Whether people are fully conscious of this or not, they actually derive countenance and sustenance from the ‘atmosphere’ of things they live in and with.
-Frank Lloyd Wright
Furniture is probably not the most interesting subject for most people. Yes, we all have our favourite spot to sit – maybe a comfortable chair to curl up with a good book or a place to lounge while watching a movie. Yes, we yearn for a good sleep in a good bed, or require, for our health, an ergonomic office chair to do our work. I get a sense that people like a nice room, but the furniture becomes part of something whole, rather than things we collect and admire as individual items. Unless, you’re one of us. I would say we love furniture. Love it enough to have many books on the subject of furniture design, we have both taken university courses on its history. We have wandered through more than one furniture museum – including that part of the Louvre Palace that no one else goes to, with a separate entrance, strangely silent in its lack of people after the chaos of the main Louvre galleries. I wouldn’t say we’re exactly collectors of fine furniture or modern design classics, and we definitely have the usual quota of Ikea and second hand pieces, but there are a few things that have arrived over the years that represent our love of furniture and how it can be a way to express creativity in our spaces – allowing objects of diverse origin to fulfil unexpected purposes.
When my parents moved to Germany in the mid 1960s, they took what they needed in an old steamer trunk. Their time there lasted three years, during which both my brother and I were born. Apparently two babies have stuff, and when they returned, another trunk was purchased. This second trunk spent many years in our family’s basement, until I discovered it as a young teen. Obviously, I claimed it as part of my bedroom ensemble…which also included a large armchair that had been inherited from someone who no longer wanted it. I was very proud of my little furniture arrangement – at around thirteen anything that is slightly different feels quite exotic and urbane. As it turned out, that trunk has followed me ever since. I remember one family move where it seemed reasonable to fill it with all of my books, because they fit so well. Bad idea for those carrying it onto the moving truck. I remember filling it with clothing for our drive across the country when we moved to Ottawa more than thirty years ago. It has been a part of every living room I’ve had as an adult. It has been a bench, a shelf, a coffee table, a room divider. An unassuming piece of luggage. Is it valuable or even beautiful? No. But it has been with me longer than anything else I own. It speaks to me of my whole life.
I had a grandmother who was a bit of a character. My mother’s mother was a creative, practical and generous soul. She and my grandfather took in foster children, many of them. She cooked for all manner of people. She baked the best buns – a recipe that, sadly, seems to have been lost. She wore dresses – even that one time she climbed onto a horse (somewhere there’s a great photo of that!). She could be strict – there are definitely stories of bedsheets being pulled out from under an unsuspecting sleeper should it be laundry day and she had a schedule to keep. She told stories, she laughed, she gathered us into her embrace. She also made things – for both practical and creative reasons - sewing, knitting, crocheting as needed. Finely crocheted tablecloths, colourful afghans, warm quilts, and even some clothing. Including that time she decided all the grandchildren needed homemade matching flannel pyjamas for Christmas – baby blue floral – imagine the family photo that year (and, no, we weren’t all toddlers…). Some years ago, I acquired her old Singer sewing machine. My aunt had it in her home for many years, and when she no longer had space, it came my way. I don’t sew. I think I’ve been clear on that, so it is providential that this old machine no longer works. With a clear conscience I can use it as a bookcase. I can look at it every day and remember where I come from. I can be reminded that generosity is a characteristic that rises to the top of our memories. That creativity and beautiful things were, and are, valued.
There is something appealing about taking something at the perceived end of its life and transforming it into something new. Finding a use for it – recreating a new identity. We have a few furnishings that fit this description. Many years ago we needed a coffee table. Well, need is a strong word, but as collectors of coffee table books, relevant. Nothing we saw suited our fancy. Too big, too small, too shiny, too short, too tall. At long last, we were wandering through a shop that specialised in antique (possibly) Chinese furniture. Way in the back, on top of a pile of boxes and cabinets, we spotted a strangely shaped box. I immediately felt it was perfect – although it would need to be turned upside down to function. As it turned out, it was a rice measure (hence the handles) commonly used in the 19th century. Whether it is actually that old or not, I cannot say – it looks it. But, what I love is that it is a functional item, no longer needed that has become useful again. In a different way, for a completely unrelated purpose. Transformed.
Our small attempt at transformation is nothing compared to what some remarkably creative artisans have done with lost wood. In many parts of the world, there are pieces of wood submerged under water or earth, that if reclaimed can be used to build all sorts of things. Here in Canada, I’ve heard of logs being retrieved from the bottom of lakes and rivers, preserved and with their own special patina to be used in new found beauty. In Indonesia, buried wood - sometimes carved, sometimes plain - has been used by artisans to create furniture beautiful in its agedness and newness all at the same time. When I was working at Ten Thousand Villages, very early on, this cabinet arrived with our regular shipment of products. It never made it to the sales floor. I knew instantly that I would buy it for the home we had recently purchased. It remained packaged up at the back of the store for some time as I needed to save the money to pay for it, but eventually it came home. The beauty that lies within it is many faceted. It is made from old wood that was once something else, was once lost, was reclaimed to be transformed into something new and useful. It was made by artisans who, on the other side of the planet, carefully put their skill into its construction so it would be valued once again. It was transported from one place to another to offer employment to its creators and function to its recipients – exchanged for what was fair. We use this cabinet every day. I don’t know the individual hands that made it, but I hope they are safe. I hope they have what they need. I hope I never forget the value of this mere piece of furniture. It is more than what it appears to be.
I never thought I’d be the type of person who would ever acquire nesting tables. Nesting tables are for people who entertain or care about things like coasters. We don’t seem to be able to manage either of those, so had resigned ourselves to old wooden milk crates found on garbage day and piles of books as side tables. Then I saw these tables. They are hand painted by artisans in El Salvador. The designs are spectacular, the colours vibrant. Another Ten Thousand Villages purchase, I was so thrilled to be able to pay for the creative work that was so clearly evident. But all of that is secondary, in a way, to why they are special to me. My sister-in-law Martha is from El Salvador. When I first met her, about thirty years ago, I knew very little about that country. I now know that there was a civil war in her lifetime. I know her family had to leave. I know she has experienced things I have not. I also know that she is a lovely, kind woman who raised beautiful children, now beautiful adults, who I consider dear friends. I know she cares for my parents - something that, living far away from them, I value deeply. These tables make me think of her – where she comes from, and the kind of person she is. Like them, she is beautiful. Colourful and vivid, emerging from life’s challenges. Worthy of my thanks.
Furniture serves a function. Many functions, I suppose. Like most, what we live with does exactly that, with varying degrees of success – and varying degrees of quality. What we have that is special to me isn’t among the most valuable or stylish. These are not the pieces we drool over in design museums or dream of working up the nerve to purchase at exorbitant prices. These are not the pieces that have been designed by the greats of architecture and the decorative arts. These are pieces that carry within them the stories of my life, the stories of special people. And, like anything else we live with, we can find meaning in these objects. Meaning that sustains us and expresses who we are and what we value.
Comentários