I Miss My Desk (and So Should You)
Brandon Lori / Multi-Platform Designer & Creative Director
Every day, my work takes me on a grand tour of my apartment: I start in bed, then move to my couch, then to my kitchen table. I work in the living room, the hallway, and even, on rare occasions, the bathroom.
Sound familiar?
During the pandemic, millions of designers have experienced the freedom of working from home with its 20-foot commutes, waist-up dress codes, and “work anywhere” potential. In many ways, it’s been a welcome escape from the dogged pace of professional life.
But, over the past few weeks, as it has become increasingly clear that we’re still many months away from returning to the office, I’ve found myself longing for something I didn’t expect to miss - my desk.
This pandemic has reminded me of a lesson I learned years ago but had since forgotten. The desk is more than a piece of office furniture; it’s an integral part of a designer’s creative life. The desk is a rock of stability, a place to be active, to be still, and to work.
It’s a lesson I first learned watching my dad.
When I was 16 years old, my parents separated and, a few months later, my dad bought a plain, yellow brick house with a detached garage where we both lived. After years of hearing him grumble about the woes of on-street parking, I assumed he’d use the home's garage to put his old, full-size Ford pickup. But as it turned out, he had other plans.
My dad, who has always been a gifted handyman, transformed that garage into a tinkerer’s dream. On the walls, he hung every tool I could imagine (and even a few I couldn’t). In the corner, he stacked scrap wood and half-finished projects. Up against the far side wall, he placed a big, solid workbench.
That garage was my dad’s escape. I remember waking up on Saturday mornings to a quiet house, poking my head into his empty bedroom, and then making my way downstairs. Most of the time, he wouldn’t have even remembered to shut the front door behind him on his way out. He was in his garage, fixing this and building that.
Sometimes I walked out to visit him, but I always felt like an intruder. In the garage, he wasn’t just “dad.” He was a person at work. To me, the workbench – his “desk” – became a symbol of that transformation.
“This pandemic has reminded me of a lesson I learned years ago but had since forgotten. The desk is more than a piece of office furniture; it’s an integral part of a designer’s creative life. The desk is a rock of stability, a place to be active, to be still, and to work.”
Later, in high school, I decided I needed a symbol of my own. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a designer. But growing up in the Rust Belt suburbs of Pittsburgh, once the center of American steel, and far removed from the creative capitals of New York and Los Angeles, I wasn’t sure how to chart a path forward toward that dream. So, to help navigate, I set myself a concrete goal: I was going to earn a desk at a design agency.
Over the next few years, through college, internships, and crappy side jobs, I kept my eye on that desk, until one Monday morning, in the summer of 2010, I sat down at a small, metal-framed, glass-topped table in a New York City agency, and thought “this is it.” I’d earned my seat at the table – a desk.
That first desk was a badge of honor. It represented all the hours I’d spent honing my craft, and it marked me just as my dad’s workbench marked him: as a maker.
In the years since I’ve had many desks. Some of them have been big and others small. They’ve been made of hardwood, bamboo, marble, and Formica. Some I’ve loved, others I’ve tolerated. But, with each, I’ve become more confident in my identity as a professional designer. Along the way, I’ve thought less and less about the significance of the surface on which I work, until recently.
Working remotely has reminded me of the symbolism of having a desk. At home, I still do design. Without my work desk, though, I feel less like a designer. I’ve tried to set up a personal desk at home, but it’s never felt quite right. It feels, I imagine, how my dad might have felt if he were forced to drag his workbench into the yard or kitchen.
For some, remote work has been energizing. Some of us have used quarantine to learn a foreign language, write a novel, or become expert sourdough bakers. But many of us haven’t; instead, we've been left grieving on multiple levels – processing loss and picking up the pieces of our professional lives. More time and more freedom have left us with creative block, feeling burned out and uninspired.
Partially, I think that’s because we’re not at our desks.
“A desk forces engagement. It can’t be everywhere or hold everything at once. The limitations of my desk have taught me discipline, patience, and concentration. Since my desk is in the office, I must be as well. Since my desk cannot hold all the projects I’m working on at once, I must choose which to prioritize.”
A desk forces engagement. It can’t be everywhere or hold everything at once. The limitations of my desk have taught me discipline, patience, and concentration. Since my desk is in the office, I must be as well. Since my desk cannot hold all the projects I’m working on at once, I must choose which to prioritize.
On a normal day, a small brown Moleskine sketchbook sits handily on my desk. Inside are pages filled with coarsely drawn storyboards and thumbnail sketches. To the left, I usually place a few art books (often old and out of print) relevant to whatever project I’m focusing on that week. Sometimes when I get stuck, I thumb through the pages – in search of tactile inspiration. And, if I find it, I grab my sketchbook and put the thought to paper. Of course, it would be less demanding to do all of this digitally. But doing it by hand and at a desk, I’ve found, adds just enough friction to spark my creativity.
Many creative people have actively cultivated demanding desks. Albert Einstein kept a messy desk – its clutter helped him connect seemingly unrelated concepts. Designer Massimo Vignelli kept a clean desk – its emptiness forced him to start each day fresh. Emily Dickinson kept a small desk, just 18 inches square – perhaps a reflection of her powerful, compact style. And after retiring from baseball, Jackie Robinson kept a nameplate on his desk that read “Mr. Jack R. Robinson.” Of course, anyone who entered his office already knew his name. But the nameplate no doubt helped remind the man who sat behind it of the importance of humility.
“Many creative people have actively cultivated demanding desks. Albert Einstein kept a messy desk – its clutter helped him connect seemingly unrelated concepts. Designer Massimo Vignelli kept a clean desk – its emptiness forced him to start each day fresh. Emily Dickinson kept a small desk, just 18 inches square – perhaps a reflection of her powerful, compact style. And after retiring from baseball, Jackie Robinson kept a nameplate on his desk that read ‘Mr. Jack R. Robinson.’”
Even more importantly, desks enable collaboration. To be at your desk is to be present, in the world, at a place in time – to be available for an impromptu brainstorm, feedback session, or gut check. That face-to-face cooperation brings a human touch to our work that can’t be replaced by all the Slack messages, Zoom calls, or Google Docs in the world. It’s why (at least during normal times) so many freelance professionals choose to pay for a desk in a coworking space. With others around it, a desk becomes more than a desk; it becomes a community. Desks are how we interface. The things placed, whether carefully or incidentally, on their surface – the books, tools, decorations, pictures, half-eaten salads, and unopened mail – serve as ambient communication to co-workers about our lives.
How good will it feel to return to a world like that, one rich with interpersonal cues and meaning? Coronavirus has forced us to trade community for convenience. It’s a tradeoff that has become all too familiar. Across many industries, but particularly in design, the shift toward work-from-home has been picking up steam for years.
This moment offers us a unique opportunity: The chance to get a taste of what our professional lives might feel like if the trend toward remote work continues unabated.
I hope we remember after this crisis has passed, how we feel in this moment. And as we march forward toward the workplace of the future, I hope we bring along our desks.
Header illustration by WNW Member Pierre-Paul Pariseau