Sidestepping the media circus that had formed around Fabio Novembre and his entourage in the foyer of Milan’s Triennale, I decided to have a quick look at his show to see what all the fuss is about. The entrance is through a grand doorway in black surmounted by a giant illustration of the man in the style of a religious icon, tearing open his shirt to reveal his heart, in the form of a rose.
This sets the tone for a show which either needs to wear its irony a little more obviously, or is evidence of someone showing off a little more than is strictly necessary. Through the black doorway, and you have to make a choice to follow either the “spectator” arrow, or the “actor” arrow. This detail was lost on the ticket inspector, who seemed to be directing everyone left, to the “spectator” area. This turned out to be a space with tiered seating looking onto a huge, tile-encrusted diorama, or peep-show, where you can see the other visitors wandering about looking at Mr Novembre’s back catalogue. Yes – in a clever twist, the spectators ARE the actors. This was quite a pay-off for the €6 entry fee, but, hungry for more, I weaved my way through the ‘petals’ of Fabio’s ‘heart’ in search of his work. This I will attempt to summarise roughly in order thus: shiny and white, big and curvy, big and white, white and curvy, white, shiny, shiny and big, culminating in his RPH sofa for Capellini which is big, shiny, white and curvy, and which he seemed to be promoting as some sort of intimate aid. In the ‘wings’ of the ‘theatre,’ we were treated to video loops of what I guess were some of the inspirations behind the work. In case the symbolism wasn’t heavy enough, he even managed to include the ‘flying’ statue of Christ scene from La Dolce Vita.
The second part of the show is filled with monitors and the designer’s ‘Verner Panton meets Allen Jones’ “His and Hers” chairs launched last year. In an apparent stab at humility, Mr Novembre is seen in a series of video loops, hanging out with some of the great names of 20th Century Italian design. I spotted Vico Magistretti, Andrea Branzi and Alessandro Mendini, but sadly couldn’t hear what they were saying because the sound was turned down in favour of the overall show soundtrack. This section which is framed by the ‘Shoulders of giants’ quote, suggests some sort of homage, but seems more about aligning himself with the maestros of Italian design, and less about listening to what they had to say. One of the films appears to consist of Mr Novembre sitting in a chair at another similarly dimly lit show where the camera pans round all the same objects you have just looked at. My advice: skip the show and treat yourself and two friends to a gelato. You could even enjoy Fabio Novembre’s most entertaining work, his giant sit-down “+13” plant pots chairs for Casamania, while you are eating it. They can be seen in the grounds of the museum for free.
The second pay exhibition in the Triennale is the newly reopened permanent collection of Italian Design. This is a greatly improved display, reached by a spectacular bridge over the main staircase. The rather complicated themes quickly become superfluous as you go from one iconic design to another. There are maquettes and drawings as well as finished objects of well-known classics such as the Tizio lamp and the Fiat 600 body shell, but also some fun theatrical pieces such as the bizarre Giugiaro Italdesign 9-seater concept car, Machimoto, where the passengers are arranged on motorbike-like saddles. Apart from an ill-conceived exhibit exploring the sound of Italian Design (which seems to favour fax machines over Ferraris), this is well worth a visit. It begs the question: could the Design Museum in London fill its walls with British-only design and manufacture on this scale? Maybe, but it wouldn’t be half as much fun.
Ben Hughes Course Director of the Industrial Design MA at Central Saint Martins
