Like Crazy, Man
Concerto in D Major for Violin and Orchestra, Beethoven, Columbia Masterworks, 1947
Woah, it’s October already. I know, I say this every month, but how this year’s flown! October’s calendar brings me Beethoven and Bartók. Both of these album covers designed by Alex Steinweiss feature swirls, but it’s the fab handwriting on the striking Beethoven cover that I love. Both have that distinctive 50s style, although the first was actually produced in 1947. These classic long plays are totally coolsville, striking and modern enough to appeal to nerds aspiring to be hepcats. Like crazy, man.
Concerto No 3 for Piano and Orchestra Petite Symphonie Concertant, Bartók, Decca Gold Label Series, 1955
Arm Chair Travel
Symphony No. 2, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Columbia Masterworks, 1945We’re celebrating the first day of spring today here in the southern hemisphere. These September pictures from my Steinweiss calendar are more harvest themed however. I love how the vastness of the Russian steppes has been captured in the illustrative cover for the Rachmaninoff record cover. It calls to mind scenes from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. The Spanish slant (excuse the pun) to Ravel’s Bolero is apt too. I wouldn’t have picked these for designs from the mid-40s though; I’d have said 50s – Steinweiss was ahead of his time!
Boléro, Maurice Ravel, Columbia Masterworks, c. 1944
Not for Wallflowers
A young Florence BroadhurstBorn in rural Queensland, Florence Broadhurst (1899–1977), possibly most well-known for her colourful wallpapers, lead an equally colourful life. After stints around the world, including Shanghai and England, she eventually returned home with her husband and son in 1949. Ten years later, Florence established her wallpaper business, advertised as ‘the only studio of its kind in the world’.
Her brightly-coloured wallpaper certainly seemed larger than life, bursting on the eye in a kaleidoscope of wild geometric patterns …
Florence Broadhurst paintingHer brightly-coloured wallpaper certainly seemed larger than life, bursting on the eye in a kaleidoscope of wild geometric patterns and oversized designs inspired by nature, and surely in part by William Morris and Art Nouveau in general. They were all hand-printed, and technological advances made in her studio included printing on metallic surfaces, and the development of a washable, vinyl-coating finish.
By 1972 her range included about 800 designs in 80 different colours, and today designers such as Akira Isogawa, Nicky Zimmerman, Karen Walker and Kate Spade have been granted license to use them in their fashion designs. There is so much life and vibrancy in her designs – they’re really not for wallflowers!
Check out Gillian Armstrong’s docu-drama Unfolding Florence to find out more about this Aussie icon.
Kate Spade fashion incorporating Broadhurst fabrics
A Broadhurst rug
Unexpected Displeasures
When I first heard about an upcoming contemporary jewellery exhibition at the NGV international, I was very excited. I visited Unexpected Pleasures very early in the season, but only had 15 minutes spare to view it. A quick whiz around left me feeling distinctly underwhelmed, but I optimistically put that down to the rush I was in. So I went back on the last weekend. Again I was disappointed.
I love jewellery in all its contexts: historically, culturally, intellectually, aesthetically – or so I believed. I love to wear it, if it is interesting, humorous or merely beautiful. I don’t shy away from the bold, the strange or enormous. But there still needs to be something that engages me beyond a moment – however intellectual that moment might be. And call me a wimp, but I don’t want to wear something that might cut my throat, or take out the eye of my companion.
And call me a wimp, but I don’t want to wear something that might cut my throat, or take out the eye of my companion.
Bottlenecklace by Bernhard Schobinger, broken bottlenecks, metal cord, 1988. The designer dug these up from a former luxury hotel rubbish tip.
Pleated Collar by Paul Derrez, plastic and steel, 1982. Simple folded pleats frame the face in a manner reminiscent of the seventeenth century ruffs of Dutch dress.
Frozen by Suzanne Klemm, polyolefin, 2007. Frozen sings an ode to the immortality of nature.
Beauty Gallery: Suzy, Gina, Kiki, Andrea, Uschi, Sabbine, by Otto Künzli, cibachrome colour prints, 1984.
Necklace/Veil by Caroline Broadhead, nylon, 1983. Radical and challenging, the Veil’s flexibility bestows wearability.
In point of fact, the exhibition is not a celebration of aesthetically appealing adornment – instead it challenges this viewpoint and ‘looks instead at the essential meanings of jewellery … from the point of view of the wearer as well as the maker. Contemporary Jewellery in this sense is at the intersection of art and design.’ [Exhibition summary] I posit that these designers did not consider the wearer (see above comments re cutting throats), albeit they did pose questions about the nature of jewellery. Yet if this is art, it engaged me only momentarily before I scuttled along to the next display. The questions and their answers did not seem terribly profound.
Perhaps I am too frivolous, but when it comes to wearable art, I like my intellect to be wrapped up in pretty packaging. Presumably many of these jewelers would be making commercial pieces – it would have been extremely interesting to compare them with these more esoteric explorations.
Beach Brooches by Helen Aitken-Kuhnen, sterling silver, enamel, stainless steel, 2011, take on an aspect of alchemy in their making.
MEGA 1/7 by Camilla Prasch, red dyed snap fastners, nylon thread, silicone disks, 2009. This voluptuous ring comes alive as it follows the movements of its wearer.
Wallpaper brooches by Otto Künzli, wallpaper, synthetic polymer core, steel, 1982. Distinctly similar to wood, these brooches are abstract, architectural and wearable.
Room – note the almost invisible mausoleum in the centreThe exhibition design was interesting and elegant however, with a mirrored oblong in the centre of the room (somewhat reminiscent of a mausoleum) – I’m not sure on the selection criteria required on the part of the work chosen to be so honoured. In addition, on a technological note, I really missed not having access to an app catalogue, as I did at the Love Lace exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney earlier this year. QR codes at each display case accessed the relevant catlogue entry. It was a great reference before and after I actually viewed the show.
Upon leaving the exhibition I felt very worthy for having seen it, but was still vaguely unsatisfied. It was a bit like ploughing through a bowl of spinach when you really just want a chocolate éclair.
Unexpected Pleasures has now closed.
Bracelet, necklace by Nel Linssen, coated paper, elastic thread, 2008/2009. An endless stack of paper discs is transformed into three dimensions.
Trans-Hematopoietic Neckpiece by Doug Bucci, acrylic photo polymer. A diabetic, Bucci used 3D printing to fabricate a neckpiece that reflects the patterns of blood sugar in his body. Now, I'm hypoglycaemic myself, and I am compelled to remark that although the form is pleasing, the inspiration is somewhat repellent.
Brooch with Four Eyes by Adam paxon, acrylic, lacquer, enamel, 2009. Very reminiscent of glass lampwork, this fleshy brooch is appealingly tactile.
Heart by Otto Künzli, hard foam, lacquer, 1985. This large, shiny brooch bears some resemblance in its simplicity to Künzli’s wallpaper brooches.
Knitted Hearts by Iris Eichenberg, wool, 1993–2007. Literal interpretations of the aorta ripped from the chest: a violence softened by cuddly wool. 
In Memoriam I, Mourning II by Constanze Schreiber, fine silver, 2006. In Memoriam I embodies the sense of loss of a loved one through the memento mori of a skull; Mourning II hints at putrefaction and decay. 
Heart Speaking by Bruce Metcalf, wood, gold-plated brass, 2011. Turned on its side, this heart spews forth vitriol rather than whispering sweet nothings.
Travelling Trophies
In keeping with my All Abroad! story in the Journal, here is a lovely collection of luggage labels from David Craig’s book Luggage Labels – Mementoes from the Golden Age of Travel (Chronicle Books, 1988).
They are such quaint pieces of graphic design that have vanished from daily appearance in our lives, and with them disappeared the romance of foreign travel. Although I wonder – were travellers actually annoyed to have these bits of paper plastering their matching sets of luggage? Or were they trophies of all the wonderful places they’ve been?
Although I wonder – were travellers actually annoyed to have these bits of paper plastering their matching sets of luggage?
Many years ago I was lucky enough to find a couple of vintage travelling hatboxes that featured two or three labels on the side. I even used them as overnight cases occasionally. I was utterly distraught when I discovered they had become damp and mouldy from storage in the garage one winter – I had to throw them out. In fact, some of my books had also been stored in the garage with them, including this Luggage Labels book, and it is now somewhat warped from the damp – perhaps that is rather apt. (Fortunately it escaped the mould.)
The red suitcase I have now is also vintage, purchased a couple of years ago from an enormous vintage bazaar on the Mornington Peninsula. I store all my props in it.
The wonderfully evocative Canadian Pacific poster is from another book on graphic design of the Art Deco period: British Modern – Graphic Design Between the Wars, by Steven Heller and Louise Fili.
Click through to the Vintage Luggage Labels gallery to view twenty more labels.
