Arts and Letters

Charles Eames was a truly unique figure in the world of twentieth-century design. So completely did he and his wife, Ray, dominate it that they almost might be credited with its invention. His uniqueness was that he was not a designer in the sense that we ordinarily understand the term, but rather one who searched unerringly for the underlying order of things—for the first principles.

His achievements, too well known to be catalogued here, ranged over a very wide field of interests—furniture, films, exhibitions, toys, graphics, industrial design, communications, architecture. In each and every one of his endeavors, he became an acknowledged master. By any standard, he was a genius, yet he was a very modest, warm and friendly person, impatient only with incompetence and dishonesty. He was uncomfortable in the pompous world of art, and he rejected any form of the title, "Artist," claiming for himself only the trade of journeyman—doing the best he knew how.

The summation of his life needs no quotation from Horace, but indeed he was not bound over to swear allegiance to any master, save reason itself. Although he talked little about his work and wrote less, a rare interview given in Paris in 1970 has some revealing answers.

To the question, "What is your definition of design?" he answered, "a plan for arranging elements to best accomplish a particular purpose." When asked if he had ever been forced to accept a compromise, he responded, "I have never been forced to accept compromises, but I have willingly accepted constraints."

And the final question, "What is the future of design?" he answered with silence. One can imagine that it was a bemused silence, for whatever the future of design, in its best form it will surely be what Charles Eames had been doing all his creative life.