Louis Vuitton and L' Art Nouveau

An image from Vuitton's Fall Winter 2011
campaign.  Red Guard goes S&M, with lovely
accessories.

 Sometimes, it's hard to imagine that there really was, at one time, a man named Louis Vuitton.  In the era we live in, luxury fashion houses are owned by multi-national conglomerates who sometimes change designers as frequently as they change color stories; seeking to steal the limelight for a few seconds more to gain just that little bit of extra publicity.  With this m.o., many brands have lost the identities of those who founded them in favor of a more flashy and faddish existence. 

Of course, Vuitton hit pay dirt by employing Marc Jacobs to reinvent the classic motifs and silhouettes of the house for a new generation of consumers, but as with most things, we tend to focus on the current incarnation and willingly let the foundation of the past fade into a foggy memory.  We are left with the salable superficial beauty of the modern age, but we have no idea of the path we traveled to arrive at our destination.  True identity is often lost, in it's place a few epithets and a coveted logo that make up nothing more than a designer headstone in a grave yard of sentimentality.

The exterior of the Vuitton home shows an eclectic mix of
modest profiles and elaborate ornament indicative of the
Art Nouveau movement.

One thing, however, remains constant when it comes to discovering the true character of anyone; the home.  Nowhere else can we see the exquisite beauty of everyday life so well.  All that is human is on display for all to see in the sacred inner workings of the home.  Case in point, Villa Vuitton in Asnieres, just outside Paris.  The family home of the Vuitton's couldn't be further from the homogenized glossy commercial model of the Louis Vuitton boutiques that populate the up market shopping districts throughout the world, and that's an incredibly beautiful thing.


In 1859, Louis Vuitton purchased a plot of land just over an acre in size in the riverside village that was once the haunt of Monet, Manet, and many of the Impressionist painters during the 19th Century.  Vuitton would build a factory on the site, which would remain the companies sole production facility until 1977.  The whir of sewing machines and the sight of delivery trucks bearing freshly milled timber and leather for luggage would be commonplace.  The facility is still in use today, producing Vuitton's trunks, case goods and custom orders.

The Vuitton home has as much Art
Nouveau decoration on the outside
as it does on the inside.

 Vuitton also chose this plot of land to build his family home, which was occupied by his descendants until 1964.  The Villa dates to 1869; previously Vuitton and his wife Emilie occupied an apartment on the top floor of the factory.  Never one for overwrought extravagances, Vuitton aimed to build a dwelling that was 'homely and comfortable' where he could raise his family and also supervise production at the factory next door.  The modest aspirations for his home were just as well; during the Franco-Prussian War, army officers temporarily took over the Villa.


Vuitton's son, Georges, had a different idea for the design of the home.  After his fathers death in 1892, Georges called on Louis Majorelle to redecorate the Billiard Room and Salon in the most luxurious and up to date style, Art Nouveau.  A style truly fit for a luxury brand of that era and the family that built it.   Majorelle, along with Louis Comfort Tiffany, Rene Lalique and Emile Galle, was one of the leading proponents of the Art Nouveau style which dominated the Decorative Arts from the 1890's through the early 1900's.  It is this incarnation of the Vuitton home that is still seen today.  The home is dramatic and beautiful; compelling with it's intricate leaded glass windows, soft ethereal colors and incredibly ornate plasterwork, but for all of its jaw-dropping qualities, it is seen not as a show piece or a museum, but a living home, designed with comfort and family in mind.

A view into the Billiard Room with beautiful cove ceilings and stunning
leaded glass windows.  I am in love with those understated but dramatic
pendant fixtures above the pool table. 

The characteristic sweeping whiplash curves and fantastic organic motifs fill the space with an almost dream-like effect.  The leaded glass windows and interior are decorated with motifs that incorporate irises, poppies, nasturtiums, chrysanthemums, and clematis.  Columns are formed from florid leaves and flowers, and ceilings are ornamented with delicate tendrils of hand sculpted plaster.  The kitchen, also done during this time, is said to have had handmade tiles bearing the famous LV monogram, which was designed by Georges in 1897.  Georges' widow, Josephine, was the last Vuitton to live in the family home.  After her death at the age of 103, the house was gutted and converted to storage space and offices and the original furnishings dispersed among the family.


An alcove off the Salon is defined by the intricately carved columns and is filled
with eclectic furnishings such as the Beaux Arts settee, mahogany table and a bronze Crane.



A bay off the Salon houses a circa 1900 English cane furniture suite and
majolica style planters. The leaded window panes are dynamic with their
pencil thin whiplash curves and borders of leaded glass flowers.

A most exquisite chandelier of gilded bronze
and frosted glass leaves springs down from a whorl
of plasterwork tendrils on the Salon ceiling.
Matching sconces can be seen flanking the fireplace.

 In 1984, a decision was made to renovate the Villa and turn it into a museum chronicling the development of the Vuitton brand.  The Billiard and Salon were reconstructed through the use of old photos.  Plaster friezes and moldings in floral forms were remade, and a copy of the immense turquoise ceramic mantelpiece was installed.  Furnishing, purchased at auction, were selected to recreate the spirit of the original Art Nouveau interior; Louis XV bergeres, Beaux Arts settees, mother of pearl inlaid Chinese tables, Majorelle lamps, bronze sculptures, art pottery planters, and oriental carpets contribute to the eclectic, exotic, and sensual feeling that Art Nouveau is known for.

The Villa Vuitton stands as an emblem of the company's origins; a modest family home built by a proud patriarch and entrepreneur, then embellished by the heir apparent as the company grew.  Beyond the established brand image, the home is more than just a status symbol, it is the people that make it a home.  It's slamming doors and creaking floors and cracks in the plaster.  A home tells volumes about it's family, all we have to do is be ready to observe and listen.

- Ian

Hand painted details add charm to the entire room,
as this fragment of a white Lily frieze indicates.
I'm also smitten with the elegance and simplicity of
the egg shaped brass knob.  Given the exuberance of the
interior, this detail is restraint at its best.

The stunning turquoise ceramic mantelpiece was
recreated and installed.  Note the marvelous upward
sweep of the wainscot panels and the shield shape
of the mirror.  Epic drama on a residential scale.
And look at the art pottery hearth!  J'adore!

Tripping Out On Chopines: Eat Your Heart Out Lady Gaga



Venetian Women at their Toilet.  Paris Bordon c. 1545.
These courtesans would have undoubtedly been shod
in Chopines.  By the Renaissance, Venice has developed
a reputation as the epicenter for art and fashion.

Long before Lady Gaga stormed into our lives wearing death defying shoes and some glitter, Venetian women of the Italian Renaissance were teetering through flooded Piazzas in tricked out platforms that would make a 16th Century Gaga go gaga.

Chopines, as they are called, were elaborate platform slippers with wooden bases covered in tassels, lace, nail head, tooled leather and opulent silk and velvet.  While they may have originally been all about function (elevated shoes kept feet and hems dry during the wet season), like many everyday accessories they evolved to express wealth, taste and a certain amount of decadence.  Why wear wooden stilts when you could wear velvet wedges embellished with hand made silver lace and glass beads?  Perhaps Venice was the true birthplace of Carrie Bradshaw, and not New York.

Turkish Woman with Slave. Jean-Etienne Liotard 18th Cent.

Chopines were born in Turkey.  Thought to be the footwear of choice for harem girls, they became the fashion for elite women in Renaissance Italy and Spain.  They did serve a practical purpose in keeping the wearer from stepping in debris found in the gutters and streets around town and dirtying their feet and hem, but they also helped to make their owners literally stand heads above the rest.  The shoes could extend the wearers height from 7 inches to a whopping 30 inches, depending on the wearers equilibrial prowess and the height of the average doorway.  The added height also called for extra fabric (fine textiles were luxury items) for the mistress' gown; though the shoes were highly elaborate, fashion dictated that they should never be fully exposed.  The shoes remained hidden jewels, only to be seen by lovers or the help. 

Leather and Silk over Wood.  1600's.  Met Museum.

Velvet and Lace from the Bata Shoe Museum.

In addition to making one taller, Chopines also required assistance from several servants in steadying the wearer and clearing the path ahead.  The higher the shoes, the more servants you required, and this was a direct expression of your wealth for the whole city to witness.  The reduced mobility caused by such impractical foot wear is often compared to Chinese foot binding; done for the sake of beauty and wealth, but also rendering the fashionable woman unable to walk without assistance.  Most women walked with a staggering awkward gait in these shoes; yet some writers of the period maintain that with practice and training, women could not only stroll the city but even dance gracefully while wearing the unique platforms.  I'm sure there were also advances in Kinesiology and Occupation Therapy as a direct result of these shoes running amok amongst the slaves to fashion that populated Venice. 


Pink Brocade and Gold Lace with Silk Tassels.
17th Century.  Museum of Fine Art, Boston.

Let's be honest, it's all really just superficial frivolity; Venetian women of manipulated proportion hobbling around a sinking city in fancy shoes that no one ever got to see.  Yet for a time full of unparalleled invention and thought, it's rather fun, even exciting, to see a little bit of outright vanity and eccentricity tempering the seriously cerebral theories of Humanism.  This is not unfamiliar territory; war in Iraq, the economy in the toilet, but look at Christina Aguilera's Louboutins!  I think we could all stand a little distraction, no matter how trivial, from time to time.  It didn't seem to phase the great minds of the Renaissance, even when they were wearing haute chaussure.  

- Ian

20" leather covered Chopines, for those rainy days in Venice.

15th Century Spanish Chopines of tooled Leather over Cork. 
Spanish Chopines were conical, while Venetian versions were
more artistically carved.

Venetian Chopines of Walnut with Mother of Pearl inlay.

You Say Chintz Like it's a Bad Thing.

A Chintz bedroom by Mario Buatta.  Recalling the traditions
of Colefax & Fowler, the room is filled with English furniture
and a cultivated collection of antiques and accessories.

Much to the chagrin of my most modern of friends, I j'adore Chintz.  I was giving a lecture at UCLA on the subject one night and a student, obviously intrigued by the idea of a 30 year old man with the taste of a 70 year old woman, asked simply 'why?'.  At first, I really didn't know, which is strange, because I know everything.  It was like asking why I liked money or why I liked monkeys to wear Fez.  I just did.  I was born loving Chintz just as I was born with blue eyes and a superiority complex.


A room of Mauve Chintz and dull green
by Elsie de Wolfe.  Early 20th Century.

I suppose, on a purely aesthetic level, I love the colors, the crisp imagery, the sheen and volume (a byproduct of all the sizing used to give the fabric added body and make it resemble fine silk taffeta).  On a monetary level, I love that for all it's pattern and decorative qualities, it's relatively inexpensive because it's just printed cotton.  It's also very easy to work with, be it drapery or upholstery, and it's very easy to keep clean; it's almost water repellent and dust seems to glide off of it.  I love how the English are the masters of Chintz, treating it with a cavalier almost humorous attitude and mixing numerous patters in the same room.  You'd think it would induce vertigo, but it's actually rather pleasant in a mad and charming sort of way.
 I think what I love most about Chintz is it's storied past; how something so humble in origin could become a coveted treasure of 17th and 18th Century Europe, and later a staple for Decorators such as Colefax & Fowler, Elsie de Wolfe, and Rose Cummings. 


17th Century Chintz from the
Victoria & Albert Museum.

The story of Chintz begins in India where the textile started as a simple block printed Calico cloth (Calico is a cotton cloth whose name is derived from the Indian city of Calicut, where it was originally produced) used for bedding, quilts and draperies.  The cloth was printed in the beautiful saturated colors India is known for; Henna, Pink, Curry yellow, Saffron, Cypress Greens; strong on their own, but when used together a symphony of color and pattern is created that almost hums with energy. 

The word Chintz, by the way, is derived from the Hindi word 'Chitra', meaning 'many colors' or 'speckled'. 

By the 1600's, Portuguese and Dutch traders were bringing the fabric into Europe where it became an instant status symbol; it's rarity driving up the price so that only the elite could afford it.  The fashionable sets of Society not only employed the exuberant fabric in their interiors as draperies and bedding, but also commissioned dress makers to turn the exotic import into gowns trimmed with handmade lace and embroidered linen.  This sent shock waves through the fashion trade as hundreds of wealthy women shunned silk and velvet and sought to have their gowns made from this novel material. 


Pamplores Chintz from the Cormandel
Coast in  aTree of Life Motif. 
Circa 18th Century.

By the 1680's England, Holland, and France were each importing over one million pieces of the textile per year.  This was great news for the patrons whose fashion fix would always be available, fabulous news for the Merchants in Europe and India whose cash boxes and order books overflowed, but horrendous news for the European Mills.  At the time, wool was the major textile produced on European soil.  Heavy, itchy, boring, monochrome wool.  Cotton had yet to be woven in Europe as the climate was ill suited for the crop and the Colonies were still too young to produce it.  As well, European manufacturers didn't know how to print on cloth with any success.  European mills were faced with a crippling blow as their wares became suddenly undesirable.

In the film Marie Antoinette, Costume Designer Milena Canonero pays homage to the Chintz fashion.  Kirsten Dunst wear a role a la francaise of cotton Chintz over silk.

In 1686, among the controversy and couture, France banned Chintz, and in 1720 England followed suit.  With all the unrest and red tape, a Black Marked roared to life with yards of the fabric being imported in secret and sold to the highest bidder.  The Court of Versailles, above the law in any matter you could name, was perhaps the greatest offender to the law as young courtesans and courtiers continues to frolic in the contraband cotton.



Chintz even traveled to the American Colonies.
Here, a hand quilted wool skirt is paired with an
Indian Chintz coat.  Circa 1750's.
Image from Colonial Williamsburg.

 

A Chintz dress c. 1770-1780.  English tailoring.
Fabric from the Cormandel Coast, India.

In 1759, the ban was lifted, but not before two Frenchmen (Naval Officer M. de Beaulieu who was stationed in Pondicherry, and Father Coeurdeux, who was out to convert the Indians to Catholicism) sent detailed letters of the Chintz making process back to their homeland.  By this time, the French and English mills were able to produce printed cotton successfully.  At first, they reproduced the original patterns of Indian Chintz (mostly stylized floral prints), but soon they were creating original designs that followed a more Western inspired fashion (ribbons, baskets of flowers, Toile de Jouey, etc).  

Chintz is one of those galvanizing fabrics for Interior Design; no one is ever on the fence about it.  I love it.  I love how Colefax & Fowler draped country estates in it.  I love how Mario Buatta upholstered all of the Upper East Side in the 80's with it.  I love how Michael S Smith is incorporating the look of original Indian Chintz patterns into his understated traditional interiors.  Chintz will always be with us in some form, like all great design, it's longevity is based on adaptation and evolution.  For those who loathe, give it time, exposure will weaken your resistance.  For those who j'adore as I j'adore, take gleeful delight in each piece of printed heaven and remember how it all started.

- Ian



An English Chintz dress with hand embroidered Linen apron and collar.
Circa 1780.  Patricia Harris Gallery of Textiles & Costume.
Note how the pattern of the Chintz has become more Western.



Elsie de Wolfe Chintz by Scalamandre is a classic with it's quaint
Fern pattern and reserved color palette.  It's one of my favorites.



The Bedroom of Rose Cummings' Mother;
the colors for the Louis XVI furnishings and the
Lit a Polonaise all pulled from her Violet hued
Chintz Draperies, the pattern still in production today.



Little original 16th and 17th Century chintz remains. 
Here, an amusing pelmet dating to the 1850's.



A Chintz bedroom by Elsie de Wolfe, the half tester bed
done in the French style.




A Bedroom by Michael S. Smith, the walls covered in fabric inspired
by original Indian Chintz patterns.  The fabric is from Smith's
Jasper line of textiles.





A Kitchen eating area by Michael S. Smith.
The Drapery fabric based on original Indian Chintz patterns,
 is from his Jasper line.

  



Little Black Book of Taste - Fortuny Lamps



The Samaekanda with it's broad collar, stenciled in an
almost Nouveau style of floral imagery.

For those of you who have been keeping up, I just wrote a  thorough, if not lengthy, post on Fortuny, the man, the myth, the legend.  In it, I included just about everything he did that we would consider significant, save for one thing; his chandeliers.

I fell for Fortuny's light the first time I saw his chandelier in a showroom.  It was huge, like a bronze flying saucer, a paisley pattered pierced metal ring orbiting a fluted glass shade suspended by silk cords and Murano glass beads.  The light diffused through the hand painted amber glass as shadows were cast on the ceiling.  It was at once heavenly, exotic, and surreal.  Truly like no other item in the showroom, and considering they were made in the very early 20th century, unlike any item found in Fortuny's time as well. 

Fortuny's fantastic lighting was a byproduct of his experiences with theatrical lighting design and his dabbling in the fashion trade.  In his theatrical work, he learned the ways of manipulating the new electric light, and pushed the boundaries of convention in doing so.  In fashion, he applied exotic patterns on delicate silks.  In both he created fantasy and excitement, not just through ingenuity and machinery, but also through triggering a reaction in the mind and psyche; creating an illusion that his audience wanted to be a part of.



The Scudo Saraceno.  Silk stenciled in a Turkish pattern.



The Grand Salon of Fortuny's Palazzo.
Note how the fixtures unique simplicty seems at
home in the interior, even though they are
radically modern for the period.

Perhaps what is most staggering about Fortuny's lights is that they were never intended for use outside his own Palazzo in Venice.  Of course today we love them and they can be seen in numerous shelter magazines and fine home, but to think of a product being made without a thought towards turning a profit seems almost unheard of.  Yet Fortuny was above all else an artist, and as with his art and his lack of desire to exhibit it, beauty was it's own reward. 

Photo's of his 13th Century Palazzo show Bohemian Renaissance interiors, scattered with exotic objet and oriental carpets.  Paintings hung over Fortuny's own fabric climb the walls to a beamed ceiling.  Light streams in through leaded glass windows.  A counter point is struck by his alien chandeliers. 



I love the wonderfully, slightly decrepit, floor lamp made from a silk shaded pendant. 
So magical and charming.  The scattered pillows give a Turkish flavor.



Fortuny's Library with industrial pendants
draped in silk gauze.

Dropping from carved and polychrome ceilings, his umbrella like creations of stenciled silk stretched over sinuous wire frames are excruciatingly modern and far ahead of their own time.  The streamlined pieces are accentuated with ribbon like tassels, Murano glass beads, braided silk cords; the stenciling shows roots in Islamic and other Eastern designs.  In function, they could not be more ingenious.  The silk diffuses the light, letting it softly stream down below, simultaneously, the trumpet or bowl shape of the shade blasts the light up, illuminating the ceiling surface.  Considering he practiced during the Belle Epoche / Art Nouveau / Victorian Era where fashion and taste dictated cut crystal on multi-armed chandeliers, these understated pendants are a thumbed nose at the establishment.



Fortuny's lighting is just as fresh today, yet we have the benefit of knowing Fortuny's story and character, and that only enhances the allure of these decadent pieces.  Hang one in your foyer or dining room for moody and unexpected drama, or suspend a smaller style in a powder or bathroom for an irreverent touch of the exotic.  There are even wall sconces that will give the most incredible impact in the smallest of spaces. 

- Ian

 




The Scheherazade is multi tiered with floral stenciling.



The Concubina, with painted silk panels in wood frames.





Vintage Fortuny fixtures.  They remind me of something
seen on a Gypsy wagon.  Such fantasy and imagination.

 

So Marie Antoinette Walks into a Bar...

The long nights journey into day.

I have had my antique Oriental carpet pulled out from under me.  I am undone.  I have come to the realization that one of my favorite cocktail party stories has been a web of lies.  How many people have I told this story to who have been delighted by it and thus wooed by me and my exquisite wit?  I shudder to think.  Thank goodness they all turned out to be one night stands.  I don't think I could face them in the morning now.

The now disgraced tale goes as follows - Marie Antoinette, ill fated Queen of France by way of Austria, was such a notorious party girl and narcissist, that she had the Coupe Champagne glass created from casts of her breast so that sycophantic courtiers could drink to her health from them. 

Marie with the Coupe in question.



Charming, hedonistic, and a little naughty.  What's not to like?  Surely something as irreverent as this must be true; why else would the story live on?  Being the thorough person that I am, I set out to research this historic moment to see if there were any other amusing facts I could use to my advantage.  I found fact upon fact, but I was not amused.

To begin, this story has been around the block almost as many times as the women it's attached to.  Marie's bosom buddies in this farce include Madame du Pompadour (1721-1764) , Madame du Barry (1743-1793), Empress Josephine (1763-1814), Diane de Poitiers (1499-1566), and even Helen of Troy.

Madame du Pompadour.

Madame du Barry.

Madame du Pompadour & Madame du Barry shared more than the benefits of being Louis XV's Mistresses; both women allegedly had the glasses crafted from molds of their breasts for their Royal paramour who dreamed of being able to drink champagne from them.



Empress Josephine, a notorious gambler and party girl in her own right, counted outrageous Champagne bills to her credit, and Napoleon's outrage; it's little wonder how this tale would be attached to her.

Diane de Poitiers, Mistress of Henri II of France, was though to have commissioned a glass blower at their chateau to create the stemware as a gift for the King, while another story maintains that Henri thought the idea up, and used only her left breast as a model.

As for Helen of Troy, it is said that Paris made wax molds of her breasts and used the molds to fashion drinking glasses. 

Much to my chagrin, not one of these women could possibly be attached to this tale of mammary madness.  Champagne was invented in the 17th Century by two Benedictine Monks, Dom Pierre Pérignon (1639 – 1715) and Frère Jean Oudart (1654 – 1742) in a lush region of France called Champagne. The region’s climate, with its short and cool growing season, along with a process that involved a secondary fermentation period, resulted in the creation of those signature bubbles.


Champagne Saucers by Marc Jacobs.  So elegant, and
great for desserts as well.

The Coupe itself was made in England especially for Champagne around 1663, a timeline that rules out du Barry, du Pompadour, Josephine, and Marie; all of whom were born long after the coupe came into existence.  As for de Poitiers, she kicked off a century before either the glass or the beverage was invented.  And Helen, if she even existed at all, predates the Champagne and the glass by at least 2 millennium.

The origins of this rumor are a mystery, but you have to figure that if you get enough Frenchmen together who happen to be drunk off Champagne served in a Coupe by a comely lass, an allusion between the shape of the glass and the shape of the lass could be made.

Shot theories aside, the Coupe, however beautiful it may be, and I do find it to be a beautiful piece of stemware, is not the best way to serve Champagne.  Experts maintain that the best glass to imbibe from is the Flute, which is designed to concentrate the bubbles and the bouquet, heightening the champagne experience. 

The broad surface area of the Coupe allows champagne to lose its carbonation more quickly, making it less suitable for the current taste for very dry champagnes, compared to the sweeter champagnes that were popular historically.  Coupes were all the rage in the States from the 1930's through the 1960's where hot spots like the Stork Club were patronized by movie stars and other glitterati who elegantly sipped, rather than swilled, their libations.  Now we most often find them used in gaudy Champagne towers at weddings, sort of a come down if you ask me.

I am enlightened and betrayed by this little parlor trick of alcohol and innuendo.  To compensate for heartbreak, I have included an image of some Louboutin's inspired by Marie, to keep the fantasy alive in some way.  That's her little head on the strap, complete with elaborate coiffure embellished with a ship.  Now to just come up with a new party story...I wonder what Mamie Eisenhower got up to when Dwight was away?  Was it Jello shots in the reflecting pool, or body shots in the Lincoln Bedroom????

- Ian 



Dita understands the elegance of the Champagne Coupe.