notes

To start the new year, we hope to pique your interest with a selection of newly acquired pieces. Looking around us just now, we nearly need skyhooks to sandwich in all our stock.

We must be wishing for a strong economy in the new year. Anything you can’t live without?

Browse our site, as well, and if you don’t see precisely what you are after, ask us!

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Not precisely the bane of my existence, but certainly someone who keeps me up to the mark, is an acquaintance whose reading of my blog seems largely an effort to catch me out. As he has done, inquiring why in my earlier blog I had failed to illustrate what he takes to be our best current in stock dining table, a fine Regency period ‘D’-end table.  Well may he ask, as, frankly, it is of excellent quality, with wonderfully matched figured timber to the top.

With its enfilade of gracefully reeded legs, one assumes that it was meant to be kept fully extended, ready to seat the 10 or so diners it was intended to accommodate.

One may not quite be able to make out, though, the gateleg that supports either of the drop-leaves of the centre section. These are as finely wrought as the exterior legs. The why of this begs question, as, positioned under the table, they can hardly be seen.

But, of course, in their original early 19^th century usage, they were almost always seen. The centre section, with its leaves raised, was the typical dining arrangement. An early 19^th century print shows the typical, modest main meal, requiring only a small section of a dining table in use.

What’s interesting to note is that the table is covered with a cloth, as it always would have been in former times when in use. And the ‘D’ ends? Doubtless deployed either side of a chimney breast as sidetables, for serving, possibly, or display of bibelots. Rather a shame, in the case of the table we offer, that the wonderful matched figuring of the timber of the table top would be only seldom seen. Mind you, we expect that the table’s eventual purchaser will be sufficiently entranced with the beauty of the top that it will always stand with its component pieces fully assembled. Shall I mention oh so casually that this table is available during our ‘Discreet’ Summer Sale?

Although our main line of endeavour is the retailing of 18th century English and continental European antiques, we do, from time to time, undertake special, selective projects for clients. Possibly you know that we do all our own restorations, and that includes upholstery. We use a variety of fabrics, but since it is the period furniture frame we are selling and are obliged then to match an appropriate fabric somewhat subordinate in presence to the appearance of the frame, we must then shop an array of fabric lines.

We were pleased then, at the behest of a younger client to have the opportunity to use an exquisite Fortuny print on a pair of Louis XVI fauteuils with original blanc vernis finish.  Mind you, this upholstery job was hardly a dawdle, and required the personal attention of the best upholsterer we use- at 84 years old, what he doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing, and what he can’t do is probably otherwise impossible.

The pairing of handmade with handmade presents some challenges that in the modern age we’ve mostly forgotten about.  The neoclassical beauty of the fauteuils is enhanced by inherent features- patination and irregularity, for instance- that can only be the result of 230 years of use. Match this with the handblocked beauty of the Fortuny fabric, and, well- the result is wrought not without some difficulty. While we considered using nailheads to trim, we opted for gimping as it provided a more subtle visual segue between fabric and frame. Nailheads, we thought, might provide too strong a focal point- it is the fabric and the frame that are important- not the trim.

This project took our upholsterer two solid weeks of work to complete, and possibly a little extra aquavit in the evening to unwind. Aquavit must have kept him nimble, too, as his labours yielded an exquisite result. Mind you, we didn’t perform this project gratis, but I must say we are thankful to our client for her desire to use Fortuny. The upshot of this for Chappell & McCullar? We’re not certain our client will run riot with fabrics, but let me say that for ourselves we look forward to our next opportunity to use Fortuny.

Despite the times, we still manage to sell a few large pieces of furniture each year, most notably dining tables. As tempting as it is to offer behemoths, we’ve found that a certain size table- between 42” and 50” in depth, and no more than 136” in length- commands the most interest.

The why of this isn’t terribly difficult to suss out. Where typical Regency period dining rooms- and I’m not speaking of the Royal Pavilion at Brighton- might be possessed of a table and possibly a sideboard, the chairs would likely be multiuse, brought in for the purpose from various places in the house.

It is not just what were formerly parlour chairs that have migrated into the modern dining room, but also a large-ish storage and display adjunct- the breakfront.  The use of a breakfront bookcase for storage and display of china or silver was unknown in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Purpose built for libraries, a breakfront never moved from its intended place. China and serving pieces, when not in use were relegated to butler’s pantries, or, in the case of silver, locked away in a strong room.

With changes in use, what was in the early 19th century a sparsely furnished room has now become at times the most elaborately furnished in the entire house. Consequently, even a large dining room can become positively claustrophobic unless its furniture pieces are of a scale allowing for them to articulate not only with the scale of the room, but also with each other.

By the way, if this has piqued your interest, note that all our dining furniture is included in our annual Summer Sale. Browse our site www.chappellmccullar.com and let us know what you like!

A fun read about dining is Phillipa Glanville’s Elegant Eating: 400 Years of Dining in Style, available from V & A Publications.

The Spencer House sale is history, some impressive results, very nearly all of it well in excess of what would require any of the pieces to get government permission to leave England. How much of it was purchased by Lord Rothschild for placement back into Spencer House we will know in the fullness of time.

A minute ago, I had a brief word with one our craftspeople, describing his onsite repair to a period piece of furniture within an expensively designed interior he pithily characterized as ‘boring’. Naturally, and conveniently I might add, this put me in mind of my blog yesterday. Say what you want, Vardy’s work at Spencer House might be called lots of things, but boring couldn’t possibly be one of them. Realizing that, aesthetically speaking, English rococo isn’t everyone’s tasse de thé, Vardy’s Palm Room nevertheless achieves an ultimate classicism, defined within this context as a canonical mid-18th century expression of material culture.

And, for contemporary designers, what more can a body, either interior designer or client, aspire to? Not to say that every 18th century interior is as effectively wrought, but very many are, and I would find it illuminating, in this age of houses all around the world that are extreme examples of wealthy effulgentia, to see an economic comparison made between what’s laid out now, and what was laid out in the 18th century, for domestic architecture and design.

Whatever such a comparison demonstrates, it so often appears that, with the likes of so many masters of architecture and design- Adam, Kent, Chambers, Carr, Holland- the list goes on and on- the ‘quality’ of two centuries ago got more for their money. Within the larger consideration of material culture, the rubric of art and architectural history considers as its primary focus a search for a site of meaning. And so many 18th century interiors are fraught with meaning on so many levels. For the Spencers, with John Vardy as their medium, the expression of Palladianism meant much more than a fashion, a prominent advertisement of knowledge and sophistication gained from the Grand Tour, but more basically a celebration of an Augustan Britain, with classic architecture a visible link to an Arcadian golden age.  Think the Acropolis transplanted to St James’s.