Hi.
I'd like to start by asking you all
to go to your happy place, please.
Yes, your happy place,
I know you've got one even if it's fake.
(Laughter)
OK, so, comfortable?
Good.
Now I'd like to you to mentally answer
the following questions.
Is there any strip lighting
in your happy place?
Any plastic tables?
Polyester flooring?
Mobile phones?
No?
You do surprise me.
I think we all know that our happy place
is meant to be
somewhere natural, outdoors -
on a beach, fireside.
We'll be reading or eating or knitting.
And we're surrounded
by natural light and organic elements.
Even ink and paper invokes more happiness
than, well, daily reality.
So it seems fair to say
that natural things make us happy.
And happiness is a great motivator;
we strive for happiness.
Perhaps that's why
we're always redesigning everything,
in the hopes that our solutions
might feel more natural.
So let's start there -
with the idea that good design
should feel natural.
Your phone is not very natural.
And you probably think
you're addicted to your phone,
but you're really not.
We're not addicted to devices,
we're addicted to the information
that flows through them.
I wonder how long you would be happy
in your happy place
without any information
from the outside world.
Your phone is a conduit
to that information
and before that,
we used personal computers.
And before that,
we used telegraph wires and newspapers.
Innovations that shrank the world.
We are a little bit addicted there.
How you feel about that is up to you.
I'm interested in how we access
that information,
how we experience it.
We're moving from a time
of static information,
held in books and libraries and bus stops,
through a period of digital information,
towards a period of fluid information,
where your children will expect to be able
to access anything, anywhere at any time,
from quantum physics
to medieval viticulture,
from gender theory to tomorrow's weather,
just like switching on a light bulb -
Imagine that.
It's the dawn of the light bulb,
about 1880.
At that time,
electricity was considered dangerous.
And mystical.
And misunderstood.
Information
is your children's electricity.
Only they probably won't value it
very much
in exactly the same way
as you probably don't value
being able to switch on a light bulb.
So, a lot of implications there.
But let's stick with our principle
that humans love information.
Humans also like simple tools.
Your phone is not a very simple tool.
A fork is a simple tool.
(Laughter)
I hope they're not planning
to give us sporks for lunch
because we like
knives and spoons and forks
And we don't like them made of plastic,
in the same way I don't really like
my phone very much -
it's not how I want
to experience information.
I think there are better solutions
than a world mediated by screens.
The Internet of things doesn't just mean
your phone talking to your fridge,
it means everyday objects
that can behave like apps.
Not just tweet
that your cheese is getting old.
I don't hate screens, but I don't feel -
and I don't think any of us feel that good
about how much time
we spend slouched over them.
Fortunately,
the big tech companies seem to agree.
They're actually heavily invested
in touch and speech and gesture,
and also in senses -
things that can turn
dumb objects, like cups,
and imbue them with the magic
of the Internet,
potentially turning this digital cloud
into something we might touch and move.
Before smart phones
this was actually the future,
and it had names like
ubiquitous computing,
and tangible media.
You know, things you can feel.
We're not all 25 after all.
We need physical digital solutions
for the problems
of ever decreasing font sizes
and tiny fiddly keyboards.
The parents in crisis over screen time
need physical digital toys
teaching their kids to read,
as well as family-safe app stores.
And I think, actually,
that's already really happening.
Reality is richer than screens.
I mean, you're all here,
at the Opera House.
And I think, intuitively, we know
that that's a better experience
than watching on the live stream.
(Laughter)
But, why?
They can see everything I do,
they can hear everything I say
and I don't smell.
I am fascinated by the science of this.
I think it has something to do
with depth perception.
Like, the screen is turning off
the bit of my brain
telling me how hard
I'd have to throw a hackey sack
to hit this gentleman in the fourth row.
But I don't know.
It's not very TEDx, really, is it,
to stand up here on the stage
telling you all the things I don't know.
But these are the things
that fascinate us
and drive our creative practice.
For example, I love books.
For me they are time machines -
atoms and molecules bound in space,
from the moment of their creation
to the moment of my experience.
But frankly,
the content's identical on my phone.
So what makes this
a richer experience than a screen?
I mean, scientifically.
We need screens, of course.
I'm going to show film,
I need the enormous screen.
But there's more than you can do
with these magic boxes.
Your phone is not
the Internet's door bitch.
(Laughter)
We can build things -
physical things,
using physics and pixels,
that can integrate the Internet
into the world around us.
And I'm going to show you
a few examples of those.
A while ago, I got to work
with a design agency, Berg,
on an exploration of what the Internet
without screens might actually look like.
And they showed us a range ways
that light can work with simple senses
and physical objects
to really bring the Internet to life,
to make it tangible.
Like this wonderfully mechanical
YouTube player.
And this was an inspiration to me.
Next I worked with
the Japanese agency, AQ,
on a research project into mental health.
We wanted to create an object
that could capture the subjective data
around mood swings
that's so essential to diagnosis.
This object captures your touch,
so you might press it
very hard if you're angry,
or stroke it if you're calm.
It's like a digital emoji stick.
And then you might revisit
those moments later,
and add context to them online.
Most of all,
we wanted to create
an intimate, beautiful thing
that could live in your pocket
and be loved.
The binoculars are actually
a birthday present
for the Sydney Opera House's
40th anniversary.
Our friends at Tellart in Boston
brought over a pair of street binoculars,
the kind you might find
on the Empire State Building,
and they fitted them with 360-degree views
of other iconic world heritage sights -
(Laughter)
using Street View.
And then we stuck them under the steps.
So, they became this very physical,
simple re-appropriation,
or like a portal to these other icons.
So you might see Versailles
or Shackleton's Hut.
Basically, it's virtual
reality circa 1955.
(Laughter)
The Cube started off
as an incredibly geeky
code and video project,
but it ended up being about what happens
when you put a phone in a box.
A lot of our projects start off this way,
as cardboard and sellotape.
We made a web version of this,
it's a bit complicated
and a touch screen version for phones,
but what really stunned us
was how transformative it was.
When we put the phone in the box.
And then use the sensors on the phone
to control the cube on the screen.
We now call this Hide the tech.
And it made it magical and emotional.
In our office we use
hacky sacks to exchange URLs.
This is incredibly simple,
it's like your Opal card.
You basically put a website
on the little chip in here,
and then you do this and ... bosh! -
the website appears on your phone.
It's about 10 cents.
Treehugger is a project
that we're working on
with Grumpy Sailor and Finch,
here in Sydney.
And I'm very excited
about what might happen
when you pull the phones apart
and you put the bits into trees,
and that my children
might have an opportunity
to visit an enchanted forest
guided by a magic wand,
where they could talk to digital fairies
and ask them questions,
and be asked questions in return.
As you can see,
we're at the cardboard stage
with this one.
(Laughter)
But I'm very excited
by the possibility of getting kids
back outside without screens,
but with all the powerful magic
of the Internet at their fingertips.
And we hope to have something like this
working by the end of the year.
So to make that all a bit more physical,
we have a little lunchtime demo.
Downstairs are a number of teddy bears
who have lost
their surprisingly famous owners.
They're all sitting
down by the Curiosity Coffee
in the lobby, down there -
I don't know which one it's called -
that one.
(Laughter)
And what we'd like you to do
is get together
in a group,
maybe with people you don't know,
get a bear and take him
for a walk around the concert hall
and as you walk around,
the bear will tell you its life story.
And we'd like you to gain clues from this,
and work out who their owner might be.
And then we'd like you
to bring them back, please.
(Laughter)
With an answer.
I think there are even prizes.
We are calling it
TEDdyx
(Laughter)
So let's recap.
Humans like natural solutions.
Humans love information.
Humans need simple tools.
These principles should underpin
how we design for the future,
not just for the Internet.
You may feel uncomfortable about the age
of information that we're moving into.
You may feel challenged,
rather than simply excited.
Guess what? Me too.
It's a really extraordinary period
of human history.
We are the people
that actually build our world,
there are no artificial intelligences...
yet.
(Laughter)
It's us - designers, architects,
artists, engineers.
And if we challenge ourselves,
I think that actually
we can have a happy place
filled with the information we love,
that feels as natural and as simple
as switching on a light bulb.
And although it may seem inevitable,
that what the public wants
is watches and websites and widgets,
maybe we could give a bit of thought
to cork and light and hacky sacks.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)