Fredrik Paulsen’s work, both as a designer and as a co-founder of Stockholm’s brilliant Örnsbergsauktionen, is shaking the foundations of what you think Scandinavian design ought to be. “Here you are taught to produce work for the everyman,” Paulsen says. “It’s the legacy of IKEA: Good design for everyone. But if your work doesn’t really fit into mass production and it is not intended for it, then there is no platform or venue to show it.”
It was this void that led Paulsen and his friends and fellow designers Simon Klenell and Kristoffer Sundin to stage their first auction during last year’s Stockholm’s Design Week. They invited contemporaries — some they knew, others they only knew of — to submit diverse, self-made works that went beyond the cookie-cutter forms they’d grown tired of, and put them up for bidding. It paid off: The auction clocked column inches and, more importantly, sales, and was so popular that the trio repeated the exercise this February.
I was in Stockholm on the morning of the auction, and I sat down with Paulsen at a coffee shop around the corner from his studio for fika (that’s a Swedish coffee break with something sweet on the side, for those not au fait). Paulsen was buzzing. No matter how hard it must be to organize and promote an auction toting 49 lots, whilst squeezing in his own work as a designer, it’s clear he enjoys the experience. “We are not curators, we are designers. But it is super nice,” he beams, brushing icing sugar from his unruly facial hair. (“It’s hard to eat Semla with a moustache,” he says.)
Paulsen’s studio is just west of Stockholm’s centre in Örnsberg, an area with a quiet, suburban feel, away from the fashionable slog of nearby Södermalm. “I like the location as it’s outside of town,” he says. “I can fully concentrate here, and there’s a nice vibe.” The designer lived in London for a few years, studying at the prestigious Royal College of Art. On moving back to Stockholm he was struck by how comparatively small the city was, and how much easier that makes many aspects of everyday life. “Most things I strap to my bike, and I cycle from the woodshop to the studio.”
When we arrive back at this studio post-fika, Paulsen circles a mound of belongings, packed away in order to host auction viewings in the space, and begins plucking out chairs and stools for me to look at. Rational in shape and construction, the swirling, wild color and pattern he applies to them transforms the solid and rigid forms into something acid-tinged. He developed his wood dyeing technique at the RCA — bright turquoise diffuses into deep purple, and then ochre. He decorates surfaces with off-the-shelf industrial floor flakes, providing a braille-like pattern to the touch.
Although the auction was born out of necessity and not necessarily a self-prescribed manifesto, Paulsen admits he is political in his design approach. “If I wasn’t then I would just go on and design really commercial chairs,” he says. “But if you’re not doing something that’s pushing design forward, then what is the reason? We have so many nicely designed objects already. There are enough for so many lifetimes.” He has a good point.
What inspired your breakout project, the Wooden Chair? “The chairs I’ve been working on for a while now are all variations of my Wooden Chair. It was part of a proposal I made for an interior for an organic café that never happened. I am very interested in small-scale manufacturing and I wanted to make a chair that could be made in the simplest workshops, with materials found in DIY stores. I looked at the geometry of the DAX chair by Charles and Ray Eames and simplified it. To be able to fix the legs straight to the sides of the seat they had to be completely vertical.”
“When I made the Easy Chair (which is a lower and wider version of the Wooden Chair) I was looking a lot at the Spanish Chair by Börge Mogensen. I like the way you can use the wide armrests to put your coffee cup on, so I used solid pine sections in a bigger dimension to match the armrests. The rounded end where the legs meet the floor is a little homage to Mogensen.”
The Spanish Chair by Borge Mogensen.
What about the Prism Series? “When I was doing my MA, I experimented with different techniques for coloring wood. I made many different chemical solutions that I tested with different woods to see if I could use the capillary action in the material to distribute the stain. One evening, I went to a friend’s birthday party. At the end of the night a paper garland fell down on a table that was covered in booze. It was beautiful. The colors from the garland got stuck on the surface and I realized I could use this method to color wood instead. So now I’m probably the best paper garland customer in Stockholm. The rainbow effects on the colored wood got me thinking of optical prisms and how they break light up into its constituent spectral colors. So when I started working on the Prism series I made a lot of prism shapes in different sizes to used as building blocks.”
Favorite collection: These teapots belong to Paulsen, a voracious collector. The igloo pot on the far left, with arctic animals forming the lid, was made by his girlfriend. The white porcelain pot on the right is by Danish mid-century designer Henning Koppel. It was missing a handle when Paulsen found it so he made a new one; “I really like this kind of ad-hoc solution” he says.
Paulsen’s collection of printed matter by Swedish graphic designer John Melin.
Most interesting thing you’ve brought back from your travels: “Tools. For building and making — a knife or a chisel, or cooking tools.” This is a haul of some of Paulsen’s scissors, collected from all over.
What’s the best thing you’ve ever found in the street? “In Stockholm you don’t really find things on the street because the city is very clean,” but it does have heaps of good thrift stores, as Paulsen points out. “I have a dining table designed by Ettore Sottsass that I found in a thrift store. It was 1200 Swedish Krona.” As that’s about $190, he bagged himself a bargain.
Favorite everyday object: “Maybe my juicer?” Paulsen’s mother bought it for him for Christmas. His current favorite: apple, cucumber, and parsley.
Last great exhibition you saw: “Fredrik Söderberg at Stockholm’s Galleri Riis. He is a Swedish painter. He makes large watercolors. They are about… Well they are just beautiful.”
Design hero: “Gerrit Rietveld is super inspiring to me because he was also a cabinetmaker. The pieces that he produced were so striking but also super simple. And he would publish his plans so anyone could, more or less, build their own. People don’t really think of modernism in those terms.”
Favorite tool in your workshop: “My little planer. It’s made for doing just one job, but I use it for many things. It’s durable. It’s nice and tactile. And I like the of scale it.”
First thing you ever made: Paulsen’s grandfather was a studio potter. “I have a coffee cup that has my name under it, but I don’t have any memory of making it. I probably sat on his lap and did it.”
Daily studio ritual: Paulsen and studiomate Simon Klenell prepare lunch and cook together every day. “Before Simon moved in I had just one hunter’s knife I used for everything. I love the idea of opening cans, chopping onions, opening packages with just one tool.” Did he eat with it? “No – I didn’t eat with it! Though my Granddad is Serbian and he eats with a knife. He is my main source of inspiration.”
Most inspiring place you’ve been to: “Illes du Frioul, off the coast of Marseille. The island was a fort for hundreds of years. Then in the 1960s a guy — who had apparently worked for Le Corbusier — started to design a leisure park for the island. He built one unit. It contained 100 apartments, but then they discovered rare birds and plants so they had to stop building.”
What’s your most treasured possession? “It’s my dog, Miguel. He already had that name when we got him. Actually we realized when we got the papers his name was Miquel but the Q turned into a G in the handling. He was a stray dog in Ireland before we got him.”
Last project you worked on: “I’ve been collaborating more with Kristoffer recently as together we can take on much larger commissions. We recently designed an office and a shop interior here in Stockholm. I also just made a side table for a plant for in my house.”
Right now, Fredrik Paulsen is: “Making chairs. I am constantly making my chairs.”
Designers around the world owe Johanna Agerman Ross a drink, or perhaps even a hug: Her new project, the biannual magazine Disegno, is devoted to letting their work breathe. “I always found it frustrating working for a monthly, because I couldn’t give a subject enough time or space to make it worthwhile,” says the former Icon editor. “For a project that took 10 or 15 years to make, it felt bizarre to represent it in one image, or four pages.” Founded by her and produced with the help of creative director Daren Ellis, Disegno takes some of the visual tropes of fashion magazines — long pictorial features, single-photo spreads, conceptual photography — and marries them with the format of a textbook* and the investigative-reporting ambitions of The New Yorker. The story about Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec which we’ve excerpted here, for example, fills 22 pages of the new issue and runs to nearly 3,000 words; it’s accompanied by images captured over two full days the photographer spent with the brothers, one in their studio and one at the Centre Pompidou-Metz, where they were installing their latest retrospective, “Bivouac.” And articles on Martin Szekely, Azzedine Alaïa, and Issey Miyake’s Yoshiyuki Miyamae are set either over lunch, or in the subject’s living room. The focus, says Agerman Ross, is on proper storytelling. “The people behind the project, the process of making something, even the process of the writer finding out about the story — that’s all part of it,” she says. “It’s the new journalism.” Obviously, we couldn’t agree more.
If you travel all the way from New York to Arnhem just to attend the fashion biennial in this relatively obscure Dutch city, half the size of Pittsburgh, you can expect people to notice. Your waiter will witness your accent — and the fact that you’re not drinking a huge glass of milk with lunch like everyone else — and ask if you came just for the show, and well, did you like it? Your jolly white-haired cab driver will crack a few embarrassing jokes about the Big Apple before waxing poetic about how lovely it is when the festival’s on. And despite Vogue calling the $2.5-million production the “Greatest Fashion Event You’ve Never Heard Of,” it will seem, when you’re there, like Arnhem's gravitational pull has shifted in some small but significant way.
Before Matt Olson and Mike Brady of the Minneapolis studio ROLU began making boxy plywood furniture in 2010 — earning them serious contemporary design cred and a reputation for channeling Donald Judd — they spent seven years designing landscapes, minimalist geometric compositions in steel, wood, concrete, and grass. It was those projects, says Olson, that have helped define the group’s work since, from their love for earthy materials to their awareness of design’s larger experiential qualities. “A landscape is a dynamic thing,” Olson explains. “It has smells, it grows and dies and changes. That taught me to pay attention to what’s really happening with an object; the chair as a visual and functional thing is only the start.” In ROLU’s case, chairs can also interact with users, reference sculptures and performance art and drawings, or become performances themselves, often by way of little more than a few planes of OSB.