We Are Our Own Heroes

The usual resolutions and goals set for the start of a new year are falling a bit flat for me this time around. Each year I make them -- some are met, others forgotten and a few adjusted -- and the following year I make them again. I had reasonable hopes for 2009, but the year ended with a loud, crashing thud. This New Year's Eve, I'm tip-toeing cautiously into 2010 carrying with me no resolutions, no goals, and no expectations.

I think many of us are hesitantly optimistic as we peer into a new decade still treading in thick, murky waters of economic uncertainty and personal wonder. Some of us, perhaps, are feeling a little rundown and tattered. One thing, as a few fellow bloggers have addressed, is we have a blogging community. An amazing thing, really. A platform where we can exchange ideas and knowledge, it gives us a place to grow and get to know one another. People who we otherwise would never have known. This, I believe, is quite a boon. It can shake us from the feelings of isolation when we've encountered an upset or disappointment sitting quietly behind our computer screens. While we mull over when that pendulum will begin to swing the other way bracing ourselves for yet another hard knock, we have this blogging community to believe in and nurture. As hokey as it sounds, our blogging community -- in many ways -- is like the racehorse, Seabiscuit.

A hopeless long shot, Seabiscuit was small with awkward crooked legs and a sad tail. He wasn't an aristocrat. He was a proletarian, a plain regular working horse. He came along in a time when America was desperate for hope. So many people cast doubts about Seabiscuit, but one person believed in him. And that is all it took. Seabiscuit became a hero. A hero that looked like America. He was once nobody and became something to many people.

So many millions of people have talent and beauty, but have not drifted into an area to be appreciated. Blogging allows talent to be read and beauty to be felt. No one really knows when all this economic hullabaloo will calm down. We are an angst ridden, somewhat depressed nation, with many of us grinding our teeth wondering when that next big project will come in, and how far that last pay check will stretch. But one thing for sure is when I read many posts and comments from other readers; I see that we again can believe in triumph over hardship. Many of us are simply true honest voices who believe in the power of beauty -- and that is the dream this country was built upon.

Paint It White

“I opened the doors and windows of America and let the air and sunshine in,” Elsie de Wolf exclaimed. The early twentieth-century interior decorator is often credited for being the first to toss out the dark and heavy gloomy Victorian palette to make way for a lighter and brighter scheme.

But was she really the first to brighten the Victorian interior?

Philip Connard (1875-1958), May Morning, late 19th century, Musee d'Orsay

The mid-nineteenth century saw an increase in concern about health and hygiene. Most middle class homes included a ‘sick room’ for use when members of the household were ill. The decoration of these rooms, suggested by household manuals, was for the wall paper to be subdued (preferably the walls to be white washed), the textiles simple and the crockery bland. Air and circulation were mandatory. Nothing in the room was to excite or disturb a feverish patient.

Félix Vallotton, The Sick Girl, 1892 (Private collection)

Dust retaining surfaces and heavy draperies were being eased out towards the end of the century, while beds made of polished oak, brass or cast iron were being brought in. They did not harbor dust or mites and could easily be cleaned. After all, de Wolfe suggested the use of white painted brass beds in one’s home, as hospitals did. All this, she argued, helped to allow for more air, light and space.

Catherine Beecher, an important advocate of the systematization of housework and the education of women, suggested the need for light and bright kitchens, and whenever possible to wash the walls with white paint.

By the turn of the twentieth century, the attraction and influence of the Arts and Crafts movement was powerful. The British influence reached almost every Western nation, especially in America. The Arts and Crafts movement wasn’t all about handiwork, the use of oak wood with exposed mortise and tenon joints, and a dusky color palette. There were architects and designers who, long before de Wolfe began to practice, believed in her value of “light, air and comfort” as they opened up space and painted walls white.

William Morris’ summer home in Kelmscott Manor.

Though Elsie de Wolfe detested her dark childhood bedroom with walls clad in a William Morris design, I wonder if she would have disapproved of the Kelmscott Manor drawing room Morris redecorated with his wife, Jane, in 1871. They painted the walls white and chose simple white wool drapes. They also upholstered the furniture with a pattern on a calm blue ground he created for Morris & Company.

First floor drawing room, Red House

Prior to designing the interiors of their country get-a-way, Morris commissioned friend and architect Philip Webb to design their first home when he was newly married. Red House was completed in 1860. Although the style of Red House was based on a medieval theme and wrought with subtle medieval details, it is comparatively light and airy with an open floor plan and many white painted walls.

Drawing room in Standen. (image from The National Trust.)

Billiard room in Standen. (image from The National Trust.)

Philip Webb designed a number of English country houses. Many of his interiors had simple white-painted paneling -- much in contrast to the Victorian obsession of dark color palettes and rooms filled with clutter. A Wilshire house, Clouds (1881-1891), also designed by Webb included white walls and white painted plaster and woodwork with just a simple fireplace.

English architect CFA Voysey designed his own living room in The Orchard (1900) completely clutter-free. The interior space is very simple: he covered the walls with a violet fabric just to eye level then painted everything above white. The tiles around the fireplace hearth are a pale green. Though he did not align himself with modernists of his time, to our eyes this room is fresh, light and very modern.

Arguably, two designers who really let the air and sunshine in are Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh.

The Mackintoshes married in 1900 and moved into a flat in Glasgow decorating it in their own very unique language. Above is their studio drawing room – clear, calm and bright – this room is certainly the opposite of most dark, cluttered interiors so prevalent of the time.

The Mackintosh’s bedroom: walls, ceiling and furniture were all painted white with white drapes surrounding the white bed – designs stenciled on the frieze of the bed were repeated in embroidery on the bedcover and the valance (not shown). This all-white room was a radical departure of the time not only in color, but form and style.

The bedroom of The Hill House.

Designed in 1902 and completed in 1904, The Hill House was designed for the family of Glasgow publisher Walter Blackie in Helensburgh, Scotland.

The Mackintoshes understanding of spatial relationships, ability to deliver a clearly defined program, as well as create a unique repertoire of forms, colors, and exquisite details were truly a groundbreaking vision of the time. Their rooms were bright, airy and spacious and their furniture creations light and finely crafted. Their spaces weren’t simply decorated, they were designed.

The bedroom of The Hill House, expanded view.

Margaret was an incredibly talented artist and had great influence on her husband’s work. Exactly how closely the two collaborated on the interiors is unclear, but often her initials were added to his drawings and renderings. Particularly notable are her gesso murals and embroidered panels she alone created. One wonders if she lived in a country where her vision was more acceptable, wasn’t hampered by her disagreeable husband who lost clients, had the important social connections and the ability to self-promote what work we would be seeing?

Top image: Elsie de Wolfe's dining room on Irving Place second remodel c. 1900; Last five images: CFA Voysey from John Pile’s History of Interior Design, Mackintoshes Blake, Essential Charles Renie Mackintosh and Swinglehurst, CRM.

Christmas in Kansas City...

On the late, late evening of Christmas Eve, after much to eat and much more to drink, my husband and I were traveling home in the midst of one of Kansas City’s worst blizzards since (1979? or 1826? I'm not sure). There were a few stranded travelers along the roads, and we needed to help. After all, moments before my husband was proudly chirping about his “animal” of a car. How his American made car trumped my “fancy” German type that I’m so fond of. Cars were abandoned as we loaded passengers up in his Jeep and safely drove them home.

The wind was violent. It pelted snow into our eyes and forced icy snow crystals down our throats as we got out pushing cars to the side of the roads and escorting our fellow travelers into the car. I was without a hat and my hair was coated with bricks of snowy ice. I didn’t notice at the time -- my stomach full, my veins pumping warm red wine and we were doing a good deed.

Earlier in the evening as I kissed Billy good-bye and darted out the door, I paused for a moment to glance over at my hat and mittens. I left them on the chair. I was going to a Christmas Eve dinner, there was no reason I needed to dress appropriately for a winter blizzard -- my skirt, tights, high-heeled boots and Christmas brooch neatly pinned to my sweater would do me just fine.

Today, I can barely sit erect as my head splits in two, my body aches, my sinus passages throb, my eyeballs heavy as lead cannon balls, and my lungs burn like a raging inferno... I dream of a warm place in the French West Indies.

I vow in my next Midwestern home to create it as a Martinique retreat.

So the next time I have to look outside at this:



I will be inside seeing this:

and this:

and this:

Three images above from French Island Elegance by Michael Connors.
Living room of unidentified French Plantation home; Dining area of La Réunion, Grand Case, Martinique; Maison du Mauduit, a nineteenth-century home, in Guadeloupe.

Princess with the Tiny Feet: The Duchess of York

Frederica Charlotte of Prussia (1767-1820) -- wife of George III's second son Prince Frederick Augustus -- was said to have very, very small feet. It was also said that she was short in height, not very pretty and had bad teeth. However, she was lively and sensible and expected to make Frederick very happy.

Frederica Charlotte Ulrica Catherina, Duchess of York by Marie Anne Bourlier after Elisabeth Louise Vigée-LeBrun, published by Edward Harding.

Frederick, the Duke of York, was eager to marry. He was the first royal marriage of all George III's fifteen children and everyone was excited. After all, if he did, he would receive a handsome increase in funds. One thing Frederick wanted to do for his bride was provide her with shoes. His older brother George, the Prince of Wales, consulted the royal shoe maker. The duke sent the prince a pair of Frederica's wee shoes to make six new pairs. The delicacy of Frederica's tiny feet became the object of great curiosity. Although newspapers were scarcely able to mention the princess’s beauty, they praised her for her charm and "neatness". Copies of her shoes were sold in the hundreds -- purple leather shoes studded with diamonds, finished with a high heel and only... 5-1/2 inches long.

'The York-minuet' (Frederica Charlotte Ulrica Catherina, Duchess of York; Frederick, Duke of York and Albany) by James Gillray (1791) National Portrait Gallery

Soon it became fashionable for every stylish woman to squeeze her feet into tiny shoes. The rage for the princess’s shoes became over the top. James Gillray summed up the whole frenzied madness in one cartoon caricature titled "Fashionable Contrasts" showing Duchess teeny feet dwarfed by the Duke's.

'Fashionable Contrasts' by James Gillray (1792) National Portrait Gallery.

Unfortunately, as the marriage progressed, it was not as agreeable for both parties.

The Duchess, called "Freddie" by her friends, became a bit more eccentric as the years went by keeping to herself and doting on her 18 dogs in their large estate. Life at the estate provided the privacy the Duchess wanted. She was known to stay up until dawn reading books, sleep until 3 in the afternoon, get up and play with her dogs, then read until dawn again. Her mad, controlling, but sometimes very wise father-in-law, George III, was sympathetic and felt without children she needed to rest her affection on her dogs.

top image from LACMA: a pair of English shoes, though not the Princess's, is made from satin, leather, linen (1790-1795) and the size... 9-1/2 inches.

Kitchens: What Do They Say About Us

I, unfortunately, have a small kitchen. Though the design is filled with fancy stainless upgrades and sparkling granite slabs, it is STILL small and I can’t seem to manage to prepare more than one thing at a time. However, I must make do.

The height of the kitchen counter is too tall. I don't like this new standard of raising the heights of kitchen and bathroom counter tops -- I'm too short and you can't get a good grip when stirring a mixing bowl when the bowl hits your belly and not your hip. Counter tops, cabinets, work space, accessibility, visibility and storage are primary considerations in the design of cooking spaces and they all must be responsive to human dimension and body size. Fine… although I'm shorter than most, I still need space to work.

Second, it is a narrow galley kitchen. I feel like a pin ball bouncing back and forth in a corridor moving from stove to sink back to stove to counter space to refrigerator to oven and back counter space. Furthermore, I can only exit on either end to, say, hand someone a glass of wine. Better yet, retrieve one for myself. The addition of a husband shuffling around sneaking bites of food in the midst of preparation while a ruthless, determined little white dog begs for bites blinking his wet brown eyes makes the space seem awfully, awfully crowded.

Pic of my cousin’s daughter holding Billy. She tried her mood ring on his paw and it read ‘romantic’. An ex-stud dog (he was forced into sexual slave labor prior to being rescued) and is truly a Romeo with all the lady dogs on the block – he gently nuzzles his nose in their ear yet respects their boundaries.

So I have wondered what other people have done with small kitchens. I mean real kitchens that people have actually used. Kitchen filled with necessary cooking utensils, pots, pans, measuring cups and cutting boards.

Miles Redd, of course, configured a U-shaped plan which is most efficient. His kitchen provides enough space for several simultaneous activities and less claustrophobia.

Although the kitchen is now considered the most important room in a home, it still must be efficient and functional. The kitchen is the domicile center. It is where all social activity takes place despite efforts to shoo guests (and little white dogs) out. Although I have designed my one-day-in-the-very-distant-future ideal kitchen -- an enormous space with a two-story window, a blazing hearth and gleaming utensils -- in reality, the space plan must work.

Dream Kitchen: Steven Gambrel

Dream Kitchen: Nate Berkus

Dream Kitchen: George Terbovich

(I’ve been in this space and I am certain I would cook, feel and look better if I had this kitchen. However, I would need to upgrade my tattered, stained apron in this place.)

Dream Kitchen: Mr. & Mrs. Smith (2005)

I like to check out homes – especially open houses – and comb over the kitchen with a careful eye. I honestly wonder who configured some of these spaces, including the one I have lived in for the past few years. Clearly not by a kitchen designer and nor a cook.

Catherine Beecher had it right when she first published A Treatise on Domestic Economy in 1841. She discussed in detail the needs of a kitchen user, the relationship with items needed to cook, and the need for greater efficiency and organization of space. She addressed the three main functions in a kitchen: storage, preparation, and cooking. And she was also a proponent of open shelving for easy and quick access.

American Woman’s Home published in 1869 by Beecher and her sister Harriet Beecher Stowe.

I was recently in a situation where I thought (hoped) to move. The kitchen floor plan and configuration was all wrong. But on a very limited budget (thank you recession), I configured a new plan using hearty materials from modest means. Open shelving was one solution. It would provide quick and easy access. And as long as I kept items on the shelves tidy and of the same color, I don’t think it would look chaotic. Many people are opposed to open shelving, especially realtors, but I want a room to bear evidence of its function. A kitchen is a space for work and not toiling around.

Steven Gambrel did it.

During the twentieth century, psychological, hygienic and technological concerns changed the attitude of the kitchen. Adjusting to the peace after WWI, designers with social concerns began to re-evaluate the space. Just because a home was not fitted with servants and domestic help, did not mean that users of the kitchen could not function efficiently.

Original photo of The Frankfurt Kitchen (1926) designed by Bauhaus architect Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky (1897 – 2000)

"How can household chores be facilitated for women by appropriate house building" was the title of an article written in 1921 but the Bauhaus architect Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky who is said to have invented the ‘modern’ kitchen. The Frankfurt Kitchen was modeled on a train railway car and regarded as a "housewife's laboratory". It used minimum space but efficiently for the working woman.

Kitchen restored today. Makes me rethink my desire for an all-white kitchen to polo-blue enameled cabinets and non-staining leather pulls. Peach tiles most certainly to be replaced.

After all, despite working several jobs, I’m still the Heimkulter -- a modest (working) housewife who chose and placed the furnishings, lamps and accessorized in every room. I decided upon the color scheme and painted the walls, upgraded lampshades, chose the bedding and the towels. I’ve been accused of taking over, however, I’m the heimkulter – who else scrubs the toilets and gets everyone fed.

History, no doubt, has moved many women forward, but women have always rearranged things within their house. We’ve let the light in. We largely make all the choices on dishes, bed covers and furnishings in all the rooms. We’ve enhanced the dignity of domestic work. But what remains is what a kitchen symbolizes – it is a repository for all sorts of values, attitudes and judgments. The kitchen is particularly revealing about what it says about the homeowner. It is a microcosm of the larger house. And I for one do not like what mine says about me: small, sleek and inefficient.

What does your kitchen say about you?

Photographer: Diego Lama (Peruvian, b. 1980)

Diego Lama is a video-artist. Two years ago, he decided to do something different and take large-format, glossy wide screen pictures of interior spaces of cultural institutions in Lima. The environments seem reminiscent of movies and exude a surreal quality. Each setting depicts a Baroque-revival space full of details that could be from the most elaborate movie sets featuring Vincent Pryce.

Biblioteca Municipal shows a nude male figure within a carefully arranged dark and heavy Baroque-revival space. The figure breaks the feel of the grand space. The man is stripped of everything, and then we notice he is only wearing shoes.

But Diego takes this idea one step further and places a naked human figure in each setting. Figures we wouldn’t expect. Figures seemingly out of place, imperfect and alone situated in a quiet, dramatic space. He contradicts our assumption of what types of bodies would be in the stylized spaces portrayed. It is a bit arresting at first, and beguiling, and then intriguing. His photographs reveal the fragility of the human compared to the designed spaces that encloses them. It leaves us to create our own narrative.

Casa Goyeneche depicts all the splendor of a Baroque mansion holding a vast collection of 17th and 18th-century paintings and mirrors. Within the ostentatious space with carefully placed furnishings, tapestries and objects of art stands a woman.

BOLD, is the title of the exhibition and currently at the Colorado Springs Fine Art Center. These teeny jpegs do not do justice to Lama’s work. Standing in front of the large images in a quiet little museum makes one realize the strangeness of life. For more info see the exhibition -- it is comprised of a series of six panoramic photographs.