102. Chindogu

The concept of Chindogu is not new but it is still as relevant as when it was created, back in the 80s, by Japanese inventor Kenji Kawakami, when he started collecting useless ideas, objects that existed at the edge of reason, as he put it. Although the history of patented devices is full of absurd contraptions that are, in essence, closer to a materialized joke than to an object, the Japanese term Chindogu has a more complex meaning than its literal translation of “unusual implement.” Kawakami published a book called “101 unuseless Japanese inventions” -where unuseless refers to things that are not useless in an absolute way but are not useful either. These unuseless contraptions are utterly hilarious and hopelessly ad-hoc. The type of problem-solving (or unsolving) that characterizes chindogu focuses on the insignificant moments of the everyday. Balancing humor and embarrassment, chindogu objects are one-liners, things that would respond to: get it? and after that would immediately lose their charm, fade away and quickly be forgotten. One could criticize that these objects are a waste of energy, materials and printed pages, truly post-modern. Yet, there is something powerful in the idea of recuperating silly ideas and giving them a chance, in the same way we recuperate a plastic container and find a new use for it so that it won’t be wasted. Clearly the strongest aspect of chindogu is its potential to become an instrument of social criticism, rather than a context-based trend.

101. Miniature furniture

Researching Luís Barragán´s furniture I came across a web site that sells miniature replicas of famous furniture pieces. For $450 one can get a 1:6 replica of one of Barragán´s butacas, roughly 12 x 10 x 14 cm. (4.7 x 4 x 5.5 in.). Presented as a collector’s item, the specs read that each miniature model takes an average of five hours of careful manual work. Those of us used to model making as a design tool could easily understand the value of a five-hour model making session. But using five hours to make a replica of a historic piece -even if it is a gorgeous armchair like Barragán´s- seems harder to understand. Perhaps I have become severely intolerant to non-necessary objects, not only for environmental reasons but, most importantly, for existential reasons. A replica is a promise of an object, in the same way that a good set of images is a substitute of an experience. Short of having the butaca in my living room, or sitting on it in Barragán’s house, I would be content just admiring the piece in a library book or an online catalog (without spending a dime). A 1:6 study of a furniture piece is absolutely necessary when one is creating a new object, but it becomes a bit decadent when one is recreating an object that somebody else created in 1945. Imagine if those five hours of careful manual labor would be employed in creative, forward-looking work.

10> Sister things

On the celebration of this blog’s first hundred entries (objects) I am thinking about Mexican architect Luís Barragán’s love for the things that defined his living environment, his magnificent house in Tacubaya. He called them “sister things.” This hyperbole was partly a consequence of his tendency to ascetism, partly an acknowledgement of the importance that his everyday objects had in his life. Many of them he had designed and had crafted; others were full of symbolism, or devoid of any practical functionality –like his mirror spheres. Most of them were in sync with the austere architecture of the house where he lived all his life and his personality. Barragán’s lesson is this: the importance of objects is a state of mind, not an account of value or a measure of exclusivity. When I started this blog more than two years ago, I wanted to set the boundaries for an ongoing, shared state of mind that could be expressed through a sequence of things that I considered relevant to their present not because of their “design” value but because of their ability to question established definitions of design and open up a renewed understanding of the role of objects in our lives. Each entry has been a discovery and has suggested a redefinition of what is truly essential both culturally and socially; looking back, I realize how much I like the fact that each entry became an excuse for the following one.

100. Hand-propelled fan

From 1932, a hand-propelled fan. A rarity, more than an everyday object, I would think. Who knows; I have no idea whether this was a commercial success or remained in the realm of ideas and unrealized inventions. Is it possible that this low-tech gizmo was ever-present in bourgeois living rooms? A bent wire makes the small wooden propeller spin as the hand squeezes the wooden handle back and forth, an ingenuous and sustainable (by today’s standards) mechanism which, according to the image caption, was developed by people from tropical countries where electricity is an expensive luxury (we don’t know who those smart people were, or which tropical countries they belonged to). The device seems a bit out of scale (too big), at least in the photo. “Everybody comes to Rick’s” was the famous line from Casablanca (1942). The film is ten years older than this little invention and I can’t avoid imagining how would Ilse Lund look on screen squeezing one of these in the film’s dark, smoky sets, while tormented trying to make up her mind between Rick and Laszlo. The lady in the picture is, certainly, not as sophisticated as Ilse and that is perhaps a clue as to the market segment for which this device would have been designed. How important was a hand-propelled fan in those years, right after the Depression? Sometimes it helps to re-contextualize objects in order to get a better idea of what they meant back when.

99. Flying electric generator

Data confirm that truly high-energy winds are found at altitudes miles above us -not just a few hundred feet, where they can be tapped by conventional wind turbines. Many support the theory that tremendous energy can be captured from these temperate zone winds, enough to supply all the world's energy needs very economically. Australian professor Brian Roberts has designed a floating set of wind turbines rated at 240 Kwh, with four rotors, each one approximately 35 ft (10 m.) in diameter –more or less the size of two Mustangs in a row. Roberts claims that this generator should be able to produce energy at a price of less than 2 cents per Kwh. In the United States, the cost of electricity varies by region, from around 6 cents per Kwh in Idaho, to 30 cents per Kwh in Hawaii. According to the Department of Energy, in 2006 the average US household used 920 kwh per month. The actual status quo in the US is this: more than 50% of the electrical energy is produced by coal-powered plants, with less than 2% of it produced by wind and other renewable energy sources: even if the FEG were a truly revolutionary invention, its implantation in society would be, to say the least, problematic and painfully slow. The most promising possibility for FEGs would be that of an off-the grid, on-site generation scenario, with locally produced electrical energy capable of satisfying the demand of small communities.

98. Floating energy generator

A helium-filled floating turbine tethered to the ground by a 1000-foot cable that transfers the generated energy to the ground ready for immediate use, storage in batteries or re-distribution to the power grid. Given its size and function, we could call this an infrastructural object -or a super-sized gadget- rather than an object that would interest the editors of conventional design magazines. Canadian company Magenn Power sees this floating generator as an advantageous alternative to conventional wind turbines, which are probably beyond the category of objects, even infrastructural objects. One of the reasons why this generator is an object more than a piece of infrastructure is the fact that, unlike wind turbines, it was designed to be mobile and easily change location. Designed to float at altitudes of 600 to 1,000 feet and take advantage of nocturnal jet streams that exist almost everywhere, this generator is easily deployable and could be easily deflated and redeployed without the need of cranes or any other heavy machinery. This condition makes this product especially important for developing nations with deficient or no infrastructure, as well as disaster areas in need of emergency energy-generating equipment. The official copy is politically correct and stresses how this product is bird and bat friendly and has low noise emissions. But the main benefit of a large floating balloon could be as an urban identifier, a marker that could be perceived at long distance and thus help reveal specific urban features.

97. Portable pocketsize dynamo

For a little more than $5, this bright-colored pocketsize dynamo will keep your cell phone charged while you are away from your home plugs. It is truly pocket size (5.5 x 4.5 x 3 cm. / 2.16 x 1.77 x 1.18 in.) and even if, as an object, it is rather uninspiring -a simple plastic carcass to protect a mini-generator- the idea of generating electricity on demand by hand winding is still remarkable and full of potential. Hand winding products were briefly in vogue in the design world a decade ago, although they were mostly perceived as a trend rather than an alternative. I think their potential is still untapped, perhaps at a different scale. Personal energy generators could easily take care of most of our gizmos (including laptops) and household appliances on a regular basis. Hand winding could even be part of our daily, functional exercising routine -like taking the stairs instead of the elevator or bicycling to work- that would be beneficial for both our well being and the environment. Households would be equipped with large hand winding dynamos -the size of a chest of drawers- that would also be exercise machines. If we were required to manually generate part of our domestic electricity by means of a regular, 20-minute hand-cranking routine in the morning, the positive impact on public health, the reduction of public expenditure in health care costs and the environment -to name a few things- would be significant.

96. Bottle dynamo

I had a bottle dynamo in my first bicycle’s front wheel. It powered the vehicle’s front and backlights, it made me go increasingly fast: the faster I rode, the brighter the lights shone, and that was the perfect excuse for speeding almost everywhere. As a kid, I was mesmerized by the buzzing of the small dynamo wheel rolling against the tire, generating energy by a then obscure principle I could not possibly fathom. The dynamo was one of those objects I call silent servers, things that seem anonymous enough to remain hidden to us even though we might see them all the time. Silent servers are usually positive catalysts for our daily lives. Both the dynamo and the light carcasses in my first bicycle were chrome coated and felt heavy, sturdy, almost infallible. Years after that, bottle dynamos quietly disappeared from sight in bicycles. For the longest time, bicycle lights were battery powered, with dull black plastic carcasses and forced aerodynamic shapes, not very interesting shapes; they looked fragile and disposable, as if they had lost their status as an essential device, one that secured a steady supply of energy. Bottle dynamos are back, perhaps due to the green buzz, perhaps because they are truly ingenious, useful objects, and people are finally appreciating that. Good things have a revival after time and absence prove their worth. I am glad to see bottle dynamos around again: they are objects worth supporting and using.

95 Draisienne

On July 12 1817, German baron Karl Drais von Sauerbronn changed personal mobility forever. He was 32 years old and had invented a two-wheel machine powered by the action of the rider’s feet on the floor. The invention was presented in Paris one year later: the wheels of the Draisienne were still wooden, and it had no breaking system other than the rider’s feet. I read long time ago that it is remarkable how humans had used horse-powered, two-wheeled chariots for thousands of years, but only last century someone thought of putting those two wheels one in front of the other rather than parallel, to eliminate the need for the propelling element (horse) and create the first bicycle. In its clunkyness and material excess, the beauty of the Draisienne is spectacular; it is the beauty reserved for the first versions of every truly new invention, the beauty that emanates from the truly bold idea, when intentions are much more sophisticated and work better than the physical prototypes that embody them. In France, the Draisienne was called “velocipède,” from “véloce” (fast) and “pède” (foot) and it was considered a personal mobility machine from the very beginning. It was not until 1861 that Pierre and Ernest Michaux would test a velocipède with pedals in its front wheel, and a configuration of radically different wheels in size and function, designed to maximize propulsion by pedaling. The clunkyness had begun to slowly evolve into specialized, harmonious form.

94. Steam car

There are vehicles covered in gold, and there are vehicles with a light fiberglass body designed to set a land speed record. The second group is, in many ways, as extravagant a proposition as the first, at least from the point of view of the utility of the object; a test car is a selfish object, an end in itself, inaccessible and unintelligible to most. And, yet, it is formally stunning, each of its three-dimensional surfaces a triumphant result of formal evolution to pass the test of aerodynamics. In 1999, the British Steam Car Challenge was launched with the twofold aim of breaking the land speed record for steam powered vehicles as well as creating some excitement in the arena of alternate fuels. The car in the picture will attempt to break the 170 mph barrier in a few days in the Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah. It is 7.6 m. (30 ft.) long, 1.7 m. (5.6 ft.) wide and weights 3 tons, mostly due to the engine, since everything else is as light as it could be (a small sedan weights around 3,000 lb –1.36 tons; a Formula one car weights 1,300 lb. –0.6 tons). But beyond its metrics, it is a car that will be put in a museum once it has achieved its goal. And that opens up another discussion about the nature of objects, museums, the social value of design, the idea of beautiful form and its relation to function.

93. Golden Porsche

A Porsche plated with 20 kg. (44 lb.) of gold, in the streets of Moscow. The antonym of urban camouflage? It is a stretch already to justify its presence in a blog about objects; yet, a customized object is an object after all, and I am not interested in the base object (Porsche), but in the treatment of that base object for it to change its meaning in a particular society. Ostentation is as ever-present in objects as it is in social interaction. It is difficult to imagine a society that does not understand ostentation as a social principle capable of establishing implicit hierarchies. The vulgarity of this particular object is beyond the point, as is the nauseating fact that in the Russia of the nouveau riche, millions still go hungry. What matters to me, for the purposes of this blog, is that this object proves that ostentation may be multilayered: are there really degrees of ostentation? This car has two: ostentation # 1 is the fact that it is the most expensive Porsche in the market; ostentation # 2 is the fact that it is covered in gold. We could imagine that ostentation # 3 might be a system of rotating lights –like police cars- for people to notice the car more readily; ostentation # 4 could be a loudspeaker that would shout: “look at me, I am the wealthiest guy in this place, look at my car...” and so on. Disturbing.

92. Urban camouflage

Mimetic protection: hide behind a vending machine costume to blend into the urbanscape and remain unnoticed by criminals and dangerous pursuers roaming the streets. Japanese fashion designer Aya Tsukioka has created a skirt that unfolds into a vending machine. Is this object a mechanism of defense? Is it a sophisticated critique to oversaturated Japanese public space? Is it performance art? There is a charming naïveté in the direct simplicity of this object; it is clear to me, just by looking at the unfolding sequence of images, that a drawing of the same sequence would be significantly more effective at conveying the idea of the thing than the photographs of the prototype. Drawings are expected to communicate, not necessarily to explain how something really works. I believe that the idea of this object is much stronger than its presence, which manages to reduce it to something banal and superfluous. The prototype of the object works against the idea of the object because the idea is sophisticated and the prototype is hopelessly crude. My favorite comic character, Mortadelo, is a master of camouflage: he has the ability to instantly disguising himself as any animate or inanimate thing to avoid being caught or to escape a dangerous situation. Mortadelo is a funny character and his ability to camouflage was always meant to make the reader laugh. But there is nothing funny about walking the streets with a contraption designed to turn you into an urban sketch.

91. Chupa Chups dispenser

The invention of the Chupa Chups (original brand name for lollipop) dates back to 1957 when Spanish entrepreneur Enric Bernat thought it would be a good idea to add a wooden stick to a ball of candy so that kids would not have to touch it and get their fingers sticky: it will be like eating candy with a fork, Bernat said when explaining his idea, and soon the demand for the product made his company an international success. In Spain, Chupa Chups have an excellent distribution system, but I had never seen a Chupa Chups dispenser until this summer. It was placed at the entrance of a cafeteria in Candás, a small coastal town in the North of Spain. The device holds 20 different flavors and it is easy to operate in a low-tech way: insert a coin; turn the transparent cylinder until the desired flavor is up front; turn the metal wheel below it and the candy will appear through the opening at the bottom. The rest of the dispenser is a little bit dated – circular metal tubes anodized in gold- but still functional in the way it is designed to roll in and out of the cafeteria during business hours. It is interesting to think about the public nature of this object, placed in the sidewalk to be in sight of young consumers so that they may, in turn, bring their guardians closer to the entrance of the cafeteria.

9> Containing

The last ten entries to this blog are about objects designed to contain other objects, to store someone’s everyday possessions. Some are static and rigid, designed as desktop or shelftop objects (boxes); some are dynamic and flexible, designed to adapt to the human body like a second skin (billum, rathak). Some represent the failure of consumerism and the quest for the cheap in our industrial civilization (plastic bag); some celebrate the traditions of ancient civilizations and the cultural benefit of making things meaningfully (parfleche flat bag). Some are about masterful craftsmanship (phingaruk); some about functional readjustment (take-out container). It is remarkable to realize the amount of different objects designed to contain other objects, and how this suggests that individuals of every civilization surround themselves with the things they need to have and the objects they want to have around them at all times. Objects designed to contain other objects are present in every human society despite geographic location, history or degree of isolation in relation to other cultures. Some of the bags and containers produced by the so called primitive societies, using natural fibers and processes, have a degree of sophistication foreign to the industrial expediency we are used to in our own societies. What is then the meaning of craft and how does it apply to our everyday needs? How does one of our mass-produced, inexpensive, overseas-manufactured tote bags –for example- compare to the complexity of a phingaruk, or a rathak?

90. Parfleche flat bag

Parfleche is a hide -usually buffalo’s hide- dried by being stretched on a frame after the hair has been removed. Plains Indian headwomen, particularly from the Cheyenne tribe, use parfleche flat bags like the ones in the image to store and carry sacred medicines. The bags are about 40 x 35 cm. (15.7 x 13.7 in.). They are decorated with complex geometric motifs and symbols designed by the headwoman and executed by skillful women artists. It is in human nature to have a fascination with bags and specialized containers –from purses to cell phone pouches we see that every day in our own society- but it is rare to find societies where bag making is such a big deal. I assume that the care put in crafting these bags is directly proportional to the importance that Indian society places in the medicines that will be contained in them: a precious content deserves a worthy container. This maxim is a design lesson and helps put things in perspective. It is interesting to reflect upon how we operate in our own society in relation to that maxim: for instance we use the cheapest possible bag (the plastic bag described in the former post) to carry what should probably be the most precious content, the food we eat. Good to see how there are still societies –unlike ours- who have their priorities straight. This object merges meaning, functionality and artistry under the ambition of permanence.

89. Plastic bag

With supermarket chains, cities and entire municipalities forbidding the use of plastic bags as grocery carriers, it occurs to me that the most interesting aspect of this omnipresent object is the ephemerality of its function. Most people discard their supermarket bags right after they place their recently bought groceries in their refrigerator. Responsible folks try to find second uses for the bags, but things rarely go further than that. Third and subsequent uses are almost unheard of, due to the fact that recycling is still voluntary, rather than mandatory, in all countries, and people will always choose convenience over moral imperative if they can get away with it. The interesting thing about plastic bags is their uncontrolled afterlife, whirling around the streets in windy days, ending up caught in tree branches, or power cables. The design of the object makes it a remarkable wind catcher, something Max Schuschny, the Austrian scientist who invented them at the beginning of the 20th century, could hardly imagine. Shouldn’t we take the wind catching capabilities of plastic bags more seriously? Perhaps that is the key, more than keeping pouring demoralizing data about what they do to the environment. Personally, I am tired of environmental whining: new times demand new methods. What if we, as designers, would really try hard to find an imaginative afterlife for plastic bags? That, combined perhaps with hefty fines to supermarket chains for decades of irresponsibly polluting the environment with their branded plastic bags.

88. Billum

Billums are traditional Papua New-Guinea string bags. The same name designates a variety of bags with different capacities, colors, shapes and carrying functions: from babies, to food, wood fire or personal possessions. Despite their formal variety, all billums are made in the same way, as a spiral of woven rows sewn together to form the bag receptacle. Each row is woven using the same fundamental technique, one that involves a simple strip that insures a homogeneous size in all the knots that make the bag. The strip used to be made of coconut leaves but now most of them are made of plastic. A medium-sized billum has between 18 and 20 woven rows, excluding the handle, which is made separately using a different-size strip. Although a natural string billum used to be made out of the inner fibers of the bark of a tree vine, most billums today are made of shredded tarp, hemp or cotton string. The versatility of this object is extraordinary, not just in terms of function but also in how it relates to the human body and the multiple different ways in which it is carried. Apart from being truly multifunctional, billums are truly wearable, unlike the majority of carrying bags we use (backpacks could be considered highly wearable but they are far less integrated with the human body than billums). Billums are fascinatingly multifunctional: the ingenuity and wisdom of other civilizations is, again, a great lesson in efficacy and beauty.

87. Drawstring backpack

Drawstring backpacks became popular among high school teens in the United States a few years ago. I noticed that virtually all of the morning students I saw in buses and subway trains had one attached to their backs almost by magic –their nylon straps were thin and hard to detect. At first I thought they were sports bags -many displayed the Nike or Adidas logo- until I realized they did not have enough capacity to fit sports equipment. The bags were used to carry personal items. They were just cool. I soon started seeing plain, unadorned, anonymous-looking drawstring backpacks made of black, navy blue or red nylon without a trace of the Nike logo. It is a fact that teenagers are a volatile group when it comes to marketing. I was convinced that high school teens favored over-the-top, attention-grabbing, trendy personal accessories. The drawstring backpack seemed too minimalist, even fragile-looking for that crowd, although I do agree it is very cool in its extreme economy of means: a simple rectangle with a continuous string that serves both as strap and closing mechanism, attached with simple knots to two grommets at the bottom of the bag. The beauty of the closing mechanism is that it uses the weight of the contents of the backpack as a way to keep the top opening closed. After students got tired of them, drawstring backpacks quickly became a favorite promotional, heavy-logoed item: corporations are always late to cool.

86. Tasufra

Tasufras are large leather sacks used by Berbers and Tuaregs in Northern Africa, specifically the Sahara desert. They were also used in the Canary Islands by herdsmen to carry objects or liquids. Although their size varies, a tasufra used by African nomads could be 1.5 m. (60 in.) long by 70 cm. (27 in.) wide. Tasufras are made from a single piece of goat, sheep of gazelle’s leather (the three bottom prongs of the bag are the remnants of the animal’s front legs and neck). The fabrication process lasts between 4 and 8 days, and is done exclusively by women. The most important part of it is the way of curing and waterproofing the leather: according to anthropologist Caro Baroja, the main ingredient is the bark of acacia trees, pressed by hand in a mortar into a fine red powder that is applied to the leather after it has been soaking in salty water for a day or two. The treatment of the leather is very complex, and includes exposure to the sunrays for drying; soaking in water; the application of an oil and tar mixture for waterproofing; and the careful removal of the animal’s hair. Tasufras are designed to carry personal objects –sometimes valuable items, food and liquids. In the desert, they are often used to store and carry milk and keep it from deteriorating during long harsh journeys. The ornament in the bag is the craftwoman’s creation and is never exactly duplicated.

85. Rathak

The Rathak is a haversack used by the Adi Gallong tribe of the region of Arunachal Pradesh, India’s easternmost region. Made from split bamboo cane, it is a rectangular pouch open at the top, with two rounded triangular pieces that, when worn, provide some basic closure so that object inside won’t fall out. The approximate size of this portable, personal storage unit is 57 cm. (23 in.) x 26 cm. (34 in.). Very much like modern backpacks, Rathaks are designed to carry a few personal items in journeys outside the tribal villages. They are used exclusively by men, in a society that is decidedly patriarchal. It is not easy to speculate about the real use of tribal objects, although it is symptomatic to infer that remote societies in India need personal carrying bags for personal stuff just like we do. The difference is the exquisite simplicity of this one, made entirely with natural bamboo splits woven into a long mat, folded in the middle with its edges stitched together by split-cane binding. There is something about the slim proportion of the object and its thin, strong shoulder straps, that suggest a society used to extreme efficiency and a perfect symbiosis with nature, a consciousness much more advanced than we will ever have in our consumerist society. In the end, what we would probably call “primitive people” are the ones who really get it. Looking closely at the masterfully design rathak is absolutely design-refreshing.

84. Phingaruk

The Phingaruk is a woven container made of split bamboo. It is native to the state of Manipur, in India. Families from the 30-plus tribes of this state use phingaruks to store their clothes and valuable possessions. The height of the container, including the lid, is approximately 50 cm (20 in.). The top circular rim is about 37 cm. (14.5 in.) in diameter. The lateral surface of the phingaruk is double-walled, with an inner layer woven with a square base, and an outer layer that flares out to the circular top rim. A wide strip of bamboo is attached to the perimeter of the base to form a pedestal to reinforce the way in which the object negotiates the ground. The real sophistication of this object and the weaving process that generates it could hardly be appreciated from a few black and white images. It is truly compelling to me how this hand crafted container resolves its two main challenges: the complexities of the volume generated by a process of lofting from square to circle; and the need to respond to the demands of its function –a sturdy object to store valuable things- using a lightweight material only. On top of that, the way in which the exquisite ornament is consubstantial with the process of weaving that generates the object, and the use of indigenous vegetable dying processes to obtain deep, saturated colors, makes this unknown object truly exceptional in every possible way.

83. Chinese take-out food container

In the United States, the Chinese take-out food container is an ever-present domestic object. I read that take-out Chinese food is a bigger business in the USA than take out purchases in all of the trash-food chains combined (Wendy’s, Burger King, etc.) -which is excellent news for the public health. But beyond nutritional considerations, I learned two important things about the container: first, it is not used at all in China, where take-out food is packed in less sophisticated and more environmentally harmful containers; and second, this cleverly-designed box was first used as an oyster pail, a mini portable refrigerated chamber to carry oysters, preserved in ice slush, from the port to the house. That is the reason for its doubly leak proof design based on the use of waxed paper, and the way the paper pattern is folded in order to avoid leakage from the bottom corners of the box, the points with the highest propensity to leak. How this box became a take-out staple is beyond me, but I admire the object itself as a remarkable low-tech everyday thing, simple, versatile, functional and recyclable. One of its recent limitations, the wire handle that kept the box together, has been removed so that it can now go directly into the microwave as soon as the hungry eater gets home. Special attention deserves the top self-closing tab, a simple mechanism that allows for extra steam to escape out without the food getting cold too quickly.

82. Wooden box

A wooden box from India. Its form is a variation of the rectangular prism, a consequence of handcraft: uneven radii, slightly skewed planes, small imperfections...Paradoxically, its form resembles those streamlined, rounded-edged industrial objects from the golden years of industrial styling -Loewy, Bel Geddes, Dreyfuss and company- although it has a sincere simplicity that makes it a truly compelling object. Its volume (13.5 x 4.5 x 5.5 in. – 34.3 x 11.4 x 13.9 cm.) houses two compartments: the top tray right below the lid; and a small drawer secured by a brass pin that keeps it from sliding out unexpectedly, a nicely done low-tech detail. The form of the box, its rounded top and flat bottom, explains that there is only one way for it to engage the surface of the table; many prismatic boxes, even if they have operable lids, may very well rest on any of their surfaces, if needed. But the form of this box has a certain gravity that directly states its functionality and the realtionship it is meant to have with the user. Austere and finely detailed, it houses my writing instruments and travels with me when I need it. Boxes are exceptional objects from the point of view of their functionality. The great Spanish architect Sáenz de Oíza used to say that he preferred a prismatic box than a violin case, because the form of the prismatic box did not reveal what’s inside and left room for the unexpected.

81. ADO Nesting boxes

A set of nesting boxes by Dutch designer Ko Verzuu, circa 1930. Verzuu was officially labeled a De Stijl modernist, his name often associated with Rietveld’s. He designed colorful wooden toys for ADO Speelgoed, a socially progressive Dutch company that operated from the mid 1920s until very recently. Some of his designs include miniature furniture and dollhouses. But this set of nesting boxes is certainly a different kind of thing. Children could indeed use it to play with, but it is essentially much more than a toy because it is not designed for a specific age group (children) only. Instead, it is designed for a universal function: expandable, customizable, space-saving containment. Unlike today’s reductive toys, specifically marketed to gender, age segment or cultural background and therefore incapable of awakening children’s curiosity for a sustained period of time, Verzuu’s set of nesting boxes demands active engagement -rather than passive behavior- no matter who the user may be. The principle of nesting determines the form, proportion and materiality of the individual components. Beyond that, how the different elements (boxes) are used and how they relate to each other when they are being used is not prescribed either in terms of function, or user. Nested objects are linked formally, but they are independent: each one of the boxes from the set could operate in its own context without any possible reference to the larger box that contains it, or the smaller box that it contains.

8> Nesting

This series of objects (71 to 80) examines the notion of nesting as temporary containment, one that exemplifies the functional dependency that defines the sequential nature of the entries in this blog. The change purse contains the coins for the public phone; the megaphone absorbs human voice and contains is for a second before it releases it; the GoTalk button and the sophisticated Sony PCM-D1 recorder are also voice containers, linked to the process of human communication as devices designed to expand the human auditory system and somehow increase its performing capabilities. The StroViol is a fascinating instrument, one in which form and function are specially close, with a horn of extraordinary formal qualities, just like the discarded cardboard spools I came across at my local recycling center. Finally, the material of those cones –cardboard- brings the series back to the function of storage through the somehow frivolous design of expensive storage boxes that attempt to reinterpret –certainly not improve- the anonymous cardboard box we all have in abundance in our homes. Nesting as a principle for objectual relationships points out to the dependencies and invisible hierarchies that link things together: I can transport my change in my pocket, or in a small foldable purse that I then put in my pocket, etc. Nesting gives sense to the layered way in which objects relate to us through function, form and value. This is the principle by which objects apparently unrelated are indeed interdependent.

80. MeBox

I read that certain street food vendors in a Beijing sell edible cakes made of card box pulp, fatty meat and powdered seasoning. This confirms that recycling is inherent to human nature, or perhaps that cardboard is a truly versatile material. Cardboard is engineered paper, just as plywood is engineered wood, and therefore has extraordinary mechanical properties that make it suitable for many uses. Since our Western capitalist societies are based on individual accumulation and accumulation has its own spatial demands, it turns out that the cardboard box, understood as deployable, efficient and economical storage container, is one of the most ubiquitous objects in our homes, one that inevitably we recur to many times during the course of our lives. A British company commercializes cardboard boxes that incorporate a grid of pre-punched circles that you can pop out to create a label. It used to be that you picked up a marker and wrote “blankets” on the side of a generic cardboard box that you were reusing for the tenth time. With a MeBox, you have to pay $15 per box, after seriously considering the color combination of your choice; you have to think hard about the label design; you pop out the circles (oops! I popped out the wrong circle, I need to spend another $15); and in two years, when you want to reuse the box to store something completely different, the label does not work anymore...ah, the great benefits of good design!