Cruising Vogue

Photo courtesy Flickr

Seattle’s Asian Art Museum has had a standing display of snuff bottles literally as far back as I can remember. Every now and then I stop by to say hello, and the bottles that looked fresh in the Fifties still look as if they just came off somebody’s bench.

Like looking at type faces, studying variants of one application is an easy way to teach oneself about form. Ben Shahn discusses this basic question in Form Is the Shape of Content, and any exercise class or etiquette book will fill in details about good form outside the workshop.

Now and then I think about what I’m wearing. Several years ago, I wandered downtown to the spectacular new library and looked through old issues of Vogue magazine. Vogue’s legendary editor Diana Vreeland had commented that the fashions of the Twenties were much stronger than those of the Thirties, so I concentrated on that decade.

The pickings were so rich I only looked through a few issues around 1925. I went shopping armed with visions of garments that looked as fresh and relevant post-9/11 as they did when women were first driving cars. I kept the clothes that matched that vision and acquired a few new pieces to expand it. My wardrobe shrank by half and became four times as useful and current.

Looking at the history of a given area of design allows one to distinguish between true innovation and fresh ribbons on an old hat. Research is a very good investment, especially when scouting used things.

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Carla's Dining Room

Photo courtesy Flickr

Carla is one smart cookie.

Her house in Portland started life as a small tract home. It grew with the years and the families that lived there. She bought it with the profits from the sale of a small place in Palo Alto.

The original poky dining room was surrounded by new construction and transformed into a major entry hall without windows. Carla set a sturdy wood table in the middle of the space, lined the four walls with inexpensive freestanding bookcases, chock full, and used it as a study hall.

When the kids got home from school, they shed coats and packs in the corner, grabbed a snack in the kitchen next door, and then did homework at the table. In retrospect, I realize Carla had recreated the dining hall we shared at college.

The evolution of the house had created a family room at an awkward distance from food central, so the easy traffic patterns of the family worked in favor of learning rather than escapism.

-30- More after the jump.

Dead-End Housekeeping

Photo courtesy Flickr

Photo courtesy Flickr

I began to worry about the direction of the culture when elaborate place card holders appeared on the market for the first time since 1950. As vital signs go, faux-elegant place card holders indicate overgrowth. A straightforward good quality tent card will fend off the most rigorous critic. A tabletop should focus on the gathering, the flowers, and the food.

The Dutch design group Droog is selling a batch of used folding chairs bought at a bankruptcy auction. Each chair will be restored by a nail artist in a brilliantly innovative application both of skills and material.

There’s a compelling argument against pesticides that convinces even a devoted lover of the hybrid tea rose: if the timetable for application isn’t followed exactly, the product doesn’t work, the toxic harm is done anyway, and the time and expense of using the poison is wasted. That argument often evokes a grin of relief at not having to bother.

Time and honest use reveal whether a design is viable or merely showy. Place cards make sitting down to a meal a graceful experience, buffed nails defend health, and a well-fed rose will look good from five feet away no matter what is chewing on it.

-30- More after the jump.