In the early years of our Baum-kuchen Studio, Wakako and I decided that the artifacts that we would share with the world would be beautiful, functional, and most importantly: age well. In fact, we often said that we would only carry items that have the potential of becoming more beautiful the more they are used.
Think of a notebook where each page starts to come alive with notes, images, and ephemera collected and curated by the person using it. Or a bag that collects scratches and scuffs, but perhaps also pins and patches, from its years of traveling near and far. And a leather item that slowly wears in and takes on the shape of whatever it holds inside, letting you know that it, too, is alive and transforming. The choice of material often affords the potential for its behavior over time, and we are keen on using natural materials as our choice in design.
The Bauhaus was a transformative design school in Germany in the 1920s. Its aesthetic, or rather what we attribute to it, is a celebration of industrial progress with a minimal yet bold visual impact. It was a rejection of merely decorative designs that stemmed from the Arts and Crafts movement. As such, the Bauhaus, in its short tenure, serves as a conscious foundation for what we today sometimes collectively refer to as modern design. Growing up in Germany in the 70s, this aesthetic was the only one I knew, and it was reflected in the furniture, electronics, and home decor of my childhood. It is not only ingrained in me; I think, at this point in my life, it is me.
Contrast that with the idea of Wabi-Sabi, an aesthetic concept that is a part of Wakako’s home country of Japan. While the origin of the verbal expression can be traced back a few hundred years (it is attributed to the famous monk Rikyu), its essence has long been around in Japan. Because of that, it is inherently challenging to describe it with English words, and even if we do, we merely describe the physical attributes of Wabi-Sabi but fall short in capturing the spiritual meaning.
Wabi-Sabi, then, can be loosely translated as the beauty of the Imperfect, Impermanent, and Incomplete. It is, in essence, at the other end of the spectrum of what the Bauhaus aesthetic inspired. While modern design celebrates industrial perfection, Wabi-Sabi appreciates the marks left by the individual. There is a story I read about monk Rikyu, where he would sweep the pathway to the teahouse only to then shake the maple tree so that a few leaves would fall back onto the path. It is perfectly imperfect.
This year, at Baum-kuchen, we began creating leather covers to offer for the variously sized notebooks we carry. With so many formats available, we thought it would be helpful if there were a perfectly sized and beautiful artifact available for each one. And so our journey began in designing what we call the “Alchemist” series of notebook covers, which are hand-made in our studio.
When we design artifacts, we begin by listening to what our customers’ needs are. In this case, we heard that it can be challenging to find the right cover due to the different sizes, that available covers sometimes add too much bulk, that the materials can be too synthetic, and that the design can be too decorative. Designing, to me, is a process of discovering what can be removed, not what needs to be added. My final design result, thus, can hardly be called a “design” at all if compared to the mainstream use of that expression. And that is when I know I have succeeded, when the design itself has become invisible. However, the Alchemist has tested me in entirely new ways.
As our prototyping process transitioned to the production phase, we had to decide which type of leather to use for the final artifacts. To me, it is a process akin to searching for a treasure without a map - you make progress by testing all possibilities. We settled on environmentally friendly, vegetable-tanned leather made by a 150-year-old tannery in the USA. Their hides are mainly used to craft traditional equestrian gear such as saddles, bridles, and straps. As we received the first shipment of hides, I was immediately struck by the sheer beauty of the material and the aura that permeated the studio. But when it was time to craft the first Alchemists, we were confronted with a dichotomy in our design process: How much feeling of Wabi-Sabi can a Bauhaus design handle?
It turns out that the leather that is being shipped to us displays different types of marks, some so subtle that probably only I notice them, and some so prominent that everyone will see them. For example, there are some marks from the animal scratching against an object, leaving a small beauty mark. There are dots that look like freckles; I imagine they are proof of the natural drum-dying process. When the hides are pulled from a stack in the tannery, their own weight creates some circular swirls on the surface from the movement, like a lone ice skater on a frozen lake. And inevitably, when I assemble the final pieces, the sewing machine will add some character as well. And so I am asking myself, where is the balance between perfect and imperfect?
I have come to accept that the marks of the journey are what give the artifact its soul, and that its timeline starts well before I get to transform the hides into notebook covers, and continues its path with our customers. After all, a natural product will want to interact with its environment while an artificial one does not. In theory, it would be possible for me to select only the best part of the leather and discard the rest, but that would be incredibly wasteful and untrue to our values. Instead, we are using as much of each hide as possible by filling in all of the gaps with additional, smaller artifacts we have designed.
And yet still, I catch myself often feeling in a juxtaposition when we design and craft our artifacts that are to be shared with our community of analogue enthusiasts. Will they see the same beauty that we do?
I have come to view our BK designs as a series of layers that, when put together, create our unique value. One of these layers is through the lens of the Bauhaus, where the form of the artifact is carefully crafted to hug the notebook in the most functional and minimalistic way. Another lens is the concept of Wabi-Sabi, in which the material continues to tell a story through its expression and patina, even many years after the design has become part of our customers’ everyday lives.
This sense that we are only playing a part of the whole picture continues to inspire me to create and share.
