Growing up with limited access to creative tools or education, I didn’t know a design career was even possible. Design ultimately gave me a vocabulary to discover who I was and who I wanted to be. Above all, it was my design professors who unlocked a future I couldn’t yet envision — and their influence continues to guide me still.

Those experiences inform my teaching philosophy because I view the classroom as a place where students can not only develop the skills and confidence they need to thrive, but also as a space for self-expression, agency and transformation.

The first and most important element in design education in any setting is building a strong foundation — conceptually, technically and critically. Students should feel fluent in the language of design. They should be able to speak about their work using design principles like hierarchy, balance, unity and contrast, and to critique others’ work with curiosity and care. But it should also teach students to evaluate and reflect on their own work with a critical eye, a skill that is too often underemphasized but is crucial to becoming a stronger designer.

My teaching emphasizes the importance of typography. Type is not just the visual expression of language – it is the foundation of most visual communication. Whether it’s a deep dive into precision in formatting long-form content, exploring type as image, type in motion, or teaching the anatomy of letterforms and expressive capacities of type design, I aim to help students see both the structural and emotional elements of typography. The smallest shifts to a letter’s “ear” or “stem” can completely change the way a message feels, and that kind of nuance is part of becoming a thoughtful designer.

I view design history as a vital part of the core of design education; not just a series of names and dates, but a survey of shifting ideas, motivations, and cultural change. My goal is for students to be able to see patterns in design movements as reactions to a variety of political, technological and social contexts, rather than disparate stylistic movements. Exploring how form, content, and structure have historically responded to evolving needs, desires, and beliefs — whether it’s the urgency driving constructivism, the optimism of midcentury modernism, or the defiance of punk and DIY — offers a deeper understanding of design’s relationship to the world, and ideally fosters more critically engaged designers in the process.

I urge students to explore freely and without inhibition in the classroom, but I also believe in the importance and power of constraints, and I incorporate them into my teaching. In the professional design world, these restrictions are often part of the project brief, not the exception to it. The better reason for applying them, however, is that those types of boundaries require the designer to be more thoughtful about use of space, balance, rhythm and structure. One way to work within constraints could be to have the student create a visual hierarchy using only one typeface or a single type size. 

I also challenge students to develop their own style, skill, and thought processes, rather than guide them to adopt mine. I provide honest, constructive feedback in a manner that solicits encourages so that the criticism has meaning beyond a single assignment and can be applied to their design sensibilities in general.

I strive to incorporate space for diverse voices and lived experiences. That includes attention to de-centering Eurocentric histories and narratives. It also means helping students think through the ethical dimensions of their work and cultivating inclusive spaces for dialogue and reflection. I use different teaching methods—presentations, activities, hands-on learning, and online discussion—to engage with students’ different learning styles.

It’s a reciprocal relationship, of course. I learn in the classroom just as much as the students do — about new techniques and new technologies, yes, but also about culture, values, personal styles, and all the unexpected intersections of experience that come out when a group of creative people are working hard to solve a problem. The classroom and the studio are both spaces of constant exchange, and that dynamic has shaped my approach to both design and leadership. 

And finally, it’s crucial for design education to be responsive to an evolving industry. I stay up to date on emerging conversations around tools, trends, and technology (especially generative AI) and try to bring those into the classroom in a critical way. My approach to AI, for example, is to not fear or shun it, but to understand how to work with it as a tool that can augment and streamline a lot of production time and open up space for deeper conceptual work. Design ethics in that space is still emerging, and the classroom is an ideal place to grapple with those questions.

While I have not worked in a traditional higher education setting, I taught over 250 students at the Shillington School, an intensive design certificate program over the course of four years. For the past seven years, I’ve also mentored designers at various stages of their careers, while building and leading teams, and becoming a mother. In both positions, I’ve found that my favorite moments of teaching are those when a student tells me I’ve helped them see something differently—when I know I’ve helped build their confidence, and not just their skills. I’ve rarely had that feeling in any other context,and I’ve found that I am always chasing it.

I am eager to return to the classroom more than ever, not as the young teacher learning to steady herself, but as a woman who has made mistakes, who has firsthand knowledge of the realities of the profession, and has a wider lens and more refined sense of purpose. I look forward to the opportunity to inspire, challenge and grow alongside the next generation of designers, helping them find their unique voices and navigate the evolving landscape of design.

Best,
Sumayya Alsenan