William Sawaya

text Cristina Morozzi

The variety of his creations speaks of an almost existential urgency to avoid repetition. He doesn’t follow trends, he foresees them, with acute epochal sensitivity. He expertly handles technology and crafts. He makes innovation coexist with respect for tradition. He is daring, but never overlooks harmony and elegance.

His studio in the center of Milan, protected by a shady garden, is an oasis sheltered from the tumult, a place to work calmly, with care. William Sawaya, reserved and courteous, seems to underscore this atmosphere: “I prefer quiet design. But it shouldn’t be mute, either! Today there is too much noise, design is made as a spectacle, to be sold at auctions. Whatever happened to the utopia of industrial design and big numbers, that of the great masters?” Silence is the risk of the opposite extreme. William certainly doesn’t run that risk. If we look at his work as a whole we see an uncommon expressive ‘ardor’. His projects can be defined as quiet, due to the elegance of their lines, but they are definitely not mute. They reveal elaborate, varied eloquence, charged with emotions: attention to different cultures, knowledge of the legacy of the past, fascination with technology, admiration for fine craftsmanship. Speaking of elegance might seem limiting, today. It is an old term that indicates measure and harmony, and design seems to have neglected this aspect in favor of cruder, less harmonious gestures. But William doesn’t mind being called elegant. “I would like to be Sunday best”, he says, “or a spoonful of caviar after lots of corn flakes. Life is too short to always dress in gray. And I’m not afraid of contradictions. I get bored, so I need change”. On the screen in the meeting room we see images of his latest creations, important projects that bear witness to his rare capacity to handle precious materials and his talent for invention of wonderful effects: a 60-meter yacht with onyx bathrooms and galuchat facings; the Klapsons hotel in Singapore with a sparkling steel sphere, five meters in diameter, in the lobby. Now under construction, a large office building in Saudi Arabia with walls in cowhide, silkscreened with Arabic characters... Though his works of architecture are multiplying around the world, William’s heart still beats for design. He would like to work on more ecological, democratic projects, but the reality of Sawaya & Moroni forces him to come to terms with limited quantities. In 2003 he designed, in collaboration with Corepla, the national consortium for recycling of plastic packaging, a chair in heterogeneous recycled plastic, the Bella Rifatta. The design gives a humble product a higher aesthetic dignity, liberating recycling from its usual connotations, demonstrating that beauty can also be combined with ethics. The Calla chair produced in 2000 by Heller, an American brand that specializes in the moulding of plastics, is now in the permanent collection of MoMA New York. Even when he works on big industrial production, the originality of his touch is always evident: fluid lines, sensual surfaces that seem to be modeled by light, playing over the daring curves. At times he shapes materials, almost like wax, as in the Darwish seat from 1999, in aluminium and bronze, or the bronze Gravity chair in 2002. In other cases he seems to sculpt, with a chisel, like the Diva chair in solid wood and cowhide, 1987. He designs volutes of curved plywood that seem like spirals of a silken ribbon, as in the Patty Diffusa chair in 1993. Or he uses steel almost like a diamond, making facets to gain unexpected reflections. His silver pieces seem like sabers. Glass blossoms and bulges, like a carnivorous plant. He doesn’t indulge in mannerism, a true temptation for those with a quick hand, but breaks the rules, updates aesthetics, often ahead of his time. He dares to be sensual, refining the weight of the flesh, making it levitate. He makes fearless hybrids, contaminations between the clarity of glass and steel and the body of gilded friezes, as in the Barock’n’Roll series, 2005. But he never overlooks function, even delivering unexpected results, like hidden drawers in the shelves of bookcases (High Light 2006). His work ranges from faucets (Zucchetti) to silver, glass to crystal (Baccarat), chairs to bookcases, divans to tables. He always changes keys, risking and experimenting without losing identity, because every project comes from his passion for the job, projected into the future, but based on knowledge of traditions, familiarity with a wide range of materials, and that expressive ‘ardor’ that, like a fire, smolders in the embers under the ashes.