Ordinary Objects and the Poetry of Salvage

Last weekend I climbed through many, many trailers of salvaged architectural bits and bobs, old stoves, rusted pieces of ceiling tin, faded signs, and corroded hinges to find a treasure in the rain.  My sweatshirt was soaked through and my boots were caked with mud as I climbed the rickety steps to the next-to-last trailer in the salvage yard.  I squinted into the gloom, took a few half-hearted steps across the sloping metal floor.  Nothing.  I didn't see a single object that sang to me in the way really special things do when you're on a treasure hunt.  I was just about to turn to head back out into the downpour when my magpie eye caught sight of a soft glint in the shadows on a shelf over my head.  I couldn't tell what it was, but I threw caution--and my fear of tetanus--to the wind and just reached up to grab whatever it was.

Well, it turned out to be the frame that you see in the photo above.  A Victorian beauty, completely intact, with wonderfully worn gilding on its inner edge.  That had been the glint I'd seen.  I had to make it mine.  I cradled it in my arms and went in search of the salvage yard owner.  It turns out he had just placed the frame on that shelf earlier in the afternoon.  When I say "placed," I don't mean displayed.  It was just sort of lying there on the top shelf, nearly out of sight in one trailer out of several that were packed to the gills with jars of springs, boxes of brackets, and bins of rake handles.  

When the owner offered to sell me the frame for the little bit of cash I had in my pocket, I knew two things immediately: 1) I will buy more treasures from him, and 2) this frame was going to be important for me, for my photos, for the vision I have of where I want my work to go.

I believe in the stories that beautifully made things can tell us--in the texture of history, the poetry of ordinary objects.  That is one of the aspects of still life photography that appeals to me most. This photo is the first in what I hope will be a series of photos featuring my newly found treasure.  I believe this old frame will help me dream up countless stories in the weeks and months to come.  

This Week Around the House

Okay, so I promised some photos of home improvement projects around the house, and these are not those.  I'm realizing that most of our home improvement projects, while thrilling to us, will be literally like watching paint dry to everyone else.  Here, though, are some random shots I took around the house this week.  Above are my vintage clay marbles.  Many of my New England friends will know the flea market where I bought these: the Montsweag Flea in Maine.  It's one of my favorite flea markets, ever, and these little guys came stored in this sweet milk bottle.  They live next to my desk.   

If you've been reading my blog for a few months, you are probably beginning to realize by now that I have just a bit of a collecting habit.  At the same time, and in direct conflict with my collecting tendencies, I hate clutter, so over the years I have developed a solution: many of my collections include items that can be used to store other items.  Brilliant.  Thus my memere's lovely Roseville vase is the home of my knitting needles.  And, as you might have seen in my post from Wednesday, I collect old suitcases and paintboxes.  They house CDs and, well, paints.

The desk above was my father's.  For years his parents rented out a small apartment in their home, and one of their lodgers left this desk behind.  It became my dad's, and when I was a kid I would sit at it writing and drawing and playing with the little drawers and compartments inside.  Now it is mine, and I treasure it.  Some of my favorite books rest on the shelves underneath.  On the top left side next to the lamp is a vintage radio tube that I bought for my husband because he researches and writes about, among other things, early radio at the BBC.  The chair in this photo is an old Haywood Wakefield that I bought for him, too, at one of my mother's antiques shows.  Oh, and I have to mention the pretty leaf lantern made by pachadesign.  

Above is a close-up of the desktop with the beautiful Buddha my mother gave me and and one of a pair of Art Deco lamps she gave us for our wedding anniversary.  We had admired (drooled over) them in her shop, and my thoughtful mum took notice.

Last but not least, it's those paperwhites again!  But I included this photo because it has the only piece of the renovation stuff that wasn't too boring to show.  We took down a godawful light fixture in our master bath and replaced it with something much nicer (I hope), but I was left with all these globe-shaped light bulbs.  I suddenly had the bright idea (forgive the pun) to put them under this cloche.  I actually love them when the sunlight streams through them in the morning.

So now I'm curious . . . What are you collecting these days?  Any favorites or wish list items?

Happy Hallowell

It was Todd's birthday this weekend, so we took a trip up to Hallowell, Maine, on the Kennebec River.  One of our favorite habits is staring at old buildings and imagining what we'd do with them if they were ours.  You know how you do, like imagining a whole other life that seems quite possible for a magic fifteen minutes or maybe even an hour.  I love those little windows of dream time, especially when shared with the coolest person I know.  Hallowell is the perfect place to indulge in this habit of ours because it is pure architectural perfection.  Of course, it doesn't hurt that it's packed with antiques shops, too!  At the Antiques Mall we bought a set of three old (I mean old) lockers from a high school in upstate New York.  They're going to hold belts and ties and scarves and whatnot back at the homestead in Massachusetts.

One of the shops downtown is guarded by ferocious beasties and graced by two Buddha heads.

I am in love with these two buildings.

We often speak of Southern Gothic literature, art, and architecture, but growing up in Maine, I always felt that there's a Northern Gothic, too, and places like Hallowell epitomize this style and feeling,

Think of the wonderful patina of Savannah, place it up north in the cold with less light and a mix of Victorian and colonial houses, and you start to get a sense of what Hallowell is like.

Someone is redoing this massive beauty high on a hill.  Think of the ghost stories you could write here!  Speaking of which, Stephen King's house just up the road a ways in Bangor is well worth a look, if you're ever in Maine.

As you head south of Hallowell on the back roads, you encounter sweet Maine villages like East Pittston, where you'll find a gorgeous compound of houses that all appear to be part of Tuttle Antiques.

Lovingly restored, the houses glow in the late-afternoon sun.

We stopped briefly in Dresden to get gas at a tiny store with pumps from the 70's that had--I'm not kidding--duct tape on them.  Not sure what it was holding together, and I probably don't want to know.  I felt like we were on an episode of the Red Green show.  But across the street was this lovely church with the sun setting behind it.

Back in Portland, we hopped on the ferry to head home.  The sky was burning pink behind us and the stars were waking up in front of us.  I asked Todd if he'd had fun.

"Yep," he said. "Best birthday ever."

"You say that every year."

"And it's always true."

P.S. If you're ever in Hallowell and you need a great meal, go to Slate's.  They make all of their own breads, croissants, and muffins; their food is tasty; and we had the sweetest waitress ever.  Their bakery is just a couple of doors down.  We had to split a pumpkin whoopie pie.  All that snooping around old buildings had made us hungry!

P.P.S.  Before I forget, the pretty leaf-skeleton lantern on my new header is by Pachadesign.  I bought two from Sammy and Glenn to have for my table during the holiday season and beyond.  They are so delicate and beautiful that I can't stop taking pictures of them, even when there's no candle inside.

Back at the Brick Store

Yesterday I posted about the objects we treasure, which got me to thinking about a recent visit to my mum's antiques shop, The Brick Store, on Front Street in Bath, Maine.

She and her partners, Barbara and Jan (who is also Mum's sister), and their other antiques dealer friends who sell in the shop find the prettiest antiques and collectibles.  I always discover something I must have when I'm there.

On my last visit, this clock was one of my favorites, but I have to tell you that I also got a big kick from these "jewel"-encrusted vintage pet collars below!

From the graceful

to the nostalgic

to the beautifully practical (ironstone's my absolute favorite)

and the stunningly elegant (Tiffany bamboo flatware in sterling), their shop is just the best.  I think some of these gorgeous pieces have sold since I was last there, but they always have new and enticing items.  I just found an amazing little objet for a sweet friend for Christmas.  I can barely stand keeping it secret until then.  In fact, I'll probably break down before then.

Here's Polly (my mum), Jan, and Barbara at the shop.  They are the friendliest and funniest gals around.  There's never a dull moment when you visit Brick Store Antiques.  On an average day, about half the town stops in for a chat.  Their shop epitomizes what's best about shopping locally at funky places with pretty windows, creaky wooden floors, and friendly shopkeepers who love their work and know their merchandise.  At Christmas I stay as far away from shopping malls as I can.  Instead, I seek stores like my mum's, where the little bell rings as you walk in the door, there's a bowl of butterscotch candy on the counter, and the owners remember you from one visit to the next.  

Treasure

I often think about the objects I treasure.  Most of them are not intrinsically valuable.  No one would race into a bidding war for them at an auction, and yet I find myself drawn to them, sometimes because of the memories I associate with them, other times because of a certain beauty I find in them.

Old bottles, like the ones above that I photographed at Portland Architectural Salvage, often speak to me, especially those that have been unearthed after years in the ground and to which the dirt still clings.  Silent mysteries, they speak of another time, of places and people and uses that I love to try to imagine.  Maybe that's what I value in certain objects: they seem to tell a story.  I especially tend to love old keys, ironstone pitchers, wooden bowls, old tools and anything crafted from metal.  I also adore vintage photographs and paper goods, bits of string, lace, or other textiles, and mismatched pieces of silver, especially spoons.  Of course, those objects are most wonderful when I've received them as a gift from someone I love or when I've discovered them completely by accident, as if by fate.

What do you treasure?  What two or three things in your home do you find most beautiful or most beloved?  What about them speaks to you most?

Vintage Love

I began collecting vintage photographs about 25 years ago while shopping at auctions and flea markets with my mother, who is an antiques dealer.  Often, if we lasted to the bitter end of an auction, we'd be rewarded with odds and ends and box lots of items that no one else wanted, but that often housed magical treasures.  I bought many an old medicine cabinet or handmade set of vintage paper dolls or artist's paint boxes this way.  I also began scooping up old family photo albums for, quite literally, pennies.  Something about seeing old photographs of long gone days made my heart ache, especially since no one wanted them, but it wasn't just a sentimental pull; I loved the images, the clothing, the houses, and the subjects, whether posed in a studio by a professional photographer or taken by family and friends.  I was hooked by these sepia images of individuals, most of whom were no longer living, but whose lives spoke to me from those crumbling albums and shoe boxes.
Today, I have many boxes and albums of my own, most dating from somewhere between 1900 and 1935.  I can no longer buy as many photos as I used to.  The market for vintage photos is quite hot now, so a single photo can go for anywhere from $2 to $20 or $30 or sometimes even more, depending on the subject, age, and quality.  I used to buy whole albums for less than $5.  Those days are pretty much over.  Now, I limit myself to really special single photos or albums that are handmade.  
While I was in London in August, I discovered one such album at Spitalfields.  It's made of heavy watercolor paper, completely hand stitched and hand glued together by someone who took great care.  The cover is decorated with watercolor roses, and all the photo slots inside--dozens and dozens of them--are hand cut.  I wish I knew the name of the dealer who sold it to me.  He had marvelous photos, and he knew that this album was special, but he gave me a reasonable price. 
The photos inside date from 1900 to 1905.  Their caption dates are all written in French.  The earliest ones are of a group of young women in various classes at school, but as time passes, more and more young men are included in the pictures and the groupings become more social occasions and outings.  I wanted to share just a few of these with you because I know so many of you love photography and collecting just as much as I do.



These last two are of Martha Lust.  I adore her expression in this final photo.  I wish I'd known her.  I often use vintage photos as inspiration for my writing.  Martha would make a wonderful fictional character.
I will admit that collecting vintage photos is a bit of an addiction for me.  I am that woman you see at flea markets hunched over the paper dealer's table, rifling through boxes and piles of photos, culling out just a few to add to her favorites.  These days I look for photos of beautiful interiors, images that feature friendships, pictures of children with animals, and pictures of women in occupations other than teaching (quite rare).  I also love farm pictures or pictures where people are laughing.  Of course, pictures in which people are wearing beautiful clothing are always special, too.  Sometimes I also find interesting photos of factories or other more industrial subjects; these are often fascinating.  

So, now you know one of my collecting addictions.  How about you, my friends?  Anyone share a similar passion?  If so, what do you collect and why?

The Brick Store

Perhaps I've inherited a few of my magpie tendencies from my mother.  The collage above is made from photos I took over the weekend at the antiques shop she co-owns with my Aunt Jan and their friend Barbara.  Well, one shot, the glass candlesticks, was taken at my mum's house, but the rest are from the shop, and they give just a small taste of how lovely the place is.  If you find yourself in Maine this summer, you may want to stop in and visit Barbara, Jan, and Polly at Brick Store Antiques in Bath.  

Bath itself is a treasure trove of antiques shops, plus there are some lovely places to eat or people watch (or both).  Among my favorites are Solo Bistro Bistro, Beal Street BBQ, Mae's, and Cafe Creme.  I also love shopping for clothes and gifts in Bath, and if you ever need a kitchen gadget, they've got just the shop for that, too.

The Art of the Parcel

Perhaps it is true that you can't judge a book by its cover, but I believe that you can judge a gift by its packaging.  In fact, I have to admit that, whether giving or receiving, I often care just as much about the box, the tissue, the ribbons, or string as I do about what is inside all that delicious concealment.
  

Just think of the Varga girl, those World War II-era pin-ups painted by Alberto Vargas.  They were all the more enticing because of the satin and pearls and chiffon in which the artist draped them.  Part of the power of the 1940s pinup lay in what was barely hidden, what was anticipated; the fabric or flowers or ribbons revealed the form of the woman without giving away everything.  There was room for imagination, lust, and even a sense of humor.  After all, what's sex without humor?

So it is with most things in life: the form of a well-written poem is satisfying to the eye and ear; the shape of a well-made coffee mug is pleasing to the hand; how we contain things matters.  My favorite buttons housed in a plastic baggie appear a little sad.  Slip them into a vintage teacup or a wooden bowl and they are as luscious as candy.

My craving for pretty parcels was deeply satisfied today when my husband and I visited two of our favorite shops in Peterborough, New Hampshire, Red Chair Antiques and Bowerbird and Friends, where we bought vintage labels, bottles, drawer pulls, and thread in vivid shades of plum and blue and red.  We spent only a few dollars in each shop, but the women who sold us the items wrapped them with care in paper adorned with ribbons at Bowerbird and vintage stamps at Red Chair.  Once home with our small bundles, we had the pleasure of discovery all over again as we undressed them to reveal the treasures within.