The all-new MandalArt app

About four years ago, I discovered an iOS app called iMandalArt that offered a distinctive way to think about goal setting and task accomplishment. It was based on what I subsequently learned is the Lotus Blossom technique, often described as a form of brainstorming or mind mapping.

MandalArt_i_HDWhen I wrote my first blog post about the app, iMandalArt coming to an iPad near you, my perspective was largely shaped by a bunch of popular productivity apps, for example, Things. Let’s call it a seeing-the-world-through-GTD-colored-glasses outlook. I knew that iMandalArt was somehow different, but I confessed that I was pretty sure I didn’t “get it.”

Six months later, I had an “Ah, ha!” moment, based on my experience with the iPad version, iMandalArt HD, and recounted in The aesthetics of iMandalArt. The hidden “decoder ring” of understanding was those last three letters, “Art.” As I wrote back then, the app is not called iMandalList, but iMandalArt. Now, I prefer to think of it as the nonlinear, Getting-Things-Done lovechild of an artist and a topologist, rather than an engineer and an accountant.

MandalaChartFor a detailed explication, there is an extensive series of posts on Flexible Focus by William Reed, who describes the technique with an “Alice through the looking glass” metaphor. He also discusses briefly the alternative app, MandalaChart for iPad.

Alas, on August 31, 2013, an announcement appeared on the MandalArt Facebook page that neither iMandalArt for iPhone nor the HD version for iPad would be updated for iOS 7. Reading between the lines of the embedded Bing translation from Japanese to English, it is clear that there was some kind of legal or other disagreement between the creative and development parties involved. Subsequently, the MandalArt website shrank almost to non-existence, though there was the hint that some new product might eventually appear. So I put the URL for the MandalArt home page into Changes Meter, the marvelous little app that compares page content over time, and waited for something to happen.

There were a couple of little tweaks to page content in the next year, but nothing that showed any substantive change when I checked the text on Google Translate. Then, two days ago, there was another alert, and when I went to the page, Bingo!, there at the bottom was the little white-on-black App Store download button. It was in Japanese, but the white Apple logo was unmistakable!


I wasn’t about to change my App Store “allegiance” to Japan, even for this app, so I went to iTunes and searched for MandalArt. Miraculously, it was there, though the Screenshots and Description (provided by the seller, Hiro Art Directions, Inc., also the owner of the aforementioned Facebook page) were in Japanese. The one weird exception was the line for Language at the end of the Information list — it was simply empty! (Two days later, the app has finally also appeared on

MandalArt_newProbably needless to say, I downloaded the new MandalArt app and installed it on both my iPhone and iPad. The first visible change is quite major — instead of being greeted by a centered 3×3 grid, there are small, portrait-orientation boxes that contain micro-sized thumbnails of grids. So if the earlier versions had a down-the-rabbit-hole sense of zooming in, this version starts zoomed out. Given some of the other stylistic and design differences, I’m still figuring out the operational details, in particular trying to see what some of the new bottom-of-screen icons do. I won’t say much more at this point, because (naturally) all of the text is in Japanese. It’s bad enough that I may be misleading myself, but I don’t want to inflict that on anyone else.

Instead, I will offer here an English translation of sorts of the Description section from the iTunes page for the app. My starting point was an app aggregator and review site, FileDir, that had already captured the Japanese text from the iTunes page for the new app. That meant I could just grab it directly without some kind of folderol with iTunes, which doesn’t allow (me, at least, to do) text captures. Then off to Google Translate. And finally some editing of the nominal English translation, trying to apply what I knew about the approach from using the earlier apps, especially iMandalArt HD.

In what follows, please be advised that (1) I know no written Japanese at all (and about three spoken words); (2) I applied my best (or in a couple cases wild-ass) guesses of what the text meant to say; and (3) this was a fairly long breadcrumb trail of sites and manipulations, so something could have gone south. Here is what I thought made the most sense in context (or several contexts):

When you are having trouble describing your idea, try it in MandalArt.
If you want to put together a schedule for the week, do it in MandalArt.
If you want to think of breakfast menus, think in MandalArt.
MandalArt is a thinking tool that lets you write what you want to think about in the center of the nine cells, and then lets you write associated ideas in the surrounding cells.

MandalArt, derived from a HyperCard version that appeared in 1995, has continued to expand on a variety of platforms of the digital world, with its innovative hierarchical structure. MandalArt will continue to evolve in the future. Please stay tuned!

–The main functions:
• Creating a mandala with text and graphics;
• Editing of the mandala using touch-pointing and drag-and-drop operation;
• Saving or transferring the resulting OPML file; and
• Sending an image of the mandala to Facebook or Twitter, or by e-mail
— The Premium functions:
• Add unlimited templates in the Premium version (Two in the free version)
• Add unlimited cells in the Premium version (Five in the free version)
• Share the MandalArt file by email or AirDrop (Premium only)
• Share the contents of the MandalArt file as bulleted text (Premium only)

MandalArt is available free of charge. When you upgrade to MandalArt Premium, you can use the more powerful features (see above). Please choose from the following two subscription terms:
• MandalArt Premium – 1 month – $0.99
• MandalArt Premium -1 year – $5.99

MandalArt Premium subscriptions are managed in iCloud. Before you purchase the app for your iPhone or iPad, please go to your device’s Settings > iCloud and be sure that Documents & Data is “On.”

If you actually read Japanese and see some egregious errors, please point them out. Far more importantly, if you (same person) bought the app, please let me know what the instructions say. In particular, what exactly is it that one can buy for $0.99 per month or $5.99 per year with an In-App Purchase?…

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#DUMP_DICK: A numismatic hashtag circa 1974

My wife’s wake-up ritual includes reading non-work email, news feeds, and tweets on her iPhone. The silence is occasionally punctuated by her telling me that one of my favorite teams had won or lost, or that a famous person had died, or that a major hurricane or snowstorm would be arriving in two days. This morning it was “Richard Nixon resigned 40 years ago today!”

photoUnlike my usual passive reaction, her announcement today galvanized me. While I am not a numismatist, I have kept one coin for a bit more than the aforementioned 40 years. It is a 1965 U.S. quarter with the familiar profile of George Washington on the obverse. What sets it apart are the words “DUMP DICK” that someone lovingly — or angrily! — counterstamped into the surface in two lines framing our first President’s visage. So I found it and took this photo.

I gather that there might be some dispute among collectors as to whether the object is numismatic or exonumic. But as I read the Wikipedia article on exonumia, the appropriate category seems to be down the page under “Tokens > Modified/Augmented > • Counterstamped / countermarked coins (done by merchants or governments).” Either way, I can’t help but think of it as the pre-Internet, one-off equivalent of a tweet. Or more narrowly, the 1970s version of a circulating hashtag: #DUMP_DICK.

Unlike a tweet, the coin has no @username, which raises some interesting questions for which we will presumably never have answers:
• Who created this? And when? And how many of them did they make?
• How many other people saw the coin in circulation — or missed the message completely — and then passed it on (rather than keeping it, as I did)?
• Was this a general communication mode of the era that I just didn’t notice, or did someone’s anger boil over because of the Watergate scandal and prompt this distinctive form of protest?

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On finding the (im)perfect iPad stylus

When the iPad was released four years ago last month, my wife got one right away, while I, with uncharacteristic patience, waited until the Fall. Fast forward two years, and we both upgraded to 3rd-gen devices. Early on in that first two-year stretch, I bought the odd stylus or two. In hindsight, “odd” may be the operative word. The first one I got was a Pogo Sketch with its unique foam tip. Within a year, I threw it away. If this seems a harsh judgment, here is advice from one of the developers at Notes Plus, the handwriting app: “avoid it like the plague.” The second stylus I got was from Boxwave, a functional if unimaginative design. I gave it away with the original iPad.

At the time of the iPad’s release, Steve Jobs famously declared, “If you see a stylus, they blew it.” Nonetheless, as the tablet market and stylus competition have expanded, it requires almost as little thought to buy another stylus as it does to buy another app, though it certainly requires more money. Each new one that I got had a design element, or in a few cases a totally new technology, that promised improvement over the ones I already had. Rather than just being a grass-is-greener phenomenon, to a considerable extent that promise proved true. The perfect stylus, however, has remained elusive. (And just to be clear, it will remain so until Apple changes the fundamental underlying screen technology so that a much smaller contact area for a stylus tip is possible.)

Here, in alphabetical rather than chronological order, is my current collection:
* AluPen (JustMobile)
* Apex (LYNKtec) [Active, non-Bluetooth]
* Bamboo (Wacom)
* Cosmonaut (Studio Neat)
* Estylo (NYON)
* Hand (HAND Design)
* Jot Pro (Adonit)
* Maglus (Applydea)
* oStylus (oStylus Design Studio)
* Pad Pen (Playsam)
* Pencil (FiftyThree) [Bluetooth]
* TruGlide Pro (LYNKtec)

There are two others, both Bluetooth-enabled, that I might consider purchasing, but only if/when my current note-taking app of choice, Notes Plus, supports them: Intuos Creative (Wacom) and Jot Script (Adonit).

There are many comparative reviews available online that provide overlapping coverage of most of the dozen in the bulleted list above (but not the Estylo and Pad Pen), of which the following are notable:
* Ellis Hamburger in The Verge (Apr 10, 2012)
* Brandon Widder in Digital Trends (Jan 6, 2013)
* Karissa Bell in The Wirecutter (Jul 17, 2013)
* Yaara Lancet in makeuseof (Aug 27, 2013)
* Serenity Caldwell in TechHive (Nov 26, 2013)

Since my goal here is not a review per se, suffice to say that each stylus has some positive feature(s), or I would not have kept it. But each also has some less salutary feature(s). The things that have gotten the most attention and complaints in reviews, blogs, and online forums are predictably techie:
* tip material — soft rubber (most), hard rubber (Apex), mesh (TruGlide Pro), or disk (Jot Pro, oStylus) — and capacitive behavior; and
* force/precision of screen interaction — there is probably some dependence here on the particular app being used, though the “clicking” on the glass of the disk-based styluses and the Estylo is annoying to many users (including me).


Both of these topics have parallels in the world of fountain pens, of which I am a long-time devotee. Just substitute 14 or 18 kt gold or titanium or steel for the list of tip materials above, and you have fountain pen lovers talking about nibs. Then there is the matter of how much pressure to apply and how well different papers will respond. And we haven’t even gotten to inks yet! This is a fanatical world, much more fanatical than anything most users of an iPad and a beloved stylus can imagine. But it is also a world from which some insight might be forthcoming.

A fundamental consideration for fountain pen users that only merits passing mention in the discussion of styluses is their basic ergonomics. Simply asked, how does a stylus feel and fit in your hand? To address this issue, I have made some modest observations and measurements on eleven of the styluses in the bulleted list. (I omitted the oStylus, which looks and feels much more akin to the Nomad Brush and the Sensu Brush than to any of the other styluses.) Here is a tabulation for weight, length, and cross-sectional shape of those eleven:

Styluswt (g)l (mm)cross-section shape
Estylo4143rnd. square
Jot Pro23127circle
Maglus34130trunc. circle
Pad Pen37115triangle
Pencil24138rnd. rectangle
TruGlide Pro15120circle

Initially, there was nothing in these results that jumped out at me. The modal cross-section, for example, is a circle (five of the styluses); there are six different shapes in total, but none of them seems to suggest a clear winner in combination with the other pro/con features. With fountain pens, I gravitate to larger, which usually means both longer and heavier, all other things being equal. Among the styluses, I like a couple of the heavier ones, but they are not particularly long. Plus there are the seemingly anomalous values for the Estylo, which is by far the lightest, but also the longest. Mostly on whim (meaning, I was just screwing around in Excel where I had the numbers stored), but also because I was curious about the Estylo “anomaly,” I made a plot of weight vs. length:


There is actually a surprisingly good inverse correlation — as weight goes up, length goes down, with a correlation coefficient (R) of 0.468. There aren’t actually a lot of things in the world that work this way, because larger things generally require more matter to construct, which means weight goes up with length, not the other way around. (If people generally worked this way, then LeBron James would more likely be 6’8″ and 150 lbs, instead of his actual 6’8″ and 250 lbs.) As for this correlation meaning anything, well, presumably not.

I showed this graph to my wife, who earns her living with numbers and statistics. She agreed that the R value was interesting, even provocative, but then so is Tyler Vigen’s recently-discovered spurious correlation (R = 0.993) between the divorce rate in Maine and the per capita consumption of margarine in the US. OK then.

I put this all aside, with no particular plan that I would come back to it, let alone write this blog post. Then two things happened: Firstly, I started using the Pad Pen, which had only arrived from Sweden very recently,padpen_white and found that I liked it. It was a little too short to feel like I had a secure grip on it, but it was right up there in weight with two of my other favorites (Maglus, Cosmonaut). Perhaps most importantly, its triangular cross-section was very comfortable and natural-feeling. I even wrote an email to Carl Zedig at Playsam, with whom I had had some correspondence prior to my purchase, telling him how much I like the Pad Pen and how much more I would like it if it were just a bit longer, “even as little as 5-10 mm,” I wrote.

Secondly, all this made me realize that I had never actually looked on the graph at the position of my four favorites, the ones that get 99+% of the usage. I still don’t know why I hadn’t done that before, but now I did, with Pencil, Apex, Maglus, and Cosmonaut (left-to-right) marked as red squares:


If the first graph showed a surprisingly good correlation, this one is staggeringly good. The first R, 0.468, is something that could readily turn up in looking at human behavior, more-than-suggestive but not particularly compelling. But the second R, 0.99969, which I show to more places than the data justify, is perilously close to one (1.0), the kind of value that usually shows up in the lab sciences only in running a calibration curve with known standard materials. Or maybe in repeating your Higgs boson discovery.

Having said that, it’s still only a correlation. There is no hint of causation: I wasn’t testing any hypothesis (which is the essence of science), because I didn’t have one. I still don’t. But I do have to wonder if somebody else has one. Somebody in a biomechanics or ergonomics lab who has looked at how the human hand holds a writing instrument, say, a fountain pen or a stylus. And who understands what the trade-offs are between weight and length of those instruments for a particular hand, say, mine, which might not be the same as for yours. Maybe even somebody who would recognize that I had merely reproduced a well-known pattern. Probably not, but still, it would be fun if it turned out to be true.

In the mean time, I can use the empirical correlation for my four favorite red data points and calculate that I would be very, very happy indeed with a Pad Pen that was 12 mm longer, which would move it straight up to that curve (ignoring the necessary weight change for the same component materials). Closer yet to the perfect stylus, if only for me.

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Escherian puns

Five years ago (February 2009), I took a photo of two geese on a frozen pond, standing in identical poses. They were both balanced on only one leg, with their heads turned back over their left shoulders. The one-leg thing was presumably to keep the other, uplifted foot off the ice. Their heads may also have been turned in a heat-conserving tuck, but I suspect that it was synchronized preening. After all, the Vancouver Winter Olympics were only a year away, and the Geese were Canadian.

En Escherlon

When I posted this on Flickr, I entitled it ‘En Escherlon’. This was an allusion not only to the en echelon parallelism of their poses (from the fortuitous perspective of the camera) but also to ‘Puddle’, a woodcut by the Dutch artist M.C. Escher. Of course, like all such references the analogy breaks down because you can see both the geese and their reflections in my photo, whereas Escher’s genius was to show us the moon and trees solely mirrored from above in the puddle.

Escher Puddle

I think my photo is pretty good, but the title, well, that was something special, even among my small offering on Flickr where I value the words at least as much as the images — ‘A voice from the past(e)’ and ‘Troiseaux’ are among my other favorites. There things rested — quite smugly and immodestly, I admit — until Friday (two days ago) when one of my feeds turned up this digital drawing by Vijay Arunkumar:


The caption begins with the title, ‘What Creator?’, and then adds, “I just got my Pencil by fiftythree.” Whoa! I had a Pencil on order from FiftyThree and was expecting it to be delivered that day! Was it a sign?!! Probably not. Still, that synchronistic element did add to the sense of mutuality that I felt with Vijay over his less subtle but far more clever evocation of Escher. His inspiration was the famous lithograph ‘Drawing Hands’:


Some significant things are absent in Vijay’s drawing — the detailed shading on the hands, the shirt cuffs, the paper tacked on the backdrop — and it’s rotated 90 degrees compared to Escher’s work. But these differences are irrelevant to the two impactful elements of the visual pun. Firstly, the pencils have been replaced by Pencils, the elegant walnut ones at that, which allowed those two eye-catching stripes of color. Secondly and more importantly, the lower hand has turned the Pencil around and is erasing its own “creator,” the upper hand, which it obviously must have drawn first, before having a change of heart.


This wonderful aspect of Vijay’s drawing will be lost on viewers who are unfamiliar with Paper (above), FiftyThree’s app for the iPad, and how it plays with Pencil. All drawing apps, including Paper, have an erase tool, usually activated with an icon that must be tapped so that your stylus or finger can then go back to the drawing and unmake mistakes. In the screen shot of Paper (above), the eraser is just to the left of the yellow drawing tool with the white fountain pen nib. But the battery-powered, bluetooth-enabled, accelerometer-equipped Pencil allows you to turn it around, just like a real pencil, and this tells Paper that you are now going to erase! It is simple, familiar, and magical, all at the same time. And, as someone who usually has a lot to erase, I can assure you that it is also precise, even with just one day of use so far.

Finally, there is one more thing that is the strongest resonance for me with ‘What Creator?’ It’s the act of self-erasure that evokes not just Escher’s play with the visually impossible but also a deeper existential issue. It reminds me of Marvin Minsky and Claude Shannon’s Ultimate Machine (now sometimes erroneously referred to as the Useless Machine). If you are not familiar with it, I discuss it at the foregoing link, or you can just watch this video on YouTube:

The essence is encapsulated in the young girl’s last comment: “That’s all it does.” The Ultimate Machine is a device whose sole purpose is to turn itself off. Obviously, in order for ‘What Creator?’ to display this nihilistic flavor in full, the upper hand should flip its Pencil and start erasing, too. If Pencil has enough built-in intelligence to continue erasing even after the rest of the drawing is gone, then its creators at FiftyThree will have to answer one remaining question: Which of the two Pencils is smarter, in other words, which one will get the upper hand?

Posted in Art | Design, Pens | Ink | Paper, Photography, Technology, Words | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment