italian design

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

The mixing of culture and traditions can very often yield exciting new possibilities, sometimes, even radical ones. When it comes to design this mixing may include aspects of style, material, era, technology, region, language, etc, etc, and any combination of the above. It is in these intersections that the real leaps forward occur.

Above, a chair as an homage to the George Corliss, inventor of the first independent steam engine and great Rhode Islander, as created by the Providence based Studio Dunn. An aluminum back harmoniously intersects the curve of the maple seat.

Below, the Il Capo Dining Table by Creazioni: divided into ¾ minimalist and ¼ ornate sections which can be separated with different finishes.

The Recession Chair by Dutch company Tjep:

The symbolic piece begins as a stock IKEA wood chair and is then sanded down to skeletal proportions. By the end of the process the chair is too fragile to be of much use for sitting.

The Bare Bones Ghost Chair: Six pieces of driftwood and and two sheets of Acrylic. Each chair is custom made to order; from the Esty universe.

Christian Fiebig's rendition of the classic Chesterfield chair in polygonally trimmed foam and square powder coated tubing:

The Eros chair from Philippe Starck: A mash up of the Donald Knorr 132 Knoll Chair and the Lina Bo Bardi Bowl Chair with the legs of the Eames Eiffel Tower.

Look closely at the couch below—it's actually molded concrete.

The W(hole) Commode designed by Ferrucio Laviani for Fratelli Boffi: A mahogany and brass Louis XV pierced with a fuchsia hole.

The French designer Christian Astuguevieille’s Saulorme Chair has a bent chestnut wood frame and rope shag seat:

Thrown out pieces of Victorian furniture are repurposed with concrete by James Plumb, a cooperation between British designers James Russel and Hannah Plumb.

The Louis XV-cum-Age of Plastic style of Queen of Love comes in a variety of day-glo colors and is suitable for both indoors and out. Designed by Graziano Moro and Renato Pigatti, the full sized chair is spacious enough to seat two intimately. Their managed vulgarity had one blog referring to them as the "Big Pimps of lawn chairs."

Ensō: The circle.

It symbolizes the Absolute, enlightenment, strength, elegance, the Universe, and the void; it can also symbolize the Japanese aesthetic itself. As an "expression of the moment" it is often considered a form of minimalist expressionist art.

So, you see, it's not just a circle.

Portrait of Richard Neutra: All above photos by the late, great Julius Schulman (1910 - 2009).

Above, another great also gone: Ezra Stoller (1915 - 2004).

A tomb designed for the Brion family by Carlo Scarpa in San Vito d'Altivole, Italy.

Photo above by Wijnando Deroo.

A Witraz project in Denmark.

The Star Trek Enterprise: Circles are the past and the future.

They are the beginning and end as well. Goodnight.

Listen to nature. She knows.

She gave us red and made it seductive. It demands attention. (Is it seductive because it demands attention or the other way around?) It's erotic, it's cocksure, and it's a warning.

On the effects of red there is no doubt: What better laboratory for market testing is there than evolution?

Two more proofs:

Q: What's sexier than a cream-covered load of sweet empty calories?
A: A red load.

(Ever hear the joke about the mouse that drives a Ferrari to the pit to help save the lion?)

So, there you have it: Total id tweaking through seductive engineering; All debts to Mother Nature.

Now, let's see red used to more subtle effect:

An accent with a flower...

... or a warm field overwhelming a white room...

... and then the whelming turned up even more as it goes brighter and shinier. (With a pink and gray sofa offering a cool buffer on the interstice.)

And then, buildings that crescendo in the eyes.

A crescendo version as delivered to the suburbs.

Color favors the bold: Above, classic Hermes blood red.

The sleek of this kitchen roughed up slightly with rustic touches and red accents: A material carnival of tile, unfinished and finished wood, glass, plastic, stainless, and colored silicon implements.

A washer and dryer in red: Not quite sexy but pretty close. (Certainly, it wouldn't be sexier in any other color.)

In a recent interview, popular novelist Carl Hiaasen described our culture's current fascination in watching celebrities "run off the rails." The descriptive word he used was delamination, like layers coming apart. In interior design, Clarke & Reilly use this concept to great effect in the way they allow layers to show through (see previous post).

In the case of three-legged furniture, could it be there's something pleasantly delaminating about seeing three when you'd expect to find four? Maybe it's a combination of tension and instability with the whiff of danger it implies that's so intriguing. See this point used well in the sculpture "Broken Chair" by Swiss artist Daniel Berset, seen here standing outside the United Nations office at Geneva. Wiki explains that the chair's design was intended to "symbolize [an] opposition to land mines and cluster bombs and act as a reminder to politicians and others visiting Geneva."

Below, bringing that same delamination to two three-legged versions of the classic Eames chair: c. 1944.

The idea slightly more refined in the Hans Wenger Shell chair.

Whatever the three-legged design gives up in stability it gains in giving the sitter more leg placement options, at least in the single front leg version. (Careless toes wandering under the weight of that single leg beware; there's likely enough psi there to crush a bone.) The three-legged version has a much more avante and outré quality than do its four-legged cousins.

Taking the three-legged chair to its most practical extension, Danish designer Hans Olsen created the Roundette set in 1962. Here, the three leg posture allows the chairs to be tucked flush under the table and out of the way.

The legacy of three legs is a long one; The Elizabethan era turned chair, below left, is c. 1580 though it's said similar designs date back to the middle ages. The chair on right is a 19th century reproduction of the Glastonbury chair. Both serve as jumped up variations of the three-legged stool was more often the favored contemporary seating for both bewigged prince and benighted peasant.

As for stools: These teak Taburets are from another Danish designer, Mogens Lassen, considered by some to be the father of the Danish Modern movement. Dates on the stools manufactured hover anywhere from 1942 to 1960. Though, the actual date may be 1938.*

Frank Lloyd weighed in with his own version with this reproduction from his 1937 design (see it here).

These two takes are from from Italian designer Carlo Molino, c. 1950.

While this Molino chair may not have three-legs, its anatomical inspirations make up for it.

The shadow cast from this chair is not the least of its charms.

From the era of kidney-shaped pools, Miró covered jazz albums, and vacuum cleaners shaped like rockets comes the Boomerang table from British designer A.M. Lewis, c. 1950.

And finally, this: A stunning "Victorian Tri-leg Tavern Table", c. 1900. Traditionally, tavern tables had four legs and a single drawer. Stretchers were also a common component (wood cross-pieces securing the table's legs together near the bottom). This table, of course, has none of that. The single leg does however force the table to be displayed in exactly the way the designer intended which only adds to the brilliance of it.

An example of traditional delamination at its finest. See the table at Blackman Cruz here.

* A special thanks to reader I.M. for correcting us on our previous misinformation.

A theater chair (ca.1951) by Turinese designer Carlo Mollino (1905 - 1973) from the RAI Auditorium.

In the tradition of Italian artists with outsized characters, Mollino's life was the stuff of early-century matinees: As well as a designer of furniture, architecture, and race cars, he was also a skilled pilot, skier, racing driver, and occult enthusiast. And then there were those racy Polaroids.

The chairs in their natural environment. Interested buyers may go here.

Mollino's take on modernism may be embodied in his signature quote: "Everything is permissible as long as it is fantastic."

A table with a hint of Enzo Mari.

"I am convinced that the best explanation of one's work is its silent exhibition," spoke the Maestro.

'Nuff said.