Cages sans Frontières, an undulating Mobius ribbon of fabric covered steel, hangs literally and figuratively over the Ron Arad exhibit, No Discipline at the MoMA through October 19th. Winding its way through the a precisely-lit room on the back of the 6th floor, the shelf/sculpture serves as showcase for some 100-plus pieces of the celebrated Israeli designer's furniture-as-art (or is it the other way around?). Polished steel chairs and glossy silicone surfaces caught and scattered the spotlights from above, such that the whole room felt like a gallery show channeled through "A Space Odyssey." Between the high contrast lighting and the amorphous forms, we found it difficult to take any subdued photographs. Both the show and the items within were truly works of art ... and for an ostensible industrial designer, perhaps that's the problem. Rather than include explanatory plaques next to the items on display the exhibit offered four-sheet pamphlets with short descriptions of each of the items on display. Under the description of the Cage sans Frontières in five point type are the words "Private collection." Not only was the furniture in private hands, but even the armature on which it was displayed was considered worthy of acquisition. Devoid of any obvious function outside of the exhibit, I can only imagine that it was purchased as, well, art.

Given the high prices his work tends to sell for and the general visibility of Arad as a design figurehead, it's tempting to make a straw man of him by observing just how far his indulgent one-offs (also the name of his studio) are from the democratization of design. Given our current economic climate, it's easy for us to look back upon the bombast of Arad's work, apply a price tag, and experience something between revulsion and regret. It's also not entirely fair. Accompanied by the throngs of spectators, studio lighting, hardwood floors, and yes, the Cage sans Frontières, Arad's work is often indulgent, frequently decadent and quite consistently gorgeous. Whether custom-pigmented fiberglass, 3-D prints, hand welded steel and 20-piece editions could ever be called industrial design might be missing the point. Arad is doing something closer to haute couture; his medium just happens to be steel. So rather than quibble about the ethics of high design or whether thirty years of work is enough to warrant a retrospective, a far better way to spend the afternoon would simply be to let go of any thorny-preconceptions and simply enjoy the show.

Fortunately, the layout and content of the exhibit allow for a pleasant journey. Because the editions tend to be extremely limited, Arad's work has never been assembled in one place before. Consequently, visitors are treated to originals of the pieces that made his reputation like the broken corners of his "Concrete Stereo" turntable and its accompanying hi-fi components. The found object "Rover Chair" is here too, discarded Rover V8 2L car seats attached to tubular frames. Perhaps here the object as couture trend is most typified since it was Jean Paul Gaultier's early purchase of the chairs that put him on the map. As found objects, they were bound to be limited since the supply of discarded Rover seats was finite, but their only production run as a "mass produced" Vitra product is arguably more absurd: a polished or rusted all-steel version that looks like it came out of Jeff Koons' workshop.

While the one-off's attracted the most attention from the exhibit visitors, industrial designers might want to linger on some of the less showy pieces. The objects are clustered together as typographies, so in the rare instances that a limited edition led to a mass produced series, such as the popular but dubiously functional "Bookworm" bookshelf, the exhibit affords rare access to the enormous undulating sculptures that inspired it. Likewise entire evolutions may be followed, from the bent cold steel rolls of his "Tempered Chairs" to the curvy bulk of his "Big Easy" armchairs which were finally mass produced by Moroso years after the introduction of the Tempered Chairs.

The literal centerpiece of the exhibit is his "Lolita" chandelier, commissioned for Swarovski, which displays a glittering cascade of text messages sent by observers to create the illusion of rotation. Past the gawkers patiently waiting for their text to scroll down the chandelier sit Arad's "Even the Odd Balls?" chairs, two gleaming steel monstrosities that are partial negatives of one another. The first is perforated like Swiss cheese and the second is covered with the positives of all of those material removals. The simple conceit quite literally shines. With its profusion of pieces arranged and stacked into the third dimension, the content demonstrates rather quickly that "No Discipline" is at least a tongue and cheek title. Given the consistency and variety of output, and the hours of work that volume entails, discipline has likely been in full force. What's missing, perhaps, is a stronger connection to the human element. Though sculpturally, profound the display ribbon tended to place the chairs out of reach, and since sitting on works of art was clearly a violation of protocol, we were left only with print comments like "sitters neither rock nor lie still but bounce with the kind of trembling elasticity -- and unique sound -- that only tempered steel can provide." Sounds great, but where can we try?

No Discipline amply demonstrates that Arad can produce art. For those of us who seek to connect with his work, however, much of it remains frustratingly out of reach. For his output to be called industrial design, it needs to be suitable for mass production. Although Arad unquestionably produces art, making the transition from prototype to economically feasible product may require more finesse than building a striking model. Arad himself admits that this retrospective might have come a few years too early. Perhaps if a few of those years could be used figuring out how to mass produce stunners like "Even the Odd Balls" without breaking the bank, we'd be first in line for another retrospective.