Trubridge keeps us nourished

Somewhere near Taupo sometime in the mid-90s I was standing on the roadside in an evening snow flurry thumbing a ride back to Napier.

A Peugeot edged slowly past before its brake lights ignited in a merciful red glow.

The elderly driver wound down the window:

"What do you do?"

"I'm a student."

"Studying what?"

"Literature."

"Get in. If you were studying commerce like everyone else I would have left you in the snow."

Hours later he dropped me off in Napier, but not without reminding me why I qualified for the ride. "Keep studying English and stay away from commerce. I'm 68 and haven't met an interesting businessman yet."

Up until three days ago I was only 30-odd years away from breaking his record.

Actually that's not quite true, as I've met designer David Trubridge many times previously. But until Friday's launch of his new Whakatu showroom, I've never regarded him as a "businessman".

Perhaps that's because he's a man of paradoxes.

Delightfully hirsute in an age where the shaven ideal reigns, he's much more bohemia than suburbia. In fact he was the most casually dressed at his own party, that is, until my friend Ricks Terstappen turned up.

But that's Trubridge. A man whose dishevelled appearance is at odds with his "perfectionist" work. An environmentalist who shuns rampant consumerism yet designs for the luxury-item market. A sustainability advocate whose palatial new showroom, "green" though it may be, is, after all, new and palatial.

Years ago, after falling in love with the delicate integrity of his Kina light shade, I begged my wife to let me buy it. "No. We don't need it." But then, no one does.

And I suspect, somewhat cynically, that for many buyers his products have become environmentalism by proxy. The unmistakable aesthetic of his light shades, for instance, afford their new owners a sniff of sustainability, a sniff that literally disappears with the flick of a switch.

Yet here's the thing. Sometime during the addresses given at the launch by both the designer and his wife Linda, the "business" model seemed to make sense.

His wife spoke of the couple's journey by yacht to New Zealand with their two young sons. Anchoring at various countries along the way, Trubridge eked out an income by designing furniture for locals. Linda's speech, couched as a history of her husband's career, instead turned into a delightfully told love story.

David then delivered a mission statement that would see him sacked in any other business. In short, he said economic growth was unsustainable - commerce existed to serve humanity, not the other way round. His business was merely "the engine" that kept the message moving. Rather than financial growth, he suggested we should strive for "cultural nourishment".

In a district dominated in recent weeks by big box debate, the sentiment was nothing short of revolutionary.

Mr Trubridge, I'm glad you found solid moorings in this port. Hawke's Bay is the richer for it.

That kindly man in the Peugeot was unlucky to have never crossed your path.