Interior

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.

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.

At first glance the buildings of Venetian architect Carlo Scarpa appear severe and nearly monolithic, a kind of Brutalism meets Deco by way of Japan with a few splices of Russian Constructivism and Italian sensuousness.

Only upon closer study are the delicacy and detail of his buildings revealed. It's those meticulous watchmaker-like details that draw us in.

For his Brion Tomb the Japanese Ensō intersects the long plane of a poured stone wall: Under Scarpa's delicate hand they are like two bullet holes of zen enlightenment artfully blasted into a military bunker.

The stroke of the chisel above and the caress of the sandpaper below.

Below, a riff on the Fibonacci sequence: Curves, spirals, and triangles mingle with the quadrilinear while neutrals and colors converge with wood and stone.

What is now a dying art was once the artist's telescoped message to the observer of the designer's mysterious process: Another unfortunate artifact in the age of computers, Scarpa's drawings are as distinguishable to the master's work as were Frank Lloyd Wright's to his own.

Below, Scarpa's drawings for Olivetti Design Camp competition, 1956.

Below, studies for the Gavina store mosaic, 1961-63:

Below, drawings for a holy-water stoup (left) and constructional details for a candelabrum:

Images and quotes below taken from the book Carlo Scarpa: The Complete Works by Francesco Dal Co & Guisseppe Mazzariol.

Scarpa's work is made up of fragments without being fragmentary. Vittorio Gregotti

... these fragments are both the remains of a completed construction and the uncompleted and unplaced elements of a construction yet to be built. But they are not fragments of history, nor are they splinters of the future. These fragnemts are the remains of a solitude, that of a master who had the courage not to desire pupils. Franco Purini

Plastic, the word has become the very symbol of superficiality, the excess of our modern industrialism. But it wasn't always so. Once, plastic was the possibility and triumph of the Jet-age.  Even French philosopher and semiotician Roland Barthes couldn't help but rhapsodize on its romantic power: "[Plastic] is in essence the stuff of alchemy... more than a substance, plastic is the very idea of infinite transformation."

Another who was seduced by plastic, clear thermoplastic in this case, was Charles Hollis Jones. Jones was both a pioneer and a prodigy. Interested at an early age in the material qualities of glass, the advances in acrylic technology during World War II, especially in its use in aviation, made acrylic an industrial material worthy of designer crushes. For Jones, its transmissivity, i.e. transparency with a low reflectivity, were the qualities worthy of career long affair.

See our earlier post on acrylic.

His work with the material began at the dawn of the Rock and Roll Age in 1961 but didn't hit its full stride until the arrival of the Disco era of 70s. His work would find a roster of marquee champions including John Lautner, Raymond Loewy, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Tennessee Williams, and others.

By the early seventies Jones's stools were in the Playboy Club and his vanity tables in the Mondrian Hotel. His work had risen to the archtype of evil cool appropriate enough for the James Bond film "Diamonds Are Forever." But this success brought imitators selling downgraded knock-offs that would scratch and cloud. The effect would be devastating on the acrylic furniture market, by no fault of Jones it'd go from swank to stank within a decade.

While plastic furniture—for better or worse—has become omnipresent, clear acrylic wouldn't make a significant comeback until many years later. Even now, at the relatively spry age of 67, Jones is still working and very much dedicated to the material.

Beyond design, Jones also pioneered techniques in manufacturing. He developed a method for joining large acrylic castings in perfectly transparent and seamless joints as well as a proprietary technique for joining acrylic to metal without screws or fasteners.

We are pattern seeking animals. We love our symbols and icons. Before there was shared religion or tribal customs that provided the arteries that kept humanity in a shared cultural stream. Doesn't it make sense that in our contemporary culture, so centered on commodification, that iconic furniture would prove to be so integral?

Japanese artist Makoto Azuma has been described as a "florist who creates punk art using plants and flowers." Here, he uses something like AstroTurf to cover a classic Aeron chair for Herman Miller.

Sori Yanagi's Butterfly Stool reworked from recycled cardboard boxes by Kin ichi Ogata:

An old classic, the Windsor chair, remade with new sustainable materials–Bamboo–by Bo Reudler.

Two new takes on the popular Thonet chair: Top, #18 by Matthias Pliessnig, and bottom, Mike Kann for Studio 801.

Thonet in the colors of M&Ms:

Two retakes on an Arne Jacobsen classic:

Studded:

Eames chairs are so ubiquitous that they certainly don't need reworking to rekindle interest, but some game designers decided to take a few swipes at it anyway:

An Eiffel Tower chair with kitschy graphics:

The Rocker Arm chairs feature unique hand drawn graphics by illustrator Mike Perry. Each chair is drawn to order.

A couple of irreverent hacks:

An Urban Outfitters version of the Eiffel with some added notches and a few less bends:

The ever popular Eames Lounge chair featuring some experiments with upholstery:

Peiter Maes references Eames:

More Eames, this time with more muscular legs:

Eames done with a Rococo twist by Perter Shire:

Elephantine chairs in the Le Corbusier style:

We've tread this flooring path before and again two years ago. At the time, plank floors were on an ascent as a design trend and well covered amongst the designer literati. Since then, choices have evolved and expanded. We offer some of the more noteworthy.

Three examples of a more straight ahead vision of the wood plank floor: Shiniest and straightest above with increases in rusticity as it goes down.

We've established the theme; below are the variations:

The Bolefloor, hardwood cut along the curves of the natural grain:

A plank floor with coordinated colors streaked into the grain:

Violet, here:

Rustic herring bone:

And a super tarted-up version:

Yet another approach to wood:

Not entirely sure if this floor is even wood, there was no corroborating information given with the image. (There appears to be no seams like you find with tiling.) Whatever it is, it's a bold statement.

Mafi features a line of natural wood flooring in a variety of 3-d textures:

Another Mafi offering: Carving Grunge 1.

A medley of grains: This patterned wood floor is reminiscent of rusted iron, playing with the perception of the material.

An interesting mix of textures: In a design by designer Waldo Fernandez a wood floor overlayed with a rug that has the appearance of a wood floor.

Often in Sean's garden designs, he has used patterns of stone dissolving into lawn or greenery. Here, similarly, tile and wood visually melting together:

A medley of tiles: Different tile patterns and styles blended for impact.

In this design, as seen in the plans below, the medley was executed from room to room so that every room had its own bold tile patterns. Examples follow:

And even bolder:

Not tile but concrete with random gum spots:

See Part 1 here.

This is not a pipe: Magritte called it The Treachery of Images. More treachery below, taking on the same idea only this time with chairs. Chairs to confound your concept of what a chair should look like.

As we've noted before, when it comes to chair design—traditionally—it's mostly a conservative medium. Forms are followed from history, sometimes very ancient history, and tend to get repeated in endless iterations. New tends don't enter into the design vernacular much. And how long will this thrall to all things mid-century go on?

Be that as it may, let's look at chairs that draw their design inspiration from somewhere other than chair history: Chairs that take their influence from other parts of the design world. Something of the unexpected: Not always or necessarily beautiful, but different.

Not sure if these wall-mounted chairs above are even usable in this configuration but the concept is certainly... interesting.

The Beehive chair from Kiwi designer Graham Roebuck. The materials are described thusly: Made of Lakepine Zero low emitting MDF and polished in beeswax to the edges, while tepid White Formica high pressure laminate envelopes the perpendicular faces of the piece.

The Bloom Chair by Kenneth Cobonpue; Here's how one seller describes it: Deep soft folds of handmade microfibre stitched with a steel base in different fabric colors that pop! Very comfortable and very artsy. Or kind of like a meat-eating orchid, as someone once said.

This bowl-with-a-hole chair is from Dublin based Tierney Haines Architects:

Where they found the inspiration: Donald Knorr's award winning Knoll 132 from 1950, designed to be low cost with steel legs and an aluminum seat. The chair has been discontinued.

The Ball chair by Finn Eero Aarnio, ca. 1963:

An even more flowery take on the Saarinen Tulip chair, this one from Australian designer Sydney Feathersone, 1969: the Stem chair.

This Guadi chair from Dutch designer Bam Geenen takes inspiration from its namesake basing it upon the master's use of arches for optimum strength.

Here, barely a chair from Oki Sato by way of Nendo.

The Vermelha chair from the Brazilian design team of the Campana Brothers. The chair is a steel structure with hand woven and dyed cotton rope.

Designer Yangsoo Pyo created these Afro chairs out of steel wire coiled (think two-ring binder springs) into a giant Brillo pad. Despite its appearance, it's claimed that the chair is actually quite comfortable.

Oskar Zieta's Chippensteel chairs:

The chair as a Buick: The Maxell chair by Harald Belker. You won't be surprised to learn that Belker actually designs cars for Porsche and Mercedes Benz. The chair was reportedly inspired by the Maxell ads with the guy being blown away in the Le Corbusier chair.

Another barely there chair, this one designed by Verner Panton, another take on a chair done for Herman Miller in the 70s. Panton is considered to be one of Denmark's most influential 20th century furniture designers. As Denmark was one of the apogees of the Mid-Century, this is no small claim.

The Lodge chair by Baltasar Portillo:

The crouching Z-Chair by—who else?—Zaha Hadid:

More to come in Part 3.

It seems the hue we think of as teal tends to be more of an umbrella term than a specific color. We know it's generally considered blue-green but it can run the gamut of light blue to greenish gray. One person's teal may be another person's turquoise.

As colors tend to have faddish runs in design culture, teal had a brief one of its own recently. Teal is also a classic hue that never goes out of fashion.

The word itself comes from the Teal duck which displays the color on its head. Also below, a tropical sea, peacock feather, satellite view of a plankton bloom, and an agate rock give further proof of nature's own predilection for the hue.

In an environment of neutrals teal bangs up nicely.

Subject to the cycles of fashion Teal is also a classic that never goes completely out of fashion. Land's End and Abercrombie & Fitch will always have space for teal in their catalogs.

Part of teal's success as a fashion color has to do with its complimentary effect on the natural pinks of light skin. As you can see above, it seems to work with skin of any tone.

More teal and neutrals interplay:

Teal pumping up the vibe of an office space.

In a more traditional, low key setting:

And the slightly more garish:

The title is from this Langston Hughes poem.

Designers design. Clients expect something designerly and magical. In the process a designer is often tempted to leave some of him/herself behind. Actors might call this chewing up the scenery. For a designer it's more like a spitting out, leaving his/her DNA all over the place. It's an affliction that effects young designers especially. It's not necessarily a bad thing, the only test worth considering is whether the work is good. In making the case for restraint, great industrial designer Dieter Rams said: "Good design is as little design as possible." (See here for Rams's Ten Principles of Good Design.) Interior designer Ettore Sottsass said the best decoration is a kind of "ritual whisper."

But not everyone is looking for a whisper. For those who prefer their design with a louder voice, there's plenty of support for that too.

The image above from Elle Decor's A-list of Top 25 Decorators. (See more here.) Not to decry design that is designerly, minimalism and reductivism present a different ambiance. As a vibe it's a whole other frequency. There are always many possible solutions for good design, Dieter Rams aside.

A room from legendary interior decorator Albert Hadley:

Hadley creates a spirited conversation with texture, bold patterns, shocks of color, and material contrasts: Like a family discussing politics during a holiday dinner.

Now, for something completely different: The infamous Lower East Side apartment of MoMA curator Klaus Biesenbach.

The color scheme is black and white and his decor is nearly non-existent. "Empty" and "vacuum" are some of the words critics have used to describe it. Biesenbach believes the room should frame the spectacular views outside his window, no obstruct it with decoration. The above mentioned Hadley might not agree: “So many people arrange furniture in order to see what’s going on outside. But why? The view isn’t going anywhere.”

It brings to mind the movie cliché of the brilliant scientist who fills his closet with copies of one essential outfit. Here, the quiet, minimal approach seems also to be attempting an ambiance to save valuable brain resources like the brilliant scientist's closet. A piece in the New York Times put it this way:

"I hate design," Mr. Biesenbach will tell you emphatically. When he travels he has the habit of stripping his hotel room of anything that moves (furniture, colored pillows, desktop accessories) and stuffing it all into the closet. "It's a little bit of a curatorial disease," he said. "I like to reduce everything to its surface."

Biesenbach's closet, not unlike the scientist's:

An overview of the space including balcony garden:

After living in an mostly empty apartment, Biesenbach lent an artist friend his apartment for a summer. The friend brought in a white sofa and table and chairs. To offset the potential "clutter," one supposes, the friend painted every other remaining non-white surface white, including the TV and microwave (the TV survived the painting, the microwave didn't).

More on this story here.

Interesting how controversial the apartment is on the interwebs. Some have the called the project "anti-design." Well, if that's what it is it's hostile territory

CBS Sunday Morning spoke with Biesenbach about the apartment: