Artus Van Briggle

A talented potter, who I share an affinity of name, experienced a short but very successful life. I wish he left behind more examples of what he was capable of as well as his take on the changing styles through time. We know him for his creation of rare designs and the unusually soft satiny dull matte glaze he worked so hard to get just right.

Born in Felicity, Ohio in 1869 Artus Van Briggle showed an unusual artistic talent as a small child. By the age of 17, he boarded a steamboat and headed for Cincinnati to paint the faces of dolls for Arnold Fairyland Doll Store. Soon after, he apprenticed at the Avon Pottery Company and then moved to a position of decorator at the Rookwood Pottery Company. Mrs. Storer, the founder of Rockwood, recognized his superior talent and arranged to have him study in Paris. In 1893, the slender, auburn-haired and freckled-faced young man said goodbye to his family and friends and left to attend the Julian School of Art. While in Paris he saw examples of Chinese Ming pottery and was memorized by the glaze. From this moment on, he was determined to find a way to recreate this velvety matte finish. He also was highly influenced by the newly emerging Art Nouveau style which was apparent in the designs he was later to create. While in Paris, he met and fell in love with a fellow American student, Anne Lawrence Gregory. They became engaged with plans to marry, but the wedding was postponed.

Upon his return in 1896, he was granted the position of head decorator for Rookwood. In the evenings, he experimented with what he saw in France. The Art Nouveau style in pottery was a new departure in art pottery. It employed solid glazes and with a wider range of colors. Artus worked with low relief designs in the clay, experimented green, orange, purple and azure blue pigments, and continued to work on creating a formula for his glaze. His time fully occupied, he was driven and he was taxed. Constantly working with little sleep, he feel victim to tuberculosis.

At the turn of the century, many people were packing up and heading for Colorado Springs in search of dry air and sunshiny days. On the advice of a friend, he moved there in March of 1899. Before he left, Artus believed that he had finally discovered the secret formula the Chinese had use centuries before. He wrote it down, sealed it up and bequeathed to the Rookwood Pottery. This was not to be opened except in the case of his death. On a ranch southwest of Colorado Springs, he recuperated. As he gained strength, his indomitable desire drove him back to the potter’s wheel.

Lorelei Vase shows the Art Nouveau influence he was exposed to in Paris.

Artus met Professor William H. Strieby, a scientist and head of the department of Chemistry of Colorado College, who gave him advice about his glaze and offered him a corner of his laboratory. Artus was more determined to perfect his glaze working with the rich Colorado clay.

Although Anne Lawrence Gregory moved back to the states the same time as Artus, she remained in Pennsylvania. Something changed, still engaged, she packed up and moved to Colorado Springs in 1900. She taught art at Colorado Springs High School and worked closely with Artus in his studio. By December 1901 they had collaborated creating 300 pieces of pottery all of which sold at a Christmas sale. Anne became a working partner producing many of the early pieces bringing some of the highest prices on the market today. Anne and Artus collaborated to create their logo of the conjoined double A enclosed in a square. Artus was confident now and believed in the allure of his matte glaze.

In the spring of 1902, supported by leading business men of Colorado Springs, Artus formed Van Briggle Pottery Stock Company. In June of the same year Anne and Artus invited a few of their friends together, went to a spot on the Mesa of Cheyenne Mountain, stood in the shadow of a tree and exchanged vows. 1902 was a good year; Van Briggle pottery was also receiving national attention for the designs and the alluring glaze.

Rago, March 8, 2008: Poppies and pods with matte burgandy glaze, 1902.

At the height of success with his pottery and his working collaboration with his new wife, Artus fell ill again in 1904 and died at the young age of 35. Success did swell his head, his co-workers and peers said he always maintained a balanced modesty. Anne carried on winning numerous exhibition awards throughout the country. In 1906-1907, Anne received the highest award given by the Boston Arts and Crafts Societies – the Degree of Master. She wanted to construct a new building in his memory. In 1907, she hired her friend Dutch architect Nicholas Van den Arend who created a structure out of brick styles after a Dutch farmhouse. The building was completed the following year. Anne and her assistants created al the tiles and terra cotta elements that adorned the building. After the death of Anne, the pottery changed hands again and again. Something along the way was lost, I feel. The interesting array of calm colors and the velvety finish still remain, but the spirit and sense of freedom gone.

The memorial building was purchased by Colorado College in 1968 the tile floors, fireplaces and details carefully preserved.

Treadway Toomey, March 8, 2009, Carved floral design, green and maroon matte glaze, 1905.

Leslie Hindman, April 14, 2008. Date unknown.

James Julia, August 24, 2006: Ewer, rich mauve glaze. Second half 20th century.

Alpine Chic

Does anyone recall the opening scene of Charade (1963) with Audrey Hepburn dressed impeccably Alpine-chic in Givenchy? What happened to that stylish mountain look surrounded by the modish interiors?

When we think of Mountain interiors, we don’t tend to think of chic. Most mountain retreats have the super 70s look with knotty pine lined interiors and furnishings that haven’t changed since then, including the gold and orange towels hanging in the bathrooms.

Then my mind wanders to Suzy Chaffee of the late 70’s, the Olympic skier who caused a national sensation as “Suzy Chapstick,” as she ski danced in the popular Chapstick® lip balm commercials.

Settee available at Daniel Barney antiques in NYC.

If updated, the furniture in mountain retreats is overstuffed with lots of fur pelts and horn furniture. I am not sure how I feel about horn furnishings. I’m fond of drinking wine in high altitudes, so I fear the heel of my shoe would clumsily snag on the shag rug and I would fall and poke an eye out on one of the horns.

Today’s television shows and movies reference most alpine homes as small cabins on the brink of collapse with two characters trapped inside as the result of an avalanche. Or they feature an old military vet with a Grizzly Adams beard making a soup of tree bark and roots. Most alpine structures are used to escape the harsh weather and/or to hide because Big Foot is outside. I can't think of a film that shows the opulent interiors of some place nestled in the mountains of Colorado. Somehow scenes always have to involve girls similar to the inebriated cast of "Girls Gone Wild" bouncing around in hot tubs. If we go back in time to 1984, Hot Dog: The Movie had scenes of hot tubs, wet T-shirt contests (I can barely type that without vomiting) and the typecast character of the wealthy older woman seducing a younger naive man. Not much has changed in over two decades.

The Overlook Hotel in the movie The Shining (1980) is creepy at the same time appealing with its stark lack of colors juxtaposed with the David Hicks-esque broad patterns on the carpet. If I remember, there are antler chandeliers somewhere in the hotel. Jack Nicholson’s character suffers from cabin fever in the mountains and goes on a murderous rampage. Sometimes, when you’re high up in the mountains with not much around, things do get a little… spooky.

Available at Ad Lib Antiques in Hudson, New York.

Antler chandeliers do not make me nervous. In fact, I’m a fan. But moving on…

There is a scene in Pillow Talk where Rock Hudson brings Doris Day to a lake house in the mountains. The house is pretty refined. Now we’re getting closer but we have had to go all the way back to 1959. You would think there would be dozens of scenes in movies that take place in front of a roaring fireplace with people sipping cognac and wearing the latest winter fashions.

The best one I can recall is the cantilevered house in North By Northwest. The interiors are fantastic. (I can't find a picture...)

So what does everyone think? Do we stay with the same over sized leather furniture, knotty pine tables and scattered bronzed antelope candle holders as found in the book Mountain Style?

Do we Ralph Lauren it with the Black Mountain line from 2005 (I think)?

Or do we try something entirely new?

DAM Groovy

Posters provide instant wall power. Carefully chosen they can be most effective. Brilliant in color and bold in form, they are sometimes more appealing than a painting.

Though not considered ‘high art’, many poster artists have made significant historical impact capturing life of the times. Henri Toulouse-Lautrec and Alphonse Muncha created groundbreaking designs and provided much inspiration for designers over half a century later. But how many poster designers from the late 1960s can we utter by name?

One of my favorite types of posters ever is rock posters from this time. They made an enormous impression on me. I still carry the same feelings I had when I was first exposed to them in diapers. Then as a child, I used to sit on the floor and gaze at the covers of my father's albums. He would pull a few carefully rolled up posters out that he had tucked away in his closet. I was absolutely memorized. He played the music these posters advertised and tried to explain to me the meaning behind the words. By the time I was eight, I was riding my bike with the pink daisy banana seat and singing along to Cream's Strange Brew up and down the sidewalk of my street. This was the time when the Bee Gees were all that. I didn't care for their girlie voices. Or their clothing. In high school, I would decorate my denim notebook accompanied by a big metal clip with my own psychedelic lettering in black and red marker. I didn’t fully understand what the whole psychedelic experience was all about. But I would save my allowance and go to the local record store to buy records. I wasn't buying Duran Duran albums like all my other friends; I was still stuck in the era in which I was born and saving my quarters for albums by bands like Buffalo Springfield, Hot Tuna and Canned Heat.

I didn't fully understand what these posters were about until I went back East to a small liberal arts college. I arrived as a dewy freckly-faced freshman from the Midwest in my monogrammed sweater, kilt skirt and tasseled loafers (this was some time ago). Things soon changed. I took full advantage of what a liberal arts college had to offer. At that point, I quickly understood what those posters were all about. My pink and green headbands that matched my belts that matched my watch wrist bands were tucked in the bottom drawer of the golden oak dresser in my dorm room. Posters of Jimi Hendrix were scotched taped to the wall and textiles from India were draped over the windows. I lit incense, threw out my hot rollers and grew my hair long. I dressed in long prairie skirts, oversized LL Bean sweaters and wrapped my waist with Guatemalan woven belts. I wore patchouli -- something my mother complained about when I came home for Christmas. She said I smelled like a gerbil.


A decade later, I was still memorized. In Interior Architecture school, I would experiment with my own lettering in drafting classes. Many times my lettering melded into my floor plans or elevations. None of my teachers like it. I had to go home and redo my lettering the proper way for the next class.

When I found out I had the opportunity to check out the latest exhibition at the Denver Art Museum (that's where the DAM part comes in...) on Rock Posters from 1965-1971, I was pretty freakin’ excited. Though my music tastes have changed, I will never pass up listening to a song from this era. Singing along to the radio, loudly in my car with the windows down, I haven’t forgotten one word of a song. And the posters still affect me. Thing is, these posters inspire something different than other contemporary art. They stir something in many of us. They show us a secret language, an instinct and a willingness to let go. Something many of us understands though certain experiences. I don’t think it matters what age or era.


I'd like to think.



Top: Rick Griffin, 1968; Second: Among the best-known San Francisco poster designers was Wes Wilson, "Moby Grape, Chambers Brothers, Winterland/Fillmore Auditorium, San Francisco," 1967; Third: Bonnie MacLean designs were highly inspired by Wes Wilson. She was the wife of Bill Graham, a music promoter who arranged for bands to play at the Avalon Ballroom and Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco. Wes Wilson bailed when he realized he was getting a fraction of what Bill Graham was making from his poster designs; Fourth: Poster by the incredibly freaky creative Lee Conklin for the August-September 1968 shows at San Francisco’s Fillmore West. Lastly: Alton Kelley in collaboration with Stanley Mouse were inspired by a nineteenth century engraving and created this well-known Grateful Dead poster, 1966.

Chinese Export Porcelain

Ceramic items make me nervous. I always fear bumping into one, knocking it over and watching it smash into a million bits onto the floor. I have a tendency to carry with me a large tote (currently a saucy crimson patent leather number), the width about half my height. But that doesn’t mean I can’t gently put down my tote, and appreciate the beauty of ceramic pieces while I stand very still holding my hands behind my back.

One type of ceramic ware I find of interest is Chinese export porcelain. It has an interesting history and in this market, a mid-range object over two centuries old can be purchased for a very reasonable amount.

The interesting part is that back then Westerners were doing things very similar to what we do today: take a foreign design and adapt it to our needs. And Chinese export porcelain was just that.

Way back in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Chinese porcelain had only an occasional presence in Europe. Exotic and ornamental, it was given as a gift, or accrued as part of a collection by a very important aristocrat. Its influence was intermittent. In 1498, commercial trade with China was facilitated by the Portuguese by opening the sea route around the Cape of Good Hope.

Sotheby's (London) May 14, 2008 offered this old, old plate decorated with the Portuguese royal coats of arms and the monogram IHS surrounded by a crown of thorns. Maria Antonia Pinto de Matos in The Porcelain Route, Lisbon, 1999, suggests a date of 1520-1540.

But by the year 1517, routes had improved and Chinese ceramics were carried off from their ports by large Portuguese ships. Europeans began to take a fancy for these items, along with spices silks and lacquer. In the following century, the Dutch monopolized the trade with China and everyone back at home went crazy for the porcelain “oriental” wares. Chinese forms were not that useful to Europeans. They ate different foods and had different dining practices. The Dutch began requesting European forms such as spittoons, mustard and coffee pots and narrow necked jugs – items they used daily. They would have the Chinese paint their “oriental” designs on these more usable forms.

A Pair of Chinese Export Coffee Pots for the Dutch market, circa 1735-40. Each one illustrates a Dutchman holding a walking stick. I love the serpent spout and scroll handle. Christie's (London) November 17, 1986, yes that long ago and sold for $40,000.

Chinese Export armorial platter circa 1765 with the arms of Hynam. Sotheby's (NYC), January 23, 2009.


By the eighteenth century, they were requesting to have their own family crests painted on the wares. Armorials were a more simple design, but very personal and entire sets of elaborate dinner ware were created. Furthermore, during this century the English, with their superior naval military, controlled the trade. Almost everyone had some – from the middle to the upper classes. They even made their way over to America.

By the last quarter of the century, things began to change as the production of creamware in England grew stronger with a return to quieter tones and therefore hastened the decline of the export trade.



Three blue and white mugs with landscape decoration from the eighteenth century purchased for the realized price of $540. Rago Arts and Auction Center, Lambertville, New Jersey. March 27, 2009.


Export porcelain from the eighteenth century is still readily available at modest sums – blue and white plates or a mug with a decorative dragon-shaped handle can be purchased for a couple hundred dollars.


Christie’s (London) sold this Coffee Pot with Cover on November 21, 2007. The tall tapering form has a branch handle and bird head spout. It went for about $1,000.




On April 25, 2008 Sotheby's (NYC) saw this go for the realized price of $12,500. It is painted on one side with 'The Judgment of Paris'. Supposedly this was one of the most popular European subjects to be painted on Chinese porcelain during the 1740s. This coffee pot is a lot fancier then the one above it.

With this recession coupled with the antique market the only Chinese Export items holding value are figures, animal figurines, tourines and very important armorials.
Pair of Horses. I love these.... a little hoakey, but not the price tag... Christie's (NYC) January 21, 2009.

Animal tureens made a spectacular splash to table services and were very popular in wealthy households during the mid-eighteenth century. Large tureens were made in the form of chickens, boars and ox heads. Smaller vegetable and sauce tureens made in the form of quails, crabs, chickens and ducks.

Christie's (London) July 6, 2005 for the huge realized price of.... $421,818.

Many items are coming up for auction and truly affordable. I decided to feature some of the more, ahem, expensive ones....

The Babies Are Here !

Oh, I've been so worried. For the past two weeks. I've never gotten over March of the Penguins -- my eyes were swollen for days afterwards from boo-hooing. Thank god I watched it from the privacy of my own home and not in the theater. Someone would have had to carry me out of the movie house in a stretcher. I was fetal.


Two weeks ago, I noticed a pair of mourning doves stomping around in my flower boxes and crushing my newly planted pansies. It made me a little cranky, until I realized what was going on. Then I romanticized the whole thing. And felt a little special that they chose my flower box on my balcony. Narcissistic, I know, but it made me happy. It is the little things, at times. Every day I waited and protected the couple looking from my living room window -- through the wind and the rain and shooed any pesky squirrel sniffing around.


I avoided going out on the balcony, and certainly prevented my husband from doing so with his manly voice. He didn't share the same... affection as I did for these little eggs. I didn't want the mother to be scared off. She needed to keep the eggs warm. My thoughts went back to March of the Penguins. And the scene with the cold, cracked egg which the parent penguins mourned. I still get weepy.

When the mourning dove mother needed a break, the father stepped up to take her place and keep the eggs warm. Neither of them seemed to mind my dog, who absolutely insists on sunbathing during warm late afternoons. The cushioned chaise lounge is his. While my husband and I get a metal chair.

Two little baby birds born today. So far a success. I'm still keeping my distance until they are old enough and strong enough to venture out on their own. No BBQ-ing for a bit on the balcony. No loud noises or sudden movements, and certainly no more foul language.

My dog during a mid-afternoon nap before his snack, followed by another light walk down the street, and then to stretch out on his chair outside on the balcony. I cater, I pander, I will do anything this dog wants. After dinner and yet another walk, I put him to bed at night. And then I can finally get some real work done.

Reconsidering the Kast

For years armoire cabinets have served us well. They were a place to organize, store and conceal clothing, bedding, towels and more recently, clunky televisions and stereos. Since we have upgraded to slick flat-screened TVs, iPods and enamored with the minimal look, we have found new ways to keep excess out of sight; we simply don’t want these massive pieces of furniture anymore.

The origin of a large storage piece goes well back in time. In the Netherlands, the Dutch created a similar piece known as the Kast or Kasten. By the seventeenth century, the Kast had become the most important piece of furniture in the house. It was a very functional and very impressive piece of furniture. It signified material success and a well-ordered household – two things the Dutch were known for. Filled with linens, needlework, porcelains, silver and pewter, the kast was kept locked, with the woman of the house in charge of the key.

Pieter de Hooch, Interior with a Woman Besides a Linen Chest

Typically located in the center hallway of a household, the Kast was huge, as much as eight feet in height and six feet wide. Because they were so large, they were often sold rather than moved. The kast was usually constructed in four sections. The upper section had two cupboard doors which opened to reveal shelves. That section was surmounted by a projecting, removable cornice. This upper section rested on a lower case piece which sometimes had a second set of cupboard doors or sometimes merely a single long drawer, or even two short drawers side-by-side for additional storage. The entire piece was raised on a fourth section of molding over bun feet. Often given to a bride before her wedding, a wealthy burgher would purchase one as a symbol of his financial success. It was elaborately adorned, paneled, carved, ebonized or inlaid with exotic veneers.

Cornelis de Man, Interior of a Townhouse

Dutch women had more rights than many other women throughout the Continent. Foreign travelers noted with horror that wives had the right to haul their husbands before magistrates to charge them with wife beating or to find them guilty of entering into a house of ill repute. Husbands could be publicly admonished or barred from taking communion. Women could even get their marriages annulled if a husband returned from sea with a venereal disease. Widows could inherit and administer their husband’s property, bequeath it or transfer it as they liked. Women were the keepers of the house and had the right to toss their husbands out the door for excessive drinking.

Cornelis de Man, Family Group at Dinner Table, 1658

In exchange for all these rights, women were encumbered with strict household duties. They cared for their home, husbands, children; they looked after the cooking, cleaning and outdoor gardens. A clean, well-ordered home was held in high esteem. It was considered free from wanton chaos which was apt to seep into unkempt households. The presence of the kast helped to keep this order.

The seventeenth century was the Golden Age of the Netherlands. Wealth flooded into port cities. The merchant class became prosperous. It was a period of high achievement in the arts and sciences. The Dutch burgher lived a much more affluent life than did any other merchants elsewhere.

The Dutch loved comfort and expensive items. Foreign travelers also noted the love and care that was lavished upon the Dutch home. Many Dutch burghers possessed considerable disposable incomes, and they thought nothing of spending a lot of money and effort to make their home a comfortable retreat.

In America the Kast was the most recognizable symbol of Dutch heritage, particularly in New York and New Jersey from the mid-seventeenth to the early nineteenth centuries. Their designs similar to their European counterparts, although the methods of construction were not as elaborate or sophisticated. Kasts were still very important household items.

Decoration could be painted ornamented with symbols associated with good fortune and fertility. Door panels painted with flowers and fruit, geometric forms often in grisaille which simulated carving on more elaborate and expensive furniture.

As industrialization gained speed in America, the cultural and practical functions of kast diminished. The kast gradually ceased to be made. Preserving and storing textiles became less important in the nineteenth-century household. Factories began producing inexpensive machine-made linens and cottons. Built-in cupboards and closets were designed in houses. The old and outdated Dutch cultural symbols that once decorated the kast no longer seemed relevant to a dynamic young nation. Inevitably with these changes, the kast faded away.

Mildred Bryant Brooks (1901-1995)

I have a thing for etchings created by artists during the 1930s and 40s who belonged to the group, Associated American Artists. I have a collection of them nicely framed and arranged somewhat neatly on my bedroom wall. I am drawn to the array of styles and artists’ subject matter which most often reflected the social ideas of the time. I always keep my eyes peeled for one more that strikes me. Before, searching and obtaining a print would often take precedence over paying bills and or buying daily grocery necessities. In the past eight or so months, I’ve had to reign in that weakness.

But a few months back, I came across one artist who I am crazy for. I don’t know much about her other than what I’ve scoured up on the internet. I believe she wasn’t part of the association but she captured such a mood and feel of her time in her compositions. I don’t have any of her prints but I am memorized by many of her works. Sweet and mournful are the only words I can come up with. And, perhaps, a feeling of being haunted mixed in.

On July 21, 1901 Mildred Bryant Brooks was born in Marysville, Missouri. Her mother was a painter, her father was a scientist. Her family moved to Long Beach, California in 1907. She studied at the University of Southern California and the Otis and Chouinard Art Institutes. Brooks worked for Chryson’s Incorporated as a Christmas card designer in the 1920s. In 1929, she began etching studying under Arthur Millier. It was also the year when she began teaching at the Stickney Art Institute in Pasadena. Her etchings were shown in numerous local and national exhibitions throughout the 1930's until the mid 1940's. She won many awards.

Companions won first prize at the Chicago Society of Etchers in 1937. This was the first time the Society had honored a Westerner, let alone a woman. During the Depression she was able to support her family with her printmaking. (An edition of the above print was posted on eBay.)

In 1946, she was an artist-in-residence at Pomona College. In 1952 and 1954, she taught at the Los Angeles County Art Institute. By this time she lived in South Pasadena. Suffering from failing eyesight, she tried working with large mural paintings. In the later decades, she allegedly also worked as an interior designer and decorator. Intruguing....

Ill health eventually forced her into a Santa Barbara, California rest home, where she died on July 3, 1995.

Spring (1932)
Rachel Davis Fine Arts - Cleveland, Ohio


Moods (1935), Cleveland Museum of Art

The Pines of Monterey (1935), Smithsonian American Art Museum


Her works are in the collections of the LACMA; Laguna Art Museum; Fine Arts Gallery, San Diego, California; Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.; National Gallery, Washington, D.C.; Library of Congress, New York Public Library, Cleveland Museum of Art, Dayton Art Institute, University of Nebraska, Lincoln; University of Vermont, Burlington and the Los Angeles Public Library.

My Friends (1935)

November (unknown date); Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco click HERE to view others.


(Top picture currently available on eBay)

Her titles are somewhat curious, as well as somewhat obvious. Regardless, very mezmorizing indeed.