In these times of virtual information overload, our collective memory is short. A retrospective examination of tangible content that has withstood the test of time presents an engaging antidote to the challenge of the current zeitgeist.

Massimo Vignelli liked to say that a society gets the design it deserves. In an era when nearly anything we can dream is possible, it is what we choose to do that is important. Doing things because we can, does not mean that we should. The Vignellis were expert at using the kind of restraint that we can learn from today. This is also why Lella and Massimo Vignelli spent the last years of their lives focused on a mission to prepare their collective works in a manner that would be instructional to current and future generations. It is important to understand that it was not pure ego that drove this endeavor, it was also humility and a desire to advance the common good. Their sincere hope was to leave a legacy bare for all to see: the trials, the success, the failures, all neatly sorted like a trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow towards the nourishment of thoughtful, purposeful design. This is not easy to do and it is brave.

Lella and Massimo Vignelli’s roughly 60-year joint career gifted the world with countless objects, graphics, systems and more. In an interview in the film entitled “Design is One” by Kathy Brew and Roberto Guerra, Lella Vignelli is captured saying “if we can’t find it, we design it”. Lella and Massimo’s indelible, utilitarian marks not only changed the way we think about design, they made our lives better. Through careful scrutiny of the built environment, they found gaps, opportunities and ways to cultivate intellectual elegance in everything they touched. We sit, eat, drink and stack our dishes better because of their products. We navigate the world more fluidly due to their way-finding. We comprehend the complexity of the world more easily for their taxonomical organization of things.

In a relentless effort to create what they referred to as “Timeless Design” the Vignellis sought the essence of things. They stripped away unnecessary detail and superfluous content that they believed, through their Modernist lenses, interrupted the transfer of utility and clarity. They employed the Swiss grid to undergird their work, providing structure and organization. What made them unique was their inimitable proclivity for knowing when to bend their own guidelines. Between the rigor, one can always find the joie de vivre that is unmistakably their own.

Lella and Massimo Vignelli’s greatest gift to the world should not be counted solely by the many lasting innovations they produced for the organizations and individuals who commissioned their work. Their greatest insight and corresponding deed was their ability to take the long view on their collective impact. Even while in the midst of countless projects, the couple was able to see the corpus of their work from a birds-eye perspective. They understood that their content could be seen in totality. Their greatest gift was having the vision, courage and determination to organize and leverage the artifacts of their process. They chose an educational goal. They found fit with an institution worthy of preserving and activating their items. The Vignellis lived to see this job done and to work with those of us who shared their vision, to enact it. Their vision was a teaching toolkit.

That framework was to become The Vignelli Center for Design Studies at the Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT) in Rochester, NY USA. Today the Center is a hub of research, education, and creative inspiration that houses over 750,000 artifacts across all fields of design. Iconic works by Lella and Massimo Vignelli are featured at the heart of our collection, and their legacy forms a foundation of design excellence and innovation. The Vignelli Center for Design Studies fosters education and preservation, and advocates for design to improve the world. The archive collections housed in the Vignelli Center for Design Studies demonstrate and inspire solutions to key and ubiquitous societal needs. By providing opportunities for varied programming for diverse audiences, the Center extends the value of design for positive impact on the future.

The collections are cared for, decoded and disseminated by Vignelli Archivist Jennifer Whitlock. Jennifer facilitates research from within RIT and from around the world. She has become one of the foremost experts on the Vignellis’ process and products. Her invaluable work has allowed this exhibition to become a reality.

I initially met the Vignellis in 2009 during my recruitment to lead the industrial design program at RIT. I met Massimo first. He was on his hands and knees inspecting the grouting on the neat grid of tiles on the freshly completed Vignelli Center floors. He looked up at me and asked: “What is it that you do?” I replied: “I am an industrial designer”. After moving his glasses up and down his brow to adjust the focus, he looked me up and down. It seemed to me that he was scanning my manner of dress, pausing at my watch, shoes etc. After a moment of contemplation, he stated: “Yes, you are an industrial designer!”. We both began to laugh - sharing the unspoken understanding that for designers, every detail matters. And each detail conveys purpose. That was why he was on the floor looking at the grout between the tiles and it is why I carefully select the things on me and around me. I quickly connected with him on both a personal and a professional level. Our ensuing conversations incorporated design, history, theory, practice and teaching. In hindsight, this meeting was an auspicious beginning to our future shared goals. I met Lella around that time as well and was informed of her health challenges that were of imminent concern. One of my true regrets is that due to her rapidly advancing condition I never had the chance to get to know Lella as well as I did Massimo. However, having studied and evangelized her critical contributions over the years I feel that have come to know her well through her work. I have also been fortunate to learn about her from her family, friends and associates. Like so many women of her generation, Lella may not have received the notoriety she deserved. One of my goals has been to help adjust this imbalance. One recent example was a partnership with San Lorenzo for whom Lella designed iconic jewelry. We exhibited this work, along with interpretive student photographs contextualizing it in Saint Peters, the church they designed in New York City, during design week in 2025.

As I contemplated my entry into the RIT ecosystem, I considered the emerging opportunity to bridge the industrial design course offerings with the Vignelli Center Archives. This had not yet been accomplished, and I was eager to see if I could help the Vignellis put their vision to work. I created a pilot studio course called Metaproject, the goal of which was to examine the Vignellis’ work, gleaning lessons that could be applied to a collaboration with an industry partner. The output of the course was published in a book and presented at the International Contemporary Furniture Fair at New York City’s Design Week. After the first Metaproject’s dissemination, Massimo sent me an email:

“Dear Josh,

You made my day! I am so happy to see the dream of the Archive purpose, finally coming to fruition. You should really be commended for guiding the students to be inspired by the designs left in the Archive. This is the dream and most important issue of my life: to leave something that can inspire some other Designer to do even better, to expand the language. Great Professor, many thanks from the deep of my heart for giving a meaning to my life!

Hugs, Massimo”

Metaproject 01 was a success and the course has continued every year since. This year will be Metaproject 16.

R. Roger Remington was the inaugural Vignelli Professor and Director of the Vignelli Center at the time I joined the faculty of RIT. I count him as a cherished colleague and friend with whom I worked closely over the early days of the Vignelli Center and the decade of his tenure that we overlapped. Under Roger’s leadership, the Vignelli Center’s course was set. When he announced his retirement in 2020, I was offered his role which I accepted with the weight of the office.

Having known the Vignellis and participated in galvanizing their dream, I am confident that we are steering their legacy as they hoped we would. 16 years into the Vignelli Center for Design Studies integration into the landscape of RIT, thousands of students have been exposed to its value. For those who have not visited or are unaware of this monumental achievement, it may be hard to comprehend. The Center is not simply a repository of the Vignellis’ work, it is a living laboratory where object lessons are taught every day through strategic as well as casual conditions. Those who have spent time learning from the Vignelli archives, have gone out into the world. Many have become leaders in industry. The lessons they learned from studying the Vignellis have reached countless products, constructs and people. Aspects of design, as the Vignellis saw it, continue through this lineage and thanks to the Vignellis’ visionary gifts, this activity will continue in perpetuity.

There is a tangible Vignelli diaspora now that includes more than the individuals who worked for them or read their books or studied their works from afar. When all of us who knew the Vignellis are gone, the Vignelli Diaspora of the future, will emanate from the beacon of the Vignelli Center at the Rochester Institute of Technology.

The Vignelli Center for Design Studies is not a shrine to workshop the Vignellis in. It is a place of discourse where we learn from the lessons they left us and debate their value in an ongoing evolution of design thinking. The Vignellis taught us that Design is a systematic and scalable framework for solving problems large and small. Their philosophy 'Design is One' leaves us with a universal message that design is a lens through which we can envision a more inclusive and sustainable tomorrow. I think of this as a vision of design-education that is a long term strategy for peace and clarity in a moment when the world needs this kind of thinking more than ever.

Text written by Josh Owen. Published by and available from Electa Press.

“The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together.”‍

- Italo Calvino

People who share a common vision or outlook on the world are few and far between.

There is something about the analogue world that appeals deeply to people like Reza Aliabadi and me. The subtle, audible crackle of a record as a finger gently guides the needle into it’s groove; the whirring click of a rotary-phone dial in anticipation of a remote human voice connection; the positive click of a shift into first gear as an automobile engages, lunging forward as if by physical command. These represent analogue haptics of a certain age when the fidelity of precision tools were closely guided by the human hand - experiences missing from many of today’s analogous banal acts of life. Our shared interest in analog haptics is driven by more than nostalgia - it is a fundamental attitude that seeks to connect with a certain cultural production, often associated with the output of Modernism. ‍

“You can reach timelessness if you look for the essence of things and not the appearance.” ‍

- Massimo Vignelli

I often say that “all roads lead to the Vignelli Center”. And while I tend to accompany this remark with a wink, it is certainly true for my journey. The Vignelli Center for Design Studies played a significant role in attracting me to the Rochester Institute of Technology during the year of it’s construction and currently it keeps me engaged in my activities there. Reza Aliabadi is a fellow traveler whose path also drew him to the Center because of his passion for the particular approach to Modernism left in their archives by the Vignellis. So it could be said that Lella and Massimo Vignelli set the stage for this friendship and for the corresponding output it would engender.‍

“I like ruins because what remains is not the total design, but the clarity of thought, the naked structure, the spirit of the thing.” ‍

- Tadao Ando

Like a stone cutter, Reza Aliabadi has slowly and deliberately pressed the tools of his devotion into the pages of this book with both love and urgency. The addressees of his enclosed letters are his heroes and his friends because he has studied them. The impressions each has left on the world are enduring symbols of an architecture of both form and meaning dear to him. Some he has befriended, some he has never met. Alive or dead, known or unmet, the typed words and symbols pledge a visceral allegiance to the lessons he has absorbed as semiotic ontologies. Aliabadi’s letters are monastic ritual. They are manifestations of devotion. They are purposefully indelible marks, offerings to Aliabadi’s own gods.‍

“Some people cannot see a good thing when it is right here, right now. Others can sense a good thing coming when it is days, months, or miles away.” ‍

- Maya Angelou

My dear friend Reza Aliabadi stands with one foot firmly planted in the past and one extended into the future. This posture shows his practice continues to evolve, built upon the shoulders of his giants. This same gesture and corresponding understanding adds richness to his work and to the value of this book, giving it agency - the recipe for its genius - and for and his.

Text written by Josh Owen. Published by and available from RIT Press.

Owen’s vision of Design is advanced rooted in humanist culture spare and timeless.

“The questions his designs are asking are fundamentally moral, not interested in what we can do but what we should do in order to move humanity forward.”

Natural Sustainability

One day while living in the wooded landscape of western New York, I watched a lumber truck rumble by, freshly loaded with tree trunks from a local logging operation. I wondered how it was possible that all the neatly trimmed and de-branched logs on the flatbed of this vehicle seemed to be exactly the same length. Was it possible that the lumber industry cultivated trees that grew to exactly the same size? Obviously there would have to be some discrepancy in overall length, no matter how close in nature and nurture they were. I visited some lumber mills with this question on my mind. Sure enough, each mill had a pile of cut-off tree ends. Here was the answer to my query. When quizzed on the fate of these “extras,” the proprietors told me similar stories. Some employees cut them up for firewood or used them to make butcher-block tables. But mostly, they were piled against the woods from which they had emerged, slowly decomposing and returning to the soil to nourish the next generation of lumber. So when I asked if I could take what I could carry, the answer was always, “Sure, glad you can put them to some use.”  

I took what I could in the back of my second-hand Dodge Shadow, wedging in short pieces and challenging the capacity of an automobile surely not designed to carry such weight. The soaked stumps sat in my studio for a few weeks, becoming slightly less soaked before I began to operate on them.  

At that time, I had not previously worked in wood. The bulk of my training had been in plaster, clay, steel, and bronze. But sometimes, ignorance breeds the most unusual of approaches. I thought of the wood in the same way that I did these other materials—for better or  worse. I drew a few lines on the trunks, borrowed a chainsaw, and proceeded to cut. Working respectfully with the matter I was afforded, I schemed to remove the bare minimum of material necessary to make functional objects. From the logs’ interiors I found the masses I needed for extra items, like legs or handles, and any details I needed for joinery. I built chairs, tables, and storage units to mirror the basic conditions of human existence: sitting, elevating things above the ground, and storing items away. I attempted to account for the tree trunk’s movements around the concentric circular grain as the material dried out over time by fastening all parts together with pegs. I remember enjoying the way the material reacted to my plans. In some areas it rebelled by cracking. Rather than reject these imperfections, I celebrated them by highlighting the details. A good designer always pushes material to perform but respects the material’s natural capacity.  

When I sat down to write this book, I realized that the focus of my work  always has been to make enduring choices about material, technology, usability, and semantics. More than 20 years later, a cabinet and a stool I made from that found wood remain at work in my living room, blending, just slightly, into the woodwork that surrounds them.  

Text written by Josh Owen, excerpted from the book Lenses for Design by Josh Owen. Published by and available from RIT Press.

Beyond beauty, beyond even the purity of function, for Josh there is meaning. This is what guides his work and life, a continuous search for the essence of things.

I am often asked if I feel that I operate - emotionally, intellectually and technically - on two different planes: as a designer-maker and as an artist-theorist. Almost unanimously, it seems that people feel these categories are mutually exclusive. I have never seen clear boundaries between these roles. I believe it is my responsibility not only to think through abstract ideas but also to define utility, beauty, usability, materiality, engineering and marketing. In other words: to envision the entire life of a product prior to its creation. There is an image conjured up in Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five that comes to mind in this context. The protagonist of the story discusses aliens who see in four dimensions and, when they look at a person, do not see a two-legged creature but great millipedes with infant legs at one end and elderly legs at the other. When I develop a product idea, I see beyond its form and function, I see its entire life-span as well.

As an artist, I believe in creating objects that tell stories continually through their use. My stories contain a language of modern iconography with which many of us are silently conversant. The rich tapestry of signs and symbols from our modern, industrialized civilization are my points of departure. Surprise and mixed metaphor are the rhythm of my narratives. I hope that my objects conjure lucid, dream-like associations from their users.  

As a designer, I see the market and the way that the product would find its way into that market. I see the photo-shoot, the packaging, the advertising and how all this will influence the understanding of the object. I see the product’s critical contribution and relevance within a landscape of industrially made things in the world and, finally, I see its material recycled. I am not motivated by my ego; I’m motivated by my ideas in the form of products... In the end it is not me, but the objects that matter at a theoretical level as well as at a level relevant to the consumer.

My work has been described by others as “idea-based” as opposed to engineering, problem-solving or marketing-based. To me ideas are never small. They are big like the sky incorporating a multitude of connections and applications thereby having an impact on society. On the other hand, those who know me well also know that I am an incurably cautious optimist. The result of this juxtaposition is that this book comprises works that, although modest in scale, have large personalities.  

When I say “think big,” understand that I do not refer to my own personal ambition but rather to a sense of unrestricted thought - what designers often refer to as “blue sky.” To me, to be creative is to open new windows, thereby offering others an uncommon perspective of life’s rituals, to enable choices that make existence richer and thus enhance the human condition. The less traveled, serpentine road that we embark upon as designers is not for the faint of heart. Fortunately, thus far in my career, I have encountered a few rare individuals who have risked moving my ideas and creations into the marketplace.  

As one who has created many “small objects,” I believe that it makes little sense to contribute to our planet’s health concerns by over-populating it with a cornucopia of redundant blobs of matter. I reached this conclusion early in my career when the main focus of my creative output was sculpture (in which I received my formal training). I became disillusioned by the fine art world’s use of the gallery as a delivery system for ideas. I later chose to pursue product design because I felt I could make a more dynamic contribution to the world by redesigning common objects, bringing artistic intent to the everyday using the mode of mass-production as a way to communicate.  

As the title of this essay implies, I have discovered that change can begin with small, modest gestures. Therefore the items that I introduce must offer something meaningful. I do not believe that a signature “style” can save the world, nor do I believe that rehabilitating old archetypes with the simple substitution of a new “look” or material is sufficient to make a design significant. In other words, I do not believe that beauty alone is reason enough to add weight to shelves that already buckle under their burden. In my view the illusive quality commonly referred to as beauty derives directly from intelligent decision making - the stuff of utility in symbiosis with story telling - artful ambition in harmony with industry. This must be the technological poetry of today. If designers cannot solve functional problems first then we are nothing more than decorators. If one chooses to create utilitarian things, these objects must be sensitive to their cultural and physical surroundings - elemental if not innovative in their utility to their users. And, if the designer is fortunate in his/her research, perhaps the design can say something fresh, add a new perspective to the dialogue and, in turn, add richness to the lives of others.  

The objects that illustrate this book represent a small selection of my research developed over the last seven years. I include only those items that have been manufactured or have otherwise been circulated through publication or display in order to reinforce a point of view that reflects the movement of ideas from the privacy of the studio into the world of commerce; for that is the true litmus test for the industrial designer. Indeed, one never knows the value of an idea until the marketplace pronounces judgment upon it.  

In this book I have chosen to tell my stories with words and images arranged together for each project. I hope that those who have familiarity with the actual objects will enjoy comparing my insights with their experiences.

Text written by Josh Owen. Published by and available from Woodsphere Press

His work is bold but refreshingly simple in appearance and uniquely his own in a period of diverse styles and influences.

Design, as a practice, is hard to understand. Located somewhere between Art and Science, Design helps people make sense of the material world that surrounds us. How a designer actually accomplishes this ‘making sense’ is even harder to explain, let alone teach. A designer spends years, even decades, observing culture, looking for patterns, trying experiments, failing, learning, and trying again in an endless crawl toward a cultural sensibility that may finally enable him to create ‘things’ that actually contribute something to the world. It requires a tireless optimist who is equal parts maker, thinker, philosopher, artist, entrepreneur, social scientist, engineer, critic, and collaborator. In addition to this mix, it takes someone with empathy for others who honestly wants to improve things. A small minority of designers embody all of these qualities, and even fewer do so with the  zen-like calm of Josh Owen. Even at his young age, Josh is reaching  sage status—able to translate his wisdom into useful principles to enlighten young designers. It’s this idea of enlightenment that separates a mere instructor from a gifted teacher. An instructor might explain the techniques of design, but a real teacher will impart the ability to think and feel like a designer.