There is a number of design principles we take for granted.  I'm not sure they are the laws we all find them to be.  For one: 

Text should be obvious and easy to read. 

Why should I make my point bold.  In one perfect line.  Right in the middle of the page? Why should I give it to you so easy?  Why can't I make you look for it?  Why can't I reward the seeker and not placate the consumer?  Why can't I make you work? Why can't there be competition on my page when there is competition everywhere in the world.  I have a proposition: 

A page should have choices. 
Art should ask something of you.
It should incorporate your values. 
It should respect you enough to allow interpretation.

You can't learn if there wasn't an opportunity to choose other than you did.  You can't learn about yourself.  You can't learn about the art.  You can't learn about the world. 


Is it cruel to create in such a way as to allow fault, error, other than your intention? Or is it love to allow, to free your witness, your spectator, offer them back their agency.