An interface is, broadly, a place of interaction. I expect to be devoting a significant chunk of this blog to software interfaces, where humans interact with computers. But, metaphorically, I am interested in a much broader range of interfaces. My high-school English teacher used to tell us “you compartmentalize too much!” She probably wasn’t talking to me, since I was usually the one raising my hand to talk about things from three other classes that nobody else cared about. The world is not a collection of things in isolation, it is a vast network of interrelated parts. If I can be said to have faith, it is in the relation of all things. It’s easy to lose track of that, I think, in our analyzing and simplifying and specializing. We compartmentalize, we don’t talk across the boundaries often enough. So I am here to talk about coming together, points of interaction. Interfaces.
And interfacing, which, in addition to being a corporate-buzzwordy sort of participle, is also a type of material you put between two pieces of fabric to give a finished piece structure and strength. The beauty of a garment or a quilt or a pillow may come from the fabric you see on the outside, but its stability comes from what is happening where pieces of fabric come together, in between and at the seams.
A very wise and dear friend of mine says that some people are creators and some people are editors (and of course, most people are some balance of both). I am firmly on the editor side. Which is not to say that I do not have generative ideas, but I work best when I have materials at hand to shape and combine. My great pleasure comes in polishing and refining, and I like to believe I have some skill at it. And so, I believe that I can apply that skill at points of connection and interaction, where I have materials to work with, to shape and refine.