Ethos
I’m a week out from starting my year-long course at Waters & Acland and I thought it might be an interesting exercise to think about what I think my design philosophy is now and to ultimately see how it’s evolved by this time next year. I have no doubt that my opinions will be drastically different (and dare I say, more informed) in 12 months’ time, so if you’re one of the handful of folks reading this in the year of our Lord 2025, do so knowing that I’m currently bright eyed, bushy tailed, and more than just a little naive.
The foundation of my design ethos, if I may be so bold as to call it that, comes from a variety of inputs: using furniture in the real world, walking through big box stores, scrolling through social media, Chicagoan architecture, and having spent the last couple years consuming countless books on woodworking, to name a few. I don’t claim to be an expert by any means, but I will accept that I’m opinionated - I think we all are if we stop and think about it. Chances are that as you’re reading this you are utilizing a piece of furniture. We all can think of a terribly uncomfortable chair that we’ve had the displeasure of sitting in. We’ve all walked through a furniture store or someone else’s home and seen a piece that catches our eye, perhaps for reasons we can’t quite explain. You’ve likely visited a museum or historical recreation and thought to yourself, “how did they build that without power tools?” or “I’m glad we as humans evolved past that style of furniture.” Some folks have stronger opinions than others, though I don’t think it would be fair to deem any one taste “better” than another.
I hope the above does not make you consider me to be some sort of snob. Most of the furniture I’ve owned has been secondhand or à la stores such as IKEA or Target. My favorite pieces in my home are the ones I’ve built myself, though I can easily point out their flaws. I occasionally see pictures of “modern” furniture design with its 3D printed trappings and undoubtedly uncomfortable seating angles and find myself wondering how anything like that can find a buyer, let alone one willing to pay the undoubtedly exorbitant price. Furniture doesn’t have to be some lofty idea; the three-legged milkstool of yore is furniture. The kids table at Thanksgiving dinner is furniture. The pleather couch in your college apartment is just as worthy to be called furniture as is the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office.
There is a concept in late 19th and early 20th century design that states that form should be second to function; the usefulness of a design should be prioritized first, then you can think about how it looks. I agree in principle that a building or piece of furniture’s looks aren’t worth much if it’s completely unusable. The aforementioned Resolute Desk is both pretty to look at and serves a real purpose. However, some designs go all in for beauty without really thinking through the functional impact of such decisions. That being said… why can’t we have both? For studio concordia, the goal is to create bespoke, handmade furniture and heirloom-quality woodworks that are designed to be felt and admired. After all, furniture is one of the few visual art mediums that is truly meant to be touched by human hands; in fact, the tactile nature is tantamount to the design itself. Furniture should tell an evolving story - dining tables should show the signs of countless meals shared upon it, coffee tables should be pockmarked with water rings, end tables should be discolored from light shining in from an adjacent window. I never liked walking into a home where everything felt so new, so fastidiously aligned that it makes its occupants feel unwelcome. I like the feel of something that I know someone took the time to build themselves, however many years ago. I like knowing that I’m not the first person to sit in a particular chair, and feeling so confident in the construction that I know I certainly won’t be the last, either.
All that being said, I’m really excited to pick up a chisel and plane next week. Our first of three semesters at Waters & Acland is pretty prescribed, to my understanding. We start with fundamentals and then work our way up to recreating a few simple, pre-designed pieces. Later in the course we’ll be given more freedom to create our own designs and explore what signature we want to leave on the woodworking/fine furniture world. As for now, if I am pressed to distill my ethos to a few concepts, I guess I’d propose the following:
When possible, prioritize handmade construction. With that, accept that “perfection” isn’t possible; in reality, visible marks left by the maker only enhance the piece.
Build to last. In a world where we routinely cough up a few bucks for a cheap chair that will certainly break in a year or two, why not spend a little more for solid construction that will live for generations?
Being the loudest design in a room is a fickle award. In my experience, the flashiest designs are the quickest to go out of style. There’s a quiet, understated beauty to something that doesn’t demand your attention but rather reveals more and more every time you appreciate it.
Form and function are not mutually exclusive; if they are placed on a Venn diagram, aim to join them completely into a single circle.
Remember that wood, while renewable, is finite and can be easily exploited. Source responsibly and pay fairly for your materials. If you’re fortunate enough to come across an exceptional piece of stock, use it wisely and completely.
“Form follows function” is mere dogma until you realize the higher truth that form and function are one.
- Frank Lloyd Wright