I bought myself a toy! "That's a toy?" as Gene Wilder said to Zero Mostel in Mel Brooks' "The Producers". Well, to me, an Eames' DCW chair has all the appeal of a shiny gadget for small hands.
It's an esteem shared by Time magazine who designated this "The Best Design of the 20th Century", which, given that there are ample other choices, is high praise. It was with this design that the relationship between the Eames and Herman Miller started in 1946, so it does hold a seminal place in the output of 20th century designs and the Eames' ouvre.
To begin. It was love at first sight, even before I knew anything about the chair, but it was a case of "uptown girl/backstreet guy" or "West end girls/East end boys", depending on which side of the pond you're standing on. You know..... it was kinda pricey! Now, I know you can get copies that are much cheaper, but that has never sat well on my heart and head, although my wallet would quite happily shuffle it's skinny rear into a comfortable position on the moulded ply of a cheaper copy. Personally, I would rather buy a well designed more expensive original, but I know opinions differ, so each to their own.
Then I saw it. My project! On Ebay. "Eames vintage DCW chair parts, Herman Miller". I had to follow my heart, win or lose, and pursue it with passion. Now we're together, the honeymoon is over, and it's time to settle down to a lasting relationship and start ironing out some of the problems.
Firstly, all of the parts are there, including the screws. The shock mounts are all in place, although they are bordering on the brittle side. There is no identification, although you can tell where this would have been, and it does bear all of the hallmarks of a vintage piece. So far, so good, but, and it's a big but (no pun intended), the plywood of the back panel is splitting (plywood dilapidation is one of the signs of a vintage chair and is hard to fake) and to add insult to injury, the back panel has been bolted on to the rear shock mount.............through the front of the panel. It's a bit like having a beautiful painting and hanging it on the wall by hammering a nail through the middle of the canvas; expedient, but not exactly classy!
I remember one of my architecture tutors saying that buildings fall into insensitive hands. I've been an architect for long enough to know that this is unfortunately true. I hate it when bad things happen to good people, and I hate it when bad people happen to good things (ok, their not necessarily bad, but they could do better). So this is an opportunity to right a wrong.
I'll probably spend as much money restoring it, as I would spend on a new DCW, but that's ok, it's a noble cause. Hopefully with a bit of TLC it will look more like this by the time I've finished:
If ever there was a "silverback alpha chair" to rival the Eames lounge chair, then the G Plan was a strong contender. It reeked of cigar smoking authority, to the point that it represented the lounge support of choice for a man with delusions of world domination like Ernst Stavro Blofeld in the Bond film ‘You Only Live Twice’.
Image source: Wikipedia.org
“In the early 1960′s G Plan introduced a large, rounded swivel armchair with wings. It was available in several fabrics, but the buttoned black vinyl version became a classic of the 1960′s. We proudly claimed it was ‘the most comfortable chair in the world’” – http://www.gplan.co.uk/heritage/
The 6250, despite it's prosaic title that eluded to nothing more than an iteration of a product in a long line of similar products, was proclaimed by G-Plan as being "the world's most comfortable chair" in a moment of very un-British immodesty.
Was it the world's most comfortable chair? I don't know. It certainly looks comfortable, and I'm sure that if you reclined in it, closed your eyes and gently spun, you could dream of domination, if not of the world, then at least your own living room.
Designed by Paul Conti early 1960s, G Plan design 6250. "The World's Most Comfortable Chair. Recognised as one of the great modern pieces of furniture, this chair really deserves its title. Its big wings and soft foam cushioning with deeply buttoned back provide the ultimate in comfort. For added luxury it rocks, glides and swivels too." Text from G Plan catalogue
In January of this year Vitsœ announced it had become the exclusive worldwide licensee of Dieter Rams’s complete collection of original furniture designs. Rams issued the following statement to accompany the announcement
“Vitsœ’s disciplined business practices and manufacturing intelligence are in true alignment with the values of my design. This makes Vitsœ the ideal partner to present my products worldwide and it is for this reason that I have given Vitsœ the licence to sell not only 606 Universal Shelving System but my complete portfolio of furniture designs in Germany and throughout the world.
“In addition, Vitsœ’s growing international presence and continued commitment to the constant improvement of my products ensure that my furniture is in the best hands for the years ahead.”
Last month, Vitsoe announced the relaunch of the 620 chair programme by Dieter Rams, announcing that it had comprehensively re-engineered Ram's chair. I have to confess that I always thought that the 620 was a single chair. I should have known better. The 620 programme is a rigorously designed flexible seating system. Like the 606 shelving system, which was designed in the same year, the chair is designed to be extendable and adaptable. The chair can be joined with other chairs to form a multi-seat sofa and it's castors can be swapped for a base that allows swivel articulation.
Dieter Rams famously produced 10 principles for good design, one of which is "Good Design is long lasting". The copyright protection that Vitsoe won in 1973 after the chair was copied in 1962, should ensure that the design and production values are not reduced by cheaper copies, as is sadly the case with so many other design classics, and the production run will continue long into the future.
One of my favourite pieces of mid-century modern furniture is the Stag ‘S’ Range sideboard. It is widely recognised as an iconic piece of post-war British design, with an uncompromising modern aesthetic that was unlike anything else that was being offered to the British mass market at the time.
Stag employed husband and wife team Sylvia and John Reid during the 1950s and 60s to design furniture ranges that catered for a British public newly liberated from post-war rationing who were eager for new and stylish furnishings, which were still affordable. Stag produced machine-made, mass-market ranges of bedroom and dining room furniture, but despite being produced in volume, Stag's veneered wood sideboards and sofas, tables and chests were of robust quality as well as being within the budget of younger buyers, who appreciated their innovative style.
In 1960, based on their success with the design for the ‘C’ range, Stag employed the Reids to create the ‘S’ range. It was Stag’s first attempt at dining room suites and it set them apart from their competitors. The most iconic piece from the suite, the sideboard, was low and long and sat on satin finished steel legs. The sideboard pieces were modular and could be assembled in units, giving the impression that it was a single sideboard 10 feet long. One of the adverts of the period shows three in a row to dramatic effect.
The oiled teak sideboard coupled with varying shaped dining tables and afromosia-backed chairs combined to create a suite whose appearance far exceeded its cost. The 4’6” sideboard cost £26 (£410 compared to current money), the dining chairs £8 15s (£138) and the table £17 (£268). This was still a big investment, but they were produced at a time when people would expect a dining room suite to last a lifetime.
The sideboards are, in my opinion, the most interesting pieces in the range, with their distinctive V-shaped legs and L-shaped handles. The sense of quality is enhanced by the attention to detail: all the doors and drawer fronts sit flush with the carcass; the handles were all custom-made and are recessed neatly on the top of the drawer and door fronts; all the internal surfaces were veneered with beech, creating a strong contrast with the darker teak exterior. The steel work was nickel-plated, giving a light and modern look. They were also sold with different cupboard and internal drawer options.
The Reid’s worked with Robin Day early in their careers and his influence can be seen in the ‘S’ Range, which can comfortably sit beside the best design of the period.
The 'S' Range pieces are currently highly sought-after. Stag produced the ‘S’ Range between 1960 and 1963, after which time it was discontinued due to its lack of commercial success, resulting in a limited production run.
“The temple of costly experience”. That was how Patrick Gwynne’s father, Commander Alban Gwynne, described The Homewood, the house Patrick Gwynne built for his parents when he was just 24.
Patrick Gwynne (1913 – 2003) was born into a wealthy family and showed an enthusiasm for architecture at a young age, joining the office of John Coleridge, a former assistant of Edwin Lutyens. His attention, however, was soon diverted towards the modern movement in the continent. Having sought employment more suitable to his own interests, he ended up in the office of Wells Coates, where he worked alongside Denys Lasdun.
He left in 1937 to undertake his first, and arguably most significant, commission - The Homewood, Surrey. Finished in May 1938, it is the largest and most accomplished translation of Corbusian domestic architecture to be achieved in this country during that pioneer period. But Gwynne's precocious debut wasn’t a polite copy; The Homewood is modernism translated into a British context.
The Homewood, was designed on a generous budget for the time (£10,500). The general form of the house, with its principal rooms elevated at first floor level, was inspired by Corbusier's Villa Savoye. There is one large living room with a dining area screened at one end. The five bedrooms are in a separate wing and the servants’ quarters had room for four servants. The influence of Mies van der Rohe is apparent in the wall of marble in the huge living room - a device seen in the architect's Barcelona Pavilion and Tugendhat House. Reinforced concrete construction and the use of huge areas of glass give the house a typically Modernist transparency and openness.
The timing of the house was unlucky; war broke out just after its completion. Commander Gwynne resumed his naval duties, Patrick joined the RAF and his sister, Babs, went off to the Wrens. Patrick's mother Ruby let the house, but died along with her husband in 1942. After the war, Patrick returned along with his sister, who soon married and left. But Patrick wasn't alone. His long-term companion, pianist Harry Rand, occupied an adjoining bedroom, kitted out identically to Patrick's, with a single bed and washbasin concealed behind sliding panels.
In 1946 he restored the house for himself, re-modelling the kitchen to the servantless times (though he continued to be looked after by housekeeper friends). His parents' bedroom was added to his office space. Murals by Peter Thompson and Stephan Knapp, and furniture to Gwynne's own design, were added over the years. He continually modified the house over time so that it represents design from the 30’s and 50’s to the 70’s.
The Homewood, like many of the houses Gwynne went on to build for celebrity clients, including actors Jack Warner and Laurence Harvey, was a party house. During the 40s and 50s, the large sitting room was furnished with light, movable furniture that could make room for dancing on the sprung maple floor. In the 60s, one wall of the room was re-modelled with fibreglass sheeting to improve the acoustics. Hi-fi equipment is integrated into the room's design, as are facilities for making the perfect cocktail, down to a serving table that pivots out from the wall.
Gwynne loved his gadgets. An aluminium, wall-mounted clock has numbers drilled into its face. A magazine table has a little pull-out shelf on which to put a glass. An aerodynamic desk has cine film editing equipment built in. Gwynne designed them all. In the dining room, the flick of a switch could change the colour of the lighting. Rumour has it that if he changed it to green, you'd been branded a bore.
Decor at the Homewood never stood still. Gwynne liked the new, particularly plastics. "He even liked Ikea," says the house's curator, Sophie Chessum. The walls were originally covered with Japanese grass paper, which was replaced by vinyl imitations of grass paper when that first appeared on the market. "By the 60s, he was using hessian in bright, primary colours on the walls. And everything would match: towels, chair cushions, the lot," she says.
The interior spaces include an austere study complete with starship-enterprise-style desk and a vast living and dining area flooded with light from a wall of floor to ceiling windows that look out across the spectacular grounds. 20th century design classics by Bertoia, Breuer, Mathsson, William Plunkett, Saarinen and Eames amongst others are scattered throughout the house. Every inch of space has been carefully considered and designed down to the last detail, there is an oddly shaped drawer or cupboard specially created for every object.
Purists visiting the house now may be dismayed that it is not a shrine to late 30s design. "But that's what's so great about the place," said V&A curator Gareth Williams, who visited just before Gwynne died. "It's a 30s, 50s and 70s house in one. There are layers of living there, and all the many things he made over the years."
The building was his personal masterwork, his home, his office and living portfolio. It's one of the few pre-war modernist houses with continuity of occupation and contents. Nearly everywhere you look around The Homewood, you'll be treated to a wonderful collection of furniture and fittings inspired by the Modernist movement.
The coincidence of its comprehensive publication in the Architectural Review of September 1939 with the outbreak of war perhaps prevented his extraordinary achievement reaching the wide audience it deserved. However, it has now come to be recognised as a masterpiece of the era. In 1994 the National Trust announced that it had accepted Gwynne's offer of the house with most of its contents and its seven-acre garden as a legacy.
He spent his last years overseeing repairs and was responsible for every decision. Before he died, in May 2003, Gwynne insisted it be open to small groups for one day a week for six months of the year. Those who visit will get a glimpse into the world of the man, his taste and vision.
All images by Dennis Gilbert and taken from the National Trust website.
Drawings can be viewed on the RIBA's drawing collection:
In 1958 theCouncil
of Industrial Design (CoID) gave awards to twenty products selected by members
of the CoID's own Design Index selection committee. Winners included Robert Heritage's
'Hamilton' sideboard.
Robert
Heritage trained as a furniture designer at the Royal college of Art, where
eventually he was appointed Professor, as the head of the School of Furniture.
He was honoured as Royal Designer for Industry in 1963.
In the early 1960s, Heritage was responsible for designing the teak and
rosewood home furnishings that the East London firm Archie Shine sold mainly
through Heal's. Archie Shine were one of the premium manufacturers of the period, their high quality
furnishings were aimed at the affluent middle classes. In style they were
typically British, not so modern that they scared off traditionalists, and not
so traditional that they were scorned by the more adventurous.
Designs were
low key but warm, with plain geometric silhouettes and subtle details, such as the
reeding on the Hamilton’s drawers.
Archie Shine pieces are becoming increasingly collectible, especially the
simple tables and consoles. Although the
furniture was commercially produced, the quantities were limited. Archie Shine
is an example of British furniture that is just as good in quality and design
as the Scandinavian pieces of the same period.
Heritage
also worked with Gordon Russell. In 1969 he created the GR69 range of
living and dining room furniture.
In the 1960's Heritage created iconic chairs for the QE2made by Race Furniture Ltd.'Britannia' (left) and
'Columbia' (right) were for use in the
restaurants aboard the ship and won a CoID Design Award in 1969.
“They’re useless!”That was one of my colleague's assessment of the Boby trolleys used in
Campbell and Arnott. I never felt the same way. For me they took me back to a
time when I was growing up in the early 70’s. When Terence Conran’s “The House
Book” was one of the largest books in our house. When, in the UK, there were
only three channels on TV and they were presented by men (usually) with long
sideburns and wide ties. When programmes like “Tomorrow’s World” talked about “tomorrow”
because “tomorrow” was a time we were excited about. A time after the lunar
landing, when three men in a “tin can” were hurled out into orbit, relying on
less technology than we have now in our smart phones…..…and then came back
home.
I liked “Joe” Colombo’s Boby trolley when I saw it in books
and magazines; it intrigued me. It was dynamic, brightly coloured and used new
materials. It seemed useful, but also playful and optimistic. What is less
obvious is the nod it made to the past; Colombo’s ingenious storage concepts were partially inspired by old trunks
and valises.
I also liked the Boby trolley when I used it; it was practical.
It had a top with lipped edges so that you could keep daily essentials close to
hand, without them falling off. It had trays that weren’t too deep, so that
things could be concealed, without being permanently lost. It had open compartments
so that you could keep more visually appealing items on display. It was
flexible and you could adjust compartments to suit your needs. It moved out of
my way when I needed space and came towards me when I needed equipment.
It has stood the test of time.
The 1970 Boby trolley, a mobile ABS unit of rotating drawers and shelves, is still in production today. You can find out more here:
