Dispersed in Paris and Berlin, Ines Kaag and Desiree Heiss of the conceptual fashion label BLESS always talk about their work together. We learned this when we asked to interview both of them face to face, yet separately, with the same questions, since Jenna happened to be in Berlin and Anni in Paris at the time. Their kind refusal was explained by the fact that BLESS is something between the two, and therefore they don’t do interviews alone. So, we ended up in an email conversation with the twosome on the issues of identity and privacy as well as working together from two different cities.

Ines Kaag + Desiree Heiss = BLESS. Illustration by Manuel Raeder.
Dear Ines and Desiree,
We see your work as something in between art and fashion design. What do you think about this description and how do you see your position in the fields of fashion and art?
I & D: Honestly, we don’t think in categories. We simply do what we do and everybody is free to interpret and categorise it. In general, we see our work as creation of everyday products that are made to be used. However, art projects are welcome since they allow a certain freedom, budget and time to create new products that we wouldn’t have been able to develop otherwise.
BLESS seems to us as something very unconditional, and something genuinely based on personal interest. What is the motivation behind your work?
I & D: To earn our living in doing something we like to do and that makes us advance continuously on another, human level.
How did you get together in the first place?
I & D: We met in Paris in 1993 through a fashion competition and later started a penfriendship. After having visited each other for our graduation shows, we became close friends and started to discuss each other’s work as well as work on small projects together. We slowly slided into a more serious ground when Martin Margiela discovered our fur wig advertisement in i-D magazine and hired us to make wigs for his show.
How big is the company altogether and how do you share the tasks between the two of you? How does it work to do creative things together?
I & D: We have worked in two different cities, Berlin and Paris from the very beginning. In both cities, we have one fixed and one freelance employee, plus in Berlin a person that takes care of the shop. We share all the tasks between the two of us. Our creative work is like a hobby somewhere between the lines of hundreds of administrative emails.
“Our creative work is like a hobby somewhere between the lines of hundreds of administrative emails.”
Could you tell us more about your design process?
I & D: There are no fixed rules or schemes in terms of how we work. Everything is imaginable – it just occurs. Sometimes we develop the ideas 100% together, sometimes 100% separate. At times, one person starts and the other one ends, one person comes up with an idea and the other one makes the prototype, or one person makes something and the other person destroys it. Our tools are mainly words and hands. We never draw.
What are your studios in Paris and Berlin like?
I & D: Both are quite special, somehow like private houses, quite green and charming.

BLESS shop Paris, 14 Rue Portefoin. Photo by BLESS.

BLESS shop Berlin, Mulackstraße 38. Photo by BLESS.
What do you feel are the differences in working in Paris vs. Berlin? Is it difficult to work from two cities?
I & D: The secret is that it´s not Berlin “vs.” Paris, but “together with”. We never actually ended up working in different places but the other way around: we started working like this and haven’t stopped so far. It’s like a long distance romance – it has its pros and cons like any other form of being together. The main advantage is that we remain our own bosses, free to work in our own personal way in each city. The cons are the additional costs and loss of time through internal administration and communication. However, we do meet up at least every ten days in Berlin, Paris or elsewhere.
“Working in two different cities is like a long distance romance.”
Are there any special charateristics of Paris and Berlin that affect your thinking and doing? And how?
D: Living in a capital means that you can get really everything you need. I like that, as well as the light in Paris.
I: I have no reason to move. The sensation of comfort keeps me in Berlin. I have no idea whether it’s the city itself or its trees – and it wouldn’t make any difference.
Despite the fact that you work far from each other you are one as BLESS, always presenting your work together in public. Is this something you make a point of because you are dispersed in different places – taking care of your public presence together?
I & D: You guessed it right. Since we are often apart, it is important that BLESS is clearly a unit. It wouldn’t exist without the both of us: the products, the structure and the vision are a dialogue rather than a master plan.
You’re very mysterious when it comes to your identity and keep your private lives, and even working life, to yourself. We feel that it’s very interesting, especially now that people are sharing more and more in public in general. Why did you decide to do this?
I & D: We are not at all interested in sharing our personal life with the public. Instead, we are very happy to share our products that are made to be shared.
Like your working habits your work itself is also very futuristic. How do you see the future?
I & D: Playful.
Thanks!
I & D: Thank you!


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Working somewhere in between art and science, you aim to generate discussion about the relationship between technology and people. How would you define the role and purpose of design? And how do you define critical design?
AD: The question of art and design is problematic. A lot of people want to see us as artists, but we definitely see ourselves as designers trying to push the discipline forward, asking questions about design and through it. In fact, we launched the term critical design ten years ago in order to describe our work. Sometimes people think it simply means criticism; that we are negative about everything, anti-consumerist and against design. Some people relate it to critical theory; to Frankfurt school and anti-capitalist thinking. We are definitely aware of it, but then again not in that category either. Critical design is about critical thinking – about not taking things at face value. It's about questioning things, and trying to understand what's behind them. In essence, our objective is to use design as a means for applying skepticism to society at large.
[caption id="attachment_1403" align="alignnone" width="549" caption="a/b – "a sort of a manifesto that positions what we do in relation to how most people understand design" – by Dunne&Raby. Typography: OK DO."]
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You have compared design to art, using film and literature as examples of genres that are critical yet create pleasure. What do you think design and art can learn from each other?
AD: I think that art shouldn't need to exist. In an ideal, utopian world, everyday life would be so rich, meaningful and challenging that we wouldn't need this separate category called art. I kind of feel that art exists because design has failed. Learning from artists, designers should become bolder, more imaginative and critical. I'm not sure if art needs to learn from design, though.
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In Design Noir (2001), you wrote that "beneath the glossy surface of official design lurks a dark and strange world driven by real human needs". Do you feel that contemporary products do not match people's needs – and has this improved since you wrote Design Noir? Do you think that people are reacting to that themselves and how should they be involved in design processes?
AD: I think the internet has expanded the range of possibilities for pleasure and for fulfilling one's personal desires and fantasies, no matter how strange you are. But this still doesn't apply to products, which remain essentially functional. However, the background or the infrastructure of products has definitely transformed. Before, if you were obsessed about something unusual – like I was about strange radio cultures – it was hard to find any information about it.
AD & FR: Involving people in design processes relates to the do-it-yourself culture which we are not so interested in. Everyone can start making and modifying things themselves, but we believe it's important to have experts who can do special and beautiful things that are beyond the abilities of non-professionals.
AD: I get annoyed when people think that the DIY culture has made professionals useless. However, there are a lot of independent – yet professional – designers out there who offer radical products they create on their own.
FR: They are like activists; bottom-up designers. We like the story of activism, that there is room for free inventors. A good example is designer
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Thinking that Finland hasn't really been the design country worth its reputation after the golden era of the 1950s and '60s, we started by discussing what made Finnish design interesting back then. Having to make the most out of the little that Finland had after the Second World War, design was blended into production, and a forward-looking spirit of collaboration between different disciplines generated intrepid, even utopian, ideas.
Marikylä ('Mari' village in Finnish) was a village designed together by the founder of Marimekko
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Another classic Finnish brand springing from a lifestyle,
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An interesting contemporary design brand that respects Finnish traditions and skills yet renews them open-mindedly is
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Another new brand that we feel has potential to turn design products into classics is fashion label 
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The book also contains many musical and sonic references – sentences like “They were busy looking at each other with clicking metal eyes.” or stories about a band called Sonic Flower Groove after an album by the Scottish group Primal Scream. Would you say that you experience places through their sonic environment?
Being a musician I obviously have to pay a lot of attention to that. One reason behind the Sonic Flower Groove episode is that the first time I discovered Berlin was when I came here on tour with Primal Scream in 1987. So I was thinking what if it was reversed, that I was actually coming from Berlin and experiencing Scotland in the same way. And I guess that happened with many places, I discovered them as a musician. Music was a way to get my travel expenses paid.
How would you describe Berlin, your current home city by these attributes?
Berlin is a very quiet town. It has made me lose interest in pop music. The main sound on the streets is the birds singing. Germans like to see their cities as extensions of the forest and there are trees everywhere. And that’s very different from e.g. London where there is a lot of pollution and most of the sounds come from traffic or small speakers in every corner in every sandwich bar… And time is money. In that sense, Berlin is much less capitalist, much less toxic. And you can hear it. It’s a very avant-garde, experimental city. Even when you go to concerts you often end up listening to field recordings or the sound of a contact microphone being scraped up and down, sounds of ping pong balls or balloons. All this could be seen as utterly pretentious in many other cities but here you don’t have to have an aim or a commercial purpose in what you do. One can escape all sorts of obligations and necessities. That’s probably one reason why I have stayed here for so long.
Scotland number one hundred and three reads: “A computer makes a Scotland seem almost unnecessary.” Could this thought be applied to all distant places with internet access – like Finland, my home country, which you even refer to in the book (Scotland 136) – or is it rather a comment on a lack of identity?
Well, I think we’re seeing a crisis in national identity. I was quoted in a magazine saying that my true motherland is the internet. I feel like wherever I travel I’m always in this country called the internet. Or maybe it’s the operating system that counts – and I do almost feel a certain patriotism towards Apple computers. However, there’s another part of my identity that’s very Scottish. Whatever that is.
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You have lived in major cities around the world. What makes you move, and what made you leave Scotland in the first place?
It’s just a pattern I established very early because of moving with my father’s work when I was a child. After studying in Scotland I left for London to make it in music – a thing that all the Scottish musicians do. London felt like a bigger version of Scotland where more things were possible. Since then, my whole life has been motivated by appetite for certain things in certain cities. I’ve been lucky not having to work and being free to go wherever, even if it has made me very poor sometimes. Tokyo is my favourite city in the whole world. If my books are successful, that’s exactly where I’m going to go next.
How does the change of living environment affect your work?
When I was in Japan I felt quite isolated because I was a foreigner and I couldn’t speak too much Japanese. I found that my Scottish identity was becoming more important there. The album I made in Tokyo even has these rather strange Scottish songs on it. Berlin has brought up the need to experiment with sound because that’s just what people do here. I can spend my mornings at home writing something and the rest of the day is free for discovering something new. Then again London was a very commercial city so I tried to be successful and make lots of money. Living and working abroad makes you realize how only half of your personality is your own to control and the rest is really open to influence. I mean, we’re all chameleons in some way and the environment does change you. There’s a dialectical process going on between the environment and your personality.



