Fabergé: the Animal

Fabergé

Bulbous Elephant

circa 1900

(purpurine and diamond)

     With its ears, feet and trunk neatly tucked in, this eggy elephant takes on a form similar to that of a netsuke. Compared with most of (the house of) Fabergé’s work, the style of this piece definitely favours an Asiatic taste, making it more than likely a part of Fabergé’s œuvre of japonisme which held popular among clientèle from the dawn of the twentieth century. To some it may strike the eye as curious to pair deep red with the shape of an elephant calf, something that almost instinctually calls to mind the colour of mottled, rough grey and the texture of wrinkly skin. Though considering the creature in the context of its creation, it actually seems less curious that Fabergé would have crafted a small, cleverly-carved homage directed at the Japanese flag.

18th Century India

Mughal India (late period)

‘Khanjar’ Dagger

circa early 18th century

(yellow velvet, steel, gold and ‘mutton fat’ jade)

     The simple delicacy of this dagger is exquisite. Its finial, carved as a lotus, tops a curved ‘J’ hilt, defining this as a khanjar in particular. A khanjar's use in the Mughal dynasty was more for a ceremonial than a defensive purpose (or so it is said). Traditionally presented as gifts to emperors, lovers and comrades alike (all of whom tended to be male), it is a type of dagger that would have been worn or displayed as a symbol of status, depending on the intricacy of its craftsmanship and precious materials as well as on the condition upon which it was received. Seen in illustrations dating from this time period and onwards, khanjars are sometimes drawn as additional belt or garment ornaments (clearly distinguishable in a daily crowd or during a festivity) or as contemporary artefacts within homes, displayed to be admired. The velvet sheath and gilt tasselled ribbon of this dagger are likely its most important features, as it is known that it was only among the upper classes that golden blade covers were, in the very least, accepted. Considering how fragile velvet is, it is a treat indeed that this sheath came to survive nearly three hundred years since its creation, only to find itself at l’Hôtel des Bergues (Geneva) in the early summer of 1988, alongside twelve other exemplary sheathed daggers, as part of a fine assortment of Islamic works of art being auctioned by Habsburg-Feldman. It is only a pity that since then, this khanjar has not yet resurfaced from whichever private collection that it likely wedged its way into.

the Timepiece: Moulinie

by Moulinie (signed)

a Ladies’ Swiss Cylinder (open face)

circa 1850

(gold and champlevé enamel)

    We all worry over time, however differently. When we least want it to, it speeds up uncomfortably, unnaturally, and when we foolishly expect it to flash by to our advantage, it seems to suddenly slow to a near stop. It is our individual perceptions that mask time as either a foe or friend, when in fact it is one of the only true things that remains steady and so very indifferent to our incurably separate and so often lonely lives. It is all around us, invisible, painful and delightful. It controls the growth of our ideals, however often they may change, and it continues to watch and guide us even if we happen to lose sight of it. Occasionally sacrificing us brutally for some unknown greater reason, it plays us like pawns on a chess board. It leaves some to rot in a bubble of days; at other times it allows room for a beautiful performance, making one feel as though they may live forever within the space of a moment. The trouble with time is that no matter how fast or slowly it may seem to tick on, one can only attempt to live through it by living with it. It is not a race, but a challenge, and we must try to see it for what it really is.

Walter Vaes

Walter Vaes

Still-life of a gateau and a glass of water

circa 1916 (?)

     It seems almost impossible to imagine that this strawberry masterwork was naturally more succulent off canvas than it is on canvas. But the quality with which it was painted seems to overshadow its true form, that which is now nearly a century long since eaten. Preserved in thick sweet strokes of beige, in powdered specks of fine white sugar and in great wet dollops of juicy reds and pinks there breathes a cake which Vaes, whether willingly or not, gave the chance to live two lives. The first was its fleetingly short life of probably no more than a few days, a period in which its zest inevitably began to fade, however slowly, from the moment that it was laid out for display after its tedious creation. Its second life, the one that it lives now in oil, is perhaps the most important of the two: it marks and elevates the forgotten life of this single cake, a work of art that the world has seen over and over again in many forms and styles and times, but whose individual purpose is often undervalued or overlooked simply because it is a short-lived thing. To Vaes, though (and indeed to Proust and Manet and the many un-named), an edible thing is not entirely mortal, but rather considerably immortal in terms of memory. Its portrait may be painted just as finely and freely as that of a great empress or figure, just as its impression can be as strong to the tongue as the strength of a photograph may be to the mind. It is not merely the big events that mould life, but more-so the gradual build-up of the smaller and apparently lesser ones. Their effects take more time to understand, and are therefore harder to lose. This gateau may only have seen a few days of life, but its effect on Vaes clearly became a tool he used to access something beyond a few moments of taste.