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<channel>
	<title>Orlando Angel</title>
	<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com</link>
	<description>Orlando Angel</description>
	<pubDate>Thu, 21 Mar 2019 08:48:23 +0000</pubDate>
	<generator>https://working.orlandoangel.com</generator>
	<language>en</language>
	
		
	<item>
		<title>Home Page</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/Home-Page</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 05:30:07 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/Home-Page</guid>

		<description>I design 
interactions, interfaces, and identities because I find human-scale problems to be the most interesting. Finding solutions with larger-than-human effects is that much better.</description>
		
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	<item>
		<title>I. Gae Aulenti</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/I-Gae-Aulenti</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 05:30:04 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/I-Gae-Aulenti</guid>

		<description>I. Gae Aulenti

&#60;img width="1760" height="1218" width_o="1760" height_o="1218" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/18b7182cb316d22882ae454fd971c1fe223987f4f65162135b99b3021f175dcb/DesignFile-GaeAulenti-1.jpg" data-mid="7248375" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/18b7182cb316d22882ae454fd971c1fe223987f4f65162135b99b3021f175dcb/DesignFile-GaeAulenti-1.jpg" /&#62;Aulenti’s 1993 Tour table for Fontana Arte

Gae Aulenti —&#38;nbsp;Born in Palazzolo dello Stella, Italy, 1927. Died in Milan, 2012.

“[A]rt exists that one may recover the sensation of life; it exists to make one feel things, to make the stone stony. The purpose of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make objects ‘unfamiliar,’ to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself and must be prolonged. Art is a way of experiencing the artfulness of an object: the object is not important.” —Viktor Shklovsky from Art as Technique, 1917
Viktor Shklovsky

The subject of the above quote by Viktor Shklovsky is poetic language, and the subject of our brief essay is the architect and designer Gae Aulenti. Admittedly, “poetry” and “poet” have almost become useless terms. In our age, to call someone a poet seems either anachronistic (like, “Oh, they’re still doing poetry?”) or vague, like one is weakly praising some indistinct whiff of beauty. “Poet” and “poetry” clearly need some scrubbing and recalibration. Obviously, the word’s main connotation is a practitioner of the literary sort, but it would be valuable to expand it, and stabilize it, to mean something like: those who make objects of communication, and whose main material for these communicative creations is poetic language — whether imagistic, textual, sculptural, or what have you. In light of this attempted definition, Gae Aulenti was a great poet.

Aulenti studied architecture at the Milan Polytechnic. After graduating she worked at Casabella magazine from 1955–65 under Ernesto Nathan Rogers. Although she was a graphic designer at the magazine, she completely absorbed Rogers’s architectural tutelage — saying later that Rogers was the most significant influence of her life. The influence is clear, and his Torre Velasca is a great example; the building (designed with his Milanese firm, BBPR) is highly idiosyncratic and elegant, and almost all of Aulenti’s work has this particular, uncommon charm. Throughout her career she was a very successful industrial designer, originating many pieces for Knoll, Zanotta, Kartell, Artemide and other companies. Most of Aulenti’s architectural commissions were for museums (the Musée d’Orsay, the Pompidou Center, the San Francisco Asian Art Museum), and Aulenti was one of only a few major female architects in Italy in that era. When asked if being a woman affected her practice, she simply replied “yes.”



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Left: the Pipistrello lamp for Martinelli Luce (1965). Right: Rimorchiatore, a combined candleholder, vase, light and ashtray (1967.




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The Jumbo coffee table for Knoll International (circa 1965)


In the 1960s and early ’70s, Aulenti was part of a loose international network of radical designers and architects, including the likes of Superstudio, Ettore Sottsass, Gruppo Strum, Hans Hollein, Archizoom, Ant Farm and many others. This web of progressives was perhaps best represented by MoMA’s seminal 1972 show Italy: The New Domestic Landscape. The tone of the exhibit clearly and distinctly promoted the theoretical, neo-science-fictive atmosphere of the time. Although Aulenti contributed much to this speculative era, the core of her work had zero utopian conceits; she made consciously provisional objects and environments, and she was aware of the untenable nature of any future predictions. “If I now look at the lamps I made, I never see them as machines for producing light,” she said. “They are forms suggested by the work that I was doing in that moment for a particular space, so they went there first and then they went into production; they went to an entirely new destiny.” 

Victor Shklovsky wrote that “The technique of art is to make objects unfamiliar...” The overlap between this notion and Aulenti’s work is quite incredible; what better could be said when looking at Aulenti’s Pipistrello lamp or her Jumbo coffee table? Neither are not a coffee table or not a lamp but strange versions of these objects. As with much of her work, there seems to be a “roughening” of design language — not an abstracting, not a proposition, but an attempt to “impede” or “slow” the actual perception of the designed object. (These last quoted verbs are taken from a further section of Shklovsky’s essay; he writes, “The language of, poetry is, then, a difficult, roughened, impeded language.”)



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Above and below: La Grotta Rosa on the Amalfi Coast (1969–72)
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The Mini Box Stilnovo table lamp (1981), by Aulenti and Pier Giacomo Castiglioni



In 1979, Aulenti gave an interview to Franco Raggi that provides further insights into the depths of her understanding. In particular, she expressed concern about how some architects, through a kind of “solipsistic” theorization, misinterpret the nature of a built structure (or design): “Sometimes people speak about reality as if a field effectively existed where it is expressed. Instead realities are infinite...” Here and elsewhere in the interview, Aulenti seemed to be saying that when one introduces a piece of design or a piece of architecture, not only is the “reality” of the designer or architect not of utmost importance, but the creation will be received by endless sensibilities.

Poetic language is a type of language among others: the language of the tyrant (whether domestic or political), the language of masculine and feminine, the language of architecture, the language of capitalism, and on and on (and of courselanguage, like “realities,” is infinite). But it is the language of the poet that has the most importance, perhaps because it is language itself, in all its glorious inscrutability, and not something pointing elsewhere.



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An Aulenti interior in Paris and the Locus Solus chair for Poltronova, both from 1965



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A 1969 Aulenti interior



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The Ruspa desk lamp for Martinelli Luce (1968)



&#60;img width="1760" height="774" width_o="1760" height_o="774" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/030abfdfabe386f7da31f462b6b37f82a21906ad7d3a3c5e8da3c1ca5d3ab5fb/DesignFile-GaeAulenti-6.jpg" data-mid="7248380" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/030abfdfabe386f7da31f462b6b37f82a21906ad7d3a3c5e8da3c1ca5d3ab5fb/DesignFile-GaeAulenti-6.jpg" /&#62;
The Locus Solus chaise for Zanotta (1964)



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Aulenti interiors for the Paris Olivetti showroom, 1966-67


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Drawings for the 1972 exhibition Italy: The New Domestic Landscape at the Museum of Modern Art in New York



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Left: the Giova lamp for Fontana Arte (1964). Right: the Patroclo lamp for Artemide (1975)



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More Aulenti lamps for Artemide. Left: Pileo, Mezzopileo and Pileino (1972). Right: Oracolo and Mezzoracolo (1968)



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A Poltronova advertisement from 1970 featuring Aulenti's Locus Solus chairs



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The Crystal table for Fontana Arte (1982)



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Aulenti’s Tavolo Con Ruote table for Fontana Arte (1980)


— AQQ</description>
		
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		<title>II. Donald Judd</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/II-Donald-Judd</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 05:30:05 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/II-Donald-Judd</guid>

		<description>II. Donald Judd

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Judd’s high-walled bed

Donald Judd — Born in Excelsior Springs, Missouri, 1928. Died in New York City, 1994.Donald Judd had three main yields: sculpture, writing and furniture. Of course, it is well known that he delved a bit into architecture and was a formidable collector of all manner of things (books, real estate, tartan plaids, etc.), but it is his own texts, designs and dimensional forms that received the full brunt of his passion. It is very hard to simultaneously describe these three aspects, for though each sprang from the same ideological fount, each combination (particular medium with fundamental idea) created quite different results. If we were talking about the sculpture only or the writing&#38;nbsp;only, I don’t think it would be imperative to say much about the remaining two, but the understanding of Judd’s furniture is a more contingent affair; it occupies an almost uncomfortable position between the dogmatic, untenable propositions of his writing and the absolutely transcendent, mind-bending power of his sculpture. 

Between the three, the sculptures are most able to bear the load of Judd’s heavy inquiries. They work incredibly well at displaying his fascination with the nature of perception. They’re almost autonomous tools&#38;nbsp;— sculptures independent of the artist, where Judd has set the stage for a deep viewing but left the circuit open, so that it is the viewer and the cosmos that complete it. His writing is a wholly different situation — a primarily closed circuit. The essays are fanatically assertive, all maxim and no poetry; one either gets on board or is quickly ejected. In a very real sense, the furniture is the sculpture with the art removed; it is made of the same materials and employs the same techniques of fabrication, but instead of being finely tuned to challenge the confidence of our senses, a&#38;nbsp;Judd chair is engaged in the physical activity of seated positions. Even though the furniture is actively involved in these physical and practical activities, it has an assertive allegiance to the “right angle” that pushes it a touch closer to the bold tenets of the essays, as both seem to fetishize extremely defined silhouettes — something that the sculptures play with but simultaneously destroy.


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Inside Judd’s loft on Spring Street in New York City

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An anodized-aluminum desk and chair (left) and bookshelf



So, the furniture is not at all just a weak, watered-down cousin of the sculpture but a unique contribution to the field of furniture design, created by a moiré effect between Judd’s writing and sculpture. To go further, the value or perhaps&#38;nbsp;tone of this furniture, in my opinion, should be termed as something like “speculative design” (possibly an uncomfortable tag for many of the furniture’s admirers). People often confuse what is formally simple with ease-of-use. Judd was adamant about making the distinction that formal simplicity does not equal a lack of complexity, and that simplicity should not be confused with purity. Having majored in philosophy at Columbia University, Judd was not remotely presumptuous and certainly had a manifold outlook. I think the issue of comfort vs. discomfort, which has a blurry existence with that of utility and “good design,” is the central condition in which to consider the furniture. I can speak from experience (an important stance when talking about Judd), having owned two of his chairs, one aluminum and one laminate plywood, that his designs are not primarily comfortable; they work well, but not for lounge-y indeterminate positions. Comfort in furniture is only primary for the dull; this is not to say that furniture should be uncomfortable, just that furniture being the locale of almost all our business (eating, sleeping, fucking, internet exploring, check-writing, etc., etc.), the prime directive should be that it inspire (the journey is the destination or whatever). I would say then that Judd’s furniture seems to be aimed at inspiring a resolute peace of mind before settling in to a particular activity, like, “I will be present for this dinner conversation, or this act of reading, or my forthcoming sleep...”

His pine pieces are perhaps the most rich in aspect of all his furniture, as they seem to meld two separate lineages: the European Arts and Crafts tradition and what might be termed American Pastoral design. Besides being obviously evident in the furniture itself, both influences are easily corroborated by the pieces Judd himself collected. In the many photographs of the interiors of his Marfa, Texas, compound and his NYC home, there are, scattered about: Biedermeier furnishings, pieces by Gerrit Rietveld, Shaker-style desks, works of Rudolf Schindler, Bauhausian tapestries and all manner of handmade objects from both sides of the Atlantic. His high-walled pine bed is an excellent representation of the Judd ideal, as its aim seems to be to block out the noise of the world (literally and figuratively) so that the rich, important activities can be performed with more acuity and calmness of mind.
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Judd’s architecture office (left) and studio in Marfa, Texas&#60;img width="1760" height="1238" width_o="1760" height_o="1238" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b7960d7c9eb570540a48579a1eb2a79d847405eb41700527c52286690c2af2b8/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-2.jpg" data-mid="7248394" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b7960d7c9eb570540a48579a1eb2a79d847405eb41700527c52286690c2af2b8/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-2.jpg" /&#62;
A Judd desk and chairs
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Judd’s standing writing desk
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A Judd chair and an interior of the Chinati Foundation in Marfa
&#60;img width="1760" height="1340" width_o="1760" height_o="1340" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d721f57843a9b7c49d1958c87a55994e5bbff8eccd6b4835b33763ff82962dd3/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-9.jpg" data-mid="7248400" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d721f57843a9b7c49d1958c87a55994e5bbff8eccd6b4835b33763ff82962dd3/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-9.jpg" /&#62;
A Marfa courtyard with Judd furniture
&#60;img width="1760" height="1346" width_o="1760" height_o="1346" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8f89bcb0ac6e043fc581fe2bdcac6eb3b921807b8f349803c3812d1c0c206b4e/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-10.jpg" data-mid="7248401" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8f89bcb0ac6e043fc581fe2bdcac6eb3b921807b8f349803c3812d1c0c206b4e/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-10.jpg" /&#62;
A Judd desk&#60;img width="1760" height="1008" width_o="1760" height_o="1008" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/034206ceeb1ffba23ce2a191683b398c7a390b46703ab136706adeb11421bf75/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-11.jpg" data-mid="7248402" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/034206ceeb1ffba23ce2a191683b398c7a390b46703ab136706adeb11421bf75/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-11.jpg" /&#62;
Judd’s copper armchair (left) and a stool
&#60;img width="1760" height="1128" width_o="1760" height_o="1128" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e8533d6f9b4fcd951e05097304c9ff8e9957ee518e9575eced5f40f2943a92a2/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-12.jpg" data-mid="7248403" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e8533d6f9b4fcd951e05097304c9ff8e9957ee518e9575eced5f40f2943a92a2/DesignFiles-DonaldJudd-12.jpg" /&#62;
Marfa


— AQQ</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>III. Dan Friedman</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 05:30:06 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman</guid>

		<description>III. Dan Friedman

&#60;img width="1760" height="1196" width_o="1760" height_o="1196" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" data-mid="7248405" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" /&#62;
Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



Dan Friedman — Born in Cleveland, Ohio, 1945. Died in New York City, 1995.

The best a designer can do is consistently offer forthright attempts at communication, by way of an open and multifaceted mind. The offerings of most designers are meant to be metabolized instantly, as minor tweaks to existing models; this is commerce without content. It is a rare designer who resists what is a very seductive and embedded process. Rarer still is a design practice that weds a loving knowledge of her/his craft with reflections of the self, the client, the globe and the cosmos. The latter description was&#38;nbsp;Dan Friedman. 

Friedman was central to the 1980s New York scene. The decade and place was ridiculously fertile, breeding genius in every corner of culture — home to the likes of Sherrie Levine, Alan Buchsbaum, Jim Jarmusch, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Haim Steinbach, John Zorn, David Byrne, Paul Auster, Keith Haring and on and on... This multidisciplinary, multicultural, gender-role-fighting, polysexual vanguard is often placed under the banner of postmodernsim, though many involved bristled at this ism (Friedman referred to himself as a radical modernist). Friedman came to this place of hardcore and restless bounty by way of a fairly rational progression, almost pedigreed. From the Midwest he went to college at Carnegie Mellon, from which he traveled to Basel to study orthodox modernist graphic design under Armin Hoffman (and others) at the Schule für Gestaltung. In the ’70s he was the epitome of success in his field, with teaching posts at Yale and positions at Anspach Grossman Portugal and Pentagram. But in 1982, deeply disenchanted, he restarted his private practice. “What I realized in the 1970s, when I was doing major corporate identity projects, is that design had become a preoccupation with what things look like rather than with what they mean.”



&#60;img width="1760" height="1144" width_o="1760" height_o="1144" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" data-mid="7248406" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Friedman’s 1988 Fountain table for the Formica Corporation. Right: Friedman in front of his 1985 assemblage The Wall. Top image: Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



&#60;img width="1760" height="1044" width_o="1760" height_o="1044" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" data-mid="7248407" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Corona chair for Neotu (1991). Right: a Friedman collage for the Cultural Geometry show at Deitch Projects in 1988



There is little in Friedman’s oeuvre that isn’t simultaneously incisive, formally beautiful, groundbreaking and meditative; this was true for the interior his own apartment, his various logo graphics (his work for Paul Ludick and Mobiflex are personal favorites), his obsessive array of folding screens (see Primal Screen, 1984), his publication and book designs (particularly the three books he designed in conjunction with Jeffrey Deitch in the 1990s) and his furniture for the now defunct Parisian gallery Neotu (see the Corona chair from 1991). 

Although Friedman didn’t necessarily endorse the label postmodern, it’s not incorrect to associate his work with that movement’s preoccupations. Friedman himself said, “I have always tried to move away from being associated with style” — and that notion itself is a large part of the postodernist proposition. “Style” is a sort of standard, something repeated enough that a label can be applied. As we all know, labels, standards and styles are a tricky business: Who is making the standard? Who is responsible for exclusion and inclusion? Roland Barthes probably said it best: “Who is speaking thus?” Friedman’s work, even very early on (particularly his graphic work for the Neuberger Museum and Yale University), had this sensibility — it was inclined towards mutation, not necessarily loose or improvisational, but resistant and searching. Maybe it could be said that his work, being so close to modernist tenets (Platonic forms, universality, reduction, purity, modular structures, etc.), eschewed the modernist reverence of logos for the postmodern inclusion of genealogies.

One thing is clear when thinking about Dan Friedman, and this should be taken as a model of sorts: He had scope — he had a really wide scope that he effectively welded to an ethical fortitude and an educated talent. His work always strived, taught and was, ultimately, deeply communicative. His work in the 1990s was a continuation of what he had always done, but building in momentum and speed. Unfortunately, his output was truncated by his death from AIDS at the age of 50 (fuck Reagan).


&#60;img width="1760" height="1130" width_o="1760" height_o="1130" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" data-mid="7248408" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Wave Hill fruit basket for Neotu (1991). Right: the Mida cabinet for Arredaesse (1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1088" width_o="1760" height_o="1088" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" data-mid="7248409" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Primal Screen (1984). Right: a Friedman vase



&#60;img width="1760" height="708" width_o="1760" height_o="708" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" data-mid="7248410" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" /&#62;
Friedman’s book covers for Cultural Geometry (1988),&#38;nbsp;Artificial Nature&#38;nbsp;(1990) and&#38;nbsp;Post Human&#38;nbsp;(1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="944" width_o="1760" height_o="944" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" data-mid="7248411" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" /&#62;
Logos for Mobiflex (1982) and Paul Ludick (1990)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1256" width_o="1760" height_o="1256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" data-mid="7248412" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" /&#62;
A 1981 announcement card for the Japanese fashion label Pinky &#38;amp; Dianne



&#60;img width="1760" height="1310" width_o="1760" height_o="1310" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" data-mid="7248413" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" /&#62;
The Primordial table for Alchimia (1986)


— AQQ</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>III. Dan Friedman copy</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman-copy</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 07:23:05 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman-copy</guid>

		<description>III. Dan Friedman

&#60;img width="1760" height="1196" width_o="1760" height_o="1196" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" data-mid="7250408" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" /&#62;
Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



Dan Friedman — Born in Cleveland, Ohio, 1945. Died in New York City, 1995.

The best a designer can do is consistently offer forthright attempts at communication, by way of an open and multifaceted mind. The offerings of most designers are meant to be metabolized instantly, as minor tweaks to existing models; this is commerce without content. It is a rare designer who resists what is a very seductive and embedded process. Rarer still is a design practice that weds a loving knowledge of her/his craft with reflections of the self, the client, the globe and the cosmos. The latter description was&#38;nbsp;Dan Friedman. 

Friedman was central to the 1980s New York scene. The decade and place was ridiculously fertile, breeding genius in every corner of culture — home to the likes of Sherrie Levine, Alan Buchsbaum, Jim Jarmusch, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Haim Steinbach, John Zorn, David Byrne, Paul Auster, Keith Haring and on and on... This multidisciplinary, multicultural, gender-role-fighting, polysexual vanguard is often placed under the banner of postmodernsim, though many involved bristled at this ism (Friedman referred to himself as a radical modernist). Friedman came to this place of hardcore and restless bounty by way of a fairly rational progression, almost pedigreed. From the Midwest he went to college at Carnegie Mellon, from which he traveled to Basel to study orthodox modernist graphic design under Armin Hoffman (and others) at the Schule für Gestaltung. In the ’70s he was the epitome of success in his field, with teaching posts at Yale and positions at Anspach Grossman Portugal and Pentagram. But in 1982, deeply disenchanted, he restarted his private practice. “What I realized in the 1970s, when I was doing major corporate identity projects, is that design had become a preoccupation with what things look like rather than with what they mean.”



&#60;img width="1760" height="1144" width_o="1760" height_o="1144" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" data-mid="7250409" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Friedman’s 1988 Fountain table for the Formica Corporation. Right: Friedman in front of his 1985 assemblage The Wall. Top image: Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



&#60;img width="1760" height="1044" width_o="1760" height_o="1044" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" data-mid="7250410" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Corona chair for Neotu (1991). Right: a Friedman collage for the Cultural Geometry show at Deitch Projects in 1988



There is little in Friedman’s oeuvre that isn’t simultaneously incisive, formally beautiful, groundbreaking and meditative; this was true for the interior his own apartment, his various logo graphics (his work for Paul Ludick and Mobiflex are personal favorites), his obsessive array of folding screens (see Primal Screen, 1984), his publication and book designs (particularly the three books he designed in conjunction with Jeffrey Deitch in the 1990s) and his furniture for the now defunct Parisian gallery Neotu (see the Corona chair from 1991). 

Although Friedman didn’t necessarily endorse the label postmodern, it’s not incorrect to associate his work with that movement’s preoccupations. Friedman himself said, “I have always tried to move away from being associated with style” — and that notion itself is a large part of the postodernist proposition. “Style” is a sort of standard, something repeated enough that a label can be applied. As we all know, labels, standards and styles are a tricky business: Who is making the standard? Who is responsible for exclusion and inclusion? Roland Barthes probably said it best: “Who is speaking thus?” Friedman’s work, even very early on (particularly his graphic work for the Neuberger Museum and Yale University), had this sensibility — it was inclined towards mutation, not necessarily loose or improvisational, but resistant and searching. Maybe it could be said that his work, being so close to modernist tenets (Platonic forms, universality, reduction, purity, modular structures, etc.), eschewed the modernist reverence of logos for the postmodern inclusion of genealogies.

One thing is clear when thinking about Dan Friedman, and this should be taken as a model of sorts: He had scope — he had a really wide scope that he effectively welded to an ethical fortitude and an educated talent. His work always strived, taught and was, ultimately, deeply communicative. His work in the 1990s was a continuation of what he had always done, but building in momentum and speed. Unfortunately, his output was truncated by his death from AIDS at the age of 50 (fuck Reagan).


&#60;img width="1760" height="1130" width_o="1760" height_o="1130" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" data-mid="7250411" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Wave Hill fruit basket for Neotu (1991). Right: the Mida cabinet for Arredaesse (1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1088" width_o="1760" height_o="1088" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" data-mid="7250412" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Primal Screen (1984). Right: a Friedman vase



&#60;img width="1760" height="708" width_o="1760" height_o="708" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" data-mid="7250413" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" /&#62;
Friedman’s book covers for Cultural Geometry (1988),&#38;nbsp;Artificial Nature&#38;nbsp;(1990) and&#38;nbsp;Post Human&#38;nbsp;(1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="944" width_o="1760" height_o="944" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" data-mid="7250414" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" /&#62;
Logos for Mobiflex (1982) and Paul Ludick (1990)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1256" width_o="1760" height_o="1256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" data-mid="7250415" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" /&#62;
A 1981 announcement card for the Japanese fashion label Pinky &#38;amp; Dianne



&#60;img width="1760" height="1310" width_o="1760" height_o="1310" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" data-mid="7250416" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" /&#62;
The Primordial table for Alchimia (1986)


— AQQ</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>III. Dan Friedman copy copy</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman-copy-copy</link>

		<pubDate>Tue, 28 Nov 2017 05:44:58 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://working.orlandoangel.com/III-Dan-Friedman-copy-copy</guid>

		<description>III. Dan Friedman

&#60;img width="1760" height="1196" width_o="1760" height_o="1196" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" data-mid="7308841" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/414f28cb040f0b5ef11ca3329555713bf5bc0c34d204f52f9e0550cba27340bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-1.jpg" /&#62;
Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



Dan Friedman — Born in Cleveland, Ohio, 1945. Died in New York City, 1995.

The best a designer can do is consistently offer forthright attempts at communication, by way of an open and multifaceted mind. The offerings of most designers are meant to be metabolized instantly, as minor tweaks to existing models; this is commerce without content. It is a rare designer who resists what is a very seductive and embedded process. Rarer still is a design practice that weds a loving knowledge of her/his craft with reflections of the self, the client, the globe and the cosmos. The latter description was&#38;nbsp;Dan Friedman. 

Friedman was central to the 1980s New York scene. The decade and place was ridiculously fertile, breeding genius in every corner of culture — home to the likes of Sherrie Levine, Alan Buchsbaum, Jim Jarmusch, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Haim Steinbach, John Zorn, David Byrne, Paul Auster, Keith Haring and on and on... This multidisciplinary, multicultural, gender-role-fighting, polysexual vanguard is often placed under the banner of postmodernsim, though many involved bristled at this ism (Friedman referred to himself as a radical modernist). Friedman came to this place of hardcore and restless bounty by way of a fairly rational progression, almost pedigreed. From the Midwest he went to college at Carnegie Mellon, from which he traveled to Basel to study orthodox modernist graphic design under Armin Hoffman (and others) at the Schule für Gestaltung. In the ’70s he was the epitome of success in his field, with teaching posts at Yale and positions at Anspach Grossman Portugal and Pentagram. But in 1982, deeply disenchanted, he restarted his private practice. “What I realized in the 1970s, when I was doing major corporate identity projects, is that design had become a preoccupation with what things look like rather than with what they mean.”



&#60;img width="1760" height="1144" width_o="1760" height_o="1144" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" data-mid="7308842" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5fabde74e8af454020203f237ef4fee8eb38322728a6e8f159c09638673c34bd/DesignFile-DanFriedman-2.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Friedman’s 1988 Fountain table for the Formica Corporation. Right: Friedman in front of his 1985 assemblage The Wall. Top image: Astral shelving and wall elements (left) and Friedman’s apartment circa 1982



&#60;img width="1760" height="1044" width_o="1760" height_o="1044" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" data-mid="7308843" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8f8a89b265c3db4718a2daffbf2a08bda4eb942c0f7a22e214f3615d6900c982/DesignFile-DanFriedman-3.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Corona chair for Neotu (1991). Right: a Friedman collage for the Cultural Geometry show at Deitch Projects in 1988



There is little in Friedman’s oeuvre that isn’t simultaneously incisive, formally beautiful, groundbreaking and meditative; this was true for the interior his own apartment, his various logo graphics (his work for Paul Ludick and Mobiflex are personal favorites), his obsessive array of folding screens (see Primal Screen, 1984), his publication and book designs (particularly the three books he designed in conjunction with Jeffrey Deitch in the 1990s) and his furniture for the now defunct Parisian gallery Neotu (see the Corona chair from 1991). 

Although Friedman didn’t necessarily endorse the label postmodern, it’s not incorrect to associate his work with that movement’s preoccupations. Friedman himself said, “I have always tried to move away from being associated with style” — and that notion itself is a large part of the postodernist proposition. “Style” is a sort of standard, something repeated enough that a label can be applied. As we all know, labels, standards and styles are a tricky business: Who is making the standard? Who is responsible for exclusion and inclusion? Roland Barthes probably said it best: “Who is speaking thus?” Friedman’s work, even very early on (particularly his graphic work for the Neuberger Museum and Yale University), had this sensibility — it was inclined towards mutation, not necessarily loose or improvisational, but resistant and searching. Maybe it could be said that his work, being so close to modernist tenets (Platonic forms, universality, reduction, purity, modular structures, etc.), eschewed the modernist reverence of logos for the postmodern inclusion of genealogies.

One thing is clear when thinking about Dan Friedman, and this should be taken as a model of sorts: He had scope — he had a really wide scope that he effectively welded to an ethical fortitude and an educated talent. His work always strived, taught and was, ultimately, deeply communicative. His work in the 1990s was a continuation of what he had always done, but building in momentum and speed. Unfortunately, his output was truncated by his death from AIDS at the age of 50 (fuck Reagan).


&#60;img width="1760" height="1130" width_o="1760" height_o="1130" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" data-mid="7308844" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f7729dcf1087bef29e62e16e92214fab0c3437a8619320d9646b4c383e16bada/DesignFile-DanFriedman-4.jpg" /&#62;
Left: the Wave Hill fruit basket for Neotu (1991). Right: the Mida cabinet for Arredaesse (1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1088" width_o="1760" height_o="1088" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" data-mid="7308845" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ebd638bce15446e144b4e345d505268cf32f3ed0a8a9a4b6566d3bb4154543f6/DesignFile-DanFriedman-5.jpg" /&#62;
Left: Primal Screen (1984). Right: a Friedman vase



&#60;img width="1760" height="708" width_o="1760" height_o="708" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" data-mid="7308846" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5e1692810f5aa977e5df9a50c516f4e07d27f8ac09d7c3084abb0d8edad610de/DesignFile-DanFriedman-6.jpg" /&#62;
Friedman’s book covers for Cultural Geometry (1988),&#38;nbsp;Artificial Nature&#38;nbsp;(1990) and&#38;nbsp;Post Human&#38;nbsp;(1992)



&#60;img width="1760" height="944" width_o="1760" height_o="944" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" data-mid="7308847" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5c89c24792f19b37fa8749a9dbf6425a2d6bd674a080531edb803cd04bbd0f60/DesignFile-DanFriedman-7.jpg" /&#62;
Logos for Mobiflex (1982) and Paul Ludick (1990)



&#60;img width="1760" height="1256" width_o="1760" height_o="1256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" data-mid="7308848" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c294f59ed8f36a8399625c6ad482893682fe8cb5b17319de753c6a87eb850496/DesignFile-DanFriedman-9.jpg" /&#62;
A 1981 announcement card for the Japanese fashion label Pinky &#38;amp; Dianne



&#60;img width="1760" height="1310" width_o="1760" height_o="1310" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" data-mid="7308849" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/48744ca413df7c9a73190aa426028857c1f014e6a05203ecd2f5b89053c03747/DesignFile-DanFriedman-10.jpg" /&#62;
The Primordial table for Alchimia (1986)


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		<title>Test build page</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/Test-build-page</link>

		<pubDate>Thu, 21 Mar 2019 08:48:23 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

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fa;lsdjf alksdjf;alksjdfalk jdfa</description>
		
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		<title>About</title>
				
		<link>https://working.orlandoangel.com/About</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2017 05:30:08 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Orlando Angel</dc:creator>

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		<description>
	Art and science were my favorite school subjects so naturally I ended up in design. 
It started with traditional graphic design; my dream was to design books. I did that happily for some years along with branding and packaging work. I still enjoy design that deals primarily with ideas and message, but as I gained experience with interaction design I became fascinated by the invisible, messy, dynamics that are the ore of functionality. Now I enjoy being able to identify and define a set of problems from the start; to help shape the elemental contours of what a product or design will ultimately be. To this I still bring my traditional design background and eye for artful finish.
Experience
ebay
mission
freelance
soltree
castle
School
Ai
OCSA


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