I oftentimes find simplicity in design a profoundly worthy priority. And then other times, because a design is so simple, I completely forget that it’s even there. Is it because simplicity is inherently subtle? Intended to be somewhat forgotten about, to not stand out, to blend in with the background of life? Maybe my eye gliding over simple designs is sort of the point, like they say, design being so good that you don't notice it.
I actually think this is a beautiful thing, design that is so simple, so good that you don’t notice it. René Gabriel’s furniture, much of which he designed from the 1920s to the 1940s, fits this bill pretty well. People often describe his furniture design as “sober” and “rational,” and these words absolutely apply. But maybe there is something beneath words like “sober” and “rational” that actually belies the potential tedium of such sentiments. I tend to believe this is true when I look at a table or a chair designed by someone like Gabriel. I like to think of his beautiful furniture designs as kind of metaphorical paperweights to the insanity of our lives. A superbly straightforward table, so simple you almost forget it’s there, I can see it scattered with plates and cutlery and soiled napkins after a boisterous dinner, or maybe the centerpiece of a huge blowout between lovers or family members. And yet there it stands, that table, stalwart, unjudgmental of our flaws. The simplicity serves this purpose well.
-Eugenie Dalland