January 15, 2013

Opting for Simple Over Lavish

“If one is born a Baltimorean, one remains such for life, no matter where it takes you…” 
~Billy Baldwin

Over fifty years ago David Mlinaric, then a 21-year-old visiting New York from London, stopped for drinks at the interior designer Billy Baldwin’s apartment on the Upper East Side.  Mr. Baldwin was a commanding figure in American decorating, but he had a surprisingly modest apartment, with glossy brown walls set off by white moldings.

David Mlinaric furnished his London apartment with the mix expected of a true eclectic. “I’ve thought a lot about that apartment since then,” he said “I remember thinking that it was so small, and yet it had everything he could possibly need.”

Mr. Mlinaric would go on to be England’s foremost decorator of period interiors, with grand-scale commissions.  His career was propelled by a resurgent British economy and a renewed appreciation for aristocratic country homes and other historic buildings that had gathered dust in the postwar years.
“Often the simplest things are easiest to like, in clothes, food, gardens and landscape, as well as in buildings,” Mr. Mlinaric wrote in the afterward of “Mlinaric on Decorating,” a monograph written with Mirabel Cecil and published by Frances Lincoln. It may sound like a surprising declaration from one so strongly associated with Italian castles, marble columns and gilded detailing. But the truth is, despite that grand portfolio, he favors simplicity in his own homes.

His apartment on the second floor of a six-story Flemish-inspired building in Chelsea faces the Thames. In the afternoons the pale blue walls are awash in a silvery river light that is amplified by mirrors. “They probably double or triple the sense of light” he said. He also capitalized on the light in a small space by opening the entrance hallway so that it connects with the living area.

He was an originator of the eclectic decorating style that has become prevalent in recent years. Mr. Mlinaric had a faithful eye for historical recreation, but was not afraid to judiciously insert modern pieces into the mix. For example, in the dining room of Waddesdon Manor, Lord Rothschild’s estate in Buckinghamshire, he hung a pendant lamp that Ingo Maurer made three years ago from shards of shattered porcelain next to 17th-century lamp stands and 18th-century paneling.

In his own flat he uses distinctive pieces sparingly, with a mixer’s touch. His goal was to make the apartment basic and low-maintenance so he could turn the key and leave without fuss. “I enjoy its simplicity enormously,” he said. “I couldn’t have said this earlier in my life. When you’re young you want a place where your friends can drop in, and you have to look after them and keep a lot of furniture around.” He rarely entertains at the apartment, preferring to eat out with friends or spend time with the grandchildren.

Mr. Mlinaric’s preference for simplicity at home has increased now that much of his career is behind him — as Mr. Baldwin’s was when Mr. Mlinaric visited him. “I go around to shops now and think, I don’t want any of these things,” Mr. Mlinaric said. “The acquisitiveness falls away as you get older.”

Can you?  I can. 

January 9, 2013

Whistler in Chelsea.

'An artist is not paid for his labor but for his vision'   
~James Abbott McNeill Whistler

          It was an American who gave Europe its greatest lesson in simplicity: James Abbott McNeill Whistler.  With a flourish of his elegant walking stick, he swept away Victorian bric-a-brac, the products of industrial art, and introduced a simplicity which owed its inspiration to Japan.  He loved the folding screens of the Coromandel coast, Directoire furniture, and blue and white Chinese porcelain.  Peacock feathers in vases were a concession to the taste of the man who was first his disciple, then his enemy – Oscar Wilde.

          All the same, Whistler learned a lot in England: the simplicity of William Morris furniture and the subtle use of tones in his wall paper.  He introduced white-painted paneling and curtains that hung straight down.  He was the first to know how to hang paintings properly, choosing simple frames.  His friends, the architect Godwin, designed furniture for his Chelsea house which was imitated twenty years later by the “art nouveau” decorators Voysey and Mackintosh.  In the same way the peacock, Whistler’s favorite bird, would spread its sinuous, ocellated feathers across the posters of Alphonse Mucha.

          In America the Whistler style had more success than true “art nouveau.”  It was well adapted to the puritanism which led many extremely rich Americans to decorate their homes with remarkable simplicity.  He was imitated, too, by collectors of Oriental art, of whom there were a large number in New England.  Whistler was the first to encourage Beardsley, but he had only contempt for the opulent painting of Sargent, who chose a fashionable baroque style to flatter his aristocratic models.  Like all men of refined taste, he had a difficult character which he displayed in his “Gentle Art of Making Enemies.”

Chelsea storefronts offered up scenes of daily life...

...and children feature prominently in Whistler’s Chelsea street scenes.

The Chelsea Arts Club, est 1891 by Whistler, Sickert and others in search of something less starchy than the Arts Club in Piccadilly.

Harmony in Blue and Gold: The Peacock Room, designed by James McNeill Whistler, today found at the Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian.

The Peacock Room was once the dining room in the London home of Frederick R. Leyland, a wealthy shipowner from Liverpool, England. It was originally designed by a gifted interior architect named Thomas Jeckyll. To display Leyland's prized collection of Chinese porcelain to best advantage, Jeckyll constructed a lattice of intricately carved shelving and hung antique gilded leather on the walls. A painting by James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) called La Princesse du pays de la porcelaine — or The Princess from the Land of Porcelain — occupied a place of honor above the fireplace.

Jeckyll had nearly completed his commission when he consulted Whistler — who was then working on decorations for the entrance hall of Leyland's house — about the color to paint the dining room shutters and doors. Concerned that the red roses on the leather hangings clashed with the colors in The Princess, Whistler volunteered to retouch the walls with traces of yellow. Leyland permitted Whistler to make that minor alteration and also to adorn the wainscoting and cornice with a "wave pattern" derived from the design on the leaded glass of the pantry door. Assuming the decoration of the room to be virtually complete, Leyland went back to his business in Liverpool.

In his patron's absence, Whistler was inspired to make bolder revisions. He covered the ceiling with Dutch metal, or imitation gold leaf, over which he painted a lush pattern of peacock feathers. He then gilded Jeckyll's walnut shelving and embellished the wooden shutters with four magnificently plumed peacocks.

Whistler wrote to Leyland that the dining room was "really alive with beauty — brilliant and gorgeous while at the same time delicate and refined to the last degree," boasting that the changes he had made were past imagining. "I assure you," he said, "you can have no more idea of the ensemble in its perfection gathered from what you last saw on the walls than you could have of a complete opera judging from a third finger exercise!" He urged Leyland not to return to London yet, since he did not want the room to be seen before every detail was perfect.

Yet Whistler entertained visitors and amused the press in the lavishly decorated room, never thinking to ask permission of the owner of the house. His audacious behavior, coupled with a dispute over payment for the project, provoked a bitter quarrel between the painter and his patron. Leyland would not consent to pay the two thousand guineas that Whistler wanted: "I do not think you should have involved me in such a large expenditure without previously telling me of it," he wrote to the artist. Eventually Leyland agreed to half that amount, but he further insulted Whistler by writing his check in pounds, the currency of trade, when payment to artists and professionals was customarily made in guineas. A pound is worth twenty shillings and a guinea twenty-one, so the already offensive sum was also smaller than expected.

Perhaps in retaliation, Whistler took the liberty of coating Leyland's valuable leather with Prussian-blue paint and depicting a pair of peacocks aggressively confronting each other on the wall opposite The Princess. He used two shades of gold for the design and highlighted telling details in silver. Scattered at the feet of the angry bird are the coins (silver shillings) that Leyland refused to pay; the silver feathers on the peacock's throat allude to the ruffled shirts that Leyland always wore. The poor and affronted peacock has a silver crest feather that resembles the lock of white hair that curled above Whistler's forehead. To make sure that Leyland understood his point, Whistler called the mural of the fighting peacocks "Art and Money; or, The Story of the Room." He obtained a blue rug to complete the scheme and titled the room Harmony in Blue and Gold. After concluding his work in March 1877, the artist never saw the Peacock Room again.

Despite the controversy surrounding its creation, Leyland kept his dining room as Whistler had left it and continued filling the shelves with porcelain until his death in 1892. Twelve years later the Peacock Room was removed from the Leyland house and exhibited in a London art gallery. Having recently acquired The Princess from the Land of Porcelain, Charles Lang Freer (1854-1919), who later founded the Freer Gallery of Art, purchased the Peacock Room in 1904. The room was again taken apart, and reinstalled in an addition to Freer's house in Detroit, where it was used for the display of his own collection of ceramics. Freer recognized the importance of the Peacock Room in understanding Whistler's style, and he also believed it to exemplify the spirit of universal beauty that informed his philosophy of collecting and united his holdings of Asian and American art.

January 1, 2013

Can it be…

…that this momentous, fractious, challenging year has come to a close, just when we thought we got the hang of it?

2012 was a year that allowed me to delve deeper into the creative wonders of international design and to appraise the industry with fresh eyes.

On close inspection, of course, the design world is not one world, it is many worlds and each has its own unique narrative, and with that narrative are multitudes of other stories as well: stories about craft, about art, about the lives of people who make things of use and beauty.  When I hear it said that no one knows how to make things anymore I immediately think of all the talented craftspeople making remarkable products every day across this country and around the world.

These artisans seek unity with the natural world, dialing down the human clamor and noise to deliver a product both beautiful and useful.  This seemed to me particularly apt as we begin a new year. 

*After growing weary of digital photography, Brooklyn-based photographers Judith Pushett and Kevin Irby started experimenting with an enormous Kodak camera from around 1908 that Irby found at a rummage sale.

‘This cannot be solved with plane geometry, since it has a cube in it. For the solution we need conic sections.’ —Omar Khayyam (who not only not only put his toes into non-Euclidean waters, he is also given credit by some art historians for the design of the North Dome chamber of Esfahan’s Friday Mosque, built in 1088.)