OK Do having BLESS candy tops for dinner.

The German title of the collection, ‘pleading for the present time’ says it: the BLESS state of mind is all about this very instant and the joy that comes along with being “present”. Celebrating the here and now, Désirée Heiss and Ines Kaag focused on food and different ways of having it in their Spring/Summer 2011 designs. The collection aimed to redefine the co-existence between nutrition and clothing, and proposed modifications to eating habits through, for example, new ways of sharing food among friends. It included not only edible garments, or jewellery that could be used as tableware, but also S/M/L trousers that adapt to changes in the body, being able to grow or shrink according to fluctuations in one’s size.

The presentation took place in an old church turned into a home in the heart of Bastille. In the manner of an installation, the models – friends of BLESS – were placed in different, open rooms and given various tasks to perform around food and drinks: some served champagne from a pyramid built as a piece of architecture in corner of the hall, others compiled Bloody Marys in the kitchen or took popcorn baths in the bathroom, while we were placed in the teenagers’ room with Japanese shoe designer Masahiro Kikutani and asked to wear gummy lace and liquorice tops which we were to eat during the show. Style-free and gender-free, as characteristic to the label, we wore classic multicoloured BLESS pieces underneath the candy topping.

Champagne wall and jewelled food.

From our point of view, the evening was a sweet and sticky human experiment. Having been confined to our room during the presentation – and given the instructions “just to entertain ourselves” while there – we projected our inner teen spirits onto the situation and tried to make the best out of what the environment had to offer by not only eating the garments but also talking, taking naps on the bed or playing Kraftwerk LPs on a record player found in the corner. Unaware of what was happening in the other rooms and somewhat at sea in front of the photographers who came to capture the event, we felt conscious about our activities and the fact of being observed. Our modelling took spontaneous turns from playing out the fashion fantasy to attempts of ignoring what was going on outside our room. In the end, it seems that the figment took over.

Popcorn bath.

Marina, Esther and Florence on the construction site of a multicultural kitchen in Kalasatama.

Helsinki inhabits tens of thousands of immigrants who have all brought their memories, habits and delicacies with them. However, for some reason, this barely shows in the cityscape. Ahmet Aslan, the owner of the only Kurdish restaurant in Helsinki, Café Caisa, explains how difficult it is for a foreigner to open a decent eatery in the city. “Already when I came to Finland in the nineties, I wanted to open an à la carte restaurant serving food from my home country,” Ahmet says. “However, I didn’t have a Finnish education at that point, so I wasn’t able to get a license for serving wine – so, I ended up opening a lunch place first. When I finally received a local diploma, I returned to my original plans and put up a proper Kurdish à la carte restaurant in Kaisaniemi.” Café Caisa serves oriental home food including meze plates and fresh salads. “On the side, I also try to provide the customers with some insights to Kurdish culture,” Ahmet adds. He hopes that the Finnish government would learn from the likes of France and give more support to entrepreneurship within the restaurant industry. “This way, we might soon be known for our rich food culture, too,” he notes.

“It’s difficult for a foreigner to open a decent eatery in Helsinki.”

Opening an ethnic kitchen in Helsinki wasn’t easy for half Israeli and half Ukrainian Alexander Bitsak, either. Alexander moved to Finland a couple of years ago because he considered the country, in his own words, the best place in the world. He found a perfect space on Kustaankatu in Kallio for his Ukrainian pelmeni restaurant but, coming from Israeli at the time, was denied entrance to the country by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. “So, I left my beautiful space, went to Kiova, and decided to try again,” Alexander explains. “Finally, I returned to Kustaankatu with a Ukrainian passport. Then, I renovated my restaurant and tried to make it special for customers and Finnish friends.” Alexander used to have a pizza place in Israel, but didn’t want to found one in Finland as he believes we have enough pizza already. “As a matter of fact, in addition to Ukrainian food like pelmenis and soups, my menu consists of traditional Finnish delicacies such as Karelian roast (karjalanpaisti) and Finnish fish pasty (kalakukko). It is easy to feel at home at Pelmenit, Alexander’s restaurant – and not just because of the familiar food. “The customers don’t come here only to eat, but rather to meet me,” Alexander says. “I ask how they are, how their family and health is. Unfortunately, now I’ve become so popular that I don’t have time to speak that much anymore.”

Like Alexander, Ahmet and us, also Marina Lindström from the multicultural co-operative Q-Coop thinks that Helsinki needs more ethnic kitchens. That’s why she’s planning to open a big restaurant and central kitchen in Kalasatama, a harbour area freed for residential construction only a few years ago. Her idea is to bring together people and cuisines from all over the world (e.g. West African, Iranian, Ethiopian, Indian and Kurdish) under the same roof, organise lunches, dinners and events as well as prepare food to be sold in smaller kiosks around the city. As her co-workers, the Finnish-born Marina has two Nigerian women, Esther Ademosu and Florence Awoyemi with whom she used to run the Yoruban Kimito Kitchen in Sörnäinen. Like many old harbour areas worldwide, food might help bring interesting people and activities to Kalasatama, too. But more than city planning in its traditional sense, Marina is interested in helping immigrants integrate and making Helsinki’s food culture – and through that, the whole atmosphere of the city – more international and open. After all, in the end, it is the cultural aspects that make a true city.

The article also appears on We Are Helsinki magazine’s food issue, 3/2010.

OK, a street shop for xiaolongbao.

1. Street

In Shanghai, life extends from rooms to the street. From mahjong playing to washing laundry, people use asphalt as a base for carrying out daily activities together. Cooking, selling food and eating being some of them, we were taken by xiaolongbao as well as other local delights prepared on the spot.

One day, we tried to find a pair of Lilliputian stools which locals use a lot yet which don’t seem to be sold anywhere. The trick was to find one on the street and ask the owner if she wished to sell it. In fact, she wasn’t the owner of the stool, but a neighbour who happened to be the closest person standing by. In only a few seconds, she set up an ad hoc sales team: another neighbour brought a calculator for price negotiation, someone else went in search for more seats while a third person fetched us a carrier bag. Finally, the payment was delivered to the owner herself, busy doing laundry.

Instead of inviting friends to their homes, Shanghai people like to gather in some of the countless eateries of the city. Noriko Daishima, a Shanghai-based designer of Japanese origin (read our story about her), explains this through the fact that Chinese homes are very small, but also through the love of the streets. “I’ve heard that there are around 30 000 restaurants in Shanghai,” she points out.

Noriko shares a garden with her neighbours. It's both a meeting place and a working site.

2. Sharing

Sharing is caring, they say. Sometimes we got the feeling that Chinese people care about each other more than, for example, Finns. This caring and trust was manifest in doors that are left wide open in the middle of the city or a shop owner that left her outlet as well as a one-year-old child (slightly anxious) in our hands in order to go and find out whether another store had the product we sought.

The contemporary Chinese architecture is keen on addressing the concept of sharing, too. Metropolises in China are like laboratories where traditional practices of everyday life get tested against modern concepts and contexts. Meng Yan from URBANUS, the office behind Tulou low-income housing concept, has been surprised by the level of communality shown by Chinese inhabitants in their projects. “I know that it is crucial for many Chinese people to exchange information about jobs etc. with their neighbours, but the Tulou residents even take turns in cooking for each other.”

“In China, everything happens through friends,” describes another local architect, Kok-Meng Tan of KUU. We like the idea. A big city doesn’t have to mean a loss of trust towards others, or living detached from your neighbours. Having learned to be so independent, it might be the time to search the villagers inside us for the sake of “better city, better life,” as Expo 2010 Shanghai puts it.

Laundry day in the neighbourhood around West Mall.

3. Straightforward

“In Finland, people think a lot and in Shanghai, they do a lot,” our friend, a Shanghai-based artist and designer Pan Jian Feng reviews his experiences of both cultures. Although some areas of the Chinese society, such as doing bigger business in Shanghai, are extremely complicated, the methodology of daily life is often very straightforward – and extremely efficient. Working with Mr. Feng himself, we have found that plans are taken into action very quickly. While we might still be pondering which of the alternative concepts might work the best, he would have already tested them out.

Going back to the food, some of our favourite restaurants were tiny, anonymous noodle places where one would pick up the chosen ingredients (like pak choi, fried tofu and fishballs) in a basket and have them quickly turned into a soup by adding stock. Quick, flexible and uncomplicated. A recipe that, at times, works like a good design method, too.

When it comes to the relationship between design and production, China is full of opportunities for finding direct collaborators for handicrafts. People are still familiar with materials and accustomed to doing things with their hands. “Inspired by the traditional Chinese way of working, materials are my starting point,” says a Hangzhou architect Wang Shu. “I think we should look at rural construction methods and materials when trying to solve issues of, for example, sustainability. Hands are good for thinking.”

Goodbye Shanghai, so long xiaolongbao!

Cream, whole milk, sugar, egg yolks, green tea powder and vanilla sticks – the ingredients for Misty green sundae.

In ice cream, all the building materials of food – fat, sugar, proteins, water and air – play their part (see e.g. Anu Hopia’s book Kemiaa keittiössä in Finnish). All the standard states of substance come together in ice cream: it is a solution (sugar dissolved in water), a suspension (mixture of solid and liquid), a foam (mixture of air and liquid) and an emulsion (mixture of fat and water). In addition, water takes three different forms in ice cream: solid (ice crystals), liquid (the part that’s left unfrozen) and vapour (steam in the air bubbles). The complexity of its structure makes ice cream a perfect research subject for molecular gastronomy, a scientific discipline that studies the physical and chemical processes that occur while cooking.

Mixing the ingredients.

While molecular gastronomy seeks to investigate and explain the chemical reasons behind the transformation of ingredients like, for example, why different cooking temperatures make different eggs, it also looks at the social, artistic and technical components of culinary phenomena at large. The term “Molecular and Physical Gastronomy” was coined in 1988 by a Hungarian physicist Nicholas Kurti and a French physical chemist Hervé This. “I think it is a sad reflection on our civilization that while we can and do measure the temperature in the atmosphere of Venus we do not know what goes on inside our soufflés,” Kurti explained his interest in molecular gastronomy. In addition to his studies in ingredients, Kurti also worked on new cooking techniques such as making meringue in a vacuum chamber or cooking sausages by connecting them across a car battery.

“It is a sad reflection on our civilization that while we can and do measure the temperature in the atmosphere of Venus we do not know what goes on inside our soufflés.” – Nicholas Kurti

While it feels natural that chefs are fascinated about things like the structure of food or new methods of approaching ingredients, the public interest towards molecular gastronomy seems to be increasing as well. “People are interested in the origins of food – in what they put in their mouth – and molecular dishes often look impressive,” restaurant Luomo’s Jouni Toivanen says. “On the other hand, I’ve heard people refuse to eat molecular food, thinking that it’s something artificial or dangerous. To them, I’ve explained that they are made out of molecules themselves.”

Cooking the mixture in a vacuum bag in 82 °C water for 12 minutes.

Toivanen got interested in molecular gastronomy by working in Spain for a year and getting to know Ferran Adrià‘s late El Bulli restaurant. “However, while Adrià draws on the food industry in new additives for dishes, I prefer Heston Blumenthal‘s [the owner of Fat Duck] approach which looks into existing ingredients and what new things can be done with them,” Toivanen explains. Blumenthal, like Pierre Gagnaire in Paris, works together with a chemist. In their case, scientific food discoveries are made in a true cross kitchen.

Sieving the cooled-down mixture for the blender.

Toivanen’s small kitchen laboratory in Kruununhaka, Helsinki, has discovered dishes such as a forest granita with spruce buds, berries, steaming dry ice and forest scent, or ‘Organic egg 64,7°C’. While Adrià defines his cooking as deconstructivist, Toivanen talks about re-creating stories with his food, like taking people mentally to the forest, while they’re actually having dinner in his restaurant.

Almost ready.

Misty green sundae

0,5 l cream
0,5 l whole milk
10 egg yolks
2,5 dl sugar
3 pcs vanilla sticks (with seeds squeezed out)
One teaspoon of green tea powder
Roasted halva crumbs

Mix everything together. Cook the mixture in a vacuum bag (or bain-marie) in 82 °C water for 12 minutes. Cool the liquid down (ideally letting it marinate over night in the fridge), sieve it and pour it into a blender. Add liquid nitrogen (-156 °C) into the mix while constantly stirring the liquid (alternatively, use an ice cream maker or put the liquid into the freezer giving it an occasional stir until frozen). Scoop the ready-made ice cream and place it on a bed of roasted halva crumbs.

Adding the liquid nitrogen for a mist.

Fiona Raby and Anthony Dunne at their London home office.

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.

a/b – "a sort of a manifesto that positions what we do in relation to how most people understand design" by Dunne and Raby. Typography by OK Do.

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.

“I kind of feel that art exists because design has failed.”

Having talked about “the aesthetics of use” in your work, how would you compare this to the traditional notion of aesthetics? And how do you think the role of aesthetics changes from art to design?

AD: Rather than considering aesthetics only from a visual point of view, we are interested in the aesthetics – the poetry – of experience when interacting with products. A good example of this is the Truth Phone which can generate an adventure through a voice stress analyser revealing if the person you’re talking with is lying. I think that the best experiences bust out from their medium. This applies to art and literature, and it should apply to design, too.

In your books, you also mention placebo projects and the engineering of poetic products. Could you open up these concepts a little bit?

AD: The placebo effect is based on the idea that, instead of changing reality, the perception of reality is changed. This also relates to the idea of designing “poetic” products that modify our perception of and relationship with life. Our aim is to activate the imagination and to juxtapose poetic design and ways of thinking with the more traditional problem solving approach. We are interested in questions like why does art have to be separated from everyday life, or why can’t objects generate philosophical experiences on a daily basis?

We think that your work shows interest towards the invisible but also the unexplained. Do you agree? What do you feel is the importance of exploring the unreal in addition to the real?

AD: Yes. As a student I became interested in the aesthetic possibilities of electronic objects. In the early 90s, designers were still thinking of them as typical objects that just needed to have a nice shape and a convenient choice of materials. Through research, we discovered that electronic objects are special in that they transmit and are surrounded by electromagnetic fields which are invisible yet concrete. We thought: why not design products that draw attention to these fields in a poetic way – in a way that inspires people? In general, our work is considered unreal by many. But how do you define reality? Do real products need to be mass-produced and sold in a shop? The relationship between “real-real” and “unreal-real” is something that we are very interested in at the moment. Who decides what’s real and what’s not? And why are conceptual products less real than non-conceptual products? One can argue that even hallucinations are real in one person’s mind.

“In general, our work is considered unreal by many. But how do you define reality?”

Something that we are exploring in the OK Do Science Poems project, is the role of designers in scientific processes. You have said that designers shouldn’t have to wait until scientific ideas become technology as they could engage with science in a more speculative way. Can the field of science learn from the field of design? And vice versa?

AD: Developments within science, particularly life sciences, have potential to carry such dramatic impact on our lives that not only designers but all kinds of professionals need to explore their effects. As designers, we should try to influence how science becomes technology, making it more human for example. It would also be important to have debates with the public, and even the government, about different technological features before they are actualised. We see this as a shift away from designing applications – what designers are trained to do – to designing implications.

“As designers, we should try to influence how science becomes technology.”

How did you end up working with electronics?

AD: While doing a degree in industrial design in the early 80s, I became fascinated by the challenges and possibilities that electronics were creating. However, during my BA studies, I wasn’t allowed to do an electronics project, because the evaluators were only able to assess forms designed around mechanics. It was during those days that the form and the function were becoming disconnected. One of the reasons I went to RCA was that instead of designing surfaces, I could explore products from a more complex point of view, reflecting psychological, emotional, poetic and imaginative ideas.

Nowadays it seems like everybody is having a multidisciplinary approach to design projects. Do you often collaborate with experts from different fields when you work in areas such as the electromagnetic sphere?

AD & FR: We have dialogues but we don’t really collaborate. And when we implement a concept, we consider which skills we need to outsource – these can vary from programming and carpentering to film-making and psychological expertise. Our work is mostly self-initiated, and even when we work with companies, the projects are always designer-led. However, we are very open to exchange ideas with different people.

We couldn’t agree more on your statement that design should not just ask how sleek or usable some object is, but what it actually inclines us to do. Would you say that you aim to design behaviour?

AD: I think a lot of designers think that design is neutral but the fact is that all design is constructed and ideological and there is nothing natural or neutral about it. We purposefully create unnatural, awkward, exaggerated and not-that-friendly objects in order to point out that design is artificial and it always involves decisions. Therefore, I’d say that instead of designing objects that stimulate behaviour, we design objects that stimulate questions.

AD & FR: Our objects don’t make sense and fit into the system, but instead they create another parallel world of alternative reality that makes you question the existing system and its values. We design objects that nobody wants for now. However, it’s not that we are anti-industrial. Quite the opposite, we wish to ask why people seek philosophical pleasure from art and not from manufactured design products. Is it because the industry is too narrow, because people are too boring, or because the designers don’t want to create such products?

“All design is constructed and ideological and there is nothing natural or neutral about it.”

What are you working on at the moment?

AD: One of our ongoing projects looks at the future of food. The idea is that, as the planet becomes over-populated and food becomes an issue, rather than relying on governments and big industries to solve it, small groups of people – “foragers” – would get together. These teams would include hackers, guerilla gardeners, amateur horticulturalists and synthetic biologists, and they would develop devices to externalise their digestive system in order to be able to digest leaves, grass and other things that are undigestible at the moment. Alternatively, leaves and grass could be modified so that they would suit our systems.

We like your work because it stimulates discussion on the social, cultural and ethical implications of existing and emerging technologies. Have you examined how designers and the industry have reacted to it?

AD: We have received quite aggressive reactions from designers, especially of older generations. Many of them think that design without industry is art, unreal or fantasy, and they get upset about assigning new roles to design – probably out of feeling threatened. On the other hand, we feel that the industry is, in some way, quite positive about our approach to decouple design from the industrial agenda and link it to other contexts, like the poetical one. At RCA, we do many industry projects and have figured that companies are really interested in learning to think differently about what they do and about applying fresh thinking that translates into tangible objects.

The Statistical Clock (left) checks the BBC website for technologically mediated fatalities and speaks them out loud. S.O.C.D (Sexual Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is for people who enjoy porn but feel a bit guilty watching it, or think that it's wrong. Photo by the courtesy of Francis Ware.

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 Panamarenko, who creates alternative flying machines that are conceptual yet functional, in theory.

We think that the line between a DIY designer and an independent professional can sometimes be quite difficult to draw. How do you define a design professional?

Someone who is committed to the highest possible standards (technical, aesthetic, ethical) and the huge effort it takes to achieve them. Professional design is also about being aware of a bigger historical story than yourself and analysing how your practice contributes to it and extends it. It’s about getting paid for what you do, rather than doing it as a hobby.

What is the motivation or reason for the corporate futurologists to “keep us in place” instead of exploring new territories and approaches that, according to your ideas, might make people more engaged through “complicated pleasure”?

AD & FR: The reason is that their job is to enforce the capitalist system and make sure that the sales remain high. Creating something unusual would be risky and expensive. In some areas, like furniture, this kind of experimentation might take place – Vitra’s Slow Chair designed by Bouroullec brothers is a good example – but not in electronics. Apple is active in some sense, but quite stuck to its aesthetics as well. Too many companies are driven by geeky men. If women had more power in the field, electronic objects would be more compelling.

“Too many companies are driven by geeky men. If women did more in the field, electronic objects would be more compelling.”

Why do you think electronic objects and systems are such an effective vehicle for expressing our desires and needs, and making existentialist choices?

AD: Our everyday life is mediated by social interaction much entangled with technology – for better or worse. The electronic objects and systems have integrated themselves so intimately into our lives that they have become a very powerful media. We do interact with chairs and tables as well, but the social impact of electronics is stronger: they work their way into our systems, conversations and relationships. They have become very entangled with our deepest selves.

FR: At the same time, electronics are overtaking human qualities and the potential of technology is often exploited for efficiency and profit.

AD: For example, it’s quite rude that you can be sent email at any time of the day.

Technology is often seen as either the opposite of human or as an extension of human. Many people feel embarrassed about using a certain technology, like online dating services, or about using technology too much. What do you think is the relationship between technology and identity?

AD & FR: We don’t think that the young generations view technology as something external anymore. For them, technology is an invisible media for living. And this internalisation actually becomes a platform for new type of activity that might, for example, be uninformed about life before the internet. Today’s generations make new assumptions such as that everybody has the right to photograph or videotape anybody else – and if you don’t approve that, you are a freak.

Everyday life recipes. Photo by Paavo Lehtonen.

1. Food

I sat down with Apartamento magazine’s Omar Sosa, Marco Velardi and Leen Hilde Haesen to talk about their magazine and TASCA – Everyday life recipes cooking event at NOW IDeA gallery.

Apartamento is a bi-annual post-materialist interior magazine based in Barcelona and Milan. It shows people organising their daily environment with a focus on personal expression rather than top-down design, and old stuff rather than new stuff. “We don’t portray designers just because they’re designers, but only if they’re interesting – like anyone,” Omar explains. “Nowadays, people can make more and more things for themselves with the ever developing materials and tools.”

Founded only a couple of years ago, Apartamento is more than the magazine. Their plan is to make books, organise collaborations and curate exhibitions. In Tokyo, the team consisting of a designer, a photographer and a journalist was turned into chefs and waitresses, cooking and serving lunch for the NOW IDeA visitors during Tokyo Design Week and our exhibition. “We like to do things ourselves, something engaging for both us and our readers,” Marco says. “We like to hang out with people on a daily basis and organise things like TASCA. Here, people can actually taste and discuss what we have cooked instead of only reading it in the magazine’s cooking section.”

The TASCA event not only celebrated the release of the fourth issue, a Japanese edition of the magazine, but it also demonstrated the Apartamento lifestyle that sees beauty in everyday things. This lifestyle has earlier been explored through a London exhibition on the pottery collection of an “everyday life collector”, like Marco describes Richard Lamb, an unknown collector of pottery from garage and jumble sales for 15 years.

Just like The everyday life collector exhibition, TASCA brought people together around the art of mundane activities. Cooking food, sharing recipes and meeting people over for lunch must be the most everyday strategies of participation there are. Food sparks discussion, like we found out when taking part in TASCA with Kokoro & Moi to cook Finnish wild mushroom soup to puzzled Japanese. “You usually end up in interesting conversations as you have to sit down, not only going around with a drink in a party,” Leen says. “And, from the cook’s perspective…” Marco grins, wearing an apron “… people will remember you for what you do – for sharing your personality with them.”

“People will remember you for what you do – for sharing your personality with them.”

Tokyo hands. Photo by Teemu Suviala.

2. Aerogami

The Air Current/Past exhibition was to present the graphic works of Kokoro & Moi, my second home, from a new perspective. Depicting a journey instead of the destination and exploring the elements of variation, collaboration and play in the design agency’s projects over the past eight years, the exhibition took on a participatory format. It featured an aerogami workshop by Takuo Toda, the head of the Japan Origami Airplane Association and the holder of the world record for the longest paper plane flight, 27.9 seconds.

We ended up gathering at the NOW IDeA gallery with a group of aerogami apprentices and a stack of A4 prints that presented a retrospective take on Kokoro & Moi’s work. Led by Mr. Toda, our sensei, we then set out to the nearby Farmer’s market for the outdoor workshop.

Changing his grey suit to the Origami Airplane Association’s blue vest, Toda looked professional as he is. He explained his plans to go transatmospheric, flying a paper plane to earth from outer space (an idea actually being tested with the Japanese space agency JAXA) and demonstrated the making of his signature planes. After folding their own aerogamies out of Kokoro & Moi prints, the workshop participants could fly them at the market, jointly producing an exhibition in the air.

An exhibition in the air. Photo by Teemu Suviala.

Like TASCA, the paper airplane workshop was an experiment in participation. Only this time, the strategy was in the making, or learning by doing with expert instructions. Be it a free lunch or free know-how, both strategies of participation resulted in new situations and collaborations – post-materialist content for everyday life.