English Spanish Korean
+-
English

Tag: Design

Glenn Sestig

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Glenn Sestig
Words · Annalise Kamegawa

Home as an enduring space: Glenn Sestig and architecture as a cyclical practice

There is something prescient about Glenn Sestig’s eye. Consistent throughout his career, he sees a home, and decades later, its historic plans reappear on his desk, asking to be reanimated and given new life.

In his conversation with NR, Sestig admits to falling into the stereotype of architects, saying, “I can still be a bit stubborn with my own vision.” But on the contrary, he constantly strives to see from the point of view of both architects (past and present) and clients alike. In doing so, he brings into contemporary view the spaces underneath, besides, and between historic architecture.

Can you tell us about your early influences? Was there a specific moment or project that made you want to pursue architecture?

Around 12 years old, my grandmother wanted to redo her kitchen and asked me to design it. I did it together with a carpenter. I had to explain things with my hands and little drawn lines because, well, I didn’t know design or architecture yet. My grandmother was very happy with the kitchen, and she even said, “It’s your first project so I will pay you!”

My mother and my father also had a really modern spirit. We lived in a bungalow house, which was redone quite well in the ‘70s. It wasn’t a high budget project, but it was already very modern and minimal. When I was a kid, my mother and my father let me design my own room. I did the same thing as I had in my grandmother’s kitchen, working with the same carpenter. Afterwards, I also did their bathroom and kitchen. After all these little projects, my family and I felt that I should pursue architecture.

To be honest, I was in between fashion and architecture. I had some second thoughts about pursuing fashion, but at a certain point, my mother preferred I chose architecture because it’s more stable. Maybe back in those years, in her mind, it was a more stable career.

For your primary private residence, Pavilion Sestig (2019), you became your own client. What were some of your personal aspirations for the space?

Honestly, the easiest thing for me is to work for someone else—someone else with a strong vision, of course. When I start designing, the most important thing is, first, the plan and functionality, then second, the client’s style. At the beginning, clients never believe me when I say this! But I listen closely and absorb everything they share with me. That’s why each project ends up so different.

The most challenging part here was that Pavilion Sestig was both for me and for Bernard [Sestig’s partner]. Because I was working just for us, it was very nice to have Bernard to talk with. As an architect, I can still be a bit stubborn with my own vision, so it was great when he suggested something I wouldn’t have done.

For example, the house has this big roof. Bernard said to me, “I want to easily be on the roof because it’s full of trees over on the other side. Can you design me a beautiful staircase?” So then I designed it for him. In that moment, with the details we changed here and there, Bernard became a kind of client for me to talk with.

The original structure was created by architect Ivan Van Mossevelde. Can you talk us through how you made decisions to preserve versus renew the structure?

When I look at Van Mossevelde’s architectural plans from the ‘70s and ‘80s, they are already quite close to how I design. It was very easy for me to see what he did and to then bring it into the present, 50 years later, without completely breaking down the walls or changing the architecture. We brought the house into the future with the modern technical features available now. The windows are better, the electrical is changed inside, but the architecture for me is still the masterpiece that Van Mossevelde achieved. I wanted to preserve the house as much as possible. This is not a challenge for me – it’s routine. I work around the space, without touching the original structure, until it feels right. I must say, I’ve been in love with the house since I first saw it 30 years ago.

We also wanted to talk about Penthouse Mulier (2016).

About 35 years ago, an architecture professor of mine used it as a reference project and brought us to the Penthouse on Riverside Tower in Antwerp.

Years later, when Raf [Simons] was at Dior, I was with him in the car going back to Belgium when he said to me, “Peter [Mulier] bought the most beautiful penthouse. Even more beautiful than mine.”

I responded, “Okay, which one? Is it the one on the Riverside Tower?” and he looks at me as if to say, “How do you know that?” Well, it’s because I was actually there years ago! It was amazing to have the chance to see it when I was studying because it’s a private apartment. The past owners, Léon Stynen and Paul De Meyer, were famous Belgian architects and knew my professor since they were all in the same field.

This residence also features some built-in concrete furniture. With furniture design as part of your architectural practice, how do you go about creating pieces that are in conversation with the greater architecture of the space?

If you go into Penthouse Mulier, you won’t see what we added. There is concrete furniture and other new elements we designed, but I don’t want my furniture to pop out and be more important than the existing architecture. I engage in a conversation with the building when it has such a strong identity: my work then needs to be fluent with the existing space.

I must ask out of pure curiosity: I read that Mulier held an Alaïa catwalk in this house. When I saw the very long layout of the house in the floor plan (that looked a lot like a catwalk), I wondered is this the reason it was changed from a 6 bedroom to 1 bedroom residence?

Well, for Peter’s space, we really only wanted one bedroom. The six rooms that existed back in the day for family were removed for the master bedroom. In the end, there are actually two bedrooms with the guest room on the -1 floor. That’s why it’s so empty now.

But then it could be used as a catwalk, voilà! That Alaïa show was amazing.

Talking about your 2018 project, Wallace, there’s something really striking about how planar it is. There’s this cantilever detail and it’s almost as if the house moves into the landscape. It’s a beautiful ode to the original owner of the home, landscape painter Albert Saverys. I’m Interested in how you bring out the subject of the space in your architecture.

Originally, the client had called the office and said, “Is it possible to talk to Glenn? I have a project, but I know he won’t do it.”

The interior of the home was already done, and we normally don’t work around that. If we build a house for somebody, it has to be one cohesive project that includes interiors and exteriors. But because Wallace was so close to our offices, I told the client I would come and see the house regardless. When I arrived there and the outdoor environment was so amazing, I immediately told the client, “Hello. No problem. I will do it.”

We started with a beautiful home, but not something “wow” or particularly huge. The problem was that it was in a restricted area where we can no longer expand the building. But what was possible was terraces, pedestals, and cantilevers. With those, we made the house look double its size without making the internal architecture bigger.

With your consistent application of concrete and building on top of existing architecture, your works are often compared to those of Tadao Ando. I’m curious as to what you make of this comparison.

Ooh la! How chic! Are they now? Who is making this comparison? Well, I love the work of Tadao Ando—it’s impossible to say anything different as an architect. Of course, when you do a house in concrete, it’s easy to say, “it’s very Ando.” I’m very happy with this comparison, but I don’t know if I completely understand it.

My practice comes from a different place. It’s about the existing architecture and the client who brings it to me. This process is really about the space between us—it’s a conversation. I design something that matches the landscape, the existing building, and, of course, the client, who will live in it and need to be happy in it for many years. This is how I see my work in architecture.

What I will say, I do have a client who also has a house in Sri Lanka built by Tadao Ando. The father said to the mother, “I love you so much. What would you like to have?” And she responded, “Oh, a house by Tadao Ando.” At one point, they had the biggest private Tadao Ando home ever built. And now, I’ve done a few homes for them as well. One is Retreat Pringiers on the coastline of Belgium in Ostend. This house is completely concrete inside and out, so I can understand if people see this and say, “oh it’s a bit Ando.” But these clients are really in love with concrete.

On the note of concrete, do you find that there are certain materials or techniques you often find yourself gravitating towards on your projects?

We use a lot of natural stone. In Pavilion Sestig, marble had already been installed back in the ‘80s but we took it out. With the loud white color and the big nerves, it was too ‘80s. The original architect, Van Mossevelde, was very ahead of his time when he chose it, but for us, it was too indicative of the era. Instead, we used a sandstone that went well with the color of the concrete.

In a building with a concrete exterior, most of the time, it’s more beautiful to also have concrete flooring and concrete elements continue into the interior. Though if we are using stone, I love gray travertino, specifically, Travertino Titanium. It’s in Peter Mulier’s kitchen.

This gray Travertino is great because a lot of people initially think it’s concrete, but it adds another feeling. Living on and touching natural stone is just a different experience from concrete.

It’s interesting to see how so many of your projects build atop and renew the existing architecture in the space. If you were asked to renovate a project you worked on 10-15 years ago, what would you focus on?

When I take on a project, the materials and products should last as long as possible—that’s my ecological approach to architecture. Even though renovations often result in a lot of waste, when we bring in new architecture or interiors, the goal is to make them last for years to come.

I believe that’s the most ecological thing you can do with a building. It’s not really a building if, after 10 years, you have to throw it away and build a new one.

The buildings we work on are old buildings with strong architecture. That means you can renovate them, and they don’t need to be completely demolished. If I were asked to renovate a project, I’d focus on making functional improvements and expanding the space, rather than just updating it because it’s no longer good enough.

So yeah, voilà!

Credits

  1. Glenn Sestig Architects, Wallace, Astene Belgium, 2018. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
  2. Glenn Sestig Architects, Pavilion Sestig, Deurle, Belgium, 2019. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
  3. Glenn Sestig Architects, Wallace, Astene Belgium, 2018. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
  4. Glenn Sestig Architects, Molotov, Antwerp, 2004. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
  5. Glenn Sestig Architects, Pavilion Sestig, Deurle, Belgium, 2019. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
  6. Glenn Sestig Architects, La Réserve Knokke Belgium 2023. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel

Simone Bodmer-Turner – Emma Scully

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Simone Bodmer-Turner and Emma Scully
Words · Simone Lorusso

The Fusion of Art and Design: A Discussion with Simone Bodmer-Turner and Emma Scully

Renowned American artist and designer Simone Bodmer-Turner, known primarily for her work in ceramics, has embarked on an innovative exploration into new mediums, showcasing collectible design objects crafted from bronze, wood, lacquer, and silk at the Emma Scully Gallery in New York. In a captivating discussion, Bodmer-Turner and Gallerist Emma Scully delve into the intricate interplay between design and art, reflecting on the evolving landscape of creativity. At the heart of their conversation lies the focal point of their recent collaboration—the exhibition “A Year Without a Kiln.” running until June 22, 2024.

Simone, Emma thanks for joining us. Simone, you recently moved from New York City to rural Massachusetts. What motivated this change, and how has it impacted your life and work?

SBT: Before I was able to do my work full time, I spent a period of time working at a food/farming-centred start up, then working in restaurants and farming to support my studio practice. Being close to food, growing it myself, and being very intertwined with nature has been something I’ve been trying to re-incorporate into my life, but I had to be patient through the initial years of solidifying my work becoming my business in New York before I could do that. It’s been freeing to be able to expand into the spaciousness of the countryside.

Your solo exhibition at Emma Scully Gallery, “A Year Without a Kiln,” features pieces created during this transitional period. Can you tell us more about this project and what inspired it?

SBT: The work in the show was created both in a moment of transition, but also in a moment when I didn’t yet have a studio or access to my usual materials and tools I had used to make my work up until this point. I had had the privilege of collaborative work before, but finding myself in this place with the invitation of a solo show, made collaboration key to the conceptualisation of the work. It was an opportunity to design in materials that I was not personally a master in – wood, bronze, iron, lacquer – but that resonated with me for their rootedness in traditional craftsmanship and the unadulterated materials of the natural world.

Emma Scully described this exhibition as a tactile encapsulation of your work and perspective. What do you hope viewers take away from “A Year Without a Kiln”?

SBT: I hope that viewers and clients begin to understand what work I do as diversely as I dream it up in my imagination – covering all manner of materials and ways of working. I want viewers to recognise my language of form and see it transposed onto unexpected and sometimes more traditional shapes. I want to remove preconceptions and categorisations – both in my work and in all these overlapping worlds of art/design/craft – of “high” vs “low”, “functional” vs “sculptural”, “craft” vs “art”. I want the work to serve as a small part of a movement towards a different way of designing and fabricating, with craftsmanship and human relationships at the center. Collectively we need to recover from the hangover we have from the 70s when the idea of craft erroneously came to equate to craftsy, rather than multi-generational, learned craftsmanship – an error that has birthed multiple generations who turn a blind eye, often unknowingly, to how the things we bring into our homes are made and by whom.

Where do you see your practice going from here?

SBT: I’ve dabbled in many materials and ways of working over the last few years, and plan to spend the next bit solidifying and clarifying the arms of the studio and our offerings. We’ll be growing our site-specific interior installations, continuing to partner with craftspeople to develop furniture and sculpture in other materials, and building out our new ceramic studio in the countryside to have a ceramic offering again.

What challenges have you faced in transitioning from ceramics to working with materials like wood, bronze, and lacquer?

SBT: Every material is so different. Wood requires precision whereas clay does not. It’s challenging to make progress with bronze in the summer when it’s too hot to have the furnace going. Bronze also brings weight into the equation as a potential issue, though luckily it has much more capacity to bear weight that clay does and there’s the ability to create finer, thinner areas within a piece, unlike clay. True urushi lacquer takes an immense amount of time (4 months per piece) and the right moisture conditions to cure, unlike any material I’ve encountered before.

Speaking of the Tadpole Bowl, its polished bronze silhouette reflects the titular creature. Can you tell us more about the inspiration behind this piece?

SBT: I had to come up with a name that quickly reframed for the viewer what they initially thought, might just possibly be a sperm. It was early springtime when I finished the model, and all the tadpoles were out in the ponds, and hence…

Calder and Giacometti are muses for you. How do their influences manifest in your new work?

SBT: Calder was the first creator of objects that I understood, as a child, to be “an artist”. My parents really loved the whimsy, balance, and lightness of his work and took me to his exhibitions when they came to town. A lot of the playfulness, interactivity, and tension I bring into my work stems from a lifetime looking at his. Diego Giacometti was a later discovery, only finding out about him from underneath the shadow of his brother when my work was moving more distinctly into the design realm. His adornment and twists on traditional structures of lighting, chairs and tables, has been influential in this most recent body of work.

Now, I’d like to shift our focus to Emma Scully Gallery, where your latest work is being showcased. Hi Emma, how did you approach curating this exhibition, and what was your vision for presenting Simone’s work?

ES: A solo show is a wonderful opportunity to show the world of the designer. Simone took the lead on the exhibition design of her show and thoughtfully created a space where her work could be presented in the context of her larger design ethos.

How do you choose the artists and designers you collaborate with for your gallery? And how do you envision the future of galleries in promoting hybrid forms of design and art?

ES: First and foremost, my responsibility to my clients is to show them the best of contemporary collectible design. Beyond this, a lot has to align to show an artist or designer at the gallery. It has to be the right time in someone’s career to be supporting their work, and we have to want to embark on this intensive journey of working together! One of the things I am most proud of in my work at the gallery is supporting the fabrication of work. What this means looks different for each artist and designer I work with. But I hope it is something other galleries continue to do – and find ways of supporting the work and the artists we work with beyond sales.

Emma, what advice would you give to emerging artists looking to find their unique voice?

ES: Experiment, work and look at a lot!

Credits

Photography ·  William Jess Laird
All images courtesy of Simone Bodmer-Turner and Emma Scully Gallery

Yellow Nose Studio

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Yellow Nose Studio
Words · Simone Lorusso

From Architecture to Design: The Impact of Background on Yellow Nose Studio’s Approach

We recently met Hsin-Ying Ho and Kai-Ming Tung, the creative minds behind Yellow Nose Studio, a Berlin-based design venture founded in 2017. With backgrounds in architecture and a shared passion for handmade objects, this Taiwanese duo embarked on a journey to explore the intersection of space, materiality, and emotion. Inspired by a desire to infuse raw materials with new life, they craft organic forms from typically inorganic elements, guided by an intuitive logic rooted in emotional processes. Through their work, they seek to capture the essence of slow living, offering living tools that invite us to savour and appreciate the spaces we inhabit each day.

Hi Ying and Kai, it was really good to see you in the Milan scene during the last design week. Could you tell us about the journey that led to the founding of Yellow Nose Studio?

We were classmates when we were studying architecture in Taiwan. However, the idea to work together came only after we came to Berlin to study for our Master’s degrees. Ying studied Scenography, and Kai studied Product Design.

We wanted to do something that combined both of our professions but was also based on our backgrounds in architecture. That’s why we showed our first collection as a tryout then. We didn’t want to show them as products but as a holistic lifestyle vision.

Could you share the story behind the name “Yellow Nose” and what significance it holds for your studio?

After completing our architectural studies in Taiwan, we went to Berlin to pursue our master’s degrees in Product Design and Theater Design, respectively. Then we outlined our creative direction of “Surrounding Space and Objects” to establish Yellow Nose Studio. “Yellow” represents the color of light, which is the most important element in a space, while the “nose” reminds us that apart from vision, designers should be more sensitive to all senses. As an extension of this, the series of works on space starts with Y, and objects with N.

As a Taiwanese native, how does your cultural background influence your work and creative process?

In fact, Taiwan itself is a multicultural country, so the influence of multiple cultures creates how we constantly look at the same thing from different perspectives. It also creates a sense of collage that is unique to our design.

Your studio is known for its focus on finding balance within space through handmade objects. How do you approach this quest for balance, and what role do handmade objects play in achieving it?

We aim to create objects that have their own personality but can still fit into spaces with subtle emphasis.

Berlin serves as the backdrop for your studio. How does the city inspire and influence your creative process and the aesthetic of your designs?

Berlin is a really good place for us to be creative. It’s a big city, but not as busy as others. We both got highly inspired by it, which shows how we work. Sometimes, it’s a chair people left on the street to give away, and sometimes, it’s the texture of a tree that fascinates us. Also, the city has this gap (time and space) somehow in between the city that allows us to recharge.

Yellow Nose Studio has a distinctive approach to using raw materials in unforeseen ways. Can you share some insights into your creative process and how you transform these materials into unique pieces?

We define perfection by showing the character of the materials themselves. Our furniture is made of industrialized and simple forms. For our latest collection, INDERGARTEN, we picked up standard wood materials meant for architectural construction and played around with their original sizes and textures.

Still, with the ceramics, we wanted to emphasize the rawness of the clay, so we left the rough details instead of polishing them perfectly. It’s interesting to see how strong the contrast is between them, but it gives each piece its character when separated.

Your work often bridges the gap between organic and inorganic elements, displaying a logic rooted in emotional processes. Can you elaborate on this philosophy and how it manifests in your designs?

In life or in work, people try to pursue this ‘perfect circle.’ But it will never be a perfect circle naturally—if you do it by hand. This has become really symbolic in our work, so our logo is actually not perfectly round. This represents us.

In the same way that allowing for these imperfections opposes the uniform nature of mass production, we further imbue our pieces with individuality and warmth through the handmade nature of our process.

You emphasize the principle of embodying a slow life through living instruments. How does this concept resonate with you in today’s fast-paced modern world?

We really enjoy the process, no matter how long it takes. We try to stay as calm as possible and not be influenced by how fast the world goes. People can really see the connection from each object through our hands, even with a little finger mark on the clay or some imperfection from the wood. The slow process brings warmth to the home of the pieces.

Having transitioned from architecture to design, how does your background inform your approach, especially regarding spatial planning and user interaction?

The most important thing we learned from architecture was not the technical part. It’s how architecture naturally becomes the base of our lifestyle—how you look at things and how you focus on the details.

Architecture inspired us greatly during our studies in Taiwan. We were taught to be wild and to make mistakes. This really special education system definitely flipped both of our lives upside down. Architecture is no longer a simple academic topic that we need to learn but rather a lifelong philosophy that influences us daily.

So we don’t see ourselves looking away from architecture, but instead using it as a foundation to pursue our aesthetic. We keep trying to bring many different aspects into our projects and to accept the impact that our architectural studies have brought us.

Looking ahead, what are your aspirations for Yellow Nose Studio, and how do you envision the evolution of your craft in the years to come?

We are keen to expand into large-scale spatial design projects so we can combine our sculptural objects in a space.

Credits

All images courtesy of Yellow Nose Studio.
Photography · Daniel Farò

studioutte

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · studioutte
Words · Simone Lorusso

Exploring the roots of studioutte: a conversation with founders Guglielmo Giagnotti and Patrizio Gola

In the heart of Milan’s Central Station area, the modern charm of rationalist architecture is experiencing a renaissance under the touch of studioutte. Led by the dynamic duo of Guglielmo Giagnotti and Patrizio Gola, who established the studio in 2020, studioutte is not just about architecture—it’s a multifaceted practice that delves into interior design, decoration, and the creation of collectible designs.

Deriving its name from ‘hütte’, a term that evokes images of huts, cabins, and shelters, studioutte’s ethos is rooted in a blend of distinct Italian tradition and harmonious, integrated design principles. The studio’s approach is informed by a deep engagement with vernacular architecture and varied regional influences, striving for a design language that eschews redundancy and extremity for clarity and expressiveness.

Guglielmo and Patrizio, nice to meet you. It’s exciting to learn more about studioutte, which you established in 2020. To start, could you tell us what inspired the founding of your Milan-based practice?

We were led by the idea of restoring a certain cultured and gentle minimalism that have always been present in the Italian history but recently disappeared in favour of an eclectic ultra – decorative approach. 

If I asked you to show me a place uniquely Milanese, where would you take me?

We are truly fascinated by the powerful presence of the Angelicum by Giovanni Muzio in Piazza Sant Angelo.

The name “studioutte” is quite unique. Can you explain the meaning behind it and how it reflects your approach to design?

Hütte means hut, shelter. We are always linking the idea of architectural composition to a sense of protection and retreat.


Your work emphasizes a hybrid design of architecture research and influences from various regional practices. How do you incorporate these diverse elements into a cohesive design language?

It is a kind of spontaneous digestion of an infinite accumulation of images, observations, travel experiences that naturally flow towards the final object. Always guided by a precise research of proportions and materials.

What does the idea of a “waiting room” evoke for you?

A sense of suspension and tension towards something assertive and definitive, that for us means timeless Architecture.

I understand that studioutte aims for a design aesthetic that reaches beyond simple forms to express a primitive essence. Could you expand on what this means in your creative process?

It is an instinctive path towards simplicity  and mute forms of a space or an object. It is taking a lot of energy and time while aiming to reach a balance of shapes and material that leads to a sense of metaphysical anonymity.


Lastly, how do you envision Milan’s evolution over the next decade as a cultural hub for designers and artists?

Milan is a great hub, the challenge will be being more and more open to different cultures and paths intersection without loosing its own rational introvert dark and magnificent identity 

In order of appearance

  1. Milan Design Week 2023, studioutte x district eight. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.
  2. Bedroom, Viale Brianza Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Paolo Abate. Courtesy of studioutte.
  3. Entrance, Viale Brianza Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Paolo Abate. Courtesy of studioutte.
  4. Rootine Wellness Club, Munich, studioutte, , Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
  5. Master Bedroom, Antwerp House, studioutte. Courtesy of studioutte.
  6. Stair View, Moncucco House, studioutte. Courtesy of studioutte.
  7. Steel Lamp, Milan Design Week 2024, studioutte. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
  8. Milan Design Week 2024, studioutte. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
  9. Bathroom, Via Volturno Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.
  10. Entrance, Via Volturno Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.

Studio HAOS

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature ·Studio HAOS
Words · Simone Lorusso

Through the Lens: From Photography to Design with Studio HAOS

Sophie Gelinet and Cédric Gepner didn’t have formal training in furniture design, but they shared a passion that led them to create their first lamp. That lamp became the foundation for a collection, and in 2017, Studio HAOS was born.

They believe in keeping things simple, using materials like oak plywood and sheet metal to create thoughtful furniture and lighting. They focus on clarity and proportions, avoiding unnecessary complexity. Now based in Lisbon, their work is recognised worldwide, and they’re represented by galleries in major cities like Paris, New York, and London.

Sophie and Cédric, thanks for being here with me. Could you narrate the journey of Studio HAOS, from its inception with the creation of your first lamp to evolving into a fully-fledged design studio?

We had the desire to work on something together, on the side of our regular jobs. We had a shared interest in photography, and that led us to a few personal projects in France and in the north of India. At some point I wanted to try something new and started working on the prototype of a first lamp, and Cedric soon joined me. It was just something we were doing for fun on the side of our regular jobs. From what was initially a single lamp we made a small series, we then reached out to the press, got some publications, started getting some orders, etc. It started like that, quite randomly. We created the studio in 2017, and a couple of years later reached the point where we could both work full time on HAOS. 

How did your previous exploration in photography inform or shape your approach to design?

Looking back at it I think it helped in three ways. The first one was learning how to collaborate on a creative endeavour, which is not simple especially when you are also partners in life. The second was that it helped us develop our understanding of what makes a good picture: just as much as in photography, design is about arranging shapes, finding harmony, playing with light, shadows, shades, textures… The third and maybe most important is that it’s usually fruitful to be exposed to as many fields as possible. It’s often at the intersection of seemingly unrelated interests that cross pollination or creativity happen. Trying to understand and replicate the appeal of pictures by Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld or Alec Soth, to name a few, that must have permeated into our practice of design in many positive ways that we don’t necessarily understand.

Your design ethos revolves around elevating humble materials such as plywood and sheet metal. What attracts you to these materials, and how do you integrate them into your designs?

One key feature of photography is that the most vernacular subject matter can be transformed into singular, poetic images. And this kind of transmutation can be achieved with the most basic equipment. All that is required is an understanding of colour, form, and composition. We believe design should work in the same way. Very intricate and time-consuming savoir-faire applied to opulent materials, that’s where craftsmen can shine. In our view the focus of designers should be on shape and form. The more accessible the materials and techniques, the better, as it is the thinking process that then takes center stage. If a piece is thought-out, it doesn’t need to be loud to catch attention. On the contrary, we believe there is a particular form of elegance that lies in the ability to express or evoke emotions with restraint and with purposely limited means. It’s not exactly a new idea, it has been exemplified by many designers and artists for more than a century, just think of Gerrit Rietveld and his crate chair, Achille Castiglioni’s floor lamp based on a car headlight, or the works of minimalists such as Donald Judd or Charlotte Posenenske. But this conversation is not over and it’s especially relevant today.

What does the concept of “slow design” signify for you, and how does it manifest in your creative process and final products?

Actually our practice tends to go in the opposite direction. We are now trying to experiment faster, because the more experiments we undertake (with new processes, new materials, etc.) the more chances we have to stumble upon something worthwhile.

How has the environment and atmosphere of Lisbon influenced your creative process and the direction of your designs?

Lisbon happened by accident. The initial plan was to relocate to Tangier in Morocco, but as the pandemy picked up again late 2021, we decided to make a stopover in Lisbon until things settled. It’s a city that’s hard not to like, and the stopover turned into a long-term installation. Being here enabled us to open a large-scale workshop, where design, prototyping and production can happen side-by-side. We can go from an idea to a finished piece in a matter of weeks instead of having to wait months for a first prototype. And we now have a lot more freedom to play with materials, processes and finishes. 

Studio HAOS is known for embracing simplicity while eschewing unnecessary complexity in design. How do you navigate the delicate balance between minimalism and functionality in your creations?

It can be tempting to free oneself from the “functionality” constraint, and make pieces that have more value as a work of art than as a functional object, and some do it very well. As for our way of practicing design, we feel it’s important to keep it because ultimately constraints are essential to the process of creation. Paradoxically the more constraints you have and the more creative you have to be, and besides functionality, we don’t have that many of them. We indeed have to balance this with quite a minimalistic approach, but they are not necessarily opposites. Minimalism for us is not about stripping everything out, it’s about achieving the desired effect with restraint, trying to be subtle rather than loud, leaning away from frivolous complication. In that sense ornament can be necessary, and functionality is not a cross to carry.

Reflecting on your journey so far, what advice would you offer to yourselves when you were first embarking on this path?

We were quite self conscious when we started, not having a product design background, and we would spend way too much time on each object. It usually doesn’t make them better, quite the opposite in fact. Looking back I would tell myself to be more confident, build more pieces, because with each new piece we make mistakes, learn, and get better at what we do. In other words, “it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey”.

As Studio HAOS continues to evolve, what are your aspirations and goals for the future of the studio?

I hope we’ll always have the curiosity to experiment with new ways of doing things, and that we will keep doing so surrounded by a team of talented and fun people. And above all, I hope that we always get to keep the immense privilege of being allowed to spend our days making beautiful things, and be paid for it. 

In order of appearance

  1. ANTIMATIÈRE Exhibition, 2024, Paris. Photography by Depasquale and Maffini. Courtesy of CONTRIBUTIONS Design
  2. Aluminium Side Table. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  3. Aluminium Dining Table. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  4. Grid Chair. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  5. Leather Chair. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  6. Aluminium Lounge Chair. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  7. Aluminium Arm Chair. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  8. Aluminium Bench. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  9. Steel Lamp 3. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.
  10. Steel Lamp 1. Photography by Inês Silva Sá. Courtesy of Studio HAOS.

Frederik Fialin

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Frederik Fialin
Words · Simone Lorusso

From Denmark to Berlin: Frederik Fialin’s Unique Approach to Furniture Design

Today, we have the pleasure of sitting down with Frederik Fialin, a designer hailing from Denmark but based in Berlin, specialises in crafting bold yet whimsical minimalist furniture using durable, frequently recycled materials. He enjoys playing with contrasts, blending elements like sturdy construction steel with vibrant velour upholstery. Despite his traditional training as a cabinet maker, Fialin consistently challenges conventions and explores new possibilities in his work.

Frederik, your furniture pieces are characterized by their bold yet playful aesthetic. Can you tell us more about your creative process and what inspires your designs?

I’m usually content with my work when it makes me laugh and wonder at its oddness. I aim for it to be disproportionate or unexpectedly shaped, yet maintain a clear and simple structure. I find great beauty in simplicity and honesty, and I strive to infuse these qualities into my furniture. I often make only minor tweaks to the original concept, mainly to address functionality and overcome technical hurdles. I enjoy exploring extremes and using the full range of sizes available, whether from ready-mades or custom fabrications. Why stick with a 50mm pipe when you can use a 270mm one? It might be unnecessary, but it’s decorative and adds a touch of humour.

How does your background influence your approach to furniture design and craftsmanship?

Clearly, my background as a classically trained cabinetmaker must have some importance, but never in any directly noticeable way. If anything, not having a theoretical background has probably benefited me in some ways and has potentially given me a more naive approach, which I think is clear when you look at my furniture. Starting out not knowing design history, theory and the mere fundamentals has both been challenging and rewarding. I think not taking it all that seriously is probably the main one. After all, it’s just furniture, and theorising on a particular piece or subject is generally pointless. Either you like it or you don’t.

Your pieces often challenge the notion of industrial design. What other design categories or influences do you draw inspiration from?

Do they? I don’t see it like this at all. My furniture makes use of very well- known and often basic materials. I usually try to simplify as much as I can and remove all unnecessary elements. I don’t take inspiration from anyone or anything in particular and I work based almost solely on gut feeling, but almost always to make myself happy. I like the framework that using mainly common geometric shapes gives me though. For me, it’s about combining these well-known shapes and placing them in unusual ways, adding or decreasing thickness, changing the diameter, or something else that can turn a simple circle or cylinder into something interesting, aesthetically pleasing, and most importantly, a functional piece of furniture.

How has Berlin’s dynamic cultural scene influenced your creative process and the development of your designs?

I doubt that Berlin has had any particular influence on my work. It’s more a place I happened to be while maturing and realising how I want to spend my time professionally.

Could you tell us about any specific challenges you’ve encountered while experimenting with materials or pushing the boundaries of design?

As with everything; finding the balance between beauty, functionality, humour and self-interest.

What role does sustainability play in your work, particularly considering your use of recycled materials?

I haven’t used recycled materials in quite a while; instead, I try to make use of materials that are not transported thousands of kilometres and should they eventually be thrown out, it would probably be aluminium (which is infinitely recyclable) or wood. I don’t believe that what we do in my studio has any particular influence on the status of the world. We produce furniture in very small quantities, sometimes in exotic materials, sometimes not. It doesn’t matter in the greater scheme of things and is not something I worry about.

Looking ahead, what are your goals or aspirations for your furniture studio, and how do you envision the evolution of your designs in the future?

At the moment, we are planning the next year. There will be some shows and design festivals as well as further developments of already existing pieces and new ones. I simply hope to be able to continue doing what I do and have fun with it.

In order of appearance

  1. Flagpole Lamp, Elephant Tripod Table, AC01 Dining Chair, Spaghetti Shelf System, Monteverdi Daybed. Courtesy of Frederik Fialin.
  2. Flagpole Lamp, 2023. Courtesy of Frederik Fialin.
  3. Elephant Tripod Table, 2023. Courtesy of Frederik Fialin.
  4. Springloaded Light, 2024. Courtesy of Frederik Fialin.
  5. Hefty Table, 2024. Courtesy of Frederik Fialin.

MOCK Studio

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · MOCK Studio
Words · Simone Lorusso

The Art of Furniture: Insights from MOCK Studio

Upon encountering the products of MOCK Studio, a palpable aura of tranquility enveloped me. The seamless blend of wood and aluminium spoke volumes of the meticulous craftsmanship behind each piece. Specialising in bespoke furniture and interior installations, MOCK Studio boasts a diverse portfolio that spans from individual items to entire interior environments.

What sparked MOCK Studio’s foray into crafting furniture and interior installations?

We are architects who wanted to create a furniture line for our commissioned projects that follows our design ethos, we simply wanted to extend our design thinking into furniture that was rooted in simplicity, proportion and material selection. Once we started making our own pieces we received an overwhelming response and so we decided to launch a furniture brand. Our focus has always been on accessible and easy to manufacture furniture.

MOCK: each letter an adjective.

Modest, Obvious, Clean, Kind

Could you walk us through the process of ideating and crafting your pieces?

We tend to start with a material we like and think of ways that it can be manipulated with the least amount of effort, our process is very intuitive but we are always striving for effortlessness. We are constantly questioning our processes and how they can be simplified to achieve the most satisfying results with the least amount of physical effort. 

Given the shifts in the human-home dynamic observed during the recent Milan Design Week, how do you foresee the role of furniture and interior installations evolving over the next 5 years?

We feel like this is both overdue and inevitable as the design community struggles with notions of sustainability and resource scarcity. Where it will go in the next 5 years is anybody’s guess however we can only hope that it only continues to grow in prominence because it is an ethos that really resonates with us and the way we approach design. 

If you had the chance to gather three influential personalities for a dinner soirée, who would you extend the invitation to, and what draws you to them?

Donald Judd because we are so inspired by his work and how it was able to make such simple things be so iconic. Dieter Rams because of his commitment to intentional design thinking, functionality and reason. David Attenborough because of his ability to engage our curiosity about the natural world. 

Could you spotlight a project that serves as a prime example of MOCK Studio’s guiding principles and ethos?

There are moments that embody our ethos on a project called TBSP and some more in our 2023 NYC X Design installation but we are still evolving as a practice and there is still a lot left unexplored which we are very excited about.

Peering into the future of MOCK Studio as it strides into 2034, what visions do you behold?

We behold a strong vision of life in the Mediterranean, we mean that both metaphorically and literally, as we are starting to shift our focus towards Europe, specifically Greece, and we are continuously drawing inspiration in the way we design from aspects of life in that part of the world.

Credits

Photography · Sean Davidson
Courtesy of MOCK Studio

Nifemi Marcus-Bello

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Nifemi Marcus-Bello
Words · Simone Lorusso

Crafting Contemporary African Design

Nifemi Marcus-Bello, a Nigerian designer based in Lagos, specializes in product, furniture, and experience design. Celebrated for his talent in crafting sustainable products that originate from local ecosystems while making waves in international projects, Nifemi is the creative force behind nmbello Studio. He is at the forefront of shaping Africa’s design landscape with his innovative and unconventional designs. His work seamlessly blends historical perspectives with contemporary influences, resulting in conceptual products that marry artistic expression with practical functionality. Nifemi Marcus-Bello’s approach to design aligns with the emerging trend that explores the intersection between producing individual pieces and small series. His creations are deeply rooted in culture and often serve as vessels for profound meanings.

Hi Nifemi, thank you for joining us for this conversation. Can you share more about your childhood experiences that sparked your interest in product design and manufacturing?

My story into design is a bit of a cliche to people who eventually chose a path of creativity. As a kid I was curious and got excited around dismantling any object I could, so at the age of 13 my mum introduced me to a welder who I would have an apprenticeship with for a few years after school. Even with all of this, I never thought of design as a career path, I gravitate more towards art and architecture because contextually, they were a lot more familiar at the time. After staying back home for a few years after high school, my mum eventually would be able to send me to school in the United Kingdom. Here I stumbled on to design as a practice and profession and it was love at first sight. 

Looking back, what advice would you give to your younger self as you embarked on your design journey?

I have been described to be a “cynic optimist”, a trait I had in my younger years and still have till now. For me I think all good designers possess an energy of optimism when creating any piece of work in the sense that you are presenting an idea into the world with the thought of changing what or how the world currently sees itself. So my advice to my younger self would be to remain optimistic and hopeful. 

In today’s society, what role do you believe design should play in addressing contemporary needs?

I think design is already playing a very important role in contemporary society and is helping to enhance experiences within technology and even the analogue world. I think it’s easy to forget that everything around us and that we use in our daily lives has to be designed by someone or people, from the chair you sit on, to the laptop you use, to the medical devices you use. So we as a people wouldn’t survive without design, it’s everything to us. I just hope that pushing forward design plays a role in the consideration of ethnography, where design solutions are culturally considerate to users and systems. 

In your view, how does the concept of “the society of fatigue,” as described by German-Korean philosopher Byung-Chul Han, manifest in contemporary design, where there’s a growing emphasis on hyper-productivity and efficiency?

I think that design as a practice is and will evolve within the coming years. I think a bigger shift (which is already happening) will see design and designers take greater consideration of systematic, ecological and human sustainability approaches to creating products and design solutions. A good example is a hyperlocal approach to manufacturing, scope of work and distribution. 

What initiatives or partnerships have you engaged in to promote African design globally?

I think the easiest thing to do is to be true to yourself and be as authentic as possible when it comes to your design approach and context. As the studio grows, with both a commercial and artistic approach and collaborations with brands in North America and across Europe. I sometimes have to educate clients that yes, the studio is based in Lagos and the work we do is contextual but we actually live in a global village, where everyone uses an iphone, practically see the same movies via Netflix so consumption of aesthetics and information has become global but with a hint of local context, for example, Kids love Stussy in Lagos, Nairobi, London and New York. 

What motivated the establishment of nmbello Studio, and how does it align with your vision for the future?

Before established nmbello Studio, I did my rounds as a junior and then lead designer for various companies, designing mobile phones, phone accessories, medical devices and furniture across the continent. I decided to start the studio for many reasons but the one that kept me curious was understanding and documenting material evolution and production availability of modern day Africa through a design practice. 

For me the future is in Africa, we have all the resources and with the youngest population in the world, we have the numbers so it is important for us to dictate our on futures and tell our own stories by creating our own products that will eventually dictate how we live and our future aesthetic.    

Can you provide an example of a manufacturing process or technology that has inspired your work?

As a lot of my work is contextual to availability I try not to have too much of an emotional attachment to one material. But one material and process that inspired my way of thinking approach to designing within my studio will have to be sheet metal and laser cutting. I know this might and usually comes as a shock for most designers but a great deal of this process is readily available in Lagos due to the production of electrical products such as generators, and they have become the norm in the streets of Lagos, a few indigenous manufacturers who need to produce casing for such items, popularised the process in the early 2000s.

Looking ahead, what aspects of your practice and the potential impact of your designs excite you the most?

I am very happy to be getting busier and being able to have work that resonates with a large audience. A great deal of the commercial work coming out of the studio sells on the continent and outside the continent as well. With this, I think there is untapped potential when it comes to strategic brand partnerships and special projects and a lot of discussion is being had around these possibilities.  With my artistic practice via the gallery shows getting a lot of museum acquisitions and discussions around the documentation of my work, I am deliberate in taking the right steps to communicate and archive my work effectively when it comes to the design process via mediums as film and photography, which has helped bring another layer into my design practice as a whole. 

In order of appearance

  1. Nifemi Marcus-Bello. Photography by Stephen Tayo
  2. Selah Lamp, nmbello Studio. Photography by Kadara Enyeasi.
  3. Friction Ridge, nmbello Studio. Photography by Kadara Enyeasi.
  4. Waf Kiosk, nmbello Studio.

All images courtesy of Nifemi Marcus-Bello

2050+

Posted on by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · 2050+
Words · Simone Lorusso

Designing diversity: a conversation with Ippolito Pestellini Laparelli and the transformative path of 2050+

An architect and curator thriving on diversity and multidisciplinarity, Ippolito Pestellini Laparelli honed his skills across various projects at OMA, ranging from the Fondaco dei Tedeschi in Venice to Monditalia, the expansive Arsenale exhibition at the 2014 Venice Architecture Biennale curated by Rem Koolhaas. Four years ago, he chose to return home to Milan from Rotterdam, taking a more independent stance to develop his own agenda. With a team comprising over 15 individuals, including architects, curators, researchers, and art directors, 2050+ has become a hub for diverse talents. We had the chance to catch up with him, delving into discussions about his agency, architectural practice, and vision.

In navigating the intersection of design, technology, environment, and politics, how does 2050+ function as an interdisciplinary platform, and how does the urgency embedded in the agency’s name, ‘+’, influence the nature of its projects and collaborations?

2050+ acts more as a platform than a traditional architectural office. Each project requires a different ecosystem of expertises and perspectives that are either present in 2050+ or are part of our network.

Through the past years we have worked with artists, filmmakers, writers, scientists, philosophers, technologists, etc. in order to dissect and reflect on today’s complexities. For us the only way to remain relevant is to multiply the point of views, to look at crucial and urgent questions from different angles, to constantly negotiate our position as spatial practitioners with other disciplines, while finding a common and actionable ground. We actively look for projects that allow us to remain political and to tackle urgent questions in line with our overall agenda. This is evident in our research work, often commissioned by cultural institutions, but it’s also a goal for the more commercial side of our practice.    

In what ways does 2050+ utilize spatial practices as a medium rather than a goal?

Often as an architect you are expected to imagine, design and build spaces to inhabit, but that is just a small fraction of what architecture means as a discipline. Anything we observe, from politics to technology, from science to policy making, from climate to fashion, etc. has spatial implications. Space is a lens to investigate and understand contemporary dynamics and the formats of such explorations range across writing, film making, performance, digital environments, exhibitions, installations and architecture. For these reasons we prefer the definition of “Spatial Practitioners” to the one of “Architects” as it reflects how expansive our definition of architecture is.     

Given your belief that emotional engagement has been the driving force behind your choice to embark on this new chapter, could you share which project from the last four years of 2050+ has had the most profound emotional impact on you?

It’s a difficult question and there is no straight answer. I develop different relationships with different projects and that depends on many factors: its political potential, the way it relates to bigger questions, its ability to speculate on alternative presents or futures, or simply its mere aesthetic qualities. If I need to really pick, I’m particularly moved by projects involving live performances, where narrative, space and time come together to deliver a powerful message. The recent scenography for Il Diluvio Universale by Gaetano Donizzetti in Bergamo falls definitely into this category.

Together with the duo of artists film-makers Masbedo, we worked on a version of the classic opera that reinterprets the traditional narrative structure of Il Diluvio Universale to give voice to the “unheard prophets” of today: through the trope of the flood, the opera urged us to face timely and urgent issues related to the climate crisis, social injustices and political instabilities. The imagery of the work was entirely based on climate activism and protesters.

It was a way for us to bring inside an institutional theater and through the medium of a classic opera  the instances of climate activists. That’s the reason why we collaborated with Sea Shepherd, a non-profit, marine conservation activism organization, which generously shared footage from their actions that was incorporated into the scenography.   

Which significant projects are currently occupying your focus and attention? 

We are about to open a research and installation at SALT in Istanbul focused on toxicity and the politics of air in Turkey and beyond. For this project we have collaborated with a local toxicologist and with an Italian AI artist, Lorem, who has produced the soundscape for the work. On the other side of the practice spectrum, currently we are also busy with a project of architectural transformation of the XVIII Palazzina dei Principi at Capodimonte in Naples, which will host the Marcello and LIa Rumma collection of Arte Povera. These are two examples of how schizophrenic life in 2050+ can be… 

Originally hailing from Sicily, you grew up in Milan, making your recent experience akin to returning home. A spontaneous question arises: as we look ahead, how do you foresee Milan evolving while maintaining its position in the central space between the Mediterranean and continental Europe?

Milan is a very dynamic city. It’s a relatively small metropolis with a global footprint, where creativity is truly multidimensional, combining design, fashion, art, photography, architecture into a unique social environment. At the same time I’m rather concerned about its recent development after the expo 2015. Milan is a place where real estate speculation is running wild, where inequalities are growing at escalating rates, where bigger and bigger sectors of society are being marginalized and pushed out of the city, where marketing has taken over and environmental policies are insufficient and very fragile. I’d like to live in a city that is open, inclusive, diverse, multicultural…but not just for the rich. Milan should look more to the south and not just to northern european or anglo saxon contexts. I feel Palermo or Naples provide far more interesting models than London in this particular historical moment.  

Discussing Milan, there has been a notable resurgence of interest in 10 Corso Como lately, piquing my curiosity to explore the project further. When considering the Project Room and the Galleria, you liken them to a flexible theater or a “transitory museum.” Could you provide insights into the modern significance of these analogies and explain how their flexibility addresses the ever-changing cultural and social demands that the space aims to fulfill?

“The Transitory Museum” is the title of an interesting book on Corso Como 10 by philosophers Emanuele Coccia and Donatien Grau. It argues that categories that have governed for long our modern lives, such as art, fashion and the museum are being redefined, and that clear boundaries between such categories are being dissolved. As the first ever concept store, Corso Como 10 embodies the notion of a transitory museum, or a space without a fixed role or identity, where the relationship between contents, audience, display and architecture is constantly reinvented. It’s a spatial manifestation of the current state of instability and uncertainty that our society is permanently experiencing – or of a “liquid society” to use the words of another thinker, Zygmunt Bauman – a condition accelerated by the continuous osmosis between our physical and digital interactions. 

Our approach to 10 Corso Como is not based on fixed categories – a retail space, a gallery, etc. – but rather on the underlying idea of a framework able to support a virtually infinite repertoire of curatorial configurations and experiences through a finite set of devices. In this sense, both the Gallery and the Project Room are vague spaces, ready to unlock any potential.      

Beyond their functional purpose, what narrative motivations led to the introduction of micro-architectures like the large pantograph tables in this specific space?

The pantograph tables respond to various needs and sets of inspirations: they refer to the subtle industrial character of the building and they give shape to the idea of machine or “flexible theater” that we had in mind for these spaces. These elements are adaptable, moveable, they can change height and configuration, or they can simply be stored away leaving an empty space behind. They are silent actors on stage, moving according to different choreographies. Like the moveable walls-units for the Gallery, they are tools at the service of our imagination.  

More in general, the entire project was premised on the idea to give a spatial translation to the interdisciplinary character of Corso Como 10, a place where fashion, art, photography, design, urban nature come together into an unicum. To do so we have operated following a principle of “selective archeology”, removing all the unnecessary layers and materials accumulated through time and bringing back the architecture to its original, gentle industrial character. This approach has allowed us to reconnect spaces which were once disconnected and to facilitate the osmotic flows of visitors across all its programs and experiences. In line with this attitude we have inserted a number of “micro architectures” – new stairs, service spaces, accesses, etc. This results in a system of new volumes marked with a different materiality (i.e. steel) that rationalizes the organization of each floor and connects all levels of the early XX building from ground floor to the newly renovated green terrace, through a continuous loop.    

Under the new leadership of entrepreneur Tiziana Fausti, 10 Corso Como appears poised to take a swift step into the future. If we were in 2050, how do you envision the gallery’s transformation?

I’d rather not say. The present is dense enough of challenges. Let’s focus on our time; maybe this the best way to address our future.

In order of appearance

  1. Nebula, 2050+
    Photography by Lorenzo Palmieri
  2. Synthetic Cultures, 2050+
    Photography Gaia Cambiaggi
  3. Henraux Foundation, 2050+
    Photography by Querceta
  4. Il Diluvio Universale, 2050+
    Photography by 2050+
  5. Il Diluvio Universale, 2050+
    Photography by G. Rota
  6. 10 Corso Como Project Room, 2050+
    Photography by Alessandro Saletta, DSL Studio
  7. 10 Corso Como Project Room, 2050+
    Photography by Alessandro Saletta, DSL Studio
  8. 10 Corso Como Gallery, 2050+
    Photography by Alessandro Saletta, DSL Studio
  9. 10 Corso Como Gallery, 2050+
    Photography by Alessandro Saletta, DSL Studio

All images courtesy of 2050+

Frankie Pappas

Posted on by nr

NR 18 Personal Investigation · Autumn Winter 2023
Published · Print Page 028

Feature · Frankie Pappas
Words · Nicola Barrett

House Of The Pink Spot, Non-Negotiables and Banishing Egotism

Frankie Pappas is the collective pseudonym for an international architecture and design firm based in South Africa. They describe themselves as “a collection of brilliant young minds that do away with personal egotisms to find remarkable solutions.” NR Magazine joined Ant (I’d rather you didn’t use my surname please) in conversation. Ant is a storyteller, each question revealing more about the work of Frankie Pappas and the ideals and motivations behind the firm, each more interesting and radical than the last. 

Nicola Barrett: What was the process behind the creation of House of the Pink Spot and what were some of the challenges you faced on this project? 

That building came about because a friend of mine, Alicia, heads up this thing called Digital Disruptors. It’s one of her many projects. She wanted something to do in this area, Orange Farm, Drieziek in Johannesburg. She’d gotten some money and she didn’t know what to do with it. I said, well, I would approach it from an architectural perspective. I’m fascinated by how you can make small interventions in parts of the city and see what impact they have.

There are two stories that I told Alicia. One was of Guatemala. They were having these huge drug wars. I went there maybe ten years ago, just after these drug wars had kind of been quelled a bit in the urban areas. They were trying to reinitiate the use of these public spaces. So they just put massive amounts of really fast WiFi into these public places and a lot of light. When I went there these places were so full, everyone was working in their laptops. It was quite amazing. This idea that once you initiate people into a space, it inherently becomes a little bit safer. 

Another story like this that I like, is in Kenya, there is a main road to the airport that is incredibly well-lit. The reason is that the government wanted its dignitaries to have safe passage to the airport and back. I saw this one photograph, and it just stuck in my mind. It’s of these school kids sitting along this road, miles and miles of them because this is the only light they have access to. Doing their homework.  And it was just amazing. 

These two things stuck in my mind. I said, Alicia, this is probably what I would try to do. Bring light to the space and a hell of a lot of WiFi. Let’s find a spot where this could work. When we were there with GBV survivors and activists, they chose this one spot which was a dumping ground. We got that cleaned up and in essence, built this public park. I mean, it’s very small, but that’s what we had available in terms of the fund. We worked for free on this project because the budget was so small.

The construction of it is really interesting. It’s got to be the tallest building in Drieziek. We ordered the longest telephone poles we could get our hands on, painted them pink on the ground and then hoisted them up with solar lights on top of them. The seating is all just brickwork. It’s very simple stuff. All signage is hand painted by everyone. 

The challenges are numerous. The reason why it’s the Pink Spot is because we didn’t want it to be affiliated with a political party. The ANC, which is the ruling party, their colours are green, yellow and black. We went through all the colours of the parties and we were left with purple and pink. 

Nicola Barrett: Was it built on private land or public land?

Oh, my word. You’re going to get me into trouble here. I have absolutely no idea.

Nicola Barrett: Did you not come up against opposition when you start building in unclaimed places?

Well, it’s obviously someone’s land. And by someone, I mean, it’s some state enterprise. So it’s definitely not private property. Let’s call it municipal land for the sake of this conversation. It’s municipal land that is not only being under-utilised, it’s not being maintained. It’s a dumping ground.

Surely the city’s land belongs to citizens. I would expect that to not be a controversial statement. But it is. It’s on the bottom of a street that these activists live on. It is like an inherently unsafe space because it’s not being maintained. They said we’re going to try and make it safer for ourselves. We want a way to activate it, to maintain it. All we ask is leave us alone so that we can. Because our governments are so ineffectual, it has to be done by people who care, the citizens. It is like a type of guerrilla architecture.

Nicola Barrett: There are many unused spaces, particularly in urban areas, what’s your opinion of more radical ways of reclaiming these spaces?

I can only speak to it in a South African context. But I’m always surprised at the amount of legislation in the way between what exists and what I would like the city to be like. The offices that I’m in at the moment, this is our first development, because exactly this problem that you’ve spoken about.  What we are doing is not by the book. We’ve taken an Apartheid-era house that was not being utilised and we converted it into these six tiny little offices. It goes against every single regulation. 

But there’s a market for small office spaces. The smallest office space we can get is 45 square meters. Do we need 45 square meters? No, not really. Then we still have to pay for heating, for lights, for WiFi. Why don’t we do one ourselves where we make a seven square meter spaces and we make five other office spaces for other people with a shared boardroom and we get this thing off the grid so it’s on solar? We don’t need the municipality at all. 

If you don’t have the capacity as a citizen to change the city, I mean, what are we doing? I use the word citizen very deliberately because you choose to live in a city, so truly you should be able to change it in some way. It’s liberating, I suppose, in a weird way, to live in South Africa, where the protection of the law is so bad that you can implement this thing that you want to do.

Nicola Barrett: In what ways do you think people with fewer resources could potentially reclaim under-utilised spaces? 

This is one of the problems we’re trying to solve at the moment. Providing better accommodation and still making it economically interesting. Think £250 for two-bed apartment. That must sound insane to you. But is that achievable? Can we do it? Yeah, I think we can. It means finding spaces that are under-utilised in the suburbs, that’s easy enough to do because you have garages that are not being used. You’ve got people who are 65 years old who have a four-bedroom house whose kids have all left. Utilising those unused spaces could be done very well.

But the Gherkin can never be done well. In no world is that floor plan divisional.  All it supports is big companies.  It’s revered as this great piece of architecture by Norman Foster, but it’s a piece of nonsense. But it’s one of the things that’s so frustrating about the architectural world because it’s all about houses for really wealthy people, or big office buildings or the Line. But something like the Pink Spot, I think is a far more interesting project. If you build the Line, you will never be able to change it if you have a normal salary. The way to do it is to parcel land into small enough quantities that normal human beings can create change.  

And for architects to get involved in the curation of the city. You cannot be the servant of the rich and you cannot be the barefoot philanthropist, that’s the world. The role of the architect, I think, is looking after the health of the city. And so therefore, as an architect, you should be in the role of apportioning capital to projects that you think are valuable to the future city. The city you’d like to live in, as doctors, should be responsible for looking after the health of humans. Right. But we should afford architects this opportunity or this role. But of course, it’s not done that way. The people who are producing the city are developers who are, in essence working for provident funds or some sort of big capital-allocating entity, and that’s chaos.

Nicola Barrett: House of the Big Arch was designed with not only humans but local wildlife in mind. What were some of the challenges you faced doing this? 

I learned to say what is the non-negotiable. And a non-negotiable can be so philosophical and unattainable and unachievable in the beginning and then as long as you don’t move that line, it’s achievable. Can we build this building in a forest without disturbing a tree?

When you produce this very strict problem set, which is; we can’t disturb a tree, we have to get the materials from the closest town, it has to be all be carried by humans. How do we manage these extreme temperatures of 40 degrees? All of these are these very strict parameters that you can’t ignore. And once you are clear about them, it’s almost like linear programming, except not two-dimensional. Like a multidimensional linear programming problem where the problem space is so small that the form produces itself.

This architecture is not a function of invention, it is a function of discovery. Deciding on what those parameters are, that’s the real work. The rest, it just solves itself. Be real about what the problem set is and solve for that. And then you won’t get something boring. Not possible. I’m glad to say that’s the one thing I think all our projects, whether furniture or buildings or artwork, have that in common. Wonderfully similar but beautifully different. Because nothing looks the same. You wouldn’t think House of the Big Arch and House of the Pink Spot and House of the Flying Bowtie are designed by remotely the same people. 

Nicola Barrett: So you state that your collective pseudonym challenges the status quo. How so?

This was a joke. That statement is not a joke. But this was kind of poking fun at architecture firms named after the person who owns them. There is this inherent ego in it all. And I find that laughable. For multiple reasons. First of all, like, you have an infinite choice of names and you resort to your own, which you didn’t even choose for yourself. So you are both arrogant and stupid. Obviously, I’m being a little bit facetious, but I’m also not. 

I’d read a book by Willard Manus called Mott the Hoople, which is quite a funny book. The titular character’s friend was called Frankie Pappas. And I thought, Jeez, that’s my mother’s maiden name, and I’d never seen Pappas in a book. So I was like, oh, this is funny. And Frankie is gender-neutral. And I thought, that’s interesting, maybe there’s something there. Anyone can be Frankie. But I always laugh when there’s a man that comes through asking for Mr Pappas, and then I’m like, well, that person definitely hasn’t read what we’re about.

And the reason we were in search for this collective pseudonym is that there was a mathematician called Nicolas Bourbaki who was releasing all these amazing papers on math, but it turned out like he was ten twenty-year-olds who had decided to collaborate under this collective pseudonym and they just changed mathematics. I think he is still, to this day, the most published mathematician. He’s multi-generational and we liked the idea of a multi-generational architectural firm in South Africa, because there aren’t that many of them. That’s why Frankie is Frankie. 

Nicola Barrett: You state on your website that almost the entire tradition of Western formal architecture has produced sculpture rather than architecture. How so? 

I think for a long time it has been the case. Formal architecture has always been something that you have to sell to someone. So whoever is the client, you have to give them drawings and models. It’s very difficult to make a drawing and make someone focus on the stuff that is inside the drawing. Like how the space solves these issues. Or you discuss the sculpture of the model and someone says, I don’t know how that looks. How do you discuss the space inside a model? It’s impossible. Informal architecture has been one of, what do I need? I need to solve this issue. I have another child. Therefore, there needs to be another bedroom. It’s a very practical thing. 

I was in a competition and one of the guys was discussing the school he had made. This thing was clad in rock from the area and then one of these rock tiles had been removed, and then they put a stainless steel tile there. And he said, because we wanted the stainless steel to reflect the sky, and so, therefore, the sky would be bursting out from between the rocks. Why clad it in rocks in the fucking first place? There’s this obsession with what the thing looks like. 

The most amazing photographs of the Pink Spot are the ones taken by Tshepiso Seleke. He does not give a shit about the architecture. He doesn’t care. He’s just like, there’s a beautiful person. There’s another beautiful person doing something. Doesn’t even look at the building. That shot that he took of those kids with those go-karts is just my favourite thing ever. That’s what I mean. There’s this obsession with what this thing looks like. That’s not the important stuff.

Nicola Barrett: What advice would you give to young creatives working in our architecture and design?

My only advice is that in the contemporary world, I think we are solving a lot of problems that are not actually problems. It’s like this artificial intelligence. This is a problem that is being solved that isn’t a necessary problem to solve. What is the actual improvement? 

I suppose the thing is to see what are real problems and identify those as real problems and then solve those real problems. To actually be honest with oneself what real problems are. That’s not easy. We all get caught up in our own world. Taking a step back and thinking, where should I spend my time… Because you’ve got finite breath, right? 

Many of us are incredibly doubtful in ourselves, stressed and worried. We think we are not big enough to contribute or to change everything, and we see these problems. But I think there are these small little things that we can get right and we can just try. The Pink Spot, just for the photos of those kids enjoying themselves, that makes it worth it. I always tear up when I see them. It’s so beautiful. 

Subscribe to our
Newsletter