Whitespace

Have you ever looked at a blank page laid-out before you and thought, "This is better than anything that I could ever hope to add"? -- I have.

I think that this is going to be quite an unusual post. Firstly (and perhaps fore-mostly), I want to relate my experience of building an over-sized whiteboard for my bedroom (/lab). But secondly, I also wish to share some of my philosophical ideas regarding the concepts of white-space, emptiness, as well as their roles in the task of creation. In my eyes, these two disparate subjects are inseparably linked: the philosophical ideas were the protagonists that eventually convinced me to build my whiteboard, and in turn, the whiteboard exists as the only physical evidence of my mental struggle with these ideas over the past weeks. But unusual is good right? So let's see how this goes.

White-space is a very enigmatic concept. It is generally invisible (or rather should I say 'unnoticeable'), lacking in any real content in-itself, and is therefore usually relegated to the background or periphery. But as the popular visual illusion on the right shows, the importance of white-space is often overlooked, and its effect on our perception can be startling. In fact, if one takes some time to think it over, white-space is probably the single most important component in visual structure. Take for example: margins, indents, line-feeds, word and character spacing, tab-stops, page-breaks, and borders (to name but a few). To be fair, this is not a new discovery. On the contrary, many professions are well aware of this fact, and devote a great deal effort into honing the skill of converting white-space into style (eg. graphic design, print publishing, and even software engineering).

But is that where it ends? Is the sole purpose of white-space to act in support of more concrete, tangible things? If so, how can I explain the effect that a blank page has on me, or the simple elegance of a minimalist surface, or the spiritual resonance of an expertly-manicured zen-garden? No; to me there must be something else, some intrinsic aesthetic that somehow exits within the absence of things, within the very concept of emptiness. Paradoxically, an empty space is hard to ignore, even if only because of the staggering improbability that such a space could actually exist within a world spiraling toward entropy. That idea of blankness surrounded by chaos and clutter both scares me and draws me closer. Drawn by the possibility that I might create something completely new within that untouched space, and simultaneously scared by the danger that my reckless hand poses to that fragile, virgin space.

Being a cautious person by nature, my fear of converting a pristine blank canvas into noise often outweighs my drive to create, paralyzing me between the twin evils of idleness and regret. One way of reducing this fear is to increase the abundance of white-space. This is where the the whiteboard comes into its own. Absolutely and infinitely erasable, a whiteboard induces all of the creative draw, but none of the fear. It provides me with a creative space in which I am allowed to fail with impunity. (Of course all of this might just be an excuse for me realise my fantasy of being Charlie Eppes from Numbers)


Unfortunately commercial whiteboards are certainly not elegant minimalistic spaces (instead they commonly sport a rounded aluminum border straight out of the 70's), and they seem to progressively devolve into a smudged accumulation of corporate porridge. That will not do, so I will build my own. My requirements are: it must be absolutely and infinitely erasable (no smudging or ghosting allowed), it must consist simply of a writing surface with the bare-minimum amount of mounting apparatus (no garish borders or fames), and it must be as large as possible while still allowing me to reach every point on the writing surface from a single standing position. The rest of this post is dedicated to the realization of these goals.


The first design decision was what material to use. Commercial whiteboards are most commonly made of Melamine or painted steel/aluminum, but both of these materials are vulnerable to strong solvents and abrasives (exactly what you need to remove the most permanent of marks). In order to create a virtually impervious writing surface, I decided to use glass instead. Since glass is transparent I also needed to paint the back-side of the glass in order to make the pen-marks on the glass more visible. The choice of paint was based on both cost and durability, and in the end I decided to go with a high-gloss white enamel paint that was designed for doors and trims. The width of the whiteboard was determined by the distance spanned by my comfortably outstretched arms: just about 1.5 meters. The height followed from this measurement (1m exactly), since I had already decided that the aspect-ratio needed to be 3x2 in order for me to most easily photograph a drawing/design/sketch that I wished to archive. Finally, on advice from my glass supplier (due to strength concerns) I chose a piece of 5mm thick sheet glass.

The tools I required for this project were quite modest, and most of them were only necessary for the spraying of the enamel paint. So if you had access to pre-painted glass, or a large amount of white spray-paint, then you could make do with a much shorter list. Anyway, my list consisted of: a spirit-level, electric drill, screwdriver, compressor, spray-gun, copious amounts of newspaper, and a bandanna to serve as lo-fi respiratory protection. At the beginning of this project I was a complete spray-gun novice, and so I started practicing on a few glass offcuts first. This is IMPORTANT! The first time you try to spray the enamel onto glass you will do some (or all) of these things wrong: setting the air-pressure, the paint flow, the paint-to-turps dilution ratio, the nozzle shape, the distance from the glass, and even your arm-speed. Practice. Make mistakes. Learn. In the end I had about a 3:1 paint-turps mix, an air pressure of 60psi, and a very very slow paint flow. I found that doing two thin coats created a much stronger finish than a single thick coat. Also, CLEAN YOUR GLASS! Dirt between the paint and the glass will be visible forever, and will look you straight in the face every time you write on your board. Any oil or grease will also prevent the enamel from sticking - so I say again: CLEAN YOUR GLASS. Use as strong a solvent as you can get your hands on. I used benzene.

The easiest, most unobtrusive way to mount such a large glass panel to a wall is to use mirror-corners. I initially toyed with the idea of using four rawlbolts instead (attached to the glass through drill-holes in the corners), but I decided that that method would be more difficult to accomplish accurately, and that the bolts would reduce the whiteboard's usable area. The mirror-corners were trivial to fit (thanks to the help of a willing housemate), and they give me a peace-of-mind knowing that my 25kg sheet of glass is not going anywhere in the night.


Above is a photo of the finished whiteboard mounted on my bedroom wall. As you can see, there is currently a mind-map of this very blog-post on the board. So I guess you can judge its performance from the quality of this post. The end product deviates from my initial expectations in three major ways: the background colour, the presence of shadows (cast by the marks on the whiteboard), and the strong reflections (these are clearly depicted in the images that follow). The very apparent blue/green tint of the whiteboard came as a complete surprise. I knew that glass was not perfectly clear, but I did not foresee the extent to which the glass would act as a colour filter. The white rectangle in the image below is one of the painted glass offcuts viewed from the other side - just to prove that I did in fact use pure white paint. The shadows cast from the marks on the whiteboard were a fortunate accident. Due to the 5mm thick glass, the shadows exaggerate the three-dimensionality of the clear writing surface, thereby constantly reminding me that I am using no run-of-the-mill whiteboard. In hindsight I should have expected the bright reflections produced by the glossy surface of the glass. Although the reflections can become somewhat annoying when viewing the whiteboard from a distance, they are fortunately much less noticeable close-up (thanks to the limited depth-of-field of our eyes).


That's it. I now have a space that I can use to brainstorm, sketch, design, free-associate, or anything else that you do with a ink-marker. But more importantly, it is a space that I can erase over-and-over, and start again from scratch. But in the end, was it worth all the time and money that I spent to make it? Well, I can honestly say that I enjoyed every minute of the 2 weekends that I spent building it, and that I think that my whiteboard looks and functions far better than any other that I have ever used. In total all my materials came to about R700 or so, so I suppose it might have been cheaper to just go and buy one - but I am glad that I didn't, because that's what all the other nerds in Cape Town did :) Charlie Eppes would be proud.