I felt sorry for the can just as I was throwing it away.
The soup inside, after all, was the prize, not the can it came in.
By lying in the recycle bin like that, I thought the so-called “tin
can” might be one of the most unappreciated innovations in design history: a
discard, an afterthought, a castaway. But worth admiring anyway.
The design of a new container is a
science all onto itself, combining 3D design, structural engineering,
molds, intrusion and extrusion, and all manner of exotic materials. All of which makes it easy to overlook
the granddaddy of all those bottles and jars and casks.
Ideas for the preservation of food in a portable container had been
around for thousands of years. But
a total design concept that also included sealing and preserving did not appear
until the 18th century.
The benefits of such a product were so
obvious that by 1795 the French government was offering a reward of
12,000 francs to anyone coming up with a workable design. Napoleon understood the need for a way
to preserve and carry the food for his marching armies.
The solution by Nicholas Appert was to place the food in a champagne
bottle, then seal and boil it. It
was a smart idea and Appert won the money. But the glass containers were breakable under the rough
conditions of a long march. In 1810 a London merchant named Peter Durand came up with the idea of
fashioning a can made of tin-coated wrought-iron to preserve the food. It was a simple tube closed at both
ends but it became the iconic shape for all future preservations. Durand’s patent was bought by the firm
of Donkin, Hall & Gamble in 1811 and they promptly set up a “preservatory”
in London to manufacture the cans.
By 1846, Henry Evans had invented a machine that could produce cans at
the rate of 60 per hour and the world of mass-produced food containers was
ushered in.
It is a basic rule of design that innovations ripple beyond their
obvious applications and the tin can is no different. Some historians suggest that the tin can may very well have made
the ensuing British Empire possible by allowing the army and navy to venture
further afield without having to rely on increasingly elaborate supply trains,
the very problem that Napoleon faced at the outset of the tin can story.
But the can rippled even beyond the mere storing of food. Who among us has not used a used one as
an impromptu vase, a pencil cup, or nail bin? Who has not seen Andy Warhol’s famous Campbell Soup Can
series? And who, of a certain age,
has not linked two cans together with a string to make that most magical of
home inventions...the tin can phone?
Ah the wonder of design.
The tin can also led to an inevitable design explosion to make cans
thinner, lighter, stronger, and more easily assembled. And a secondary quest for a decent
opener beyond the basic hammer. Pop-tops did not come in until 1959 and new
tweaks come along all the time but not frequently.
But of the original tin can what can we say? That it is a perfect symbol for all designers of one of our
most powerful talents...a can-do attitude? Probably not.
Perhaps I should retrieve mine from the trash and place it
on a pedestal instead.
Probably not.
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