Borders

Photo courtesy Flickr

The other day I cruised a big box store for the home and realized that the appealing but bland soft furnishings make space look big. Nothing challenges anything else, so it’s a small matter to add things to whatever mix one has. This is a neat system, but a completely non-committal interior looks half-baked.

The visual structure of traditional formal textiles makes its own architecture. A hand-printed cotton cloth from India defines the table it conceals. An oriental rug is a domicile all on its own. The gorgeous French cotton damask cloths reflect the European understanding of borders and interior motifs that are so sophisticated in Eastern textiles.

It only takes one of these pieces to make a room pop. The formal borders create an arena that focusses behavior, just as the borders of a television screen define that particular reality. More after the jump.

The Saw Horse

Photo courtesy Flickr

A board and trestle was the standard work and dining platform in the English medieval hall house, one room centered on a fire pit and lined with storage chests. Some of these houses were no larger than my Model T garage, 10’ x 20’. Consisting of two sawhorses and one or more planks, the table was set up and knocked down as meals and work suggested.

I saw my first pure board and trestle in the Marimekko store in San Francisco in 1967. The top consisted of 2” x 10” straight grain Doug fir planks. It was painted white, it was waist-high, and it was gorgeous. Some years ago, I organized a board and trestle of my own, but hadn’t used it for much except a bar on the porch. It got underfoot, so I stashed it upstairs. Last week I set it up in a small workroom and discovered that it’s a convenient and flexible small space work set-up.

The trestles are straight grain Doug fir, waxed and mounted in patented sawhorse brackets. The legs look civilized when the knotty 1” x 8”s that top them are covered with a tablecloth that can be anything from ancestral linen to a paper drop cloth.

I can simplify the furnishings of individual rooms knowing that the board and trestle is available any time I want to work or dine. Lengths of non-skid shelf liner top the trestle rails to secure the planks. It’s a small matter to stash them somewhere when I break the table down, and if I’m feeling really stingy about space, I can remove the legs from the trestles and bundle the whole arrangement in an obscure corner.

The crude top is one I don’t have to protect, so I can use it for any non-toxic project.
More after the jump.

The Week-End Report: 80/20

Photo courtesy Flickr

Domestic inventory should have the same percentage of fat as a gifted runner. It’s OK to have more, but store it away from everyday space. The English National Trust Manual of Housekeeping and Cheryl Mendellson’s Home Comforts will show you how to keep things in good condition with minimal effort.

Last week I received a windfall of family furnishings. I spent the week-end rediscovering the fundamental themes of housekeeping: store things where you use them first, use only three quarters of your storage space to keep it flexible for sudden demands, choose things that do the most in the most situations, and choose ones that require the least maintenance.

Businesses use the rule of 80/20 to decide what, and unfortunately whom, to keep. Studies have shown that twenty percent of the work force does eighty percent of the work. The same is true for things. The 80/20 principle radically simplifies maintenance and production. For the last fifteen years I’ve de-junked this way and have generated many thousands of dollars worth of spare time and houseroom. It’s a good way to improve one’s standard of living without adding extra money to the equation.

I’m still up to my knees in stuff, but engineering the new inventory will be good sport. Traditionally, a Japanese house functions as theater, a Western one as a museum. I will have a fresh set of props and a newly edited collection to play with.



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