Sergei Chekhonin

Sergei Chekhonin

Bouquet of Flowers

circa 1922

     These are flowers with a rebellious streak in their stems. They defy and put to shame the almost ordinary grace of a tulip, carnation or rose; they dominate the power of colour and shape, with their great lolling heads seemingly overweight with ego. With even their very leaves dwarfing the wicker vase, the flowers appear to drawl in harmony of their unearthly allure not possibly found within the common garden bed. Bound to the same base, their energy of reds, blues, greens and yellows and of their sheer mammoth sizes gives the impression of their strained attempts to rip free their roots in unison, to escape from a mould jailing them to the mundane dirt of the everyday. They want to achieve feats believed incapable by mere plants capped with ludicrous, pompous hats; they want to unsettle the idea that outer prettiness means but inner plainness, or that fragility of form means only weakness of will. After all, this bouquet is indeed composed of papery blossoms, both on and off the canvas, and so it is only understandable that such a group must perform to its audience a sequence of steps unexpected of its kind - a dizzying dance of drooping heads and constant vigilance in order to, one day, finally float off from the page to full-fledged applause.

Lisbeth Zwerger

Lisbeth Zwerger

Little Red Cap was met by a Wolf

circa 2012

     There is a delicacy to this illustration - almost a fragility - that visually enunciates the mounting tension of the scene. The wolf (or should one say Zwerger herself?) cunningly places itself in an agreeable spot by which Little Red Cap will surely pass, unaware and always curious. The wolf’s position is angled and higher than that of the girl, placing the audience at a point from which it, too, fills the role of a spy. With its right paw and chin resting smartly against the mossy tree trunk, the wolf forms an elegant curve from the tip of its tail, up along its wiry back and ending with its darkly-lined, perked ears. Apart from being wonderfully drawn and imbued with an unmistakably sly character, the wolf’s shape brings together the foreground with the middle ground, almost as a foreboding act of drawing Little Red Cap further up the hill towards the story’s climactical meeting between predator and prey. The space behind the girl is intentionally blank: stretching out and beyond her and the receding trees, it represents the trouble-less, wolf-free life that she leaves in her wake, as well as her innocence of youth. It is now only a question of what will soon happen after she looks up and into the eyes of her stalker for the first time, and whether or not it is truly a wolf, or in fact something more.

Art of Apulia

Apulian Italy, by unknown artist(s)

Oriental (stylised) Decorative Ivory Plaque (depicting reclining bathing women in conversation)

circa 600s or 500s B.C.

     In order to understand a bit of the character of this little plaque, it is important to question what its original purpose might have been. Certain clues of its function lie on its very skin, plainly visible, while the discovery of others rely on intuition and reasoning, like reading between the lines of a story book. 

     One might begin with the subjects themselves: each seems to wear only a striated headdress over their hair (notice the opposing textures) and a lower body garment. It is unclear as to whether these are truly robes, however - as easily as it is to assume that the figures are actually male, it is equally possible to assume that their ‘clothing’ is actually water, stylised into three undulated waves to indicate the act of bathing. It is also interesting to consider that the figures are as animated as they are rigid. Notice that while their hand gestures and reposing postures denote close interaction with one another (are they arguing? singing?), their bodies nevertheless fall into a pattern that could easily be repeated onto consecutive plaques. The central subject separates its two companions on its left and right sides, each of whom are surely meant to appear identical, despite minor deficiencies in the artist(’s)’ handiwork and in the quality of the ivory. Perhaps this implies that this plaque was once part of a larger collection, one that bordered the brilliantly-coloured tiled walls of a lost city’s private baths? Its material, ivory, and its figures’ genderless though refined, delicate countenances point towards the plaque’s usage within Apulian society’s upper classes - places in which the everyday, common people would not likely set foot, whether it be for their lack of money or pure blood, or for their supposed crude understanding of what separates art from mere craft. Though only a matter of guesswork, this also reveals the irony that riddled the relationships between people of such societies, past and present, and how it is only a question of perspective that discerns one thing from another.

Ferdinand Hodler

Ferdinand Hodler

Nu Féminin en mouvement (sketch for l’Émotion)

circa 1902-03

     This woman has a classical grace about her figure. She is nude with but a long drape of indistinct cloth shielding her modesty, and she poses with an air of flirtation, sensuality. The bay of skin flowing from her outstretched foot, up along her thigh and rounded hip and then to her slender bosom and neck, wholly connects the woman as not just a body of singular beauty and proportion, but also as a muse - as an ideal hidden within the everyday mundane. Her shape is attractively familiar; her gesture is natural yet poised, with one hand accentuating the unique delicacy of the female body, the other drifting down nearer her belly, perhaps to instinctually cradle the area in which life is created. Her shoulders also feign a sensualness: slightly tensed, they appear to express strain or uncertainty, with an added touch of allure in the way they relate to the position of her neck. Craned away from the viewer, her face almost entirely hidden, the neck joins body with mind, soul with character. Hodler foreshortened her face, making her strong jaw and upper neck all the more feminine by softening and thickening them together as one confident contour. Like a statue, like an ethereal figure oblivious of common plagues and worries, this nude is elevated from being just a common girl to being interchangeably that and more. She is forever faceless and flat, but she has a timeless charisma that runs deeper than a mere sheaf of paper.

Ercol: the Chair

Ercol (est. 1920 by Lucian Ercolani)

‘Old Colonial’ Grandfather Rocking Chair

circa 1956-78

   The Ercol Furniture family is still headed by its original 1920’s lion, a line-drawn ‘mascot’ who passionately enunciates from the pages of the company’s catalogues its admiration of the iconic Ercol silhouette - whether it be of a chair, table or pouffe. He draws attention to (or rather boasts of) the company’s uncanny talent in manufacturing its pieces as light-weight and eternally fashionable. The particular rocking chair on the left, though labelled as part of Ercol’s ‘Old Colonial’ style, shares unmistakable qualities with its ‘Goldsmith’ range also, pairing together elements underlying (and justifying) the lion’s heartfelt ravings about Ercol’s streamline, contemporary design of the time. Of either beech or elm, this chair epitomises the company’s recurring country house-style theme: it models tastefully the recognisable shape of cottage chairs (which subsequently raised its popularity among Ercol’s more wealthy of clientèle, who wish(ed) to appear modest but rich all the same) and, viewed without its original Sanderson cushions, it is shaped delicately - a nod to both its visual and physical sprightliness.

     However, the foam-lined cushions are just as important to the Ercol image as are its wooden pieces, and it is considered by many (myself included) that to own a vintage Ercol without its original linen or cotton fabric pattern (no matter how tattered or dirty) is nothing short of pure frustration, let alone disappointment. The original fabrics are undoubtedly Ercol’s ‘cherries’ topping each of its delicious creations. Many of its cushions accord to the ‘oyster’ shape, as seen above, which fit only the Ercol designs for which they were made. Equipped with snaps, straps and an occasional elegant ruche, these patented pillows offer as much to admire in mid-twentieth century design as do the sleek pieces that they adorn. Indeed, they contribute a great deal to Ercol’s ingrained authenticity. Though, as its proud lion might roar - cushion or no cushion, one can never own too many Ercols!

Edgar-William Brandt

Edgar-William Brandt

la Biche dans la Forêt (firescreen)

circa 1924

     A delicate style of figural portrayal in vogue from the early 1910s until the mid-‘30s, this wrought-iron piece features a young deer, probably male, who pauses idly amid a web of coiling stems and fantastical blossoms. Perched, its left front leg slightly raised, it appears uncertain as to whether its attention has been caught by something friendly or deadly. Framing and employing this moment as the décor of a screen was undoubtedly clever of Brandt, because it reveals the psychology of not only a common creature of prey, but also of oneself. Consider that the deer’s behaviour places the viewer in the role of either the friend or foe, asking of them to determine which of the two they might be, and from this developing an instant dialogue, a muted conversation, between the onlookers. Though in a permanent form, the frozen, studious deer symbolises a second’s hesitation; a fleeting moment of calm or confusion; a brief slowing of time about to be suddenly resumed - inviting the deer in either the direction of an instinctual interest or sending it in that of imminent safety. Its guard dropping, the deer now blinks, its breathing becoming steadier. So which of its lures will prove strongest: the fire, or you?

Gustave Courbet

Gustave Courbet

Portrait of a Spanish Lady

circa 1855

     This is ‘realism’ through the eyes of the nineteenth century. Little is known about this woman other than that she is a young Spaniard and is presumably of middle class society. Her dress is generously layered with lace and fine satin or silk: either it is a costume or ‘prop’ that the artist had ready for her to wear (this being a common custom for centuries already) or it is the lady’s own. Considering the time period and Gustave Courbet himself, it is more likely the case of the latter. It is clear that, no matter her position or status at the time, Courbet painted the Spaniard in such a way that does little to matte her natural glow; or to accentuate any false sense of grace. This is a portrait that shows the lady as she is: relaxed, thoughtful and refreshingly simple in rustic beauty. She is not trying to impress the viewer. She seems to be barely aware of even the artist, and of maybe herself. The colours and contours of this picture are what speak for her - the violent red of backdrop hinting of a fiery heart and head, and of a southern sun and culture; and her blue dress visually easing and cooling any suggestion of a tumult, teasingly pulling our eyes upwards along her sensual, womanly figure to a bay of white skin, and then to a pair of lips and eyes and proud eyebrows. And as if the climax of it all, she seems to have just released her hair, allowing it to cascade over both fire and water - joining them, equalising them - when only seconds before the restricting comb may have symbolised an inner war yet unwon.

Dugald Stewart Walker

Dugald Stewart Walker

Geesetalk

circa 1920

    Here a humorous animation is made through but black, beige and an evident understanding of the aesthetics of space. These geese are set in motion before our eyes by the simple tool of the register: the birds pit-pat from left to right across the page, creating a ceaseless parade of  (what one imagines to be) waddling and raucous quacking. One could say that this print is like a still from a praxinoscope - one that, despite being parted from its original optical platform, still resonates with a rotating movement meant to instil life into an otherwise two-dimensional, stationary drawing. 

     Consider that the title of this piece (‘Geesetalk’) also animates the subjects: it seems to be a bit of a play on words, or on phonetics. Do geese really ‘talk’? Or do they more-so ‘communicate’ to one another through gestures and guttural noises, through a mysterious language of their own? Whatever the case, the viewers may find themselves thinking this idea over in their heads to no avail. It is a question of which came first: the chicken (or is it the goose?) or the egg? It is a circular argument that undoubtedly plays tricks on the mind, rather like a praxinoscope. Meanwhile, the battalion of six in front of one continues full-heartedly onwards. Their battle cries grow relentlessly louder in one’s mind, all because of the simple trick of pairing the words ‘geese’ and ‘talk’ together. With this illustration, one is meant to sense the tight marching and taunting of the geese; one is meant to feel their puffed-up, angry and haughty breasts; and while looking, one is meant to hear (and simultaneously agree) that geese are not exactly the most quiet of creatures.

the Wiener Werkstätte: the Toy

Artist(s) unknown

Kaleidoskop

circa early twentieth century

    This is a fine example of a simple pleasure. Compared to some kaleidoscopes, its shape is simple and unfussy. Its old age is apparent through both its coarse craftsmanship (notice the edges’ paper pleating and how the barrel’s pattern ‘seeps’ over the printed lines) as well as its mint condition - the latter being a likely testament to being treated with care over the decades. Within is concealed a wild and dazzling glass universe, as one might expect, but it is interesting to note that the instrument’s outer shell, though indeed a pattern, does little to foreshadow the wonder of the revolving spectacle inside. It is a unique pattern characteristic of the Wiener Werkstätte period and it certainly catches the eye if not for its complementary reds and greens; but it nonetheless lacks a certain ‘spunk’ worthy of this type of toy. Perhaps this is intentional - like a test, a way to lure in the unweary child or bored friend. Perhaps it is only through this sense of subdued outer display that the curiosity of the onlooker is truly sparked. It may serve as the kaleidoscope’s eye of the hurricane: an unnervingly calm space preceding something terrible but beautiful. Lift this to one’s eye, begin to turn it one way and then another and, similar to a great storm, it becomes difficult to tear oneself away from the trance of such a strange spectacle of visuals.

Charles Livingston Bull

Charles Livingston Bull

the Pincushion of the Woods

circa 1922

     With many of Bull’s illustrations there seems to be an inherent sense of devotion that he ingrained into each of his animals. He used his gift of drawing as a gateway between his world and theirs, transferring his imagination and their mannerisms onto paper as a single expression. He did not merely replicate what he saw, but perceived it as something to first understand and observe, and to then translate through a brush. The bear here, for example, is more than just a detailed depiction of a grizzly; it is a bear who has a story of its own, as does the ‘pincushion’ sneering down at it from the tree. An unusual pair of plunderers, they might be bickering over their latest failure in stealing a few sets of much-needed trousers from the local laundry house; or they may be having a classic lovers’ quarrel, one blaming the other for the inexcusable mess of pine needles left at the foot of their tree; or maybe they are not fighting at all, but instead saluting each other after a satisfying few months of hibernation, and proposing to schedule a game of tennis for the following Wednesday. The possibilities for what may be taking place in this scene are endless, as long as one has an imagination at least equal to that of the artist’s to be able to envisage them. But it is not without Bull’s help that one can do this - take away his style and characteristic imprint as an illustrator and we would have but a silent bear, a stiff porcupine and an empty husk of bark.

the Wiener Werkstätte: Emanuel Josef Margold

Emanuel Josef Margold

Ex Libris for Josef Pecsi

circa 1911

     By clearly placing Josef Pecsi’s name at the top of this piece, Margold cleverly implies that it is like the ‘sun’ to which the strange unfurling plant underneath is slowly growing. One’s eye is thus naturally drawn upwards with the plant itself, this being a visual tool which gives movement to a supposedly stationary, two-dimensional illustration. The artist also squeezes the plant into a long and lengthened rectangle - again, a technique used to fool the eye into believing that whatever is inside the space is limited and cramped, and is forced to spread out either upwards or downwards (again drawing the eye towards the intended point). This forms a pleasant ‘conversation’ between the illustration’s elements, fluidly connecting them in a kind of circular, loop-the-loop script which instantly communicates to us, the audience, the misleading idea that the illustration is simple and uncomplicated. But in fact, the design was carefully planned and executed, with its overall message of simplicity being exactly what Margold intended the viewer to believe in.

the Timepiece: Breguet et fils

Breguet et fils (established 1775)

Watch (no. 4111)

circa 1827

     What one must first know about this objet d’art is that it is an incredibly thin piece, a feature specially enabled by the fitted balance wheel within. Turned on its side exactly 90 degrees, the watch's wide elegant face (as seen on the left) becomes a mere sliver of gold - slim not only in perspective, but also in weight. 

     The precision of the watch - crafted and executed without a single computer or fancy digital design programme in sight - is one that seems to laugh at today’s contemporary ideals of ‘advanced technology’, and at the common misconception that ‘bigger’, more complicated methods always yield better-than-before results. With respect to the arts, this is rarely true, and this pocket watch proves it: a machine could not have made its metal surface any smoother or its shape more circular. It could not have rendered its numerals more accurate in size or in symmetry, and it certainly could not have made its hidden dials and rotary systems perform more seamlessly. In all of these qualities lies a talent found uniquely in the human eye and in its willingness, and innate capability, to then forge it into something tangible. The only effect a machine could have on an object as this would be that of stripping away the originality created from the watch’s bare hand-to-object contact. It would erase its characteristic ‘blemishes’ (minute though they may be) made throughout its formation, those which form the bread trail from its conception to final birth. The watch would become an empty entity; a mindless mechanical face with no personality imbued in its shiny skin. But fortunately, the era into which this Breguet watch was born was one where artisans strove off of what their raw talents, aided only by secondary tools and the like, could earn them. Depending on one’s understanding of the idea of evolution, it is questionable as to whether humankind is indeed progressing and maturing as much and as far as it could be, and whether it is only a matter of time before it realises that some of its innovations are but cheap, regurgitated copies of the past - redundant and sterile, unlike their ancestors. 

Leonard Turzhanskii

Leonard Turzhanskii

Spring Coming

circa 1922 (?)

     Perhaps in this scene there is an equal play between sight and sound. The emphasis on the coming of Spring is not placed on typical (though still beautiful) images of blooming green shoots and flowers or of new offspring of nature but, on the contrary, on what is going to be temporarily lost and hidden with its arrival. Pairing snow with sunlight, the two main figures in this scene, the artist creates a direct flow of communication between what he wanted his viewers to see and what he then wanted them to sense and feel. With simple visuals Turzhanskii makes the coming of Spring personal to each of us: he draws sound out of sight, impressing individual ideas of melting, mushy snow in our minds as if it were really taking place, drop by drip, in the painted courtyard before us. Even the roosters may now come to life, clucking and pecking around their snowy territory in search of hibernating seeds, and it is at this point that we may actually feel rather than just see the coming of Spring on this two-dimensional canvas. Underneath the paint is the subtle message of the progression of time; it spreads itself over landscapes in the form of seasons, redefining what we see differently each time and painting for us new ways in which to interpret what we think we may see, versus what is really there.

Fabergé: the Object

Peter Carl Fabergé (and Alfred Thielemann)

Box

circa 1929

(gilt metal, guilloché enamel and sapphire)

     This box is almost edible. It echoes the look of a vintage bonbon, one whose décor is both inviting and delicate (and of course authentically sweet) and whose colours and shape are simple and soft. The central panel of blue is like a sky whipped with wafts of wispy clouds, ideal for a few leisurely hours of kite-flying or of lying eagle-spread in the grass, guessing the forms of the lazy drifters up above. The pale rose-coloured panel on the right might remind one of bitter raspberry ice cream, of prune jam or of a loathed pair of aged pink socks that have thankfully misplaced themselves. Wet sand, cold milk or clean white bed sheets, creased and warm, may be evoked by the solid creamy panel on the left; within its gold confines the enamel is spread out like a generous helping of margarine on toast, the knife resting nearby on the edge of chipped old plate, spotted with crumbs and lovingly repainted over the generations. The gleam of this box is fine: it is as reflective as that of a shallow, clear puddle of water, similar to those found smattered throughout a meadow after a dense spring shower: crisp, still and scented with the uncanny freshness of a retreating winter. To some, this box may even transform itself into a weird carousel, its six vertical windows rotating slowly to the sound of a tune believed to have been forgotten, each opening and revealing in turn a niche fitted with a memory or thought spurred by something as slight as a colour, smell or sound - strained from all corners of the mind, whether polished or dusty.

Leavesden Film Studios: 'Harry Potter'

Leavesden Film Studios, Hertfordshire (London)

Harry Potter Film Prop

circa 2004

      This is a brilliant trompe-l’œil used in the third make of the Harry Potter Warner Bros. film series. It depicts one of the Leaky Cauldron’s corridors above the ground floor pub which, as one can see, shows a few of the doors that lead off into the separate lodges. Apart from the fact that this prop was crafted entirely by skilled hands from its start to finish, the additional fact that it is an illusion intended to fool the eye both on and off the screen adds to its marvel as a work of art.

     In true form, when one stands at the widest end of this prop (its height being around that of an average human), one’s perception wavers strangely between the sense of realism taking place peripherally throughout the museum (from jabbing tourists to hyper-energetic children bobbing up and down all over) to the sense of surrealism radiating from this falsely-receding hallway that sits in one’s direct view. The height of the wooden chair at the far end of the corridor is, in truth, less than a metre. The portion of red carpet on which the miniature chair stands is also tiny - its width being no more than half of that which stretches forwards and outwards along the panelled corridor. Even the stucco- and wood-beamed ceiling shrinks according to how much space is put between the viewer and the farthest end of the hallway. Everything from the tussled, crooked carpet; the walls which seem to groan and shift with some mysterious force; and the dramatic lighting peering out from the left-hand space that no one is meant to truly see - all of these careful details are what crown this creation as not only a prop featured in the filmed version of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but also as an eternal attestation of the different kind of magic that can resonate and be inspired from J.K. Rowling’s wonderful story. And to think that this piece saw only a few seconds’ worth of camera time throughout the entire set of eight films...

Su Blackwell

Su Blackwell

Book Sculpture for ‘The Baron in the Trees’ (details)

circa 2011

     A skill and talent like that of this artist is undeniable, even when studying only a detail of one of her works. For this paper sculpture, Blackwell reveals fragments of Italo Calvino’s storyline based on how willing one is to simply stop and stare (which with this work is only too easy to do). Though some of the shapes created from the book’s pages are easily recognisable as, say, the ladder or the pair of socks, the artist’s work still requires a certain level of visual de-puzzling on behalf of its audience in order for its clearest voice to come through.

    Notice that the drying garments and beautifully-petalled umbrella, for example, are cut from white paper and placed in clear view amid the jumble of type-faced brambles and branches. These details, in relation to the work as a whole, are minuscule, but due to their stark blankness and clarity of form they stand out against the backdrop as sharply as if there were no paper forest or black background at all. Also consider the fact that much of Blackwell’s œuvre is in black and white. She sometimes dabbles with colour, sparingly spacing it throughout a piece like small 'notice' signs; and she has indeed made pieces, though rare, which are doused in a full bloom of colour. But much of her works’ success is arguably due to it being a sinuous but clear monochromatic depiction of things in their simplest states - as if these things were but tedious three-dimensional sketches that burst forth into a final position, showcasing a stripped version of themselves at their purest stage between inspiration and actual creation. 

     Whoever you are, this work of art has the effect of swallowing one up in a lovely way. It entices one to look harder and longer, perhaps to the point of wishing to be small and nimble enough to crawl along the lettered bark and settle down for a while, treating it like a new home - exactly as Calvino’s protagonist chooses to do.

Harriet Meserole

Harriet Meserole

Vogue Cover Design (French Edition)

circa 1921

     This is a lovely scene. Though its illustrative style may not be to everyone’s tastes, it nonetheless expresses to its viewers an open invitation made on behalf of the two ladies (and their dawdling dog) - it is one that implies, Why not stroll along with us? Rather than emphasising a cold shoulder, the figures’ turned backs actually place the viewer in the wake of warmth and liveliness. The women’s postures as well as their clothing give them a note of animation that visually contrasts with the barren, almost lifeless forest of pines surrounding them. The ornate red-and-gold ensemble of the lady on the right behaves like a firework releasing its vibrant energy against the expanse of whiteness which frames it. The second lady’s clothing, a rich billowing cape of (presumably) fur (topped with a sharp pop of geometric flowers), is different to, but just as stylish as, that of her companion. It, too, contrasts with its surroundings, but it does so in a subtler way. As this is a drawing meant to emulate the glory of fashion and its many nuances which are undoubtedly related to and drawn from nature itself, the white cape plays the role of ‘showing off’ what the human hand can create. Its whiteness and irregular shape almost brag to the whiteness against which it is set, putting into question, Which is more beautiful and real - you or I? It might be this that the ladies are so intent on discussing. Or, quite understandably, it could be that they have become too numb to talk, and now they are only focused on the important prospect of returning as quickly as possible to the warmth of the house just ahead.

the Wiener Werkstätte: Eduard Klablena

Eduard Klablena

Parrot

circa 1911-12

     The bird’s yellow coat immediately catches the eye. It is so seamless (almost as if the paint is still wet) that it renders the bird quite naked, featherless. By dousing much of it in a thick, heavy layer of one colour, perhaps Klablena intended to draw out the parrot’s pure form and contours rather than its plumaged surface, so as to depict it as anything but a creature of flight; to keep it grounded and simple. The same idea can be applied to its beak and pedestal: both are completely black, with shape being the only characteristic that marks them as being one thing versus another. They are closer to the ground than the rest of the parrot’s body; they are similarly doused in one colour (though black is not a true ‘colour’), but this colour is heavier than yellow and so it appears to visually ‘pool’ at the bird’s base, simultaneously balancing the communication between two opposite hues as well as stabilising the bird’s heavy head by magnetically pulling it towards its sister bay of black - towards a central base. It is only after one registers this clever interaction of the bird’s elements that one can then appreciate the delicate touches of dots and lines found on the bird’s feet and under its eyes. These give the parrot its final definition. They instil in its yellow-and-black parole a note of rhythm, a beat which runs through its stoneware core like a revolving pulse. And it is only now that each of us can imagine the parrot as beginning to nod up and down like a bobble toy, swinging to its own soundless groove.

20th Century Photography

the Poiret de Wilde Collection (provenance)

Paul Poiret en Russie

circa 1911

     It may be difficult for those who are unfamiliar with Poiret’s work to see any value in this photograph. To the unsuspecting eye, it is a rather unremarkable black and white photo of a man whose rigid figure is drowned in a large collared overcoat, and whose casual attempt to lean nearer to the rear of the motorcar appears to be so crippled by the cold Russian air that it only results in an even more awkward and uncomfortable pose. 

    However, this photograph marks the point in time when this man, famous couturier and ‘Pasha of Paris’, came face to face with what would spark and mould so much of his wonderful and iconic work of the coming years: Serge de Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. From the colours and costumes and interpreted Oriental design schemes to the mere theatrical details of anything from the underside of a yellow satin slipper to the shockingly-patterned and -plumaged pantaloons worn by a mysterious princely character, Poiret became captivated by the visual charm exuding from every corner of the small ballet company. In his mind, it served as a new patch of soil from which he could cultivate similar base ideas, but then expand on them in the direction of not only his unique perception of avant-garde aesthetics, but also in that of redefining the current fashion world’s restricted idea of beauty and form. Paul Poiret’s travels around Russia placed his artistic eye in direct contact with a culture that he had not fully realised was so rich in character, and which drew his natural affinity with boisterous styles and colourful, joie de vivre elements of design into an even tighter, more outspoken and confident bow of expression. It is for these reasons that this photograph speaks millions to those aware and appreciative of Poiret’s œuvre, for it shows an artist who, even if a bit stiff in stance, had an innovative and flexible, forward-thinking mind. And as this photo was being taken, it is likely that that very mind was already developing the early stills which would later materialise into the timeless works of art that admirers, collectors and museums alike guard closely to this day.

Konstantin Korovin

Konstantin Korovin

On a Seashore

circa 1910

     The cherries - or are they grapes? - look plump and crisp, their translucent skins slowly baking in the coastal light. They sit together in the dish as if it were a boat, its belly gliding lazily through a body of calm white water. Ahead of them is a pair of glass islands, one of which is seen boasting of its sole inhabitant: a great lolling tree with spectacular blossoms, heavy and sweet, which throws out behind itself a blue bay of shade. From its facing side, the tree extends a single leafy branch in a gesture of welcome to the boating fruit. Tired and rather parched, the travelling foursome take comfort in the idea of escaping the relentless beat of the sun, to soon find themselves cooling underneath the scented canopy of late summer roses. They look ahead with more vigour; they can nearly taste the swollen blue air of the bay, bobbing up and down ahead of them like a skilled siren. But they are disillusioned: their hope is but a mirage, the heat having stifled and deluded their minds into forgetting the recent fates of their fellow brethren - brethren who were in the same boat, just as bloated and as blind, and who also did not suspect the second, more sinister bay of shade looming in from the right behind them, foreshadowing their imminent, sticky ends.

the Wiener (Keramik) Werkstätte: Bertold Löffler

Bertold Löffler

Dose mit Schmetterling (no. 315)

circa 1912-20

     This bowl’s clean ceramic body is beautifully balanced by its leaf- and butterfly-topped finial. This bit is intended to be easily pinched and lifted up by two delicate fingers, uncovering whatever is sheltered inside. Its hat-like décor is meant to be cluttered and highly graphic, with all types of patterns, shapes and suggested textures crawling and tumbling over one another as if racing to see who might reach the summit first. Echoing the familiar bellflower shape seen in many of the Wiener Werkstätte designs, the bowl’s body brings to mind the natural effect of gravity: its weight pools at its base, forming something like a small mayonnaise dish, while its other half seems to be drawn upwards, slowly, as if by an unseen pull, then topped with the charming still-life. As far as what the Workshop(s) tried to achieve, this Dose can be seen as a fine example of a successful Gesamtkunstwerk, or ‘total work of art’. Its married elements of art, form and common, everyday usage are stripped to the bare, made simple. The ‘glue’ which artists as Löffler then used to meld these elements into place (or, in other words, into an approved ‘WW’ work of art) was their individual take of Viennese aesthetics; their core style and expression; their final and most personal touch to the piece. It is arguable that Löffler’s most distinct touch throughout his œuvre is his style of structure, much like Michael Powolny's. Both use the momentum of confident contours to guide and focus one’s attention on the ‘pinnacle’ aspect of the artwork, whether it is a patch of geometric colours crowning the head of a bird, or the tensed feet of a snail-riding putto. The idea was to give the work of art an internal source of spotlight so that no matter how or where it might be seen (implying its day-to-day usage), the work - or in this case, the Dose - would be able to shine on its own. Proud, single and independent.

Ludwig Heinrich Jungnickel

Ludwig Heinrich Jungnickel

Three Blue Macaws (print)

circa 1909

     These three are loud and fidgety. Their curiosity is etched into their ruffled feathers and cocked expressions as they attempt to make out what has caught their attentions, whether it is an insect, a noise or the studious, predator-like observer, Mr. Jungnickel, himself. Notice how the artist was able to transfer the lively trio onto a two-dimensional space without leaving behind any of their true spontaneity. Rather like a painting, he textured their plumaged bodies one by one, puzzling together three wonderfully asymmetrical mischief-makers all perched along two singularly black and white receding branches, therefore imbuing them with individual senses of perspective, character and realism. He concentrated their agitated forms within a thick bordered frame, almost as if to magnify their body language and to guide the viewer’s attention directly to the birds’ own, creating a fluid two-way bridge of communication between a set of on-lookers (though who began looking at whom first remains a puzzle itself). This print is not meant to be serious, however; despite its brilliant execution and careful study of anatomy, it is a scene that is meant to make one grin. The artist’s evident skill in being able to filter his subjects through an animated, almost humorous point-of-view brings out the silliness of any creature forced to remain posed in a random position for, in this case, eternity. Perhaps the roles are now switched: perhaps it is now we who may mock and mime good-naturedly back at those who, forever frozen but never entirely gone, peer out at us from this print. Almost as if we, the audience, are the fourth Macaw.

Demel (Wien): Friedrich L. Berzeviczy-Pallavicini

Designed by Friedrich L. Berzeviczy-Pallavicini for Demel, K&K Hofzuckerbäcker (Wien)

Paper Box

circa 1930s (?)

    Another understated masterpiece made for Demel. The soft yellow stretching across the six paper panels draws together the illustrations as if they are floating along a similar sun-dyed skyline. They seem to slowly drift and bump into one another, softening or denting their brown contours like delicately-shaped clouds. The ripe flowers, the tentacled shisha and the weightless birds all circle around the cross-legged figure who serves as the all-seeing genie guarding the box’s only entrance and exit. But what could have been inside? 

     It is likely that the artist planted and played with certain motifs in order to hint as to what edible mystery lay hidden and waiting. The Persian qualities of the figure’s headdress and shoes, for example, and the extravagant style in which the figure sits to smoke, could denote that whatever the box contained was similar to the bitter delicacies found throughout the Near East. These may have been coffee beans dipped in hardened honey, spiced cashews or cacao beans or even some form of tea leaves. The colour yellow, too, suggests Eastern cultures: respected in many senses, it is used sparingly on imperial chinaware of the Far East or used profusely in design schemes for Indian saris and tapestries. It is a colour rich in power and meaning according to the different cultures of the Orient, and its use on this confectionary box may very well be to express that something more exotic than an ordinary (though no less delicious) Austrian treat resided inside - something as exotic as the swooping finely-tailed birds and the great perfumed blossoms. In their simplicity the illustrations elegantly compliment the box’s general purpose, even if it was only a miniature Sachertorte or Sandguglhupf that it once held.

Giovanni Boldini

Giovanni Boldini

le Hamac

circa 1874

     Here, nature has transformed itself into a cradle. In its green abundance it crowds around the woman like a great, big cushion, its soft noises soothingly drumming against her temple as if trying to draw out and away her pestering thoughts. From the way the parasol lies on the ground it seems likely that the lady plopped herself down in a kind of sudden exhaustion, one that may have slowly built itself up over time and that caused her to finally tip over and surrender from its weight in the safety of this sympathetic refuge. Her posture is of someone who is willingly giving in to a force they know is greater than any attempt of resisting it. She believes herself to be alone; her slipper-less foot dangles aimlessly over the side of the hamac, her head droops slightly onto the bay of strings and her arms, both outstretched, appear to be miming a silent show of frustration. 

     But what force could she be welcoming, if any at all? Is it something from within her, like an emotion she has repressed for so long that she can no longer contain it, and that the overpowering presence of nature - its tenacious growth, its lack of boundaries and rules and its disregard, even embracement, for its own irregularities and blemishes - has vehemently awakened it in her? This may be so. A respectable woman as she, judging from her understated jewellery and the frilled finery of her dress, was unquestionably accustomed to living by the rules that her nineteenth century society deemed appropriate for her status, and it is for this reason that she may be so shamelessly shunning them in this scene. She has had enough; she no longer cares about tact or perfection or about forming a pretty picture for those too limited to look beyond their definition of ‘acceptable’ to admire. But rather than trying to change them, her critical audience, she chooses a different path of assault, which is to relinquish herself to the origin of all things, to the hands of nature, in the midst of everything wild and openly pure as if she were being born again. And it is now that she knows what it is to be cradled and soothed, and to be reassured of the beauty in facing with pride rather than with shame whatever she has denied herself, and others, the most.

Michel Chaudun: Chocolatier de Paris

Michel Chaudun

les Figurines ou ‘Trophées’ du Chocolat

circa 2014

     Of the four intimately decorated vitrines paving the façade of this chocolaterie, I looked most closely at the one displaying this sweet huddle of animals. Their features, perhaps difficult to see from this photograph, are moulded and carved so finely into the chocolate that it is clear the artisan(s) left no detail unchecked. The brooding hen and her hyper chicklets could easily illustrate three-dimensionally a quality children’s tale, with both a visual and tasty satisfaction for any child who may only have a ten-minute attention span. The rabbits, too, are as animated and as skilfully rendered, to the point that they may even discourage one from nibbling off so much as the tip of an ear. Being incredibly small (the darkest ‘Thumper’ rabbit in the foreground measuring only half the length of a regular pinky finger), it is also surprising to realise that, up close, the animals are quite sturdy for such edible creations. I was nearly tempted to buy one merely for the sake of preserving it in a glass jar, but I then thought better of the idea. Eternalising such transient treasures as these into words is better than selfishly caging them in a mould-prone coffin. That said, it is fortunate for us that singular boutiques as Michel Chaudun strive to keep alive the timeless legacy of hand-made, beautiful creations in an age where too many are slowly succumbing to the mirth of heartless gadgets and falling standards.

Alexander McQueen: the Clothing (Part I)

Alexander McQueen 

Ensemble from The Girl Who Lived in the Tree (collection)

circa 2008

     There is a line in Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo that reads as this: ‘…the men had been prepared to discard caution and the women, custom: curiosity had pricked them with its irresistible spur and overcome all other feelings’. This McQueen ensemble, with its dress of silk tulle and its jacket of crisp velvet, gold embroidery and a touch of shearling, echoes these words; it is a contemporary statement of mysticism. Whether worn or not it is something that demands full attention of its audience. It strikes the eye like a curio, tickling the retina with a faint trace of the familiar, but also with that of slight unease. 

   The ensemble is, in a way, an emblem of the stealthy Dantès himself: queer but unquestionably distinguished in dress; perfectly in tune with not only the current times, but with those past and future; and unnervingly aware of something deeper than the superficial. Mixing the feminine and the masculine, it is an ensemble that shamelessly discards caution and custom - exactly like the impression, quoted above, that the masked Dantès instils in his guests when for the first time they visit his home in Auteuil. Just as they are pricked with an unnamed curiosity, we fall under a similar spell when looking at this ensemble: we recognise something peculiar in its design, in its structure of texture and colour and in its concentrated, ornate flashes of the Orient, of early twentieth century Russian dance and of gestural, expressionistic modern painting. It is a mix that subtly and slowly intends to shock, just as Monte Cristo does over his years of tenacious but patient planning of revenge. It is a body of accumulated detail and execution that extends its irresistible spur closer and closer to us, and instead of running from this foreign mélange of tissus and tastes, we stare and may even gawp at it. Like insects drawn to a lit lightbulb we behave just as Monte Cristo’s naïve prey do whenever they find themselves in his presence. Surrounded by a majority of false and fleetingly boring fashion pieces, many of us admit to being unaccustomed to such a fine work of fabrics as this. And for a moment we, too, may feel overcome by it, overwhelmed - as singular and impressively odd as it is.

the Wiener Werkstätte: in an Eggshell

the Wiener Werkstätte (designer(s) unknown)

Leather Bonbon Eggbox

circa 1917 (?)

    An understatement in many respects, it is fortunate for us that no one has yet discarded this wonderful piece of leather work simply for its seemingly minimal or boring design, or for an ignorant understanding of its ‘limited usage’. This is an egg remarkably well kept, with its silky pillowed interior in mint condition (void of any irksome stains) and its gilded handiwork showcasing little chipping or fading. Considering that this has survived for nearly a century since its creation as well as that it is made up of such easily degradable and delicate materials, it is a wonder that this precious facet of the short-lived Wiener Werkstätte is only being sold for a mere 65 Euros. It is likely, however, that in its heyday the egg would have been no more expensive than its price today, as the Austrian Arts and Crafts movement who made it was one who passionately promoted hand-made works of art for the everyday home - therefore affordable, tasteful and useful, and brilliantly executed to boot. The movement’s imminent downfall, though, proved that such ideals were not yet fully appreciated by its targeted clientèle, let alone the more international market, and soon its avant-garde endeavours were overruled by the more eye-catching, sought-after and ostentatious name-branded works of art which were to blossom before the coming Second World War. 

     From a positive angle, it is arguably best that the movement experienced an abrupt end to its small window of expression because this motived its members to experiment and create to the fullest. Its end was felt far before its arrival, either through funding matters or the short supplies of materials and workers in relation to the demands and commissions of those who did value its work. As a result, each of the Wiener Werkstätte products were made with the utmost care and attention despite the risk of never being sold or even publicly seen. Once deemed too crafty or unworthy of true artistic merit, works like this leather egg now resurface to a continually maturing society, one riddled with pattern lovers and decorative art vintage collectors who are able to read more clearly the message engrained in such objects - that art, despite age, era or type, can be anything and everything so long as its expression is valued.

Langenthal Porcelain (Swiss)

Langenthal Porcelain (Swiss)

Circular Boîte with gilded and hand-painted exotic birds and flowers (no. 48)

circa 1940-60 (?)

     Grimy, spattered with a big blob of what looked like blueberry juice and carelessly placed between piles of plastic toys spread across an old bed sheet, this little box required only three francs to be freed from its pitiful surroundings. It was very warm from having been under the sun for hours, and it seemed all the more brittle as its lid rattled against its body while, for only a short time, I cradled it around in its crumpled fragment of newspaper. For the remainder of the day, and of course for the rest of my life, I was accompanied by a familiar feeling (and a relentless grin) of greedy satisfaction: one that follows along the lines of, ‘Excellent! At such a pathetic price I have snatched up a fortune of undervalued design and of unique, timeless taste - and it is mine, mine, mine forever! No one else may have it!’ To anyone other than the accustomed market dweller whose eyes constantly peruse even the darkest, dirtiest of corners for potential lost treasures, my thoughts undoubtedly seem irrational and a bit immature. 

     Let it be argued, however, that it is quite the contrary: that thoughts as mine are equal in ecstatic depth and child-like happiness to those of someone who, for example, savours over and over again the dry smell of uncooked rice; or who loves running their fingers through a dog’s wet, soppy fur; or who hikes as fast and as hard as possible until their leg muscles tingle and burn hottest; or who slowly slides their palms across piano keys or the bark of a tree, back and forth, back and forth, until the skin is nearly numb; or who chews through a piece of olive bread with a steady, stealthy clamp of the jaw so as to taste each little grain of yeast, each bubble of air and each fleshy bit of olive skin as best as they can, almost to know that bite of bread as closely as a friend or a lover. Only those who are selfishly narrow-minded presume foreign feelings as these to be silly and weird, even inhuman, and such people deserve little attention, if at all. Anything that causes even the smallest dosage of guilt, self-disgust, sudden happiness, embarrassment or deep sadness (to name only a few) are moments which give individuals definition. My reaction in finding and taking for my own this porcelain jewel is rather a benign example of a ‘moment’, but it would be crude to assume that it is in any way less impressionable.

Carl Johann Tegelstein

Carl Johann Tegelstein

Circular Table (top view, with details)

circa 1844

(glass, gilt bronze and natural hardstones) 

  The harsh but elegant meandros bordering this table mingles with the central spurt of flowers in such a way that it acts as both the flowers’ instructor and friend, which in some cases may be one in the same. As an instructor, its rigid, repetitive pattern seems to be quite stern and unforgiving as it encircles the youthful, rallying bouquet, almost as if to prevent it from venturing too close to the precipice or from moving at all within its claustrophobic bubble. The meandros speaks a language according to an aesthetic, ‘pretty’ set of rules: it winds along a path that is never-ending and continuous, keeping a steady pace and a resolute, unblinking eye that lives only to shun the temptation of straying off course, however slightly. It bears down on the flowers like a hunter on the hunted: in this case not with malice, but with a drunken sense of confidence in its big size and in its great possession of power that it labels its ‘intelligence’. In a way, this is arrogance; and this is what makes the meandros serve as an unknowing friend to the flowers. Its level of arrogance, its assumed authority over what it blindly considers young and stupid, is so great that it overflows the boundaries of tolerance, and it inevitably bequeaths to the bouquet, its ‘pupil’, the very lesson that will teach it exactly how to avoid becoming such an autocrat itself. For the bouquet it is a lesson learnt early through the pain of subordination, but with a result that it is stronger in resistance to that which tried to imprison it in the first place; that it fights back with such a turbulent and colourful joie de vivre that it ends up balancing a discord - one that, in this case, is the table’s visual harmony.

     So which, in fact, is truly trapped: the bouquet of flowers, so obviously enveloped in a rotating prison of embellished trickery? Or the rotating meandros itself, so dull in its dumb repetition of two-dimensional fact that it manages to encase only itself in a prison of self-importance?

Paul-Camille Guigou

Paul-Camille Guigou

La Lavandière

circa 1860

     The deep folds of her skirt are dense and ruffled, textured like moist chipped chalk. They fall heavily from her waist and over her kneeling legs, giving the impression of a wilting origami rose suspended in mid-air and slowly moulding itself around a smooth object. It crumples silently and gracefully, encasing its prey entirely like a great webbed hand. Its stem is (one could say) the woman’s back: sun-lit, arched and foreshortened, it stretches into the picture plane and shares a similar tint of a light, almost blinding blue as that of the lake beyond the trees. Studied closely, the woman’s chemise also shares with the water traces of triangular shapes, whether these are made by seams or by ripples. With a bit of imagination, one could interpret that from these faint triangles there is a suggestion of a third patch of blue - the ‘final’ point to the three-sided puzzle - hidden in the picture. It is evidently the most important detail of all, at least in terms of the washerwoman, because its invisible presence is felt strongest in comparison to those which are seen plainly. Whether it is implied through the woman’s distinct posture, the washing board on which she kneels, the bar of soap or, as already proposed, through the triangular anomalies in blue, the river reveals itself as clearly as if it were painted in full view: flowing directly beneath the woman’s arms, bubbling serenely from one end to the other. But Guigou kept it in the shadows: he chose to focus the viewer’s attention not on the task a washerwoman must do, but on the washerwoman herself. He transformed with only his brush the scene’s natural sunlight into the woman’s very own spotlight, almost as if to place her centre stage in a play about her type of everyday life. Her task is not to look at it straight in the face, but to embrace it indifferently and without complaint.

the Timepiece: Patek Philippe & Cie

Patek Philippe & Cie

‘Baies Sauvages’ Dress-watch (no. 810’799)

circa 1927

(coral set into chiselled and enamelled gold)

    It is early autumn: a small storm brews over the distant tree tops tracing the edges of a field. Still flushed a deep green, the field’s blades of grass ripple together like ominous waves of a lake, its surface peppered with an occasional stunned rabbit caught tracing its way back to its safe, warm burrow. A grunt of thunder echoes from close by; clusters of pale leaves flutter down from an old birch and pirouette in mid-air; and a drifting magpie, suddenly intent on plucking up a shiny something rolling along the ground below, clumsily swoops down and - ‘Ahh! Sacrebleu!’ - nearly collides with the shiny something’s second pursuer: Hercule Poirot. 

     Stumbling somewhat, and muttering furiously underneath his twitching mustache (something about ‘zat wretched motorcar’ and ‘Hastings’ lack of ze brain cells, grey and all!’), the portly Belgian bends over once more to pick up his runaway button, now stationed against a stubborn pebble. Casting a weary eye up towards the receding bird, Poirot straightens and, slightly more violently than intended, hitches up his askew trousers. He balances himself against his half-umbrella half-walking stick, checking that nothing more has unceremoniously freed itself from his carefully chosen dinner attire (‘Zis wind tries to kill Poirot!’), then sticks his gloved hand into his waistcoat and pulls out a long fine chain, its end adorned with a berry-specked dress-watch identical to this one. With a small click it opens to reveal a handsome face yawning the time of only six minutes to seven, causing Poirot to make an elegant little hop closer in the direction of the manor house beyond the bend. He places the watch back into its silk-lined dwelling and begins to mutter peevishly once more. But this time, his mustache twitches with a smile. One button short and only three minutes lost, 'Poirot has certainly known worse'. 
    Opening his umbrella, he chuckles and quickens his pace, attempting to resume his stylishly-cut pre-magpie strut along the country road. Stones and stray leaves crunch beneath his soles; rain now splatters the ground with a growing rhythm; and time ticks steadily on alongside Poirot’s hearty little hum.

Audrey Hepburn: the Fair Lady

Private Collection (photographer unknown)

Audrey Hepburn

circa 1950-55 (?)

    This woman was and always will be a work of art. She resonated grace and spontaneity and truth all in one, making her a reluctant public model of what her era soon saw as a perfect modern lady. But the image of her global perfection was and is intended, even mislabelled, for those who view her through a superficial and theatrical lens - something that reflects only a filtered version of who she really was. 

     On no matter what side of the camera, one could say that Audrey Hepburn had a beauty of both the mind and body that was simple and fresh. She was not one who was seeking fame, but rather one who kept bumping into it by accident. Because of this, however, and because of the formative years she lived through in the Second World War, Ms Hepburn was able to cope and to retain a core sense of realness about her in spite of the growing demands from film and fashion industries, many of which wanted to play with and promote her new face. She was like a petal floating in a great big swaying sea: reasonably scared at times of its huge mass and dangerous currents but on the whole confident in and resilient to whatever it sent her way. Her true image of perfection was not that she was in fact beautiful in character and in form, but that she denied being beautiful at all. What she expressed as openly as her skills in acting was her belief that she was clumsy and inadequate in relation to those great and famous people to whom she was often compared. And yet it was because she did not try to change herself for this, and because she remained resolutely private about her outside life, something that she cherished dearly, that she raised herself above that general selection of famous people. She gave herself, perhaps unknowingly, a truly respectable image of perfection for a human being. She is a work of art in that she had class, charm and a lovely sense of humility, and that her eyes will smile at us even when our backs are temporarily turned.