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“Form and Function: Past, Present, and Future”

Erin Marshall VLST Sector C

Senior Thesis Paper May 2010

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Table of Contents

Introduction……………………………………………………………………………………3

Part One: ‘Form Follows Function’…………………………………………………………5

Part Two: ‘Form follows function follows evolution’……………………..........................24

Conclusion……………………………………………………………………………………41

Bibliography………………………………………………………………………………….43

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Introduction

In this paper, I will address the changing nature of the relationship between form and

function as design concepts. I will begin with a discussion of the well-known phrase “Form

follows function,” coined by the American architect Louis Sullivan in his 1896 article, “The tall

office building artistically considered.” In this influential treatise Sullivan stated, “It is the

pervading law of all things organic and inorganic, of all things physical and metaphysical, of all

things human and all things superhuman, of all true manifestations of the head, of the heart, of

the soul, that the life is recognizable in its expression, that form ever follows function. This is the

law.” My thesis will examine this idea of form following function as it has been as realized in the

evolution of Modernist ideas from the dawn of the twentieth century onward, and culminating in

an analysis of the impact current issues are having on this relationship—as well as how it may be

shaped by future innovations in design. This dynamic will be studied in depth through an

analysis of, as a unifying concept, the changing meanings and applications of the oft-used

dictum, “Form follows function.”

In Part One, I will analyze the history of this phrase by identifying a few key individuals,

such as Louis Sullivan and Adolf Loos, and movements, including the Bauhaus school, that were

instrumental in its development. I will demonstrate the manner in which the theoretical ideas of

Sullivan, Loos and Walter Gropius—founder and developer of the Bauhaus ideology—were not

only shaped in part by the central tenets of “Form follows function,” but would in turn become

crucial to the advancement of Mid-century Modernism and the International Style as significant

movements of twentieth-century design. These movements, among several others, responded to

the challenge posed by these theorists to create design that elevates function through the

elimination of unnecessary form.

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In Part Two, I will discuss the continuing legacy of “Form follows function,” addressing

elements of the concept which are still firmly engrained in the process and principles of

contemporary design. I will argue that this concept has been key in establishing the

contemporary field of professional design as one of social and cultural necessity, giving it a new

prominence in both elite circles and the every day life of people in the developed world.

However, I will also show that the intent behind this phrase in its original incarnation is no

longer sufficient to meet all of our needs in the twenty-first century and beyond. Instead, in order

for design to continue its evolution, the physical and material expression of the phrase “Form

follows function” is currently undergoing—and will continue to undergo—a level of

transformation so drastic that its originator Louis Sullivan would be highly surprised by its

current and future applications.

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Part One: ‘Form follows function’

Louis Sullivan

In order to comprehend the future of the phrase, “Form follows function,” one must first

look to the past and consider the context in which it was first developed, at the very end of the

nineteenth century. As stated earlier, American architect Louis Sullivan coined the phrase in his

1896 essay, “The Tall Office Building Artistically Considered.” Unbeknownst to him its

alliterated version (dropping the “ever” from the phrase to make it an elegant string of “f”s)

would become crucial to the formation of subsequent ideas about what “modern” would mean

for many architects and designers in the twentieth century. Although Sullivan’s essay deals

directly with an issue that was quite pressing at the time, the manner in which office buildings

would be constructed, its central theory was the product of over two decades of Sullivan’s

philosophical evolution as an architect.

While studying any piece of writing penned by Sullivan, it is impossible to ignore the

influence that nature had on his world view as well as his approach to architecture. In “The tall

office building artistically considered,” this inspiration is evident in his description of the

operation of form and function in nature: “Whether it be the sweeping eagle in his flight or the

open apple-blossom, the toiling work horse, the blithe swan, the branching oak, the winding

stream at its base, the drifting clouds, over all the coursing sun, form ever follows function, and

this is the law.” (4) According to his own Autobiography of an Idea, Sullivan’s appreciation for

the processes of nature was present even when he was a child; he recalls fondly memories of

exploring the land surrounding his grandparent’s house and examining all that he found there

(54-67). But this was not all childish play; Sullivan credits these days with developing his most

prized qualities: “keen accuracy of observation, and lively interest in all constructive affairs”

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(Sullivan, 62). One may also infer that studying nature and its functional efficiency would impact

his theories later on, even informing his entire approach to form and function.

In addition to nature, Sullivan notes another major influence: a teacher from his

childhood by the name of Moses Woolson. He claims that Woolson, whom he greatly respected,

helped to channel his inquisitiveness and love of nature into an alertness and concentration that

would serve him well later on (Sullivan, 168), and as a result, his “insight into the relationship of

function and structure deepened rapidly” (Sullivan, 173). Woolson was so admired by Sullivan

that he would later be held as a standard to which Sullivan would compare other educators, even

his professors at M.I.T. (Sullivan, 189) The latter comparison occurred as the young architect

began to move away from the instruction he had received at “Tech,” as he called it; as he began

to depart from the architectural status quo (Sullivan, 186).

According to Sullivan, his dissatisfaction with academia, and the architectural education

being imparted at M.I.T., arose during his studies of the “Five Orders of Architecture,”—the

classical styles of the Doric, the Ionic, the Corinthian, the Tuscan, and the Composite—which he

felt pressured to uphold as an unquestionable standard of perfection (Sullivan, 186-187). Sullivan

“by nature was not given to that kind of faith,” instead choosing the “creative power and glory of

man,” and “freedom” as ideals that he deemed to be more deserving of his loyalty (Sullivan,

187). As he puts it, the only conclusions he drew from these lessons in the “Orders” were that

“they really were fairy tales of the long ago, now by the learned made rigid, mechanical and

inane in the books he was pursuing, wherein they were stultified, for lack of common sense and

human feeling” (Sullivan, 187). To him, these standards of the past were irrelevant to those

living and requiring architectural solutions in the present.

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In time, the sciences and the driving principles of engineering became an important

influence in Sullivan’s search for a more meaningful approach to architecture. The more

knowledge he gained about the subject, the more he realized that “the engineers were the only

men who could face a problem squarely; who knew a problem when they saw it” (Sullivan, 246).

For him, the field of engineering served in contrast to “the architectural mind,” which “lacked

this directness, this simplicity, this singleness of purpose” which Sullivan felt was required to

tackle such problems effectively (246). To put it another way, he felt that engineers took action

while architects were more about talk than effective results. He gained even more insight into a

potential solution to his concerns in the form of the Scientific Method, seeing in it “a power of

solution he long had fruitlessly been seeking. His key to an outlook took shape in the scientific

method of approach to that which lay behind appearances; a relentless method whereby to arrive

at the truth by tireless pursuit” (Sullivan, 250).

Sullivan’s search for a solution would come to fruition in Chicago during the 1880s and

1890s. As he recalls in his autobiography, he came of age during the time of a great industrial

boom in the city. He talks about how 1880 became “the zero hour of an amazing expansion…

Manufacturing expanded with incredible rapidity, and the building industry took on an

organizing definition” (Sullivan, 308). He also takes note of the overall climate of Chicago

during the time: “As to the residential districts, there were increasing indications of pride and

display, for rich men were already being thrust up by the mass” (Sullivan, 304). It is in this

environment, at age 25, not long after partnering with Adler and becoming a “full-fledged

architect,” the theory he had been developing truly began to solidify into something he could

begin to apply: “He could now, undisturbed, start on the course of practical experimentation he

long had in mind” (Sullivan, 257). This was essentially the birth of his theory: “This meant…that

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he would put to the test a formula he had evolved, through long contemplation of living things,

namely that form follows function, which would mean…that architecture might again become a

living art, if this formula were but adhered to” (Sullivan, 258).

The essay in which Sullivan introduces his theory was in part a response to an issue of

much debate among his contemporaries: how to express the form of the newly-conceived “tall

office building,” or skyscraper (“Office Building,” 1). On the debate, he remarks that “The

attempts, moreover, did not rest on any basic principle, therefore the squabblings as to priority

are so much piffle. The problem of the tall office building had not been solved, because the

solution had not been sought within the problem itself—within its inherent nature” (Sullivan,

311). He complains that some speculators have thus far taken the wrong approach, proposing

designs which are based too heavily on previous architectural knowledge and history, rather than

the specific requirements of this largely new building form. In discussion of previous attempts at

envisioning the “tall office building,” he first refers to some already-proposed ideas—that it

should take the shape of a Greek column, or that it should vary along the height of the building—

and offers a solution that he hopes will encourage architects to approach the problem in the most

logical way possible. It is important to note Sullivan’s rejection of this approach, which consists

of trying too hard to re-appropriate and reapply styles from the past; regardless of whether those

styles adequately serve present purposes or not. Sullivan rejects such repurposing by saying that

“the tall office building should not, must not, be made a field for the display of architectural

knowledge in the encyclopedic sense; that too much learning in this instance is fully as

dangerous, as obnoxious, as too little learning…” (“Office Building,” 3) By this he implies that

prior knowledge and education can sometimes impede the process of successful design by

distracting the designer with historical solutions that do not meet current goals and needs of the

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project. This indictment can be seen as a wholesale rejection of design philosophies past, whose

primary methods consisted of just that, suggesting that design in the coming era should be free

from the constricting limitations of academic proscriptions, and aim to be closer to the way

things evolve in nature—by whose timeline of success human efforts pale in comparison.

Figure 1 The ornate and historically-inspired Chicago Water Tower, completed in 1869 by William Boyington; compared to the clean, practical lines of Sullivan’s Wainwright Building, completed 1891. [image credit: flickr user zol87, Library of Congress, respectively.]

In thinking about the matter, Sullivan says that “it is of the very essence of every problem

that it contains and suggests its own solution.” (“Office Building,” 1) He explains that, when

trying to decide what form this new type of building will take, it is best to consider how things

take shape in nature. According to Sullivan, the forms of things in nature are so inherently

suitable for that organism or object that they just seem right to us, so suitable that we could not

imagine them being anything other than what they are. We may read this observation as

Sullivan’s belief in the rationale for this phenomenon as lying in the divine evolution of forms in

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order to best support and allow for the optimal functioning of that thing, be it plant, animal, or

other natural element:

“It is the pervading law of all things organic and inorganic, of all things physical and metaphysical, of all things human and superhuman, of all true manifestations of the head, of the heart, of the soul, that the life is recognizable in its expression, that form ever follows function. This is the law.” (emphasis his) (“Office Building,” 4)

Put another way, Sullivan’s definition of “form follows function,” at least in terms of

architecture, is the following: the form of a building should take its cue from the manner in

which that building will be used (its function). To him, this is an observable principle of nature, a

principle that we should use to inform the things that we as humans make as well. Sullivan

proposes that, since this is a concept that has worked so well in nature (and even we are evidence

of this success), it makes perfect sense to apply it to architecture as well.

Expanding on this point, Sullivan says that in order to determine what form the building

should take, one must consider how that building will be used, dividing it into specific functions

which vary according to location within the building. He outlines these: a basement, for boilers,

pipes and other mechanical features; the first floor will likely be used for commercial space,

shops, and also needs a central entrance which is easy to locate and navigate; the floor above this

for other commercial space; above that one, an inordinate number of floors dedicated to office

spaces, uniform in nature and compartmentalized; and an attic space for additional mechanical

necessities. Thus, it would naturally follow, says Sullivan, that the first two floors will be

considerably loftier in height than the floors above it for office spaces, the office floors need not

be different from each other, and so on. In short, the form of the building should be derived from

how the building and its various components will be used. If designed in this manner, the final

form will “just make sense,” as do things we see in nature.

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Adolf Loos

Equally important to the evolution of the modern functional design idea that grew out of

Sullivan’s phrase “form follows function”—and, thus, to the roots of modern design—is an essay

published by the Czech-born architect Adolf Loos in 1908, entitled “Ornament and Crime.” In

the essay, it is clear that Loos makes some extremely bold claims about the dangers of

architectural ornament that were a reaction to the social mores and ideas of his time. In response

to what he identifies as the widely-held preference for elaborately-embellished items, Loos

denounces ornament as a negative predilection ensconced within the taste of turn-of-the-century

European society. For instance, in an essay published in 1898 on the topic of interior design,

Loos clearly expresses his disapproval of his peers’ recent fascination with textiles, claiming it

has ushered in “the rule of the upholsterer, a reign of terror that still gives us nightmares,” and

has resulted in an overabundance of “[s]ilks and satins, plush and ‘Makart bouquets’ of peacock

feathers and dried grasses, dust and a lack of light and air, door curtains and carpets and so on,”

as well as “pieces of furniture so completely upholstered that the woodwork could no longer be

seen.” (Loos, 52) Similarly excessive trends were also evident in metal and woodworking and

nearly every conceivable area of craftsmanship—trends that were more a product of the demands

of the consuming public than any desire of craft workers to promote such indulgence.

While Loos was responding to a trend in his society which he considered to be frivolous

excess, there was much that led to the formation of his ideas, his personal background foremost

among them. His upbringing was of particular influence. In addition, Loos’ military service,

which brought him at one point to Vienna, exposed him to fine leather and silver goods that, he

felt, did not require such ornate decoration in order to exude a sense of high quality and

elegance. Joseph Rykwert, a writer for established art journal, Studio International, makes note

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of this, saying that these items inspired in Loos “a passion for smooth and precious surfaces,”

(Rykwert, 1) which would later re-emerge in the ideas presented in his writings. In Hands Off!,

an essay Loos published in 1917, he esteems leather items such as “boots and shoes, luggage and

saddlery,” as well as “cigarette cases and watches” of unadorned metal manufacture, as examples

of superior craftsmanship. (Loos 179-180) In the same essay, he avows that “construction pure

and simple was to take the place of…the luxuriant decoration of past epochs.” (181) Proposing

an idea that would later be echoed in the principles of many modernist movements, he purports

the following: “Straight lines, right-angled edges, that is the way the craftsman works who has an

eye to function, and has tools and material at hand.” (181)

Figure 2 The streamlined aesthetic of Loos’ Villa Müller in Prague (1928), compared to the elaborate excess of an Art Nouveau interior—Alphonse Mucha, Paris, 1900—which would have been met with Loos’ disapproval. [image credit: bdonline.co.uk and Massimo Listri/CORBIS, respectively.]

Other movements were proposing similar ideas, yet Loos rejected some of their

principles which did not coincide with his own—those of Art Nouveau in particular, which had

already surpassed the height of its influence at the time “Ornament and Crime” was published.

As Rykwert explains, while those involved in the movement likewise rejected the trend toward

appropriation of historical ornament, “Art Nouveau architects and designers thought that a new

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style could be created for their own time in terms of an ornamental vocabulary,” drawing

inspiration from nature instead. (2) However, in another essay investigating the essential

practicality of chairs and other everyday items, Loos suggests that even this proposed application

of ornament is unnecessary when he argues that “Nothing in nature is superfluous, and it is the

degree of functional value, when combined with the harmony of the other parts, that we call pure

beauty.” (63) Not only does this statement reflect Louis Sullivan’s view of nature as the

exemplar of functional efficiency, but it also implies that any pursuit of ornament as an aesthetic

device is a misstep in the process of successful design. And importantly, he was influenced

greatly by his idealistic understanding of concurrent developments in America, exemplified by

the work of Sullivan and others.

In order to make his point that excessive ornament was a crime within the world of good

architectural design, Loos first establishes in “Ornament and Crime” that unnecessary ornament

is irreversibly associated first with childishness, then logically following from that: amorality,

criminals and degenerates. To justify these claims, Loos outlines the development of what he

calls the “ornamental urge”—an “erotic” impulse that led to the development of fine art,

according to his historical view—as an outlet for said impulse. But now, he claims, that we have

such acceptable outlets for this impulse, there is no reason the modern man should desire to

ornament his own body (in tattoo form), or the objects that he creates unnecessarily. The only

cultures for which he still deems this acceptable practice are those “primitive” cultures (by his

standards) that have not developed suitable material outlets. From this, Loos concludes that

whomever in modern society indulges in ornamental decoration must be a degenerate, or at the

very least someone of low intelligence. Having set up this argument, Loos concludes that, if we

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as cultured Western societies have higher pursuits which replace ornamentation in providing the

individual pleasure, then why engage in it at all, since it no longer serves any real function?

Loos’ teleology ends with an indictment of the indulgence in unnecessary ornament, a sin

that he has deemed to be rampant in his society. He argues that, far from being a harmless

pursuit, the application of ornament to buildings and objects actually “impedes cultural

development.” His logic is that, in the modern age, we are not actually creating any new

ornament, merely imitating designs and motifs of the past. Since ornament can be developed no

further, it has “no past and no future,” and to devote any more attention to it would be to

squander our potential to create new things of meaning.

Loos gives further practical justifications for the elimination of ornament—which seem

more empathetic to the plight of the average person than his previous arguments that are tinged

with notions of class and elitism. He asserts that unnecessary ornament is a waste of money: it

increases production costs, wastes valuable materials, and thus raises the prices of objects higher

than what they should be. He says the use of ornament, for which styles and preferences change

over the years, creates a cycle of disposable objects, which are wastefully discarded for new ones

when the old are no longer aesthetically desirable. It is better, he says, to create objects with

timeless design, which will last and still be desirable regardless of changing tastes. Secondly, he

deems ornament a waste of human labor: requiring ornament and extra embellishments on

functional objects adds extra work for laborers whose expected duties are already taxing; this

work, of course, results in no extra pay. According to Loos, this situation results in the

consequent devaluation of human labor; workers are being paid less than what their work is

worth to produce objects that are more frivolous than functional (due to more time spent

ornamenting and less time spent on solid construction). Without this unnecessary ornament, Loos

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believes that the organization of the manufacturing process could be configured so that workers

could have shorter hours and higher pay, as well as spend their valuable work hours making

objects of better physical quality and value.

Following these arguments, Loos makes a final appeal to those of high intellect, and by

extrapolation, high taste, attempting to convince them of his argument’s veracity by championing

the rejection of unnecessary ornament as a sign of sophisticated taste. One such statement Loos

makes in the essay Hands Off!—which he also wrote in service of the aforementioned goal—

makes his attempts at validation of his views quite clear, by insisting to the skeptical reader that

“quality materials and good workmanship do not simply make up for a lack of ornamentation,

they far surpass it in luxuriousness.” (182) In this regard, his petition to his contemporaries to

reconsider their tastes remains consistent throughout his body of writing. Despite the fact that his

argument was in clear contradiction to the current standard of social refinement and the “finer”

pleasures, Loos remained confident that any person of reason would agree that ornament is an

excess not worth having, that in fact it impedes the development of what could otherwise be

“good” design.

“Ornament and Crime,” with its argument against unnecessary ornamentation, presents

Loos’ take on Sullivan’s conception of form following function; The design of an object (its

form) should include only that which is necessary according to: its intended use, the qualities of

the materials from which it is constructed, and other practical—purely practical—considerations

(all in all, its function and the making of it). Following these proscriptions, Loos firmly believed,

will result in a timeless object of high value, fittingly desirable to those of discerning taste.

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The Bauhaus School

The design principles developed at and championed by the Staatliches Bauhaus school in

Germany between 1913 and 1930 further developed the idea of form following function first put

forth by Sullivan and then Loos. At the Bauhaus many important principles of modernism were

created that came to set the precedents for the way current designers view the relationship

between form and function. Typical Bauhaus aesthetics rejected unnecessary ornament, focusing

on a stripped-down, utilitarian approach to design which was also intended to be accessible.

Reflecting on the impact of the Bauhaus, historian Peter Gay writes that:

“The Bauhaus persuaded designers to adopt a new, clean vocabulary in lamps, in chairs, in typography; it changed the face of modern architecture with its exhibition houses and with that model of modernity, the Dessau Bauhaus of 1926; it propagated its views with enthusiastic shows and striking pamphlets…it undertook an experiment in aesthetic education unprecedented in its imaginative sense for the whole person.” (Gay, 123-124)

This statement only scratches the surface of the Bauhaus’ influence, however. In order to fully

understand how Bauhaus ideas impact the idea of form following function, one must examine the

school’s history in more detail.

In order to form a more complete picture of the Bauhaus, one must first consider the

historical context in which it was founded. Several historians point out that the context of post-

World War I Germany had a significant influence on its formation. The development of the ideas

behind the school came at the end of the First World War, which left Germany in a less-than-

desirable condition financially, structurally, politically, and psychologically. Historian Tom

Wolfe explains that Germany “had been crushed in the war and humiliated at Versailles; the

economy had collapsed in a delirium of inflation; the Kaiser had departed; the Social Democrats

had taken power in the name of socialism,” and what remained consisted largely of “smoking

ruins” and decay. (Wolfe 14) Gay describes the development of the Bauhaus as a series of

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“sensitive responses to the political upheavals, the institutional disorder, and the spiritual

effervescence of republican Germany” that existed at the time of its founding. (Gay 124)

The architect Walter Gropius, one of the founders of the Bauhaus, had experienced

firsthand some of the violence and devastation during and after the First World War—including

“the November Revolution and the assaults of crowds on German officers,” as Gay notes

(122)—which led to his decision to act on a “radical solution” to the problems he saw in a

broken society: revitalization through design. Gropius’ choice of design as central to his vision

of reshaping post-war German society confirms his conviction that design had the potential to

provide unification, stability, and the improvement of the general morale of his countrymen.

Judith Arthur describes this conviction as “a quasi-religious notion…of design as a redemptive

power in its own right; a radical facilitator within the context of a nation morally and

economically defeated by the First World War,” citing his belief that “design…could reshape a

better, more integrated and ultimately democratic German society” (Arthur, 11-12). Boston

University professor Matthew Wilson Smith provides further insight into the “radical” nature of

Gropius’ vision, describing his proposed solution to social ills as “Not so much a recovery as a

total reengineering of the real.” (Smith 49)

In many respects, Gropius’ faith in design as a vehicle for such drastic transformation is

the influence of the Deutsche Werkbund on his development as an architect and designer. Peter

Gay describes the Werkbund as “an association devoted to the ‘ennoblement’ of design through

the ‘collaboration of art, industry, and artisanship’.” (Gay 114-115) Gay also lists some of the

goals of the Werkbund, noting the desire to “democratize German aesthetics,” to devote equal

attention to “all elements of the man-made environment.” (115) Gropius, attuned to these

concerns as a young man, “swam in a sea of words…which bestowed on mundane objects the

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unaccustomed stature of a metaphysical problem.” (Gay 115) This, presumably, would stay in

his mind as he was developing the ideas that would later manifest in the Bauhaus school.

By the time Gropius established his own practice in Berlin in 1910, he had become

dissatisfied with the complacency of others in the architectural field. In an analysis of Gropius’

rise to prominence, Peter Gay notes Gropius’ disdain that “All too few of his fellows seemed

responsive to the requirements of modern industry and modern transport,” and his accusation that

“by pandering to the rich, they labored to secure for themselves that comfortable title, ‘arbiter of

good taste.” (115) Gay also credits Gropius with “identifying the agents of modern ugliness by

pointing at speculators and entrepreneurs as profiteers in bad taste.” (121) Considering the

individuals previously discussed, these complaints seem all too familiar; Sullivan’s treatise on

form and function was developed partly in response to the easy acceptance of his

contemporaries, who were happy to merely replicate lessons from history books; Loos’ lifelong

crusade against ornament was inspired in part by his disdain for the aesthetic status quo which

had been established, and left unchecked, by the bourgeois of his society. Similarly, Gropius

reflects on this penchant for the thoughtless misappropriation of historical design ideas, as Gay

notes, that “the bad taste and dishonest revivalism of nineteenth-century ‘salon architecture’ had

sprung, not from obedience to, but disregard of, the great tradition of design.” (172)

“Intense and critical, Gropius found the architectural atmosphere around him polluted by

mendacity and snobbery. The need, at least to him, was plain: if architects really wanted to

‘develop a genuine, historically valid form of expression; they would have to ‘revolutionize the

visual education for the young’ and at the same time make intensive studies of mass-production

in housing.” (Gay 115) So, Gropius took the same need that Sullivan and Loos found for

architectural and design solutions that were fitting for the technological realities and challenges

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of twentieth-century life, and rather than merely writing about them or trying to reform his

immediate peers, he found his solution in the development of a method and means for

reeducating the next generation. This solution, of course, was the Bauhaus school.

During its brief fourteen-year lifespan, the Bauhaus school impacted the direction of

twentieth-century design by undermining traditional thought about design, and by championing a

modern design aesthetic. The initial manifesto of the Bauhaus outlined three of Gropius’ main

objectives. First: “to establish architecture as the dominant design forum.” Second: “to

undermine traditional hierarchies by elevating the status of crafts skills to a level commensurate

with fine art” And third: a goal which concerned “‘the improvement of industrial products

through the combined efforts of artists, industrialists and craftsmen,’” in other words invoking a

“unification of all design and arts and crafts practices” (Arthur, 12). Overall, the focus of the

school in its three incarnations was largely influenced by who was leading it at the time.

The school started with an idea of uniting art, design and craft, but the ideas which would

later define it were already present at the beginning. This unique approach to the plastic arts

came at a time of great industrial change, in the advent of mass production and manufacturing,

and also new developments in industrial materials. This would especially have an impact when

the school moved to Dessau, which is where the truly modernist aesthetic now associated with

the Bauhaus fully developed. Arthur accurately summarizes that “Throughout the school’s

history this crafts bias featured at the very core of the Bauhaus educational philosophy of

‘learning by doing’,” explains Arthur, “and the school thus maintained the humanism of a crafts

ethic while aspiring, certainly after 1924, to production for industry” (13).

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Figure 3 The Bauhaus building in Dessau, Germany, by Walter Gropius. Completed 1926. [image credit: Wikimedia Commons, photo contributor Tom Alt.]

Even in its early days, the Bauhaus employed a radically different teaching method that

undermined traditional instruction and would set the foundation for ideas that would later prove

extremely influential even today. The teaching ideology employed by Bauhaus instructors

included the following: “The curriculum was theoretically based, comprising an exploration of

the primary components of visual language: texture, colour, form, shape and materials. Students

concentrated upon manipulating formal elements of abstraction, engaged in compositional

studies and also in a variety of exercises familiarising them with the possibilities and limitations

of individual materials” (Arthur, 14).

This emphasis on individual craft changed over time, but the change was greatly

accelerated when the Jewish-Hungarian artist Lázló Moholy-Nagy became involved with the

school. A lot of it probably had to do with his Russian Constructivism influence. Arthur notes

that he “aspired to eradicate fine art altogether in favour of a “modern” design which would

assume a machine aesthetic thoroughly commensurate with socialist ideology,” (13). To

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Moholy-Nagy, the machine “symbolized standardized parts production, anonymous design and

assembly. It produced industrial artefacts devoid of detail and valued for their generalized

geometric configuration…The blatant anonymity of the machine’s making was equally inviting

because it eradicated subjective expression…It talked of a collective, universal significance, a

utopian faith in the modern age being brought about by post-war mass production” (Arthur, 16).

At Dessau is where the school really began to develop the “machine aesthetic” it is now

so closely associated with. As former students Marcel Breuer, Joseph Albers and others began to

teach: “Their presence initiated a fresh emphasis upon production-based work and an

increasingly objective application of basic form to design. In this way they began to achieve a

synthesis of art with new technical possibilities, moving more effectively towards a new

aesthetic for machine production” (Arthur, 18).

Materials were an important factor in the development of this new aesthetic. Steel was

particularly important, as it was seen to embody the modern ideals they sought to achieve:

According to Arthur, the use of tubular steel “as a design material was a supreme manifestation

of the early century’s discourse with the machine. It was a machine-made product, held to be

especially characteristic of modernity and aesthetic anonymity” (19). It was also representative

of “Gropius’ focus on the responsibility of the designer during the very process of designing”

(Arthur, 19).

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Figure 4 Nesting tables (1925) and club chairs (1927) by Marcel Breuer. The use of tubular steel and minimal form were characteristic of the Bauhaus aesthetic during that time period. [image credit: moma.org.]

The goal of unification of art and design became even more important, especially as the

idea of designing for mass production became a central focus. These aims are best summarized

by Arthur in her discussion of Gropius’ vision for the school:

“Walter Gropius believed that design should ideally evolve from a humanistic approach, and maintained that design’s ability to respond in both form and process to the social and economic necessities of society was fundamental. He argued that the designer must at once be an artist and a craftsperson, recognising in modern abstraction the basic, forms which were akin to the rational requirements of mass-production.” (20)

In this way, the goals of the school in its earlier years were not lost but integrated into its

new direction, which looked toward the future of design in an increasingly industrial and

technological world.

The analysis of the Bauhaus’ development and changing focus leads to a realization that

the Bauhaus contribution to our idea of “form following function” is largely a combination of

Sullivan’s idea of form taking shape naturally and making intuitive sense, Loos’ rejection of

ornamentation and subsequent desire for well-and-efficiently-made utilitarian objects of

timelessness and high quality, and an amalgam of the beliefs of its various directors and

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changing manifesto. However the philosophy of the Bauhaus and its commitment to form

following function differs from Loos’ elitist conceptions in its more democratic belief that design

should be accessible to all regardless of intellectual capacity or social status.

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Part Two: ‘Form follows function follows evolution’

Legacy: Twentieth Century

Although the “form follows function” idea was developed primarily in response to

architecture, it also had major implications for product design. Loos set the stage for this

application in his critique of the lavish decorative tastes of his contemporaries by citing examples

of good, simple craftsmanship of everyday goods as superior models to follow in the production

and consumption of such items. And the Bauhaus school continued this, primarily at its location

at Dessau, in its goal to incorporate the modern “machine” aesthetic into objects of everyday life,

intended to be accessible to all.

Following the dissipation of the school in Germany after the Nazi rise to power, many

Bauhaus figures migrated to America and subsequently rose to prominence within their new

context. Wolfe suggests that, upon arrival in America, they were treated very much like

celebrities, and their expertise was sought after for positions in academic institutions

countrywide. The list of their various appointments reads like an all-star lineup: “Gropius was

made head of the school of architecture at Harvard, and Breuer joined him there. Moholy-Nagy

opened the New Bauhaus, which evolved into the Chicago Institute of Design. Albers opened a

rural Bauhaus in the hills of North Carolina, at Black Mountain College. Mies was installed as

dean of architecture at the Armour Institute in Chicago. And not just dean; master builder also.”

(Wolfe 46) Each of these individuals took components of the Bauhaus manifesto, adapted them

to their new environments, and played a part in the diffusion of Bauhaus ideas into the

consciousness of American design. On the impact of the migration of Bauhaus figures to

America, Wolfe remarks that “Within three years” of their arrival, “the course of American

25

architecture had changed, utterly. It was not so much the buildings the Germans designed in the

United States…It was more the system of instruction they introduced. Still more, it was their

very presence.” (Wolfe 48) They influenced many prominent American designers and architects

who would continue to have a major impact on modern design in the States, and in this way

cemented the heritage of the Bauhaus school—and thus, the legacy of “form follows function”—

in American design.

The secondary application of modernist ideas to product design was brought even more

to the forefront following the Bauhaus migration to the U.S. Several of these figures, naturally,

became prominent in the field of architecture, but their various teaching positions at universities

across the country allowed their ideas to become accessible to others in the design community,

including in the field of industrial design. Some authors point out that, as modernist theories

were disseminated into the American consciousness, they became less affixed to the social and

political context in which they were founded, and began to be applied more generally as

principles of “good” modern design. These modernist principles, having been developed from

Sullivan’s ‘form follows function,’ and the Bauhaus method of design education and process

which also emerged from it, became an influential model for industrial design practice. For

instance, many writers cite Louis Sullivan’s ideas as a major influence on the way we think

about successful design today. In outlining the new considerations of design, Nathan Crilly

acknowledges that Sullivan’s doctrine ‘Form follows function’ has informed much of design

from its twentieth-century beginnings up to the present (225). There is also some legacy of

Sullivan’s ideas within Elzbieta Kazmierczak’s theory that “Designers strategically bring into

designs only those aspects of the object that are essential to the design objective.” (9) From this,

it seems that at least one aspect of “Form follows function”—particularly the one which dictates

26

that only those elements essential to the goals of design have justification for inclusion—has

been and will stay with us for the time being. Additionally, Kim and Boradkar acknowledge that

their approach “derives its essential ideological premise from Modernism.” (1) They also

channel the spirit of Sullivan when they note that “Every object, through its appearance, informs

us of what it is, and through its function advises us about what it can do.” (Kim and Boradkar, 2)

Legacy – Twenty-first Century

Today, consumer products, such as Apple’s popular line of computers and personal

electronics, show the modernist idea of ‘form follows function’ in full force with their minimal

form and sleek design. The company cemented their reputation as a contemporary devotee of

modernist design with the introduction of the iPhone. With its extreme minimal design; this

outstanding piece of consumer product design embodies this answer to the conjecture of future

form (Hoggan et al.). Based on very simple observation, the iPhone, a rectangular slab of plastic

and metal, consists of little more than a screen, with a negligible amount of surface interruption.

A person who had neither seen nor heard of the device would likely be underwhelmed by such a

plain piece of machinery. For those familiar with its functionality, however, this almost non-form

makes perfect sense; the physical iPhone is not so much a mechanically-functioning device as a

portal into the “real” iPhone: the expansive interface that “lives” beyond the screen. It can be

said that, in order for the user to have the most ease of navigation within the touchscreen

interface, the primary facilitator of the object’s functionality, the rest of the physical form should

essentially “disappear.”

And now, with the introduction of the iPad, this type of design solution could become the

rule rather than the exception. In a sense, Apple has incorporated more practical uses already

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being fulfilled by the personal laptop and incorporating the innovative touchscreen interface and

futuristic design of the iPhone, expanding the functionality while simultaneously minimizing the

physical form. While much of the iPad’s legacy can be linked to the tablet computers which were

developed in the 1990s, iPad sales just in the few months since its introduction this year, which

far surpass the success of its predecessors over a decade ago, indicate that Apple has perfected a

combination of modernist ideas and the application of currently developed technology which has

ushered in a new era in contemporary product design.

Figure 5 With their streamlined, minimalist form, the Apple iPhone and iPad exemplify the legacy of the modernist aesthetic in contemporary design. [image credit: apple.com.]

Although Apple has taken much inspiration from the ideas once pioneered by the

individuals discussed in Part One, the central feature of the iPhone and the iPad, the intangible

virtual interface, shows that the simplicity of the 20th-century application of Sullivan’s idea

misses something important about the making of such new products.

What Sullivan’s concept can no longer explain is this: how the current relationship

between form and function is mediated by those elements of functionality that are not physical,

but virtual. As the concerns of contemporary design has become increasingly complex, so has—

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necessarily—the relationship between form and function. As such, the modernist ideas of the

first quarter of the twentieth century, which were progressive for their time, no longer exist as

they once were; on many levels, they have had to adapt along with our entire approach to design.

The properties of form and function do not exist in a closed loop within contemporary design

process. As the fields of industrial and architectural design have expanded over the last 80 years

since the close of the Bauhaus, their status as established industries has brought new concerns

and responsibilities, as well as levels of accountability which impact on the design process at

every stage.

In a sense, these many considerations have grown much larger than form itself. As a

general observation, many of the functions of our daily life now occur in a virtual realm that is

entirely intangible in a way that Sullivan, Loos, and the Bauhaus forefathers of modernism could

not have predicted. The challenge for designers, then, is the following: how does one design an

intermediary, a functional interface, for such interactions? If the focus is to be on the function,

what then to do with form? In light of such a dilemma, several designers have responded to the

challenge with forms which 1) co-exist with such functions without impeding or hindering them,

and 2) reinterpret an aesthetic which references past visions of a “modern” future. Jane Fulton

Suri, of the Palo Alto, California design firm IDEO, says the emphasis of design has shifted from

“designing things right” to choosing “the right things to design.” (Green and Jordan, 13) Johan

Redström defines one current goal of design as “using the right ‘language’ to express the

functionality and intended use of the object” (Redström 126). While in Kazmierczak’s view,

“The role of a designer is to provide the form needed to make a pre-defined

content/information/data/meaning, and message perceptually accessible, or to translate its one

form into another.” (2) As these quotes indicate, much of the focus of design has shifted from the

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physical production of new products to the idealization of the interaction of the consumer, or

user, with such items.

Many writers, indeed, have argued that Sullivan’s dictum “form follows function” is no

longer adequate to guide contemporary design process; while it is generally agreed upon that

functional considerations should play a role in determining the form of an object, the extent of

that role has been the subject of debate. At the very least, it is clear that function is not the only

determining factor in form, and that formal considerations, of course, are a means rather than and

end in the context of the design process. Yehuda Kalay concludes that this intuitive

dissatisfaction experienced by designers is evidence that a crucial piece of the process is missing

from ‘Form follows function,’ that there is more to the success of fully-realized design than this

simple one-to-one relationship and “neither can be considered the basis for seeking the other.”

(Kalay, 396) As such, the outdated twentieth century slogan ‘form follows function’ cannot hold,

as many functions considered important in the current trend of design—mainly addressing

psychological realities of the end user—are themselves increasingly intangible.

Kazmierczak also makes a statement that seems to be a response to Sullivan’s view that

human design activity should take direction from that of nature: “Unlike many objects in life

which exist for themselves (trees or animals), artifacts are objects produced for communication.

As physical entities, they provide sensory stimuli for cognition.” (12) This statement signals a

need to move beyond the somewhat limited views of modernism, and also reinforces the point

she has been making about the new role of design. Crilly claims that the reality of the current

situation of design has rendered its own guiding principle too narrow to meet our contemporary

needs. In his paper, he redefines function as only “one of many possible influences on product

form rather than as something from which form inevitably flows.” (226)

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Having done research and gained a wide spectrum of knowledge in the area of what is

called “human-centered design,” Williams and Wellbourne-Wood quote Suri’s 2003 essay,

saying that “Designers now often challenge the wisdom of a focus on designing individual

artifacts—the thing as an isolated object—when people’s interactions can be better supported by

thinking more holistically about their activities and processes.” (Williams/Wellbourne-Wood, 5)

A paper by Nathan Crilly serves as an analysis of the factors that go into the process of

developing a product’s form; based on this survey, it becomes convincingly clear that

contemporary design is concerned with more than just aesthetic considerations, or even

mechanical functionality.

Contemporary Design Practice

The rise of the user interface and digital technology shows that it is no longer enough for

designers to ensure an appropriate physical form-to-function relationship. In the past, the

modernist ideal held that material form should be used as a means for achieving successful

functionality, in a mechanical sense, as an end result. But now, both physical and mechanical

functionality have become the means for delivering a new end product of design: the virtual user

experience which exists in a realm outside the material.

As new technology has heightened the development of the interface, this has created

functions that are no longer met exclusively by physical means. Instead, many functions lay

within, or arguably, beyond the containing frames of their so-called containing forms. In their

paper, Williams and Wellbourne-Wood take the view that, rather than designing physical

objects, the new focus of high-technology design has shifted to the goal of creating user

experiences. They believe that “design is now less about solving problems of human

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existence…developing products that improve standards of living and…overcoming limitations of

the physical world. The role of the designer is now largely to create human experiences through

design, to differentiate products from the competition and to create stronger emotional links with

customers.” (Williams/Wellbourne-Wood, 1)

In reflection on the evolution of design practice, Suri observes that “As established

products have become more similar in technology, functionality, price and quality, companies

have turned to design to differentiate their offerings through human-centered innovation and to

create stronger emotional connections with their customers.” (McDonagh et al., 13) Design

writer G J van der Veen gives the reason that “the new ubiquity of affordable technology has

meant that matching or surpassing the functional…standards of a competitors products will do

little to grab the attention of a more knowledgeable, mature and demanding consumer led

society.” (McDonagh et al., 397)

Regardless of the concern expressed by some critics and designers, the reality is that the

product of the contemporary design process is increasingly something intangible. As mentioned,

this is partially the result of technological innovation, which has changed both our needs and our

means of fulfilling them. In a paper exploring new attitudes toward usability, Overbeeke and

colleagues provide a novel yet insightful explanation of why technology has fundamentally

changed our conception of form: “What happens inside electronic products is intangible…In

contrast with mechanical components, electronic components do not impose specific forms or

interactions for a design. Products have become ‘intelligent’, and intelligence has no form.

Design research, quite naturally, turned to the intelligent part of humans.” (Green and Jordan, 10)

Following this framework, then, what is to be done about form as this trend logically continues?

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One answer is that form will become increasingly minimal as other elements of design—both

technology and end goals—become progressively intangible.

In many ways, technology has allowed the physical features of such consumer electronics

to become increasingly miniaturized—as expressed in Moore’s law—in order to better service

and accentuate those virtual aspects of these products.

On the role of technology, Suri adds that “Increasingly we find ourselves designing to

support complex and dynamic interactions integrating hardware and software, spaces and

services.” (McDonagh et al., 13) In the introduction to their research on user pleasure, Cayol and

Bonhoure reflect on the impact of technology on product design: “The miniaturisation of

technology has brought along with it some very contradictory trends. We see now dematerialised

design (where only the interface subsists and explains the functions) currently coexisting with

decorated design…” (McDonagh et al., 105) According to John Williams and Shaun

Wellbourne-Wood, “This movement toward designing for experience is partly due to advances

in the technologies to which many people have access and which influence their

behavior…Designers’ response to technologically integrated lifestyles is to design for that

experience.” (4) Crilly et al also note that technology can also serve as a constraint to design,

saying that “a number of physical constraints are imposed by the components which the product

must house or by those which it must connect to. This leads the designer into a packaging

exercise where the product form is partially determined by the characteristics of existing

systems…” (237)

In addition to the new and exiting, technology has also resulted, on a much less drastic

scale, in the improvement of production methods, materials, and processes. With such quality

construction as a universal expectation, what, then, can designers do to make their products

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“stand out” among others? The answer, provided by several different writers, lies in elements of

a product other than form. One way to do this is by making things progressively smaller. As one

author points out, one way for designers to draw attention to their product is by showcasing its

technological impressiveness; as a general rule (or, Moore’s law, specifically), as technology

improves, its implementations become smaller, faster and more powerful.

Williams and Wellbourne-Wood also cite economic reasons for why the focus of design

has changed. They explain that now, having drastically improved processes of manufacturing

over time, we’ve essentially mastered the production of physical forms, creating a situation

where, “Each year, thousands of new ‘existing products’ hit the global design markets.” (5)

Rather than improving forms of goods (an area in which it is hard to achieve any truly new

innovation), businesses now must seek success in “the ability to wrap products and services with

deliberately designed engaging experiences.” (5) Crilly et al note that technology can often have

an impact on the final form of an object. They suggest that “designers may strive to use a

product’s form to emphasise its underlying technology” (237), referring to the fact that, due to

many innovations, several products have the capability to provide better and more powerful

technological functions in increasingly smaller forms, and that “[if] this is likely to be a key

determinant of consumer appraisal,” it makes sense for the designer to highlight this as much as

possible. (237)

The fact that—having become so adept at the production of physical goods—there is not

much left to drastically improve upon draws a kind of parallel to the state of ornament in the era

of Sullivan and Loos; it ceased to be a viable area of exploration because there was, as Loos

observed, little new to be done with it. This, of course, merits the question of whether form will

soon go the way of ornament and disappear altogether.

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To some, it seems that physical form is becoming so minimal that it runs the risk of

ceasing to be a significant aspect of design altogether. Many writers, critics, professors, and

designers express this opinion.

Kazmierczak notes that not only are these changes occurring, but also that, now that this

evolution of design is becoming the norm, users—“especially in media-savvy cultures”—have

come to expect them by virtue of having experienced them now so frequently. She states that

they are now “methodically reading the designs with the expectation that these designs were

meant to be read, and that they were intended to have a significance or ‘content’ that is greater

than…the subject matter presented.” (13)Williams and Wellbourne-Wood also take into account

that, because these technologies have become so mainstream, people come to expect the things

they use to interact with them, prompting the need for designers to keep up. They state that “In

the past designers just designed ‘things’…It has become apparent however, that consumer

preferences have moved from a product to an experience…and consequently mass production

has given way to mass customization; utility and function have given way to a new set of

requirements, beyond the object.” (2)

Rise of User-Centered Design and the All-Encompassing Interface

Another way to highlight the advantages of a product among competitors is to

emphasize, as has already been suggested, the superior consideration of that product of the

assumed needs of its user. Also, it can be inferred that, if we’ve exhausted the potential for

physical improvement, it makes sense for product design to turn to psychological aspects of

functionality. Hence, the development of user interface design as a major field of research and

interest.

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In a discussion of the relationship between user and product, Green and Jordan offer one

interpretation of the current and future roles of form and function, and how usability emerges

from these: “Due to developments in production quality these aspects are no longer a

distinguishing characteristic. Nowadays nearly all products are of reasonable quality. Thus

functionality and usability become more important. Another trend is the growing application of

microchips in a wide range of products. This results in an almost unlimited amount of features.

The counterpart of this trend is the fact that products become more difficult to use. Therefore

usability can distinguish a product from its competitors.” (297) Again, production value has

increased so much that the physical is almost a non-issue. So, they argue, successful usability

design can be seen as a way to make one product stand out within a vast sea of equal

competitors.

In order to use our new awareness of the user for good, Johan Redström offers that “We

need a foundation based on an understanding of use as achievement rather than as reproduction;

of the object as experienced, rather than the experience as object.” (137) He seems to be saying

that we are stuck between the end of one ruling dogma and the beginnings of a new ideology.

We’ve come to accept the idea that the term ‘function’ can refer to something abstract, like an

experience, not just physical, and that user interaction is necessary for the realization of function;

and yet we still can’t let go of the notion that the end product of a design must be an object fully

realized, that we must hand the user something to interact with for which every possible detail

has been fully considered.

In some ways, Redström is justified in his insistence on keeping some control in the

hands of users; considering not only the novel ways in which people use items in their homes,

but also the limitless user-created applications of free open-source programs and software that

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have sprung up in recent years (the “‘hackability’…of technology,” as he puts it) (137), it can be

argued that user-centered design can indeed be a powerful tool, as long as it affords the user the

freedom to participate in the process, rather than attempting to dictate interactions that have yet

to occur.

Regardless of one’s opinion about the appropriate limits of user-centered design, its very

existence signals that the concept of functionality has expanded to include not only a product’s

capability to successfully act on the physical environment, but to act in tandem with those who

use it in that environment. Kazmierczak’s paper also introduces an important concept about the

changing view of ‘users’: they are no longer thought of as passive users of products. When

designs become interfaces replete with meanings to be interpreted, this new focus “empowers the

role of the receiver by acknowledging her/his essential participation in a communication

process.” (5)

Proposed Reinterpretations and Some Entirely New Approaches

In a paper analyzing the needs of future product design, van der Veen advocates a re-

examination of our understanding of functionality, saying that “much of a product’s functionality

has been reduced to purely materialistic concerns and therefore offers little in terms of

engagement and interaction.” (McDonagh et al., 397)

Also, as several writers have indicated, there are not one, but many relationships which

form and function can have with one another. One is that a given form can in fact have multiple

functions. This may occur due to the disparity that often occurs between the intended function, as

determined by the designer, and the novel functions resulting from the user’s real-life interaction

with the object. There is also the acknowledgment that for any given function, a variety of forms

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may, and do, exist which meet said function. This is immediately evident when one considers the

wide selection that exists within the general category of a product. For instance, for the problem

of creating adequate human seating accommodations, there exist a seemingly infinite range of

possible solutions in the form of the chair (Kalay, 399); a trip to any furniture store will prove

this to be true.

Crilly also makes an argument related to the advanced state of consumer goods design

and production. He argues that, because of the wide range of products that it has become possible

to design and produce, “any given function can be satisfied by a variety of different product

types, and each of these types typically adopts a different product form…whilst anticipated usage

influences the type of product that is designed…within a product type designers are at liberty to

shape products in many different ways.” (225) Kalay argues that the relationship between form

and function is much more nuanced, saying that “different forms can successfully achieve similar

functions, and…different functions can often be afforded by similar forms,” and advocates an

approach that “accounts for performance variances of the same form/function combinations

within different contexts.” (396) Additionally, the “over-simplicity” of the phrase ignores the

fact that, as other authors have pointed out, there are now a “multitude of different forms that

essentially were designed to support similar functions.” (Kalay 398-399)

Several writers have argued that context is an important consideration along with form

and function. In this case, they are referring to the context in which the product will be used. One

reason for advocating the inclusion of context into design considerations is the realization that

the relationship between form and function is not a directly causal one. In her analysis of the

recent trend in designing with focus on experience, Suri observes the importance of context as an

element of a product, a force that shapes a user’s interaction with said product in ways far

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beyond the influence of form and utilitarian function: “There seems to be mainstream

acknowledgment, at long last, that the things we design do not exist in a vacuum. Rather, it is

understood that they are in dynamic relationship with people, places and other things; that they

carry personal, social and cultural connotations” (161). According to Kalay, successful design

goes deeper than ‘Form follows function’ and its inverse; it necessarily incorporates context, and

is mediated by the evaluation of performance. It is here that Kalay introduces the concept of

“performance-based design,” which recognizes that “the relationship between form and function

is context-based, rather than causality-based,” meaning that it considers “the circumstances

under which the two come together.” (396)

In a paper addressing aspects of user interaction with products, Popovic highlights the

distinction famed writer Donald Norman draws between the physical and psychological

considerations of users’ needs: “Psychological variables are goals and intentions. Physical

variables refer to the task to be performed. Here, people need to use physical means to achieve

this…They need to translate psychological goals and intentions into physical actions…Very

often, physical variables are not the ones that the person is concerned about.” (Green and Jordan,

370) This suggests that, in turn, these psychological goals need to be the primary concern of

designers as well.

Influenced by concepts from psychology and cognitive science, Kazmierczak takes the

view that designed objects do not exist simply in and of themselves, they exist to communicate a

certain meaning (of use or function)—a meaning determined by the designer and actively

interpreted by the ‘user’. Thus, design is not concerned merely with making objects, but with

successfully conveying the desired interpretations of meanings which extend beyond the physical

objects themselves. According to the author, the view of content as “separate from form” is

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problematic because it “does not consider the essential influence of the designer on the content.

In other words, by not dealing with the relationship between form and content, it overlooks the

impact of formal or sensory dimension on semantics.” Kazmierczak says that, in order to stay

relevant, design must “advance to an alternative theoretical model which relates physical form to

cognition and comprehension.” (3) However, it is understood in the paper that the focus is not on

that form which fulfills these goals, but its capacity to make those pre-defined, intangible

contents and meanings successfully accessible to the user.

Case Studies

In order to speculate about the possible future of form, consider a recently-developed

technology that does away with it altogether. Skinput, as it has been christened, is a technology

which applies “bio-acoustics” to the goal of creating an interface which exists without the

requirement of a containing form (Harrison et al.).

Figure 6 Some recently developed technologies—like ‘Skinput’—seem to support the views of the aforementioned writers. Here, the projected interface is demonstrated by a test subject. Could we really be seeing a future without form? [image credit: Chris Harrison, Desney Tan, Dan Morris.]

The novelty of the technology lies in the fact that it makes use of a surface which is always

readily available: one’s own skin. While this manifestation of the potential decline of form may

40

be extreme, the fact that it was even conceived is still representative of the trend toward

effortless functionality with less and less hindrance. It is on one level representative of our

demand for everything instantly accessible and necessarily portable.

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Conclusion: The Future

In a paper visualizing the future of user interface and framework development, Angeli

and colleagues define and contrast two products of emerging information technology

development: “Cognitive artifacts are artificial tools made by human beings to support

representational functions. In contrast, relationship technologies are going far beyond efficiency,

building social artifacts—agents that create and maintain meaningful relationships between

users, groups of users and interfaces.” (Green and Jordan, 99) The important thing to take away

from this classification is that the latter concept represents the future direction of design: the

emphasis on goals beyond those of physical form and mechanical functionality (and, as noted,

efficiency).

At the end of his evaluation of current design issues, John Heskett offers some related

speculation about the future. On the issue of the future role of form, he poses the question of

“whether designers function as form-givers, determining form in a manner that allows no

variation…or as enablers, using the possibilities of information technology and powerful

miniaturized systems to provide the means for users to adapt forms and systems to their own

purposes.” He concludes that both will remain in practice, although to varying degrees (193-

194). He also notes that because of evolving technology “products and systems have the

potential to be highly flexible in response to specific users’ needs.” (194) Again, this reflects the

notion that future design will address needs that can not be met with physical form alone.

So, what does the future hold for Sullivan’s iconic phrase? Whether advocating for the

assimilation of context, emotion, intuition, performance, or any number of other specific

concepts into the design process, it is clear that all the authors referenced in this paper

acknowledge a central idea: that successful design in the future must address those qualities of a

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product which extend beyond the confines of physical, material form; it must learn to operate in

an intangible domain which exists because we as consumers of culture and technology—and,

more importantly, as thinking, feeling, reasoning humans—have constructed it and have

accepted its mediation of all of our daily activities. Thus, if they are to remain relevant in the

future, both form and function must learn to follow us.

43

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& Row, 1976. Green, William S. and Patrick W. Jordan. Pleasure with Products: Beyond Usability. London:

Taylor & Francis, 2002. Harrison, Chris et al. “Skinput: Appropriating the Body as an Input Surface.” Carnegie Mellon

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