A Designer Who Finds Beauty in Decay


one of the designers by Marcin Rusak His memories from his childhood in Poland were spending time in his family’s greenhouses. His maternal grandparents were flower growers in Warsaw, and although their business closed just before he was born, he often played in abandoned, overgrown glass structures. “I can still feel the warmth and smell the weeds and bacteria growing there,” she says.

It’s fitting, then, that the 34-year-old artist is building an international following for furniture and objects that combine flowers and plants in unexpected ways. About ten years ago, in her master’s program at London’s Royal College of Art, she began creating painterly textiles using flowers discarded from a flower market, pressing the leaves’ natural pigments onto silk – at least a metaphorical way to extend their life. until the colors inevitably fade. “A lot of effort goes into the flower industry, which is huge and confusing,” she says. “We grow these creatures, which we keep for two weeks, and then they throw them away.”

Since establishing his studio in London five years ago, he has expanded on these ideas, notably with floral furniture in resin that is now most recognizable. Her Flora Rusak features tables, cabinets and wall hangings, surfaces featuring dried flowers, leaves and stems, typically crafted with minimalist metal bases and frames, all covered in translucent resin and created with “intuition” Rusak, Dutch in a style that still brings to mind. lifes or East Asian polish. Then there’s her furniture perm sculpturesIt is formed by thin, cross-section slabs made of resin infused with flowers, resembling vividly mottled stone. Rusak cuts the pieces into interlocking pieces in black or milky-white resin using a CNC milling machine that exposes the raw plant parts. Over time, some decompose, break up and fall off, leaving small voids. “In a sense, the piece lives on,” he says. “And I want it to stay that way.”

PARTIALLY DUE BrexitA few years ago, Rusak decided to move his studio to Warsaw, where he rented three adjacent spaces for a total of 5,400 square meters in an industrial park 10 minutes from the city centre. There, between prototypes at various stages of development, boxes and shelves are filled with dried or dried flowers, discarded flowers, and plant material that Rusak procures from a variety of growers and vendors, including his mother and sister, who owns a floral design business and shoppers. called the town 1904. As its production continues to expand – between here and a production facility in Rotterdam, the workshop now produces more than 100 pieces a year – has hired 15 or more employees and also collaborated with artisans across Europe, including metalworkers and glassmakers. . produce components for commissions such as private clients, interior designers and galleries Sarah Myerscough Gallery in London, Carwan Gallery in Athens and Hauser & Wirth’s Make gallery in Somerset, England.

At Design Miami, which opened in December, New York’s Twenty-First Gallery Four new Rusak pieces will be on display, inspired by the work of Austrian architect and designer Josef Frank. Renaud Vuaillat, owner of the gallery, who says Rusak has “a kind of rock ‘n’ roll quality,” thinks the most striking piece is a cabinet covered with bronze metallized leaves that Rusak created in a hand-welded, branch-like method. Frames covered with moist leaves, typically African Thaumatococcus daniellii, were chosen for their flexibility and durability. Their texture and veining is preserved in the metallization process, which begins with a thin, protective layer of resin, followed by successive layers of molten zinc and bronze or brass, often practiced by Rusak, who spent countless hours in a ventilated room in Warsaw. The studio dispenses liquid metal from an industrial thermal spray gun that reaches 7,000 degrees Fahrenheit, armed like an astronaut in protective gear. The works refer to Art Nouveau imitation of leaf forms – only in this case, they are literally made up of leaves. Metallization envelops and preserves organic matter, giving it a durable form, while at the same time transforming it.

Such a dichotomy is central to Rusak’s practice, especially with what he calls himself. perishable The containers, created using a mixture of tree resin, shellac, beeswax, herbs, flowers and baking flour, are heated and pressed into molds. With their archaic, almost haunting beauty, these unique objects are intended to deteriorate, sag and collapse over time. “These works showcase nature’s fragility,” says Rusak’s mentor, Brent Dzekciorius, founder of London-based design firm Dzek and who owns a vase from the collection. “It still smells … and I love that it ages in parallel with me.”

Rusak amplifies this degradable concept by starting with an outdoor sculpture commissioned to accompany an exhibition of modern Polish art and design in Poland. William Morris Gallery in London. Early next year, the seven-foot-tall tree-like form will be covered with a mix of shellac that will slowly wear off and eventually reveal a metallized core with floral patterns inspired in part by Morris’ Arts & Crafts designs. At the same time, Rusak continues to pursue her interests in botanical engineering and genetics, working with scientists working on the potential for data storage in plant DNA. He recently purchased an 18th-century neo-Classical villa outside of Warsaw that he plans to transform into a design research lab and cultural center for exhibition spaces, artist residences and educational programs.

It is this blend of science and beauty, poetry and personal history that defines Rusak’s work and gives it depth. In the 17th century, Dutch flower paintings not only showcased an artist’s virtuoso skill, but also reminded viewers of their own demise. Today, Rusak’s floral furniture teaches similar lessons. “What I love about this job is that it’s never the same and has no limits,” he says. “An endless pool for exploration.”



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