Alda Boyd - Ideation and Prototyping Process Blog


50 Shades Assignment 

09/16



   For my 50 Shades assignment, I challenged myself to keep most of my iterations analog. As someone with a background primarily in 3D software and game engines, I often rush to develop my ideas, which can quickly lead to burnout when I realize the design isn’t ideal or efficient. I aimed to keep iterating on paper until I completed the final 5-10 sketches. I decided to iterate on an existing project featured on my main website (www.aldaboyd.art).
The project was an immersive projection-mapped cube I was commissioned to create for NFT NYC 2022’s Zoratopia.

    For this new iteration, I wanted to take the installation to a public park just before sunset and set up a DJ booth inside the structure. By focusing on sketching and taking notes during my brainstorming process, I discovered that I could concentrate on details I might have discouraged myself from exploring had I started the prototype in C4D immediately. I first listed my materials for the physical structure and then proceeded to create diagrams of my tech setup. By the 23rd iteration, I began to conceptualize the interactions and VFX elements I would build in programs like C4D and Unreal Engine.

    The remaining iterations were created in 3D but were still not fully rendered. I believe this assignment helped me better understand my brainstorming and prototyping process. It’s like starting with a shapeless mound of clay and discovering flow and shape as you sculpt each iteration. I also think it will help me approach future projects with a more efficient workflow, enabling me to make more progress before burnout sets in. I plan to continue using notes, doodles, and sketches better to understand my own design process throughout the semester. 







Endangered Animal Assignment

09/22
 



   
   For my endangered animal  project, I originally wanted to choose a  resource facing scarcity like cobalt, but
I realized a week would not be enough for me to approach the topic with the level of research and intention I’d like to. Then my mind wandered to focusing on water, as our access to fresh water is rapidly decreasing due to climate change and privatization. After researching a bit, I decided to focus on a freshwater animal that is endangered, and that's when I came across the Irrawaddy Dolphin of Southeast Asia.

   The Irrawaddy dolphin (Orcaella brevirostris) is a rare and endangered aquatic mammal found in coastal areas and freshwater rivers across South and Southeast Asia, including the Mekong, Irrawaddy, and Mahakam rivers. Unlike oceanic dolphins, this species prefers shallow, murky waters where it feeds opportunistically on fish, crustaceans, and cephalopods. Populations are small and fragmented, with fewer than a hundred individuals surviving in some river systems. The species is classified as endangered due to multiple human-driven threats: accidental entanglement in fishing nets (bycatch), habitat loss from dam construction and irrigation, pollution, and declining prey availability. These pressures not only reduce dolphin numbers but also disrupt the delicate balance of river ecosystems, making the Irrawaddy dolphin a vital indicator of freshwater health.

For this project, I created a series of pyramid prototypes that encapsulate the Irrawaddy dolphin and its surrounding ecosystem. Initially, I chose the pyramid form as a means to symbolize hierarchy and fragility. I wanted the structure to feature humans at the top, with dolphins and other freshwater animals on the lower tiers. Still, I chose to simplify by focusing solely on the dolphin, its diet, and the human factors contributing to its endangered status.

   Inside, I placed a hyperrealistic dolphin surrounded by the species it feeds on, carp, gobies, prawns, and cephalopods, along with representations of pollution, debris, and a fishing net, all suspended as if encased in water. By rendering the piece from multiple angles, the layered collage-like quality becomes more apparent, giving the impression that the dolphin is trapped in a collapsing system of threats. This reflects research I found about the dolphin’s endangered status and the human pressures that endanger it, particularly entanglement in nets, habitat fragmentation from dams, and declining prey populations. For materials, I treated “junk” items, such as digital cutouts, net textures, and abstract fragments, as symbolic waste, reusing them to construct an artifact that confronts the inseparability of human refuse and extraction practices from the ecological collapse of freshwater species. While I consider this piece visually stunning, I would’ve liked to use different physical materials or mediums further to communicate the message of endangered species and negative environmental change.
 








Redesigning With Affordances 

09/28



   
    In reimagining the weather app as a physical wall-hanging object, I looked at both analog systems, such as the Adler Weather Station, and modern e-ink weather readers. The Adler system, with its cluster of instruments including thermometers, hygrometers, and barometers, demonstrates how dials and needles can intuitively convey atmospheric conditions. E-ink readers take a different approach by translating weather into minimalist iconography that feels more like framed artwork than a utility dashboard.

My prototype draws on ideas from both of these references and transforms them into affordance-driven interactions. Instead of swiping or scrolling, users engage through tactile movements: a slider that functions as a thermometer for temperature, a rotating forecast wheel for conditions, a dial that expresses wind, and texture patches that allow the weather to be felt as well as seen. I built the prototype with everyday materials, including a salvaged perfume bottle to represent the thermometer, paper cutouts for the forecast wheel, and sand sealed in glue to describe air quality. The sand creates a visual and tactile cue that shifts interpretation away from pure data and toward a more embodied sense of atmosphere.

The process moved from sketches and notes, where I mapped out what digital weather apps display and how analog instruments communicate, into a physical prototype that highlights sliding, spinning, and touching as the primary interactions. By abstracting the digital interface, I aimed to redirect attention away from numbers and precision toward an experiential reading of weather that draws on both historical precedents and modern minimalist devices.

Brooklyn Navy Yard - OHNY Reflection 

10/19


The Brooklyn Navy Yard reminded me that design doesn’t start with aesthetics — it starts with systems. Walking through, I immediately notice all of the industrial structures. You can sense that the buildings around you came from a completely different origin than what they exist as now.   It’s an environment that juxtaposes the line between history and modernity, as well as demonstrating its future potential. Factories have become studios, docks are now community spaces, and production turns into storytelling. This transformation demonstrates what design thinking looks like at an urban scale. The Brooklyn Navy Yard started in the early 1800s as a primary shipbuilding site for the U.S. Navy. It was one of the city’s biggest industrial employers, building ships like the USS Maine and Arizona. After it shut down in the 1960s, the space remained relatively unused before being turned into an industrial park. Now it’s home to over 500 small businesses, creative studios, and fabrication labs focused on design, technology, and sustainable production.  

The concept of the third space is a place that’s neither home nor work. The Yard operates like a hybrid ecosystem where artists, engineers, designers, and entrepreneurs coexist. It made me think about how design can shape a sense of belonging, and how physical space can hold cultural memory the same way objects do. Before enrolling in IDM, I had only been to the Navy Yard probably twice in my entire 8 years of living in the city. I was excited to see what was inside all of these mysterious buildings, finally. I was intuitively drawn to exploring the open art studios because my perception of the Navy Yard has always been heavily tech and corporation-based.  I was surprised to find a series of cozy, lived-in artist studios.  Not at all something I’d expect to see in a Navy Yard. I was greeted by a room full of strangers who all seemed to know each other, and a woman with bright red lipstick and a wine glass, who floated around the room, greeting everyone. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to catch her name over the ambient noise of people chatting and the music, but I know she was an artist displaying her work.  The particular studio space I chose to visit is shared between two artists. I took photographs of each of the installations, as well as the view from outside the studio.

One of the installations involved arranging a series of 3D printed objects for a photograph. The audience chooses two colors and three objects.  Afterwards,  the artists have the audience member arrange the objects on a table, selecting a paper foreground and background to pose the objects against. The artist then photographs the composition and uploads it to the installation’s Instagram page, which serves as an archive of all compositions. I think this piece is great because it prompts the viewer to engage with the artist and effectively collaborate with her to make their own artwork, which is then archived and shared with others. It allows us to become a part of the art and exposes us to the interpretations of the other audience members. Seeing the other uploads encouraged me to question the message of my composition as well.

Something that disatisfies me about the design and layout of the Navy Yard is the limited modes of entry. I have only ever entered through two entryways, the entrance by Wegmans and the entrance at building 77.  If I  didn’t have my electric scooter, I sincerely don’t know how I’d make do. All the buildings are pretty far apart. I see a good number of people on bikes and scooters as well, so I’m sure this is a sentiment shared by many people.  I also wish there were more outdoor seating options.

It feels odd to be in the navy yard without a purpose, but if I’m there and the weather is nice, I shouldn’t have to hunt for a nice spot to sit and enjoy the scenery. What I found most interesting about the Navy Yard’s design is that no building makes a clear indication of what is inside. Each Building, room, and space feels like its own environment despite them all being part of the same ecosystem. The building I go to for classes every week, building 22, feels decades ahead in terms of modernity compared to the minimally renovated artist studios in building 280.  As I walk around the vaguely labeled buildings, only indicating their numbers, I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong there. The yard still emanates a heavy, militant, and rigid energy. I’m always thinking someone is going to come out in a uniform and tell me, “You’re not supposed to be down here”,  but that could be a reflection of my generalized anxiety. The Navy Yard itself could be described as a living time capsule or archive. It shows that sustainability isn’t just about materials, but about memory: what we choose to keep, and how we reshape it for the future.

Time Capsule: Part 1  

10/19



   
My Process for Finding Objects

I’ve always been a sentimental person, the kind who saves old plane and bus tickets, wristbands from festivals, and 3D glasses from movies. Selecting items for my time capsule was easy because I’ve always created little collections of memories tucked away in my living spaces. Typically, these collections are stored in an old shoebox under my bed or in my closet. I tend to keep trivial things like my English notes from 4th grade because I enjoy reflecting on the thoughts that my younger self felt compelled to write down. I also have a habit of doodling and jotting down fleeting thoughts mixed in with whatever I’m studying at the time.

With this in mind, I went into my closet and pulled out a memorabilia box. Inside, I found a mini photo album, one of my old journals from middle school, a holiday card from Adult Swim, an illustrated letter I had from a roommate I had in 2020, and a USB drive containing old videos from high school. While these items are typical for a memorabilia box and could work for a time capsule, I wanted to include one additional item that wasn’t so common. I decided to add my bottle of Carolina Herrera perfume, a product I use ritualistically and that feels integral to my daily routines.






Object 1 - Adult Swim Christmas Card

In 2020, shortly after the lockdown began, I used my free time to enhance my 3D art skills by watching tutorials and spending hours rendering on my laptop. It got to the point where I thought I had damaged my laptop’s battery because it would become incredibly hot to the touch while the fans ran at full blast. Eventually, I started posting my experiments and renders on social media, documenting my processes and sharing my work with my followers. Sometimes, I would comment on random pages, encouraging strangers to check out my renders as well. The vast amount of free time allowed me to turn my chronically online presence into an advantage. I soon gained the attention of Adult Swim, which paid me to air one of my animations. It felt like a full-circle moment for teenage me—perhaps even for 4-year-old me, who used to stay up late with my big brother in 2004 to watch Inuyasha on Toonami.


After my first animation aired as a bump between episode blocks and was shared on all the Adult Swim social media accounts, I signed a contract to create three more animations for them. I was even featured on an HBO panel about animation later that year. I received an amusing pop-up card wishing me a happy holiday, and I kept it in my box of memorabilia because it felt like a symbol of accomplishment. To some, it might seem impressive; to others, it’s no big deal. But for me, it reflects my ability to create and connect with others, showcasing how intuitive that process is. I consider the card just as valuable and sentimental as a trophy.


In middle school and high school, I would often fall asleep in the living room and wake up late at night to the obscure, incoherent, and psychedelic animations of Adult Swim. Some nights, I’d even stay up until 1 a.m. to make sure I wouldn't miss shows like Moral Orel or Mary Shelley’s Frankenhole. Not to mention, I was exposed to music I would never hear on the radio or while shopping at the mall. I would definitely say that Adult Swim was a huge part of my youth and adolescence. Now, not as much; probably because cable is no longer a part of my everyday life.














Object 2 - Letter from Sharon

This is another card from 2020, and while it might seem redundant to add it to the capsule, this particular card represents a different aspect of my life, even though it was given to me around the same time. This card is from one of my old roommates, Sharon. Sharon and I both attended Parsons for our undergraduate studies. She was looking for a roommate in the winter of 2019, and I offered her a room that had opened up in my apartment.


Initially, we all clicked well. I remember filling each of the rooms by myself after a less-than-favorable roommate arrangement set up through a notorious Facebook housing page known for quickly connecting people in the city. So, it was me, Sharon, another girl named Destiny, and a guy named Iverson. We all got along well, and I was happy to share my apartment with them. Then, the lockdown happened.


I had gone to California for spring break, and I decided to fly home to Texas, thinking things would blow over in a couple of weeks or maybe a month. I ended up staying in Texas for five months straight, returning to New York in late summer. By the time I got back, Destiny and Iverson had fully moved out with no plans to return, and Sharon had been alone in the apartment for months. When I returned, we grew closer, and life felt like a never-ending sleepover. We would stay up late working on digital art, making music, crafting, and arranging flowers. We also had an impressive plant collection. Those were some of the happiest, most carefree times of my life. Since many bars were closed and we had both turned 21 that year, we took long night walks to the edge of Brooklyn and back, simply because there wasn't much else to do.


As the year went on, I became more preoccupied with school and looking for remote work. Sharon chose not to return to school and began spending more time with a local musician she had started dating. Slowly, our connection began to fade, and we spent less time together. I remember getting into a ridiculous argument over something trivial, leading to weeks of not speaking. Eventually, she wrote me an apology letter with a lovely drawing that was meant to represent me. Not long after that, I moved to a new apartment with new roommates, while Sharon moved out of NYC.


Two or three years after we parted ways, I reached out to her to wish her the best and to express that I would always fondly remember our time together. She shared that she felt the same way. I'm grateful that Sharon and I were there for each other as we navigated our twenties during a life-changing event like the COVID-19 lockdown.






Object 3 - Middle School Journal


This object holds significant value for me because it continues to challenge my perception of reality even 13 years later. I remember when my aunt, my dad’s oldest sister, gifted me the journal. She has always been extremely religious and is considered the matriarch of the Boyd family; no one questions or argues with her. If you do, well, you’d better pray before taking on that battle. I love my aunt, but all my cousins knew that spending extra time with her usually meant serving a punishment. I had been forced to spend my weekday evenings with her because I was getting in trouble at school. We attended church activities during the week. Since I’m Catholic, many of these activities revolved around reflecting on our sins and begging God for forgiveness.


The very first page in my journal contained a list of commandments and affirmations I was supposed to live by. On the next page, I found the handwriting of another girl who had stolen my journal and decided to comment on multiple pages, writing, “Bullshit” and “None of this is true, lol.” I was beyond angry. But maybe she was right, because on the following page was a recipe for homemade pepper spray in case anyone else tried to fight me in the locker room that semester.


Anyway, back to why the journal holds value for me. I didn’t write the date of this particular entry because I was in a rush to get my thoughts out. Considering the entry before it was from May and the one right after is from June 2012, I think it’s safe to assume that this entry falls somewhere in that range. I titled the entry “The Night I Got Left Behind.”


For how vivid the sensations and imagery of my dream were, the entry itself is fairly simple and doesn’t fully convey the terror I felt while experiencing it. To summarize, the dream goes as follows: I’m in a downtown city environment with my classmates, following a tour guide who begins to explain the history of a statue. Suddenly, there’s a shift in the environment; something feels wrong. Gravity becomes distorted, and animals appear out of thin air—everything is…wrong. I wrote, “All of a sudden, there are fish everywhere! Fish swimming through the air, turtles, shooting stars, meteors—everything!” Then, a panel stretches across the sky displaying our names, pictures, and some score represented in green or red. The green or red clearly indicates a pass or fail; mine was undeniably red, indicating “how good or bad you are.” My crime? I had supposedly lied many times. In my journal, I strayed from the sequence of events to start apologizing to Jesus, hoping I wouldn’t get left behind when it was really game over. But the memory remains clear as day to me.


After being deemed “too bad” to join the “good people,” I ran to find shelter in a building as chaos erupted around me. I dashed into the first open building I saw, which happened to be an apartment with the door wide open. The living room television was airing live news footage from a helicopter. The earth was crumbling, fires were spreading, and the ground shook beneath me. Suddenly, the floor opened up, and I fell into a pit of hot magma. As soon as I reached the magma, I woke up, gasping, “I need to be a better person!”


So, I had a dream about the world ending; many people do. But why do I care so much about this particular instance? It felt like a surreal, wacky plot that just happened to be abnormally vivid in detail. I didn’t think much of it until I saw a promo for “The Good Place” four years later. Instantly, I had a flashback to my dream and felt an unsettling amount of déjà vu. The promo looked precisely like the holographic sky that determined whether people were good or bad based on their lives on Earth. Though it was presented in a comical, lighthearted context, it left me feeling fear and apprehension. I couldn’t watch the show until four years later.


As it turned out, the first episodes share some striking similarities with the dream I had four years prior, along with some inversions. Instead of fish swimming in the sky, there were shrimp. Instead of an enormous turtle, there was a frog. There weren’t shooting stars and meteors, but glitter explosions and smoke trails were zipping through the air. The sinkhole was also present, but there was no hot magma inside. The main character of the show, Eleanor, was a notoriously unlikable and selfish person throughout her life, but somehow ended up in the Good Place, partnered with her supposed soulmate, Chidi Anagoye. This synchronicity amuses me because I’m not a white woman; I’m Nigerian and have an Igbo name with “Chi” in it. I’ll be honest—I never watched the show in its entirety, but I’m aware there’s a massive twist about the Good Place not actually being the Good Place.






Object 4 - USB Drive

This USB drive contains digital vignettes from my youthful obsession with Tumblr. In the 2010s, I became passionate about photography and video editing. I begged my parents for a DSLR camera, and they finally got me one. By the time I reached high school, I had stopped participating in other extracurricular activities, so photography became my hyperfixation for all four years. Everyone knew me as the artsy Nigerian girl who excelled at taking pictures.

I spent a lot of time at home because my parents were strict, so I missed out on many plans and invitations from my friends. Though we made time to hang out, it was still considerably more limited than my brother’s social life, as he was rarely home. When we did find time together, I would often end up capturing our adventures through photographs and videos, sharing them on our blog and my personal Instagram. With my DSLR, Photoshop, and Adobe Premiere, I was basically creating TikToks long before they existed.

By the age of 16, I started taking on clients and photographing events like weddings, school dances, graduations, and birthdays. I had taught myself everything I knew about photography through YouTube. The videos on this USB are either archived or completely erased from my social media accounts. I also don’t keep in touch with many of the people I filmed with; we all went our separate ways. I realized that because of my photography skills, I had hardly any videos of myself of the same quality or style. But I don’t mind. I still cherish those authentic memories of our adolescence.

Now, a decade later and with the rise of TikTok, I can confidently say that I was ahead of my time. I didn't even realize it back then, but when I see today’s teens expressing a desire to have lived in the 2010s, I can’t help but think, “Yeah, I lived that. That was me.” When I recorded my videos, I wasn’t thinking about how cool it would be to look back on them years later; I was creating and preserving those moments for the fun of it.

Along with the silly edits and mini music videos, I also made a documentary for my AV class, interviewing various kids about the cliques they identified with and how they described their personalities. My teacher at the time dismissed my project as unimpressive, but I believe it was brilliant. I captured the essence of being a teenager in the 2010s perfectly, and I think it will be worth reflecting on in another couple of decades.

I’m not sure why I don’t have the same drive to create vignettes of my life or document my experiences anymore, but it would be nice to rekindle that feeling. I’m sure that 36-year-old me wouldn’t mind reminiscing about my life at 26. I probably feel less inclined to document now because social media has lost its organic, casual feel. Everything seems curated, commodified, and hypervisible. However, I realize I don’t have to create or photograph for the sake of social media; it would be just as satisfying to do it for myself, and only myself.



Object 5 - Carolina Herrera Good Girl Blush


My last object is my beloved Carolina Herrera Good Girl Blush perfume. Every person has their signature scent, and while I’m not entirely sure if this one is mine, I know I am obsessed with it. I don’t remember exactly when I became fixated on smelling good, but I vividly recall the first time I encountered Good Girl Blush. I’m not sure where I was headed that day, but I remember being in an Uber pool. When my driver stopped to pick up my co-rider, the car suddenly filled with a delicious scent that caught my attention immediately.


The girl next to me was radiant and glowing; her hair was perfectly slicked into a sleek updo, and her makeup looked expertly applied. I couldn’t help but take short glances at her because I was captivated by her perfume. I had to ask her what it was. I told her she smelled amazing and inquired if she wouldn’t mind sharing the name. “Good Girl Blush,” she replied. The next day, I went to Sephora, deciding that I wanted to smell like that every day.


When I reached the fragrance aisle, I was surprised to find that the delightful, sultry scent I had experienced came from a shoe-shaped bottle. The bottle's design is unique and somewhat tacky, but I love it. It looks a bit out of place among my other cosmetics and beauty items, yet it is definitely memorable. Often, I would toss the entire bottle into my bag. On some late nights when I commuted home from work, I kept the bottle handy, just in case someone wanted to surprise me during the train ride or on my walk home.


Just like a real shoe, I would grab the arch of the shoe bottle with the heel pointed outward, thinking of it as a makeshift dagger. At that time, I didn’t have any actual self-defense tools, so it seemed like my best option. I had seen videos of women using high heels as a means of self-defense, and I realized that a heel can inflict severe damage if necessary, even from a small pink perfume bottle. As of now, I’ve been wearing the scent for about 2.5 years, and I fully embrace it as part of my persona. I love leaving a trace of my scent and making a good first impression based on how pleasant I smell.    





















































































































































Time Capsule: Part 2 &3

10/19



I chose a seashell as inspiration for the design of my time capsule for a few reasons. To me, the sea is eternal and ancient. Many of the earth’s longest-living life forms call the sea their home — there are creatures with lifespans of 500 years or more. It feels impossible to grasp compared to the human lifespan. Shells already act as natural containers of memory. Each ridge, groove, and layer in a shell forms gradually over time, recording the life and environment of the creature that made it. To me, this mirrors how humans collect emotional and material fragments to define who we are.

“Mollusks are fabulous architects. They build houses that protect their soft bodies from predators and the elements—shells of uncommon strength, durability, and beauty. Many of these shells have spectacularly complex shapes—logarithmic spirals bedecked with fractal spines or other ornaments, all executed with near-perfect mathematical regularity.” — Scientific American, “How Seashells Take Shape” (2023)

In my speculative design, the shell-capsule is not just a metaphor but a constructed object of endurance. The material I envision it taking form in is some sort of metal with titanium plating, due to its outstanding resistance in marine environments. Titanium can resist corrosion by seawater to temperatures as high as 500 °F (260 °C). Titanium that is exposed for many years to depths of over a mile below the ocean surface has shown not to produce any measurable corrosion. This choice in material ties directly to the capsule’s future context: a world possibly submerged in water due to climate change. The capsule becomes both archive and architecture — built to tolerate sea water, environmental extremes, time, and the weight of memory.

This concept imagines a future where much of the planet’s surface is covered by water due to climate change — a scientifically plausible scenario supported by current projections of sea-level rise from melting ice caps and global warming. In this context, my time capsule might start buried underground, but it’s also possible that it’ll be submerged in a changing ocean, carried by currents, and discovered generations later. The form’s function shifts from containment to transformation — a memory that adapts, persists, endures, eventually becoming part of our marine archive.