SCARPA DIEM

Felix Burrichter: What do you remember most vividly about the early years of Flos? Are there any stories about Sergio Gandini, or about Piero Gandini as a child?

Tobia Scarpa: What comes back to me most strongly from those early years is the dynamism of the company, which gave rise to experiments with light, materials, and technology. The designers working for Flos at the time were trying to create lamps that simply didn’t yet exist on the market. We were looking for a combination of function, technique, and form that could find its balance within the imagination of the idea. I think that’s why, even after so many years, when a particular object is proposed for reissue, it still fits within a framework in which the fundamental concepts we originally explored remain unchanged.

What made Seki-Han possible in 1963?

At that time, as I was saying, everything was just beginning. Nothing existed, so every effort was directed toward designing products that were technologically innovative and desirable to the widest possible audience. It’s a very complicated subject because you couldn’t undertake something like that without a profound awareness of the wisdom of the past and of the direction this new path was taking. All our projects, including Seki-Han, tried to offer people a quality product that would inspire desire and affection — something they would want to buy. The design idea would then encounter, within Flos, either the technical expertise to realize it or, very often, a willingness to develop new systems together with the designers.

What was the original impulse for Seki-Han?

We wanted to return to traditional materials, such as wood, bringing them together with a continuous light source and a linear form to create a product that would be complete yet essential. We wanted a lamp body that would have a character of its own, both in its luminous phase and in its phase of “silence,” when the light is off.

Why did you want to use wood for a lamp?

Traditionally, wood had been used to make lamps, but according to conventions that tended to produce predetermined kinds of objects. A company like Flos was instead trying to create something utterly singular and vital. Materials were chosen not only for their physical qualities, but for the character they could give a product. Something imaginative, engaging, and immediately attractive.

What did you think when Piero Gandini proposed last year to bring Seki-Han back?

I believe it was shortly before the Salone del Mobile when I received a phone call from Piero Gandini, whom I hadn’t spoken to for some time. He suggested we meet at my studio a few days later to talk about a lamp. I didn’t know what to think, but when I saw him arrive at the studio carrying Seki-Han, I was amazed. I looked at the object with the curiosity of someone seeing it for the first time.

It seemed very “right” to me, and when Piero Gandini told me that he wanted to put it back into production, I thought it was an excellent opportunity to update it technologically as well. I think that within just a few days we managed to get it ready for presentation at the Salone.

In general, I believe that reissuing a product is an extraordinary opportunity that should never be passed up. When something like this happens, a brain like mine immediately sees an opportunity to do something new and simply can’t let it go.

How much can a design change before it becomes a new object?

In this case, the changes were minimal. By changing the support and the lighting technology, we could call it a simpatico update for new users. Taking an old product and continuing to bring it to market means that the object is still alive, and that its value certainly goes beyond sales alone.

You’ve worked across many different scales, from lamps and furniture to interiors and buildings. How does scale affect the way you design, and what gives an object its presence?

A piece of furniture is something on a small scale, whereas a building has to take into account many other, much broader problems. To answer the question, we have to simplify enormously, because if we speak of an object that is as large as a person and carries a certain lightness within its soul, we cannot compare it to everything we see around us. Every object is also shaped by its makers and, fundamentally, by the design idea. A small object remains modest and humble in its presence, while a very large project has to deal with the complexity of the many elements that compose it. When we think about a new product, we first have to be convinced that we are actually making something new. Every part of the object we are designing should be directed toward creating simpatia — a sense of affinity — with the object. We should never forget that, in order to be sold, every product has to be deeply compelling, capable of generating affection and ideas around itself.

You and Afra worked together for many years. What did collaboration mean to you, and how did an idea usually take shape between you?

Designers play a difficult kind of “game”: they want to offer, to everyone interested in participating in this game of ideas, an object that can give them beauty and imagination. Carrying a project forward requires harmony and collaboration between the different people involved. If those people put passion into what they are doing, the final product carries that passion with it and is able to communicate it. If someone works with love, the object you use will transmit that love to you. This isn’t theoretical. I’ve seen it borne out over the years, by observing why certain objects or built spaces did not give me the same sensations as others.

You are often asked about your father. What did you inherit from Carlo Scarpa [1906–78] that was not stylistic?

That is a very interesting question. I can only say that Carlo Scarpa possessed qualities that, in my opinion, have still not been fully understood. I never involved myself in Carlo’s work. He had every right and all the time he needed to do what he wanted. But I was always there, ready to steal all the right ideas, and I believe I’m still doing it today, even after all this time. Sometimes, though, the opposite happened too.