In conversation with Jasper Morrison

The eternally relevant British designer’s body of work is as broad as his patience for frivolous design is short. We caught up with him at his east London headquarters to chat career past, present and future

The ever-relevant British designer discusses minimalism, luxury and his recent range for Vitra

Amid the buzz surrounding the opening of Tate Modern’s new Switch House this summer was a quieter tribute to design, that of the work of Jasper Morrison. And as far as he’s concerned, the smaller the number of column inches devoted to his furniture fit-out of the ten-floor edifice – and the recent corresponding exhibition of his designs in a corner of the ground floor – the greater the project’s success. Morrison’s designs strive for, and invariably achieve, beauty in discretion. Indeed, when playing a supporting role, as at London’s new Design Museum, which has furnished its galleries with the ‘Hal’ chair he designed for Vitra, they provide a flawless foil to more provocative works. This is because Morrison’s signature is ‘Super Normal’, a design concept that took root when he saw a stool by the Japanese industrial designer Naoto Fukasawa exhibited at the Milan Furniture Fair in 2005. In Morrison’s words, the piece was ‘so discreet that nobody was paying it much attention’; yet it inspired the two men, together, to create a whole new genre of everyday objects.

But the British designer’s style is not just about utilitarian reductions: Morrison is keen on pushing the boundaries of design. This summer his studio launched its first kitchen, designed for Italian brand Schiffini. Fashioned from oak, Douglas fir, melamine and stainless steel, it comes in colours informed by different cities: white for Tokyo, beige for Stockholm and black for Milan. The intention is to facilitate a lifestyle that is both modest and indulgent, and it is claimed that the laminate worktops can ‘self-fix’ minor scratches.

Often described as a minimalist, Morrison talks in the same way he designs, with a certain economy, but it would take a tin ear to miss the wit and warmth that lie close to the surface. Here, he discusses his new collection for Vitra and what luxury means to him.

I’ve traced my interest in design back to an experience I had when I was about four years old in England. I went into a room that my grandfather had made for himself. The rest of his house was all antiques, heavy upholstery and carpets, with walls painted ➤

dark red or dark green. It was very oppressive. But this room was light and airy with a wooden floor; he had worked with a company from Denmark to bring a Danish interior to England. When I went into this room for the first time, I remember feeling so good. After that, I noticed whether I felt good or bad in different spaces. I would describe myself as a chair designer who does a lot of other things too. I think chairs maybe just fit my wiring, my brain. But I also like the cutlery and tableware I’ve designed for Alessi; the ceramics for Rosenthal and my pieces for Muji [Morrison has created a collection of saucepans and a clock for the Japanese brand]. My goals were a little less professional in the early days than they are now. The ‘Plywood Chair’ [1988; later produced by Vitra], was just a sort of structure; the ‘Thinking Man’s Chair’ [1986; Cappellini] was just steel. At the time I thought, ‘These are good pieces.’ But they were not that practical. Of all the companies I’ve worked for, Vitra is the most advanced in terms of product development and rigorous testing. It’s nice to work with the Italians too, but on engineering… let’s say they are a bit more, ‘ Yes, it’s gonna be fine!’ The process of design for Vitra takes longer, but when the product comes on the market, you can be fairly relaxed – about the functional side, at least.

I had originally been thinking of calling the ‘Thinking Man’s Chair’ the ‘Drinking Man’s Chair’, but I went out to buy some pipe cleaners to make a model of it, and as I was taking them back to the studio, I saw on the packet that they were called ‘The Thinking Man’s Smoke’ and I thought, ‘Oh, that’s much more sophisticated’. And anyway, you can still be drinking while you’re thinking. This gives you an idea of what a ridiculously impractical person I can be. I mean, nobody would choose pipe cleaners to make a model of a chair. Once my products have launched, I typically

keep them around in my studio. That’s a very important phase of their development: over the next year I use them, look at them in different ways and see how they affect the atmosphere of the room. It’s a way to find out what you did right and what you did wrong. It can get a bit crowded in my house after a while, but if a product lasts more than a year, it’s a seal of approval. I have always felt an affinity with Japanese design. When the first Muji store arrived in London, I liked it immediately. I think its design philosophy is sort of parallel to what I do.

‘ We can support sustainability by designing things that will have a long life’

Super Normal as a concept and a phrase came about

at the Milan Furniture Fair in 2005. For a while I had had a feeling that there was a different way of designing, a way that was less personal and more anonymous. I had started creating cutlery for Alessi that was ‘formally reduced’: not overly expressive, but made to be good in an everyday sense. At the fair, I noticed that Naoto Fukasawa had designed a stool for Magis that was a similar kind of thing. I said to him, ‘That’s a great stool, Naoto,’ and he was really moved because nobody had really said anything to him about it. And I was discussing these objects that are a bit more normal, a bit more everyday, but still have something fresh about them with Takashi Okutani, who runs Muji’s online business. He said, ‘Ah, like super-normal.’ And I said, that’s it. That’s the name. Do I ever design something other than Super Normal? Like super-flashy? Not often, but occasionally I surprise myself. I designed a sofa recently for Cappellini called ‘Orla’, which is very curvy. Super Normal doesn’t have to be super dry. It can also be quite appealing. It can also apply to disciplines other than design. I’m sure it could apply to fashion, or car design. You can have a Super Normal restaurant. It would be St John in London’s Spitalfields. Technology? I don’t pay it much attention, actually. I think 3D printing is a useful tool for prototyping, but the idea of it being the future of all mass production is crazy.

The best way we can support sustainability is to make

things that will have a long life. By being a bit less trendy and designing things that will survive and not suddenly look out of tune. If you took the ‘APC’ chair from my new collection for Vitra back to its source of oil, I don’t know how far it would get you in a car – maybe to the supermarket and back. I think the chair is a much better use of our resources. If I designed my own house, my architectural style would probably be rather Modernist. I had the good fortune of visiting a private house by Le Corbusier in Ahmedabad, India. It was quite exotic, with black shiny floors, and so beautiful. The studio by Josep Lluís Sert for Joan Miró in Majorca is also very beautiful inside. Luxury to me is a good atmosphere. That doesn’t necessarily come from expensive materials. You can fill a fantastic space with awful things and it would be an awful place. Likewise, you can put beautiful things into a horrible space, and it still isn’t nice. I do like other colours as well as white. The ‘APC’ chair for Vitra comes in yellow, which is quite bright. I think one of those is okay. To have six of them would be a disaster. jaspermorrison.com Pictured above, from left The exterior and interior of Morrison’s London studio; Morrison values the art of display, and neat arrangements of products and accessories are a signature in his store and studio; cork tables for Vitra (2007); clock for Muji (2007); ‘APC’ chair for Vitra (2016); ‘Superloon’ floor lamp for Flos (2015); kitchen for Schiffini (2016)