What is design today?

Is it still the epic industrial design of the 1950s where technology managed to formalize not only a function but also an idea of progress and modernity?

Or is it rather just the final stage of an economic process that imposes an attractive image on every commercial product defined by market research and statistical surveys?

Is there a local tradition of design?

And what are, and of what kind, the boundaries of this potential tradition?

In a time where space is always perceived indirectly and mediated, hasn't the short-circuiting of images and products homogenized all diversity, making physical, political, and cultural borders coincide with the undefined virtuality of the web?

What is the typical field of design?

Furniture, lamps, and home accessories, or also everything that covers and decorates our lives?

Is the joint of a steel leg with the wooden seat of a chair really so different from the clasp of a gold mesh necklace?

To these, and to many other questions that may arise while flipping through the pages of the magazine, it is not possible to give a unique answer; our attempt to take stock of the state of design in a local reality like that of Padua offers a series of different, divergent, perhaps contradictory, but nevertheless unambiguous indications, at least in regarding the quality of research, outcomes, and products.

Having overcome the period of the historical or radical avant-garde, we now find a versatile research that tackles design opportunities with liveliness and optimism, attributing the same value to a wooden reading stand, a steel chair, a marble ornament, or a canvas and leather handbag.

We are therefore not so far from the way of thinking, designing, and making that Gastone Rinaldi reminds us of: a craft tradition, especially in carpentry, far from the logic of mass production, which peacefully coexists with contemporary formal research without inferiority complexes or provincial limitations, but with a gaze directed straight towards the future, perhaps seen through a Japanese gull-wing camera designed in Corso Milano.

Nicola Bergamin

...Let's start from the beginning: how did a young designer in the early 1950s go from Padua to Milan?

Every two weeks I went to Milan, because with Rima we had a lot of work in Milan, and then I was introduced to the architect Ponti by the Paduan artist Paolo De Poli.

[omitted]

Those visits to Milan and meetings with those people managed to give me a boost and an enthusiasm that I then poured into my work here in Padua.

...Was it Ponti who acted as a bridge to the American experiences of the '40s-'50s, the Eames, Bertoia, Saarinen...?

No, I already knew them through architecture and design magazines. I subscribed to Domus and Interni, which had published what was being done in the United States in the late 1940s.

I was influenced by Eames and the great designers, even though we in Italy did not have all the technical possibilities that America had back then; Bertoia's chair was made with a metal mesh of wire rods welded one by one with a spot welder, equipment we didn't have yet. So, for a chair, I used a garden fence wire mesh (the DU43).

Just like when I made the DU30, I had to bend the sheet metal because back then we didn't have shells yet, so the sheet metal was conceived exactly like a sheet that bends, and underneath it forms a rib that stiffens the seat. Then, to provide greater solidity, the four legs are fixed on the centerline of the fold.

…And what was your relationship with Ponti like?

Ponti was a taciturn and very sweet man, a person open to everyone with whom you could talk calmly and peacefully. He gave his judgments without malice. He was always very kind to me. Seeing my drawings, he said "...just look at these Venetians...", and encouraged me to keep going.

It is pleasing to find people of that level and fame who give you such encouragement, especially for someone modest like me who went there to present my catalog and see if they needed 5 rather than 8 chairs.

The Piccolo Teatro I mentioned earlier came later and, as the name says, it was indeed small.

…In the 1950s there was a very close, almost osmotic, connection between design and production, between project and technology. How has this relationship changed since then?

I lived the reality of the enterprise, first with Rima, my father's company, then with Thema.

Rima grew to have 120 workers; so it was a real industrial factory and not a craft business as some say. We had many sectors, not just domestic furniture, but also for hospitals, offices, entertainment venues; we had a vast product catalog.

I was integrated into the family business, and I carried forward the research on the metal chair. My design studio was in the factory, to have direct contact with production, to be able to experiment directly with the solutions and ideas that came off the drawing board or from the scale models I made.

Now it is really difficult to design. When I started, there was much more space for those who wanted to do new things; much was still to be invented, and there was also time to apply oneself.

Today, in the things I see published, it seems to me that real industrial design is missing; novelty and even technical innovation compared to what was done before are lacking. Even though competition among manufacturers has been stimulated more, the quality of the product does not seem exciting to me.

Very little attention is paid to young designers and their ideas; the industry either exploits them or remains indifferent, interested almost exclusively in commercial policies that only guarantee turnover.

A good chair cannot cost too much, even when it is well made.

What are the qualities of a good designer?

To be a designer, even for me who am not an architect despite always having that calling, you need the passion to create something that has not been done before, but starting from what has been done, because you always need a beginning; you must think of something to project yourself forward.

A designer must then have ideas for anything; for me, almost as a pastime, it happened that I designed and made some prototypes for the house, an oil cruet, a carafe, some containers, in both glass and ceramics.

Two small anecdotes can perhaps better explain what I mean when I talk about "starting from what has been done" and "ideas for anything."

When skiing right after the war, there was no slope where you didn't have to stop two or three times to tie the laces that secured the boots to the skis; at that time I had a 3rd series Lancia Appia, which had the spare wheel strapped in the back with a military-origin strap, but the buckle was not much different from the buckles we see today on modern ski boots. The idea of translating mechanisms or specific technical solutions of industrial origin to other sectors is particularly interesting, even though in that case, despite having made all the working drawings, it went no further. Similarly, the design for a toothpaste stick with a wide base cap remained on paper, so that the tube could stand upright without needing a cup, and the cap would not fall into the sink drain.

...And what qualities must a good design have?

An industrial design product must combine: technological innovation, ease of manufacture, cost-effectiveness, safety, durability, practicality, in addition to aesthetic qualities; everything must coexist.

In 1979 I designed Dafne, a small folding chair, which has been copied a lot and which, among other things, continues to sell well. When closed, it is 5.5 cm thick, can be hung on the wall, and the comfort of the seat sacrifices nothing to durability.

The chair I am sitting on right now, for example, has a die-cast under-seat part; when this was made, this technique was almost an absolute novelty for Italy. This too traced back to American production, which already had this type of casting back then; in this sense, I was talking about innovation.

...What is your way of working?

The work started from drawing. Besides, the need to constantly renew the catalog forced me to produce new ideas and creations every year, but it then had to be executed by the worker, in a relationship of mutual esteem and respect that went through the concreteness of technical solutions and respect for those who crafted those solutions.

It was necessary, always experimenting, to try and try again, adjusting the ideas in the field. The collaboration was such that it led us to intervene even on manufacturing techniques and equipment when the result was not satisfactory. The drawing gives you the scale, but the experience of making gives you almost immediately the feasibility of your design.

A constant practice in my work was filing the design: I made the drawing, registered the model, and only then did production take place. The model was always registered, and not infrequently so was an invention patent.

I worked until 1991, after which Thema closed. Now I only work for fun, but I still miss the direct relationship with production, and the computer, which I do not know anyway, does not seem to me to be able to substitute for the workshop.

Padua, July 30, 2002

edited by J. Adda, N. Bergamin and M. Grassi