EX. MAt.

As I exit the C at 34th and 8th, the naive spring sun defines my sight line and, through the horns and excessive chattering, gently guides me toward ICFF. As I purposefully meander, with child-like wonder, through the aisles of the Javits Center, seeing old and new faces, I quickly realize this is a year devoted to what we will define as Expressive Materiality. It’s evident that modern processes are being informed by exploring raw materials; makers are inviting them to be drivers of innovation. In this vein, I am captivated by the ingenuity employed by designers in service of sustainability. I learned that responsible design can, at once, be smart and beautiful. It can lead us to places we didn’t know we wanted to go.

I enthusiastically engage with innovators, booth by booth, and giddily dialogue about their material-driven design processes. I am most enthralled by Molo Design and their paper softwall flexible free-standing partitions. Made from wood harvested from FSC® Certified, these flexible partitions can mold space ethereally into organic landscapes. Although familiar with their products, I am given a generous introduction to them at various scales. I imagine the strong, paper pleats cattily chatting amongst themselves, debating whether they are inviting or obstructive. If they were to ask me my humble opinion, I would indulge them with a friendly rant about the divine opportunities they provide designers to create space that guides users through a majestic maze of experiences. No inhibition. Light flows to its own rhythm—the gentle caress of nature’s elements. Energy rounds itself up, down, in, and out. Unfortunately, they don’t. However, they do provide a pathway to my own formative experiences.

These whimsical structures, made of recycled paper with a completely sustainable life cycle, unexpectedly bring me to my childhood. I am back standing behind the counter at Amici’s Pizzeria in Staten Island, NY, where I started working as the “phone girl” when I was 14. This counter was many things: a surface to scribble down orders of garlic knots and chicken parm on small green paper slips; a functional “gate” allowing us to move swiftly back and forth between public and semi-private space; a barrier between those of us who placed the orders and took the orders; a space to lean over and flirt with the cute delivery boys.

Its presence communicated flexibility, but the heavy, solid piece of oak, laminated with glossy polyurethane, told a different story. It spoke of a rigid hierarchical human structure. Behind this counter, there was no room for change; I stood there, took orders, put pizza on paper plates, Paulie made the pizzas, and Scott assembled pasta. I understood my place; I understood it in relation to the other clearly delineated areas of the small 1000 sq. ft. pizzeria. I was there to be a functional object. The heavy, solid wood put me in a rectilinear box. I wonder who I would have been at 14 had I been placed beside a soft, curvilinear 3ft partition. Would that subtle change define the way I operated as a young girl? How would I self-identity in that space had I not been boxed in?

I wonder how creatives tackle that question now and in the future: what does material express to others, and what does it mean to ourselves? How can we continue to use materials to express our intentions responsibly? What can new and emerging materials teach us about who we are?