Dr. Newman's full address:
Good afternoon, everyone.
You were never meant to color inside the lines—not you, not this class, not this college. You were born to build new worlds, to blur the boundaries, to ask impossible questions and answer them with shape, with shadow, with sound, with story and soul.
And today, you don't just graduate—you launch.
This moment is really eclectic because it's not just about what you've done—it's about what comes next.
I'm not here to give you advice, but I am here to give you a challenge, if you so accept:
Don't just make things—make things that matter. Don't just dream big—dream in systems, dream in stardust.
Don't just master a skill—master the art of learning itself.
The future belongs to those who adapt, imagine, and reinvent. Don't just innovate—imaginatively expand the possible.
Because today, you're not merely receiving your diploma—you're receiving a torch. A torch passed from every rebel, maker, boundary breaker, painter, coder, sculptor, animator, designer, digital dreamer who refused to accept the world as it is and dared—dared to design what it could be, what it should be.
And your task, your joy, is to carry it forward.
Let me begin with a story—not from a lab or a launchpad, but from the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Gui [Guillermo Trotti], my life partner, and I were sailing around the world—circumnavigating—when we lost our hydraulic fluid system. It was at 1 a.m., on my shift. Always on my shift. 2,500 nautical miles from the Galápagos Islands—no quick fix, no spare parts, no help on the horizon at all.
But we did have four liters of extra virgin olive oil. What? Yeah. That's what we used to restore our hydraulic steering. And Tygon tubing—about six meters of it—to sail for another thousand nautical miles, till we hit the next rock. That was Hakuna, in Polynesia.
Did you know that EVOO and hydraulic fluid have the exact same viscosity? No? Neither did we—until we did the mixing experiment. Not because it was in the manual, not because that was obvious, but because we trusted imagination, and we got very creative.
We designed a solution with what we had in that moment—what mattered most. It wasn't memorized knowledge. It was about mindset: a willingness to do the experiment, to trust your intuition, to create—to make a path where none even seemed visible before.
That's what great design is. Not just solving problems, but doing so with creativity, intuition, and elegance.
That moment taught me something I carry with me always:
Great design isn't about having every answer. It's about seeing what no one else sees—and shaping a future that no one else can. Only you.
That's what you've trained for.
At MIT Media Lab, we live by a guiding principle that I think belongs to all of you, too: Imagine what we can become.
Just imagine. It's not a slogan—it's a summons. To dream boldly, to design responsibly, and to lead creatively. And to redesign mindsets and systems—not just objects—but in ways that shape a flourishing future for all.
Let me show you how your kind of imagination is already changing lives:
In women's health, researchers have developed wearable ultrasound patches—one that fits inside the bra—allowing for comfortable, frequent breast cancer pre-screening. Saving lives. What made it revolutionary? Not just the tech, but the human-centered design. Seamless, empathetic. It's beautiful. That's you.
In space exploration, our team isn’t just building tools—we’re building meaning. Designing zero-gravity sculpture, multi-sensory experiences, and art that orbits Earth. Why? It’s not just about taking our oxygen or taking our algorithms with us—it’s about taking humanity. It’s about taking our stories.
In climate and energy, we’re creating an ocean Internet of Things—no batteries needed—to track environmental change. But without storytelling, without design, that data is just noise. You turn it into movement. You turn it into momentum. And you help others see what previously has been unseen.
These aren’t just projects—they’re proof. That the world needs what you’ve learned. That a beautiful solution is often the most sustainable one. That form amplifies function. And that art and design—they’re not decorative. They’re not decorations. They are the direction.
There’s a sacred principle in design—you’ve probably heard: form follows function.
Now, in physics, there’s a law—it’s called the Principle of Least Action, or Hamilton’s Principle. It started an entire new field of Hamiltonian mechanics. Simply, it states that nature—from falling apples to orbiting planets—always finds the most elegant, efficient path.
Two fields. Two languages.
Elegance is not an ornament—it’s a principle. Beauty emerges when purpose is honored. And your role—your role—is to make purpose visible. With empathy. With imagination. And with soul.
You, LCAD graduates—you’re not trained just to make things work, but you are trained to make them matter.
In this world, as we face a future shaped by AI, uncertainty, climate change, space exploration—we don’t just need problem solvers or rocket scientists. What we need is the creatives to turn “impossible” into “I’m possible.” Designers who think like biologists. Artists who build like engineers. Visionaries who dare to ask:
What does a life worth living look like? Feel like? What's it move like?
That’s the power of life-centered design—learning from an estimated 4.5 billion years of Earth’s evolutionary wisdom to shape what’s next. With clarity. With compassion. And courage.
And the most resilient artists aren’t just relevant for today—they’re envisioning and shining that light on a future flexible enough to hold ideas that we haven’t even yet dreamed of.
I live by a four-word motto. Let me offer it to you as a compass:
Love. Act. Discover. Innovate. Or—LADI.
Love what and who makes you feel the most alive. Act with urgency and purpose. Discover through doing and making. And innovate for beauty, for justice, for humanity—of all living beings.
So here’s my invitation, and my challenge: Whether you’re designing a lunar fashion virtual museum, a biodegradable sculpture that feeds bees, whether you’re illustrating the next bold story, painting the next masterpiece, or creating the next video game world where people will immerse themselves—don’t limit yourself.
You’re the artists and the designers—and you’re also creators and leaders of possibility. Your work will shape how we live, how we feel, how we love—and how we all belong. Not just on this planet, but someday, maybe beyond it also.
As you step beyond these walls, diploma in hand and torch in your heart—remember: You don’t need permission to reimagine the world. You just need courage to light the way—and the audacity to imagine what we can become.
You are the makers of meaning. The architects of awe. The artists of the unknown.
Now—go design a future so beautiful that history itself has to stop to take a breath.
Congratulations, Class of 2025. Thank you.