Ambiguity reflects the quality of having more than one interpretation. As a provisional feature or a clear approach (and akin to its role in literary usage), ambiguity also lends itself greatly to creative acts. Be it through expressions, miens, intents or outcomes, being creatively ambiguous can be both, precarious and delicious.

Because being ambiguous means not having fixed answers, there is no one way to proceed. Which is precisely why it is so elemental to creative pursuits. Consider if it harms or empowers: one of our stories this week charts 'Cute,' an exhibition at Somerset House, London, exploring the morally ambiguous and sometimes paradoxical phenomenon of cuteness and how it impacts us.

Equally, are its associations provocative, illuminating or peculiar? Perhaps an answer awaits in our interview with curator Robert Storr, who believes in considering opposite positions; or in Love Hultén's monograph 'Apparatrum,' which delves into his zany electronic world that places tactility in almost abnormal, ambiguous design contexts.

When creative ambiguity is involved, there is space to not only find answers but also approach questions differently. What emerges is a refreshing pluralism, one that subverts defaults, looks at things from multiple perspectives, and lets us be more than one thing.