Julia Lohmann is a designer and artist, known for the explorations of seaweed she’s been doing for two decades now. We connect over Zoom but before we even get to seaweed, we dip into a very 2024 chat about jobs and making a living. After five years as Associate Professor of Contemporary Design at Aalto University, Julia was recently granted tenure, giving her a degree of security in this regard. Yet knowing all too well the journeys of creatives in the tangles of fulfilment and survival, she is happy to use her position to explore the future of work with her students and others.
“It seems the main jobs advertised at the minute are in UX and service design, but it’s an uncertain climate for designers otherwise. There is plenty of work around, and the lateral thinking and the connective, collaborative mindset of designers could benefit many disciplines, because we need to redesign everything. So, how do we make a living from this when many of these fields are only just emerging?”
Julia encourages designers to “find the sweet spot” by asking critical questions while also fitting in. “Both elements have to gel. You need to speak the language but also bring whatever you personally can offer. Speculation comes into play when we imagine what we would like to have. The grey spaces between disciplines are where new positions could grow.”
Known for her avant-garde mash-ups of design and arts, ecology and science, cultural history and crafts, there is plenty of hands-on action that Julia could offer her students. In a recent six-week module, however, she chose to dedicate the shared time to critically reflecting on the evolving roles of a designer. “Not everything is about strengthening skills as such. Reflective practitioners are more resilient, regardless of their specific skill sets.”
Julia founded the Department of Seaweed in 2013 as a mixed-discipline platform for all things seaweed: material possibilities, questions of sustainability and philosophy, plus cultural and social notions. Under this umbrella, various personal and group investigations have materialised into physical objects and installations – as well as conversations. I ask Julia if it’s ever just about seaweed, and it’s not. It’s also always about evoking memories, stories, histories – and about speculating together about preferable, regenerative futures.
“A piece of seaweed on a table brings the ocean into the room. It does that always, without failing. Our bodies are similar to other animals’, but our intellectual capacity separates us. It’s crazy how far we can go in our minds, into the future and into the past. And then there’s the hubris of convincing ourselves we are almost god-like,” she remarks.
When grown or harvested consciously, seaweed has the potential to range from fabric to building material, yet Julia neither offers nor seeks a single solution. It’s not only about finding a new material to replace old ones but also about questioning our true needs.
“What contemporary questions can still be answered with an object? There are no simple answers. I feel we have forgotten the social fabric. Maybe it’s a problem of the welfare state in that we thought we wouldn’t need our neighbours – and yet we need them more than ever. My mother is 84 and cooks for her elderly neighbour,” Julia shares.
I don’t specifically ask whether the work of today’s designer is essentially about supporting the social fabric, but it appears that Julia’s seaweed studies are as much about material research as they are about probing the human condition. One thing is certain: even with a seemingly perfect biomaterial like seaweed, we must resist our urge to create new problems by overexploiting such a treasure.
“How can we sustain ourselves and not exploit others? Being a designer in these precarious times – it’s almost like I can’t touch or use anything. We have done too much already. So what can I still do? The seaweed is one answer” Julia suggests.
In both her new home, Finland, and her native Germany, Julia would like to see the creative industries profiled as a soft power, capable of addressing both material needs and social cohesion. Bridging symbolism and fact, seaweed – like fungi – can help break things down. Perhaps also our tendency for standardisation?
“I use seaweed as it comes from the sea, embracing how it responds to its surroundings and changes over time. It has the ocean in it, an agency of its own. Seaweed is a flavour enhancer. An umami for relationships in a room.”
So, where do we go from here, and how does design enter the process? How can seaweed inform our futures and our relationships with tradition?
“In the long run, I’m trying to teach people about the regeneration of ecosystems. How do we open up to other viewpoints, to see ourselves as the descendants of many who came before us, as well as through the eyes of our children and grandchildren? And at the same time, understanding empathy and care for others, which is what we ultimately need to get right if we want a future for ourselves,” Julia asks.
In terms of legacy and lineage, a regeneration suitable for our human mindscapes inevitably develops together with intergenerationalism, which is not always an effortless match.
“When you pass down a tablecloth, it starts to become frail at some point. So what we need to pass down is the knowledge of making a tablecloth. You can only keep it alive by teaching it. So, there is a conflict: we can get a tablecloth from China for a fraction of the price and without the 10,000 hours of know-how to make it. But we need this knowledge.”
What happens when a certain material or manufacturing process no longer matches the realities of a sustainable contemporary world?
“One material we discuss a lot is glass, which has a legacy in Finland. It requires a huge amount of resources and energy, so what are we keeping alive and what needs to shift or evolve? These questions are negotiations. The future is unclear, and we value the past too much to step away from it. The seaweed for me is a tangible way to examine these questions: could we instead look at what skills and techniques are transferable? Every craft can be examined like this. Can we pass on a skill in a different form? What can this human-biomaterial relationship teach us about our other engagements with matter?”
Perhaps the future of design is about zooming into what an object represents and builds, instead of its specific material category. Our social fabric, like seaweed, will continue to need water and the right nutrients to continue to flow and keep a bright colour, ready to serve others.
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