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A brief Facebook exchange about the coronation portrait of Elizabeth I put me in mind of the importance of brand identification- hardly a new phenomenon and something that was used effectively by the woman who was happy to be lauded as Gloriana. That she was also known as the virgin queen was certainly reinforced, along with its attended benefits, by rigorously controlled visual imagery.

It’s been assumed with the absence of realism in Tudor portraiture that Renaissance painting techniques were late in arriving in England. Frankly, as pictures of Elizabeth had nothing to do with the real, but everything to do with the image, realism could at best only function to diminish a personage whose attributes were required to be superhuman. Not just her court, but Parliament itself drafted a resolution that only authorized images of the queen could be allowed- and, of course, all of them portraying virtuously favorable, if not photo realistic, aspects of the monarch. One portrait from the 1570’s includes as a major iconographic feature a sieve held by the queen- it was proof of the chastity of the vestal virgins who tended the sacred flame in Rome, to carry water in a sieve from the Tiber. And so it was, in this sieve portrait so-called, with the sanctity of the British state directly linked with the virginity of the monarch, just as the sanctity of the vestals was integral to the stability of the Roman Empire.

Not that images of Elizabeth are all politically inward looking, with the ‘Armada’ portrait clearly international and imperial. With the victory over the Spanish fleet grimly depicted in the background, an Elizabeth reduced almost to caricature has her hand placed on a globe. That it covers Spanish dominions in the Americas, of course, is no accident. Moreover, she is festooned with elaborate ropes of pearls- the jewel of the sea- indicating that her sovereignty has displaced that of Spain in the oceans as well as on land. Also, pearls were a symbol of purity- yet again, a reference to Elizabeth’s chastity, clearly linking her own virginity with not only a successful reign, but success in the defense of the realm from an aggressor- and portending an imperial future for England.

From caricature to the fantastic, the Ditchley portrait was commissioned by Sir Henry Lee in anticipation of Elizabeth’s visit to his Oxfordshire seat of Ditchley.  This portrait of the 1590’s- late in the queen’s reign- places her image on a map of England, with her foot, coincidentally, roughly atop Oxfordshire. She is linked thereby as the human embodiment of the nation, with the sun over her right shoulder signifying her glory, and the thunderstorm over her left signifying her power. Here, again, the ropes of pearls around her neck- never is she without a symbol of the virtue in her virginity. It has often been noted that the queen was vain of her appearance, and sought, witness her continual succession of often substantially younger favorites, to seem sexually desirable. Though doubtless Henry Lee sought to curry favor with his sovereign, the Ditchley portrait nevertheless depicts a woman whose face at least is somewhat withered and lined with age.

We’re pleased to share a few recent acquisitions and featured items. Of particular note is the exquisite pair of George III period gilt and satinwood pier tables- of fine quality, and of unusually large size. The detail, skill in execution, and fine timber quality all suggest an attribution to an excellent maker, probably Gillows of Lancaster. Although in their original incarnation, these pieces would doubtless have been paired with equally impressive mirrors, we find clients these days frequently use pier tables to place beneath important artwork, with such a juxtaposition contributing status to both the pier tables- and the artwork. Please take a look at all the items featured and, while you are at it, browse our site for a complete list of what we have in stock. Don’t see what you are after? Please ask- special requests are what we live for!

While London with its curving short streets and impossible numbering may seem a classic example of what I’ve heard termed urban organicism, the development of a number of its squares is surprisingly well planned.  What put me in mind of this was my mention, a blog entry or two ago, of 6, Fitzroy Square, a terrace house in a square designed by Robert Adam. What’s not a well known aspect of Adam’s working life was that of a real estate developer, along with his brothers James and William. His Adelphi development along the Thames near the Strand, of which almost nothing survives, consisted of riverside warehouses below with domestic terrace housing above. With the Thames at that time very much a working river, and the riverside bays designed to handle items of commerce, the Adelphi development was conceived as a live-work space, not unlike, albeit then a bit grittier, similar developments today.

But of course, practicality is only a single feature of any real estate development, with aesthetics and snob appeal functioning more than anything else to yield it remunerative to the developer. The growth of the middle class in the 18^th century, and it was mostly the middle class that lived in terrace housing, the desire to imitate their aristocratic betters was often met with their ability to purchase, if not a country seat, than something in their own urban environment that at least mimicked a stately home. Using Fitzroy Square as an example, Adam, and any number of other developers, met the aspirational need of the rising middle class with the development of the palace fronted terrace. With all manner of fashionable Palladian influences, from rusticated ground floors to tripartite windows, and in this instance faced with expensive Portland stone, the southerly range of Fitzroy Square certainly resembles the façade of a stately home- ignoring, of course, the large number of front doors that marked every several bays as the entrance to an individual dwelling.

Aristocrats themselves were clearly not put off by the notion of this, with Fitzroy Square itself using the family name of the Dukes of Grafton. The Fitzroy family did then, and does now over two centuries on, own the freehold on a considerable amount of the surrounding real estate. Their near neighbors, the Russell family, were at the same time likewise letting leases for the development of some of their London real estate- places like Russell Square and Bedford Square were the result. If you’ve not heard of the Russell family, you might know them better as the Dukes of Bedford. Their family seat of Woburn Abbey is to a great extent maintained out of the rents the family receives from their London holdings.

Although less vaunted in design and materials than its near neighbor, Bedford Square nevertheless fared a bit better than Fitzroy Square. With the death of Robert Adam, and the economic depression brought on by the Napoleonic Wars, only the east and south ranges of the square were completed by the Adam brothers, with the west and north ranges- faced with less expensive stucco- completed later in the 19^th century. Until the last 20 years or so, Fitzroy Square was the centre of a louche, bohemian neighborhood, whose iconoclastic residents included Virginia Woolf and George Bernard Shaw. The infamous house on Cleveland Street, the male brothel whose denizens inadvertently helped to bring about the downfall of Oscar Wilde, is just one street away from the square.

One of the pleasures of living in our neighborhood is the ability to travel back and forth to work on Muni- a pleasant walk, downhill, and then the light rail to downtown. ‘Serendipity’ would apply here, too, as even I get the occasional, shall we say, admiring glance from someone on the train with whom, under other circumstances I might plight my troth- for a few minutes, anyway. (Let’s see if Keith McCullar reads this post) Muni also keeps me abreast of social phenomena, lost as I am for most of the day in my own thoughts, with proximity to others, and the adverts on the train, begging for my attention. Jostling from the other passengers does that, too, and the frequency of it reminds me that all cultures and ethnicities have different spatial orientations. Interestingly, as frequently as I rode the Tube while living in London, I don’t think cumulatively I had elbows, backpacks, and other extensions of humanity in such immediate proximity as I do in any given day riding Muni. While I’ve long ago written complaining of the size of backpacks, wondering what on earth people on their way to work, and ostensibly not on their way to begin a 7 day hike in the Sierras, could possibly have that they find it impossible to do without during the course of the working day. But what’s augmented all this, and I notice it more each day, are the arms and elbows raised while people are- wait for it- texting. This is not a new phenomenon, as technologies go, being a few years old. But with the applications available on any number of smart phones- none of which I possess- the ease with which people can do stuff that they didn’t previously realize they even needed to do makes enclosed spaces, consequently, a forest of arms and elbows akimbo. I never cease to wonder what deathless message or imperative tasks people are performing, beyond the obvious one of gouging each other in the ribs.

Given the brevity of text messages and the visual message of the application icon, it’s little wonder that bookstores are in peril. People don’t read, or at least, not typically more than a 140 character Tweet. That said, I don’t really know that the result of iPhones and text messages literacy will go the way of the buggy whip. Human culture as human cognition is dynamic, and while at any given time, there may be typical yardsticks, there’s never a static, immutable norm. I consider myself literate and learned in the humanities, but my Latin’s pretty rusty. By some fairly typical measures of, say, a century ago, I would hardly be considered literate, much less learned.

The preference for either a brief message or just to look at the pictures is hardly new, and since we all know the picture/1,000 word aphorism, I can then immediately suggest that  it is largely so many 20^th century critics that have sought, through criticism, to transform paintings and other artworks into other (printed) media- with very limited success. Moreover, artworks should compel action, just like a computer icon or iPhone app, and it was the mindfulness of a compulsion to buy that made, for artists, the placement of their paintings in 19^th century salons so fiercely competitive.

So the iPhone and its concomitant features are here, and are okay- but what to do about the incessant poking in the ribs?

One of my closest friends is the architectural historian Jane Harding. We became acquainted when both of us worked for the amenity society The Georgian Group, with Jane busy as a caseworker, reviewing planning applications for changes to Georgian built environment in the north of England. Me? I was beavering away in the basement, trying to organize moldy boxfiles that contained decades old casework records. I’ll say this, despite performing my work in a magnificent Robert Adam terrace house, dust and dirt are still noisome, no matter that it’s from the 18^th century.

Perhaps one of the reasons I love Jane is that, as well as bright, she is possibly yet more forthright than I am. One of my favorite Jane stories involves her declination to visit some 18^th century houses in the American southeast, dismissed, as she put, as examples of ‘debased regionalism.’ Did I say forthright? ‘Acerbic’ might be nearer the mark. That said, she does make a point, inadvertently, and something that we have to be cognizant every day we’re in business. Specifically, the further something is away from the style centre, the more idiosyncratic its design becomes. That said, idiosyncratic is not bad, but can account for some marked differences.

Just at the moment, there’s some discussion about a consideration of the furniture of the Channel Islands- Jersey, Guernsey, and Sark- dependencies of the Queen of England, but not part of England, and geographically much, much closer to the coast of northern France. All this has had an odd impact on material culture, including furniture, with a ready to hand example these late George III bedside tables. The mahogany and tray top with the handholds are materials and motifs that are typically English, as are the round legs and pad feet. That said, the round legs and pad feet are not typical features of an English bedside cupboard. Pictured is more familiar example, with a similar tray top, but the cupboard is enclosed, and the legs are square. The other example is French of similar vintage, with an open front, tray top, but no hand holds, and the legs are splayed. The veneer is kingwood, common in French pieces, but not usual in English examples.  Often, though, in French bedside cupboards, the wood may be something more mundane, typically apple or pear wood.

The why of this stylistic divergence is probably the subject of a number of scholarly papers. That it is so divergent, given that geographically the distance between the places of origin of these three types of bedside cupboards is possibly as little as 300 miles. The point of all this though, is that, debased or not, regionalism can have a profound effect, even on something as prosaic as a bedside cupboard.