Marion Davies and the Beach House

My daughter knows my love for museums and fascinating people highlighted through history and so one morning we loaded the car with the boys, the dog and headed off to the Santa Monica beach to a place called The Annenberg Community Beach House. Originally it had been owned by Marion Davies and had been a huge mansion with many columns, a large swimming pool and a smaller beach house for guests.

These chairs were outside the beach house and reminded me of the Chalk Paint™ color Paris Grey.

This was a photo that was inside Marion's beach guest house. This was the back of the mansion on the beach side showing the expanse of the estate and the surrounding buildings. The beach guest house, the only original remaining building is to the far left in this photograph and this is the house we were able to tour.

This was a close-up photo of the mansion from the front with the swimming pool and beach on the back side.

Marion Davies was the stage name of Marion Douras, a daughter of a New York magistrate. She was the chorus girl at the Ziegfeld Follies when Hearst noticed her late in 1915 or 1916. Hearst's infatuation with her was enduring and caused his estrangement from his wife and family. Marion was a comedienne and a movie producer as well as a shrewd business woman.

Davies was a fascinating and intelligent woman who loved staging elaborate parties at the mansion. She owned this property through the generous salary Hearst paid her, but also through her own wise real estate investments. The mansion was demolished sometime after her death by a developer who had other visions for the property.

Over the years the property changed hands several times, but the last contractor installed these large posts to commemorate the placement of the original pillars of the mansion.

This was the original swimming pool.

These were some of the tiles that were in a bathroom of the beach guest house, so one can only imagine the interior of the mansion as being magnificent and filled with beautiful paintings, furniture and other fine art as Hearst was a consummate and discerning collector throughout his life, and many of these collections were shared with Marion in this property.

It was such a lovely morning and enjoyed by all, including my grandson who loved watching the water feature outside the swimming pool.

The Story of a Small Clock

I grew up in a family where the home was always filled with the sounds of ticking and chiming clocks. It was simply the sound of familiarity, comfort, and even security. My father loved clocks. He would rescue them and fix them. Every evening at the same time he would wind them and pull the weights back up so they would carry on with their responsible job of letting us know, minute-by-minute what time it was. I loved those clocks and my father's dedication to them.

When my father had passed away and my brother and three children were moving my mother out of her house, it was rather a hectic and emotional time for all of us. When everyone was gone and my mother and I were left in the house alone one last time, we both went from room to room trying to capture the memories. I opened the guest bedroom closet upstairs and discovered this sweet little clock on a shelf way in the back, nearly hidden by other things. I had always loved this small clock because it was not really "important" and it was the one thing I carried out to the car as we left the house permanently.

The two things my father was passionate about were his clocks and his annual summer trek into the Sierra Mountains with his brother. Would he have ever put a value on these things? I doubt it. His clocks were important to him because he truly loved his care for them and the enjoyment they provided each day of his life. Love of things and passions can have a monetary value, but they can also have a value that is immeasurable in terms of love. When my husband and I lived in San Francisco some years ago, I worked in an upscale antique shop near the financial district on Jackson Street. I would often hear the dealers say a piece was "important". A chair would sell for $50,000 because it was important. I used to laugh to myself about this. Well of course it was important if it had the right provenance and original finish or paint, and I understood this. However, there was also a kind of importance that was one of memory and love and care.

I painted this clock Old White with Country Grey underneath. I am not done with it. It is the only thing I have had time to paint in the last few weeks. And to say it has been a soothing and steady project is so true. This clock is only important to me. It has always been rather homely, but I have cherished it for a very long time. It is the only clock in my house that keeps ticking away if I am home to keep it going. It keeps me going too.

Smitten with a Block Print

I rarely return a second day to the Portland Antique Expo, but I did go back today for several reasons, one for business and another for obsession as well as business. Some of you may know my passion for textiles that seems to have no boundary. I am usually drawn to anything with a beautiful "hand" as well as florals if they are done well. My favorite kind of textile is linen. I love to wear, sew, and collect it. Yesterday, as I was quickly going down all the aisles scanning for things that drew me in, my eye caught the most beautiful French chair covered in a lovely red and white vintage toile. I stared at it with envy and respect, and then as I turned to the right I saw the most exquisite linen textile hanging over a chair.

What is there to not love about this incredible piece? It is 100% linen. It is unmistakably a block print. The design is vibrant, eclectic, and modern even though it was made in the 1930's. For me, it was love at first sight. And it was one of those pieces that took a lot of time to decide whether I should invest in it or not. It was not cheap, but was it worth the price? Absolutely and probably more! So I slept on it, always a risky thing because in the meantime someone could have purchased it. I took the gamble and went back and purchased the eight yards without a single regret. I am relieved it is now in my collection, at least for awhile.

What I love most, other than the fact that it is linen, is that it is such a vibrant, forward design. When I first saw it, I immediately thought of several designers that did comparable designs, Florence Broadhurst from Australia and Vanessa Bell, Duncan Grant, and Roger Fry who designed for their own company, The Omega Group. These last three were also members of the Bloomsbury Circle in England as well. The designs from all these artists were very innovative and avant-garde, and this is why these kinds of designs always manage to stand the test of time.

Do the math. This piece is over 80 years old and it still would fit today in any of our contemporary surroundings. It is a gem, beautiful in its design, color and richness all gathered together on a piece of exquisite linen. I will have to part with it, unfortunately, but I will admire it as long as I can. It will be for sale on my website soon with an interesting story to accompany it.

A Vivid Color

I tend to get obsessed when I cannot find an image or photo that conveys my vision or memory. I dig through books and walk through my house looking for the color trying to duplicate what I saw. In my last post I promised to get back and tell you about a color that I saw in the dining room of Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's house. When I walked into this room I was absolutely stunned by the vivid and saturated feel of this extraordinary color. I was patiently and anxiously waiting for the tour guide to end her talk when someone in the tour, obviously had the same curiosity that I did, and asked about the amazing color in the room.

I actually purchased these roses at Whole Foods when I arrived home in my angst searching for the color. See the deep, very rich yellow that is in the center of these roses. This is the color that I saw in the Jefferson dining room.

And this is the color I have in my kitchen. I know, it is a bit bright, but I can't seem to get enough color in my life. So when I was in Jefferson's dining room, I was almost certain that this was the color I had chosen as well.

I even bought this book to appease my quest. What I discovered was a bit complicated, but there was a color called "chrome yellow" and of course it had some of the substances that we now consider toxic. Yet, how in the world could you limit your palette when there was a color that was so joyful and energetic? I need to learn more and I will. It reminds me of my fascination with textile dyeing and printing. There really is no end to the information one can unearth.

Along with my passion for collecting textiles, I love collecting books. I decided I certainly had something on my bookshelf that might help me in my quest. I discovered some really great information in Colors: The Story of Dyes and Pigments. I have several of these books packed with solid information as well as exquisite photos. (The book next to it on Matisse, whom I love, also has great inspiration for color ideas.) Allow me to quote from page 80-81 for the book on colors...."in England in 1780 by an industrialist named Turner" (no, not the famous Turner the artist) patented a color named yellow. And here is the crux of the matter. Vauquelin, a French chemist, discovered chromium when he analyzed in 1797"an orange-red mineral called Siberian red lead (crocoite) discovered in the Ural Mountains in 1765. When ground, it was used as an orange pigment by some artists. "He detected a new metal, which he isolated and named chromium, or chrome (Greek for color), due to its extraordinary capacity to produce salts in many colors. One of the best colors made from chrome by Vauquelin was a fine bright-yellow pigment of lead chromate, opaque and easily manufactured". So here in this little gem of a book was my answer to this amazing color in Thomas Jefferson's home in Monticello.

Today I rearranged the paint on my shelves to coordinate with the pears that I painted for my updated website. I have to try and understand why it is with Annie Sloan's magnificent palette that we are not using more of the vibrant colors as well as the ones that are so distinctive and beautiful. I have always loved Paloma since I first pried open the lid and peered inside. It is pure heaven. At the other end of the color intensity is Scandinavian Pink. I actually painted the underside of a small table with this rich color and the piece itself in Provence. Today I set this table on top of an antique armoire so you can see the undercolor and what a delight it is.

Embrace a color you are afraid to choose, but one you know you would love to try. Life is too short to inhibit your vision and your dream. I think you just might surprise yourself with a growing love of new and mysterious colors!

Deconstruction

This use to be my next door neighbor's house. It was built in the twenties with lots of charm, beautiful windows and a tile roof on a corner lot. It had been in the family from the very beginning until they decided to sell it to a developer who is basically dismantling it (slowly hand-bulldozing it) and reconstructing a new home with a second story and a large upscale master bedroom. They have installed a chain link fence around the property with a plastic covering so no one can see how they are destroying history. (I was able to sneak in and take some photos). Am I sentimental? Yes. But I know who lived in that home, the pattern of their lives, the way they parked their cars everyday of the year, the decorations that displayed every Halloween and Christmas. I have felt such sadness over the whole process. And what is the purpose of this demolition? There is no amount of enlightening that will ease my remorse. This was the upstairs bedroom, the one that will be transformed into a "master suite". Call me old fashioned, but I am a preservationist when it comes to history and architecture and roots. And so here I am in my shop taking a new piece trying to make it look authentically "old", and the whole time I am waxing and distressing I am mulling over the fact that what I am creating is being destroyed right next to my home. I am creating old, and they are dismantling it. Is it a personal preference or is it simply greed and profit on their part? In a neighborhood with character, style, and architectural dictates, why would someone want to come in and build a home that only insults the grace of its surroundings? Looking down and through is my idea of vision. We need to see something that speaks to us. When I paint a piece of furniture, it sometimes takes me awhile to really see a piece. I might paint it one color and then go back later and do another color. Yet, I think ultimately the design and the shape and the various ideas will suddenly come forth, and you will know, without explanation, why you choose to do what seems authentic and fitting, and it becomes an integrated decision. A piece is born through your dreams, remembrances, and your unique design vision. It is really not complicated if you trust your instincts. Repair what needs to be fixed. (I love this part.) Choose the color that speaks to you (and you must trust that it will and does). Then choose the color and vision that gives you that sense of certainty. Florence is one that is beginning to haunt my dreams.....I trust it will find its place.