Brian Cox does a perfect Humbert

If asked to name my favourite book, I regularly answer, ‘Lolita’. No doubt a small part of me likes to see the effect of this notoriously contentious title on impact – but mainly it gets my vote because by those who haven’t read Nabokov’s masterpiece, it is the most misunderstood and misrepresented work, and I find myself its unofficial promoter.

Admittedly, it’s not an easy sell. It’s very hard to explain to the unconvinced how, exactly, a novel that is essentially the confessions a 40 year old man carnally in love with a pre-pubescent girl could be charming. Or funny. But it is. What a brilliant trick to pull off, and the secret is in the unparalleled quality of the writing, which is why I love it.

You’ll notice I have deliberately avoided the P-word. To categorise it so does Nabokov a disservice. I don’t want to get into a moral argument, or a discussion of what the ancient Greeks got up to. But only because the moral argument is not the point with this book – in fact Lolita is a work without moral, or agenda: ‘an aesthetic experiment’, as Nabokov said himself. Lolita is a work in English by a Russian who used the English language more skilfully than many a mother-tongue author. It is deliciously written, a series of perfectly and sensuously captured moments, strung together by the persistence of poor Humbert Humbert’s obsession. One such example:

‘…she had painted her lips and was holding in  her  hollowed  hands  a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. She was not shod, however, for church. And her white Sunday purse lay discarded near the phonograph.
My heart beat like a drum as she sat down, cool skirt ballooning, subsiding, on the sofa next to me, and played with  her  glossy  fruit.  She tossed it up into the sun-dusted air, and caught it – it made a cupped polished ‘plop’.
Humbert Humbert intercepted the apple.
“Give it back,” – she pleaded, showing the marbled flush of her palms.’

Humbert’s ultra-self-awareness and critique of his own pathetic fixation is entertaining, verges on endearing. He knows he’s a monster but can’t help himself, and his clever manipulation of those in his orbit is dubiously admirable. But crucially, the prose is frequently so visceral, and so descriptively imbued with his own feeling, that his yearning for the girl doesn’t seem unnatural. This, surely, is a triumph of writing.

So it is disappointing that the two film adaptations – in spite of their potential to be richly, indulgently visual – have never matched the experience of reading the text. And I have finally understood why.

Last month I went to see a one-off one-man staging of Lolita at the National Theatre. In an adaptation by Richard Nelson, Brian Cox was the curious protagonist, alone on the stage for almost two hours, complete with rumpled prison garb and indefinable pan-European accent. This was a nigh-perfect piece for two reasons.

Firstly, Cox himself was a treat. Utterly absorbing, the man whose excellent turn as Hannibal Lecter in Manhunter (another chillingly evil yet captivating personage) was eclipsed by the later tour de force from Anthony Hopkins is evidently adept at portraying the complicatedly disturbed. In fact I like the parallel of Manhunter – not simply a gruesome crime thriller as the later Silence of the Lambs – but an aesthetic and layered treatment of what could otherwise be a trashy story.

Secondly, the play was the most faithful interpretation of the book I have yet seen. It worked precisely because Lolita wasn’t there, just as she isn’t there in the book. Crucially, the girl doesn’t exist independently of Humbert’s narration, is only observed through Humbert’s lust-tinted spectacles. If we did see her ‘for ourselves’, we’d see a grubby twelve year old, unbearably precocious and spoilt, and the spectre of unattainable allure weaved by Humbert’s persuasive words would be shattered. Turning the lens back on Humbert, his wretchedness and the sad reality of his compulsion would be fully, clearly and depressingly revealed.

In converting the book for the screen, the real problem is casting Lolita herself, and one that neither Stanley Kubrick, nor Adrian Lyne, quite solved. In Kubrick’s notoriously censored and cut 1962 version, she is a developed teenager, and even appears with a boyfriend at one point. In any case Peter Sellers’ Clare Quilty steals the show here. In Lyne’s version, made under fewer disapproving eyes in 1997, she is admittedly portrayed as much younger (even though Dominique Swain was apparently 16 when she accepted the role), but her attraction is inappropriately plausible, as that of the alarmingly young models that pass as desirable in much high-end fashion advertising now.

So putting Lolita into direct view of the audience is something of a conundrum. In Nelson’s play, the audience, like the reader, is swept along solely by Humbert’s skilful and voluptuous description, relatively undistracted by the sordid reality.

Perhaps deliberately conjuring such an illusion is irresponsible of Nabokov. But although he famously rejected any moral interpretation, ultimately the characters reap their fatal rewards. Death, like sex, is weaved through the story, ominously omnipresent, hanging over the characters. Even Lolita isn’t spared. Which reinforces the suspicion that Nabokov does not consider this ‘nymphet’, nor any of the players, to be innocent. All are tainted with frailty and guilt in some way. In the play we are brought to the resolution as Humbert, reading aloud from old journals in his prison cell, explains in a final, almost bittersweet, touch, that his memoirs are only to be published after all the characters are dead.

NPG: Not Enough Men

The new show at the National Portrait Gallery – the Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize – is quite curiously fascinating. That it should be so is an achievement in itself. Under normal circumstances, we tend to care more about ‘portraits’ because of a connection with the sitter, whether family, friends, celebrities. A handful of holiday snaps would not have made the cut here though. These are special, chosen for their very particular capacity to convey an essence of the subject – through a subtle and indefinable blend of imagery, expression, context – down the lens and into the understanding of the viewer.

From over 6000 entries in this open competition, the judges whittled it down to around 50 that constitute the final exhibition, all remarkable for their seeming portrayal of ‘the individual’. These characters reach out from their glossy prisons, prompting the viewer to wonder who they are, and why?

Phrenology – the idea that you can relate a person’s character to the shape of their skull, or their facial features (a famous one, eyes too close together =  untrustworthy) has been widely discredited since its Victorian heyday – but evidently we still place some store in appearances. Often there is little else to go on. In an ever-changing urban environment, in the anonymity of populous cities, judgements are made in seconds, so it is by outward signals to the world that people distinguish themselves. And it is on a similar assumption that a collection of largely unknown subjects relies. But perhaps it is false.

There is always the frustrating niggling suspicion in an exhibition such as this that the message might be a cleverly manipulated lie. The images where there was a clear element of role-play were by far the least interesting. The winner, a paralympic swimmer at rest, was pleasing for the (lucky?) balance of composition, lighting, timing and expression, but she was probably captured looking more melancholy than she felt. As with books and covers, there is always more (and sometimes disappointingly less) than meets the eye. That is part of the fascination of photography – art masquerading as fact or the other way round? And how to tell the difference?

One aspect of the exhibition continues to trouble me though: the subjects were predominantly female. I still haven’t settled on a really plausible explanation.

APGDI debate: What role for Manufacturing?

Although the ‘our economy is in dire straits’ mantra is undoubtedly getting boring, the figures demonstrating the decline of the manufacturing industry – and its economic consequences – make alarming reading.

On the 27th October, Derek Wyatt and the APGDI invited speakers Sir Alan Rudge of the ERA Foundation, Nick Hussey of Manufacturing Insight, and Sunil Chopra of TCS to address an audience of Parliamentarians and industry experts, to challenge the perception that ‘Made in Britain’ is obsolete. In fact, the opposite is true, but over the last 10, 20, 30 years the reputation of the manufacturing industry has famously taken a beating. By contrast, the financial services industry (at least until 18 months ago) had been lauded as the cashcow of the economy. In apparent prosperity we have been content to rely on such services. But the recent crisis has placed the viability of this source of income under scrutiny. The parliamentary meeting was called to evaluate and debate the contrasting contributions of these two industries – manufacturing and the financial services – to the economy.

Ian Lucas MP, Minister for Business and Regulatory Reform, opened the discussion by alleging his personal passion and dedication to British manufacturing. He compared the paradigm shift we are currently facing as a challenge not unlike those of previous eras – such as the Industrial Revolution – and asserted his confidence that this opportunity could be handled equally boldly.

But in spite of the Minister’s optimistic outlook, the picture painted by the three guest speakers was bleak. ‘It’s wartime’, said Sir Alan Rudge, ‘and compared to other nations we are losing.’ This view was supported by members of the audience, who argued that even current ‘progressive’ targets relating to infrastructure – water and transport – will still leave the UK ten years behind the rest of Europe.

A glance at the ONS statistics (click here to see the numbers) demonstrates the ongoing importance of manufacturing as a sustainable economic base, particularly in balancing trade. But the industry has suffered from neglect. Rudge used the figures to demonstrate an economic imbalance that existed well before the recent banking crisis (critically the ONS data was gathered before the disruption of the last two years), but an imbalance that has seemingly gone undetected, or at least poorly addressed. The ONS figures show clearly that although there has been growth in the services industries – largely financial and other business – their net contribution was never balancing the loss in manufacturing trade, resulting in an ever-growing deficit. Financing our short term consumption of goods by the sale of debt and equity assets is clearly not a sustainable model. In terms of balance of trade, manufacturing contributes 6 times as much as financial services per £ of GDP. But, although still providing about half our exports and direct employment for 3 million people, the industry has shrunk to only a 7^th of GDP.

Taken as read that the manufacturing industry is in rapid and systemic decline, the question of how to reverse the situation – with the shared understanding that a reversal is crucial – was the main topic of debate. Nick Hussey, editor of The Manufacturer and Director of Manufacturing Insight, outlined some key questions for directing the future of the sector. In a global market, with global supply chains, the question of domicility is complex. Where is revenue generated, tax due, a contribution to society made? And on a larger scale – how can any tax system cope with this trend? A second issue is one of positioning: which parts of the production process do we want to capture and in which sectors?

A greater acknowledged presence of the industry through branding would help shatter the other critical ‘cultural’ barrier to recovery. Dry statistics such as ‘18% of GDP and 50% of exports’ do little to convince a public whose received wisdom comes through the media – responsible for a great deal of negative, ‘Britain doesn’t have a manufacturing industry’, press – and an older generation pining for an earlier age of factories and large-scale industrial production. The reality, according to Hussey, is that most modern manufacturing is highly efficient, highly advanced, innovative, creative, dynamic, diverse. It is crucial that public perception is positive, even aspirational, so the industry attracts the brightest and best. Not doing so detrimentally impacts the quality of manufacturing in a continuous downward spiral. Some of the blame lies at the door of the traditional class system – the distinction between professional and craftsman by which other more currently successful manufacturing nations are not plagued – but it is not only that. The stated mission of the recently launched ‘Manufacturing Insight’ group is: ‘to drive a fundamental and sustained improvement in the image of UK manufacturing capability’. National figures, ‘manufacturing heroes’, were proposed as a means of raising the manufacturer persona, as well as a clearer message about career routes – establishing ‘manufacturing’ as a profession – communicated to children at a much earlier stage.

The financial services have equally suffered bad press of late. Sunil Chopra, Vice President of Tata Consulting Services (the consultancy arm of global manufacturing conglomerate Tata) brought some balance to the debate by speaking in support of the banking sector. Whilst recognising the value of manufacturing, he stressed the importance of not undermining the enviable position of the UK’s financial sector by continuous short term and perhaps negative coverage. Financial services provide employment for over 1 million people nationally – not solely in London as is often believed. And the interplay between the two industries is crucial – the element of financial services that supports business and industry obviously cannot be allowed to fail; and banks will need to support manufacturing, particularly new and growing areas, to make money in the future.

There is undeniably some conflict of interests. In the current climate, trading in Euros, thus neutralising punitive exchange rates, would undoubtedly benefit manufacturers who have to buy much machinery from Europe. There is also anecdotal evidence of European manufacturers pulling out of Britain because of the constant and laborious converting of currency – in spite of favourable exchange rates. But from a banking point of view, the independence of Sterling is no doubt a major factor in retaining London’s global primacy in the financial markets.

The low carbon agenda was another point of contention. The main thrust of Ian Lucas’s words related to the drive to place Britain at the forefront of the low-carbon future. He described it as a ‘key driver’ and praised industry for rising to the challenge. However low-carbon pressures were questioned by members of the audience, concerned about an emphasis on one agenda (although not denying that it is non-optional: in the future there will only be low-carbon manufacturing) at the expense of many others. There is also a point of clarification to be made between manufacturing low-carbon products, and using processes that have a low-carbon footprint.

In closing his presentation, Sir Alan Rudge used the analogy of ‘the greenhouse’: ‘if most of the plants in your greenhouse are suffering, it’s time to examine the greenhouse rather than the individual plants.’ One-off individual cash injections won’t succeed in a poor climate. There is little point bolstering Universities if the downstream take-up of ideas is not in place – otherwise an act of reinforcing the rest of the world. (Ian Lucas alleged the government’s understanding of joining-up issues between academia and industry, and praised the work of the TSB.) Equally there is no point training thousands of designers when there is a scarcity of manufacturers with which to collaborate. He suggested a long list of measures – including deregulation, better IP protection, more favourable capital gains tax – which together could ‘fix the greenhouse’. Although it is easy to expect too much, and we must accept that some problems are not within Government capability to solve, the Minister agreed that at a strategic level, the public contribution was paramount. Getting the greenhouse right is very much within Government’s capability. As Sir Alan Rudge summarised, ‘What is required is not a few isolated initiatives, but a massive coordinated programme aimed at optimising the greenhouse parameters.’

Design for Life: Not the best of British

Out of a sense of hideous foreboding, I didn’t actually watch the opening episode of BBC2’s latest reality TV offering, Design For Life. Badged as ‘The Apprentice for designers’, that was enough to put me off. The following week, having been shamed by a non-design-educated colleague, incredulous I was so out-of-the-loop, I overcame all prejudices and watched it. And the week after that too. Enough is enough though.

The depressing premise: ‘iconic’ French designer Philippe Starck is using that foolproof process, ‘elimination by reality TV’, to find the next great British designer – because apparently British design has so lost its way – from among 12 hopefuls. The lucky winner will be awarded a ‘placement’, paid or unpaid not specified, in his Paris studio. A point which has been made in numerous reviews and blogs: for a man whose career has been built on innovation, the show he has chosen to take part in is tediously formulaic. And unfortunately my sense of foreboding was totally justified. There are so many things wrong with this programme I don’t even know where to start.

Stepping aside the fact that the concept of ‘British’ design is hopelessly out of touch and inappropriate in the context of the way the design world actually operates (see Justin McGuirk in The Guardian here), if these 12 chumps are the best Britain has to offer then we are, as Starck claims, in trouble. They are not very good. I know, as will anyone who visited last month’s London Design Festival, that Britain is not short on creative talent. But for the less well informed, this show is simply bad press for design. It’s actually embarrassing. Where did he dredge up these 12 contestants? I can think of plenty of people – designers and not – who would have risen to Starck’s challenge boldly. In Britain we educate more designers than most other developed nations (only the US, Japan, and S.Korea are ahead); it’s a stock of intellectual capital on which we pride ourselves. Let’s just hope the majority of well-trained and talented designers took one look at the ‘Design For Life’ call for applications and saw it for the poisoned chalice it most likely is.

Admittedly the contestants can draw pretty pictures, but they’re a bit light on vision, ideas, creativity – almost exclusively coming across as petty, competitive, stubborn and close-minded. And yes, Starck’s briefs have been a bit woolly: ‘Design me a product zat will help humanity!’ But there was little real ingenuity on show in their responses.

One idea: to reduce electricity use by ‘switching off the power’ all over the world for two weeks. Can we see any problems with that as an idea? Ok, so it’s a concept, it’s (that horrible phrase) thinking outside the box. But it’s not a design solution. All that the contestant physically produced during the week was a papier mache globe with a lightbulb inside it. It looked like a Blue Peter cast-off. In the third episode, the girl who had most impressed Starck the previous week disappointingly designed something truly useless – a contraption that is placed on the kitchen surface and pops up into shelving. Philippe’s quite reasonable query: if you wanted shelving in your kitchen, why wouldn’t you just put up some shelves? Finally, a decent idea in the third week: a hoist for helping the old and frail up out of a chair, which then transforms into a walking stick. This is potentially a useful addition to the mobility product market place. But as it’s not very sexy it was a bit surprising Starck bought it.

On the whole, their crippling desire to win seems to have blinded them to the true opportunities on offer – complete creative freedom, access to some very nice studio space, materials, and resources to explore the whole of Paris ‘for research’. Instead of relishing the freedom that Starck’s briefs allow, they have mostly whined. That, at least, was probably quite British.

And then there is Starck himself. He is allegedly furious at the way the show has been edited and he has thus been portrayed. What, as a crazy pretentious egotist? Is that really the editing, Philippe? A quick glance at his collection of self-referential self-indulgent coffee table sized catalogues reveals a highly driven and idiosyncratic operator. His own career has provoked much controversy – designs accused of being beautiful but utterly useless, valuing form over function. He seems the very antithesis of what the majority of hardworking designers are desperately trying to convince the British public that design is about – thinking about the needs of the end user, assimilating multiple criteria, finding an elegant solution to a genuine problem. Although undoubtedly talented, his attitude is from another time – the era of the autonomous designer. Starck is on the dying tail end of the generation that gave us uncomfortable chairs and concrete social housing blocks, as well as other things that admittedly weren’t quite so bad. He does the black polo-neck wearing, incomprehensible, creative genius act very well, but in doing so he is doing a disservice to the design industry, particularly in such a design-illiterate, even design-wary, place as Britain.

As mentioned earlier, the concept of a ‘British’ designer is increasingly a redundant one – but it doesn’t change the fact that the contestants left in the running are depressingly average. In the second episode, Starck himself was so disillusioned by the poverty of ideas on display that he threatened to cancel the whole project. He didn’t – there were probably some legally binding agreements that overruled that impulse, sound as it may have been – so it will be interesting to see if any of the four now left manage to blossom into something more impressive than their track record promises. Don’t hold your breath. And – just as you would never take business management lessons from the Apprentice – don’t expect this show to tell you anything truthful about design.

SANAA Pavilion at the Serpentine

The Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park has officially opened its 2009 summer pavilion.

Serpentine Gallery Pavilion 2009 Designed by Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA © 2009 Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA Photograph: Luke Hayes

Kazuyo Sejima & Ryue Nishizawa of Tokyo-based SANAA have designed a floating mirrored canopy that spills out through the trees and over the grass, undulating between waist height and two storeys and open on all sides. The Japanese duo lead a precocious firm with a growing international reputation, whose work, such as the recently completed New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York, is often light and ethereal. They say they don’t think of themselves as ‘Japanese architects’, but to a western eye the Japanese sensibility is clear.

New Museum of Contemporary Art, New York 2007 Designed by Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA Architect of Record: Gensler Architects © 2008 Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA

Pavilion is one of those words of flexible interpretation, but in designing their contribution Sejima and Nishizawa might as well have consulted the dictionary definition: ‘A light, sometimes ornamental roofed structure, used for amusement or shelter, as at parks or fairs.’ Their effort, although highly original and unusual, perfectly fits this traditional criteria, perhaps the best of all nine Serpentine commissions so far.

Satellite image courtesy of Terraserver © Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa of SANAA

From above it seems like a pool of water, from the ground the mirrored ceiling lends it a mirage quality – you can’t tell quite what you’re seeing until you get up close. The reflection makes the slender supporting poles look as though they continue into the ceiling. Everywhere you look is two sets of everything. The detailing is incredibly thoughtful and delicate, the ground plane finished as perfectly as the roof, outlined with a strip of clean white pebbles. The polished aluminium finish brings light under what might be an otherwise gloomy canopy; and they have achieved something rare – an outdoor space in England that is equally charming on a grey miserable day.

Serpentine Gallery Pavilion 2009 Designed by Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA © 2009 Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA Photograph: Luke Hayes

Indeed the opening night was rained on intermittently, with guests passing in and out from under the communal umbrella as the drizzle came and went. Its accessibility will make it a very welcome and friendly addition to park life this summer. The only dampener on the whole affair is that as per usual, the powers that be, in an effort to squeeze all possible delight out of life, dictate that you can’t climb on it – even though at points it is temptingly low enough. One adventurous ten-year-old boy was loudly reprimanded for trying.

But the pavilion concept is a genius one – Serpentine Director Julia Peyton Jones is clearly an intelligent business woman. Her curatorship has reversed the gallery’s fortunes, and the annual event of the summer pavilion has played no small part in this. Physically bringing the gallery’s work into the outside world, it draws people with any sense of curiosity just by being there. The idea – to commission the British debut of already world-famous architects – is equally exciting for archi-fans and architects alike. The project is a practitioner’s dream, unconstrained in brief, and speedy from start to finish. The whole process, commission to opening, takes six months. And it provides a generous amenity to park users. This year’s incarnation looks set to be as, and very likely more, popular than previous years’.

Jeff Koons Seal Walrus Trashcans 2003-2009 Polychromed aluminum, galvanized steel 170.2 x 76.2 x 91.4 cm © 2009 Jeff Koons

There is another first in the gallery itself with a solo exhibition from American artist Jeff Koons. Only after doing a little background reading did I realise the repeated ‘do not touch’ warnings were probably for once for the benefit of the viewer – it would ruin the illusion to find out the inflatables, spliced in improbable ways with heavy bits of sculptural trash, are actually made of steel. Sorry for the plot spoiler. But their incredible verisimilitude makes for interesting structural play. An inflatable is the one thing that would entirely lose its structural integrity if pierced by another object – but in Koon’s pieces this is exactly what you are apparently seeing. It’s a weirdly architectural collection. I’m sure references and theories abound – the recurring Popeye motif is allegedly because of his popularity during the last economic meltdown – but even without investigating further it’s an entertaining show.

A Letter From Istanbul

The drive from Istanbul Ataturk airport in to the city must be one of the most scenic of all such journeys. The road traces the shoreline of the shimmering Marmara sea, an expanse of blue dotted with the rusty red hulks of shipping containers: picturesque, but also a reminder of the significance of trade in Istanbul’s long and complicated history. I’m visiting the city to attend the annual home textiles trade fair, the showcase event for one of the country’s biggest exports. I’m also hoping, in between meeting textile manufacturers and being mini-bussed from hotel to fairground to restaurant, to get an impression of a city I have never visited before.

Given that Istanbul has been pivotal on the silk route for hundreds of years, it is surprising to learn that Turkey’s homegrown textile industry, as it exists today, is a 20th century creation, borne of vast cotton fields and industrialisation. Far from the teeming souk I was, perhaps naively, hoping for, this trade fair looked much like any other, overwhelming in scale and uninspiring in its business park setting. And the outlook of the textile manufacturers showcasing in the vast exhibition halls for ‘EVTEKS 09’ is decidedly global. As primarily an export industry, most designs pander to foreign tastes: the English like heavy cottons, the Greeks prefer lightweight sheers, the Russians go for bright colours – whatever you’re looking for, you can find it here.

In the entrance hall is the Trend Forum. This year, presumably in a bid to seem open and Europe-friendly, they invited Dutch ‘Concept Designer’ Inkrit Berbee to forecast (invent?) some trends for 2010. So Berbee, in a floral kaftan and designer glasses, guided us round the pop-up pavilion displaying her predictions for the future direction of home textiles, which comprised six ‘moods’ – with names like ‘Emotion’, ‘Erosion’ and the ‘English Dandy’. It will be interesting to see if any of these ‘moods’ turn up in Habitat or Homebase next year.

For a more ‘authentically’ Turkish experience I had to wait until our scheduled stop at the Grand Bazaar, which, in spite, or perhaps because of, the onslaught of haggling and heckling, seems to be a popular shopping destination for locals and tourists alike. It is here that you will find the more traditional handwoven textiles. ‘Kilim’ are one such – the making of these carpets is the winter pastime of shepherds in Anatolia, woven from their sheeps’ wool and coloured with natural dyes. The production process hasn’t changed for centuries. A pleasing irony that, overlooked by industrialisation, the scarcity of the shepherds’ handiwork has now rendered it a highly prized commodity.

The Turkish economy has seen an unprecedented rate of growth since 2002 and the cotton empire has played its part. The EVTEKS fair is the second largest globally, after Heimtextil in Frankfurt, and the sense of national pride here is tangible. Sponsored by the Textile Exporters’ Association, the fair is viewed as a chance to demonstrate to an international audience that the Turkish economy, in contrast to the rest of flagging Europe, is doing just fine. As Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan opened the fair in an elaborate ribbon-cutting ceremony, the national anthem was belted out. Perhaps not something that is conceivable at the opening of 100% Design… Still, amongst producers there is a definite sense of unease, and talk of ‘innovating to stay ahead’, in the face of the growing competition from China and India.

But there is a conflict here. Despite these forward-looking postures, the business model is undeniably traditional. Turkey has been a secular state for a long time now, but there were very few women in evidence anywhere: business decisions in an industry where the customers must predominantly be female are still left to the men. Even the biggest players seem to keep it in the family – brothers are now joint-CEOs of companies started by their fathers in the 50s. And transactions were conducted (if that is indeed what they were doing) in a very relaxed manner: every stall had its complement of suits with expanding waistlines and receding hairlines lounging over Turkish coffee and syrupy baclava. And of course, surrounded by a milky haze of cigarette smoke. That can’t be good for the fabric.

As is probably typical of such trips, after two days I realised I had still seen very little except the inside of a glorified tin shed and some – admittedly very nice – restaurants. So I took the bold step of going off-itinerary and after one terrifying taxi ride found myself in Istanbul proper. The plan was to visit a design practice – Autoban – who first came to British attention when they won a Blueprint Award at 100% Design in 2006. A twenty-strong team led by two architects turned interior and product designers, Autoban are a relatively young practice who have risen to the top of the competition, and are the designer of choice for top fashion brand Vakko and coffee chain The House Café. Later that afternoon I went for a cup of Turkish Apple Tea in one such café on the buzzing Istiklai Caddesi. And I’ll be honest – it was just really cool. The people, the food, and probably most importantly, the décor courtesy of Autoban. A carelessly stylish café for a very hip part of town.

Their refurbished warehouse gallery is in the same area – the Pera/Tunel quarter, which holds some of the last, elegantly decaying, buildings of the Ottoman empire, and is now undergoing a slow process of gentrification. Not far from the ancient Galata tower, it is populated by workshops and artisans’ studios, and Autoban rely on their old-time expertise in crafting their distinctively contemporary products. The influence of paired down Scandinavian design is clear, but as is endemic to Istanbul, it has been blended with something more distinctively Eastern – brass, rich woods, ornamental tracery all lend a more luxurious flavour.

On rejoining the itinerary I discovered I hadn’t missed much, just a visit to a shiny new shopping mall, one of an increasing number worryingly sprouting all over the city. Turks are clearly keen to be citizens of the EU – far from being a taboo subject, the failed membership bid frequently comes up in conversation. But at the moment it seems they have such a clear and proud sense of self, it would be a tragedy to see any kind of homogenisation creeping in. Istanbul is a fascinating city because of the blend of influences that have informed its development. It has somehow managed to retain an authentically exotic flavour that is rare nowadays in the face of tourism opportunities – perhaps because it has always been a city full of visitors. And this is one visitor who can’t wait to go back.

This article first appeared in the August 2009 issue of Blueprint. Many thanks to UIB for their hospitality.

Vitra/ CIRECA Design Workshop Diary: the final entry

I’ve resumed normal working life in London after a week’s indulgence in creativity at the Domaine de Boisbuchet in France. The heat, the beautiful surroundings, the gourmet food and the international company all seem very distant from the wet English summer, although I only flew home on Saturday night. Saturday was one probably one of the worst days of my life in fact, due to the intense levels of partying that broke out on the previous night – the final night of the workshop. As is traditional, presentations by the students of their projects – which for the lighting workshop consisted of a tour of lighting installations around the Boisbuchet site – was followed by a celebratory fancy dress evening in the pigshed, now official party room.

After a slightly dubious voting process, the theme for the party was established as ‘safe sex/ pinata’ (for reasons which are probably too nonsensical to explain here) and the décor and costumes, overseen by Andrey Bartenev, were suitably outrageous. Games included a grown up version of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, ‘Kiss Mauritz’, which involved a cardboard cut out of one particularly alluring member of the Boisbuchet staff. And the head wasn’t the target.

Anyway, suffice it to say it was a fantastic end to what has been a remarkable, refreshing, challenging and inspiring week. Sadly I was too busy enjoying myself to take any photos during the celebrations, but here are a few of our final projects:

There are still a few places left on the Boisbuchet programme – check out their website for more details. If you can spare the cash it’s more than worth it, and will almost certainly be one of the most interesting weeks of your life.

Vitra/ CIRECA Design Workshop: Day 4

The lighting workshop, Lamps for Boisbuchet, run by Marco Zanuso Jr, is in its fourth day. Having spent yesterday away in Limoges I had some catching up to do. The brief was to create something simple, original, and beautiful. (Easy then.) Initially we were tasked with drawing as many ideas as we could in three hours. After a group discussion the tutors selected a design to be carried through. So today I have been trying to do just that. This is what happened:

Here are some of the things that other people are making:

With one third of the group at the Porcelain school in Limoges today, and everyone else quietly concentrating on their own projects, it was a very calm day, apart from one little incident. The post-lunch entertainment was provided by the Boisbuchet staff trying to recapture two escaping horses. Eventually a combination of baguettes and apples persuaded them to stand still until the farmer appeared to coax them back into the field and the fence was repaired.

The post-dinner entertainment every evening so far has been a sort of show-and-tell from the workshop leaders – Andrey Bartenev, Sam Baron, Marco Zanuso. Last night was the turn of workshop participants and Boisbuchet staff (most of whom began their affair with Boisbuchet by attending as participants) to show portfolios, if they so wanted. Most are still students but some are working designers – throughout the standard was generally very high (for many a week at Boisbuchet was first prize in a design competition), incredibly diverse, all greatly inspiring; I think the chance to meet and share ideas with other designers from all over the world is one of the greatest strengths of the Boisbuchet concept.

Vitra/ CIRECA Design Workshop: Day 3

Porcelain, the ‘white gold’, a precious material originating in China, brought to Europe by Marco Polo, and whose recipe was a royal secret for many years. It is distinguished by being the only one of the fired earth family to have a translucent quality, and when tapped it rings like crystal. Its composition was discovered in Europe by an alchemist trying to make gold, and after a final firing at 1400˚C for 24 hours it becomes incredibly hard, durable, pure white, and of course beautiful.

These are some of the facts I learned in Limoges today. As part of their workshop, led by Sam Baron of Fabrica, the porcelain group spent a day listening and learning instead of making. As we were guided round the factories of Bernardaud and Royal Limoges, with the exception of witnessing the raw materials dug out of the ground, we saw the entire process from a messy lump of clay (or powder) to immaculate shop floor.

One of the most striking aspects of this industry is that even though as many elements as possible are mechanised, a great deal of the process can still only be done by a well-trained hand and eye, and as such haven’t changed for over 100 years. The porcelain shrinks during firing, but not necessarily in a uniform way, which makes designing pieces by computer often irrelevant – producing the original requires the intuition and experience of the head designer. In the factory where the pieces are cast, at the end of the production line are the ‘choisisseuses’ – ladies who test and categorise each blank into perfect, imperfect but saleable, and reject piles, continuously feeding the information back to a central office. And in the decorating factory, although many patterns are applied using a kind of transfer (‘chromo’), details are added and mistakes corrected by hand – a very steady hand that takes at least two years to train.

Bernardaud and Royal Limoges are two of a dwindling number of porcelain manufacturers in Limoges, the French town which became the home of porcelain because of nearby deposits of kaolin, the principal component. Both companies claim to be the oldest of course, and at the Royal Limoges site you can see an original brick kiln from 1904, the only one of its kind left out of nine that they had, and hundreds altogether throughout Limoges. The cost of manufacture, changing tastes, and the nearby deposits running low have all contributed to a reduction in production. Bernardaud have responded by expanding the range of products they make to include parts for household appliances and works of art.

The students at Boisbuchet don’t have two years to learn the process – just a few days to experiment – and they are returning to Limoges over the next few days to work in the porcelain school, casting and firing their designs. And I’ll be back at Boisbuchet, continuing with my impossible project.

Vitra/ CIRECA Design Workshop: Day 2

One of the unusual assets of the Vitra Design Museum is its ever expanding collection of buildings on site: contributions from Frank Gehry, Nicholas Grimshaw, Tadao Ando, Zaha Hadid, Alvaro Siza, and Jean Prouvé make something like an architectural park. The Boisbuchet site, which is owned and run by the Museum’s director Alexander von Vegesack (who also runs CIRECA) although more modest in scale, has this same experimental quality, and the freedom here has allowed many prototypes and one-offs to be left standing from which future generations of designers can learn or draw inspiration.

The most recent addition to the Domaine, which opened with a traditional tea ceremony in June, is a Japanese Minka guesthouse (kyakuden), relocated to Boisbuchet from the Japanese prefecture of Shimane, where abandonment and dereliction were its likely fate. This is a special case, but aside from this and the original farm buildings, most of the other constructions are the result of summer workshops.

There is a Paper Pavilion by Shigeru Ban, a lattice structure dome by Jörg Schlaich (who developed the Olympic stadium in Munich with Otto Frei), several bamboo buildings by Colombian architect Simón Vélez, a pyramid, a stacked log cabin – as well as various bits of permanent furniture and installations that have never been uninstalled.

The spaces of the old buildings themselves are well suited to the activities of the workshops – old converted barns lend themselves to large scale construction, tool rooms, open sided workshops and storage for copious materials, and to accommodating mealtimes when it’s raining, or just too hot outside. In fact the soothing coolness of the original buildings even in the heat of midday is a lesson in passive environmental design in itself.

This, or rather ‘Learning from the Vernacular’ is the subject of an exhibition currently installed in the partially renovated rooms of the Chateau, displaying dozens of scale models of vernacular forms from all over the world. The Chateau itself is not perhaps an example of that, being a 19th century fantasy concoction that looks oddly like the Walt Disney Castle. But wandering through its labyrinth of aging rooms – the walls patched with remnants of wallpaper from another time, tall windows full of green vistas and lizards sliding through cracks in the floor – is an almost-fairytale experience in itself.

In line with CIRECA’s mission, the whole site will be opened up to the public, who can visit by guided tour, from 1 July 2009. The visitor centre is in the former Mill, the oldest (17th century) surviving structure at Boisbuchet, and there have been preparations all week to prepare the café for potential guests.

However I won’t know if the first day of public access has gone smoothly until later, as tomorrow I’m joining the porcelain group on a visit to the Limoges factory. Knowing almost nothing about the Porcelain process, apart from what I’ve seen so far in the workshop, this will hopefully be an interesting day. More on this tomorrow.

As for what I did today – we started our own lighting projects, and, just to make life difficult for myself, I’m trying to make a sphere. I’ll let you know how I get on… Here’s my ‘prototype’ anyway: