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Our in-house restorer Dave knows all there is to know about restoring antiques and repairing any damage. He plays a crucial role in sustaining the life of our stock and making sure it can survive for future generations. He shares his dos and don'ts for materials we often encounter in the antiques world.
Dave says… ‘Caned seats and backs, as well as whole wicker pieces, gradually disintegrate over time with heavy use. If you have buttons on the back of a pair of trousers, for example, they will snag and aggravate the cane until one day – ping! The woven part will come loose. There are a few things you can do, however, to keep cane or wicker pieces in tip-top condition.’
DO: Treat the wicker to strengthen it. You can use a clear lacquer or shellac to do this, but be sure to read the specifications of your product carefully as not to affect the colour of the piece. A good quality clear shellac will put a sheen on the wicker without affecting the colour. This will help the cane to last longer and avoid fraying or breakages.
DON’T: Use a wicker piece to support heavy loads. You might think a very heavy box on a caned side chair works for a temporary storage solution, but this will gradually weaken the tautness of the cane.
DO: Use cushions. This will help to reduce the daily stress on a cane or wicker seat.
DON’T: Drag fully wicker pieces around, like a bamboo dressing table for instance. These pieces are usually only fixed with nails and pins, so a lot of dragging and heavy-handedness will weaken them. Lift the pieces up and move them instead.
You might have inherited a lovely Georgian or Victorian piece, with stunning colour and patina. How do you keep it looking that good?
DO: Use a wax diluted with a little white spirit to treat the piece. Do this a couple of times a year to preserve the finish.
DON’T: Expose it to direct sunlight or a very warm part of the home. This is how antiques fade and lose their striking depth of colour.
DO: Use a lint-free cloth to dust your antiques. This way, you won’t scratch the polish.
DON’T: Surround a great piece of brown furniture with plant pots or other water hazards. Watermarks are the devil for brown furniture and must be avoided at all costs.
Not sure why it is worth restoring an old piece of wooden furniture? Read our case, 'In defence of brown furniture' here.
In most cases, you want to consult a professional when it comes to upholstered furniture because there are considerable risks with it. However, Dave advises…
DO: Inspect the frame before you start taking anything off. Make sure the legs are intact and check for wobbles in the frame.
DON’T: Do anything in haste. In some cases, the upholstery will be keeping the whole thing together. This is where a risk assessment is very important.
Intricate veneers are often what makes a classic piece of antique furniture so beguiling. But after a long life this applied decoration can start to lift off. What can you do?
DO: Cut a small square or rectangle where the damage is and patch repair it, then match the colour after.
DON’T: Cut veneers in funny shapes! Matching it after will be a nightmare.
DO: If the lifting veneer is one piece, lift it up and glue underneath then put it back down. Run a flat knife along where it is lifting to see how extensive the problem is – there’s no point in patch repairing bit after bit, you may as well do it in one go!
DON’T: Attempt to patch repair if there are bits missing entirely or splintered. You will need to replace the whole thing.
Gilding gives anything from a commode to a mirror a majestic opulence. How do you keep it looking so good?
DO: Take care to match the exact colour of the gold leaf if you are going to touch up the gilding. Believe it or not, there are lots of shades of gold!
DON’T: Transport gilt antiques carelessly. Logistics is where most damage to gilding is done.
Dave's final piece of advice when it comes to tackling restoration:
‘If you are going to take up restoration or repair your own pieces, it is going to take a lot of patience. You need to juggle several skills. A risk assessment needs to be carried out for every piece, and you must think ahead.’
Restoring antiques and other furniture is key to an eco-friendly approach to interiors. Read our article 'Sustainable antiques for soulful homes'.
The Arts & Crafts movement touched every corner of the design world. From furniture to textiles to jewellery, designers adopted a holistic approach to manufacture. At the very heart of every surviving piece is the craftsman himself.
By the end of the 19th Century, the industrial revolution had utterly transformed Western society. Industries boomed as new technologies emerged, and handicrafts dwindled. Vast factories emerged to accommodate these changes, and productivity and efficiency were the new watchwords.
The industrial revolution brought many elements of our lives today into fruition. In lots of ways, this was a momentous step forwards. Society underwent a dramatic change and standards of living improved for many. However, it was not so for those on the frontline of machine-led production.
The underbelly of factory work was tedious, gruesome, and dangerous. Unskilled labour was in high demand because the process required scores of workers to perform repetitive tasks. Certainly, the skilled craftsman conceiving, designing, and producing a piece became mere nostalgia.
Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart of man go together.
For some thinkers, critics, and designers, these developments were unsettling. John Ruskin was a vocal art critic in the second half of the 19th Century. He claimed a link between poor design standards and poor social health in England. Ruskin suggested a return to handicraft: 'fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart of man go together.' This idea that art serves a moral purpose would later become a fundamental principle of the Arts & Crafts movement.
Let's go back to 1851, the year of the highly anticipated Crystal Palace exhibition in London. This exhibition celebrated the finest corners of Victorian design and pieces from as far away as India. It was a majestic display of talent and wondrous furniture, but it also exposed the excesses of industrialisation. A nauseating range of revival styles was on display, and much of it was heavy-duty furniture that was rich with ornament. It was no coincidence, then, that the following years of the 1850s sowed the seeds for a different sort of revolution.
Excitement about machine-led production side-lined the decorative arts, and discontent mounted. The antidote to this artificial excess was a return to medievalism. The gothic was a popular Victorian revival style, and reformers hailed 16th Century methods. In his 1851 text, The Stones of Venice, John Ruskin praises gothic architecture and saw its roughness as evidence of the craftsman’s personality and freedom.
Pugin was another gothic advocate, and he believed in the importance of a piece's construction. He was in favour of exposing joints and other methods in the manner of a Medieval carpenter. This school of thought found its voice in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, formed in 1848.
Among the group's members were Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Morris, and Ford Madox Brown. The Pre-Raphaelites opposed the High Renaissance, which they saw as frivolous and insincere. Instead, they sought moral seriousness and integrity, and this group was in many ways a precursor to the Arts & Crafts movement.
Madox Brown was one of the first to transfer the group’s shared ideals about design into furniture. He shared Pugin’s vision of flat surfaces and linear profiles that had more in common with Medieval carpentry than refined 18th Century cabinet-making.
Arts & Crafts societies sprung up to centralise this growing group of individuals. The biggest of these, the Arts & Crafts Exhibition Society, was formed in 1888. This society held regular shows up to and beyond its 50th anniversary in 1938. They gave the decorative arts a stage and spread the beauty of Arts & Crafts. In 1960, the society merged with the Cambridgeshire Guild of Craftsmen to form the Society of Designer Craftsmen which is still active today.
There was a strong sense of community amongst these different organisations. 'The best tastes are to be found in those manufacturers and fabrics wherein handicraft is entirely or partially the means of producing the ornament.' These words of Richard Redgrave, a prominent reformer at the London School of Design, describe their shared sentiment. Significantly, many of the early members of this movement were architects. This meant that they held a shared interest in the gesamtkunstwerk- the 'total work of art.' For example, Charles Voysey was foremost an architect and then a major contributor to Arts & Crafts furniture and textiles.
Exhibitions put Arts & Crafts on display for all to see and escalated the movement. Journals such as The Studio helped to spread the word internationally. America's own movement was well underway, but with a slightly different approach. Unlike UK reformers, US practitioners were indifferent to the machine. They saw it merely as another tool at the craftsman’s disposal and necessary for commercial success. Under Gustav Stickley the American 'mission style' emerged. The mission style used sturdy oak and promoted democratic values, but Stickley was more than happy to use machinery to produce the furniture.
Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.
Although he was already a prolific designer, William Morris only became fully involved with Arts & Crafts later on. Nonetheless, his influence was monumental and he played a central role at the beginning of the Arts & Crafts heyday in the 1880s. His focus was on a return to small-scale workshops, whereby the craftsmen involved could oversee the design process from beginning to end. The Medieval Guilds inspired Morris and offered a model for the personalised craftsmanship that he craved.
As an upper-class man himself, the impact of the factory system on the working classes shocked Morris. He drew on Ruskin’s teachings and shared his nostalgia for a pre-industrial world. Morris loved nature, and flora and fauna are front and centre of the 50+ wallpaper designs he produced over his career. The designer realised that to live in his perfect home, he would have to design every aspect of it himself. His famous Red House embodies his trademark quote: ‘Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.’
Designers wanted to create furniture that was useful to ordinary people and free from fussy decoration. Nonetheless, this movement was about reviving the decorative arts and aesthetics were still important. But crucially, designers did away with the ‘artificial’ ornamentation that had been front and centre of the Great Exhibition.
The Arts & Crafts umbrella was wide-ranging, but the majority of designs are united by a few simple features. Tables, chairs, and cupboards would have rectilinear shape and rely on simple vertical forms. The construction was a return to basics and most joints exhibit mortise-and-tenon or dovetail joinery. Arts & Crafts practitioners were unconcerned with hiding hinges or other aspects of a piece's mechanism. The movement proved that practical and aesthetic elements could happily coexist in design.
Craftsmen preferred darker woods, such as stained oak. They would use the wood itself as an aesthetic factor, with the grain, flecks, and rays often on display. It was not always solid wood, and some craftsmen took a more decorative approach than others. Some pieces might exhibit veneers and intricate carvings, but these elements never sacrifice the piece's utilitarian value.
The ‘through tenon’ provided another decorative touch, whereby the tenon extends through the mortised piece and projects out of the other side. Craftsmanship itself is visible in the end product of an Arts & Crafts piece, in a way that had formerly been lost to the machine. ‘Truth to materials’ was the mantra, and the results had a sense of integrity.
Upholstery would involve leather or simple cloth, in order to keep the overall look as plain as possible. Hand-sanding and pigment-staining gave pieces of furniture the best possible finish. Hand-rubbing exposed the different layers in the wood and began a piece's journey to having a wonderful patina.
In the cities, Arts & Crafts gathered momentum through exhibitions and print promotions. Soon, the philosophy turned into commercial success. Designers forged good working relationships with manufacturers who could sell their wares. William Morris set up Morris & Co in 1875. The major Oxford Street store stocked other designers too, and they also sold through Liberty and Heals. Suddenly, the Arts & Crafts movement was reaching a much wider audience and it moved into the mainstream. It was the dominant design force in Britain up until the 1910s, and its influence spread across Europe, America, and Japan.
At the turn of the 20th Century, Arts & Crafts migrated out of the city and into the countryside. Lots of the designers celebrated simple rural ideals and the rolling hills naturally held great allure. Workshops sprung up across Britain, and many designers settled in the Cotswolds. These workshops became their own schools of sorts and each had its own take on design.
Sturdy structure, compelling patina, and timeless aesthetic appeal. These are just some of the qualities offered by Arts & Crafts designers. From cupboards to metalwork, every piece has the social history of this movement behind it. We are privileged to have the Arts & Crafts legacy around us in the Cotswolds. Our dealers are always sourcing Arts & Crafts gems so that we have wonderful pieces in stock. Our collection includes big names and makers, from iconic Heal's pieces to Gordon Russell's fantastic works. Visit our lookbook, 'Truth to Materials,' to explore a sample.
He was the creator of era-defining textiles, a writer whose ground breaking ideas forever changed how we think about our homes and, according to a recent study, a peddler of poisonous wallpaper. “Antiques Roadshow” expert Chris Yeo asks “Will the real William Morris please stand up?”
When William Morris (1834-1896) died at the age of sixty-two, his physician declared that the cause was "simply being William Morris, and having done more work than most ten men." We know him best for his easy-on-the-eye textiles with their scrolling leaves and biscuit cutter birds. The designer of patterns such as Willow Bough and Strawberry Thief, his is the face that launched a thousand National Trust tea towels. We probably think that that’s all there is to know about Morris: move along, nothing more to see here, but we’d be wrong. This multi-faceted man was at one time or another (and sometimes simultaneously) a designer and manufacturer of furniture, wallpaper and fabrics, stained glass, and tapestries; an accomplished weaver; successful businessman; a pioneering preservationist; an active Socialist and social reformer; a successful poet and novelist; and in his last years, the founder of the Kelmscott Press. We see him in photographs with tousled hair and wild, unkempt beard; part Byron, part Marx. His passionate belief that everyone should surround themselves with beauty revolutionised the way we think about our homes and his influence went well beyond these shores. If these days he’s known as a pattern designer in his own lifetime he was actually better known for his writing. Morris was a revolutionary force in Victorian Britain – the original Angry Young Man whose rages against the shortcomings and injustices of the world changed the fashions and ideologies of the era but is life was filled with paradoxes. He was obsessed with the medieval, but he also had a socialist vision of the future. He’s considered by many to be the spiritual Godfather of modern Socialism and a champion of worker rights yet he died a multi-millionaire and was a part owner of the world’s largest arsenic mine. Will the real William Morris please stand up?
Morris was born in Walthamstow, east London in 1834. The financial success of his broker father led to the family moving in 1840 to Woodford hall, a large house in rural Essex, as well as providing young William with an inheritance large enough to mean he would never have to concern himself with the tedious business of earning an income. Morris enjoyed an idyllic childhood growing up in the countryside, exploring local parkland and churches and immersing himself in the novels of Walter Scott, helping him develop an affinity with the natural world and historical romance. William was a privileged boy, but had a mind of his own. He a was forced to leave Marlborough College in 1851 following a “rebellion” but still made it to Exeter College, Oxford in 1853. He first planned to become a clergyman but, following a trip to northern France and inspired by the gothic architecture he saw, opted for architecture. Morris was a rebel by nature and one, very much, with a cause: ugliness. We all know his famous dictum Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. For Morris this was nothing short of a battle cry against poor taste. What started him on his crusade was what he saw as the sheer tackiness of the Great Exhibition in 1851. This colossal event, staged in the specially built Crystal Palace in Hyde Park, had been intended to display the best of British manufacturing, a dazzling showcase for the Workshop of the World. For Morris it was neo-Renaissance, neo-everything nightmare of poor design and shabby art. Tales of the teenage Morris’s visit to the Crystal Palace are legion and range from the strange to the ridiculous – my favourite being that Morris was so appalled by the poor taste on show that he staggered from the building and was sick in the bushes.
For Morris shoddiness was a punishable offence; ‘Shoddy is King’ he railed, ‘From the statesman to the shoemaker, everything is shoddy’. From that point on he dedicated his life to creating useful and beautiful objects for the modern home.
While working in Oxford Morris had a chance meeting with a local stableman's daughter, Jane Burden. Consciously flouting the rules of class, Morris married Jane in 1859. Morris and Jane moved into Red House, their home in rural Kent, the following year. Morris wanted his home to be a ‘small palace of art’ Unhappy with what was on offer commercially, spent the next two years furnishing and decorating the interior with help from members of their artistic circle. And what friends: Edward Burne-Jones, Dante Gabrielle Rosetti, Ford Maddox Brown. As George Martin was to the Beatles, so Morris was to the Pre-Raphaelites; the unofficial eighth member. It was at Red House that Morris began to find his forte - he was, in truth, an abysmal architect and a lousy painter, but he had an affinity with interiors. At heart, he was a pattern-maker, taking his inspiration from the English countryside to create the patterns that made him famous. Having decided to branch into textiles, he apprenticed himself to a dyer's workshop in order to "learn the practice of dying at every pore" even going as far as grinding his own pigments. Over the course of two decades Morris produced over 600 chintzes, woven textiles and hand-blocked wallpapers. They were distinctive for their soft, flat colours, their stylised natural forms, their symmetry and their sense of order. His patterns were revolutionary at the time, and quite at odds with prevailing mainstream fashion.
Having gained a taste for interiors, and the experience of 'joy in collective labour', Morris and his friends decided in 1861 to set up their own mega-design partnership: Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co, later re-named Morris and Company, but nicknamed ‘The Firm’ by William. It was virtually a Pre-Raphaelite co-operative with £1 share contributions from Burne-Jones, Rosetti and Brown. From its London headquarters the Firm issued a selection of carefully crafted household items, painted furniture, metalwork, pottery, carpets and cushions. All were guaranteed to have been created by an expert hand using artisanal – the word still meant something – methods.
Morris was a radical thinker of his day; a prolific poet, author, publisher, campaigner and socialist reformer; “Apart from the desire to produce beautiful things, the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization”, he said. By the 1860s skilled workmanship was being replaced by machines. He was a dedicated socialist, and wrote passionately about the growing gap between rich and poor, which had been intensely accelerated by industrialisation. Morris saw salvation in a return to a medieval craft-based society, one where happy, contended workers would produce objects with integrity. If this is sounding at all familiar we need only look to the nearest artisan hipster baker or be-whiskered craft brewer. Although Morris preached passionately for the return of the medieval craft ethic, his objection was – contrary to what you’re likely to read elsewhere - not so much to machine production as to poor workmanship. He loathed mass-production but understood its place in society. In fact his first registered design was a trellis of African marigolds for machine-made linoleum. William Morris lino, who would have guessed?
The most ironic aspect of Morris’s aims was that, although he aimed to make good design available to all (‘I do not want art for the few, any more than freedom for the few…’), ultimately his own furnishings — made painstakingly by hand using the best natural materials — were typically too expensive for anyone but the wealthy industrialists Morris hated.
Morris was a founding father of the Socialist movement and a champion of workers’ rights. He campaigned against many things, banning arsenic in wallpaper was not one of them. Arsenic was a major component in wallpaper manufacture and by the 1870s, when Morris was at the height of his fame, its ill effects were becoming well-known. Morris inherited his fortune from an arsenic mine in which he still held stock for a number of years. By the 1870s, the Morris family’s Devon mine was reportedly producing over half the world’s supply of arsenic. And while he did ultimately divest his interests in the company, questions on Morris’s apparent hypocrisy—and why he never actually visited these notoriously bad workplaces—casts something of a shadow over his right-on credentials.
Happily, this is the Lorfords blog, so we can leave the politics at the door. In design terms William Morris was a true visionary whose influence was felt well-beyond his own lifetime. With his hands-on philosophy he pioneered the idea of the artist-craftsman and his designs helped to lay the foundations for the modern movement. Today, we find ourselves returning to many of Morris’s preoccupations with craft skills and the environment, with local sourcing and vernacular traditions. But perhaps his greatest legacy was his avowed belief that, rich or poor, male or female, aesthetic beauty should be a central feature of everybody’s life and home.