Showing posts with label Council of Industrial Design. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Council of Industrial Design. Show all posts

Thursday, 13 February 2014

Sutch’s dream: a background to the New Zealand Industrial Design Council


He aha te mea nui o te Ao? He tāngata. He tāngata. He tāngata.

Judges at Festival of Wellington carpet design competition, with some of the entries. From left: 
Secretary for Industries and Commerce, Dr W B Sutch; general manager of Felt & Textiles Ltd, 
Mr K A Wills. Photograph taken 25 November 1960 by an Evening Post staff photographer.
Reference number: EP/1960/4273/6
Alexander Turnbull Library Dominion Post Collection
Ever since they were first established, the purpose, function and responsibilities of state-sponsored bodies promoting the use of design in industry have been misconstrued, either deliberately, or, more usually, through ignorance. Their origins are unclear; those responsible for their formation are now invariably forgotten, or displaced in the murky histories of quango politics; their financing was invariably nebulous; and the issues they were formed to confront have long been forgotten or superseded. In crude dialectical terms, state-sponsored design promotion bodies can be seen either as yet another worker-funded tool deployed by capitalist interests in their drive to recruit more consumers for their productions or as an attempt by the state to interfere in the free operations of the market.

Between 1967 and 1988, New Zealand, like a number of countries in the [British] Commonwealth of Nations, had a state-sponsored design promotion body, the New Zealand Industrial Design Council (NZIDC). It was established through an Act of Parliament by a National party government in 1966, during the heady days of New Zealand’s short-lived embrace of the welfare state; and it was abolished in 1988, a casual victim of the fourth Labour government’s espousal of neo-liberal, market-driven values. The NZIDC’s survival was always tenuous: conceived of by the left, it was brought into play by the right; initially funded by the state, it was intended that it be funded by its primary beneficiaries, the curiously indifferent private sector; aimed at educating manufacturers and consumers in order to achieve greater economic efficiencies, it was perceived by designers as being primarily an institutional support mechanism for their practice; and intended to benefit society at large, it ended up providing state-funded largesse for private sector management. This post seeks to identify some of the background influences that led to the formation of this body.

States around the world have long patronised artists, including those that we now describe as designers. Attitudes towards the idea of design began to change in the mid-eighteenth century with the publication of Denis Diderot and Jean Le Rond D’Alembert’s Encyclopédie with its innovative and confronting exposition of the mechanical arts. But it was only following the establishment of the Conservatoire des Arts et Métiers (1794) in Paris during the French revolution that administrators and politicians began to realise that design had a separate function to traditional arts practice, one that abjured the idea of direct patronage in favour of education and promotion. More important was the realisation that design, or as it was more commonly understood, industrial art, could play a significant part in the expansion of trade and industry.


By the early 1830s it was becoming evident in Britain that, notwithstanding its position as the first country to embrace industrialisation, its manufacturing was losing out to French, Prussian and Bavarian industry in part due to the abysmal standards of the design in its manufactured commodities. Between July 1835 and July 1836, a British House of Commons Select Committee on Arts and Manufacture, chaired by a Liverpool MP William Ewart, inquired into ‘the best means of extending a knowledge of the arts and the principles of design among the people (especially the manufacturing population) of the country’.



One outcome of the committee’s deliberations was the establishment of twenty Schools of Design in manufacturing centres throughout the country including schools, at Somerset House in London (1837), Birmingham (1843) and Glasgow (1845).  Another, more visual, if transitory, legacy of the committee’s deliberations was the 1851 Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of all Nations. Both moves impacted the distant colony of New Zealand: tiny as it was, New Zealand was a captive market for British manufactured commodities, many of which were designed by students of the school; and, from 1851 New Zealand participated in a number of international exhibitions, sometimes barely visibly, and held three, although their international character was not particularly evident. Moreover, as Ann Calhoun has noted, New Zealand art schools established in the 1870s and 80s employed graduates of the National Art Teacher Training Scheme – the South Kensington System – and, more often than not, adhered to its training syllabus with a considerable degree of verisimilitude (A Calhoun, The arts and crafts movement in New Zealand 1879-1940 (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2000)).

By the end of the nineteenth century, the British state’s interest in design and industry had waned, notwithstanding increasing evidence that it was losing the manufacturing wars, not only against its old competitors on mainland Europe but also to the rising industries of the United States. In a belated response, British civil servants launched a series of design-focussed  initiatives, including a dedicated exhibition design organisation, the Exhibitions Branch, located within the British Board of Trade. Following the First World War, the same department of state launched a semi-public design promotion body, the British Institute of Industrial Arts, which sought to interest both manufacturers and, to a lesser degree, the public in the idea of design; it failed.  


In July 1924, Ramsay MacDonald prime minister in the short-lived first British Labour administration, acting on the advice of the president of the Board of Trade, Sidney Webb, established a committee ‘to inquire into the conditions and prospects of British industry and commerce, with special reference to the export trade.’ (Great Britain. Committee on Industry and Trade, Factors in industrial and commercial efficiency (London: HMSO, 1927), ii). Industrial art was one of the factors addressed by the committee but it was not until the return of a Labour administration that any action was taken to address the committee’s findings. In July 1931, William Graham, president of the Board of Trade in the equally short-lived second Labour administration, appointed a committee under the chairmanship of a Liberal peer, Lord Gorell, that was required to investigate and advice on the formation of a ‘standing exhibition of articles of everyday use and good design of current manufacture’. (Great Britain. Gorell Committee, Art & industry (London: HMSO, 1932), p. 5).


The Gorell report prompted the formation in 1934 of the Council for Art and Industry, an advisory body located within the Board of Trade, chaired by Frank Pick and charged with dealing ‘with questions affecting the relations between Art and Industry’. (Great Britain. Council for Art and Industry, Design and the designer in industry (London: HMSO, 1937), p. 5). Success also eluded the Council: it upset Conservative politicians, alienated civil servants at both the Boards of Trade and Education and ended up as the whipping boy for British failure at the Paris Exposition International held in 1937; finally, it was suspended at the start of the Second World War by an unconvinced Conservative government.

It was the concept of planning that rescued state-sponsored design promotion from administrative oblivion. The adoption of a command economy during war suddenly made a whole range of hitherto concealed data sets available to the civil servants – many of them recruited temporarily from the private sector – who had been charged with maximising national economic efficiencies. What they discovered about the way British industry had operated in the recent past shocked them into recommending drastic measures, particularly in respect of the role manufacturing industry would play in post-war trade. In April 1942, an official committee, titled the Sub-Committee on Industrial Design and Art in Industry, was formed at a meeting of the Post-War Export Trade Committee of the Department of Overseas Trade. It would go through various permutations, be transferred between a number of departments and would require the endorsement of a not entirely convinced coalition war cabinet.
The result was the formation in December 1944 of the Council of Industrial Design (CoID), the template for all the design councils that would later be set up throughout the Commonwealth. It was charged with promoting ‘by all practical means the improvement of design in the products of British industry’. The council was comprised almost entirely of industrialists and its work was undertaken by an administration separate but answerable to the Board of Trade. For its first eight years of operation it attracted substantial government funding.
Design as a subject has rarely garnered the attention of New Zealand legislators or its civil service. Aside from a couple of copyright acts (1886 and 1953) which parroted clause for clause earlier British legislation, debate about design occurred only once in the New Zealand parliament when in 1925 Gordon Coates sponsored Āpirana Ngata’s Māori Arts and Crafts Bill through the House of Representatives. So, the appearance of an Industrial Design Bill on the legislative calendar for 1966, sponsored by the farmer-friendly, conservative, National party government must have come as a shock not only to MPs but also to their constituents.

However, the bill wasn’t the result of a right wing administration, no matter its centrist gloss, suddenly converting to the idea of big government and a planned economy, but rather a muddled compromise measure resulting from an initiative sponsored by the previous Labour government and the brainchild of Dr William Ball Sutch, sometime permanent secretary of the Department of Industries and Commerce, who had been recently sacked from that position by the bill’s sponsor, John Marshallthe minister of Industries, Commerce and Overseas Trade.


John Marshall (right) speaking with an employee of the NZIDC at the New Zealand Industries Fair, Christchurch, in August 1970.
Designscape 36 (1970).
Sutch was highly-qualified: he had a PhD in economics and political science from Columbia University in New York; he was sophisticated, well-travelled, intellectual; pretty much of an anomaly in the New Zealand civil service and a rarity in New Zealand society. He was a passionate defender of the poor and oppressed, a feminist avant la lettre, a committed nationalist and an ardent controversialist. Sutch was also a remarkable administrator and, under his watch, the Department of Industries and Commerce became the most professional department of state in the New Zealand public service. John Marshall was the antithesis of Sutch; a lawyer by training with an interest in evangelical Presbyterianism, rugby and the traditional arts. He had a reputation as a ‘skilled parliamentarian’ and later, for some nine months, was prime minister. He is best remembered as heading the New Zealand team attempting to negotiate favourable terms of trade following Britain’s entry into the European Economic Community.

It’s difficult to know when Sutch became aware of the CoID or what prompted his thinking that forming a design council in New Zealand was a good idea although we have some inkling when, in a 1960 letter to the British trade commissioner in Wellington, he recalled that he was already:

familiar with the work of the [CoID] and when I was in London during the trade discussions [in April 1958] I saw something of their work and had discussions with the man who has now been appointed in charge [Paul Reilly]. I brought back with me a fair body of material and in addition the Department [of Industries and Commerce] has been subscribing for some time to their journal ‘Design’. My thought is that it is about time New Zealand had a similar organisation, but of course it cannot hope to be as powerful or achieve the results of the UK one (Archives New Zealand, IC W1926 57/1/6 vol 1 box 1797).

What we do know is that Sutch’s interest in design formed part of a wider approach to reinventing the New Zealand industrial landscape that he began to develop shortly after returning to the country in 1951 after six years in Sydney, New York and London. Sutch’s vision was for a country that was economically as well as politically independent; one that produced more than just the by-products of grass; and one that ensured that all its people were able to live well and without want.

Sutch’s thinking on the industrial policy had been galvanised by a realisation that the country could no longer depend on the export of unprocessed agricultural commodities to Britain for the maintenance of its prosperity. These aims were clearly articulated in a speech ‘The next two decades of manufacturing in New Zealand’ he delivered to the 1957 conference of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science.

As the country grows, New Zealand’s main assets can only be the skill, experience and intelligence of her people. Small countries like Finland, Denmark or Switzerland have even fewer natural resources than we have. Yet because of the skill of their people they are important manufacturing countries. Highly-paid labour should connote highly-skilled labour. New Zealand’s present pre-occupation with the tariff may be too negative approach. Should we not be more concerned with producing goods which have as their main ingredient not raw materials but brains and skills?’ (W B Sutch, The next two decades of manufacturing in New Zealand (Wellington: [New Zealand] Department of Industries and Commerce, 1957), p. 21).
His contention, his dream you might say, was that a local design promotion body would be a critical element in this intellectually-driven industrial renaissance. In Sutch's view New Zealand's future lay with its people and not on the production of grass. It was a stance that went against pretty much everything the still rural-dominated National party stood for.

Sutch wasn’t the first New Zealander to respond to the British design initiative; far from it. The Wellington-based Architectural Centre Inc, established in 1946 and with which he was involved, actively promoted design matters. In Auckland, architects and those connected however remotely with the practice of design had formed the short-lived Auckland Design Guild in 1949. And in Christchurch, a well-connected indent agent, Roger Lascelles, sought to establish a modern design retail outlet, ostensibly inspired by the CoID’s Design Centre in Haymarket, which had opened in 1956. Lascelles’ was no slouch when it came to pushing his barrow and his agitation resulted in the formation in December 1959 of the relatively well-funded Design Institute of New Zealand, a body that initially seems to have been entirely devoid of designers. However, looking at the surviving documentation, it seems clear that Lascelles failed to comprehend either the purpose and nature of the CoID or its governance. Later Lascelles claimed that he had been appointed ‘a representative’ of the CoID; indeed, by 1963, he was listed as an 'overseas correspondent' of the CoID's Design periodical. However, correspondence from 1960 between the CoID and the New Zealand Department of Industries and Commerce indicates that far from entering into a formal relationship either with him or the Design Association, the CoID had doubts as to their status. Lascelles later attributed the failure of his connection with the CoID to Sutch’s ‘interference’ but neither he nor the Design Association had the resources, let alone an understanding of what comprised a design promotion body, to run such an organisation.
From an indent agent’s perspective, Sutch was the devil incarnate in the sense that the Department of Industries and Commerce played a significant role in determining not only the country’s tariff regime but also its import licensing system. Importers had been demonising the latter control procedure since its introduction in 1938 and they found considerable support for their actions amongst National party politicians. Notwithstanding all evidence to the contrary, a significant tranche of New Zealand’s more affluent classes firmly adhered to the belief that New Zealand consumers were being denied access to the good design commodities that were widely available in the United States and Europe. So, in a somewhat bizarre combination of political opportunism and provincial ignorance, modernism, conventionally regarded by the country's dominant media as a tool of the socialist state, became a rallying call for the traditional right.

There weren’t all that many designers working in New Zealand in the late 1950s, rough estimates from the Department of Industries and Commerce suggested there were about twenty, including tertiary level teachers of design. Most of those few that had been trained through the art schools survived by school teaching; others migrated; and a select few were employed in support roles by companies such as the white goods manufacturer Fisher & Paykel Ltd and the ceramic manufacturer Crown Lynn Potteries Ltd. The country’s small manufacturing sector was largely ignorant of design issues, preferring to copy, usually badly, popular overseas models. But if the importers envisaged Sutch as the devil, the designers weren’t far behind, identifying the department as having ambitions to prescribe how design was practised, making it subject to ‘the dos and don'ts’ of government regulation. But design councils weren’t about organising designers, let alone subjecting their work to the rigours of regulation. In their initial form, the design councils were about improving trading prospects; about educating manufacturers and consumers to the efficiencies of ‘well-designed’ commodities; it was only later, when the wanting status of design education became apparent, that Sutch sought to recruit education to his vision of a modern, industrial economy and to provide designers with the institutional support necessary for the development of the practice in New Zealand.

Unlike the various voluntary design appreciation societies that emerged in New Zealand following the Second World War, Sutch was in the unique position of being able to do something about turning his dream into reality. This came about with the election of a Labour administration in November 1957 and his subsequent appointment as permanent secretary. Throughout 1958 Sutch seems to have reconfigured the department, transmogrifying what was essentially a loose assemblage of time-serving administrators into a modern administrative department of state, focussed on providing politicians and the public with informed, impartial advice based on properly undertaken empirical research. And in early 1959 Sutch established a design study team within the ministry, which comprised not only economists and (eventually) a designer, but also investigators and researchers who, through the trade commissioner service, had access to information, both local and international, hitherto unavailable to New Zealand. The outcome of the study team’s work not only laid the foundation of the NZIDC but prompted a wider debate about the role and function of design in a modern economy. 

More information on the formation of the New Zealand Industrial Design Council can be found in my paper ‘Modernizing for trade: institutionalizing design promotion in New Zealand 1958-1967’, Journal of Design History, 24:3 (2011), pp. 223-239. <https://doi.org/10.1093/jdh/epr021>.



Sunday, 23 June 2013

Sound progressive views?


Some of the most ubiquitous examples of New Zealand design – light switches – have been produced by the Christchurch-based electrical products manufacturer Plastic and Diecasting Ltd, known after 1957 as PDL Industries Ltd. Founded in 1938 to manufacture components for a plumbing and heating concern, the company was reinvented in 1948 when it engaged Robertson Stewart, a Christchurch-born electrician who, in 1935, had been sent by his former employer to train in England as a plastics technician. Soon after joining PDL, Stewart was made general manager; he later bought the company. Taking advantage of an expanding market for plastic wares and the ready availability of casein, a dairy by-product, Stewart revolutionised PDL’s output by introducing an extensive range of well-designed electrical fittings and architectural hardware.

Stewart was the only manufacturer profiled by the New Zealand Design Review in its five-year existence. Published in August 1949, the anonymous two-page article was titled ‘New Zealand Manufacturer has sound progressive views’ and it was supported by not only expensive photographs but also an editorial by the Wellington teacher and critic Edward Simpson, the review’s editor. 

E Mervyn Taylor, cover for the New Zealand Design Review
August 1949 depicting a bottle designed by Milner Gray
Inspired by a series of lectures delivered by the British industrial designer Milner Gray during a British Council-organised visit to New Zealand, the editorial railed against the conservatism of the majority of New Zealand manufacturers who had no interest in design and, certainly, no interest in the modernism espoused by the Design Review. The editorial asserted that even when faced with an avalanche of modern, well-designed objects from Britain, ‘the New Zealand manufacturer […] is not likely to re-design his wares while he cannot produce enough to satisfy the market and is short of staff. He is going to need much persuasion even then.’

In the article, Stewart was portrayed as embodying the antithesis of this philistine, not to say troglodytic, stance: ‘It is hard to express what a joyful kick we derived from an interview with Mr R H Stewart […] who supplied us with his views on design for the manufacturer of goods in New Zealand’. The article approvingly observed that ‘as the services of industrial designers are not available’, the company’s products were designed by Stewart who, sensibly, submitted them ‘step by step to an architect conversant with modern design and with an active interest in the improvement of design in New Zealand manufactures.’ Stewart’s innovative take on manufacturing and the Design Review’s enthusiastic support of his enterprise raises a number of points respecting the nature of design in post-war New Zealand. In fact, the timing of the article is critical as it occurred months before the November 1949 general election, one in which the roles of the producers and consumers of manufactured commodities were never more widely debated.

In response to adverse economic circumstances during the Great Depression and, later the Second World War, the Labour party administration had imposed restrictions on the availability of manufactured commodities in New Zealand through an import licensing regime. While fiscally responsible it was unpopular and the conservative National party opposition was quick to exploit this antipathy. National went into the election declaring that one of its planks was to ‘allow the people, not the State, to decide what they shall buy, and how they will spend their money. We will abolish restrictions on goods from Britain that cannot be economically produced in our own factories.’ It was evidently a political irrelevance that Britain wasn’t exactly keen on exporting to New Zealand, as its membership of the Sterling Area did nothing to reduce Britain’s catastrophic overseas debt. As was the fact that import restrictions provided New Zealand manufacturers, such as PDL and Ambrico – the makers of Crown Lynn pottery, with a protected market, enabling them to flourish, notwithstanding the deficient quality of their production. Ironically, the direction of both companies supported National. Notwithstanding his support for modernist design but contrary to the Design Review’s headline, Stewart’s views were far from progressive; to the contrary, he later opined that 'It has been my observation in life that many Labour Party supporters are non-achievers.'

The final issue of the New Zealand Design Review,
April 1954. Among the houses under review was one 
by the Auckland design group Brenner Associates

A trope emerged amongst those interested in design matters locally that linked the issue of import restrictions and, ipso facto, the Labour party to an antipathy towards modern design. Another article published that same August in the short-lived journal Modern Manufacturing and under the corporate authorship of the Auckland design group Brenner Associates, clearly identified the culprit, explaining that 'All too frequently the [New Zealand] manufacturer and his executives are vaguely aware of the fact that their products are not all that they could be, but they are lulled into silence by the comforting assurance that foreign products are excluded from this market by a benevolent government hell-bent on mothering the country out of existence.' It was a mistaken allocation of blame; what the critics of this de facto protection failed to understand was the fact that neither government nor the few manufacturers of commodities operating in the country were in a position to dictate what was imported. That responsibility lay in the hands of what operated as a cabal of the local agents of British manufacturers and the members of  bodies such as the New Zealand Importers' Federation. It was their conservative, commercial interests that were the drivers in determining what was available to the New Zealand consumer, not the government or the manufacturers.

 The National party won the 1949 election, but the victorious politicians had no interest in design and they ultimately withdrew the small Department of Internal Affairs grant that enabled the Design Review to survive. The promotion of modernist design by conservative interests continued as a odd feature of the nascent design discourse in New Zealand for some years. If in Britain, modernism was ineluctably associated with a controlled economy and rampant socialism, the same cannot be said for New Zealand. The National prime minister Sidney Holland fought tooth and nail, in the face of vehement British Conservative party antipathy, for the construction of a modernist New Zealand House in London’s West End, designed by the socialist architect Robert Matthew. Holland wanted - and obtained - a building exhibiting sophistication and culture in the hope that it would attract the right sort of British immigrant. 

As late as 1958, attempts were made by conservative Christchurch interests to promote a local version of the Council of Industrial Design, the wartime creation of the British Labour politician Hugh Dalton. To their consternation they discovered that they had been trumped by the left when it emerged that the second Labour administration, elected in November 1957, was planning its own design council, one that rather being an inappropriately scaled replica of the British model would respond to local needs. In doing so, Labour was finally exhibiting those ‘sound progressive views’ that the Design Review had once, mistakenly, attributed to Stewart.