The conversation about the appearance of even simple everyday things has become so persistent that there is a reason to discuss the phenomenon of overdesign. Don't you think that reality is becoming excessively designed?
It's worth starting with the fact that any product has design, whether it's good or bad. The design can be developed by an engineer, artist, or product manager, but still: almost all 600 objects we touch every day are design objects. Design as such has existed since the time of the industrial revolution, and it is neither a craft nor a high art. If you look at everything that is sold worldwide, most of it turns out to be kitsch. This applies not only to material objects but also to companies like Warner Bros. and Disney, which create character designs.
So I would not talk about over-design, but about the problem of good design. How many products in the world possess it? From 2% to 5%. When I started working in design in the 1970s and studied at university, no one talked about design at all, including industrial design. Such a profession was simply unheard of. Only about 1% of all products at that time had decent design.
But what is good design? Is it defined by aesthetic qualities? It seems so, but it's debatable because it's somewhat subjective. Good design is when something functions well. It brings something to the user, like meanings, for example. You enter into a real relationship with a good design specimen. For instance, if you wear glasses, you should feel good in them, understand that they suit you. Or, for example, when you sit in a car, you should enjoy it because good design brings a positive experience. Good design is also about semantics. It immediately tells the user: 'touch this,' or 'do not touch,' or 'this needs to be held like this.'
And if we specifically talk about overdesign, I would define this concept as an excess of the designer's personality in the design object. If, in this case, the product functions well, then everything is fine. But if functionality and semantics are sacrificed to showcase the designer's personality, that's when it becomes overdesigned.
What is the role of an industrial designer in these conditions? What tasks should they solve?
I identify three main tasks. Firstly, it's the relevance of the product: is it really needed, and will it provide us with something? Secondly, how well it is made. It is important here whether the product aligns with the concept of sustainable development. Is it made from biodegradable plastic? Can it be recycled? And thirdly, it's an ethical question. For example, I would never design weapons or any object related to military affairs. I wouldn't even create something that resembles a weapon because I don't want to discuss it at all. It's my personal ethics. Speaking of ethics in general, designers must understand their responsibility in a world where the global market economy can destroy the Earth. In general, I believe that things should be more beautiful and simpler.
Certainly, designers are working on an increasing variety of products. Take, for example, light switches. Now they look much more pleasant than 20 years ago. If they used to appear industrial, now they have become more humane, as if they've been cleansed.
And speaking of aesthetics? The recent years have been marked by an interest in a kind of brutal modernism. Many reference designers and architects from the 1920s. At the same time, your design, on the contrary, is very striking. Do you think your practice aligns with modern trends?
You know, I don't want to talk about my practice as avant-garde. But I think in my design, I speak about the world we live in. And I'm not talking about the revival of pre-war modernism. I'm talking about the digital era. We spend 7.5 hours a day in front of screens. While we're talking, there are 16,000 satellites orbiting the planet! I'm trying to connect the digital world with the 'physical.' Often, I express the connection between these worlds quite literally, as, for example, in the pattern on the 'Maria' kitchen electric stove. And even that bright stripe on kitchen furniture—it's also about the technological era.
The trend of turning to industrial modernism that you are talking about is astonishing. Chairs resembling the classic French Tolix chair are being created all over the world. It's all a copy of copies of the same chair. Concrete is used everywhere, and incandescent elements are prominently featured in light bulbs. But it's just a trend, not design. By trend, I mean ornamentation. Yes, for some reason, many people are attracted to it now. If we try to theorize, we can assume that the return to industrial style is an alternative to the digital world. Or maybe it's because, as Western cities developed, factories were closing there, and they later began hosting events like raves. The attendees were immersed in the whole concrete-and-steel aesthetic and started implementing similar solutions in their homes. And then these trends spread to other spaces, such as cafes.
In recent times, I've received several offers to create restaurant designs, and clients have been sending mood boards – photos of what the result of the work should look like – in this industrial style. I told them that I couldn't do it and wondered why they approached me in the first place. This aesthetic has nothing to do with functionality: it's impossible to sit for hours on a metal chair, and furniture edges made of that kind of broken concrete are simply uncomfortable. It's some kind of nonsense, kitsch, a cheap imitation.
So, is the task of an industrial designer not to distract people from the digital space and remind them of the real world, but rather to unite these two worlds?
That's my task. And honestly, I believe it should be shared by all other industrial designers and architects. We need to talk about time, about zeitgeist. Look, the Eiffel Tower was built in the 1880s. And it was made with the most progressive technology of that time. A tower of steel—it was radical by the standards of the late 19th century. A century later, it continues to attract millions of tourists. It has become a symbol of its era. Eiffel did not refer to the patterns of the early 19th century. And we, as designers, also need to shape and signify the time in which we live.
Let's say in New York, there are many brick buildings built in the 1910s and 1920s. I constructed my building in an area with such houses. And everyone is upset because I am building a structure from 2017. Brick is a symbol of the 1910s. In the early 20th century, houses had small windows because there was no technology to produce large sheets of glass. Now we have that technology. So, we should make full sheets of glass instead of continuing to build with brick.
This time you came to Russia to present kitchen designs for the company 'Maria.' In the Russian context, the kitchen has always been a communicative and therefore cultural center of living space. It's a place to welcome guests and have conversations. Do you understand the kitchen as such a social space?
Lately, yes. I think many people don't even bother cooking much anymore, so the kitchen, as you rightly observed, has become the cultural center of the home. The kitchen now serves the gathering function that has shifted from the living room. I believe in Moscow, you can order any food at any time of day and any day of the week, so the kitchen's role as a cooking space is diminishing here. And the social function doesn't even depend on the size of the space. It persists even in small 20-square-meter apartments where only a micro-kitchen can fit. By the way, I would like to work on designing such spaces. After all, for "Maria," I designed a kitchen intended for a large area, and it's a product primarily for affluent city dwellers. The trend of integrating new technologies into kitchen spaces is also important. Kitchens are becoming more automated.
The more they are automated, the more space and time are left for communication.
Exactly. Paradoxically, also for cooking: the less time it takes, the more time you are willing to dedicate to it.
Source: Snob