art + design

Ask me who my favorite designer is, and you might be met with a hesitant pause.

But ask me which artists I admire, and I will gladly describe to you Tiepolo’s inspiring ink drawings or my favorite John Singer Sargent charcoal drawing that was once on display in the RISD museum. Or I could prattle on and on about the magnificent rawness of Rodin’s figures, the graceful balance of a Degas, or the lanky sculptures of Giacometti.

Somehow, the beautiful forms of Marianne Brandt or the imaginative architecture of Frank Gehry do not invoke an impassionate response the way a van Gogh painting can. And as pleasing to the eye as Apple or Starck products are, none have the breathtaking vibrancy of Turner’s landscapes. There’s something about the texture of paint, the potency of color, the illusion of light and form that is so engaging.

This is not to say I do not value prominent designers and their contributions to the world. Rather, I am simply admitting that, even though I call myself an industrial designer, I possess a greater appreciation for the “fine arts.” It’s not that one is superior. My interests are just piqued more by one than the other.

There’s timelessness to art that I sometimes find difficult to identify in design. Walk into any art museum and you’ll see art in various forms: paintings, drawings, prints, sculptures, photographs, video media, and various other objects. And more often than not, those objects are artifacts: pieces of antiquated materials that give testament to the achievements and musings of man throughout history. But how many of these pieces do we actually remember? Are they as instantly identifiable as a Picasso or a Calder? Do they speak about oppression the way Goya does, or can they express the anguish of a crucified Christ the way many depictions do? Even though some of these paintings were created centuries ago, the themes and emotions they express are still applicable today. When I see a work of art, I do not immediately note its place in history. I’m looking for meaning, for expression. But when I see objects of design, all I can see is its age and function. Newer technology has made it obsolete. What can the object say for itself beyond its once useful purpose?

Beyond the objects that have been deemed museum worthy, there are the everyday objects that surround us. Beautifully designed razors, mp3 players, shoes, and things don’t inspire me quite the way a painting or drawing does. And through writing this essay, I think I’ve discovered why. It is because they don’t possess any meaning for me, anything lasting that I can take away long after I can no longer see it.

But does that mean that everything we design must have some kind of thought provoking meaning behind it? If that were to be the circumstance, we might experience a dearth of objects! But I do believe it is something we, as designers, should keep in mind. Besides, with meaningful objects, people might actually be more inclined to keep them than to so quickly and carelessly dispose of them. As a young designer, I have not developed a solution for myself in combining art and design in a way that exudes a sense of meaning, timelessness and permanence. But it’s only the beginning of the journey.