Origins of Perennial
Elliott Rosenberg
A synopsis and report of my 5th year degree project in the Furniture Design department at the Rhode Island School of Design.
*note! This is not a Perennial manifesto, but more of an archive of a point in thinking about the studio and its agency out in the wild.
AI Summary:
- Perennial Design Studio is rooted in the idea that challenges foster resilience and authentic expression.
- The studio emphasizes the importance of purpose and craftsmanship in design, inspired by natural world observations.
- It explores the intersection of engineering precision and artistic creativity in design processes.
- The Echinacea Series exemplifies the studio's approach, focusing on color, texture, and geometry in object creation.
- Perennial aims to amplify voices and ideas, viewing design as a means to explore and understand existence.
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Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals
I was going to write that this text is only a draft and not meant to convey the fully baked thoughts about my creation of a studio. But that also assumes that I will ever reach a point where my thoughts around any particular topic are final. I hope that I never reach that state. To that end though, disregard spelling or grammatical errors. Or regard them, I don't really care.
I'm from Oakland California, and grew up spending a large amount of time in the redwoods. I went to the forest to be alone, to be with people, to play, to reflect, and to learn about the world around me. The smell of dark green redwood leaves and mulch just after it has rained is the smell of home. I'd spend hours building forts, finding new types of bugs, categorizing rocks, and writing in my nature journal.
I'm culturally jewish, and was introduced to adamah, the hebrew word for earth, as soon as I stepped foot in the woods. Day by day I learned to respect the life around me in exchange for the peace of existing in the presence of the calm and wise trees. I know that it sounds pretty cliche and tacky to say that I look up to the natural world, but it's true.
I think the most natural question we all should endeavor to answer for ourselves is: "why do I do what I do?". I have struggled to answer this question for myself in the context of the design world for as long as I've called myself a designer (about 8 months now, as of May 2024). It seems to be at the forefront of all the art and design that I can relate to when I go to a museum or look around me. The objects, systems, ideas, and theories that are inspiring are the ones in which the purpose is abundantly clear. The chair that as soon as I see it I'm kicking myself thinking, "Of course, I can't believe I didn't think of that!" As a designer or an artist, you're constantly making choices. The moment that you choose one thing over another because "it looks good" or "I like the color red," you've lost. Not to say that you shouldn't trust your gut when it comes to making a choice, it's that you should interrogate your gut, trying to figure out why making that corner round instead of square feels more natural.
Purpose is elusive to the designer, yet it's at the core of all we do.
In thinking about how we (the collective we referring to the current state of every living and non-living organism) have gotten to the place that we are right now, it's pretty remarkable. I mean, I as a human have consciousness and thus can create legible thoughts that lead to decision making. I understand that once cavemen were around, how we progressed to inventing the wheel and later the iPhone. But isn't it incredible that there Is in the first place, as opposed to Is Not? I don't believe in god, but I do think that it makes sense to spend one's life trying to make legible observations about the magical notion that we exist in the first place. The natural world is an infinite source of magic, all post-rationalized in clear and understandable terms through scientific theory. But trees don't have brains. They adapt, evolve, and create life for themselves without consciousness. The fact of the existence of the natural world serves as a never ending rabbit hole of discovery through exploration.
As I look to reconcile my purpose in life and my ability to survive, being a designer might just be an opportunity to make a living while exploring the depths of the natural world. Through this lens, I decided to spend my final year of undergraduate study in the creation of a framework of how and why I make any decision as designer.
The very concept that I'm building a framework in the first place is heavily influenced by my academic background. While in many contexts I wouldn't call myself an engineer nor a software engineer, I am trained in both disciplines. I have completed undergraduate Bachelors of Arts degrees at Brown University in the fields of Materials Engineering and Computer Science. I'd like to think that all this means is that I know all the buzzwords that make me seem competent when trying to build a bridge or make a WebApp. I think at its core all disciplines are just languages, and it takes a while to learn how to speak in ways that others can understand. I do think though that the languages in the tech and hard math space tend to be particularly precise and binary relative to some of the other languages I speak.
Code will either work or it won't. A bridge will either support the load or it won't. It's that simple. My education in the hard sciences has made my approach to design more evidence based and thorough. Decisions need reasoning, and sources must be cited. Some might say this makes my design style more traditional. To that I say, I am working on letting go, but some languages are hard to unlearn!
As a lifelong competitor, my mindset towards design initially was to win, to be the best there ever was. My main challenge in applying my knowledge of STEM to the world of design through a competitive lens was the pressure. As someone who has thrived in the binary successes and failures of weekly problem sets, midterms, and exams, the idea that a question might not have just one answer was extremely scary to me. In fact, there could be many right answers, or maybe even the concept of trying to answer a question in the field of design is reductive and implies that our goal is always to find a solution, to tie a bow around a problem and sell it to the world. If my ideas didn't feel like breakthroughs, then I was a failure. If I was going to give up six figure salaries in silicon valley, then I better at least be the cream of the crop of the designers. I need to be top of sport.
It's pretty sad even writing that last paragraph. Thankfully through great mentorship, therapy, and some good time in the woods, I began to relax a bit. To take my mind off of the pressure, I decided to just make something that felt good to do.
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The manifestation of my joy of woodworking was Tact Chair (now Hakone), created in the fall of 2023. I used traditional hand tools and simple processes to develop a dining chair, inspired by modern and minimalist aesthetics. I'm proud of Tact, and in fact it might be one of the first things I've made that I'm truly proud of. It has integrity, and represents to me the honest expression of a well spent day in the shop. My big revelation from Tact was that I found meaning in working naturally, without having to manufacture meaning out of some grandiose poetic concept. By setting purpose to be fulfillment (or in simpler terms, happiness), the act of creating the chair joyfully came with an extremely deep and personal meaning for me. I didn't need each leg of the chair to represent a different part of myself, and I didn't need to paint it a certain color to exist as referential to some concept that I was interested in. In a very industrial and simultaneously conceptual way, form followed function. I never had to worry about making a decision through the process of creation, nor did I have to feel like my decisions were arbitrary. |
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in the wake of Tact, I still felt a bit lost on what to do for my degree project, although with signs slightly pointed towards pillars of Craft and Purpose.
Starting with research, I looked at David Pye and his definition of craftsmanship: "the workmanship of risk", by which he means "workmanship using any kind of technique or apparatus, in which the quality of the result is not predetermined, but depends on the judgment, dexterity and care which the maker exercises as they work."
I liked this definition as it was the first one I heard that wasn't purely centered on "the hand" as a core component of craft. I wanted to define craft in a way that was inclusive of the contemporary world, embracing new technologies. I wanted to create bespoke and highly curated objects without needing to solely use a chisel and a hand plane.
I began to move away from the concepts of craft and quality as they felt baked in to what at the time (and still does) feel more important: compassion and betterment. While seemingly disparate, I believe that these two themes are all encompassing of the notions of craft while also being highly inclusive of those that don't operate in the creation of 3D objects or even tangible deliverables.
If you believe that all objects (both physical objects and mental objects, or Dhamma in buddhist philosophy) deserve a level of respect simply due to the fact that they exist (as opposed to their lack of existence), the concept of craft follows quite clearly. If it is my job as a designer to allow objects, including materials, to exist in their most authentic forms, and I care enough about the objects I work with to actually listen to them, then craft and quality are two necessary byproducts of my interactions with those objects. It would be a disservice to my fellow designers and to the objects that I worked with if I did not give them the energy in order for them to thrive.
While I enjoyed making Tact, I decided to move towards developing physical objects in a smaller scale. Making small things is logistically simpler, and allows for the full expression of personality in a much more expressionistic and legible way. I also find the joy of a tiny detail to be greatly amplified when it's a core component. Small things can blend in to their environments just as well as big things, but command your full and undivided attention to fully understand. I love that you can get real up close and still see a small thing in it's entirety,
The remainder of my fall semester was spent exploring forms and colors through rapid iterative processes such as the CNC machine. I didn't want to get stuck on any particular piece, as I knew that at the current stage of development didn't require a high level of fidelity.
My interests honed in on the creation of lights and bowls. I resonated with objects that have ambient functions, as I feel that they have more reciprocal relationships with us relative to something like a table or a chair. Lights are used, but they also project their own personalities into their environments. Bowls are gathering spaces, exist at a small scale, and offer a passive contribution to the places they inhabit.
While I began to grapple with purpose through the development of objects during my fall semester, I was unclear about how to manifest my values in my work. In an assignment to create a project statement for the degree project I wrote:
I am not interested in my project statement to pigeon hole my work into a specific style, material, or context. Much like is discussed in Super Normal, I would like my final project to be a collection of objects that may not share a collective means of production, material, finish, or use, but come together through their beauty in simplicity, normality, legibility, and posture. I want the creation of their existence to imbue enough respect into the object that they know they deserve life, that they deserve connection. I can foresee my statement and goals of work becoming much more specific and focused towards the material and formal qualities of my objects as I become more comfortable and confident in the processes that define my decision making. For now though I am perfectly happy to chase the good object, and to learn/reflect/adjust as I go.
Over my holiday break, I was able to spend some time away from the studio, allowing thoughts to settle and solidify. I found some stable part-time work, and allowed the fears of job hunting or "making something of myself" to recede. I knew that my final semester of undergraduate study would consist of only 2 courses: a writing course and my senior studio. It was important to me that I found my final semester to be fulfilling.
I began my spring semester thinking that defining fulfillment through the lens of my practice as a designer would be the path for me to imbue meaning into my work. However, my natural desire to codify and document everything led to the vision of a design studio: a place for people to interact with one another and have discourse about their lives. I have become particularly attune as of recent to the somewhat obvious concept that the people around me are doing incredible things with their time. I would like it if my efforts amplified the voices of those around me, so that I may more naturally uncover the aspects of the work of others that resonate with me.
The namesake of the design studio, perennial, comes from the core belief that we are the strongest and most authentic versions of ourselves when we respond to adversity. Perennial speaks to the notion that challenges make us more resilient, and that true expression of identity (whether it be personal identity, material identity, community identity, etc.) is the clearest after the storm has been weathered.
While I knew from early on that the development of perennial would be the driving force behind my degree project, I am a 3D maker at heart, and was also unsure about how the objects I made would interact with the ideology that I was developing.
EchinaceaA genus of herbaceous flowering plants in the daisy family. It has ten species, which are commonly called coneflowers. They are found only in eastern and central North America, where they grow in moist to dry prairies and open wooded areas. |
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At it's core, the Echinacea Series explores the ways in which color, texture, light, and geometry intersect to develop a satisfying and consistent visual language. Colors and materials project identity onto the inanimate, and Echinacea looks to curate terrariums in which these identities are able to coexist.
Other than just the creation of lights and bowls, I used Ech to develop practical skills as they relate to networking and growing in the professional world as a designer. I cultivated a network of manufacturers that provided consistent parts fabrication, and undertook comprehensive market research in order to understand how I'd be able to price and sell Ech to the broader public.
The topic of mass production - or even designing for production - seems to be actively avoided by the members of the Furniture Design department at RISD. I understand the sentiment, as I think the world of production and consumption is a highly toxic wasteland, and is almost entirely managed by corporations with no actual interest in you or the good of the world.
I find the previous notion - that the world of mass production is a mess - to be motivating rather than dissuading. If I believe in the good of what I'm doing, than the question of access becomes highly important. If I can create at a scale that doesn't compromise the integrity of the material, while allowing more people to interact with my design (or the design of those that I agree with), is that not a positive outcome? The questions of practicality become just as important as the questions of form. This is why I continue to align myself with manufacturers, big and small.
I began the creation of the Echinacea Series with material research, and allowed this exploration to essentially become the second manifestation of my degree project. Through my work as a furniture designer with Robert Siegel Architects, I found out about a series of solid foam materials made from ceramics and metallic alloys.
An incredible feature of the material is its natural structural properties as derived from the process used to produce it. In closed cell foam (such as Alusion), a bubbling agent is introduced to molten aluminum as it's cooling to generate a random lattice pattern of controlled cells. Similar looking spherical aluminum foam is generated using a completely different yet just as innovative technique, where the raw material is mixed with small spheres of rock salt within a mold. Once cooled, the salt is dissolved out of the aluminum to reveal a metallic material with thousands of tiny spherical pores.
The generative process is not a surface finish, allowing for diffusion of light and fluids. I almost immediately fell in love with the concept of repurposing the initial use of the foam as a filtration mechanism through the development of a common home good - an essential oil diffuser.
On a fundamental level, Diffuser looks to center the idea that technological innovation can coexist with craft, through the interaction of filter and filtrate The project seeks to highlight the incredible qualities that come with scientific progress, and to reaffirm the concept that the cutting edge of what is possible doesn't have to live within the confines of acedemia or professional spaces.
A large portion of this project has been learning how to work with manufacturers that are typically used to a more conventional client base. Through the development of Printable Circuit Boards (PCBs) and mockups in a variety of materials, I found out that designing for manufacturing almost completely consists of email communications and quality control.
Although primarily used in the fields of high precision scientific filtration of gasses, the cellular foam is striking in its appearance and wondrously interesting to look at.
Mission and Vision
The Buddha
So what actually does Perennial Design Studio mean? How does it work, how do I use it, and how do I get involved? I will try to answer these questions in the following pages, but I hope that by now you've learned that every good question deserves more than a straight answer.
With a background in woodworking, engineering, and computer science, I developed an understanding for the design process as it spans professional disciplines, coming to an exciting conclusion. What anyone does for a living is almost completely coincidence, a series of uncontrollable events that spur interests and lead to a specific developed expertise.
Expertise is merely a tangential manifestation of our values. The things we care about are core to our identity, and as a baseline we all have wisdom to offer about the ways we utilize our values in professional life.
Research Principles
Perennial isn't just for artists and designers. The natural and curious quest for more is a superpower of those interested in interacting with perennial. In particular, we champion the research process, looking for ways to enable those around us to explore the depths of our current world. The design studio has created 4 primary areas for research, that intentionally capture interest, regardless of professional discipline. While these principles may hold particular contexts in my field of work, I am always looking for opportunities to learn about the research conducted by those around me.
Zoom and ScaleThe extent to which we apply our attention is the makeup of reality.
Surface TensionMoments of inconvenience have wisdom to offer us.
Intangible PhenomenaCultivating moments of serendipity is enriching as a human.
Material AgencyEverything in the world has an intrinsic right to make a choice about how it exists.
Perennial aims to foster interdisciplinary interactions in a variety of ways. We use digital and physical platforms (social media, website, magazine issues, showroom space) to highlight the incredible work done by contributors to the studio. We make it easy for you to organize photos, text, images, news, soundbites, or other bits of information that support the ways that you find fulfillment. This process can be as individual or collaborative as you'd like. We give space for communication between people of all backgrounds. Whether it's online chat, webinars, meetups, conferences, or anything else you can think of, we are here to help make it happen. We use data analysis to connect you with people that you might be able to learn from and work with.
MeanderGoing out of our way to go out of our way. Offering space to explore the meadows of concepts, ideas, visions, and products that explore how to improve the world around us.
ForageProviding a framework for you to compulsively (or contrivedly) collect, organize, and archive information as a means of processing complex ideas.
SynthesizeMaking space for you to enjoy the experience of existing. Creating pathways for you to collaborate and actively learn from others.