Harmless Christmas Pamphlet, 1927
“By making this chair five times as expensive, three times as heavy, half as comfortable, and as quarter as beautiful, an architect can very well win himself a name.”
— Poul Henningsen (1894-1967), Danish author, architect and critic, in Kritisk Revy, December 1927
You Need Not the Distinctive
Kaare Klint’s introduction to his class on draftsmanship for joiners at the Copenhagen Technical Society’s School (1920-1921 school year):
As you might know, the school is quite new; we have only had one winter’s evening classes as a basis. I must consequently tell you a bit about our results from last winter.
We began, as we will now, with surveys of old furniture, first of all to see whether pupils had a complete understanding of ordinary projection drawing and whether they were able to work precisely, and secondly, to arouse their interest in old furniture traditions and culture….
Last year we began by surveying two different groups of furniture. One comprises the forms that were created by important artists. I consider furniture in the other group (of furniture pieces) that, through the work of several people, and through evolution over a period of time, have achieved the simplest utilitarian form….
(This) other form, the one that was created over a long period of time and for ordinary use, is the one that we will be especially concerned with this year here at the school. You need not the distinctive, but the common and exceedingly utilitarian form.
From days past, we have furniture to which experience has given a form that has not been significantly changed over the ages and can be used to full advantage this very day.
The beauty of this furniture depends on its perfect, simple structure and utility. Although the pieces come from different periods, they have this in common….
We will find the best of old constructions and with recent experience seek to create furniture with the best possible craftsmanship.
— excerpt from the “Kaare Klint” monograph by Gorm Harkaer, a production of the Klintiana project.
Danish Modern Modules
One of my latest obsessions has been reading about the 20th-century design studies by Kaare Klint and Børge Morgensen that sought to create furniture systems that could be adapted to store anything.
Today I’m working through Morgensen’s Øresund series, developed between 1955 and 1967. One of the foundations of this system is a module of 19.6 cm (almost 7-3/4”). These modules plus a plinth module of 9.5 cm (3-3/4”) can be combined into a wide variety of pleasing forms.
It’s not a big leap to distill the systems into whole-number ratios, a la “By Hand & Eye.”
Here are some of the formulas from Øresund.
Table height: 68.3 cm (26-7/8”). Three modules plus a plinth module.
Countertop height: 97.9 cm (34.6”) Four modules plus a plinth module.
Desk height: 107.5 cm (42.32”) Five modules plus a plinth module.
Chest height: 127.1 cm (50.03”) Six modules plus a plinth module.
Max height for pulling out a drawer: 146.7 cm (57-3/4”) Seven modules plus a plinth module.
Eye level: 166.3 cm (65.47”) Eight modules plus a plinth module.
Height of a man: 185.9 cm (73.19”) Nine modules plus a plinth module.
Height of a door: 205.5 cm (80.91”) Ten modules plus a plinth module.
Minimum ceiling height: 225.1 cm (88.62”) Eleven modules plus a plinth module.
The system also used two depths for carcases: 36 cm (14.17”) and 54 cm (21.26”).
The examples shown in “Furniture Designed by Børge Morgensen (Arkitekten Forlag, 1968) are quite pleasing to the eye.
— Christopher Schwarz
A Reminiscence on Handrailing
I hold that a man may become a teacher at any age, but that he should not take upon himself to write reminiscences until he is in the sere and yellow leaf, otherwise “in the thin grey line.” It is only then that his retrospective eye sees further than the mass of his neighbours, and he can, if the spirit moves him, picture scenes and phases of life which are far beyond the common.
It is said of man that he may look forward in life up to the fiftieth year of his age, and beyond that he must look backward. In doing the latter, a long vista is presented to a man like myself, who counts his winters to be three score years and ten, and on reflection one is led to say with Shakespeare that “a man in his time plays many parts.”
Personally, I can endorse this truism, for one of my parts has been that of a professional handrailer and staircase builder, when the newel staircases, now so general, were scarcely known. I started in this line in 1847, when fourteen years of age, my father fitting me out with a bench in his shop, and equipping me with the necessary tools.
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