I’m slowly walking the halls of IKEA, inspecting the displays as if it were an art gallery. Full of coffee and kanelbulle, I’ve come not to shop, but to study. To me, IKEA is a masterwork of industrial design.

What do you think of when you hear IKEA? Maybe Scandinavian minimalism, or cheap furniture (how did those clever Swedes trick us into assembling our own furniture anyway). When I hear IKEA, I think of Scandinavian egalitarianism. Products designed for the home, built to be owned, priced within reach. I am fascinated by this accomplishment.

While living in Sweden, I made regular trips to IKEA. I’d lock my bike out front, and step inside for coffee and a lesson. On one of these trips I found myself holding a little yellow flower pot. Turning it over in my hands, I studied how it was made. I saw the typical spline curves and molding marks, residue of industrial design, but I saw something else too. I saw myself. Almost involuntarily, I could feel myself drawing these very spline curves, casting this mold. It was time for a master study and I was going to make this pot.

Master Study

For the unfamiliar, A master study is when an aspiring artist copies the work of the old masters. The goal is to learn how a piece was made, by making it. This is one of those journey-not-the-destination type activities. While the work doesn’t have to come from one of the old masters, it should at least resemble the work you’d like to make. With that in mind, let’s begin at the end: the IKEA original (yellow) against my copies (blue).

Various images of the original IKEA pot (yellow) and my copies (blue).

The paint job took three tries to get right. Unfortunately, the third and final iteration broke. It mysteriously split apart during the curing process. Why? No idea, but it probably has something to do with the Quikrete its made of. My others copies cured nicely and were made of cement grout. I had to break the original to see that it’s made of fiberglass reinforced epoxy grout.

Various images of pot fragments.

This was my first time casting cement. It goes in like mud and comes out like rock. It’s one of those things that makes a lot of sense until you think about it. After getting hands-on, its simply unbelievable. Looking at the concrete around town, its strange to imagine it was liquid once too.

Sequence of molding steps and a comparison to the original

Designing the mold was pretty easy except for the part that was hard: the inner core. Getting the draft angles right involved a total rebuild of the CAD model. You might think the core could twist out, but that doesn’t work. Unlike a screw, this shape twists unevenly. The top and bottom are only slightly twisted, so the core has to be able to slide out straight.

Various images of the mold in CAD, including a draft angle analysis of the inner core.

The CAD model itself is delightfully simple. Just a few curves build the foundation of form. Its part of what drew me into this design.

(In chronological order) The sequence of steps to build the pot in CAD.

This is where the trail runs cold. What came before those foundational curves were laid down in CAD? Perhaps some sketches, and before that… Only the designer knows.

Some of my sketches of the pot.

Tricks of the Trade

Among the countless things I learned on this project, one stands out. It’s such a subtle thing that I didn’t fully understand it until now. The vertical twisting curves on the pot, why are they more visible on the original than mine? There’s a reason for it and it has nothing to do paint, and has everything to do with the design.

Original IKEA pot (yellow), and my copy (blue).

The difference originates in CAD. I carefully studied the original pot before building my CAD model. I paid special attention to how different surfaces blended together. Most surfaces have smooth blends, but for the vertical twisting curves, there’s an abrupt cutout. I smoothed this out on my copy, thinking it would look better.

Close up views of the vertical twisting lines on the original and my copy.

The trick here is the little cutout casts a shadow. Doing so exaggerates the curves, accentuating the form. My smooth blends hide the curves, diminishing the form. An astonishing difference from such a tiny detail.

Searching for Connection

This project started with a connection. The first time I laid eyes on that little yellow pot, the design clicked. As I worked on my copy, I found myself connecting more with the people behind the design. I copied their choices, studied their decisions, and shared their challenges. The whole process felt like archeology, I can see the artifacts but not the people. Just their shadows. Someday I hope to make a design that connects as much with someone else.

The view from a thoughtful walk in Sweden.