Breakfast Tray Chic

Thank you to the Scully & Scully catalogue for reminding me that the world hasn't completely gone to hell in hand basket. Its numerous pages filled with photos of folding bridge tables, hardboard place mats, wooden breakfast bed trays (similar to the one above), and other traditional niceties always bring me comfort, for they make me realize that some people in this world continue to appreciate such things.

Speaking of breakfast bed trays, there was a time when the morning meal often required its own set of dining accoutrements, including china and linen made especially for use on a breakfast tray or a small breakfast table.  If you read any of the 1930s and 1940s-era design magazines, you'll find numerous articles written for the bride, advising her of the household inventory she would need to run her home efficiently and entertain properly.  Along with luncheon china and luncheon linen, dinner china and dinner linen, and tea sets and tea linen, breakfast china, referred to as "luxuries" in a 1936 House & Garden article, was often recommended for one's "breakfast repertory".  Needless to say, brides were encouraged to own a lot of china and linen.  (Don't even get me started on the recommendations for bed and bath linen.  The lists for these were endless!)

Although not a bride, I, too, have breakfast china (Porthault's Trèfles pattern), a large breakfast tray, and a set of breakfast tray linen, which consists of one mat and two napkins.  I wish that I could say I use these daily, but instead, it's more like a Sunday occurrence.  If only my life were leisurely- and if I had staff- then perhaps my weekday breakfast repertory would be far more luxurious than it currently is. 

Singer and actress Julie London, photographed in bed with her breakfast tray by Slim Aarons.

Truman Capote's Porthault breakfast set, sold at Bonhams in 2006.

Mario Buatta created this dining-in-bed vignette for Tiffany.

Wooden breakfast bed tray from Scully & Scully

Another Slim Aarons' breakfast-in-bed photo, this one of Mrs. Saunderson of Montecito.

Brooke Astor's breakfast china by Hammersley & Co., sold at Sotheby's in 2012.

Vintage Madeira pink breakfast set from D'Anjou Linens

 An elegant bed vignette, courtesy of Tiffany & Co.

A 1940 Léron linen ad, which shows their charming "Bouquet" table linen.  The linen was available in luncheon sets, tea sets, and breakfast sets. 

The Old-Fashioned Powder Room

One of the many things I love about 1930s-era issues of House & Garden and House Beautiful is the attention given to rooms that once epitomized sophisticated living. Take, for example, the powder room.  The powder room of yesteryear was a slightly different affair from today's powder room, which is basically a small guest bathroom with a sink and toilet.  But back in the 1930s, the term "powder room" referred to a small dressing room that allowed ladies to powder their noses and touch-up their lipstick in privacy.  Frequently outfitted with little more than a dressing table and chair, the thirties powder room rarely functioned as a lavatory.  That role was left to the guest bathroom, which was typically, though not always, located adjacent to the powder room.  (Take a look at the photos below, and you'll see that none of the powder rooms had sinks nor toilets.)  However, space obviously dictated both the arrangement and the location of a powder room, because I have seen examples of old powder rooms with sinks as well as powder rooms- sans sink and toilet- situated far apart from a bathroom.  Suffice to say, not all powder rooms were alike. 

Just as they do today, decorators of the thirties-era understood that small spaces beg for outsized decorating.  Look at the photos below, and you'll see that feminine touches abounded. (These spaces were, after all, dedicated to women and their personal grooming.)  Swags, of both the wallpaper and fabric varieties, seemed practically a requirement for powder rooms, as did mirror, which was used on both walls and glamorously-appointed dressing tables.  Pairs of small dressing-table lamps were ubiquitous in powder rooms, while perfume bottles, powder boxes, and brush sets ensured that ladies were equipped to refresh themselves.

I suspect that the Second World War rendered the old-fashioned powder room somewhat obsolete, because by the 1940s, magazines, having moved on to more practical domestic issues, devoted little if any space to the powder room.  In fact, I wonder if the war and its subsequent housing and domestic-staff shortages meant that the powder room became a luxury that few houses could accommodate.  Perhaps it was the post-war era that saw the powder room joining space and function with the guest bathroom, becoming the powder room that we know today.  I'm not sure, and I need to investigate further.  But what I do know is that the old-fashioned powder room, like those other lost-to-history rooms such as the cocktail room and the telephone room, harks back to a time when function and style often went hand-in-hand.  After all, if one must powder one's nose or talk on the telephone, why not do so in style?       

        

This powder room appeared in House Beautiful's "Bride's House" show house in 1934.  The room's wallpaper had a pink background with pink and blue ribbons printed on it.  The chiffon draperies surrounding the mirror were blue, in keeping with the pink and blue color scheme.  According to the magazine, the white fur rug provided "a final bit of feminine fluff."

A mid-1930s powder room, which was decorated by Mimi Durant.  The wallpaper was red and white, while the material covering the dressing table was black cellophane.  How fabulous was that?

This powder room, which dates to the mid-1930s, was located in a house in Morristown, New Jersey.  Decorated by Margery Sill Wickware, the room had beige wallpaper with a coral, green, and cream swag drapery border.  The dressing table had a green taffeta skirt, while a henna-colored carpet covered the floor.

A Thedlow-decorated ladies powder room from 1935.  The color scheme was gray, royal blue, and white.  Crystal accessories, including the pair of lamps, the oval mirror, the ceiling fixture, and even the curtain tiebacks, added a note a glamour and femininity to the space.

Two of design history's most memorable- and sublime- powder rooms were those at the homes of the Kersey Coates Reeds and the James D. Zellerbachs. Both powder rooms were decorated by Frances Elkins.

This ladies' lounge, decorated by Miles Redd and located at a Houston house, is a more recent example of a powder room, though one designed on a much larger scale. (Architectural Digest, Thomas Loof photographer.)

Using My Little Grey Cells

I don't know about you, but recently I have found myself having a little difficulty with my memory recall. I doubt that it can be attributed to a physical condition (at least I hope not,) but rather it's a result, I think, of too much information via the internet.

While consulting Martin Battersby's The Decorative Thirties, I discovered the 1932 photograph, above, that depicts the home of Professor Adolf Rading. What is most striking, of course, are those metal sculptures attached to the home's wall. According to Battersby, the metal works, once called "a space-enlivening element", were fabricated by Bauhaus artist Oskar Schlemmer.

Looking at that photo, it dawned on me that I had seen the sculpture to the left quite recently. But where??? Wait! I know where. An episode of Poirot. It only took me an entire afternoon and hours worth of Poirot episodes to locate it:




See? The very same Schlemmer wire sculpture, though here it was located in a ruthless film director's Art Deco home in "The King of Clubs". Do you think it's the same as that in the Rading home or a replica?

While watching all of those episodes, I did find yet one more space-enlivening element that was similar to the other sculpture in the Rading home. It's not quite as Bauhaus in feel, but you get the gist:




Photo at top from The Decorative Thirties by Martin Battersby.

Watch This Movie: The Divorcee

I watched the Norma Shearer movie The Divorcee (1930) over the weekend believing that the movie's sets included a country house done up in Hollywood Regency decor. Well, wrong movie. The Divorcee did not have such a set. Still, the movie was interesting to watch. A pre-code film, the movie's plot was, for the time, rather scandalous. In a game of tit for tat, Shearer's character cheats on her husband after discovering that he had an affair. (In the scene shown at top, a chipper Shearer had not yet learned about her husband's cheating ways.) Shearer then receives a lesson in society's double standard when it comes to adultery. While her husband's fling was a piffling event, Shearer's affair was a cardinal sin, something that eventually leads her down the road to moral looseness. Let's just say that for the era, the movie was considered to be shocking.

Storyline aside, the movie's Cedric Gibbons designed interiors are a feast of Deco architecture. In both Shearer's apartment as well as the swinging nightclubs, the geometric door surrounds are larger than life, while chevron sconces are quintessential Art Deco.

You know, for such morally challenged people, they certainly lived and partied well. Anyway, have a look:



The fireplace and andirons of Shearer's apartment are so Deco in flavor as is that pair of busts.




Shearer's husband in the kitchen fixing, what else, cocktails. The space is somewhat spartan yet stylish too.




The chevron shaped sconces are also textbook Art Deco, but the real star of this screen shot is that massive piano stool with the low ziggurat back and fluted sides.





A dramatic movie deserves a dramatic entry hall.




The apartment's sofa is definitely unusual. It had two separate backs that fit within the niches; the backs were connected by one large, bow front seat.





One could really make an entrance into the nightclub thanks to the massive door. Classic Moravian star fixtures helped to light the space.




Shearer's apartment after she became The Divorcee. I love the swag to one side of the doorway.

Philip Johnson's Curtain Call

I was recently discussing the late Philip Johnson with my friend, Keith. He was fortunate enough to have visited Johnson's Glass House when it first opened to public, while I hope to make the pilgrimage this year. The conversation reminded me of a May, 1934 House & Garden article which profiled the Manhattan duplex of Johnson. According to the article, the duplex (which, by the way, he shared with his sister) was comprised of the two upper floors of a townhouse located on East 49th Street.

When Johnson bought the apartment, the lower floor was divided into a two story studio living room, a reception hall, another small room, and a kitchen. The bedrooms were located on the upper floor. Johnson tore out the walls between each room on the lower floor (with the exception of the kitchen), effectively creating one large room. Where the walls once stood, though, Johnson installed curtains that helped to delineate the spaces. What's interesting is that Johnson chose different colored fabric for each set of curtains. Johnson typically left the curtains half drawn so as to give "a vista the entire length of the apartment." If he were to entertain large groups, the curtains were left wide open. In the photo above, you can see how the apartment's lower floor looked when all of the curtains were open.

Pale ecru linoleum was used throughout the apartment to create a sense of continuity. Johnson chose a dull white plaster finish for all of the walls and ceilings so as to give the appearance of lightness. The furniture included now classic pieces like the Barcelona daybed, chairs, and ottoman by Mies van der Rohe.

On a Philip Johnson related note, Birch Cooper of Birch Books has recently written a book profiling Johnson's library at the Glass House. The book includes photographs of 100 different volumes found in Johnson's library as well as a complete inventory of the titles located at the Glass House. All proceeds from the book will go towards conservation efforts of Johnson's library at the Glass House. For more information on Cooper's book, please click here.




The two-story living area that was at one end of the open space.



When drawn, blue serge curtains between the reception hall and the living area created privacy for dining.



The view from the study, looking towards the reception hall and then to the living area beyond. Curtains were also hung along the exterior walls to cover the floor to ceiling windows.


All photos from House & Garden, May 1934.

Elementary Design

My friend Dean Farris, a designer and blogger who now resides in Naples, FL, recently sent me a few House Beautifuls from the early 1930s. Yes, manna from heaven. Surprisingly, I was intrigued by an article about a very well-appointed nursery in a New York apartment. I usually don't feature nurseries on my blog because quite frankly, I just don't think about them. Alfie didn't require one when I adopted him. Still, the one I'm showing here really caught my attention. First, it was decorated by Pierre Dutel, a noted designer of the era whose work I have always admired. And secondly, look at how elaborate this nursery was, especially considering that this article was written in 1935. There was the kindergarten/ dining room, a night nursery, and a day nursery. A set up like this obviously took up a fair amount of room. It makes me wonder what the rest of the home, owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Wallace T. Orr, looked like. It also makes me wonder what became of the children who were lucky enough to call this their nursery.




This was the kindergarten cum dining room. The mural of blocks, some which feature French phrases, was really quite charming. The star ceiling fixture looks very similar to one that is currently sold through Circa Lighting.

The night nursery was really quite sophisticated stuff for the time. What I'm especially taken with is that bed. I like that the bedspread matches the upholstered headboard and footboard, both of which are finished in a nail head trim. A bed like this would work equally as well in an adult's bedroom, as would the blue and white toile wallpaper.





The day nursery was decorated with Mother Goose nursery rhyme murals. I spy Jack and the Beanstalk and the Cow Who Jumped Over the Moon. And check out the painted floor. Murals like these would be perfect in a child's nursery in 2011.

All images from House Beautiful, July 1935.

For Your Consideration, v. 1

I have to, um, hand it to Cecil Beaton. He was awfully creative. The walls of his guest bathroom were adorned with outlines of his guests' hands (painted by Beaton, of course) that were signed by the respective hand's owner as well. Not for everyone, but it is a humorous take on the ubiquitous guest book.

(Image from The Thirties in Vogue by Carolyn Hall)

Mad for Marion

Thanks to the non-drowsy decongestant I've been taking all weekend, I've been a little too revved-up to sleep. A little annoying, but on the bright side, I've redecorated my apartment...at least, in my mind. I've decided that I need a small rug in my dressing room. I already have a nice wool, Wilton weave carpet in there right now (I'm a big fan of wall-to-wall carpet in bedrooms, closets, and dressing areas), but I think a throw rug would add some zip to the space. After all, a minimalist wardrobe, though chic on the body, is too subtle to do much in the way of decoration.

So what would be perfect in my dressing area is a Marion Dorn rug. I mean, if you're going to daydream, you might as well shoot for the stars. It would certainly be in keeping with the loose 1930s look that I'm going for. And if they were good enough for Syrie Maugham and Frances Elkins- both fans of Dorn's work- they are more than good enough for me.

(Speaking of Maugham, don't forget that Pauline Metcalfe's much anticipated book, Syrie Maugham, is being released in a few weeks. Look for a review here soon.)



This Dorn rug, c. 1930, was sold at Christie's for around $4300. The pale tones would be perfect for my room's color scheme of pinks, grays, and creams. The zig-zag design is reminiscent of the Dorn rug in Mrs. Celia Tobin Clark's bedroom (c. 1929-31; seen at the top of this post), a room decorated by Syrie Maugham.



Frances Elkins chose this beige and off-white Dorn rug for the bedroom of Ruth Winslow. The rug was a nice modern counterpoint to the traditional French floral chintz.




How chic was the Lounge at Claridge's Hotel, c. 1930? Decorated by Oswald Milne, the space was a combination of Art Deco and Modernist decor. The black and cream geometric patterned rug was, yes, by Dorn.



Another stylish room decorated by Maugham, this time the London drawing room of Mr. Robin Wilson. I wonder if that was a Dorn designed rug?



This Dorn work is/was available at a rug dealer in Paris.



Not quite the right colors for my dressing area, but this Dorn rug- auctioned off by Sotheby's- is certainly enchanting.

(Clark image from David Adler, Architect: The Elements of Style, Martha Thorne editor; Elkins image from Frances Elkins: Interior Design by Stephen Salny. Claridge's photo from Martin Battersby's The Decorative Thirties; Wilson drawing room photo from The Great Lady Decorators: The Women Who Defined Interior Design, 1870-1955 by Adam Lewis.)