Behind an urban chain-link fence assembled on the lower floor of the Design Museum, members of the public are skateboarding on a 3.5ft mini-ramp. The noise provides a glorious rolling soundtrack – trucks clinking on a metal lip, plastic wheels growling as they carve shapes on wood – to author, designer (and skater) Jonathan Olivares’ small but instructive exhibition documenting 70 years of skateboarding history.
This interactive element (a go on the ramp is a bonus for ticket-holders, but slots must be booked in advance) is in keeping with the inclusive spirit of a sport which has boomed in popularity since its birth in 1950s California, back when rudimentary boards were made from crates attached to steel wheels.
Olivares tells the historical narrative in chronological order, as we are guided through this Londoon show by double-yellow lines underfoot (echoing those in the Spike Jonze-directed Goldfish, a 1994 short film featuring the Girl Skateboards team, a snippet of which is shown here) through decades of board design evolution and related cultural ephemera.
About 100 boards are on display, half of which are loaned from the US-based Skateboarding Hall of Fame and Museum, while others come from historian and self-confessed hoarder Nick Halkias’s collection. The biggest get is the first ever board used by the sport’s biggest star, Tony Hawk, courtesy of his archive.
Skateboard, as the show is simply titled, begins with prototype boards created in mid-century childhood bedrooms, complete with splinters, bent nails and rust. Rapidly the design and accoutrements change: from steel to clay to polyurethane wheels. There are two of the earliest models of boards with sloping tips, known as kicktails (invented by a Venice Beach lifeguard, Larry Stevenson), which would become industry standard by the 1970s.
Other highlights include the Logan Earth Ski, the custom board of Laura Thornhill, the poster-girl (and trophy-sweeper) of competitive mid-70s US skating, golden hair flowing.
A displayed copy of Life magazine has a wonderful cover of Thornhill performing a handstand on her board, and there are a couple of early editions of cult skater magazine Thrasher.
Olivares and associate curator Tory Turk are keen to impress that skateboard design evolves on several levels: practical, such as the adoption of wear-resistant polyurethane wheels, which were a gamechanger when it came to improving safety and expanding skateable terrain; and aesthetic, such as the death of the cartoon skull deck motif and the rise of the political decaland neon personalised graphics. These days 3D printed boards have, tentatively, entered the chat.
For those unfamiliar with skateboarding’s rich past, there’s a lot to absorb. We learn of the California surfers who created those first wooden boards in order to practise on land.
After an initial boom in popularity, there was a bust that saw skateparks close as a result of injuries and poor maintenance, necessitating the birth of back-yard pool skating.
Then there’s the contrasting styles and varying popularity of “vert” (vertical, or ramp- and park-based) skating against slalom or freestyle or street – the last one revolutionised by the American skater Rodney Mullen and his giant ollie leap for skate-kind.
The story of the democratisation and increased accessibility of the sport, in parallel with its lucrative commercialisation and professionalisation, is told in large wall text: Mega-Ramp events sell thousands of tickets, YouTube trick compilations receive millions of hits, and in Paris next year, skateboarding will make its second Olympic appearance.
A deck of British teen sensation and Tokyo 2020 bronze medal winner Sky Brown is among those featured here. A collaboration with Skateistan – the non-governmental organisation that has brought skating to masses of children in developing countries – is another illustration of the direction of travel.
This is an exhibition that will appeal to diehard skate fans – those likely to hit the Betongpark-designed mini-ramp – but also to people like me: zero proficiency on a board but who grew up playing Tony Hawk’s immensely popular Pro Skater 2 PlayStation game, and hung around watching sixth-formers in baggy jeans tumble down the grey steps of city centres.
One of the most alluring things about skating is how evocative the sport can be even in observation: those distinctive sounds; the awe factor of seemingly gravity-defying moves. It’s a shame, then, that there isn’t more video here (there’s a visual summary of the exhibition narrated by architect and skater Alexis Sablone, and another film which isn’t accessible when the mini-ramp is in use).
It’s missing a trick to have VHS tapes of iconic footage locked away in horizontal glass cases while wall space is given over to Olivares’ rather underwhelming photographs of kerbs and handrails.
It’s odd, too, that there are no replica boards to touch. Good design, after all, is tangible. Visitors should be able to feel the sandy texture of grip tape or spin a dizzy wheel on loose trucks. Olivares rightly points out that skateparks are architectural feats; why not include scale models?
Skateboard is, nevertheless, a success. In an increasingly depressing world, it’s an enjoyable ride, taking in what remains, at its essence, a form of play – as well as a means of societal bonding.
Five miles from the museum, the boards of skaters kiss the graffitied bollards of the South Bank skate park – a place saved from demolition in 2014 after a public campaign and an appeal from London skating brand Palace.
There I watch as kids in knee-pads are offered tips by teens in Supreme hoodies, none of them caring if they fall. A man in a suit leans over the railings and raises his eyebrows, impressed.
• Skateboard is at the Design Museum, London, until 2 June 2024
