Nathan Yong invites you to examine the relationships surrounding material design, space and identity. 

The artist-designer sees design as an emotional language capable of transcending utilitarian function. Staying true to his interest in challenging and bridging the formal expressions of art and object design over the decades, he imbues his latest series of sculptural works with an expressiveness that conveys feelings, provokes thought and fosters connection. 

Peiyi (PY): In what ways have you pushed the rules and limits of industrial design with this new body of work?

Nathan Yong (NY): It was still quite a literal production of stainless steel piping sheets production method. One rule I’ve broken here, is probably the transactional relationship between a furniture piece and a user/buyer, and how much it functions for that particular person. The function is no longer predicated on it being a utilitarian product and that’s where it crosses over to art in that sense. It’s more for the mind and the soul, rather than the physical need for a furniture piece. 

Their forms stem 100% from what I want to express, using design, engineering, proportions and limitations. All the decisions were based on my own aesthetic vision, emotions and values. Because if the premise is based on design, there will be questions like, “It needs to be more detailed here… the sofa needs to be more comfortable, and maybe it won’t be like a T-junction?”

However, my overall aim for these works is that they are supposed to be very raw, unfriendly, and in-your-face. They are meant to invite you to ask questions, so that’s very different from a design approach. Their presence may remind you of certain interior objects, but they engage in a way that totally transcends any utilitarian function. In that sense they assert themselves more like sculptures.

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PY: In terms of yielding the stainless steel material to your design, were there any challenges that you encountered during the production process? 
 

NY: There was the challenge of balancing between the lightness of the steel and the right thickness. It had to be not too thick, yet strong enough that it wouldn’t bend, warp, or change shape over time. On top of my design experience and the expertise of the craftsman, it was an engineering process of trial and error. We endured 2-3 failed samples to arrive at the right strength and thickness for the material. 


The hardest piece to manage was the screen, the others pretty much turn out according to what I envisioned — which based on my experience and design I already knew they could be done. The screen encountered some structural issue. Initially there weren’t these balls in the design, but there was too much flexing and it wasn’t stable enough when placed on the floor. So I added the balls to connect one bar to another and this gives it a rigid strength.


I added balls instead of bars for the connector because I think it gives a sense of lightness and playfulness. There’s also a sense of flow compared to just a rigid bar. It also reminds me of the kind of metal gates and grilles that we sometimes see when passing by landed houses or HDB apartments in Singapore. So I guess it’s a bit funny, and there’s a playful suggestion and familiarity when people see this kind of tubular fence or gates decorated with balls. It reminds us of the materials and forms that characterise certain architectural and visceral features of Singapore.

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PY: As an artist blurring the lines between form and functionality, what are some of the necessary risks you’ve taken, in terms of the design and execution of your objects?
 

Throughout my career, I’ve not shied away from creating furniture that focusses more on form rather than function, like the pebble table, the break stool, and etc. Looking at my works, quite a few of them are actually sculptural. I mean, the coffee table has a certain function but it’s nothing much than a platform to put your magazines or cups. In that way furniture has a lot more leeway for the designer to be creative in the manner of being more artistic in your expression, than say if you’re in the industrial design of a computer or a printer brand, because that involves a different level of engineering and cost. On the other hand, furniture is something really close to our home and personal space. I think that’s why furniture design allows us to be more poetic and more artistic because it’s not about being 100% functional; there’s a certain percentage that predicates on beauty and aesthetic. 


Design wise, it’s not really that much of a departure from my previous approach. However, to produce and launch this collection in the setting of an art gallery, I’ve put myself 100% into the feeling of the form, the proportion, the colour and so on. Whereas in the past, there might be some heavy consideration towards costing, pricing, the size of the piece, and whether it suited the apartment or whatsoever. Right now, it’s totally ignoring these user aspects of design. When the decisions are based on expression – my eyes, my feelings, my emotions – then I think it’s not design. Because design is a lot more logical than that.

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PY: Are there any figures or movements from the realm of art and design that have particularly influenced your aesthetic philosophy?

I personally like brutalism – which is more of an architecture design movement – because I think it’s more contemporary with our modern and post-modern lifestyle, the way things are produced and manufactured (rather than handcrafted). I see that as being a more honest reflection of the state of society. If you look at the Brutalist design, it’s very brutal and honest; there’s nothing frivolous or there’s no decoration. 

I grew up surrounded by things that are machine-made: things have the language of machine, so it’s devoid of human emotions and all that. I think this was initially when Modernism arrived, due to industrialisation and urbanisation. Later there were also movements like the Bauhaus. At first, people still had opposition to this kind of language because it was new and not familiar. But 100 years or so had passed since the advent of Modernism and it has become a norm that we look at things in a very modern way. 
 

Today, we may not be very comfortable looking at things that are handmade or handcrafted, or we refer to them as ‘low-value’ or ‘low-tech’ because society has moved to a higher level of understanding of beauty and technology. Hence in that sense, Brutalism is almost like a true, genuine reflection of our current state of the world - just being honest about materials and how to produce things efficiently, and without embellishments. And I think architecture wise, it’s about how to construct a house or a building that prioritises function and efficiency. I like the idea because it’s about finding meaning in the right place and not the wrong place. 
 

Let’s say for example, with art nouveau, they’d carve a wooden chair that looks like a flower. For me, it’s like… if you like flowers, you just grow a plant, right? You don’t have to produce a chair that looks like a flower. I find that the Brutalist approach to design is much more honest because it’s about how things work. 
 

I also like the ‘60s crazy colours and forms… the fluidity of shapes and elements. I like minimalism as well, with things being really clean and simple. So my house is almost a reflection of all these things. I have things that are very ornate or very cutesy; I also have things that are very well-designed, very minimal and all that. 
 

At the end of the day, I just like things well-made. I do respect different ideologies because I do believe they have their reasons to exist. It’s not about right or wrong, but more about there are things that different people need or believe in, which is fine because it’s what the world is, so I appreciate it. But I like a real good argument – like you do it well. Whatever is your ideology, as long as you come in with a strong belief, and it’s very honest and very well-justified. That applies to any design and movement, whether you’re Memphis Style or Art Deco, or whatsoever. I appreciate that goodness in design, be it old fashion or new fashion, antique or modern, as long as it’s well-made. 

 

Design philosophy wise, I really appreciate people like Naoto Fukasawa, the Japanese designer who’s also the creative director with Muji, and the English designer Jasper Morrison, because he creates things that embody honesty, simplicity and discretion. His belief is that things shouldn’t be ‘loud’ and need your attention. You just use a thing naturally and humanistically, and you’ll slowly build a relationship with the object because you keep using it. I also like the German designer, Konstantin Grcic. He’s very rational in his design, sometimes to the point that it’s devoid of emotions. This can be a good thing - the object is meant for certain functions, so one shouldn’t overly expect a piece of utilitarian object to be more than what it should be.

PY: Thank you, Nathan!

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.