In over thirty years in business, two technological shifts have fundamentally changed my work. The first was the web in the mid 1990s, which led me to leave architecture and focus on what we now call UX. The second is happening now – and it may be bigger. AI is poised to reshape how we interact with information, much as the web did – perhaps more so. This isn’t just another technological shift. It’s a fundamental change in how people understand their world and how businesses create value. But without structure, AI risks creating more confusion than clarity. That’s why I’m pivoting my consulting practice to what I’m calling Architecture for Intelligence. The phrase is intentionally ambiguous. Is the target human intelligence or artificial intelligence? The answer is “yes.” Thoughtfully structured information amplifies intelligence, human or artificial. Done right, it creates a virtuous cycle: smarter humans design smarter systems, which make humans smarter. But it won’t happen out of the box. I’ve worked enough with current AI systems to understand their capabilities and constraints. They’re astonishing in many ways, but they struggle to create stable, cohesive information environments – which people need to make skillful decisions. At least not without help. And that’s why I’m so excited: Because with a bit of structure, AI-powered systems can unlock previously unimaginable abilities — including the ability to produce smarter information environments. This sounds a bit academic, but the implications are huge. Our expectations about what constitutes good service will change. The speed, scale, and degree of personalization will be different. Businesses will need to rethink their strategies as the market shifts to the new paradigm. Those who do it well stand to benefit like never before. But individual humans must benefit too. This shift should bring value to people first; creating value for customers will create value for businesses. And here again is why we need Architecture for Intelligence. Architects don’t design structures for their own sake; we do it to serve human needs. This simple idea risks being lost in the mad rush to implement AI-powered systems. But AI doesn’t reduce complexity out of the box. It doesn’t generate clear reference frames for people to get their bearings. And done poorly, it can significantly degrade trust – or worse. AI doesn’t change the fact that clear, usable, and strategically aligned products require architecture. If anything, it increases the need for carefully considered structures. The shift goes both ways: AI needs information architecture in order to be usable, understandable, and trustworthy. IA itself is being transformed by AI. My new focus embraces both angles by 1) helping clients design more intelligent systems and 2) developing tools and methods to architect information more intelligently. All in service to amplifying human intelligence – from somebody with firsthand experience with the technology and over three decades of perspective. Specifically, I’m offering three kinds of engagements: Strategic consulting: Advising leaders on how to structure information to support AI-driven systems that drive real value. Product & web IA: Helping internal design and product teams deliver AI-driven products and websites that are easier to navigate, use, and maintain. Training: Showing teams how to use IA principles to design better smarter products and make better strategic decisions. I’m also working on AI-powered tools to do information architecture more effectively. And of course, you can expect the bulk of my writings and presentations to focus on AI from now on. (As they’ve done for much of the last year.) Which is to say, like AI itself, this change isn’t coming: it’s already here. Organizations that architect intelligence are poised to benefit like never before. And by centering human needs, you can ensure the benefits are felt widely. But you must start now. I’m more excited to be in tech now than at any time in the last thirty years. AI’s potential – for good and bad – is vast. Let’s make it good. If this resonates, please get in touch.

Week 7 of my humanities crash course had me exploring ancient Mesopotamia with a side trip to northern India. I also watched an Iranian film that had me pondering the meaning of life. Readings This week, I read two short ancient texts: the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Dhammapada. Let’s tackle them in order. I’d never read any ancient Mesopotamian literature, so this was all new to me: the pantheon, story, style, etc. were thrillingly unfamiliar. Gilgamesh is around 1,500 years older than Homer, and it shows: there are lots of repetitive passages and what felt like archaic writing. But human nature hasn’t changed much in 4,700 years. People still love, hate, drink, eat, etc. – and they still fear death. Gilgamesh is the awe-inspiring, despotic king of Uruk. The gods answer his beleaguered subjects’ prayers in the form of Enkidu, a rival who becomes Gilgamesh’s friend. They embark on several heroic exploits and end up pissing off the gods. As a result, they condemn Enkidu to death. Despondent and fearing for his own death, Gilgamesh goes in search of the secret of immortality. His travels take him to Utnapishtim, immortal survivor of the great flood. Our hero finds a plant that restores youth, but loses it. By the end of the story, he accepts his fate as a mortal. The story moves fast and is surprisingly engaging. It includes early versions of ideas that would resurface later in the Bible. (Most obviously, Noah and the flood.) There’s also some material that probably wouldn’t pass muster in our prudish time. The Dhammapada is one of the central Buddhist scriptures. I was familiar with several of these texts but hadn’t read the whole thing. Gioa notes that he recommended it because of its length, but there are also obvious connections with Gilgamesh. For example, several verses in the Dhammapada deal with attachment. For example, here’s verse 215: From affection comes grief; Gilgamesh suffers from such an attachment. Here’s the moment of Enkidu’s death: He touched his heart but it did not beat, nor did he lift his eyes again. When Gilgamesh touched his heart it did not beat. So Gilgamesh laid a veil, as one veils the bride, over his friend. He began to rage like a lion, like a lioness robbed of her whelps. This way and that he paced round the bed, he tore out his hair and strewed it around. He dragged off his splendid robes and flung them down as though they were abominations. He wishes to hold on: Then Gilgamesh issued a proclamation through the land, he summoned them all, the coppersmiths, the goldsmiths, the stone-workers, and commanded them, ‘Make a statue of my friend.’ The statue was fashioned with a great weight of lapis lazuli for the breast and of gold for the body. A table of hard-wood was set out, and on it a bowl of carnelian filled with honey, and a bowl of lapis lazuli filled with butter. These he exposed and offered to the Sun; and weeping he went away. You can probably relate if you’ve ever lost someone dear. Human nature. Audiovisual Gioia recommended Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and Wagner’s Overtures. I’m very familiar with both so I didn’t spend much time with either this week. For a new take on one of these familiar classics, check out Fazil Say’s astonishing piano version of the Rite of Spring. Here’s a short portion: Gioia also recommended looking at ancient Mesopotamian art. I didn’t spend as much time on this as I would’ve liked. That said, this introductory lecture provided context while highlighting major works of art and architecture: I took a different approach to cinema this week. Rather than go by an AI recommendation, I went down the old-fashioned route. (I.e., Google.) Specifically, I thought this would be a good opportunity to check out Iranian cinema. I’ve heard good things about Iranian films, but had never seen one. Googling led me to this article on Vulture. After reading through the list, I picked Abbas Kiarostami’s TASTE OF CHERRY. Yet again, I’ve gravitated towards a film about a middle-aged man in despair. (Is the Universe trying to tell me something?) Kiarostami effectively uses a minimalist style to explore what makes life meaningful despite (or perhaps because) of its finitude. Reflections There’s a pattern here. This week’s works dealt with core issues people have grappled with since we became people. The big one: how do we deal with death? Not just the impending death of everyone we love, but our own. Gilgamesh offers the traditional “Western” answer: “I can’t even.” So, fight it! He looks for a MacGuffin that’ll let him go on living and perhaps brings his loved ones back. It’s an idea that has had many progeny in our mythologies. And it’s not just the stuff of fiction: the impulse is still alive and well. (Pardon the pun.) The Buddha offers a different approach: non-attachment. It’ll be easier to let go if you don’t become enmeshed with things, people, and your own sense of being. So you train your mind so it won’t hang on. (Even the idea of “your mind” is suspect.) The price: not feeling either extreme. No despair, no elation. Kiarostami’s film suggests a third approach: accepting the inevitability of death while reveling in the experience of being alive. (You could argue this is part of the Buddhist way as well.) I won’t say more in case you haven’t seen TASTE OF CHERRY, but suffice it to say the film employs a clever structural trick to wake you from your slumber. Grappling with these kinds of issues is the point of studying the humanities. Yes, I know you’re busy. I’m busy too. But some day, the busyness will stop – as will everything else. I’m committed to living an examined life, and that requires thinking about stuff we’d rather put aside so we can get on with the next Zoom meeting. Notes on Note-taking I’m also committed to the other point of this humanities project: learning how to learn better in this AI age. This week, I continued tweaking my note-taking approach. I took notes in the Drafts app as I read, building an outline as I go through the week. I wrote down the main points I learned and things I’d like to share with you. I then elaborated this outline on one of my morning walks. My mind works better when my body is moving and clear from the day’s detritus. I also tweaked my note taking approach around the readings. I had an LLM summarize the reading and then used that as a refresher to write a summary in my own words. I’ve done the same in previous weeks. What’s different now is that I then pasted my summary into a ChatGPT window with a simple prompt: I read The Epic of Gilgamesh. What is wrong with this description of the story?: Gilgamesh is king of Uruk. He’s described as the strongest and most beautiful man in the world. He’s also something of a despot. He befriends Enkidu, a wild man who is almost as strong as Gilgamesh. They go on several adventures, which entail opposing the wishes of one of the Mesopotamian deities. Eventually, the gods are angered and decree Enkidu must die. Grief-stricken, Gilgamesh goes in search for the secret of eternal life, only to learn that human lives are limited. He returns to lead his people with this newfound wisdom. The LLM offered a helpful response that clarified nuances I’d missed: Gilgamesh wasn’t “something of a despot”; he was a tyrant. The gods created Enkidu as a counterbalance to answer his subjects’ calls for relief. The taming and channeling of this force of nature through initiation into human pleasures is an important aspect of the story I’d left out. Details about Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s transgressions against the gods. (These seemed less relevant for a high-level summary.) The fact Gilgamesh isn’t just searching for immortality because he’s grief-stricken over Enkidu’s death; he’s also fearing for his own life. The end of my summary was wrong; the book doesn’t suggest Gilgamesh changed as a result of his experiences. This last point is important. In writing my summary, I made stuff up that wasn’t in the book. I attribute my error to the fact I expect closure from my stories. Gilgamesh precedes Aristotle’s Poetics; its authors were under no compulsion to offer the hero a redemption arc. Which is to say, humans hallucinate too – and LLMs can correct us. Up Next Next week, we’re reading ancient Egyptian literature. I couldn’t find an ebook of the text suggested by Gioia, so I’m going with another Penguin book, Writings from Ancient Egypt. I studied some Egyptian architecture in college, and look forward to revisiting this part of the world and its history. Check out Gioia’s post for the full syllabus. I’ve started a YouTube playlist to bookmark all the videos I’m sharing in this course. And as a reminder, I’m also sharing these posts via Substack if you’d like to subscribe and comment.

Today is Peter Gabriel’s 75th birthday. He’s contributed much through his music and by bringing people together through the arts. But today, I want to celebrate one of his songs that’s had a profound impact on my life: Solsbury Hill. Solsbury Hill was Gabriel’s debut single as a solo artist. That’s significant because of what the song is about. Before this, Gabriel was the lead singer of prog rock band Genesis. He left the band at a peak in their artistic and commercial development. They were highly regarded. So it was a risky move. But his personal and professional development demanded that he strike out on his own. And that’s the subject of Solsbury Hill: the scary and exciting moment when you’ve decided that further development requires you to move on, and you’ve taken decisive steps to do so. It’s scary because you’ll let people down. They’ve come to depend on you in your current guise. Now, you won’t be there anymore. It’s also scary because you’re leaving a known (and therefore, “safe”) situation to face uncertainty and doubt. What if the solo record doesn’t chart? What if people don’t turn out for the show? What if I can’t produce at the same level without my bandmates? Imposter syndrome affects even the highest performers. But the shift is also exciting. The new context allows more freedom: you don’t have to run decisions past bandmates anymore. You can also build on the experience and potential you’ve gathered so far and take it to the next level, leaving behind the baggage. The future is open. You can see far into the distance, as you would atop a hill on a clear day. And you can see what you’re leaving behind. As Gabriel put it, the song is about “being prepared to lose what you have for what you might get … It’s about letting go.” There are rare moments in life when you can choose a different path. They’re often not the perfect moment. (That’s why it’s scary!) But deep down you know you’ll regret letting it pass. Solsbury Hill doesn’t celebrate success. Gabriel wasn’t yet a successful solo artist when he recorded it. Instead, it celebrates the elation you feel after getting on the new path. Of having the courage and conviction to calmly say, “it’s time to move on” – and then doing it. I did not believe the information – Peter Gabriel, Solsbury Hill

In episode 3 of the Traction Heroes podcast, Harry and I discussed the relationship between decision-making and data. Is it ok for some decisions to be made intuitively? What role do emotions play in decision-making? How do you deal with stakeholders who demand that decisions be backed with data? Tune in to find out!