Disegno. No.1
UK £12.00
Azzedine Alaïa Cecil Balmond Gui Bonsiepe The Bouroullecs Thoughts on Decay François Dumas Design and Fertility Massoud Hassani Islands in Japan Museoa Balenciaga Yoshiyuki Miyamae Pringle’s Archive Rethinking LA Helen Storey Martin Szekely The Tip Ton
Punkt. for Japan: Still Time to Help Supporting Architecture for Humanity
Punkt. for Japan: Still Time to Help, is a special charity initiative to aid the reconstruction process in Japan following the devastation caused by the earthquake and tsunami which hit the Tōhoku region in March 2011. Background Since January 2011 Punkt. has been working with the Japanese company Seiko, engineering and manufacturing its second product: the AC 01 alarm clock, designed by Jasper Morrison. The AC 01 was launched at the Salone del Mobile in Milan in April 2011, just one month after the catastrophic events which struck northeast Japan. Punkt.’s business partners and friends were seriously affected. Sensitised by these events, and confident about the potential of design when it comes to collaborative problem-solving, Punkt. conceived Punkt. for Japan: Still Time to Help in order to contribute to rebuilding the future of the affected areas in Japan. Still Time to Help Thanks to the generosity of Jasper Morrison’s design studio and the contribution of Seiko Clock Inc., Punkt. has designed and produced a limited edition AC 01 clock with a red dial and white body to represent the country’s flag.
100% of the profits from the sales of the special edition clock will go to Maeami Village Reconstruction, a project supported by AfH, to rebuild family homes and play areas in Maeami, a fishing village in the Tōhoku region which was swept away by the tsunami in March 2011. The project will help the children and families of the small fishing village to build a brighter and more sustainable future. Punkt. for Japan: Still Time to Help will run through to December 2011, it is also possible for visitors to make voluntary donations to Architecture for Humanity (Maeami) for the full duration of the campaign through our official website. Punkt. commits to informing donors on the project in Maeami until its completion, even in the event that it prolongs the sales of the special edition clock, which will terminate in December. You can follow the progress of the AfH reconstruction project in Maeami on our official website punktgroup.com. FOLLOW US ON TWITTER: @punktforjapan JOIN US ON FACEBOOK: facebook.com/Punkt.forJapan
This limited edition design piece is on sale in the best design shops worldwide in order to raise as much as possible for charity. The Charity For the allocation of funds raised for this initiative Punkt. has joined forces with Architecture for Humanity (AfH), a non-profit organisation founded in 1999, which seeks architectural solutions to humanitarian crises and brings professional design services to communities in need. Since it was founded the organisation has worked in more than thirty countries on projects ranging from schools, health clinics, affordable housing and long-term sustainable reconstruction.
RL2069 Punkt AC01 Japan_Disegno_200x270_AWv2.indd 1
14/11/11 17:53:33
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HOME COMFORTS
Martin Szekely’s Paris apartment
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POSTCARD FROM
Los Angeles by bicycle
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BREAKFAST WITH
Yoshiyuki Miyamae, creative director of Issey Miyake
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SELECTED READING
Alice Rawsthorn’s favourite books from 2011
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AWARDED
The winner is... Daniel Rybakken
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INVESTIGATION
Cristóbal Balenciaga Museoa
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194
A game of exquisite corpse
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Massoud Hassani trials his mine sweeper
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Designers’ fascination with decomposition
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Nicola Morgan makes clothes with rapid prototyping
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The couturier prepares for a 21st century retrospective
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Cecil Balmond on his new studio
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Barber Osgerby’s chair deconstructed
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Sealed chair by François Dumas
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A discussion between Gui Bonsiepe and Justin McGuirk
Tze Goh is a master of minimalism
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF ERNESTO BONES
AN ESSAY ON DECAY
LUNCH WITH ALAÏA
THE TIPPING POINT
DESIGN & DEMOCRACY
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ISLAND ODYSSEY
What we can learn from the architectural wonders of Japan’s Inland Sea
ARCHIVE OF MEMORIES
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Clothing that cleans the air
Photo essay of the London 2012 Olympic Park
EXPERIMENT
NEW COUTURE
MATHEMATICS
PRODUCTION
COLLECTION
208
STOCKISTS
124
COMMENTARY
Spectacular practice
TO WATCH
Contents
The meaning of Disegno
Forecast
Features
Exposé 5
INTRODUCTION
Rebuilding Pringle’s past
MACROSCOPIC OLYMPIAD
148
MON FRÈRE
Erwan and Ronan Bouroullec
172
DESIGN & FERTILITY
Why birth control needs a redesign
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EAT WORK PLAY
The office lunch documented
Disegno. 9
They belong to the Object Frame family by British designer Jasper Morrison. Although they are similar in appearance, their contents couldn’t be more different. One is filled with neatly linedup dictionaries; the other is a shrine-like amalgamation of objects. “Things that belonged to people who are now dead,” Szekely says, deadpan, in a low voice that draws you in and makes you listen. >
PHOTO LINUS RICARD
Exposé
There are two boxes on the wall of Martin Szekely’s Paris apartment.
10 Disegno. EXPOSÉ
Object Frame by Jasper Morrison for Galerie kreo, filled with Martin Szekely’s mementos.
EXPOSÉ
Disegno. 11
Home comforts
me commentary is part of the work,” says Szekely, the philosopher. The green tea we drink comes in thin, white porcelain cups without handles, which Szekely picked up on a trip to China. He muses on their industrial manufacture. Szekely doesn’t build things himself any more, but the sense for materials is in his fingertips. Their properties are skewed as a result of sensitive and thoughtful execution. Aluminium appears paperlike, fragile. Plywood becomes luxurious. Right now, the cheap, mass-produced cup from China he cradles in his hands appears expensive. [...] It is autumn now. The Parisian light is a little gloomy and the streets are full of people, busy going places. Szekely, however, stands still, monitoring his Units at Galerie kreo. It’s a day before the opening and the shelves, made from uniform technical plaster, create a diagonal barrier
Martin Szekely standing in front of his Soleil Noir mirror for Galerie kreo.
12 Disegno. EXPOSÉ
> It’s a rainy summer afternoon, and Paris seems to have emptied of people. But Szekely is here, working side by side with his wife, Rosanna, in silence and deep concentration. It’s two months until the exhibition Ne Plus Dessiner (Draw No More) opens at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. It is also two months until his solo show, Units, at Parisian design space Galerie kreo. But everything is organised. Exhibition texts are neatly filed in plastic pockets on the table. The first prototype for Units, a modular shelving system made from technical plaster, rests on the table between us. Like the two boxes on his wall, the retrospective at the Pompidou exposes two sides of Szekely: the philosopher and the pragmatist. French designer Martin Szekely trained as a cabinetmaker at the legendary Boulle and Estienne schools in Paris. He worked as a carpenter before finding recognition as a designer in 1983 with the chaise longue Pi. Since then he has enjoyed a successful career both as a product and furniture designer – largely on home turf. “I’m an intellectual.
Italian furniture producers don’t like that,” he declares, explaining his resistance to take on the Mecca of 20thcentury furniture design. A plan of the Pompidou exhibition space, lying on the table, demonstrates what Szekely means. It is divided into two parts. One room is taken up by a vitrine. In it are industrial design objects like the Perrier glass he created, which has sold more than 20 million units; the repackaging of French perfumier Roger Gallet and an exquisite reflex hammer for the European Neurological Society. All of them are results of intense research and understanding of a specific client’s needs. The pragmatist. The other room is filled with furniture – or, as Szekely sees it, research. “I don’t do it for people,” he says. “I don’t do it because I want create a better world. I do it because I like to consider the boundaries of furniture. What makes a chair a chair?” These questions are not accompanied by drawings (as the title of the exhibition suggests, Szkeley doesn’t draw any more) but rather by words – reflections on materiality. “The object doesn’t need commentary, but for
across the gallery floor. It is austere, stripped back, cold. “My intention is to consider only the nature of the object – its use,” Szekely has said of his work, “without necessarily exposing a signature, craftsmanship, the beauty of a material or a pattern.” And here it is in practice, maybe more than in any of his other pieces. Jasper Morrison’s Object Frames in oak are also extraordinarily minimal, but they also have a warmth, both in the material they are made from and their name – friendly, familiar, a container for something. “Units” is a cruelly non-descript title; the name challenges the object’s very function. It is two days after the Pompidou opening. Szekely looks a little pale. He is gearing up for the final stage of a week that has celebrated his 30 years as a designer. So how did he like the opening night? Szekely breaks into a disarming smile. “I really wanted to dance, but the music wasn’t loud enough. It’s a long time since I danced.”
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Johanna Agerman Ross (see p. 6) Ne Plus Dessiner is at Centre Pompidou, Paris to 2 January 2012. Units is at Galerie kreo to 23 December 2011.
PHOTOS LINUS RICARD
The retrospective exposes two sides of Szekely: the philosopher and the pragmatist.
The second Object Frame contains Szekely’s dictionaries. Below it, stuck to the wall are snaps from the film that British artist Mark Lewis created for the exhibition Ne Plus Dessiner at the Pompidou. It features Szekely’s Soleil Noir mirror.
EXPOSÉ
Disegno. 13
14 Disegno. EXPOSÉ
PHOTO LEFT JAIME VAZQUEZ
Postcard from The 105/110 Freeway Interchange as it looks today (top) and (right) as Shift Architecture imagines it 50 years from now.
Shortly after landing at Los Angeles International, instead of picking up a rental car and nudging it onto Freeway 405, I rented a bicycle. I swapped fiddling with radio stations and looking for my exit for enjoying a warm breeze on my skin and the afternoon sunlight on the palm trees on my ride to the motel in Culver City. What would a Los Angeles without cars look like? At one point an unfathomable question, the creative collective Rethink LA is now provoking an answer through a series of events and exhibitions, and I wanted to find out more. >
EXPOSÉ
Disegno. 15
> It is exactly 40 years since the British architecture critic Reyner Banham’s genredefying Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies launched. As the later BBC documentary Reyner Banham Loves LA (1972) showed, his book is a love letter to this sprawling city. And it’s an ode to the culture of the car. “Like earlier generations of English intellectuals who taught themselves Italian in order to read Dante in the original, I learned to drive in order to learn Los Angeles in the original,” wrote Banham in the introduction. The Los Angeles that Banham describes is an American city of the late 16 Disegno. EXPOSÉ
1960s, when freeway driving was still a relatively new experience and the suburban way of life meant freedom. Banham went to great lengths to assure his readers that the traffic and smog weren’t that bad in Los Angeles (no worse than the train network in London, he claimed) yet for many people, driving in Southern California has created an intolerable lifestyle. Los Angeles’ freeways no longer conjure up the “ideal version of democratic personal transportation”, as Banham described them, but instead are a gridlocked exercise in day-long frustration. Today, a new generation of thinkers is challenging the
automotive culture that has defined Los Angeles since the Second World War and examining what its future should look like. Rethink LA, a “collaboration of forwardthinking volunteers”, has a vision for bottom-up change that creates community by encouraging citizens to have a voice about the future of their neighbourhoods and the city as a whole. The collective is staging a show titled Perspectives on a Future City at the Architecture and Design Museum in Los Angeles. After a 45-minute bike ride from Culver City, along the famous Miracle Mile, I arrive at the museum where Rethink LA’s co-directors Kellie
PHOTO TOP LEFT NOAH WEBB
Hyperion Treatment Plant collage by Taalman Koch Architecture (right) and the site today (above).
Konapelsky and Jonathan Louie greet me. Both in their twenties, they look like creative-media types. Louie, originally from Hawaii, is a student at the graduate architecture programme at the University of California and Konapelsky, pale and fashionably dressed, is a graphic designer. Together, they founded the collaborative Rethink LA with the intention to make a better city, one where you would “not lose friends because they live on the East Side and you live in the West,” says Louie. “There are things happening here that could be a catalyst for the future, beyond just the demographic
shifts of Millennials wanting to live a certain way.” The exhibition at the Architecture and Design Museum is the collective’s first major project – a simultaneous starting point and summing up for their discussions to date. Today, the Sunday before Labour Day, the exhibition is sparsely populated, but a week earlier around 200 people people were milling about the museum enjoying small talk for the event Moving Beyond Cars. Attendees were encouraged to make their way to the museum without using a car, so they biked, bused and in-line skated their way down Wilshire Boulevard past the La Brea Tar Pits to the
museum’s front door. Today, all that is left of that exercise is a Flickr stream of photographs and a map that people annotated, showing where they came from. On route to the party, groups of people on foot ran into each other and joined up to travel together, immediately spotting each other in the often pedestrianfree landscape of Los Angeles. “Here, it’s so foreign to meet someone while you are walking, in a way, you are surprised,” says Louie. With these connections between people created, one of Rethink LA’s goals has partly been achieved, but the initiative’s main goal is to connect policy makers to the public and to start discussions about the future of Los Angeles. “When you listen to policy makers talk, you often don’t understand the jargon,” says Konapelsky. “So we wanted to break it down to basic facts.” A series of videos playing in the gallery, feature local thinkers on urban issues, including Eric Garcetti, Los Angeles City Council president, and Richard Bruckner, director for the Los Angeles County Department of Regional Planning. “These people come up with some incredibly clear and provocative statements when put on the spot with a carefully framed question,” says Louie. The most prominent portion of the show is a series of collages suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the gallery in two-sided frames, with one side showing a photo of a present-day infamous LA landscape such as a freeway or drainage culvert, and the other showing a collaged proposal for what that same place could look like in the future. While not necessarily practical solutions, the collages show a playful and optimistic approach to the possibilities of the city. XTEN Architecture’s proposal for the Freeway 405 near the Getty Museum features underground trains and the entire roadway being replaced by a park and a new Sepulveda Cultural Corridor. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa has made improving conditions for bicyclists a priority, but his own experience of breaking an arm after being cut up by a taxi is instructive for others considering taking a ride here: it is often not for the faint of heart. While bicycle routes
do exist, many are on the side of incredibly wide, busy roads and intersections that often require cyclists to get off and cross at traffic signals. However, covering long distances over flat topography is often much quicker than you would anticipate. The rhythm of the car is in your body in Los Angeles and freed from its constraints and gridlocked existence, navigation and progress can be measured differently. In a city where the average household currently spends more than 18 per cent of their total expenditures on transportation, change is sorely needed for economic reasons as much as for social and environmental ones.
Today, a new generation of thinkers is challenging the automotive culture that has defined Los Angeles since the Second World War and examining what its future should look like. Banham writes that the city didn’t sprawl from the centre but rather developed in its dispersed form, prior to the automobile, through the layout of the city’s now-destroyed streetcar lines. The questions today concern whether Los Angeles is ready to find a new way forward. Could the city return to public transportation, 50 years after its extensive, original transit network was ripped out? Are LA’s residents ready to give up four wheels for two? As I watched fledgling pelicans stretch their wings along the Ballona Creek Bike Path on my return to the airport, I started to believe that they might. Even, Banham, himself famously bringing a fold-up Brompton bicycle on his travels, would most probably approve.
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Mark Hogan is a San Franciscobased architect, bike fanatic and sometime blogger. Perspectives on a Future City at Architecture and Design Museum, Los Angeles closed 2 September 2011.
EXPOSÉ
Disegno. 17
A jacket with a crocodile tail from the Alaïa couture collection, 2003.
Lunch with Alaïa
As the Parisian couturier Azzedine Alaïa prepares for his second exhibition at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, we pop into his studio for a spot of lunch and speak to the show's curator – Mark Wilson. WORDS Johanna Agerman Ross PHOTOS Robert Kot
60 Disegno. LUNCH WITH ALAÏA
A
zzedine Alaïa’s kitchen is like the set of a play, a theatre in the round. People seem to make entrances from all directions, and there’s always an element of surprise as to who arrives and when. It is lunchtime, and the kitchen is filled with the smells of food in preparation. Two women are busy rinsing and chopping vegetables and something is stewing in a large pot on an industrialsized stove. The focus of the room is a large rectangular table with space for twenty people. At no precise time, people start filling the table as if a silent bell has suddenly rung, taking their seats in the drama. There is a pale artist who likes to paint harbours, a photographic developer with a pony-tail and a black box under his arm, a young woman from England, the elegant commercial director in headto-toe Alaïa and, of course, Azzedine Alaïa himself. He’s preceded by a very large and lovable Saint Bernard, Didine.
This is a ritual that is played out every day in the Alaïa studio, a large warehouse on a rather glum road in the middle of the Marais district of Paris. The Alaïa logo is carved out of the stone façade over the front door in a fashion that makes it look like it’s been here as long as the building. But it hasn’t. Before he moved here, Alaïa worked in a small studio a few blocks away – “with only one table and a couple of assistants”, according to someone who was there. Then, as now, he liked to do everything himself: cutting patterns, steaming clothes, cooking food, serving food…
The generous three-course lunch is under way and Alaïa is busy checking the pots and serving up the main course. He’s a hands-on operator and he likes, no, needs to use his hands: to stroke the fur of Didine, to touch the laser-cut velvet fabric of one of his dresses, to leaf through the black and white prints that will be withdrawn, post-lunch, from the photographic developer’s black box. In his book Alaïa, French writer Michael Tournier writes: “A native of Tunisia, the first garments Azzedine Alaïa knew were those of white African Muslims. Thus from early childhood Alaïa was accustomed to the harmony of long, flowing robes.” He studied sculpture at École des Beaux-Arts in Tunis before moving to Paris in 1957, where he fully applied his appreciation for the human form as a tailleur at Christian Dior and Guy Laroche. It wasn’t until the late 1970s that he set up on his own in his small apartment. Here, his background in sculpture combined with his skill as a dressmaker and his childhood memories of flowing robes. These influences reached a zenith in his body-conscious designs, executed in stretch fabrics that had the ability to make women feel tightly reined, in control, while looking and feeling free. “Stretch achieves the fusion of pleat and surface, clinging and flowing,” Tournier writes – and herein is Alaïa’s trademark. Women love it; they somehow appear more confident, more reassured, robed in Alaïa. It’s not difficult to see why. Sculpted to perfection, his garments are engineered to deal with the individualities of human form and turn each of them into a virtue. It is a couple of weeks since Alaïa exhibited his latest collection – seven years since his last show, and characteristically off-schedule – to an assembled crowd of friends, clients and the odd journalist. When it’s discussed at the dining table, Alaïa shakes his head, disapproving of too much excitement because it creates the impression that he hasn’t done any work for seven years. “He works all the time,” confides someone at the table.
Above the kitchen in this beautiful turn-of-the-century warehouse is Alaïa’s atelier. Here, rails filled with the fineries of his latest show are set off against the rough brick of the walls. In stark contrast to this Parisian chic, Alaïa’s cutting table faces a flat-screen television of enormous proportions, which he likes to watch while he’s working. Like Didine, it’s company. Above the atelier is Alaïa’s apartment. Reached by a lift, it tells of his love for modern and contemporary design. Pieces by Jean Prouvé and Marc Newson are dotted around the insanely messy space. Alaïa likes things. He likes to have them around, just like the people around the lunch table downstairs. In close proximity.
This is Alaïa’s universe, spread over four floors in a Marais warehouse. His habit of releasing collections only when they’re ready is often hailed as a healthy contrast to the mad pace of the fashion industry. He serves as the reminder to the fashion “self” that not everything needs to be about commerce. But it would be impossible to do any of this if you weren’t Alaïa. His brand, now owned by the Swiss Richemont Group, is built on his skill as well as his myth – but above all, it is built on his fierce independence.
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Lunch is wrapping up in the kitchen; dessert and coffee are served. One by one the protagonists of this lunchtime leave the table. Left are the two women doing the dishes and a sleeping Didine.
A fur coat from the AlaĂŻa couture collection, winter 2011.
Mon frère
As Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec prepare for their biggest retrospective to date, Disegno gains an insight into their studio and the set-up of the exhibition. WORDS Johanna Agerman Ross PHOTOS Linus Ricard
148 Disegno. MON FRĂˆRE
Erwan (left) and Ronan Bouroullec share an office. It is a cosy mess of prototypes, their completed designs and a few design classics, such as Vico Magistretti’s Selene chair from 1969 (next to Erwan).
MON FRĂˆRE
Disegno. 149
W 1
See p. 22.
Compasso d’Oro is an Italian industrial design award that was founded in 1954 by the Milanese department store La Rinascente. Since 1964 the award is handed out by Associazione per il Disegno Industriale annually.
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The Centre Pompidou Metz opened in 2010 and is designed by Japanese architect Shigeru Ban and French architect Jean de Gastines. It is opened around two hours from Paris by the TGV (Trains à Grande Vitesse). The exhibition remains open until 30 July, 2012.
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Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec, Works by Anniina Koivu will launch in April 2012.
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5 Gottfried Semper (1803-1879) wrote The Four Elements of Architecture in 1851, exploring the origins of architecture.
hen Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec were young they used to visit their mother’s great uncle in the countryside. To pass the time while the grown-ups were talking they kicked a football on the gravelled drive in front of the house. It was built for two families and it was neatly cut down the middle, but they never knew who lived on the other side.
“To my surprise mum told me not so long ago that it was her great uncle’s brother, but we never met him as far as I can remember,” says Erwan Bouroullec, tucking into a spicy beef dish at his favourite Thai restaurant in Belleville, north-east Paris. He likes telling stories. The two uncles had run a carpentry business together, but had fallen out and were no longer on speaking terms. They had, however, remained physically close in this Jacques Tati-esque, symmetrical existence. “That’s what mum has always been nervous about – what working together does to mine and Ronan’s relationship as brothers.” Erwan tells the story in such a matter-of-fact way that the sad undertones are lost, but the nature of his and his brother’s collaboration is obviously something he has considered many times. Ronan, five years older and quieter than his brother, is back at the studio, eating a sandwich while keeping an eye on the office. It’s late July, a week until France goes on annual summer leave. Five days from now the studio will be empty and there is a lot to wrap up before then. A sense of taking stock is hanging in the air.
Over the past decade, French designers Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec have built a steady reputation as one of contemporary design’s most important names. They have longstanding relationships with furniture manufacturers Vitra, Magis, Cappellini and Kartell, and have designed interiors for such fashion brands as A-POC1 and Camper. Their signature is a sensual, poetic design style that doesn’t reveal the dual authorship. They create intriguing and complex furniture that often addresses the living conditions of the postmodern age – small, flexible and constantly changing spaces.
In the month that I meet them, the Bouroullecs’ Steelwood chair for Magis has won the prestigious Compasso d’Oro2 award (the news is met with a gentle shrug by both brothers) and it is two months until their biggest exhibition to date, Bivouac, will open at the Centre Pompidou-Metz3, followed by the release of a monograph by Phaidon, their second with the publisher4. A mock-up of the cover is lying on the desk of their long-term employee Felipe; it is grey and tombstone-like, with the title Complete Works. Are the Bouroullecs trying to say something?
“We’re only playing around with names at the moment,” says Ronan, brushing off a remark on the finality of the title. He is fiddling with a scale model of the Bivouac exhibition – a long and narrow space filled with their pieces from the past ten years. The title of the exhibition reveals their preoccupation with temporary set-ups, a bivouac being an impermanent shelter or camp. There are several pieces in the exhibition that serve as this type of shelter – Twigs and Algues for Vitra (2004) are made from injected plastic pieces that snap together to create partitions, and Clouds (2009) for Kvadrat are flat, irregular shapes covered in felt, assembled with the help of elastic bands to create three-dimensional cloud-like textures. These hangings bring to mind German architect and writer Gottfried Semper’s text on the use of carpets as definers of space in early civilisations5: carpets hung from a frame fulfilled the structural and practical needs of sheltering, he wrote. It’s as if the Bouroullecs are addressing this first and very basic need of architecture through their design.
CHALK & CHEESE 150 Disegno. MON FRÈRE
Compared to many of their contemporaries, the Bouroullecs offer an extraordinary sense of space through their work, with their furniture forming a landscape, a world of its own. Sometimes it even forms whole rooms, such as Lit Clos, a cage-like bed on stilts for Galerie kreo in 2000; the sofa made for the same gallery in 2008 that is placed in a 2m-by-3m box standing on its side; or the Alcove sofa for Vitra in 2007 with such a high back and sides that it cuts out any sensory experiences of one’s surroundings. “I would like to be a good architect,” says Ronan, moving the miniatures of the exhibition around in an oblong box. “But I know I will never be.” False modesty or not, he and his brother are good manipulators of space. It is no surprise that they are drawn to creating such free-flowing environments given Ronan’s admission to claustrophobia. “I have always been, for as long as I can remember,” he says. He regularly needs to escape Paris, renting a cottage on the river an hour outside of the city or visiting his house on the coast of his native Brittany, 500km away. “I must go there every so often, just to breathe the air,” he says. >
There are seven people working in Bouroullec’s studio. Here is Erwan with Emi.