Bittersweet Vessels
These two vessels have very different stories, though they reside in bittersweet harmony in our family room. I found the vase on the left at a thrift shop not long ago. It is marked on the bottom “Apple Lane 6/77”. Research indicates Apple Lane Pottery was started by Bill Nagengast in 1972 in Bloomfield, MI. It seems he is still working as a professional potter! The piece is very “mod” in style and coloring, and I was attracted to its 1970s vibe. It is a sweet piece of American pottery and it looked lovely next to the “Erica” jar, with their similar colors and patterning.
The “Erica” jar story starts in the summer of 1978. My parents sent me to Spain that summer. Alone. Mind you I was 15 at the time, and was to stay with a family my mother knew. The family was lovely, and took me all over central Spain touring, shopping and enjoying wonderful meals. One daughter was a few years older than I, and we rode around on scooters with adorable teen boys, drank cervesa at the local outdoor bar, and lounged about their beautiful home and pool. I recall visiting Toledo and Madrid with the mother, as well as a well-known artist to tour his huge home studio. One evening we drove high in some mountains to an ancient monastery to eat a remarkable meal of octopus in black ink (a bit beyond the palette of an American teen raised on spaghetti and Pepperidge Farm). During one of our outings to a pottery business, I found a small jar labeled “SAL” which I brought home as a gift for a sister. The jar was a salt container, but Sal was also her nickname. The fact I made it home was itself a bit of an experience, but I’ll save you that long story – involving terrorists, bombs and much delayed flights.
Many years later, this sister went on a trip to Italy where she found an “ERICA” jar for me. Finding anything with my name on it is a slight miracle, and having it be a jar much like the one I gifted her was remarkable. Erica is the Latin term for the plant heather, and as it is not used in cooking, I was puzzled. It turns out the plant can be used for medicinal purposes, so this jar was more for pharmaceutical use. Research says heather is used to treat insomnia, depression, gout, stomachache, and skin problems! I might need to grow some of that.
My relationship with that sister ended many years ago, and the jar remains a bittersweet token of old memories. Placed as it is on a mantel in our family room, it reminds me of many things lost. But the Apple Lane vase reminds me of what we can find. Life is complicated, and it is wonderful to find love, sweetness and joy in the simple things. The memories of the past are part of our lives, both bitter and sweet. As I get older, I am trying hard to gravitate towards the sweet.
The House That Jack Built
I recently found a doll house at an estate sale, though I did not buy it. I was tempted – it was handmade, solid wood, nicely proportioned for a child, and stood 4’ tall on a base with two remarkably useful drawers. It was $65, and I debated getting it for my granddaughter. The house was really a shell – not having been “decorated” for play. But my main concern was that my son and DIL likely would have a conniption fit if I schlepped such a large project down to them. They are busy, working parents, and taking on a project of this size is not in their wheelhouse. It would need to be painted, decorated, furnished and most of all, set up somewhere. So, I passed, though obviously I’m still mulling the lost opportunity.
As a child I played with many hand-me-down toys from my much older sisters, including a large wood dollhouse. It was not decorated in any elaborate fashion, and I understood the house had belonged to my paternal aunt. I also thought my grandfather Watts S. Humphrey (1896 – 1968) had made it. Since the name WSH was passed down, the boys alternated nicknames of Jack and Johnny. My grandfather was Jack and my father was Johnny. Jack divorced my grandmother in the late 1940s to marry a British woman. My father’s sister was born to Jack’s second wife. She was older than my sisters, and numerous things were handed down from her for my sisters. I don’t know if my grandfather made the house, but I suspect not as I discovered recently another item I had inadvertently ascribed to him was not his creation.
This small doll dresser similarly was handed down to my sisters and in turn I played with it. Upon recent inspection, I discovered on the bottom, along with many cobwebs, was the name “S. Mese”. So, not made by my grandfather Jack! That little dresser was well loved, and was in my bedroom when I left for college. At some point one of my sisters took it for her NYC apartment, and for many years I was grumpy the dresser was in her possession. How I managed to get it back from her I cannot recall, but I suspect when my daughter was born I requested it. Knowing my aunt reads these blogs, I will have to accept her request for the dresser should she want it for her grandchildren – only fair as I suspect it was hers to begin with!
When my kids were home recently, my 2-year-old granddaughter discovered my daughter’s tall, blue doll house. I had found this one at an estate sale in 1999, and it too was a large, unfinished, wooden shell. I had my baby and two sons with me when we stopped at the sale, and I managed, much like the Grinch, to shove the thing in the trunk of our station wagon.
I spent the next year decorating the house, finding specialty stores for dollhouse stuff – wallpaper, roof shingles, mini flowers, furniture. I had no idea this subculture existed! The house was gifted to my daughter on her second birthday, and was played with for many years. And now, my granddaughter has found it and is mesmerized.
On her last visit, we spent a good while playing and exploring, and only stopped when she grasped the doll sized television, climbed onto the day bed, and announced we would “watch TV”. Her Pops and I were ordered to “sit down on the sofa” next to her, and we happily sat there for 10 minutes giggling and doing absolutely nothing before her father showed up. Of course, he was required to “sit and watch TV” and thus he joined us in our vigil. Then her mom showed up, and we were ordered en masse to sit on the ground – specifically “sit on your bottoms”- so she could read us a book. The doll house was forgotten, and I later straightened it up and closed the doors. It sits awaiting its next foray into childhood.
I love the wonder a young child feels when a whole world is scaled to their small size. There is a subculture of folks who create “dollhouses” as display pieces – much like the impressive Thorne Miniatures at the Art Institute. But those pale in comparison to the ones created with love for a young child. A whole house of love and treasures, open for them to explore. No, Jack did not “make” my childhood doll house, but he is literally the root of my family tree. Without him, my family would not exist. So, in a sense, my family is the house that Jack built. The doll house, however, is a house built by Erica, with a great deal of love.
Native American Basket
My intention the other day when I ventured to the thrift store was to find cheap plastic continuers to help with basement cleanup. Instead, this handmade Native American basket yelled at me from the shelf. I mean I literally stopped in my tracks and looked at it sitting high on a shelf. I did not actually NEED this basket – and, in fact, already own another very similar one (the prior one purchased at a flea market 20 years ago). That said, when I see something as powerful as a 1930s American Indian basket for $4.99 I cannot leave it behind.
This beauty was on a shelf filled with the myriad of cheap, mass produced baskets you find in any thrift store. The majority are made in China, used and discarded as they have very little value, and certainly are not heirlooms. This one, however, has a story connected to it. I am not a Native American history expert by any means, but I appreciate hand work and the skills needed to make something to sustain life. In this case, by a Ho-Chunk woman living in Wisconsin in the 1930s. Like all indigenous tribes in the United States, the history of The Ho-Chunk Nation (formerly known as Wisconsin Winnebago Tribe) is heartbreaking, but there are currently around 7700 members residing throughout Wisconsin.
The Ho-Chunk basket I found is a “market basket” and was made c.1930. It is large – measuring 17” across and 10” tall, not including the handle. It was hand woven with splints from Black Ash trees. Some of the material was dyed green and red, but the colors faded significantly. (The green and red can be seen in areas where an unexposed under piece is poking through the weave). The baskets typically were woven by the tribal women, both for use in their homes as well as for sale.
The process of creating these baskets was arduous in the extreme. First, an ash tree was located, then cut, hauled and harvested. The wood was processed for the basket making by debarking the log, splitting and pounding the tree rings into strips (splints), and scraping and smoothing the splints to make them thin and pliable (1). Then came the processes of yarning, twisting, twining, braiding, soaking, gauging and coloring the materials. The colors were created with natural items, not boxed dye we use these days. That meant collecting minerals, berries and other fruits, flowers, seeds, roots, and grasses. Moss, algae, and juniper berries yielded green colors. Walnut shell and birch bark created browns. Purple hues were made from blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and rotten maple wood. Sumac berries, dogwood bark and beets produced reds. Yellow coloring was manufactured from onion skins, goldenrod stems and flowers, birch leaves, and sagebrush (2).
So, if you are not exhausted yet from reading that process, keep in mind the weaver was not finished. After making the baskets, she would either go door to door or set up a roadside stand to sell them to locals and tourists. In addition, a La Crosse Tribune article notes that in the 1930s, the tribal women would sell their products in La Crosse in front of Doerflinger’s Department Store (which closed in 1984) (1). Between 1930 and 1940, increasing numbers of Ho-Chunk women made baskets as a means to supplement their household incomes. By the 1940s this was replaced with other jobs such as cleaning houses or factor work, as younger generations did not want to do the backbreaking work involved in weaving a basket. (3)
The black ash is a tree native to Wisconsin. Unfortunately, the Emerald Ash Bore (EAB) has decimated the native ash populations in the US, and with it, destroyed the raw materials needed to make these baskets. There are a few artists trying to preserve and teach the skill of weaving these baskets, and there is a concerted effort to locate trees that withstand the EAB, or find other options. According to one basket artist, Kelly Church, the black ash is important to their tribe’s creation story – it provides medicines, housing, food. And those trees, and thus this artistry, are at risk of being lost. As a contemporary weaver from Maine, Jennifer Neptune so succinctly put it: “We have an obligation to that tree to do everything in our power to help it survive – for itself, our culture and our baskets…Black ash is a metaphor for being Native…It is Indigenous. It is how we survived: being flexible, without breaking” (4)
While it hurts my heart that someone would get rid of this treasure, I am grateful that same person thought to contribute it to charity. This allowed their “trash” to become my treasure, and helped fund a charitable group. We are all better off when this economy of “reuse, reduce, recycle” is successful. There is way too much STUFF out there, so to avoid “new” and find treasures is a source of great joy to me. In this case, a truly “made in America” item was rescued – something made with a great deal of effort by an indigenous person living in our country. Now to decide what to do with these baskets that I am basket-sitting!
1. From article in La Crosse Tribune on November 14, 2020
2. www.wisconsinhistory.org/Records/Article/CS2626
3. Adriana Greci Green, curator of Indigenous Art of the Americas as The Fralin Museum of Art, UVA
4. https://www.americanindianmagazine.org/story/black-ash-basketry
Jean’s Magic Circle
This photo of my grumpy, little girl modeling my friend’s mother’s creation is an heirloom of a different sort. It is a framed page from a book on hats (100 Hats To Knit and Crochet by Jean Leinhauser and Rita Weiss, 2005). While the hat she wears is knit, I like the imagery of a “magic circle”, used when starting a crochet project. The stitches are cast on in a loop, and from there the hat grows as stitches are added. This story all started with one creative woman in 1972, ending with my daughter’s photograph years later. It is a yarn of kismet, knit together through connections of people, businesses, friendships and houses over 30 years. And so, we cast on:
In 2005 I took my daughter to California to visit my dear college friend and her baby daughter. We all stayed with her parents, and one day her mother, Rita, took us to a photography studio. Rita needed models for a needle arts book she was producing about hats. Our daughters spent hours being photographed wearing many hats, and as the day wore on, my daughter became less cooperative. This photo was included in the book, and I adore the fact the book was published with her grumpy face glaring out among all the smiling ones.
That evening, I mentioned a needle arts company had resided in my property in Illinois during the 1970s, though I did not know many details. Rita was curious as she recalled her dear friend and partner, Jean, had worked in the Chicago area. She called Jean, and asked after the history of her prior business. It turns out, Jean was working in Chicago in the early 1970s, starting a needlework publishing company, Leisure Arts, with Ron Klein. As the business needed more room, she found a large property for rent in Libertyville with two houses, 7 fireplaces and multiple barns. While she couldn’t recall the street, the description made it clear it was our current home, 30 years earlier! I met with Jean, and heard wonderful stories of her experience on our property in the 1970s. She said Ron and his wife and daughter moved into the main house, and his brother lived in the cottage, handling all the shipping out of the large barn. She commuted to Libertyville each day, working in Ron’s office which is now my sewing room! Jean was bought out of the business, and moved to New York in the mid 1970s, eventually creating a new needle arts publishing company, American School of Needlework, with my friend’s mother, Rita.
Astonishingly enough, in 2019 our doorbell rang one day, and Libby Klein Rapier introduced herself. She was visiting Libertyville, and was curious to see her childhood home. I invited her in, and she was thrilled to see the place. She lived at the house from 1972 to 1980, and remembered Jean from that time. She shared with me numerous photos, including one from 1976 of her posing in front of the distinctive fireplace in our house. She sent me copies of artwork by her mother and photos of the property taken before they moved away.
I am continually amazed at the creativity of life to build circles of connections. How was I to know that a special friendship, started in 1982 in college, was the middle of this story? The property my husband and I purchased in Illinois in 1999 was yet another round added to the tale. And then, with our daughters, my close friend and I drew all those stitches together in a silly hat in California in 2005. Our friendship and her mother Rita’s friendship with Jean – both treasured connections – united us in a circle of yarn.
Silver Linings
Bearing The Weight by Paulette Colo, 2020 (oil on canas)
I think of this artwork as my “pandemic painting”. It is appropriate for today as after three years of folks getting Covid-19, I finally got the darn thing. Not a bad case by any means, and took me a bit to realize I should test, but I had oddly stayed uninfected while most everyone I knew got it, some multiple times. Thankfully being fully vaccinated means my case is mild and I can now stay home and write and sew without guilt. Which is certainly a silver lining…much like this painting is to me.
This is one of few artworks I have purchased directly from the artist. This piece was on display at an art show in Woodstock, IL in June, 2020. At that time, the complexity of Covid-19 was beginning to hit, and going to this show, masked, was likely the last time I ventured out with friends to attend something. Lock down hit soon thereafter.
I was immediately attracted to this painting, and analyzing why made me realize how much I gravitate to the color blue in my decorating. Blue is a “cold” color (as compared to a “warm” one such as yellow), and it creates a sense of calm. It also represents a state of melancholy. The dictionary speculates the term may be related to the skin being blue with cold, or lack of oxygen, as though being depressed depletes your body of needed air. Personally, my mother always had a blue and white kitchen, and I too have gravitated to blue and white kitchens. Somehow the god-awful blue paisley wallpaper in our kitchen and blue and white bicentennial pineapple wall paper adorning my room in the 1970s did not turn me off the color.
The composition of Bearing the Weight is timeless. Nothing really places it in a specific time, or location, and the model’s skin tone is ambiguous. The artist, Paulette, told me the woman was an art class model, and Paulette sketched her while she was taking a break from posing, not during the formal class session. The form is triangle in shape, and art history sees that blue draping as a classic “Madonna” color, often depicting the Virgin Mary wearing it, also frequently in a triangle form. The senses of sorrow and exhaustion the artist captures are striking, especially knowing we were all struggling through Covid-19 as well as Black Lives Matter concerns at that time. When my husband and I picked the painting up, there was a “Back the Blue” rally heading into the town to support police, in contrast to the Black Lives Matter events taking place. The model seems to carry the weight of those conflicts, and a sense of sorrow at the lack of civility in our society.
The treatment of the lower third of the painting is brilliant. The blue and red paint running down the white canvas hints at the Red, White and Blue of our country’s flag, with the paint seeming to bleed. It is up to the viewer to decide what the running paint means. I feel hopeful: while the paint is running, it has to go somewhere. It will end in a puddle off the canvas where it all runs together. Because, realistically, we are all in this together. Covid-19 is but one struggle. Depression, political anger, and social unrest also loom large. But as human beings we need to decide if we will side with anger and hostility or turn to our silver linings: hope, peace and kindness. I vote for silver linings.
Hemming My History
I picked up this statue at a thrift store, and she made me think of my mother and all her sewing projects. While the statue is signed, the signature is a mystery. The details on the statue are quirky – her hair, her top, her wide hips and the mystery item in her right hand (any ideas?!). The colors are charming: the spaghetti hair is a riot of pink, purple, yellow. She is 5” tall but she is heavy – 1.5 pounds. I sense she was made in South America although I have no evidence of this. Her clothing seems modeled on old Spanish culture. She may or may not be an immigrant to this country, but she recalls my German sewing grandmothers and I adore her charm.
My great grandmother was Katherine Becker (1854-1932) who arrived in Canada from Trier, Germany around 1875. The family story is she was an orphan and convinced a family to present her as their servant so she could immigrate. The tale also says she arrived with a sewing machine, though I would love to know if this is accurate. A sewing machine in 1875 would have cost roughly $3500 in today’s dollars so I am skeptical. While the back story is unknown, I do wonder if possibly her parents died of a smallpox plague that ravaged Germany in the 1870s and she was left an orphan. I am going to take that story and suggest her mother was a seamstress - or father a tailor - and thus she came into possession of a sewing machine. So, voila! She immigrated to the United States through Canada, and married another German immigrant in Chicago, Peter Hermes (1854-1931). They had 6 children (4 more died as infants) and my grandmother Frieda was the youngest (1898 -1961). Frieda’s full name was Frederica and I was named after her.
Frieda was a talented seamstress and milliner, and decorated hats for clients in Chicago. My mother would deliver these hats by bicycle in the 1930s. In addition, my mom always said her mother had “champagne taste and a beer sized pocket book” which seems to be genetically inheritable! My grandmother would take her two daughters to Marshall Fields to purchase expensive dresses. Frieda would use those dresses as a pattern, and recreate the dresses herself, and then return the purchased dresses. My mother in turn sewed her own clothes all through her life, even when she had the financial means to purchase items. Sewing became a creative exercise for her, and she took me with her while searching for wonderful fabrics throughout my childhood.
One of the difficulties when home sewing is making your hem even. While you might think you could simply measure, turn under and sew, you would be neglecting the effect having curves would cause on the draping of the clothing over your body. Picture holding a piece of fabric up straight. Now, hold it up straight but put a ball in the way – the fabric would ride up much like the back side of your dress due to your curves. Thus a “hem marker” was used. The wearer turns while the pinner sits on the floor, using the adjustable measuring stick, determining the final length and pinning all around the skirt. My mother had me pinning her skirt hems throughout my life.
Ok, a sewing lesson no one really cares about, but the point is my mother was a talented seamstress and taught me from a very young age how to do these things. She made my high school graduation outfit (I still have it), my wedding dress (ditto) and many other items both for me and my children. Few people (including me) make their clothing anymore and the need for these sewing tools is fading. I recently discarded the hemming stick I had for years when I realized I literally never used it.
While the charming statue cannot tell us who made her or even where, I love the idea she too was an immigrant to this country, much like my great grandparents. And darn is her hem nice and straight!
Harleys In Heaven
Harleys In Heaven blog post about heirloom quilts
The colloquial expression “I’ll know it when I see it” is appropriate when discussing heirloom quilts. There is no defined “category” for a quilt to be considered an heirloom, as it is very subjective and is tied to the memories the quilt captures. An heirloom quilt does not need to be made with “special” fabrics or laces. Yes, there are many wonderful - and expensive – fabrics available to produce sophisticated and special quilts. But it is also possible to make a quilt with fleece lined flannel shirts and denim button downs. This Harley Quilt is a case in point.
Losing a loved one is difficult, but when it is unexpected it is all the worse. My daughter began dating a young man (I’ll refer to him as JD) in 2019. Early in their relationship, JD’s father died quite suddenly (I’ll refer to the father as “Jay”). Jay was not married and JD was his only child. It was a difficult time, as JD dealt with the myriad of legal, financial and emotional consequences of Jay’s tragic death. Once a few months had passed, my daughter asked if I could make JD a quilt with Jay’s flannel shirts.
Of course I agreed, and anticipated a pile of comfortably worn flannel button-down shirts. My daughter arrive home with two large, black garbage bags filled with clothing. Taken aback, I emptied them all, and discovered Jay’s wardrobe of choice was a “shaket”. Who knew – not me – there is such a thing as faux shearling lined shirts, commonly known as “shakets””?! Realistically there were 10 or so, but as Jay was a large man and these things are bulky, they filled up the bags. There were also a few denim shirts, some plain, but one bearing a Harley Davidson image on the back.
I spent a few moments taking deep breaths, and decided to remove the flannel from the faux shearling, getting some decent fabric to utilize for constructing a quilt. The next step was to determine a design. I placed the Harley artwork in the center and decided to build out from there. Using the flannels and denim, I made two differing blocks, some larger pieces of flannel and some with narrow strips. This allowed me to use most of the flannel from the shirts as well as the denim, and to applique a few charming labels from the clothing. I won’t bore you with all the technical issues involved, but I was pleased the quilt came out large enough to snuggle under and was a comfort to his son.
A few months after I completed the quilt, the city of Kenosha was rocked with unrest after the shooting of Jacob Blake in August, 2020. My daughter and JD were living quite close to the epicenter of the riots, and she was attending university remotely from their apartment due to the Covid-19 lock downs. Concerned for her safety, as she was alone during the days, they chose to come stay with us briefly. My daughter told me afterwards that the only item JD packed to bring down with him that day was the Harley quilt. To know it meant so much to him that it was all he grabbed in his rush speaks to the power of these tokens of love. I was exceedingly touched. Heirloom indeed.
Peter And His Rabbit
This lithograph came from a local thrift store. The work is quirky, and it appealed to me. It is signed, Ellen Deutsch, but not dated. It is quite large for a lithograph print: 16” x 18”. The golden tans, oranges and browns of the background and boy are dramatically offset by the dark rust bunny, and bright white teeth and eyes. The framing picks up the rust color wonderfully in the matting, and the piece seems very 1970s to me. The child, a boy with noticeable teeth, clutches a much-loved stuffed bunny. It seems a portrait of a specific little boy, with a specific loved toy, however the artist simply called him “Muchacho” (Spanish for boy). She also noted this print is an “artist proof”.
The process of making a hand printed lithograph is complicated, and “artist proofs” are usually run while the artist is creating the piece to determine composition, color choices and to confirm the work has no flaws. Many artist proofs are considered the best version of an artwork as they are done first and are often the highest quality. There can be numerous “artist proofs” as the artist continues to work on the piece. The implication of an “artist proof” is that a printed and numbered series would eventually be run off, possibly for sale.
While I find him charming, I suspect there are plenty of folks who would not want him gracing their walls. To be honest, my 2-year-old granddaughter, who stays in the room where he resides, announced that she didn’t like him. I explained to her he was a bit goofy, but very harmless, and that was the end of it. She never mentioned it again, but we will see next time she comes. Wanting to understand a bit more about the piece, I began researching the artist, Ellen Deutsch.
Ellen was a well-known artist working in the Chicago area from 1976 until her death in 2019. She was born in New York in 1940, and died in 2019. She took art classes throughout her life, but her mother insisted Art was not a career, so she studied science. She received degrees in Biochemistry, and worked for years in Pediatric genetic research, including 10 years at U of I Medical Center in Chicago. Between 1968 to 1972, she completed a master’s degree from NC State University in Biochemistry. At the same time, she was raising 3 small children, Dave (1963), Beth (1964) and Gail (1965) and was active in a University printmaking group, learning etching and linoleum printing techniques.
There is a book about Ellen Deutsch entitled “From Dark to Light With Humor” (J. Stevens, 2013) so I was able to look at her work. It seems my friend Peter most likely was created during her time in North Carolina while studying printmaking. The remainder of her oeuvre addresses women’s issues, depression, holocaust, and trauma, and have very little in common with Peter’s sweet but slightly goofy personality. I do wonder if “Peter” may actually be a work based on her eldest child, a son, who would have been between 5 and 9 while she was studying printmaking in North Carolina.
So, realistically, I should call him David, but I suspect I was attracted to him as he reminds me of one of my brothers. Peter also had unfortunate dental issues as a young boy, so the bucktooth grin speaks to me of him. Virtually nothing else about the little boy resembles my brother, but there is something appropriate for “Peter” to be carting about his “rabbit”, regardless if it is actually David.
Speaking With Dolls
My blog does not have a formal “goal”; I write as I am inspired by a variety of items, topics and memories. The hope is my ramblings will strike a chord among likeminded folks of the value of heirlooms and handmade treasures. And prompt the recording of their stories. However, the joy of the blog has been the connections I continue to make.
I enjoy the re-connection the blog inspired with a cousin in New Zealand, and seeing the fabulous heirlooms they have treasured from my Strong ancestors. In addition, another cousin, my father’s older brother’s child, has reached out to me. She is older than my siblings, the first grandchild born when my father’s brother was 20. I had not known her well growing up as I’m likely 15 years younger. It was a wonderful surprise to hear from her, and I look forward to getting to know her, as well as discover more family lore from papers she has in her possession. Sharing family heirlooms and papers makes the stories of “our” lives begin to take on different perspectives. While the ancestry may be the same, the responses to experiences can be very different. All of which helps us understand our human experience is unique, but is also shaped by the many generations before us.
This was brought home to me through a poignant note received recently from another cousin, my mother’s sister’s daughter. This cousin read my blog about mom’s knitting, prompting her introspective note. We are similar in age, and as young girls, we would spend a week each summer at each other’s home. I was always envious of her as her mother, my aunt, was a warm, funny and talkative woman; very different from my mother, Barbara Fallon Humphrey (1928-2021). While my mother imparted in me a strong sense of independence and practicality, she was not effusive emotionally. She never spoke of her father, was not physically affectionate, and insisted the idea of saying “I love you” was trite (Santa Claus too if you want to feel sorry for me. Hmmm, might explain the origins of my collection?). Of course, as I aged I began to wonder why I didn’t “have” a maternal grandfather, and it was this aunt who told me much of the story. I will not go into the sad tale, other than to say when it was determined he had a wife and 3 children living in Boston, my Catholic grandmother made him leave in the midst of the Great Depression. Sadly, my mother then became a “parentified” child as she cared for her younger sister while their mother worked. My mother grew into a very stoic and practical woman, but it seems my aunt evolved differently. My cousin’s note speaks to this:
“I …remember marveling how the same difficult and somewhat scandalous childhood yielded such different outcomes. My mother was strict but effusive in her proclamations of love; she told me often, sometimes sang it to me and hugged me every opportunity. She was however always unsure of her ability to elicit [love]. She suffered from very low self-esteem, doubted everyone’s love…and suffered a life-long fear of abandonment. She too was in awe of your mother who was “the smart, thin, pretty one”…
“I thought of these family stories somewhat recently as I looked at my new house and realized…I couldn’t pick a color for my own front door. As I stood there alarmed at how at almost 60 I didn’t know what color I liked without other people affirming my choices, I thought how the person who would understand this would be my mother. It made me think that growing up in the suburbs of Philadelphia I had inherited a story from 1930s Chicago as assuredly as I had inherited my mother’s brown eyes. Like all inheritances we need to decide what we hold onto and what we cast away, and how to take our family stories and spin them off in directions that will benefit us and our children.”
Another thing my cousin noted was recalling my mother gifting us both handmade dolls during the 1970s. She noted that “those beautiful homemade dolls…seemed to have a different origin than the woman who always seemed vaguely annoyed by my presence in her house”. Astonishingly I can completely relate to that.
Yes, I saved all those dolls. And recognize, as my cousin so wonderfully put it, that while we both descend from the same maternal grandmother, the way our mothers were affected by the trauma of their childhood had a remarkably different impact on their parenting, and thus on us. Those charming handmade dolls are a testament to me that my mother loved me and could only express that love through her handicrafts. They are quiet treasures, tokens of the ways our lives are impacted by events well beyond our own experiences. Which is, of course, the idea of heirlooms. Some are precious materials of gold, silver or gems. Others are handmade and of no value whatsoever, except to those who know what they are saying.
An Angel Among Men
My husband often grumbles I pick up “female” art (see blog post “Biased Against Boys, 11/2/2023”), so it is appropriate my collection of male art takes over our home during December. I have gathered many Santa Claus statues, made in a remarkable number of mediums -wood, paint, paper, needlework, cloth, papier-mâché, gourds, and clay -but all handmade. These treasures were found mostly at local thrift shops, but a few came from estate sales or were made by me. I recently learned St. Nicholas, as Santa is formally known, is also the patron saint of brewers. As my hubby enjoys beer brewing, these fellows feel all the more appropriate. My husband now has his patron saint watching over our home all of December.
In addition, a bevy of snowmen grace our bookshelves. I have never parted with a snowman project made by my children, mostly from their school days. My collection is a bit tattered, and unfortunately not expanding (no more school art projects and all that). I am hoping a new generation of family members will gift their Nana some handmade additions to my male snow club (though we are nondiscriminatory and would be happy to add a female snowperson). Thankfully these snowmen are non-perishable, though there is one ceramic fellow who insists on losing his arm rather frequently. Some years I simply display him sans limb, but some years I glue the misplaced appendage back in place. My oldest son would bet you money this snowman was made by his younger brother, and while I actually don’t know, I also don’t want to find out. The joke in our family is my eldest son claims to have not an artistic gene in his body (I’m not so sure) and takes great offense that his younger brother’s art is treasured while his is not. This is not true, but I love the laughter that ensues. So Sans Limb Snowman will remain unattributed, but fortunately limbed (for now).
There is one lovely Angel residing in our home. It was made using a vintage quilt and real feathers, and is signed “Henny Curtis, 1994”. I picked her up at a flea market and she resides atop our tree each year. Other than this angel and a few treasures, most of these pieces are not signed. I often wonder why families part with such works of art, and it is sad to lose the stories behind their creation. But, clearly, my love language is to make gifts, so I appreciate the time and skill that went into these creations. I happily give them a home, and enjoy their uniqueness. But not to worry, there is a woman in charge: Angel Henny, sitting up on our tree, keeps an eye on those somewhat tipsy fellows lounging about the house.
Currently two-armed but one eyed snowman
Knitting Our Love Together
These sweaters are a testament to the incredible art my mother (Barbara Fallon Humphrey 1/4/1928 to 1/24/2021) could knit. They were made for my daughter, who was her first granddaughter. While my mother had 7 children, four of them daughters, I am the only daughter who in turn had a daughter. This means that my mother’s line of mtDNA is continued on through my daughter with a direct line back to the Mitochondrial Eve.
To explain this theory (per my not very medically savvy perspective) the genetic material you carry in your nuclear DNA is a merger between your mother’s and father’s DNA. This is referred to as mtDNA, and is essentially derived from your mother - your father’s DNA powered the sperm to get you started. This means that mtDNA is inherited solely from the maternal line; only the mother's side survives in our DNA from generation to generation. Research has traced our mtDNA back to a single woman about 200,000 years ago. A mother who gives birth only to sons will see her mtDNA lineage lost.
My mother, in turn, carried forward her mother’s mtDNA as her sister, my aunt, had a daughter who only had sons. My paternal grandmother only had sons, so her line has ended, as her mother (my paternal great grandmother) was an only daughter as was my grandmother. I like to think about the poetry of this weaving of cells and creation as I look at my mother’s amazing knitted art.
Mom told me that as a young girl in Chicago, she rode her bike to the Marshall Field’s Department Store on State Street to learn to knit. (I love the fact that the old Fields had a knitting department.) The women there taught her to make mittens – mind you she was likely 12. Two friends I was telling this to were aghast - not because as a 12-year-old she traveled alone to Fields, but because they’ve knit for years and still haven’t tried to make a pair of mittens! From there, mom found a passion and created unbelievable works of art in yarn. That said, my mother’s ability to communicate her love with words was not a strength of hers, and she and I had a fractious relationship when I was younger.
In 1992 I visited my parents with my husband and baby son. During the visit I struggled with how disengaged my parents were. As a new mother, I couldn’t understand why they did not join on walks, trips to the beach or bedtime rituals. This upset me, but when I returned home, I realized my mom expressed her love through the things she made for my son – a sweater and Easter bunny toy as I recall. I sent her a package – likely with photos and Frango Mints from Marshall Field’s -with a note where I expressed this. She wrote back:
5-13-92
Dear Erica,
All the goodies arrived today, and I must say your letter made me proud of you! Your comments about me were very mature; I don’t believe I was that far along in my twenties. You are right that I’m not emotionally expressive. It has to do with the culture I grew up in, and it must have suited my nature since I have found it hard to change. I have always sensed that you and [a sister] particularly needed more affection than I was able to give, but I’m sure all of you [siblings] would have benefited.
I love you very much, and you’re lucky to have [your husband] and your beautiful baby boy. It struck a real chord when you described me as doing things for the one’s I loved; my mother was identical in her expressions. Your nature is such you can do both!
As I’ve aged, I have come to understand the threads that connect my mother and grandmother to me. While I have worked hard to express with words my love to my family, it is not always easy to overcome the genetic predispositions we inherit. Some is nurture certainly, but there is definitely a common thread running through my line, desiring to make things of beauty and gift those things. Often that gift is the best way we can express our love. Now people recognize “love languages” more so than they did as I grew up, but a love language, it seems, can also be inherited.
My relationship with Mom healed as I got older, and I know she relied on me for support as she aged. I still have many of the sweaters she made for me and my children, and these two are hanging in my sewing room. Much like sweaters, our memories from our ancestors can unravel – each generation loses a bit of the stories and details of prior generations. To keep these stories alive, we often keep family heirlooms. But there, too, the stories connecting them to us disappear over time. While we appreciate that these things came from distant relatives, the memories begin to grow holes. Unless it is written down. So, write down the stories behind your cherished belongings – do not rely on told stories as they fade or become confused. Do not lose the lineage of your family heirlooms to time. These treasures are our link to history, and a touchstone to the weaving of our genetic inheritance.
Lucky Cricket
I have been thinking of my mom of late (Barbara Fallon Humphrey 1928-2021) and likely because of a prior blog where I discussed my predilection for trashy novels. Mom would be appalled as she was a huge reader, but only read “important” books. It took me a good portion of my adult life to realize I really didn’t have to ONLY read serious books – and reading trashy novels is my version of binge watching a tv series, or eating a whole bag of potato chips. Not necessarily harmful and a good distraction when life gets a tad too intense.
I recalled two sterling silver bookmarks were among the family heirlooms, and I went to hunt them down. I don’t think I ever knew their history, but somehow ended up with them. After some elbow grease, it turns out one has my father’s maternal Grandmother’s initials (MLB = Margaret LeBoutillier 1874-1903) with a charming cricket in raised design. (Is anyone else annoyed that the cricket is facing one way and the initials the other?!) I suspect this was in The Box my parents had of family papers and memorabilia but migrated – as crickets are wont to do – to my bedside table. Thankfully he is a very quiet cricket, as compared to those that set up house in our basement.
The other was a bit more surprising. It has my mom’s initials BFH so post 1955, after her marriage to my father. Oddly though, the marking on the back says “S. Kirk and Son” which is an old sterling designer from the 1800s. I am guessing mom found it antiquing as she was often poking about at thrift, consignment and antique stores. Anyone guessing where my training came from?! I have memories of scouring The Rose Door and Darien Thrift Shop with her as a child, and on a recent trip back to Darien it turns out the thrift store is still in the same old house on the main street.
I suspect Mom treated herself to the bookmark and had it engraved. It is also possible my mom appropriated an unengraved silver piece from the family heirlooms and had it marked for herself. I remember she found a Tiffany’s gold stickpin with large cabochon sapphire in the box of heirlooms, and had a jeweler in Pittsburg fashion a ring out of it. Sadly, the value of the Tiffany’s piece is long gone, and while the ring was worn by my mom, I suspect the jeweler kept the gold marked stickpin as it was likely valuable. Mom really had no sense of sentimentality – and while I can be irked by her behavior, it really is a product of her childhood practicality.
My mother’s childhood was not an easy one. She was raised with her younger sister during the Great Depression in Chicago by a single mother. My grandmother Freda Hermes Fallon (1898-1961) had no high school education, and was abandoned by her bigamist husband (there’s a sad tale) to raise her 2 children alone. She got a job through the machinations of a brother who was a judge, and she taught sewing in a Chicago school. During the 1930s, they lived with her older sister, Aunt Frances and her family. Mom had wonderful stories of Aunt Frances, and was close to her older cousins, but she had to work from a young age, and put herself through college in Chicago. Her marriage to my father in 1955 changed her means significantly, though Mom was never able to change her frugal habits.
While my paternal great grandmother’s life story was tragic, my mother’s was one with a happy ending. She and my father were married over 50 years, traveled the world, raised 7 children, and volunteered in many ways to improve other’s lives. So really, the cricket book mark should have been Mom’s as she was one lucky lady. And I suspect Mom too would have insisted the initials and the cricket go in the same direction!
Calder’s Rewarding Circus
(sorry for the poor image - hard to photograph work behind glass)
I suspect you all have a memory from childhood that has remained with you, impacting your life in unexpected ways. For me, seeing the Calder Circus exhibition at the Whitney Museum in New York in 1972 is one such memory. Alexander Calder(1898-1972) created his whimsical performing circus in 1926, composed of 55 interactive sculptures. A film done in 1961, “Calder’s Little Circus” shows him performing the circus and is a treat to watch (be forewarned his language is hard to understand). He offered his work to the Whitney in 1970, and the museum hosted a once only show of the entire circus. Now the works are too fragile to be displayed, and have not been on view since then.
Calder was an American born artist who lived both in France and Connecticut. He was educated as a mechanical engineer, and during his young adulthood, he lived in Paris. There he became fascinated with a circus, modeling his interactive circus art on many of the performers he befriended. He would use this circus for many years as entertainment – “performance art” well before the idea even existed. He also famously created the mobile, and all mobiles you see today are descendants of his creation. He was a prolific artist, and created a huge amount of sculptures, domestic tools, jewelry, wire art, mobiles, and paintings. (The foundation for his work www.Calder.org has many wonderful examples.)
I purchased a poster at that 1972 show of his lion inside its boxcar, and that work hung in my bedroom during my childhood.
We had just purchased our current home in 1999, a large farm house originally built by Quaker Oats, when I found this original Circus lithograph by Calder and purchased it. This piece became the focal point of our family room. Over the years I have added artwork and furniture to compliment the lithograph’s 1970s vibe and colors, and many thrift store and flea market items have found a home by the Calder.
Starting in 1999, I worked with a group of women to create a “Famous Artists” volunteer program for our elementary school. We were colloquially referred to as the “Art Moms”. Many of the women were keen on including Impressionist artists which were very popular at the time. At a certain point I put my foot down and insisted we needed to include Calder, among a few other artists (Vermeer, Mondrian, Rembrandt!). I located another print of the lion poster from the Whitney show, and this work still hangs and is used in the local schools to introduce the students to Calder’s artwork.
While I really cannot know what impact those lessons had on over twenty years of students, I recently was at a book club meeting where the topic of Art Moms came up. A younger member was discussing a quick trip to Paris with her adolescent son. The weather had been awful so they spent time in some of the many museums in Paris. She mentioned how astonished she was that her son knew a great deal about many works of art. When she asked, he said he had learned all about them in his elementary classes with the “Art Moms”. Dang was I touched, and while she had no idea I had been instrumental in that education, I felt my efforts were well rewarded!
Ties That Bind Us
My father had passed away in 2010, and I could not bring myself to throw out his ties. My father wore suits and ties for work, and had a lovely collection. Dad had no sense of color due to colorblindness, and I was amused when I learned how he managed this handicap. My mother, unable to deal with his style disasters, organized his closet such that the ties and suits rotated to coordinate. A sophisticated version of “Granimals”!
I wanted to use the ties to make a gift for my mother, and settled on this kimono pattern. My parents had a great love for Asian art, and had taken many trips to the Far East, including a 1981 trip to China. Using my Dad’s ties, with only a slight amount of additional silks, I created this wall hanging.
I recently found a treasure trove of ties at the thrift shop. I often pick up ties as my husband wears them to work, and I suspect he has the most spectacular tie collection in town. While I look for those he can wear, I sometimes snag ties simply for the amazing silk fabrics! Today I ended up with 9, and boy are these stunning. I will sell some online, but others hubby will enjoy wearing. He’s a bit concerned the “boxers” (Italian Bugatti, far left) might be a tad risqué for his office, but he’s willing to see how they are received.
I confess I’m itching to make a quilt with these! Sewing with the silk from ties is not easy, but the lush fabric and patterns are enticing. Before you can use them, you need to wash, disassemble, and then iron them with interface or starch, which is a bit of a process. In addition, the silk used in tie construction is on the bias (a sewing term I’ll let you look up) and adds another challenge. If you find a tie from the 1970s or 80s you love, you’ll be in luck as those puppies can be WIDE, sometimes 6” wide, which can result in a lot of usable fabric. I have made a number of silk quilts besides the one for my mother.
When my grandfather “Pop-pop” Osborne died in 1997, I requested his ties. Pop-pop was actually my father’s stepdad, though he was always my grandfather, and was a lovely man. My paternal grandmother had died in 1987, and we continued to visit with Pop-pop and his two daughters whenever we were in Sarasota. Using Pop-pop’s ties, I made three quilts as gifts for these two aunts and my father. The photos are not great, but one was using red and yellow ties, one dark blues and the final one (not shown) all striped ties. The backgrounds are silk as well. I believe my Dad’s was gifted to a close “cousin” who resided next to my parents for years in Sarasota.
Making an art quilt wall hanging with ties is a labor of love - the process is complex, yes, but the work represents a loved one’s history and tastes. It is a special way to honor someone, and a joy to create.
The Roots Of My Tree
My dive into the ancestry rabbit hole started in 1987 when I inherited this cross-stitch piece. It was in a box of family heirlooms my parents were cleaning out, and I was doing cross-stitch at the time. Cross-stich “samplers” were done by young girls as a way to learn sewing. Some of the stitching is traditional “cross-stitch” while others are more complex. This piece was done on hand-loomed linen fabric with naturally colored thread. While some of these works could be extremely fancy, with detailed pictures, this one is more simple. It depicts the alphabet (no “J”!), numbers, strawberry vines and “Eliza Hutchinson Hir Sampler 1789” done in stitching. I had it professionally framed in archival material and it is displayed in our home.
The question, at the time, was who was Eliza Hutchinson? Clearly she was alive in 1789, but our knowledge of the family tree did not include a Hutchinson family. So, I began to dig through the boxes of family papers. My research included a trip with a friend to the Newberry Library in Chicago, as well as an Antiques Roadshow filming (they indicated it was worth around $2000 in 1996).
As I began to trace my ancestry, I drafted a somewhat unusual tree – I started with my father, and worked backwards, with only parents noted (with dates when known). The result looks more like the roots of a tree, showing the line of my ancestry through my dad going back into the 1600s. It is a remarkably useful chart, and I refer to it often when doing family research.
The first problem I needed to tackle was if the cross-stitch came down from the Strong family (my paternal grandmother) or the Humphrey side (my paternal grandfather). The two collections had merged over the years, and so it was unclear. The papers I have from the Humphrey family indicate they were living in Michigan in the early 1800s, and the Antique Roadshow folks felt the piece was from New England, likely New York or New Jersey. Thus, the Strong side.
Researching genealogy in the early days of the internet was not as easy as it is today. No “23 and Me” or data bases readily available. However, the Church of Latter-Day Saints was – and still is – a huge source of genealogy information. Between contacting distant relatives, and requesting data from the Church, I was able to locate a Hutchinson family on our tree! Anne B. Hutchinson (1786-1830) married John C. Schenck. She is my 6th great grandmother.
You likely noticed her name is Anne and not Eliza. Research uncovered that Anne had an older sister Eliza, who died in 1813 at the age of 33 without children. Eliza was 9 when she made the cross-stitch. Anne was 27 when Eliza died and she saved her sister’s sampler. Anne then passed it down to her son William Schenck (1817-1903). He in turn gave it to his daughter Adeline Schenck (1844-1935). And on down to my great grandfather Benjamin Strong (1872-1926), my grandmother Katherine Strong (1904-1987) and then to my father (1927-2010). I find it interesting that this path went from Anne to son-daughter-son-daughter-son and then to me (1963)! I will give this to my son (1991) to pass on to our granddaughter (2021) – she will be the 9th generation to care for the work of Eliza Hutchinson, a woman whose roots live on in my family tree.
Elephants on My Mind
I purchased this large photograph in 1984 from a high school friend. We were both in New York at the time – he was studying photography and I had a summer internship at Chemical Bank. He brought his portfolio to a lunch date at the bank’s fancy lunch room, and I immediately loved this one. This is a hand printed photograph, measuring 20” square. For those of you who are not familiar with photography “in the olden days”, this was a much different process than the “pull out your phone and take a pic” option we all resort to nowadays.
The first step was to utilize an SLR (single lens reflex) camera with a roll of black and white film. The quality of the lens was very important, thus good photography required expensive equipment – some of the lenses could be thousands of dollars. Next, settings needed to be adjusted on the camera to consider the amount of light, the length of time for the exposure, and the focus. Once this was done, the film was developed in the dark room – lots of chemicals, absolutely NO outside light and a bit of hope that you captured the image you wanted. Once the film was shot and developed, you could not make changes to the images, as we often do now.
The next step is the printing process. A dark room is just that – completely dark. Any exposure to light will damage the film or printing, so all this work will be done under a red light. Not clear why that doesn’t affect the process, but I’m not well enough versed on the issue to explain. To print a negative, the artist must make decisions regarding the time the film is exposed to the paper, the length of time it soaks in the various baths needed to affix it, and the size of the finished work. In this case, producing a photograph that is 20” square requires equipment large enough to handle the paper.
My friend told me the photo was taken at the Bronx Zoo at the elephant enclosure. As a child, our summers included visits to Playland in Rye, NY and the Bronx Zoo. While I understand the old “cage” style of zoos was not pleasant for the animals, I loved those trips (not so much Playland as the rides made me ridiculously motion sick). The elephants were always my favorite, and this photograph brought those memories back. It also started me on my collecting “circus theme” journey, including a wonderful Calder lithograph of the circus. We will visit Calder another day!
It should be noted that my friend is a professional photographer in Maine, James R. Solomon Photography: https://www.salomonphoto.com/
Serendipity Strikes
I picked up these two pieces of art at a thrift store in Illinois recently, and was intrigued by them. These works are not reproduced prints, but instead water colored (or washed) over a penned drawing. The style seemed old and the design struck me as either southern or Caribbean, though an internet search for “Walker and 1960” did not reveal anything. (I was not able to read the first name on the works). I loved them anyway, and put them up in my home, framed as they were in 1980s peach!
Three months later, on another thrift store outing, I came across a picture that was very similar in style but done at a later date. As it did not appeal to me I didn’t buy it, but on the back of the frame there was a write up about the artist. Bingo! Now I was able to research the artist and boy what a lovely journey I’ve taken, all while sitting at my home in chilly Illinois!
Jill Walker is much beloved in the Caribbean, both for her art and for the art community she created. Much of her work depicts buildings and scenes of life in Barbados that have been lost. After her death in 2021, her family continued her work at the Best of Barbados (https://best-of-barbados.com/) and maintain an archive of her art (viewable at https://jillwalkerart.com/).
I began an email correspondence with her daughter, and she was excited to see such well-preserved works of her mother’s. In the archives, she discovered versions of the same artwork. She explained her mother would draw a scene, then make a few prints of the inked design (unclear how these prints were reproduced in 1960). Then Walker would watercolor the scene, which meant each one was unique. There are differences between our two versions, and it is fun to review them to spot these changes. Her daughter was unable to determine which set is the original “drawing” and which was the inked and water colored printed one. The ones in the archives had hung in the family’s Barbados home for years and are rather damaged. Those I have were framed in the 1980s in Florida and are in very good condition.
Fascinating how two pieces of art made in Barbados in the 1960s, framed in Florida in likely the 1980s ended up in Illinois in the 2020s. I feel like I could make up that story but I will leave it to everyone’s imagination!
Patently Confounded
This quirky silver telescoping “thing” has been a mystery to a few generations of my family. It belonged to my paternal grandmother’s family, and was passed down in a box of heirlooms to my parents. They had no idea what it was, and while they got rid of a number of items in the box, I suspect this one survived the purge simply because it was small and quirky. There has been much speculation about its purpose.
The only markings on the piece state “patent approved” which are remarkably unhelpful. The silver is beautifully worked, and the “wand” telescopes to extend in length. While polishing it the other day, I discovered the end piece actually twists off, revealing a small hook on the bottom. Mind you, the entire mechanism is done in silver, including the twisting screw parts and bottom loop. But the why of the loop only adds to the mystery. The other thing of note is the “prongs” are wrapped in leather and are the only part of the piece done in smooth silver, not highly worked with design.
So, any ideas? My parents thought it was for holding opera glasses but I don’t get that vibe. The glasses would have been more valuable and no such item survived. (See my blog about the 14k reading glasses from the same family!) Knowing it came from my very blue-blooded great grandfather Benjamin Strong, I wonder if it was designed for some type of voting. Possibly to use during a large meeting? “Aye” and “Nay” cards slipped onto the end and waved in the air at the appropriate moment? Another thought would be for using it to signal interest during an auction, extending the wand to catch the eye of the auctioneer? But why the leather? And the odd internal hook? And yes, I used Google image search and it too was stumped.
Why anyone would need a sterling silver telescoping wand is beyond me. But, then again, the entire thing is beyond me. I know from my NZ cousin that his family still has a sterling flatware set specifically for eating fruit, a Tiffany’s Deco sterling smoking set and a solid sterling jewelry box (among many other items) all from the same great grandfather’s family. So I am guessing having a fancy telescoping wand to vote or bid at auction may not have seemed unusual in his well off days in New York City in the 1920s. Anyone who can solve the mystery will receive absolutely nothing but my undying gratitude!
Kinky Cords
I have been thinking about my 1970s childhood recently, which may explain why I was attracted to this wonderful collage picture. I bought it on eBay for around $75, and it is signed Emelyn Herman. Notice the old phone with a kinky cord. Mind you, these were a vast improvement from the wall mounted ones we had for years in our kitchen. This style actually had buttons instead of a rotary dial! We called them “touch tones” and I remember each number made a unique sound, such that when you dialed the number it made a consistent, melodious tune. The other upgrade from the wall phone of my childhood, was this style was portable! I mean, slightly portable by modern standards, but the jack into the wall had a long cord and the phone itself had a kinky cord connecting the handset to the base. None of the phones in my childhood home would have reached my bedroom, so I often lay on the dining room floor with the kitchen door closed as I chatted with friends.
For those of you with phones in your pockets, I promise dealing with these cords was the bane of our teenage lives – you had to STRETCH the darn thing into another room so you could close the door and gab away in privacy. The problem was the cord did not return to its nice coiled self all that often - the loops would get stretched and twisted, creating quite a lumpy mess that was a pain to unkink. And heaven forbid the phone was too far away when it rang - you’d have to run to get it before the person hung up. Hard to believe, I know, but the person could let the phone ring indefinitely as we did not have answering machines until much later. You wouldn’t know how long the caller would wait to hang up so it was a mad dash to get to the phone every time it rang. No caller id either - so no awareness ahead of time as to whether you wanted to answer. Thankfully telemarketers did not exist in my childhood.
As I think of it, I realize my children are likely the last generation to have “home phones”. As the phone evolved, these were portable hand sets, with bases including answering machines. The main problem was the portable handset could become separated from the base, and then dear god, trying to figure out where it was as it rang was quite the process!
Back to Emelyn Herman’s artwork. The composition is wonderful. Notice the visual lines drawing your eye towards the girl’s face – set against the white pillow. Her bent knee and quirked arm create two triangles, which are offset by all the rectangles – the mattress, white window curtain, blue wall. We will gloss over the odd tummy section (as a 60+ woman I can relate to odd tummy sections) – not clear if it’s due to a deterioration of some element of the composition, or a small pup curled up on her middle. The “wall art” behind her – the all-American football player, and romantic traveling couple – are curious additions. Note the placement of the clouds and word “Escape” directly above the girl’s head.
The old wood bed is very similar to the one I had during my teen years. It was another family heirloom, quite old and the finials were carved into pineapples. I did not have a handmade quilt, but the girl’s quilt is one I would have loved! The patchwork is composed of torn pieces of various papers. The artist has made sure to utilize all the colors from the artwork, making a visually appealing quilt that unifies the entire piece.
Well done Emelyn Herman whoever you were!
Stop The Press: It’s A Print!
Much of the art you find thrifting is reproduction, usually inexpensive prints of works from museums or art work over 70 years (when it is considered in the public domain). Sometimes, however, you can find fantastic pieces of original art. This artwork is from the 1750s (I kid you not) and is essentially the “museum reproduction” of its day. I was practically vibrating when I came across it, and snatched it up for a few dollars.
What people refer to as a “print” today can mean many things. Most of the works you find at thrift stores are printed by machine, and if you look at one closely with a magnifying glass, you can see the “Ben Day dots”. As defined by MOMA, these are: “An inexpensive mechanical printing method developed in the late 19th century … [using] small colored dots (typically cyan, magenta, yellow, and black) that are variously spaced and combined to create shading and colors in images.” This process is what your home printer does when you print a colored image, and how most art reproductions are created. And note that a “giclée print” is basically a fancy ink jet reproduction.
Then there is the actual process called “print making”. While the art created is also called a “print”, these are works created by an artist using a number of different “print making” techniques. The oldest styles are Woodcut, Engraving (also known as intaglio) and Etching. More contemporary styles are Aquatint, Monotype, Lithography and Screen-printing.
This work was done by Gilles-Antoine Demarteau (1722-1776) and it is an engraving print. He was a well-known engraver working in Paris in the mid 1700s. The majority of his work depicts famous artworks by Francois Boucher (1703-1770), and this “Woman and Child Before a Fireplace” is one. In fact, the original artwork by Boucher is now only known through these etchings, as is common in art history when art is lost or damaged. Prior to photography, the only way artists could “see” artwork from afar was to have a printed version, much like we would pick up at an art exhibit. But at the time, creating a “printed version” took the skills of a different artist.
This print is over 250 years old and predates the American Revolution! And I found it at a thrift shop for only a few dollars, already framed in archival material. The topic is, of course, one I love from my Dutch art history – a woman and child in a domestic setting. How lucky am I?! It has pride of place in our living room.