Author Archives: Knibb Design

Photo: Baz Ratner/Reuters

A girl sitting on a bench in a buttercup plantation in Israel.

Above, a girl sitting on a bench in a buttercup plantation in Israel. (Thanks to @pourmecoffee for the heads up.)

Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world. Ralph Waldo Emerson

The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself. Ernest Hemingway

I must have flowers, always, and always. Claude Monet

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
Yoko Ono

Shapes and forms matter. In the pattern-seeking modules of the human brain, shapes and forms communicate; what they communicate to you will be a product of the culture and territory in which you were formed. For some reason culture is particularly when shapes are combined into more complex configurations. The one exception is organic forms, especially plants. Their symbolism tends to be more universal as they are seen to be pleasing and comforting by all. To us, a plant's asymmetry conveys spontaneity. The history of plants being used in the sculptural forms and motifs of many traditions goes back eons. These motifs were seen as a way of expressing everything from long life, healing, renewal, to fertility, strength and longevity. Perhaps for their medicinal as well as poisonous characteristic––life giving and life ending––plants supernatural project supernatural qualities in traditional art like magic, prophecy, and all seeing also charge traditional plant symbolisms in art.

Organic forms can also have a transformative role in the context of a design. As in the Sebastian Errazuriz Tree Table below, the mix of the organic with the industrial in the material and shape of the branch table base has the effect of softening the industrial-ness of glass.

Korean designer Chul An Kwak's eschews the static. He found inspiration in the movement of a running horse but knew he wouldn't get there with straight planar legs and right angles. Through his use of sculpted wood, the designer wanted to convey not just dynamic motion but dynamic emotion. The table have feeling of unresolved tension, as if it trying to escape from the room,  a horse galloping to freedom.

Below, another Korean, artist MyeongBeom Kim takes the concept to the extreme, in the case of the carved out chair from the tree he plays with industrializing the chair's organic source material, and in the urinal piece below that, nature beautifully blooms from the abundance of human waste. Below Kim's work, nature—either as a single element or as a faux jungle—projects a sense of vigor and hope into a stark hardscape or an otherwise barren vista.

Below, Kim may be commenting on the diminishing natural environment, our profligate use of water, and unsustainable production of waste.

Above, the accidental forest; below, the domestic micro-jungle; and below next, an integration of the urban with what it replaced.

A forest appears to be grow from the model's head like Athena out of the forehead of Zeus. Below, nature manipulated by nature as if they were bespoke creations made to order. At bottom: The building's glass gives back some of the sky.

White, like black, always works: Ever flexible, adaptable and always relevant whatever the circumstances or culture. As the universal symbol of opulence and purity it's both the Taj Mahal and the bride.

The quintessential Ferrari will always be red. But the Rolls Royce, it owns the white.

A white room is the picture of serenity, a place for serious and elegant contemplation, for deep breaths and clearing minds. One perhaps not best suited for ex-spouses or children.

An invitation to the sun: A nook for nourishing the soul as well as the body.

White represents not only the absence of hue but of noise. It's a visual silence. Its effect is both quiet and quieting.

White would come to represent humanity's highest aspirations. With the increase of the scale of the state so too the desire for architectural white. The great pyramids of Egypt were once encased in white limestone as were the temples of Greece in white stucco. And more recently, there's The White City of Tel Aviv. A more contemporary palace above, one probably not designed for communion with the gods though Aphrodite and Dionysus would surely be at home there. As would no doubt Telete (a spirit who presided over orgies; I Googled it) and a yard teeming with nymphs and satyrs.

A chair and table wrapped in an elastic white PVC covering by designer Jurgen Bey, part of the Krokon Furniture collection. See more here.

And the art: White sculpture by way of Louise Nevelson (White Vertical Water, 1972): The noise of the underlying structure is buffered under many coats of white paint;

White painting by Jasper Johns (White Flag, 1955): An icon whitewashed over and all that it implies;

Sol Lewitt (Four-sided Pyramid, 1997);

Agnes Martin (Morning, 1965: graphite pencil grid on white acrylic): Martin described the painting this way:

“I was painting about happiness and bliss and they are very simple states of mind, I guess. Morning is a wonderful dawn, soft and fresh.”

The hard part was knowing what to leave out, she would say.

Below, Kazmir Malevich (Suprematist Composition: White on White, 1918) and the painting that was to be (one of the many) “the end of painting” paintings.

Robert Rauschenberg with White Painting, 1951: White house paint covering a series of stretched canvases, Rauschenberg too was accused of bringing a premature death to painting. His friend composer John Cage saw something else. He called the paintings “airports for shadows and for dust, but you could also say that they were mirrors of the air.” Cage, a committed practitioner of Zen Buddhism, found much appeal in the painting's “blankness” as a foundation for contemplation. Inspired by Rauschenberg, Cage went on to famously compose his own white canvas in "music" with 4:33, music as an interval of silence (the piece was as long as the title indicates). The composer spoke of wanting to create something with “the color and shape or fragrance of a flower,” a blank canvas for contemplation and experiencing the moment. (No doubt, most audiences heard only silence.)

His whiteness: The young Rauschenberg before his canvas. Interesting to note how the gallery chose to blacken the walls behind the piece, perhaps to louden up the silence some.

Everything in its place, and especially, nothing in its place. This is how scale and depth are created. By nothing I mean negative space: negative space being of the utmost importance. Not just space left unfilled or uncluttered but the space around objects. Negative space gives breathing room and enables a visual flow but also allows for the emphasis of certain elements over others. Whether the scale is a large field or a small room the rules are the same. Creating order, reducing noise, the use of long parallel lines and congruent shapes, these are the things that give the zen its Zen. It could be argued that this tradition began in the garden. Interior design—and arguably all of design—may simply be another kind of garden.

In smaller spaces the illusion of scale follows the same formula and the use of negative space becomes even more important. Negative space can also serve to emphasize certain elements over others and direct visual energy. And while the emphasis appears to be on negative space, even more important is the concept of using only what is needed and creating simplicity through the removal of non-essential components. As designer Deiter Rams said, "Less, but better."

So, that cool lifestyle and entertainment site Refinery 29 put together a list of 23 of the most "inspiring interiors and drop-dead gorgeous ambiance [to enjoy] whilst noshing."

And on that list? Well, one of ours. Check it out here.

We'd like to think that the garden is where it all began. Nature mentors us all and no one more so than the designer. (An unctuous writer once called designers the small god.) The DNA of nature is all over our human creations and we see its threads linking nature and fashion, art, landscape, furniture, architecture, and even graphic design if you get down to it. Imitating nature isn't limited to the yearnings of humanity, nature Herself does it constantly, AKA biomimicry. Biomimicry is also the name we give to the method of utilizing nature's wisdom and applying it to solve human problems—precisely what the designer does.

Above, the literal; below, the abstract––the Glove Dress (AKA the N4) from Sebastian Errazuriz: Chilean born, London raised artist and designer Errazuriz was a top emerging artist according to I.D. Magazine, had work auctioned off by Sotheby's at age 28, selected for the Compasso d'Oro and Chilean Designer of the Year. His work has been described as having an obsession with sex and death as well as incorporating a mix of genres, trades, and disciplines. And yet, his work is also steadfastly contemporary. But even Errazuriz doesn't get as raw as the completely plant-based costumery above. Below, under the glove dress, a newspaper one and below that pretensions of furry animals, crystals, and the meadow.

It looks like you can write a minimalist piece without much bleeding. And you can. But not a good one. David Foster Wallace

The great deception of minimalism, or reductiveness––which may be more to the point here, is that simplicity is simple or does not come as the result of great labor to create that apparently effortless efficiency and flow. Even nature doesn't come to simplicity easily. Evolution is proof that tinkering can be an ongoing and long, long process.

Above, our recently completed interior for littlefork in Hollywood. (See more pics here.) One aspect to keeping things minimal is of course that it allows for more open space. The long parallel lines offer quietude and a kind of zen movement and dynamism. It offers energy to the user rather than absorbing it.

This "simple" design approach evolved long ago in the gardens of Asia, Japan especially. When you think about it, all design began somewhere as minimalism before it moved onto something else. Simple is the essence of all things.

It's the Vulcan of design: It's logical.

Below, more littlefork:

Nature tends to form itself into long lines and layers: Below, these natural abstract elements converge on the Barents Sea, Svalbard in Norway. (Photo by Stuart Thomson)

The deep space of Wirtz gardens:

Traditionally, the mash up of plants and buildings was an exercise in poetic symbolism. To wit: At the Princeton Ivy Club the mortared walls are well rooted for posterity–literally–with clinging ivy and the shelter of trees.

In the contemporary version, there's a new urgency: Faced not only with the necessity of making the most of our diminishing space and resources, how can we create more public greenspace as our potential undeveloped lands are disappearing?

Here are some ideas for making the most of our finite leftovers.

Besides visually expanding greenspace, plantings on building walls and roofs offer other advantages. Plants act as insulation against heat and cold, absorb rainwater, create wildlife habitat, and on a larger scale help lower urban temperatures and mitigate the heat island effect (a phenomenon of hardscaped cities creating more heat than the surrounding rural space). Plus, the ability of living plants to act as carbon storage batteries in an era of global climate change may be vital.

Interiors can be green integrated too.

The potential of green building is on display in this shop of Belgian designer Ann Demeulemeester in the Gangham district of Seoul. The architect was Korean architect Minsuuk Cho of the firm Mass Studies. The building features include a planted façade and a moss-lined internal stairway. For a more detailed vision of the project, see here.

Photos by Yong-Kwan Kim

This building, the brainchild of Vietnamese architect Vo Trong Nghia, has been touted for its innovative integration of plants and architecture in a location especially known for its high temperatures, heavy rain, and sometimes day-long power shortages. The plants provide privacy while allowing for ventilation and natural daylighting.

More on this house here.

Below, more Vo Trong Nghia and his work in Viet Nam.

Here, Vo Trong's Wind and Water Bar: Not exactly a construction of living material but material that is only recently departed.

This planted façade is from a mixed-use building in Odawara, Japan.

And this, a banana plantation–or the modern urban equivalent–in the middle of Paris:

The urban forest in Tokyo: Quite possibly the future everywhere.

It's been called living sculpture, a giant stylized artichoke, the cousin to the aloe, new world native, and a vital component to both tequila and didgeridoos: The agave.

It thrives on neglect, needs no fertilizer, very little water, and can tolerate a variety of soils as long they're well drained. The perfect addition to the California garden.

Agave makes an excellent candidate for potting as it produces  sparse roots and tolerates crowding. It's also a good companion to the pool as it produces litter sparingly.

The agave's natural structure makes it an excellent sculptural accompaniment to soft grasses, wispy wildflowers, tufty salvias, and other fine-leafed gatherings. It not only provides the masculine element, it makes the feminine appear even more so.

It also makes for a striking emotional impact, its visual severity along with its spines and dagger-like projections can add drama to a any garden or country road.

Agaves are available in many color, sizes, and varieties including spineless.

Below, the sentries of the Sunnyland Gardens in Rancho Mirage, CA:

Beneath the pergola one agave stands like both king and jester at the terminus of this visual corridor: The general-in-arms and a floppy and spiky armed clown. If great gardens are like kaleidoscopic mixtures of beautiful contrasts then the agave, as one designer said, "is a great design opportunity."

When the leaves, by thousands thinned,/A thousand times have whirled in the wind,
And the moon, with hollow cheek,/Staring from her hollow height,
Consolation seems to seek/From the dim, reechoing night;
And the fog-streaks dead and white/Lie like ghosts of lost delight
O'er highest earth and lowest sky;/Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!

May all your souls stay at rest tonight and keep the ancestors company (and not you).

Best wishes for a happy Halloween and a Dia de los Muertos.

Excerpt above from Incantation by George Parsons Lathrop