If I held a tea party it wouldn’t be just any old affair.
Vintage tea sets would spill out over delicate lace tablecloths with silver sugar tongs and gold teaspoons catching the chandelier’s twinkling light. And the sugar bowls. Oh the sugar bowls. They’d have dainty snug fitting lids that chimed if you closed them too hastily. Petit four and crustless smoked salmon sandwiches piled high on cake stands with care and attention.
Then you would see it.
If beauty, as they say, lies in the eye of the beholder then taste finds its origins in the tongue of the creator, whether Michelin star chef or local chip shop fryer. It is much the same when concerning aesthetic preference in design – each style is produced by blending a unique combination of visual spices with the fundamental elements to result in a particular flavour or tone – and, like renowned restaurants, tastes become quickly established and reputations are consequently built. Traditionally, the Swiss prefer one dominant, sharp flavour with very little seasoning or variation – a dash of upper-case here and a sprinkling of right alignment there – whereas the Dadaists enjoy invoking a cacophony of previously experienced aromas. Regardless of the style of optical cuisine, the industry tends to rely on a similar methodology: Eat here once and, if you enjoy it, please come again.
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Elaborate spectacle and a sense of dramatics is always a consideration in design, especially at prestigious gatherings such as the Salone Internazionale del Mobile. This year, many design houses are going to further lengths to inject an encapsulating character into their spaces and the use of materials and production methods result in visuals that cater for a broad design palette. These spaces come into their own when housing the parties that pepper the week’s relentless schedule and the Established & Sons midweek event was one billed as not to be missed.
Working title has made the shock discovery that there are designers working collectively within the Designersblock show based in Thaon de Revel. Even more shockingly there are are at least 3 ‘collectives’ within the exhibition. The New Oxford school dictionary describes a collective as ‘adjective of a group taken as a whole, our collective opinion. Not a great definition, but it is after all it is a kids dictionary and was never intended or designed to be used at an event with the gravitas of the Salone Internazionale del mobile, but it will have to suffice.
It is a well-known fact that the Japanese have got going to the loo sorted. And that the kings of toilet toilette are Toto. And having pampered the bums of Asia since 1917, Toto are now touting their wares in Europe. Visitors to Via Solari 37/39 (Tortona District) can savour their latest product and first conscious attempt to woo a European market with a ‘washlet’ (i.e. robotic loo seat) designed by none other than Stefano Giovannoni.
It is not an uncommon story to link the notion of the self to space. Many of us do it as very young children when writing our names and addresses, expanding the address locating us in our street, town, city and country, to encompass the world, the solar system, the Milky Way, the universe.
Milan strikes me as a city not designed for rain.
The Chanel glasses that cover many fashionista’s faces are suddenly rendered useless and appear too posey, the miniature dogs found on the end of leads belonging to men who go for manicures look sad and grumpy and have wet feet. Street after street is dulled and appears a shadow of it’s former self with all the lure and colour washed down to halftones and quiet.
Universally themed exhibitions always err on the side of risk. When dealing with topics that affect such a wide audience, the element of danger lies in making assumptions about a global subject, especially one as personal and ambiguous as love. It came as a welcome surprise to discover that Love Design, a celebration of intimate or heartfelt products curated by Exquise Design, part defied the romanticised normals and part treaded old ground.
You know how it goes, you’re sat there listening to some young Shoreditch thing strum her out of tune guitar whilst shoving a vacuum cleaner down then microphone, ahem. When, just as you have turned your speakers up to maximum capacity Roberta pipes up and ruins it, ruins it all.
Yes Spotify, oh how great it was, and yes I’m cheap I could subscribe but I want to save my pennies, and just track her down and lodge the microphone so far down her throat that she can only mumble rhythmic static.
For those of you who are wandering what the hell I’m writing about, and whether I am slightly psychotic, fear not there’s a great new thing in Internet world, called Spotify. Hardly a justification for dismembering someone’s vocal chords, but wait…
