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Great Men (2014).
Facing the Truth An exhibition at London’s Tate Modern reveals how the intensely dark and often explicit paintings of Marlene Dumas – which are based on photographs – drip with social commentary. by rathsaran sireekan ow does one begin talking about Marlene Dumas? The Financial Times has called her “perhaps the world’s most interesting figure painter,” but a survey now on at London’s Tate Modern, one that spans from her early years at art school in Cape Town in the early seventies to the present, reveals that her art is not just formally accomplished, but also pushes at boundaries. The artist, her preoccupations and her methods, which have long seemed to be in a dialogue with the Western history of art, appear to be as fluid as her paint. Famous for the intense and, at times, near-translucent effect of her mark-making, the South-African-born artist started out using thick oil paint. Though her first oil painting, Miss Rosebud (1973), is absent, this expansive Tate Modern retrospective – which the director Chris Dercon has hailed as the most complete survey of the artist ever staged in Europe – includes two enigmatic early pieces. Bells Michelle (1975) and Shelley (1975) together form a dialectic pair of black-and-white, and the decision
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to use them seems to have been made to set the tone for the artist’s later fascination with black ink on heavy white paper. But even earlier on, Dumas was experimenting with the dissolving images that would later became one of her most significant signatures. Scope Magazine Pinup (1973) shows how she used thinner to de-corporealise a body on magazine paper by blurring its contours. This early desire to diffuse and problematise displays well the unique techniques she developed later by mixing ink with lots of water and spreading it on highly absorbent heavy papers, or diluting oil and acrylic paint with diluents. The near transparent After Painting (2003) is, for me, the most intriguing work in the whole show in this regard. Painted with ink and acrylic, it looks more like an ethereal water colour, except that the latter would not give such a brilliantly clean contrast between
the image and the paper. In 1976, Dumas left Cape Town for the Netherlands, where she studied at the independent artists' institute, Ateliers ’63, in Haarlem. She has long been known for her interest in pornography, a predilection that helped fuel her trajectory in the nineties. But don’t be fooled into thinking that it was only Dutch society’s sexual liberation – as opposed to the oppression she carried with her from South African Apartheid – that fuelled the artist’s interest in the naked. For her it has never been remotely about titillation. In an interview with Jennifer Higgie and Andrea Buttner, Dumas said her fascination with the naked began in South Africa, when she and her friends were “terribly bored with the models and life drawings. There are so many beautiful paintings of the naked person in Western art.” But saturation of the nude
Evil is Banal (1984).
in Western art is not the only reason. Dumas is fascinated with pornography because it pivots on the question of how we treat the body: to show or not to show? She has said that it’s not about wanting to see everybody without their clothes on, but more to do with how in Hollywood love scenes only the females show their genitals while the males get to hide theirs. Gender politics sits high in the husky-voiced artist’s agenda. The ennui she felt painting real-life models also perhaps contributed to her decision to not paint from reality itself but from representations of that reality. Famously, Dumas paints from looking at photographs. Portraits of hers from the eighties – the ones that helped her gain artworld recognition – explore what she sees as fascinating contrasts between painting and photography. Looking at Evil is
Banal (1984), Genetic Longing (1984) and The Jewish Girl (1986), among other pieces in the Tate Modern show from the eighties, one cannot fail to be impressed by Dumas’s ingenious play with photography. Employing her wet-onwet painting technique, Evil is Banal and Genetic Longing each features a stark contrast between burnished bright reds and yellows, and more subdued blacks or whites. They mimic the colour composition of film negatives, where the lightest area of the photographed subject appears darkest and the darkest appears lightest. The Jewish Girl (1986), too, reveals this engagement with photography. The gleam of green at the corner of Anne Frank’s right lower lip, which is a reflection of light usually only present in photography, makes the viewer wonder if he/she is looking at a painting or a photograph.
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Scope Magazine Pin-up (1973).
The ennui she felt painting real-life models also perhaps contributed to her decision to not paint from reality itself but from representations of that reality.
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Interestingly, for Dumas, this artistic intervention into the medium of photography begs the question of how the photographic source might be affected by the painted image, rather than vice versa. For her, “second-hand images can generate first-hand emotions.” Black Drawings (1991-2) continues her tradition of probing the use of photography as a medium of representation. Like Dumas’s observation of how the body is used in certain ways in society, this amazing series of portrait heads investigates how photography was used in colonial times to take stock photos of black people as anonymous ethnographic types. For her, this artistic intervention was about redeeming unjust treatment. Dumas for the first time used enormous quantities of black Indian ink and water on thick and highly absorbent paper to give lives and recognition to these silenced subjects.
Dumas has denied that her racially-focussed work is only about the oppressive regime that once ruled her homeland with an iron fist. Initially based on a book of early twentieth-century printed postcards of Africa, the project grew to include, as the source for its portrait heads, models in magazines aimed at AfricanAmerican readers. In an interview with Yuko Hasegawa, Dumas gave insights, saying, “I did not draw black people walking in the street; I base my drawings on existing images of black people.... So in that sense what I was doing was closer to Cindy Sherman’s work – questioning representation, appropriation, and the media, past and present.” Looking closely, these black faces do not necessarily show
friendly expressions as, according to the artist, they might have had their photograph taken against their will. They were objects of anthropological study. Dumas’s interest in human physiognomy comes from her realisation that the construction of standards and perfect physical human types – as seen in the past through the Nazis’ idealisation of the Aryan race – still exists today. The fetishisation of the beautiful is still imposed on us by modern-day advertising. It’s tempting to view Dumas’s fascination with problematic racial ideologies from the context of South Africa, where apartheid segregated social space according
to skin colour. But Dumas has denied that her racially-focussed work is only about the oppressive regime that once ruled her homeland with an iron fist. For her, “it was not only about political problems but about blackness as a positive state and honouring black as a beautiful colour.” Her redemption of the persecuted does not stop at race. In reaction to Russia’s recent criminalisation of the promotion of homosexuality, Dumas recently used the power of portraiture to reconfirm the identity of notable homosexuals in history from across the 19th and 20th centuries. First exhibited at the travelling European biennial Manifesta in 2014, Great Men shows Dumas’s mastery of delicate lines. The subjects’ eyes, recognisable from afar despite her use of washes and diffusion, are especially disarming. Her preoccupation with making visible the trapped and silenced also extends to
politicised female figures across history. The Widow (2013) seems to me the most interesting piece in “The Image as Burden” in this regard. In it we find Dumas appropriating an image that has long fascinated her: a photograph of Pauline Lumumba, the wife of the first democratically elected prime minister of the Democratic Republic of Congo Patrice Lumumba, who was assassinated by Katangan authorities with the support of the Belgian and American governments, walking bare-breasted through the streets of Léopoldville (now Kinshasa) in mourning his death. Dumas’s treatment of this highly charged image of the female body at a time of conflict involves framing and reframing her presentation. The Widow consists of two green-tinged paintings. One depicts the scene as shown in the photograph, while the other is cropped and enlarged to focus on the black female figure being awkwardly flanked by two men escorting her through this supposed walk of honour, which is viscerally suggestive of shame. The most eye-opening part of the Tate retrospective explores one of her lesser-known departures: her representations of areas of political and military conflict. Resonating with an impressive photography exhibition, “Conflict, Time, Photography,” being staged at the other end of Tate Modern – one in which violent conflicts are abstracted into pure empty landscapes – are big, mind-blowing pieces like Mindblocks (2009). Its
The Widow (2013).
Mindblocks (2009). The Image as Burden (1993).
The most eyeopening part of the show explores one of her lesser-known departures: her representations of political and military conflict.
heavily textured surface depicts the walls separating not only Israel and Palestine, but also the minds responsible for the chronic and intractable conflict, and the violence that sustains that separateness. The most striking thing about this trendily abstracted political painting is Dumas’s skill at turning inanimate objects into something highly charged with psychological tension, which she achieves by her brilliant manoeuvring of diluted oil paint. Exploring the genre of the naked; the relationships between different modes of representation: photography and painting; and shoring up the silenced and suppressed voices of the discriminated and persecuted – at the age of 62, it seems Marlene Dumas will not stop pushing the boundaries that confine our minds. “Marlene Dumas: The Image as Burden” runs until May 10th at London’s Tate Modern. Tickets are £16.
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The rooftop pool at the Sala Lanna Chiang Mai boutique hotel.
northern exposure Can Chiang Mai capitalise on its creativity? A new initiative – Chiang Mai Design Week – is helping clear a smooth path.
by top koaysomboon / photography by pannawat muangmoon he rooftop bar at Sala Lanna Chiang Mai is a popular spot for enjoying drinks as the sun sets – especially for those who are not fans of the bustling ambience of nearby Maya Mall’s rooftop. Sala Lanna is one of the minimal boutique hotels that have contributed to the changing style of hotel accommodation in a city where most businesspeople believe that anything Lanna – the classic northern vernacular style – will be a surefire success. Thai boutique hotel chain Sala Resorts introduced Sala Lanna, a riverside 15-room boutique hotel in the heart of Chiang Mai’s old town, in 2013. Designed by Be Gray architecture studio, the hotel has a minimalist structure with white-and-grey décor and furnishings; there is little evidence of Lanna’s influence. Quickly, it has become the new favourite Chiang Mai hotel among design-savvy weekenders. A year before the opening of Sala Lanna, Yoke Dechamorn and her husband introduced Zensala Boutique Hotel on the northern outskirts of Chiang Mai. Unlike other hotels, where Lanna art and architecture are the selling points, Zensala is, despite occupying a romantic spot on the banks of the Ping River, a futuristic, raw-concrete structure that owes nothing to local arts and crafts. “We want to be different from other, Lanna-focused hotels,” says Yoke. “As hotelgoers ourselves, we always look for new things, new experiences, so we were quite sure people would understand the concept,
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The minimalist facade of Zensala Boutique Resort.
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and time has proved that our decision was right.” The hotel always runs full, and Yoke plans to renovate the rooms this year so returning guests don’t feel bored. The following years have seen design hotels by smaller players opening in Chiang Mai, especially in the Nimmanhaemin area, including 9W Boutique Studio and the Artel Nimman – most of them listing higher room prices and running full, proving that visitors are not always looking for everything Lanna. A game changer Rincome is now the busiest intersection in Chiang Mai. On weekends it can be a nightmare. Unarguably, this is because of the rise of myriad new developments following the popularity of the Nimmanhaemin neighbourhood. The streets clog as visitors flock to the newly completed Think Park community mall and Maya Shopping Complex. Despite looking similar to a Bangkok mall, the underground level of Maya features a supermarket that makes you feel like you’re wandering
through an upscale Japanese grocery store: well-displayed products, carefully designed signage, bright hallways, and an impressive variety of products. It is the latest branch of Rimping Supermarket, an upscale local grocery that survives in a brutally competitive retail market dominated by big Thai and international players. Rimping is wholly owned by the Tantranons, Chiang Mai’s famous family of retail tycoons. The Tantranons ran Chiang Mai’s largest retail store, Tantraphan, from the ’50s through to the ’80s, before the arrival of Central, Robinson and other discount stores. Rarely speaking to the press, Worawat Tantranon, a Rimping executive, mentioned during a recent interview with Prachachat newspaper that the family realised they didn’t have the ability to fight modern trade stores targeting massmarket consumers. Consequently, they positioned Rimping as a more upscale market, targeting local and expat customers with high-quality products. Time has proved the decision right. While Tantraphan was forced to close, Rimping is still
on the rise, with nine stores now scattered throughout Chiang Mai. It has made locals proud by showing that creativity can successfully change the retail game. The rise of local creatives Rimping is not the only local brand using its creative nous. In front of Phra Singha Temple, the door at the trendy Akha Ama Café swings back and forth all day, welcoming hundreds of caffeine lovers who wish to taste the beans delivered directly from community farms in Chiang Rai’s Mae Chan Tai village. It was Lee Ayu Chuepa, a young Akha who grew up in his mother’s coffee plantation, who reinvented Rubber Killer at Chiang Mai Design Week.
the way this village sells coffee beans. Avoiding the middle man, he created his own channels to expand the market for the coffee his village produces. And thanks to the rise of coffee consumption in Chiang Mai, the rewards to Mae Chan Tai villagers have been plentiful. “Farmers are paid better,” he says. “Their living standard has risen. This is something I can really see.” At the annual flea market Nimmanhaemin Art Promenade (NAP), one of the most visited booths is that belonging to Rubber Killer, a bag brand former architect Sareungrong Wong-sawan founded in 2009. From old, abandoned truck tyres, Sareungrong creates different
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With a rich culture and refined craftsmanship as its core assets, Chiang Mai has the potential to grow.
styles of bags, now popular among green-hearted hipsters in Thailand, Japan and the United Kingdom. Meanwhile, on the other side of the market, young locals mingle over glasses of Ma Jai Dum, a banana rum made by a local who doesn’t even drink. Nestled opposite is Studio Naenna, a textile gallery in which mother-and-daughter artists work side-by-side with local weavers to produce silk and cotton textiles in unconventional patterns and colours. Further west, near Wat U-Mong temple, Baan Khang Wat was recently erected to become an open community for like-minded artists and craftsmen. These entrepreneurs have already achieved national fame, recognised by trendsetters in Bangkok and Chiang Mai, though they haven’t yet done so at an international level. But Thailand Creative and Design Centre (TCDC) is aware of the ability of these creative entrepreneurs. The Bangkok-based creative centre first put down roots in Chiang Mai when it opened a northern branch two years ago, the aim being to raise awareness of how design can add value to local products. To this end, last December it embarked on a drive to push Chiang Mai to another level. Front and centre in this plan was Chiang Mai Design Week 2014, the country’s first government-backed design week featuring the aforementioned brands/entrepreneurs, which were
Chiang Mai Design Week’s exhibition at Sala Lanna.
Kinfolk’s Nathan Williams.
Creative city – what is it? “With a rich culture and refined craftsmanship as its core assets, Chiang Mai has the potential to grow,” says Apisit Laistrooglai, director of TCDC. “If it integrates its knowledge and creativity, it can grow toward being a creative city, and Design Week is a vital tool for that, enabling us to gather everything in one place and push it forward in the right direction.” But what is a creative city? According to Apisit, a creative city is a city which provides an environment conducive to creativity – for example, a friendly environment for a creative economy, government-funded infrastructure and activities to enhance the abilities of creative 053 people. And in a world where mass production is mainstream, it’s been proved that good creativity adds more value to products. “We have proved that design and creativity can be business,” says Pichit Virankabutra, TCDC’s director of events and exhibitions. “TCDC is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. And for the last ten years we’ve been working to solve the problem of people not being aware of the importance of design and creativity.” Not everything is being led by domineering Bangkok; Chiang Mai has its own creative movement. Founded in 2010, Creative Chiang Mai (CCM) is a local initiative, led by local citizens, with a mission to support a creative environment involving a network of professionals in academia as well as arts-and-crafts businesses. CCM has launched a number of relevant projects, such as hosting TEDx Chiang Mai seminars to give inspiration and Chiang Mai Design Awards to honour outstanding designs by local creators. Chiang Mai Design Week With help from local organisations,
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TCDC organised Chiang Mai Design Week as a signal that Chiang Mai is becoming a creative city. To many, Chiang Mai Design Week sounds like it would be an event filled with many exhibitions. It is, but that’s only a small part of it. Over the nine days, the northeastern part of Chiang Mai is turned into a small walking street, lined with showcases of cool products by local creative entrepreneurs, while the TCDC building is home to seminars and talks by creative people who’ve achieved fame globally, such as Haystack’s Joel Leong and Kinfolk’s Nathan Williams. Special “Red Trucks” transport visitors along the route for free. Design Week also features a biking trip, a study trip, workshops, and retail-market and business-matching sessions. Speaking on the last day, shortly after Nathan 054 Williams’s session, Pichit said the first Design Week surpassed his expectations. “The ninth day of Chiang Mai Design Week is when we see the results of everything. I’ve talked to people, to visitors, and I would rate ourselves on the positive side. We reached our target. People see and get what we really want to convey. The business sessions saw perfect matchings of entrepreneurs, creatives and buyers. People came to talk to us about supporting the next Design Week. It’s a happy ending because, I have to admit, we knew so little about the neighbourhood, the location.” That’s the good part. But what needs improving? “We have to admit that Design Week appealed to visitors more than locals,” adds Pichit. “About 25 percent of the visitors were foreigners – people who already knew what Design Week is about. They offered us a good opportunity to test the market and see if Chiang Mai products are attractive enough.” “What have we learned? We’ve learned that we must localise more. We must try to listen to locals more. Every type of design has its market.
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“Chiang Mai is a growing city. It has a very relaxed and nice atmosphere, which is, I feel, more compatible for creativity than Bangkok.”
Maison Takuya’s workshop.
There’s a market for every design. You can’t just judge it from your own perspective.” As a visitor during the nine days, I offered Pichit some observations of my own. Many of the entrepreneurs and designers showcasing works during Design Week were expatriates – Americans, Japanese, etc. – and many of the works obviously influenced by Western and Japanese art. Pichit admits that’s the case. “But I believe everything is about learning,” he says. “I believe there are trend-setters and trendfollowers. Acquiring good taste takes generations. Also, one of the factors contributing to the success of other design weeks around the world is having them in a city with a university. Students tend to be the ones who drive their growth and evolution over the decades.” Expat-driven city Francois Russo, though not a participant in Chiang Mai Design Week 2014, is a French expat tapping into – and helping further – Chiang Mai’s creative economy. On the outskirts of the city he runs the multimillion-baht leather workshop for Maison Takuya, a luxury-leather accessories brand. Crafted strictly by hand and made of top-grade exotic skins, Maison Takuya are priced for the wealthy, and are now available at select high-end stores around the world, from Collette in Paris to Bergdorf Goodman in New York to Hankyu Men’s in Tokyo. In the workshop, two hundred craftsmen work in units specially designated for different tasks, from choosing and cutting leather to sewing parts and finishing. Since everything is made by hand, each process takes hours. This is the reason for their high prices. Russo started his workshop in Bangkok but moved the operation to Chiang Mai a few years ago. “The turnover was too high,” Russo reveals. “We are the only brand in
Maison Takuya bag parts awaiting assembly by hand.
the world that hand-stitches all our parts. This requires very qualified craftsmen. In Bangkok, people leave when they’re trained. They have a tendency to just walk away. If we lose them, we lose a lot of money, because training them takes a long time. It was too difficult to find good craftsmen, and we are looking to grow to another level. I decided we could do this in Chiang Mai, which has a reputation for crafts. So here it’s easier to find people, train them and keep them. We now have a low turnover rate. Most of the people come here and stay.” Climate and atmosphere are also fundamental attractions. “I feel that Chiang Mai is a growing city. It has a very relaxed and nice atmosphere, which is, I feel, more compatible for creativity than Bangkok.” An experienced creative director whose portfolio includes working with Chanel and Hermès, he believes in the quality of Thai craftsmen as much as the quality of Thai designs. But he points out that Thailand needs to improve the way it promotes its products. “I think that the potential of Thai creativity is very high but that
the capacity to express that creativity internationally is very poor. I really want Thai designs to go international. And I often have the feeling that there are really good designers in Thailand but that you don’t have the ability to promote them outside Thailand. I think this is due to issues related to branding, the ability to use designs to create brands. Design is not a short story. There are two important things in design: you need the ability to create original work and then you need the ability to produce that work on a sizeable scale – this is
what gives visibility to your product. If your work is only available in limited quantities, it won’t make it on the big global scene.” A long, rough way During a recent interview with The Magazine, Ariya Banomyong, Google Thailand’s country manager, revealed that many of Thailand’s best application developers are based in Chiang Mai and that nobody knows it. One example is a group of developers called Kiragames. Their “Unblock Me” game application has
just reached 100 million downloads. “Chiang Mai has a good foundation for becoming a creative city,” says Akha Ama Cafe’s Ayu Chupa. “It has so many creative minds and a mix of different races all living together. It’s a melting pot – which I think only enhances creativity. But people still aren’t aware of how creativity can help their lives. Right now, Chiang Mai’s traditional folk life and creative scenes are seperate.” I ask Russo for his opinion on what Chiang Mai is missing before it can become a globally respected player. “It’s not about things that are lacking, it’s about time,” he replies. “You can’t just say we’re a creative city and then we become a creative city. For example, Tokyo took decades to become a creative city. It took a long time for Japan to escape from what it was in the ’50s and ’60s to become what it is today, which is a truly high-tech country. Design Week – it’s just a first step toward something. So it’s not about what’s missing; it’s about the fact that the construction takes time. Time is key, and time is something you can’t buy.”
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the power of two In only a few years, design duo Formafantasma have made a splash by telling stories through objects. The Magazine meets Andrea Trimarchi and Simone Farresin in their beautiful studio in North Amsterdam to talk about their fascination with concepts as well as materials, working methods and future plans. by marina elenskaya / portraits & studio shots by ester grass vergara other images courtesy of formafantasma
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A flask from Moulding Tradition (2009).
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few minutes’ boat ride from crowded and noisy Amsterdam Central Station is all it takes to reach the northern part of Amsterdam. In the meantime, the cold fresh air and the view of the modern skyline prepare you for the more austere and industrial atmosphere that awaits you. The building where the staff of Studio Formafantasma work is a beautifully renovated warehouse, with enormous windows and high ceilings framed by wooden beams. The atelier itself is a light, spacious, fabulously decorated space dotted with huge green plants, carefully arranged books and selected design pieces. The severity of the clean-cut room is interrupted by a playful and somewhat boyish rope swing that hangs from a beam in the middle of the room. Andrea and Simone greet me with a perfect cup of Italian caffè. They both look like icons of a crisp and groomed men’s style, a style that doesn’t have a precise geographic origin, and isn’t quite of the here and now but hails from somewhere in the near future, yet with distinct touches of classic and retro elements. The same could also be said of their work: in today’s design world, these two are the new alchemists, the ones who’ve opted for a white lab coat and a glowing computer keyboard over the toxic fumes of roasted lead and cinnabar preferred by their ancient predecessors. The ultimate goal, however, remains the same – the transformation of humble materials into noble forms. Formafantasma’s work appears both archetypal and futuristic at the same time, and they are well aware of that. The name formafantasma translates from Italian as “a ghostly, absent form,” indicating that the studio’s work is not based on formal research. As Simone puts it: “Even though our work results in objects and is very visual, we're more interested in the concept then the form.” Throughout our interview, they are very much at ease with each other, pointing out that working together comes very naturally to them. They complete each other’s sentences, balance each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and, as they once said in an interview, “together make one great designer.” The first step in their work process is the meeting where they
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discuss the assignment or project at hand. Andrea and Simone both laugh when talking about these meetings, as they seem to be the most heated part of the process. As Andrea explains: “We have a method, or better to say that we are still refining a method, but it’s very organic. At the beginning of the project we discuss and fight a lot. Then Simone and I divide and look for images and inspiration separately. After that we come back together and look over things we have collected. Strangely enough, most of the time our findings really converge. The next step is to write some text, which establishes the base and sets the rules to follow. After that we start the research.” Despite still being young, Formafantasma is, without a doubt, one of the most talked-about names working in European design today. In 2011 it was listed among a handful of creators that would shape the future of design by the esteemed critic Alice Rawsthorn and by Paola Antonelli of the Museum of Modern Art in New York; and in 2014 they were nominated for a Wallpaper Magazine Award in the Designer of the Year category. Andrea and Simone first met during their studies in Florence and immediately saw great potential in working together. After completing their studies in Italy, they saw a presentation by the Eindhoven Design Academy during Milan’s famous annual furniture and design week, the Salone Del Mobile. They immediately knew this path was right for them. They didn’t even bother visiting the school; they just applied and moved to Eindhoven after being successfully accepted. The real struggle came when the duo had to adapt to the Dutch way of critiquing work and, then, convince their tutors to allow them to study and graduate as Formafantasma – one entity led by two people who would study together as one, and together produce one graduation project and one diploma. Though unconventional, it proved a winning formula. Formafantasma’s graduation project, Moulding Tradition (2009), was an overnight success. It attracted the interest of the designsavvy, the press and the general public alike for its simple and
Even though our work results in objects and is very visual, we are more interested in concepts then forms.
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Various works from Autarchy (2010).
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elegant aesthetic, its archetypal forms and, most importantly, its controversial story. The project is centred on the famous Sicilian ceramic tradition of Teste di Moro (The Moore Head) vases. This tradition refers to a significant chunk of the island’s history being repeatedly conquered and occupied. The Arab Moors, who ruled Sicily from the 9th-11th centuries, brought prosperity and wealth to the region, introducing the Majolica glazing technique, which later became a signature feature of Italian ceramics. Vases from the Caltagirone region that portray a grotesque Moorish face became a local trademark, attracting countless pilgrimages by tourists. However, today’s political and economic situation draws thousands of the same people from North Africa back to Europe, this time not as conquerors, but as refugees, in search of safety and a better future. “When we started to work on Moulding Tradition, our goal was not to make a political statement, but to choose a topic that involved craft in Sicily,” explains Andrea. “It all began when we visited Caltagirone, in Sicily. Everywhere you go there, you see this strange feature – a gigantic vase of an African face. When you first look at these vases, you don’t know what they are and what the stories behind them are. What we noticed is that local people are obsessed with tradition, keeping things intact and repeated through time. These people wanted to protect their traditions, while that same tradition comes from those places and these people.” Andrea and Simone saw an opportunity in these hypocrisies towards national identity and immigration, as well as the fear in today’s Italy of cultural contamination. And they reacted, using the fluent language of design, by producing a series of elegant unglazed porcelain vessels and bowls. Using raw data on illegal immigration and photographs of a refugee as materials, they created a new kind of Moore Head. “In the design world this project was important,” says Andrea. “It is common for the Italian tradition to broach political issues through design; many radical movements in the ’70s dealt with political acts. However, in recent
years you don’t find so much of it anymore, so I think this project struck a chord with the design community.” After the success of Moulding Tradition, which resulted in extensive media coverage and invitations to exhibit at prestigious locations around Europe, Formafantasma continued creating objects – or materialised ideas – that offer food for thought. Take Autarchy (2010). For this hypothetical project they imagined a zero-waste form of utopian production, one in which the cereal sorghum works as a tie between various crafts – a collection of naturally coloured durable vessels and lamps, baked foods and tools, such as brooms. Autarchy was about getting us to rethink the way we use whatever resources we have at hand. It played out amid a fictional scenario, one in which a community could share the knowledge about production methods, tailor its consumption needs and eliminate waste. Many of Formafantasma’s projects do this – play with the notion of “What if?” In Botanica (2011) the designers were commissioned to interpret another made-up scenario: what if oil was never discovered? Probably, they thought to A vase from Botanica (2011). themselves, plastic would have been rarer and only used for smaller details and decoration. Then, they wondered: what if plastic was produced from natural polymers, such as plant- or animal-based derivatives? What if it was actually made from shellac, a natural polymer extracted from insect excrement, or bois durci, a 19-century material composed of wood dust and animal blood? After pondering these sorts of questions, the duo set about producing a series of archetypal vases and bowls, moulded with heat and pressure and displaying a honey-like golden-brown colour palette and texture. Andrea and Simone are interested in paying homage to simple, unglamorous, everyday materials and upgrading their status. This alchemic transformation from basic to noble is done by focusing their research, by refining and placing these materials in the centre of their fictional scenarios. They’ve worked with
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Various works from Craftica (2012).
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luxury leather brand Fendi on Craftica (2012) – a visualisation of in-depth research into how leather is perceived and used today. The result was a series of mesmerising objects made from the waste skins of non-luxurious animals. “In Craftica we took a more holistic and anthropological approach,” explains Andrea. “We tried to trace back some components from the history of leather and how it was applied. Also, in the context of the fashion industry I think it was interesting due to its political aspect, even though it was quite subtle. And I think the fact that we have collaborated with Fendi was a very brave step for them, because we talk about the animal in a certain way. In the beginning they were a bit sceptical, but in the end they really allowed us to talk about what leather actually is and what the idea of luxury is.” As far as design collaborations with luxury brands go, this must be one of the most unusual to go down in history. Vegetal-tanned raw skins of salmon and perch became beautifully crafted stools; pig and cow bladders were used for making fantastic light objects and containers; bones and shells were made into absolutely stunning cutlery and brushes. The collection is a true ode to the ordinary becoming extraordinary. In today’s fashion world leather is treated in such a way that it becomes impossible to recognise what it is and where it comes from. Andrea explains: “There are also these strange hierarchic constructions, in which some animals are "better" than others. Fish skin, for example, is often considered a very poor material, unless it’s a very rare fish, while a python is considered superprecious.” With Craftica, Formafantasma wanted to reverse this thinking. Most of the time shapes are not excessively designed; they follow the shape of the animal. Andrea explains: “If you have a look at the stool legs made from salmon and from wolfish, they differ in shape, but it’s not an aesthetic decision – it was based on a decision to throw away the least amount of leather.” Formafantasma’s most recent project, De Natura Fossilium (2014), was shown at London’s Gallery Libby Sellers. The
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project revolves around Mount Etna, the active Sicilian volcano that regularly billows enormous clouds of black smoke, ash and lava. The designers saw the volcano as a “mine without miners,” throwing out its raw treasures, and decided to engage with the materials the Sicilian landscape had to offer. By melting, weaving, milling and casting they explored lava’s potential as a material for contemporary design. The result is a collection of objects ranging from furniture stools and coffee tables made from cut basalt to more experimental material manipulations, like mouth-blown lava bowls, polished obsidian mirrors and delicate textiles made from basalt fibres and cotton. Now preparing for a summer exhibition at Rome’s Gallery O, one in which they will draw inspiration from the city’s archaeology, Formafantasma’s interest in the narrative potential of materials shows no signs of waning. When they work with marble, they are aware of its history: It is a material that has always been used to create statues and temples. Marble tells a story that cannot be ignored. Forging their own unique path in a design world that often veers towards homogeneity, Formafantasma is interested in both the aesthetic and the historical aspects of materials. Each one is different, and because of that, properties and intricacies of working with each material often dictate the final outcome, the shape the duo’s work takes. Andrea concludes: “For me, to design an object is when you sit and draw a shape or make a foam model. Most of the time our objects don’t have that. Our work is not designed, or designed as least as is possible. The form comes from what the material dictates. Of course, we draw a shape that is significant for each project, but while working with the material, we let the material speak. That creates a specific aesthetic, but that aesthetic is not decided – it comes directly from the process.”
Our work is not designed, or is designed as least as is possible. The form comes from what the material dictates.
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The Guggenheim Museum at dusk.
Titanium to the Rescue Once the Basque Country’s basket case, Bilbao basks in its bright new image, consecrated as a UNESCO City of Design. by keith mundy
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n YouTube there’s a video called "Happy Bilbao" with young locals dancing to the Pharrell Williams hit, "Happy," one of a huge series made by people around the world imitating the original L.A. video and often outdoing it in, well, happiness. Citizens of Spain’s fourthbiggest city, the Bilbainos jig and sway in front of one architectural gem after another, most of them brand new and strikingly individual, showcasing a city bursting with 21st-century optimism. “We are from Bilbao and we are happy and proud!” is their slogan, and they absolutely look it. It’s impossible to imagine any such thing two decades ago. A New York Times report spoke of a melancholy city, “its skies gray, its buildings grimy and its air foul from the blast furnaces along a stinking river” full of unidentified floating objects. It was a post-industrial disaster zone whose gloom was deepened by the persistent rain of one of the wettest areas in Spain. The city fathers couldn’t do anything about the rain or the characteristic chirimiri, a fine drizzle whose cheery name belies its dampening effect on the spirit. And it didn’t seem they could do much about the economy, which had sunk into dire straits. A port city on the Bay of Biscay in northern Spain’s Basque Country, Bilbao became an industrial
The Guggenheim would cost a lot of money, but it would also attract attention and could kickstart a new era for the city as a hub of the arts, culture and design.
powerhouse in the 19th century, dubbed the “Daughter of Iron and Water.” The city’s Carnegies exploited prolific local iron mines and timber resources, harnessed the native energy and ingenuity of the Basque people, and built a gritty, smoke-palled mass of steel mills, shipyards, factories and chemical works. But like so many Western industrial cities, if a bit later than most, Bilbao fell on hard times in the late 20th century as manufacturing moved to countries in the global south with cheaper costs. By the early ’90s, the banks of the River Nervion which had been industrial hives were reduced to gloomy strings of derelict docks, yards, warehouses and wharves, overhung by ghostly loading cranes Jorge Oteiza sculpture in front of Town Hall.
The Guggenheim's exterior walkway.
with nothing to do. Filthy smoke no longer hung over the city, but a deep depression did. Bilbao’s long-standing nickname, El Botxo – the Hole – became only too apt. What to do? The city fathers knew that a service economy was probably the only way to go, building on the fact that Bilbao was already an important banking centre. Their regeneration plan started with the city’s first subway system designed by no less than Norman Foster. So far, so normal: a star act, but the kind of infrastructure that any ambitious city would go for. Then a strange, foreign word hovered into view: Guggenheim. The opportunity came to host a new European branch of the famous American modern art museum, with a dazzling design by the avantgarde American architect Frank
Gehry. It would cost a lot of money – US $170 million initially plus US $12 million annually – but this incredible structure would certainly attract attention and could kickstart a new era for the city as a hub of the arts, culture and design. It was a gamble about which many citizens were dubious, but the city went ahead and rolled the dice. Double six. A shimmering metallic fantasy rose up, projecting its gigantic asymmetric image into the River Nervion from a site where derelict warehouses and rusting cranes had stood, and the world was dazzled. The astounding Guggenheim Bilbao Museum hit the headlines worldwide as soon as it opened in 1997, featuring in just about every lifestyle magazine and travel supplement around the globe as well as on TV and the web.
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Frank Gehry's futuristic design is a sinuous melding of titanium and glass.
“A shimmering metallic fantasy rose up, projecting its gigantic asymmetric image in the River Nervion from a site where derelict warehouses and rusting cranes had stood, and the world was dazzled.�
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One of Bilbao's fosteritos, emerging from the pavement of the Plaza Nueva. Interior view of Abando train station.
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Bilbao’s tourist numbers rocketed upwards: from a dismal 100,000 a year before El Goog – as the locals soon called it – to now 700,000 a year has become the typical figure, and a staggering 1.3 million visited the museum in its first year of operation. The “Guggenheim effect” is now very well-known, and cities around the world have tried to replicate the rejuvenation that can spring from a signature cultural building, but it’s probably true that none has had such spectacular success as Bilbao. Some have been spectacular failures. Just along the coast at another industrial city called Avilés, they got Oscar Niemeyer, the Brazilian architect world-famous for his work at Brasilia, to design a vast cultural centre which opened in 2010. Ever heard of it? Most likely not, and usually it’s deserted. By contrast, Bilbao got it dead right. It didn’t matter whether you cared about art or about architecture, people
all round the world were simply bowled over by the extraordinary design. You saw a picture of it and you thought: “Wow, I want to go there.” Some of us took our time; this writer has only just made it there, and still after all those years and countless images seen, the Guggenheim does not disappoint. By far the best way to approach it is by walking the riverside on the opposite bank, starting from the old medieval city, but only after first discovering that tight net of welltrodden streets where Bilbao began. The Old Town, or Casco Viejo, huddles in a loop of the River Nervion with steep hills looming above. Here the city originated and the port stood for many centuries, sending ships down the river carrying Castilian wool and Biscayan iron to northern Europe. With its traditional shops, windowed balconies and stone walls carved with coats-of-arms, its fine old
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churches and convents, and all its streets pedestrianised, the Old Town has historical charm, but it is also a busy shopping, dining and drinking area. Its most elegant feature is the enclosed square called Plaza Nueva, whose colonnades host many bars and cafes. A focal point is Plaza Unamuno, a square named after the great man of letters, Miguel de Unamuno (1864-1936), who grew up nearby. From here steep steps lead up the hillside, and eventually bring you to Etxeberria Park, a rolling green space with a solitary factory chimney standing in its midst. Emblematic of the transformation of the city, this is where a steel mill once spread its sulphurous yards, but now it’s a place to relax and look out across the whole city spread below. Here you can see how the River Nervion threads its way towards the sea, and the river banks once lined with industry all the way to its mouth where now the new “superport” lies, replacing the docks which within living memory welcomed shipping right up to the Arenal quay alongside the Old Town. Heading downriver from the Arenal along the riverside walk, you pass by elegant fin de siècle apartment blocks built in the city’s industrial boom days, and mid-20th century facades from the period of fading prosperity, but then your eye is drawn to Jeff Koons' dog-flower sculpture Puppy stands guard outside the Guggenheim.
something totally modern, a fine lattice work of white steel that arches and curves over the river, the Zubizuri footbridge out of the vaulting imagination of the Valencian architect, Santiago Calatrava, a man responsible for many of Spain’s most striking new structures. This is the aperitif before the main dish looms into view round a bend in the river, El Goog, glistening in its titanium-clad brilliance. Said to be inspired by sailing ships, the museum seems like the world’s biggest abstract sculpture, a writhing and swirling metallic mass of mysterious meaning and great power. Drawn by the exterior, what’s inside is an afterthought, but to your surprise you find brilliance there too, such as thematic painting displays of great intelligence with works from across several centuries, and a gigantic work by Richard Serra called A Matter of Time consisting of snaking and curling ribbons of rusty rolled steel inside which you can walk, getting startling sensations of mutating space. Exiting on the museum’s city side, you find a broad esplanade dominated by a huge seated dog coated in flowers, a monumental piece of kitsch by Jeff Koons called Puppy. Meant to be removed soon after the museum’s opening, Puppy almost didn’t survive until then, because ETA, the violent Basque separatist movement, had tried to install a bomb in it and devastate the great inauguration by King Juan Carlos and the prime minister. The plot was forestalled, to
BILBAO FACT FILE Flights Turkish Airlines flies daily from Bangkok to Bilbao via Istanbul, details at www.turkishairlines.com Hotels Silken Gran Hotel Domine Alameda Mazarredo 61 tel. +34 944 253300 www.hoteles-silken.com/hoteles/gran-hoteldomine-bilbao Facing the Guggenheim, a luxury hotel with a multi-angled glass facade and a sinuous six-storey atrium. Hotel Mirό Alameda Mazarredo 77 tel. +34 946 611880 www.mirohotelbilbao.com Close to the Guggenheim, a clean-lined 4-star hotel fashioned by designer Antonio Mirό. Art Museums Guggenheim Museum Abandoibarra Etorbidea 2 tel. +34 944 359000 www.guggenheim-bilbao.es Open daily except Monday, 10am-8pm. Fine Arts Museum Museo Plaza 2 tel. +34 944 396060; www.museobilbao.com Masterpieces of European art from the 14th to 20th centuries. Open daily except Tuesday, 10am–8pm. Cultural Centres Euskalduna Palace Euskalduna Kalea 4 tel. +34 944 035000 www.euskalduna.net A riverside conference and performing arts centre with Europe’s largest stage, opened in 1999. La Alhόndiga, Plaza Arriquibar 4 tel. +34 944 014014 www.alhondigabilbao.com City centre venue designed by Philippe Starck for exhibitions, concerts, lectures, etc, with gym, swimming pool, library and design shop. Sports Stadiums San Mamés Stadium Paseo Rafael Moreno Pichicchi tel. +34 944 240877 www.sanmames.org , www.athletic-club.eus Dramatic new stadium of Athletic Club football team.
Basque Health Department Headquarters.
the pleasure of the Bilbainos who loved Puppy so much they insisted it remain forever, though plenty of art lovers would have been pleased to see it blown away. ETA’s violence used to be a blight on the Basque Country, with many bombs planted in and around Bilbao, but in 2011 the organisation announced a “definitive cessation of its armed activity,” and the fear of sudden attacks had evaporated. As you go on your txikiteo in Bilbao, sampling tasty pintxos, there are no such worries any more. A beloved local custom, a txikiteo is a bar crawl in which you and your mates go from tavern to tavern, about 15 minutes in each, downing a txikito – a small glass of wine, usually the local Txakoli, a slightly sparkling, dry white – and sampling the local tapas which go by the Basque name of pintxos 170
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(pinchos in Spanish). The Basque Country being a star of haute cuisine these days, renowned for its outstanding chefs, the pintxos are pretty good, especially the seafood ones, and Txakoli is a fine match. Given the number of imaginative new buildings to be seen in Bilbao, as well as the multiplicity of watering holes, old and new, design lovers can enjoy a txikiteo that includes spotting enticing edifices. Far from a one-hit wonder resting on its Guggenheim laurels, Bilbao sparkles with innovative structures, perhaps more so than any city of comparable size – population 372,000, metropolitan area about one million. South from El Goog spreads 20th-century Bilbao, known as the Ensanche, the vast left-bank expansion of the city prompted by the new industrial wealth, laid out The Zubizuri footbridge by Santiago Calatrava spans the Nervion River.
Bilbao's underground by night.
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in a grid with occasional diagonal streets from the 1880s onwards. Its main drag is the Gran Via, a wide boulevard lined with elegant apartment blocks, imposing hotels and some almighty mid-20th-century blocks like the BBVA building, the head office of Spain’s second-biggest bank, well-known to football fans for its sponsorship of La Liga BBVA. At elliptical Plaza Moyua, the Gran Via meets several other streets, forming the city’s modern nerve centre, which is overlooked by a monumental 1940s tax office in granite Franco-era style and the grandiose Hotel Carlton, opened in 1926 as the first hotel in Spain to have en suite bathrooms throughout: “200 rooms, 200 baths!” it shouted. On the plaza’s corners you see big glass worms protruding from the pavement, into which people purposefully step. They are the Foster-designed entrances to the metro, fondly called fosteritos, modern design features Bilbainos have taken to their hearts – not that Spaniards are averse to the new. Far from it, according to Giles Tremlett, a British journalist long based in Spain. In his book Ghosts Of Spain: Travels through Spain and Its Silent Past, Tremlett sees Spaniards as fleeing from a painful past towards the promise and excitement of the modern. In Spain, he says, “The desire for great new architecture is insatiable,” and the Spanish make it easy to build there too, he asserts. “Ask famous international architects like Norman Foster, Richard Rogers, Richard Meier, Frank Gehry or Arata Isozaki where the best place in Europe to build exciting new buildings is, and the answer will most likely be ‘Spain.’” As it so happens, all of those starchitects except Meier have done major projects in Bilbao, which is a pretty good score. And they’re not the only ones at it: the amount of eye-catching new architecture in Bilbao is striking. Wander the streets of the Ensanche and every so often
from out of the standard issue 20thcentury facades there juts something dramatically new. In one place an undulating glass-walled palace takes one whole side of a square, the Plaza Bizkaia Building of 2006 housing regional government offices. Down another street a six-storey glass cube balances on a narrow concrete base, the Foral Library of 2007, simple yet supremely elegant. The glint of glass walls is very common, in fact, but none are so spectacular as those of the Basque public health offices, Sede Osakidetza (2008), a corner building whose black-tinted, multi-directional glass panels create a colossal cubist sculpture. If you feel dizzy looking at it, doubtless you can get some medical assistance inside. Even the world economic crisis which has been savaging Spain in particular since 2008 doesn’t seem to have sidelined Bilbao’s thrust to recreate itself. Go to Valencia, Spain’s third-biggest city, and you’ll see a huge concrete bowl of a football stadium abandoned in midconstruction. But Bilbao’s Athletic Club has just inaugurated a dazzling new stadium called San Mamés whose slatted carapace glows by night in alternating colours, usually red and white, the club’s colours, or red, white and green, the Basque national colours. It’s another heylook-at-me pop-up in the city’s breathless makeover. San Mamés was a Christian whom the Romans threw to the lions, but who cleverly subdued the beasts and was later sanctified. That’s a metaphor for Bilbao, perhaps, which was thrown to the economic lions three decades ago but saved itself with self-belief and some very clever architectural tricks. From a dour city which only business people were ever drawn to, it’s become a holy grail for anybody with an eye for design and innovation, globally recognised in December 2014 as a UNESCO City of Design. And best of all, the locals have become happy.
photo: ©corbis / profile
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UNESCO Cities of Design First chosen in 2005, UNESCO Cities of Design possess a well-established design industry, design schools and research centres, plus experience hosting design-related events. Bilbao was selected in 2014, alongside these three cities: Dundee, Curitiba and Turin.
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Dundee
Located by the broad waters of the Firth of Tay, Scotland’s fourth-biggest city has a history with similarities to Spain’s: like Bilbao, Dundee was once a thriving industrial port with busy shipyards and docks jostling with seagoing vessels. To revive its fortunes, Dundee is now halfway through a 30-year plan rejuvenating the waterfront area, and about to build a spectacular design museum as its keynote. Designed by Kengo Kuma and due to open by 2018, the V&A Museum of Design will jut dramatically into the Firth of Tay like a vast flat-topped ship, a fitting emblem for an old seafaring city now hoping for a Guggenheim effect. At the same site is Dundee’s top visitor attraction, the tall-masted ship Discovery, which was built in its shipyards and carried Captain Scott’s 1901 expedition to the Antarctic. Textiles used to be the city’s main lifeblood, hugely prosperous in the 19th century with its prolific jute mills, but the last textile factory closed in 2001. At Verdant Works, a former mill, working machinery shows how jute was processed. Today, high tech leads Dundee’s economy with notable innovations in bioscience, design and computer gaming.
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Curitiba
A city of southern Brazil with a temperate climate and many citizens of northern and eastern European descent, Curitiba is a very European place when contrasted with the tropicality that reigns in most of Brazil. Highly progressive, it is a city that has garnered accolades since the 1970s for its urban planning and environmental policies, including the Global Sustainable City Award in 2010 as well as the UNESCO City of Design award in 2014, with special credit going to the innovative three-time mayor, Jaime Lerner. Creating “a city for people, not for cars,” Lerner’s legacy includes the world’s largest pedestrianised downtown; the highest recycling rate in the world boosted by giving people bus tokens in return for sorted waste); and a superlative bus system that helped cut car traffic by 30 percent even as the population trebled. With many beautiful parks where sheep cut the grass and excellent museums like the Oscar Niemeyer Museum for art, architecture and design – set within grounds landscaped by another great Brazilian designer, Burle Marx – Curitiba is a well-managed and highly liveable treat not only for its residents but for visitors, too, whom the city officially encourages to “Make yourselves at home!”
If in Turin you hear people shouting, “Youvay, you-vay, you-vay!”, don’t take it personally. They’re just supporting the local football team, Juventus – “Juve” for short – currently the best in Italy. The other pride of modern Turin is its automotive industry led by Fiat, Alfa Romeo and Lancia, so “Vroom, vroom!” is another keen sound you’re likely to hear in Italy’s third-richest city, the capital of the Piedmont region. Situated in the upper Po Valley within sight of the western Alps, Turin’s city centre is characterised by arcaded piazzas created under the Duchy of Savoy, where an espresso in the neoclassical splendour of the Caffe San Carlo is not to be missed. With architectural credentials dating from the ancient Romans onward, Turin was named the first World Design Capital in 2008 for its design research centres in robotics, virtual reality and cinematography, as well as for its well-known automotive modelling and prototyping, and then became a UNESCO City of Design last December. Drink to that with a couple more of Turin’s innovations, the herbal bite of the Martini and Campari aperitifs.