There is a wide gap between having just enough and having just too much. Whether this refers to the amount of occupied space per person or the amount of clutter that occupies a person. Having less in less space has - once again - become a worthy living model. Worthy, because the equation is compelling: The less space per person, the less expansion into unbuilt areas. The more people in one area, the more diverse communities are. The less clutter per person, the more focus on necessities and (hopefully) less waste. But as we learned (from modernism), less is never always more. Because less can also be alienating and morbid. Less needs orchestration, fine-tuning, and flexibility. Especially, if one lives in less space, it becomes essential to achieve just the right kind of lively lightness. A banal but essential insight.
In 1926, Marcel Breuer knew this, when he designed the apartment for Erwin Piscator in Berlin. Two influential personas that seemed to have overlapped with their ideas about space and how to live in it. Lightness, spaciousness, and adaptability are principles that are as valid today, as they were then. Back then, most inventions and convictions were born out of a condition of scarcity. Scarcity in space, materials, and time. Today, in most economically advanced countries, scarcity is barely imaginable. As gradual planetary destruction looms on the horizon of an anthropocentric maelstrom.
Meanwhile, we observe a kind of modernism-fatigue. Some seem to have never really appreciated the core values of modern design. Instead, there appears to be a new reactionary desire for fake-natural environments with (plastic) alibi plants, floral patterns, and dubious materials. The greener the better, no matter how much irrigation it needs. Wood, everywhere, no matter where it’s imported from. Questionable ornaments and unnecessary decorations to disguise an underlying identity crisis. Form follows Coziness. The ubiquitous demand for soft atmospheric spaces represents an escape into alternate environments. Parallel worlds that deny our complicit relationship towards industrial production and societal waste. Spaces that provide an illusionary harmony with and in nature. A momentary spatio-mental retreat analogous to a padded cell of an insane asylum. In these spaces, everybody is and everything will be alright. At least that is the self-imposed belief. A notion resulting out of a (sub-)conscious unwillingness to alter one’s lifestyle and minimize the amount of occupied living spaces.
In this project, the owner’s choice to opt for a smaller apartment initiated the idea that scarcity could form the conceptual starting point from which design choices were projected. Like in modern design, the approach relates to basic principles on how to respond to scarcity. Existing elements such as mosaic and wooden floors were kept intact as much as possible, while pipes were exposed to avoid cuts in these areas. Built-in elements such as shelves, cupboards and counters were hung on walls to literally emphasize their lightness. Allowing to place seating elements below or to move them around in different scenarios. Standard materials are perceived as what they are. Sheet metal, plywood, cement plaster, and tiles are the basic ingredients that complement each other. Their alignment, color, shape, and composition all relate to their pragmatic use in each specific location. Some corners are curved to avoid sharp edges. Some surfaces are steel when exposed to daily use. Most walls and elements are painted white to emphasize spaciousness. Bathroom spaces are colored to provide contrasting interludes in areas with less light. Cupboards are wooden to complement metal materials with a lighter and different haptic comfort.
The design decisions allow the resident to have an honest relationship with furniture and space. Every element is not more than it needs to be, but also not just functional. Specifically designed and orchestrated objects promote a lifestyle of living with less in less space.
