Showing posts with label Tartanware. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tartanware. Show all posts

11 March 2014

A Beautiful Tartanware Book: Sir Walter Scott's Lady of the Lake

Image Copyright Parvum Opus
One of my favorite things: Sir Walter Scott's Lady of the Lake,
published in 1874 by John Ross and Company, Edinburgh.
Images copyright Parvum Opus.

I've had a deep appreciation for exquisitely made objects for as long as I can remember, and among my favorites are books, which I treasure for both the craft and beauty of their bindings as well as the beauty of the ideas within. My Tartanware copy of Sir Walter Scott's Lady of the Lake is a particularly special example.

Image copyright Parvum Opus


As you can see, it features a tooled and gilded leather spine, and papier-mâché Tartanware covers. Throughout the pages, small photographs are pasted in, with lovely views of Scottish lochs and castles. When I first received this wonderful gift (thank you dear husband!), I was especially charmed by tiny mother of pearl bun feet on the back of the book. What a jewel! Given that this book's publication made Scotland's Trossachs an enduring tourist destination, it makes perfect sense that a Tartanware edition would appear.

Image Copyright Parvum Opus
If you look closely, you can see the tiny mother of pearl feet
attached with brass tacks.

Tartanware was designed primarily as souvenir ware, and originated in the early part of the nineteenth century. These small personal goods (boxes, sewing tools, desk accessories, books, etc.)were designed to capitalize on the newly mobile middle class tourist population. You can imagine how popularity of these trinkets soared with Queen Victoria's commission of two new Tartans for the royal family. 


I wish this box was in my collection: a miniature Robertson Tartanware box,
with a hand-painted picture of Balmoral before
Prince Albert made his additions, signed "Lamme Cumnock", c. 1850.
Image courtesy The Telegraph.

The Lady of the Lake is a narrative poem composed of six cantos, and was first published in 1810. It was hugely influential at the time and contributed to the Highland Revival, which culminated in 1822 with a visit by King George IV to Edinburgh for a pageant orchestrated by a vary patriotic Sir Walter Scott. I'm so glad for this confluence of poetry and craft, and that we can still enjoy the lovely books and objects born of it.


A portrait bust of Sir Walter Scott,
in the University of North Carolina collection.
Image courtesy UNC.

15 January 2013

A Selection of Charming Paper Knives

A few of the antique tools currently in use on my desks, top to bottom:
a 19th century continental sterling letter opener/bookmark  given to me
by my dear husband last Christmas,
a 19th century coin silver pen knife, engraved "Willie" on one side of the blade and "Mamie" on the other,
 a second coin silver pen knife chased with a rose pattern and beaded edging
and lastly, a shortened  but well-loved Clan Stuart Tartanware page turner.

I love to collect objects that are not only beautiful but useful in daily life as well. Today, I've gathered a collection of paper knives and letter openers for you. In days past, these tools were used to open envelopes and slit the uncut pages of books. While books are generally made with clean, trimmed pages these days (I for one am still happy to bind books in the old way-- I love the deckled effect of pages slit by hand after binding...), a beautiful letter opener or paper knife still has a useful place on an elegant desk. 

An early 20th century  gold-mounted jadeite paper knife, attributed to Faberge.
Because of their lovely fitted boxes, many of Faberge's objets d'art have survived
a century or more in perfect condition. 

A fabulous English sterling and tortoiseshell paper knife from Asprey. This
multi-purpose tool can be used as a page turner, paper knife, letter opener and has a perpetual calendar fitted in the handle--wonderful!

The everyday task of opening envelopes can be swiftly and satisfyingly accomplished by a number of antique desk tools intended for alternative purposes. Page turners were designed to help cultivated newspaper readers avoid ink stained fingers. But with their very long and delicate blades, they often survive in a shortened state, making them perfect for the task of opening envelopes.

A diminutive Victorian silver paper knife with a chain that would have allowed
it to be hung from a chatelaine.


Victorian mother of pearl and tortoiseshell paper knife,.
Image courtesy of Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery


An early 20th century  McBeth Tartanware pen knife 

Early pen knives were used to trim quills, and are similar in design to more modern multi-purpose folding knives like the one above.  Both make excellent desk companions.

A second Russian paper knife with Faberge and Nicola Schepelew marks.
 This one features a jadeite blade, white guilloché enamelwork, 
and the Russian double-headed eagle coat of arms.
I especially love the beautiful gold swan head at the end.


And now for something completely different:  Charles Dickens' eccentric
paper knife, with an ivory blade and a handle made from his beloved cat's paw.
The blade is engraved: "C. D. In Memory of Bob 1862" the year of Bob's death.
I do hope you'll enjoy hunting for similar tools which are easily found in antiques shops, auction houses and on the internet. William Morris famously said, "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." A meticulously crafted paper knife or letter opener is a joy to look at and to use, and is a perfect opportunity to put Morris' sage advice into action. 

15 November 2012

Anatomy of the Well-Dressed Desk, Part 4: Pen Wipes

 
A  very stylish bronze lizard pen wipe with boar bristles, ca. 1900
 
Every well-dressed desk includes fine writing tools, and we all have our personal favorite pens and pencils that perfectly suit our needs. There are many excellent sources for information on writing instruments, and one of my favorites is the very informative blog, Palimpsest. So today, rather than concentrating on writing instruments, I thought I'd introduce a lesser known desk accessory, the pen wipe.
 
A rare Tiffany glass mosaic pen wipe, 1906
 
In the early years of letter writing, before the ballpoint pen and fountain pen, writers used quills or dip pens which were dipped into an inkwell for use. Since this operation tended to result in messy drips, pen wipes were developed and came into widespread use along with the steel nib pens produced in Birmingham England in the very early nineteenth century.
 
A more humble early 19th century cloth pen wipe:
the pen nib is inserted between the layers of fabric for cleaning
 
Thankfully, our letter-writing ancestors were not content to simply use a scrap of fabric to clean their pens. Pen wipes were made in countless ingenious forms, from hand-sewn discs of cloth with embroidered embellishments, to fine figurative sterling silver examples. Usually measuring no more than 3 inches across, they make helpful and alluring writing mascots.
 
A sterling silver pig pen wipe with boar bristles, hallmarked Birmingham, 1912
 
Even today, a carefully chosen pen wipe can be a charming and functional addition to a handsome desk. I favor fountain pens for my correspondence, and have found that not only are my little pen wipes enjoyable to use, but they've become something of a record of the colored ink experiments that accompany my letter writing, like a well used artist's palette.
 
A recent commission at the bindery for a fountain pen enthusiast:
A set of stacking fountain pen trays and a matching chamois pen wipe
all made with French marbleized paper
A cold painted bronze dog pen wipe, Vienna ca. 1900
Another cold painted bronze example from Vienna, ca. 1900
A simple and handsome Sampson, Mordan & Co. Victorian pen wipe in sterling silver 
 
A 19th century tartanware pen wipe in the form of a knife box
  
The next time you find yourself scribbling on a scrap of paper to get the ink in your pen flowing, perhaps you'll be inspired by these stylish and functional objects produced by our very elegant predecessors. As William Morris said, "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." Wise words, indeed.