As a curator of architecture and design at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, Paola Antonelli has access to the most novel and high-concept works in the design world. Ironically, she is known as a champion for everyday objects. She has proudly exhibited wastebaskets by Kartell (“Mutant Materials,” 1995), Bic ballpoint pens (“Workspheres,” 2001) and even earplugs (“Safe: Design Takes on Risk,” 2005). An iPod is also included in the museum’s permanent collection.
Antonelli grew up in Italy, but now considers herself a New Yorker, although she has homes in Los Angeles and Milan. Her aesthetic, however, has no home base. Her philosophy: to seek out good design in unexpected places, and not to let her design sensibilities be influenced by price tags, big names or buzz. She's hoping that this way of seeing the world will catch on with the rest of us.
Antonelli spoke to bene about what makes Italian design so spectacular, the state of aesthetics in America and the intrinsic beauty of a plastic mail bin.
How did you develop your aesthetic?
I grew up surrounded by the typical Milanese blend of heirloom objects and modern design. My parents weren't particularly design savvy, but because good modern design is everywhere in Italy—even at corner stores—absorbing it was almost effortless.
What makes Italian design so good?
One of my mentors, the designer Achille Castiglioni, said the reason Italian design was so good was that there weren't any design schools. If you wanted to be a designer, you went to architectural school in Milan to study architectural history and theory, as well as design history and theory. The two fields were considered part of the same intellectual discipline: to make functional but beautiful work.
I think that's the secret of Italian design: looking at objects as a whole. Good design doesn't separate aesthetics from function; it brings them together.
Did you study architecture, too?
Yes, I earned my master's degree in architecture from the Milan Polytechnic.
What makes a good curator?
Curiosity. I spend my life looking at things without realizing that I'm working.
Can you give us an example?
A while ago, my husband and I were in the middle of an argument in the West Village [in New York]. It was midnight, it was raining, and we were crossing the street. Suddenly, I looked up and said, "Stop! Look at that traffic light. Isn't it beautiful?" He said, "How can I argue now?" I didn't do it on purpose—I just had to point out that traffic light to him.
That's what I try to teach in my exhibitions: Look at what surrounds you.
So you believe that putting ordinary objects in a museum helps people appreciate them?
Yes, definitely. When things are taken out of their normal environment, people suddenly notice them in a different way. It's like when you run into an acquaintance outside of his usual setting and don't recognize him; it takes you a moment to remember who he is and how he fits into your life.
What statement are you trying to make?
I have a mission: making great design normal. I want to convince people in the United States that they don't need to spend an enormous amount of money to buy something special.
Why do you think Americans approach design differently?
Cultural complexes. Americans don't think they have good taste; they think they need to learn taste from Europe or somewhere else. They should realize that the United States has some of the best product design in the world. They should embrace it and be proud of it. See, if I had stayed in Italy, I would be useless!
What brought you to the United States?
A crush on a surfer from Malibu. I met him at the international design conference in Aspen in 1989. I was the Italy coordinator; he was the audiovisual guy. One thing led to another, and I found myself in California, where I landed a job teaching design history and theory at UCLA. Then, in February 1994, I came to New York to work at MoMA.
What happened with the surfer?
Nothing. Looking back, I realize he was just a subconscious excuse to leave Italy.
Why did you want to leave?
At 26, I wanted a new challenge. Italians tend not to be very nomadic, and it was difficult for me to cut the umbilical cord, so to speak. I needed a push.
What do you miss the most about Italy?
I miss the sweetness of life there. I miss great wine at decent prices, and really fresh ricotta and mozzarella. And I miss the beauty of the country. But, in a way, it's nice to miss Italy, because I can always return.
Have you brought anything to MoMA recently that you're really excited about?
We just got the original model of the spiral bike stand—by Canadian company Dobra Design—that people use to lock up bikes in public spaces. We also recently acquired Yoshioka Tokujin's ToFU Lamp for the permanent collection. It's completely translucent, but the edges are brushed so that they reflect the light.
What are some other everyday objects that you admire?
The gray plastic cartons that postal workers use for delivering mail. They're vacuum-formed and rotation-molded. They're molded in one piece so that there are no breakable parts. I love their organic shape, color and sturdiness.
How do you define "good design"?
One test is to ask, "If this object did not exist, would that be a pity? Does it occupy space on earth for a good reason, or is it just wasting space?" That always works for me. Also, keep in mind that anything that makes you smile can be considered "useful."
Is there a country right now that is doing anything remarkable or unusual in design?
The designs I saw in South Africa were inspired by humanitarian goals—centered on improving life, not simply on being decorative. A huge problem in Africa is convincing men to use condoms to help curb the HIV/AIDS pandemic. Many men complain that applying a condom interrupts the sexual act. So the company ...XYZ Dot Dot Dot Ex Why Zed Design, Ltd. designed a condom with a plastic applicator with little handles. It's the same price as other condoms and comes in the same size package—but it applies the condom in just three seconds.
What would you like to accomplish as curator?
I want to create enough popular demand to convince all magazines—The New Yorker, The New York Times and everybody—of the need to have design critics. Design is one of the highest expressions of human creativity.
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