Form us with love (and function)

MANILA, Philippines - There is pleasure in the ordinary (and shamelessly self-righteous) act of converting from incandescent bulbs to energy-saving light with the practical “anglepoise” lamp. 

This anonymous object found its way from a canal-side stall to my castored desk, not having the patience for rummaging flea markets nor discount-hunting on eBay. The lack of marketing and advertising makes this wonderful joy of discovery an emotional buy.

An anglepoise is almost as Anglo-Saxon as satchels and scones and historically was a byproduct of the application of springs. Like the Mini, it’s a timeless icon and rightfully deserves a lasting category all its own. We’ve all probably seen one in different settings, but a task lamp normally has two swiveling limbs with exposed springs that act rather like human muscles to reposition the concaved or fluted head in any direction. It sits in a solid weighted base or is clamped on the edge of a table.

Like a clockwork ritual, it begins and ends my day with a swift push-button switch. Using spiral CFL bulbs in default warm-white, it basks any workspace in a certain romantic glow — an artful way to carry out daily tasks, whether I point it upwards or rotate it to the wall to bounce off indirect light. Obsessed as I am with uplights, anglepoise lamps are the most versatile I’ve found in absence of floor-, ceiling- or wall-mount lights. It signals being in the moment, perhaps even mono-tasking.

There are days when I call my suppliers directly — some disgruntled, some impassioned. I often wonder what type of office I am calling: what’s it like on the other side of the phone? Is it well-lit or windowless? Robot-like? Or are they happy workers? A bit oversensitive to lighting conditions, you could say: perhaps the lack of passion (or worse, choice) about lighting (artificial or not) among desk workers in Manila is the touchpoint for my fascination with how light affects our way of life.

The right angle: In the 1974-film Conversation Piece, a set of anglepoise lamps sit inconspicuously in the dynastic drawing room — a borrowed lighting tradition not likely to go dim even in today’s gilt-less times.

There is an endearing homage to the angelpoise in the Luchino Visconti film Conversation Piece (1974) — in which the drawing room of the retired loan collector played by Burt Lancaster, filled with volumes and antiquities, is balanced by less-conspicuous task lamps — whereas most contemporary apartments still keep the usual composition of overhead lights. Perhaps a more handsome and practical tasklamp popularized by the Italians is the Tolomeo, created by de Lucchi & Fassina in 1987, in anti-gloss anodizeed aluminum — mass-produced and omnipresent in homes, offices, schools, public libraries and even hotel wall appliqués.

 I’m not really stubbornly nostalgic but I appreciate it when things stay unchanged and in production for a long time. Perhaps a great measure of success in design reception is when a product does not have a development life cycle — a look charged with steroids, changing every month. The Tolomeo model by Michele de Lucchi is an alteration of the anglepoise bluprint that stays true to practical efficiency and has been copied and probably still remains on shelves in various depots.

There aren’t too many sophisticated technologies for lighting these days except clever lighting systems that adjust glow to the circadian body clock. But more often than not, simple lamps have an enduring, deeper sociological purpose — like the mechanical ventilation of ceiling fans (okay, maybe for residential home offices in the tropical world) with their unrefined and unsophisticated mechanisms.

All work and no play makes one a dull Juan, after all. The anglepoise, with all its playful movement, may just be enough to satisfy a skilled luminaire.