantly, it brought me back to the fields of my youth, and I found myself increasingly opting to ride more and more off-roads.

My love of photography has also leaped to new heights as a result. Gravel riding has shown me a new way of being active outdoors, and by avoiding the beaten tracks, I’ve been able to capture scenes and lights you wouldn’t find in the middle of a busy city. Going out of my way to avoid the hustle and bustle, and having a speedy machine that instills the feeling of freedom and independence, has meant that I’ve been able to stay sane during COVID-19. I’m thankful I discovered this riding for myself just in time.

I would love for you to experience the same the next time you visit Berlin with a bike. If you pedal just a few kilometers out of the city limits, you’ll find a wealth of surfaces and terrain with beautiful tracks that will make for pleasant rides and healing forest bathing. Depending on what time you kick off in the morning or afternoon, you’ll catch the sun streaming through the trees as a beautiful accompaniment to the bright blue sky. Let’s test one out together, shall we?

Today’s track starts in a park close to where I live in Pankow. The borough is named after the Panke River, which we will follow during the first kilometers of our ride and covers the northeast region of Berlin. After about 7 kilometers of mixed surfaces, we hit the first long stretch of gravel paths lined by trees and smaller lakes.

One can already feel the temperatures dropping by a few degrees on a hot summer afternoon, and the city’s noise suddenly dies. Considering that our ride started just a few stations away from Berlin’s pulsating eastern city center, the sudden change is remarkable.

The next few kilometers are a blast to ride: a network of good gravel roads without any cars and only the odd group of people enjoying a walk between green fields and cottonwood and pine trees. After crossing a minor road, a labyrinth of paths opens up and offers plenty of options to explore unknown territory. All this can be done spontaneously, as you’ll never quite know what road you’ll be on next, which is half the fun.

After passing another paved road with occasional traffic, we arrive in the forest of Brandenburg – the state that surrounds Berlin’s national capital and city-state. Brandenburg is a fantastic place to explore by bike. There are countless routes alongside lush meadows and crystal clear lakes hidden in deep, almost mystical woods. If you look carefully, you’ll find deer, wild boar, and breeding birds all around you.

No matter what kind of riding you have in mind, you can (almost) have it all, minus any semblance of steep climbs, because this neck of Germany is as flat as a pancake. But as compensation, you’ll find fantastic gravel in all shapes and conditions, picture-book trails through woods and fields, and the occasional stretch of single track around a lake’s bank to test your technical skills.

I could write all day about landscape and scenery’s different characteristics and charming attributes. But all of this is best explored by yourself, ideally on a bike that allows you to do anything and go anywhere your heart desires. This is why I enjoy riding the Exploro so much – it feels more like an extension of my body than a particular vehicle or means of transportation. It has become a catalyst for the joy I feel when I escape the city, searching for the wild, exploring unknown and remote places near and far while discovering something new.

Find the route on Komoot.

The inspiration to pick up initial sketches from a few weeks ago was Martin Lorenz’s book Flexible Visual Systems. While I’m not (yet) drawn into the branding aspect, I enjoy the systematic approach outlined in the book’s first chapters.

The idea of creating visually compelling systems based on a limited inventory of graphical forms, rule sets, and grids resonates a lot.

As I experimented with the versatile output of the simple visual system, memories of computational design classes at university and experiments with Processing’s programming tool from 20 years ago came back to life. Time flies!

I might go into more detail about the system’s foundations and rules in another post. For now, I will leave you some examples and detailed views.

When writing code, we use objects to map real-world problems and their proposed solution on a one-to-one basis. These objects use simple language and help organize our code and systems so that others can understand them. It’s a way to achieve clarity because everything can be named and described without misconceptions or ambiguity.

We can apply the same thinking when planning and designing software and user experiences. It can help us create systems that match people’s mental models because our objects and structures relate to how they see or experience reality.

If this sounds abstract, think about software as a system of objects with defined attributes, relationships (amongst each other), and actions that users can perform on them. For example, an image that is part of a gallery. It can have different sizes and formats, and we can change its attributes by cropping and editing before sharing the result with others.

By mapping our objects, attributes, relationships, and user actions, we build a tangible representation of our software that helps us get hold of its complexity and collectively see the system as a whole.

Think researchers, designers, developers, product owners, stakeholders, and finally, the people who buy and use our products.
Wouldn’t it be incredible if everyone involved in its creation would have this shared understanding of the scope and functional details?

It would make creating complex products more accessible and help us match the things people expect and desire with what we build and deliver for them.

Language is a powerful tool for building better products, and it’s worth investing time and energy in developing this shared vocabulary upfront to untangle the complexity of the systems we design.

What’s so compelling about these patterns that make working with them so joyful? I spent some time just looking at them, analyzing and trying to make sense of it. And then, out of a sudden, I began to recognize all these new elements within the negative spaces: round things, symmetrical shapes, a plethora of possible combinations, a sense of connectedness, abundance, and at the same time, lightness.

I came to realize that though these feelings are somehow indefinite and obscure, we can access them through tangible attributes.
We can describe and articulate the emerging visual material and building blocks. We can deconstruct and recombine almost endlessly to assemble something new.

Compositions can lead to abstract letter shapes, sometimes just fragments of typographic elements. As someone who lives and breathes typography, this is an exciting path to follow, and I can’t wait to get back to the drawing board.

What is the source of that particular feeling? Does it stem from a sense of achievement or fulfillment when people accomplish what they aimed for in the first place? Or is this feeling solely tied to the sensual layer and aesthetics of the interface?

Can we test and quantify joy from “visual sensation” within graphical user interfaces? How about the interplay and effect on accessibility and usability? What are the criteria to quantify momentary pleasure or sensual delight during testing? I guess there must be such a thing already — time to do more research.

I have to confess that “visual sensation” is not necessarily a term you would employ when criticizing or referring to my creations. People usually have quite different attributes for it. Some call it “rather German,” traditionally Swiss, or minimalistic, some harshly “fun-free.”

So why do we avoid breaking out the crayons or unleashing that spontaneous and unexpected burst of color?

In her TED talk (recommended), Ingrid Fetell Lee explains that: “We all start out joyful. As we get older, being colorful or exuberant opens us up to judgment. Adults who exhibit genuine joy are often dismissed as childish or too feminine or unserious or self-indulgent …”

I think there’s a truth to this, especially when doing creative work in corporate or regulated environments.

I, for my part, pledge more bravery and colorfulness in my creations and would like to encourage acceptance and openness to bright ideas.

„Color, in a very primal way, is a sign of life, a sign of energy.“ Ingrid Fetell Lee