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.