Cantilevered steel “claws” slice through a lofted studio crammed with the “seriously new things” that Arad has subsequently dreamt up – moulded wooden floors that lift like ski-jumps, sinuous Bookworm shelving units, clear plastic dining chairs that “stack like Pringles”. It’s like being trapped in the belly of a rapacious crustacean, but the sheer wealth of stuff – and the employees beavering away in the design studio downstairs – are testament to Arad’s achievements. He’s won numerous Designer of the Year honours; he’s produced work for Alessi and Cappellini, among others; he’s had a retrospective at the V&A; his work is in the collections of the Design Museum, MoMA in New York, and Paris’ Pompidou Centre; he’s currently Professor of Design Product at the Royal College of Art; and he’s about to embark on his biggest British commission yet – the hotel at the top of the redeveloped Battersea Power Station. It seems that we’re finally ready to embrace Arad’s left-field visions; after all, formerly “edgy” contemporaries like Tom Dixon now find themselves creative-directing for Habitat. There’s one problem, however; Arad doesn’t really want to be embraced.”It’s really important to him to be seen as this loner and rebel,” says a former RCA student of Arad’s. “He’s never happier than when he’s got something to rail against. It can make him a really inspiring teacher, but also a bit of a pain in the arse.

I remember him going on and on about how the Rolling Stones died the day Mick Jagger accepted a knighthood, and how Bob Dylan would never sell out in that way. He’s married with teenage kids, but there’s a big part of him that doesn’t want to be a grown-up.”Arad is certainly child-like, if not occasionally childish. He’s a big, soft-spoken bear of a man, dressed in the modern designer’s utilitarian uniform of nondescript but obviously well-made black T-shirt, jeans and trainers. Interviewing him is a frustrating business; he changes subjects capriciously or hops out of his chair and disappears mid-sentence like someone in the throes of terminal Ritalin deficiency.”Boredom is the mother of creativity,” he declares. He’s expounding on his design philosophy when he suddenly asks if I’ve seen Google Earth, and spends the next 15 minutes demonstrating its wonders; he occasionally ignores questions altogether, or will opine that “the general standard of writing on design in this country is tragically low”, whilst giving you a pitying look He runs the gamut from charming to exasperating.

He refuses to discuss the ostensible reason for our meeting – a decanter he’s designed for the Italian company Guzzini, part of its “Foodesign” initiative in which 100 top designers, including Arad, Tom Dixon and Karim Rashid have come up with “the ultimate kitchen accessories” – altogether: “Oh, that’s so boring,” he harrumphs “I did it such a long time ago. Let’s talk about something else instead.” This is the following, entirely typical, exchange:Independent on Sunday “What would you rather talk about, then?”Ron Arad “Well, you’re the journalist, aren’t you? Why don’t you ask me a question?”IoS “OK. You’ve said design has always been more appreciated in Barcelona or Italy, so why did you stick it out in the UK all these years?”RA [distracted] “Sorry? What?”IoS [repeats the question.]RA “Oh well, I had no role models to follow here, and that was kind of good in a way. I mean, I didn’t even know what designers did and I didn’t know how to become one. I studied at the Architectural Association, and that taught me that I didn’t want to become an architect, and I didn’t want to work for other people.”IoS So you were flying by the seat of your pants when you opened One-Off?RA [goes off to answer the phone, comes back] “What about my pants?”IoS [repeats the question.]RA “We did things and thought about them later. We didn’t deliberate or hesitate.”IoS “And you’ve worked the same way since?”RA Absolutely The thing is… [drifts off.]IoS “The difference is, you’re part of the establishment now.”RA [grins, cocks an eyebrow.] “Am I? Part of the establishment? Do I get a certificate?”IoS “Maybe a carriage clock.”RA [distracted by phone.

Goes to answer it.]Arad’s conception of himself as a maverick was undoubtedly shaped by his upbringing; his father was a sculptor and his mother a photographer Both were Communists. His father was born in Russia and ended up in a Palestinian commune while on his way to Spain to fight Franco; Arad himself came to London in 1973 to escape conscription into the Israeli army.”I didn’t want to do anything anyone told me I had to do,” he says flatly. “I’ve always been much more interested in doing things that people told me I couldn’t. I always ask myself about any project: is it subversive enough?”This is the kind of attitude that produces the Nina Rota – a circular, omni-directional, leather-upholstered bed (Arad himself has one: “You don’t want to sleep on a square one ever again”) – but that inevitably raises hackles among the Corinthian columns of what Arad insists on calling “the establishment”. He caused a flurry at the RCA when he merged the departments of furniture design and industrial design, and his plans for a flagship store for Hogan in Sloane Street were met with similar incomprehension – “The head guy told me, ‘Mr Arad, a shop without a window is like a man without a willy,”’ he says, grinning broadly.His scheme for the Upperworld Hotel at Battersea Power Station is the first chance for his adopted country to experience Arad’s imagination in full effect.