The following article is reprinted with permission from SFDC News, Winter Spring 2003, a design journal published by the San Francisco Design Center.




When the Autumn 2002 Waste Not/Want Not catalogue arrived, I approached it like any other invitation to order by mail. I looked for things that struck my fancy, prompting me to fill out the order form. Here were some useful things like vases, tables, chairs, bikes, and toys. But they were a bit off. They didn't seem like the things my design-trained eyes would respond to, yet there was something about this little catalogue that grabbed me. And still, long after I put it down, I can't get it out of my head.

Gaza Bowen, the woman who produced Waste Not/Want Not, got me to rethink shopping. As I read her running commentary, over-printed on the pages of her catalogue, I understood what I had in my hands. This was a powerful indictment of the wasteful society we made, delivered by an artist who sees our foibles with more clarity than we ourselves do.

Hired by the San Francisco's SF Recycling & Disposal, Inc. to serve as their artist-in-residence between September 2000 and January 2001, Bowen was challenged, as were the other artists in the program, to "inspire people to recycle more and conserve natural resources". But she saw much more than just the need for recycling and conserving. She saw a society choking on its material wealth, an economic system that pays no heed "indeed is in denial of" its out-of-control consumption habits.

I will let Bowen tell it: "When I began my four-month residency at the San Francisco landfill, I was expecting to find a huge supply of evocative items and well-worn materials for use in building my sculptures and installations."

"Instead, I was overwhelmed by the volume and usefulness of what is considered trash in our culture. During the second month of my residency, the focus of my artwork changed from trash to waste. I became disinterested in exploring how manmade items acquire and communicate meaning and became extremely interested in the relationship between the 4,000 tons of trash which pass through the dump DAILY, and the fever pitch of consumption which has come to define the American way of life."

There are times, of course, when this way of life can be beneficial, even benevolent. I, myself, experienced one such moment when my family arrived in the U.S. after the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. As refugees who had lost everything we had, including our country, we were grateful to the wealthy New Jersey community that adopted us. They filled the house they rented for us with so much stuff, including dishes and cooking utensils, some very comfortable sofas, a toaster, a washing machine' everything a family of four needed. (To us, at the time, it felt as if we got much more than we needed!)

If we had a way to pass on the things we own, to make them useful to other families like they were useful to us (as my parents passed our first set of household goods on to other newly-arrived immigrants), then we'd have less cause to worry. But we don't. While benevolent organizations like Furnish a Future do a great job recycling perfectly good goods, the reality is more like Bowen observed: "I stand in amazement as a small pickup is emptied onto the concrete dumping pad. Everything is tossed with equal disregard: china plates, an electric blender, a set of golf clubs, hand saws, a child's tricycle, a solid maple table with four matching chairs." We can go on wringing our hands about our profligate ways, or we can figure out how to change them.

It is said many times and in many ways that each individual has the power to do something about the environmental disaster we're facing. As I see it, the individuals who have the most to contribute to changing our attitudes and habits are called designers. But in order for them to lead the way, designers must start examining everything they do.

A chair, a sofa, a toaster, a computer, everything designed and made, has a life beyond the handsome shop and showroom display, beyond the decorative schemes of offices, restaurants, or homes. As Bowen's experience indicates, we can no longer accept that our objects must end in the trash, those mounds of garbage are the legacy of a bygone age, the industrial age. We now are in the midst of a new, ecological age, one that challenges us to ask some difficult questions about everything we do. For designers, even before they pick up a pencil or click a mouse, there is a need to have an in-depth understanding of materials, manufacturing methods, and life cycles. For instance, can that office chair be disassembled and the post-consumer material re-used to make new products? Can it be made so attractive that its user won't want to part with it? So useful that there won't be a need to replace it quickly?

And if we must be slaves to fashion, let's design systems of retailing that bring products back for sprucing up and re-distribution. Is this such a far-fetched idea? I don't think so. We're all familiar with the ways of antique shops; why not shops for all used household goods? If our goods have a lasting aesthetic appeal, represent the very best of their times, function for many different types of users (in other words, if we make beautifully-designed products instead of just junk), we may not end up choking on our detritus. Am I exaggerating? Just ask Gaza Bowen about what she saw at the end of the waste stream. It's not a pretty picture.

Gaza Bowen's sculptures are an inquiry into the non-verbal communication between people and objects. For nearly twenty years she focused on shoes, then after receiving NEA and CAC fellowships in the mid 1990s, she began mixed media explorations of the relationship between the personal and the political. Bowen's work is included in many private and public collections, both internationally and locally at the Oakland Museum and the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

Susan S. Szenasy is the Editor in Chief of Metropolis, the magazine of architecture, design, and culture. She teaches design history and design ethics at the Parsons School of Design, lectures frequently on design topics, and is the co-founder of the civic group R.Dot (Rebuild Downtown Our Town), formed after the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center.