Author: Michael Chappell

Once or twice a year, Keith and I get backed into doing a bit of interior design, usually for clients who’ve made a purchase of significant size, either dollar-wise or square-footage-wise, and need our assistance to make the piece articulate with other movables in a particular room. Not too difficult, you say? Sometimes the greatest adjunct we could have, given the size of some collectors’ collections, would be a shoehorn. More likely as not, however, the articulation of one piece of furniture leads to something else- clients always seek our advice, and, as they’ve paid hard money to us, we are hard put not to oblige.

Consequently, what starts as one thing, ends up being much broader in scope, even including whole room changouts. Even the simplest projects of this type end up filling a large three-ring binder, replete with notes, renderings, memo samples of inputs running the gamut from fabrics to door nails. As an example, we’ve sourced a set of 10 white painted Louis XVI style dining chairs for a friend/client. The chairs had a finish that, in the course of a century or so, had become somewhat distressed. The client wanted to keep the distress, but not so much. Contriving faux distress is do-able, but hard. As well, the clients have five small children (read ‘good Catholic family’) who would sit at table, so the upholstery couldn’t be too dear. What we’ve ended up doing is suggesting loose covers in a plaid that, of course, has to articulate with, but not match, sofa covers in a room adjacent. We’ve had our seamstress run up sample covers in muslin- one with a flat skirting without a gusset, the other with a scalloped edge including a gusset, so the clients could choose. The fabric has been reserved- good thing, too, as the loose covers will require 28 yards of fabric, and the fabric house had only 29 yards in stock. Now, to push the clients to make a decision before the time on our fabric reserve runs out. Finally, we will have to take the chairs, after the finish is properly distressed and whilst the slipcovers are being stitched together, to the upholsterer for an application of muslin on the existing seats and backs to consolidate the stuffing. Not to mention, one or five of the chairs will have to make a detour to our restoration studio to tighten the joints.

What I’m saying in my longwinded exemplar gratis is that interior design is a complicated business that we have neither the desire nor the patience to do on a full-time basis. I particularly admire people who are able to do jobs that I never could- that fairly long list includes grade school teachers and police officers. As I think about it, features in these two named professions might be useable in the design trade- patience, of course, and the power to push when required.

Mercifully, we have a number of interior designers who are excellent trading partners. Our business would be the poorer for them, in real terms, because they do occasional place a few bits of our stock in their projects. But less obvious is the interference they run with clients who would otherwise be seeking our advice. Believe me when I say I would rather refer someone to a designer than do design work myself.

How sorry we are to hear that not only is the art and antiques trade having tough sledding, but from what we can see, the interior design trade is in profound distress. Locally in San Francisco, there exists no firm of which I’m aware that has not either reduced staff or the working week, or both. Distress, too, because so much of the good advice, and, frankly, hand holding that the designers provided their clients may not take place and might be- horrible thought- required of the notoriously impatient principals of Chappell & McCullar. The design distress noted in my blog title for today is, therefore, two fold.

We always enjoy an event at Ed Hardy’s eponymous showroom adjacent to the San Francisco Design Centre and Ed is a wonderful host: openhanded in the best tradition, and always has in attendance a cadre of fascinating people. And, if failing in actual fascination, catty here, at least fun to look at.

Ed played host to all of us a couple of evenings ago, honoring the release of Stephen Salny’s new book Michael Taylor: Interior Design. A busy man, Stephen has now released three books in about as many years, the first a monograph on architect David Adler, the second on Adler’s celebrated sister, interior designer Frances Elkins. Appropriate, then, that Stephen’s most recent book chronicles the working life of Elkins’ ardent protégé, Michael Taylor.

Stephen is doing important work, not so much as a keeper of any particular flame, but to make certain that aspects within the ephemeral world of interior design are documented. With our societal mania for fashion, design obsolescence is perceived by modern fashionistas within, not decades, not years, even, but often over matters of months. Too many fine interiors survive, woe betides, only in books.  I wish this country would adopt a mandatory listed buildings scheme akin to that in England. Keith McCullar and I are, just at the moment, particularly mindful about if not historic then at least aesthetic preservation. Our favorite Frances Elkins interior, the lower lobby of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, is, as I write this, undergoing renovation, along with the rest of the facility and scheduled to reopen in the next couple of weeks. What will we find when we return? I am by nature replete with trepidations, but this one does point to something worthy of consideration. Specifically, Elkins, in her work at the Royal Hawaiian, was doing something important in endeavoring to develop an aesthetic that coordinated a number of influences, and not all of them visual. In the first instance, her brief was to create an impressive, comfortable, functional space in a luxury hotel. Doubtless her own experience informed her use of European palace hotel prototypes; although not the Georges V, her commission was the Royal Hawaiian. And, as the Royal Hawaiian, Elkins sought to integrate local motifs into her decorative scheme, including floor screens with overscale cutouts in brass of tropical vegetation, and wall lights in their imitation of curling vine tendrils, utilizing the same theme, albeit in stucco. The effect could have been kitsch and quickly become as dated as Bing Crosby’s singing Mele Kalikimaka, but Elkins’ deft handling of cultural disparate motifs yields a successful synthesis. Overall, Elkins’ execution is more successful in capturing an Hawaiian aesthetic than that of her brother in the Mission Revival design, replete with bell towers and arcuated porticoes, of the hotel’s exterior architecture.

As with Elkins, Michael Taylor’s interior spaces beg accessible documentation, and, over 2 decades since his death, the timing might be considered appropriate for their critical assessment. Though I might be accused of aesthetic simplism, my own criterion for success is to gauge how fresh the design appears, by which I mean, in cruder terms, how well it’s aged. This is probably unfair, because the flip side of this methodology would term design that, at first face, appears emblematic of the time it was created, as less than successful. I have to remind myself that originality that was a conscious reaction to and a rejection of what went before is an important phenomenon. Michael Taylor’s bold use of color and the introduction of a only a very few key pieces in an interior was as innovative in its way as the movement in the fine arts away from recondite abstract expressionism to intellectually accessible pop art.

An interesting irony here, in that, with all the peripheral discussion at Ed Hardy’s about the effect of the economy on the art and design trade, I was reminded of the brooding pessimism of a Rothko painting. What a bright spot it was, amidst this, to find Stephen Salny signing his new book. Sympathetic magic, perhaps, but I’d like to think of Michael Taylor: Interior Design as portending brighter days ahead.

It was announced today that Norman Adams, the venerable Knightsbridge antiques dealer, will close up the end of this month. This saddens me more than any of the other bad economic news we’ve had to date. Admittedly, sentiment is mostly to do with it, as Norman Adams was the first showroom we ever visited in London, and, in some manner or other, we’ve tried to pattern ourselves on the Norman Adams model ever since. Quality through and through, we’ve been fortunate enough to handle material that had once graced their premises, and we always considered it a selling point if the piece still bore the gallery’s ivorine label.

Everyone’s aware of how retailing has crashed and burned this past holiday season. At first face, one would assume that Macy’s store closings announced today are illustrative of what retailing is facing for the foreseeable future. Frankly, though, we have a dozen Macy’s serving the greater San Francisco bay area and, to my mind, the question has long been begged of how many are really needed.

Still, with our one gallery location, we do from time to time venture forth, to bring our material to where the customer is, rather than just waiting for them to roll in over the threshold. And we will soon be coming to a neighborhood near you, providing you live in Los Angeles. We will be collaborating with McColl Fine Art at the Los Angeles Art Show from January 21 through January 25 at the Los Angeles Convention Centre.

As this is the first show on the coast in the new year, and the first for this show at the LA Convention Centre, we approach it with modest trepidation. Clearly, a show is direct, hard marketing retail- not quite what one normally expects in the art and antiques world. What we are used to, the gallery setting with off-white walls and rows of track lights overhead is actually a post-1950 innovation. The retail art market prior to that time generally was conducted in settings composed of room vignettes, with everything from the chairs and their decorative cushions to the paintings, tapestries, and appliqués on the walls for sale. Interestingly, the modern art fair is more akin to what took place in the Low Countries in the 17th century. English diarist John Evelyn wrote of the novelty of these fairs, surprised to see generic artwork for sale outside the atelier of a master painter. Most of the so-called old master paintings that grace collections today were probably originally sold to their first purchaser at an art fair.

As my 20 or so devoted readers will doubtless remember from previous blog entries on the subject, Keith and I love fairs, despite the work, and expense, of transporting, setting up, and taking down, a short-lived venue. There are dealers we enjoy seeing that we only see at fairs, and naturally enjoy looking at their material. Seeing each other’s stock also keeps all of us in line on pricing- parenthetically, a buyer should note that a fair is, consequently, a great place to comparison shop (and buy, too. A redundant use of parentheses- I should have used brackets.)

In terms of direct marketing, we also see clients at shows that we never see anywhere else. It is gratifying that, whether they are there to buy or not, we have an astonishing turnout from clients and these often involve our making house calls. Whether it is to put a piece in place or consult about their existing collections, it is fun for us as well as the client. I would be lying if I were to say that it isn’t more fun when some business is done.

Times being the way they are, one would assume that the rubber will be meeting the road at the Los Angeles Art Show. Hard to know, as we never judge the performance of the fair until long after its conclusion. With client follow-up and its concomitant palaver, it is 6 months before we can determine the success of any show.

We’ve plenty of American Express around here- reliable old green cards for personal purchases, and with a membership since 1976, a number I can cite from memory, and, wait for it, platinum cards for business use. As well, we are American Express merchants. Times being the way they are, who can resist the prospect of an airline mile for every dollar charged? Although it is not often that clients use any charge card, when they do, it will likely be American Express. Without doubt, we’ve been at least tangentially responsible for a number of bonus mile first class trips to Europe.

I say all this by way of explaining why we get Departures magazine, the membership organ (sounds a bit rude, doesn’t it?  I beg your pardon) for American Express and possibly explain why we tend to read it, when World of Interiors stacks up for several months at a time waiting for us to give it a look.

While the current issue has some good post-holiday spa and de-tox advice, appropriate as we try to metabolize the last of the New Year’s Day ham, my focus was on the squib from Nick Foulkes on beloved Mount Street in Mayfair. As with the literary postcard from a year ago in W, Foulkes celebrates the change in the street from antiques venue to high-end fashion strip mall. And that’s what it’s become, hasn’t it? How many Marc Jacobs outlets does one need to have, anyway? Or Dunhill? Actually, Foulkes was stretching a point to include Dunhill, a block or two off Mount Street in premises formerly occupied by the venerable antiques dealer Mallett, whose remaining premises in Bond Street, alas, are now also for sale.

I realize, of course, that Mr. Foulkes’ brief was to write about what might be thought current and kicky. As the author of a weekly column in the Evening Standard entitled ‘Ginger Fop’, it isn’t surprising his focus would be fashion. My dismay at the change of Mount Street from wonderful antiques venue to, well, strip mall, would be tempered if the replacement merchants were selling particularly British goods. But the focus of companies like international luxury goods retailer LVMH, whose aforementioned brand Marc Jacobs now occupies the former premises of antiques dealer Pelham Galleries, is mass marketing. This, then, begs the obvious question- why would one wish to visit Mount Street if it is indistinguishable, save the weather, from Rodeo Drive, or Michigan Avenue, for that matter?