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Showing posts with label GranMa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GranMa. Show all posts

when straw calls: I

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it  already being Summer here in the South-North Carolina to be exact-90 degree, sultry, humid-I say grab a straw. if I didn't manage to revive the parasol back into fashion-let me suggest straw hat. I have several I wear in the summer. In many ways little has changed in the styling of straw.  Long before the damage caused to our skin by the sun came to light -tanning-basking in the sun- was very IN.
For me- now and for about 15 years- it has been OUT.

Back in the day straw hats of all sorts were worn to guard ladies from losing their fairness & it's still a stylish and good way to do so. Thoughts about hats after the Royal Wedding have led some to cry for the return of wearing  hats.
My thoughts-don't give the ladies another accessory in which to over Do.
Don't.
Straw hats if held in check to more practical use- can't be harmful.



 Pisanello, 15th c.



 "For me, hats aren't an accessory, they are the raison d'être of an outfit." 
Stephen Jones


baroness fiona thyssen-bornemisza 1966

My GranMa apprenticed at the local milliner and though she married soon after- and fairly well-she always had the talent to "decorate" a hat.  That talent ran to other areas:  decorating the house, exquisite handwork, sewing curtains, dresses, slipcovers, arranging flowers- painting, gardening-let's just say she had the knack-for- the list goes on. 


'Millaners'
millener-1520–30;  variant of obsolete Milanernative of Milan, dealer in goods from Milan 
"vendor of fancy wares, especially those made in Milan" famous for straw works, fancy goods, ribbons, bonnets, and cutlery.  "one who sells women's hats"- likely from 1520s onward, but certainly in use by 18 century.

milliner- a maker of women's hats, first recorded in 1529 when the term referred to the products for which Milan and the northern Italian regions were well known, i.e. ribbons, gloves and straws.


there is something quite beautiful about this 18th century hat- the shape, the color, with only its chintz banding a little faded.

from the Costume Institute, 18th century




Mary Countess of Howe, 1764
 by Thomas Gainsborough




Anne Bingham by Sir Joshua Reynolds





Lady Bess Foster Racky by Sir Joshua Reynolds






A FINE STRAW &CHINTZ HAT
D SHAPED CHIPSTRAW LINED IN A RED CHITZ PRINT WRAPING OVER THE BRIM
from Christies


By the mid 1800's Swiss and Italian straws, together with imitation straws made from paper, cardboard, grass and horsehair were available to women.




baroness fiona thyssen-bornemisza
photograph by henry clarke, 1966



18c straw hat with straw flowers from the V&A

" This is so British and so pretty. It's also well preserved. Whoever dyed those flowers certainly knew what they were doing.  Hats can be wild and wacky, formed out of plastic and flashing lights, but sometimes it's quite nice to make things which are familiar and reassuring-" Stephen Jones, milliner



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ALLURE

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"All I need is twenty minutes on the bathroom floor with witch-hazel pads on my eyes, and I can conquer the world.” 




the grandee of fashion. Diana Vreeland.



I mean- Didn't SHE?
my GranMa swore by it-& to my mind neither lady could fall too far from the mark.



that the witch hazel had to be pulled out of the gramophone cabinet in the bath, I won't deny, but the books-Baudot's the Allure of Women and Diana Vreeland's ALLURE sit on a single stair that I pass at least 25 times a day. one opened with Diana Vreeland's photograph a permanent part of the stairscape. Photographs of my GranMa on her honeymoon are just down the hall- I never know when one of them will have something to say.



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a house with a swing ii

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It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing
(doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah)
It don't mean a thing all you got to do is sing
(doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah)
It makes no difference
If it's sweet or hot
Just give that rhythm
Everything you've got
It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing
(doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah)
It don't mean a thing all you got to do is sing
(doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah)
It makes no difference
If it's sweet or hot
Just give that rhythm
Everything you've got
It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing
(doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah)

It makes no difference
If it's sweet or hot
Just give that rhythm
Everything you've got
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing
It don't mean a thing all you got to do is sing
(doo-ah)
It makes no difference
If it's sweet or hot
Just give that rhythm
Everything you've got
Don't mean a thing all you've gotta do is swing
It don't mean a thing all you've gotta do is sing
It makes no difference
If it's sweet or hot
Give that rhythm
Everything you've got
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing
(doo-ah, dooooo-aaaaah)
Don't mean a thing








 ( photograph  my mother and her mother c 1945)
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Impostors at the Frick

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The FRICK COLLECTION is a sight to behold. One of those rare places where old master paintings and French furnishings exist in their original settings. The jewel box mansion in New York houses collection after collection.
I love porcelains-I inherited the sickness from my GranMa-in my case pure and simple genetics.



a Sevres platter from the collection

Treasures abound at the Frick-an extraordinary installation of Boucher paintings can be viewed HERE.



& an Impostor or 2:

the little IMPOSTOR
made of TIN-




THE ORIGINAL  
Jean-Baptiste Lemoyne (1704 - 1778) Manufacture, 1782
Edme-François Bouilliat (active 1758-1810)
Plate: Part of a Dessert Service with Flowers and Turquoise Blue Ribbons, 1782
porcelain, soft paste






the Impostors-posing in the midst of some old pieces of my own.




AN ORIGINAL
Dish with Plum-Blossom Decoration, 18th century porcelain, blue and white
 

The IMPOSTOR
made of Tin

from the 18th-century Chinese porcelain dish with plum-blossom decoration in The Frick Collection.



the Frick Collection Museum Shop
and only $7.00
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Apologies to Proust

Mais, quand d’un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l’édifice immense du souvenir.

Et dès que j’eus reconnu le goût du morceau de madeleine trempé dans le tilleul que me donnait ma tante (quoique je ne susse pas encore et dusse remettre à bien plus tard de découvrir pourquoi ce souvenir me rendait si heureux), aussitôt la vieille maison grise sur la rue, où était sa chambre, vint comme un décor de théâtre…

When from the distant past nothing remains, after the beings have died, after the things are destroyed and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, yet more vital, more insubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of everything else; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the immense architecture of memory.

Yet again I had recalled the taste of a bit of madeleine dunked in a linden-flower tea which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long await the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house on the street where her room was found, arose like a theatrical tableau…

Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann (1913) in: À la recherche du temps perdu vol. 1, p. 47 (Pléiade ed. 1954)(S.H. transl.)


This morning at 4 a.m. when I should have been asleep, rather, I was traveling.



Traveling back to my grandmother's kitchen during the hot summertime. A thin fresh white bread, dots of mayonnaise and a single perfect slice of a cold TOMATO. The bread was a simple one-not made anymore- but at a grocery deli I find something that comes close. I spread the pieces with Dukes mayonnaise- if you are a Southerner-and I say this only in the terms of the palate- and the importance of your preferences- You will understand.



The coldness of the home grown TOMATO- its slightly tart bite, melting deliciously together into a sweet goodness- all the ingredients sliding into one pure taste. The bread now a soft dough , I hurry to catch the little droplets of ambrosial juices-allowing nothing to be lost. The perfect summer sandwich-early this morning and anytime I was at GranMa's.

Why so specific about such a simple cold TOMATO? The cold TOMATO was not a part of our family's summer fare. My father preferred them room temperature- and that is how we dined, so far and few made it to that state. My GranMa liked her darlings cold. Simple-That was how she liked them and that is how I liked them when I was at GranMa's house.

So, Yes the TOMATO tastes quite different cold.

It tastes of childhood, carefree thoughts: a little Chinese robe that smelled of roses, a small closet abundant with of House and Gardens, every sort of old paper and fabric I thought could possibly exist under the sun tucked in bureaus, desks, boxes & baskets, crystal and sets of china filled a tall antique cupboard in the Dining Room-demitasse cups to serve my imaginary guests, little China figures in a bathroom alcove arranged in a garden setting, all existing in a charming magical cottage I knew simply as GranMa's house.

All these things presented themselves for a moment and I savored it.