Mid-Century Not Out

Did life exist before Mad Men?* It’s a question I’ve been pondering a lot since the peerless series faded to black for the final time (*answer: yes, but it didn’t look as good).

Critics may have focused on the internal machinations at the Sterling Cooper ad agency but, as we all know, the real star of the show was the sumptuous mid-century styled sets: Gorgeous eyefuls of caramel coloured interiors with sleek, sensuously curved furniture and desk lamps that deserved their own mini-series. Has there ever been a tv series so determined to make the viewer drool with couch envy? Of course our love of all things mid-century was already well established by the time Don Draper sparked up his first Lucky Strike. Hard to believe that it’s twenty years since furniture of the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s came in from the cold and started making serious headway in the style supplements and salerooms. Fashions come and go; nowhere is this more true than in the conjoined worlds of antiques and interiors, but, two decades on, mid-century is still here, stronger than ever. It remains the chic-style option it always was and, no longer hobbled by its former retroassociations, Mid-Century has taken its place alongside Art Nouveau and Art Deco as an established epoch in 20thcentury design history. Before you embark on a full Mad Men inspired home makeover, here’s my guide to the essentials of mid-century furniture, a style that remains as fresh and innovative in 2016 as it did half a century ago.

What do we mean by mid-century?

As the name suggests, the style dates from the middle decades of the 20thcentury, roughly from the mid-1940s to the late 1960s. Rather like Art Deco, the name was coined long after the period in question. When it first emerged, our parents and grandparents knew it as Contemporary, and as a decorative style it influenced everything from the shape of a sofa, a vase or a coffee pot to the pattern on a tablecloth. It was youthful, stylish and bang up to date, and that was exactly what people wanted. Every style comes with its cultural baggage and mid-century speaks of an era of confidence, one which looked ahead optimistically to a bright future of ever increasing economic prosperity with more money and leisure time to relax and enjoy life. Mid-century interiors were all about chic style and ease of living, and this was also reflected in the furniture. Small wonder it appeals to us so much today.

Deciphering the mid-century style can at first seem something of a challenge. Certainly not all modern furniture from this period will be in the mid-century style. Plastic inflatable furniture from the 1960s, for example, is definitely not mid-century (it would be an example of Pop design, in case you were wondering). As anMid-Century Interior  illustration, let’s try this: At first sight a Danish rosewood and leather dining chair by Neils Moller seems to have very little in common with an American high-gloss white fibreglass Tulip chair by Eero Saarinen, yet they’re both hailed as mid-century design classics. So what’s going on? Well, I’d say what unites these seemingly unrelated chairs boils down to three things: simple, modern elegance, functional comfort and fine craftsmanship.  In my view, it’s the mix of those three essential elements which is the hallmark of mid-century design. Mid-century designers had a dictum: Form follows function, in practice this meant no excess decoration or unnecessary flourishes.  In less capable hands it’s a mantra that might have resulted in some very boring furniture. Fortunately for us, the generation of designers who followed it was one of the best the design world has ever seen. With the possible exception of the Regency period in the early 19thcentury, perhaps no other point in history has produced quite the same number of top calibre artists and designers as the 1950s and ‘60s: Charles and Ray Eames, Robin Day, Eero Saarinen, Harry Bertoia and scores more. Unlike the Regency period, however, when only the wealthiest could afford the best furniture, mid-century designers were driven by a mission to bring good design to the many rather than the few and embraced mass-production with the result that their designs are still relatively plentiful today and Amen to that. But the mid-century movement is more than a mere roll-call of designer names (nice though that is). The philosophy of good design available to all, which those great designers championed, was taken up by manufacturers at the more affordable end of the market, with many smaller factories producing good quality, well designed furniture within easy reach of the middle class. The names of most of these designers have mostly been lost to history but today, these pieces can be picked up at reasonable prices while still ticking all the boxes for style and quality.

Where did the mid-century style originate?

After World War Two furniture designers began to move away from the hard lines and polished chrome of pre-war German inspired modernism towards a softer, warmer aesthetic. The great architect-designer Marcel Breuer led the way and others soon followed. The mood was for something more human, more organic and for this everyone looked north. Since the 1930s Scandinavian, especially Finnish, designers had developed a soft modernism, relying on wood rather than metal and drawing on their own native skills in cabinetmaking, producing designs that were simple, understated and elegant. This fitted the mood exactly and Finland, Sweden and Denmark moved centre stage, becoming the benchmark for the best of mid-century style. What we tend to think of as classic mid-century furniture, in rosewood or teak with soft, fluid curves and simplicity of form has its roots in 1940s and ‘50s Scandinavia. It wasn’t just the north that had a part to play in the mid-century look. The 1950s was a time of convergence in design, when Italian, French and British, as well as Nordic influences began to merge together, creating a style that was truly international in its outlook. But at its heart the mid-century style was solidly American. America in the 1950s was the powerhouse economy of the world with previously undreamt of levels of wealth and international influence. A new generation of young designers set out to reshape the look of modern America, pushing the boundaries of furniture design by experimenting with new materials and manufacturing techniques.

Harry Bertoia (1915-78) was born in Italy and moved to the USA in 1930. He studied at the Cranbrook Academy of Fine Arts near Detroit, Michigan and eventually became head of the metal working department at the academy. Bertoia brought a sculptor’s eye to his furniture designs, particularly in the series of wire mesh chairs he designed in the early 1950s. The Bird lounge chair, designed in 1951-2 for Knoll, has been described as looking like a piece of sculpture suspended in space. The chair, which was mass-produced but by hand rather than machine, was made by welding a sheet of metal mesh into shape and then welding it on to the wire legs.

Mid-century designers eagerly embraced the possibilities created by new materials like plywood and plastic. Eero Saarinen (1910-61) was particularly influenced by developments in the field of plastics. His Tulip chair was one of the first chairs designed with a single pedestal base and was revolutionary when it was introduced in 1956. A true Modernist, Saarinen’s chair was a solution to what he saw as the clutter of chair legs under a dining table. A design classic, the Tulip chair anticipates the Pop design movement of the 1960s by a good ten years and is every bit as striking today as it was when it was new.

Although America and Scandinavia drove the mid-century look, other countries produced significant designers whose work is highly desirable today. In Britain, William Plunkett (1928-2013) was a designer with a background in engineering who worked in a highly individual style. Like Harry Bertoia, he combined his engineering skills with a sculptural flair and created a series of elegant metal-framed seating that won many design awards.

An essential ingredient in the mid-century interior was lighting. Lighting has, of course, always had a practical use in the home but was now more closely integrated in the overall decorative scheme. The floor lamp, designed in 1950 by George Rispal is a highpoint in mid-century lighting design. The coolie shade and cylindrical shade provide task and ambient lighting respectively, while the strikingly organic form, inspired by the work of German-French artist and sculptor Hans Arp (1886-1966), means it works as a piece of sculpture every bit as much as a lamp.

Well designed, refined, slick without being cold, at times a little decadent but never camp and very grown up; the appeal of mid-century furniture is highly seductive and it’s easy to understand why, twenty years after its rediscovery, it’s in ruder health than ever.

The Charms of a Glasshouse

Orangery or Conservatory, you don’t need green fingers to succumb to the charms of a glasshouse, says Chris Yeo.

Spring is here. The clocks have leapt forward and it’s about now that every garden lover starts getting cabin fever. There is only so much peering at snowdrops and admiring frosted leaves one can do before the desire to start living life alfresco sets in. We head outdoors, ready to be captivated by Spring’s sweet breath and then, straightaway, turnaround and head back indoors. It’s just too cold! The turning of the seasonal wheel seems to have been lost on the English weather of late. What with the Beast from the East and the Pest from the West, any attempt to enjoy the outdoor life is likely to be put off by a carpeting of snow and freezing temperatures. Should we be surprised? For a country on the same latitude as Russia, our love affair with the outdoors might be considered more a triumph of optimism over reality. So just how are we supposed to uphold our claim to be a nation of gardeners when our weather is so often less than clement? You could try houseplants but, quite honestly, who wants to cope with a jungle in the sitting room, especially when it involves having to play handmaiden of the leaf shine lotion to a collection of potted dust magnets? Personally, I’ve always liked the halfway house of, to use an old-fashioned word, the glasshouse. After all, who does not long for the warmth of the sun during the darkest days of January, or dream of the tropics in the midst of a frigid February? The attraction of a conservatory or orangery is more than merely bringing the outside inside. It’s an oasis of tranquillity, a space to indulge a passion for dahlias or date palms, and one of the best places on earth to enjoy a glass of something chilled when the temperature outside is a bit too chilly. Glasshouses may do nothing to end a long winter, but, as has been the case for centuries, they bring the scents and sense of the outdoors in, despite the weather.

Conservatory lovers have Tiberius Caesar, Rome’s second emperor from 14 to 37 AD, to thank for the invention of the original glasshouse. He insisted that his favourite fruits be available all year round and set his gardeners to work, clothing cold frames with mica to capture sunlight. The earliest known glasshouses appeared in England in the 17th century, but not to designs that would be familiar to us today. At that time they were merely stone structures with more glazing in them than the buildings nearby and were designed to protect shrubs such as myrtle and bay from the worst of the winter cold.

People who live in glasshouses should refrain from throwing stones. They should also brush up on their etymology; is it a conservatory or an orangery? ‘Orangery' certainly sounds like the smarter option, but is there really much of a difference? Well, yes. An orangery looks distinctly different from a conservatory. Typically, its walls, pillars and window frames are more substantial than those of a conventional conservatory. The name reflects their original purpose, which was to protect citrus trees that would be raised in tubs and introduced into the building during early autumn. The origins of the orangery are to be found in Renaissance Italy but it was the growing taste for oranges and other citrus fruits amongst the wealthy of northern Europe that saw their popularity blossom. Fittingly, it was William III – Prince of Orange – who is credited with introducing them to Britain, when he became King in 1689. Initially exclusively built and owned by Royalty and aristocracy, orangeries quickly became a vital ingredient of any garden of taste – a space where horticulture rubbed shoulders with high fashion. People suddenly wanted to spend more time in their plant-housing space and orangeries started to become person as well as plant-friendly. It would not be unusual for plants to be removed during the hotter summer months and the area to be used for social occasions, parties and tea-drinking. Often, designed to imitate Greek or Roman temples, originally, orangeries were built as extensions on large buildings, but as fashions changed, it soon became popular to have them separate from the main house.

When the term ‘conservatory’ was initially coined, like the orangery, it referred to stand-alone structures that were often used to house exotic plants. Gradually the name became attached to buildings which, unlike orangeries, were more glass than wall and - here’s the crucial difference - were more likely to be part of the main house. A combination of the hefty window tax introduced in 1696, and the glass tax introduced in 1746, made even the smallest conservatory remarkable and put glasshouses far beyond the reach of the average country squire. To the majority of the population, it was an object of awe and signified prestige, wealth and power – the Georgian equivalent of a private jet, if you like, but things were about to change. By the 1840s both the glass and window taxes were abolished; making glasshouses affordable to a greater percentage of the population. Not only that, thanks to the Industrial Revolution, the cost of making glass dropped dramatically. New technologies of making plate glass rather than blown glass, resulted in larger, cheaper panes, and coincided with the emergence of cast iron, which was strong enough to carry larger expanses of glass. It was the perfect technological storm and the glasshouse grew and grew, not just in popularity but also size. It also coincided with the introduction of plants from all over the empire collected by a new breed of plant hunters. Travellers and merchants would return from afar with specimens not previously seen in this country. They brought in plants that we now regard as commonplace - such as orchids, lilies and lupins - but back then were heralded as exotic beauties.

The Victorian period was the Golden Age of the glasshouse. This was largely down to one man, Joseph Paxton, a man who did for the glasshouse what Isambard Kingdom Brunel did for railways and suspension bridges. Paxton was the very image of the Victorian polymath, a gardener, engineer, architect, magazine editor, landscape designer and, in his spare time, a Member of Parliament. He blazed a trail in glass architecture. Between 1836 and 1841 he built the Great Conservatory at Chatsworth in Derbyshire, at the time the large glass building in the world. Shaped like a tent, it was 277 feet long, 67 feet high and covered ¾ of an acre. Eight boilers heated the conservatory through seven miles of iron pipe and it cost over £30,000 to build. There was a central carriageway and when Queen Victoria was driven through, it was lit with twelve thousand lamps. Even she was amused, noting in her diary that it was ‘the most stupendous and extraordinary creation imaginable’. The Great Conservatory inspired the construction of conservatories worldwide but it was only the beginning for Paxton. The following decade he was commissioned to design and build Crystal Palace in London – a global symbol of Victorian Britain’s industrial prowess – that covered 19 acres and required 293,635 panes of glass.  The Crystal Palace helped popularise the use of glass as a building material, and Victorian Britain went glasshouse mad with homes sprouting conservatories of all shapes and sizes as a result of their owners being wowed by Paxton’s epic creation.

The First World War was a major blow to the glasshouse. Many gardening staff left to fight and didn’t return. Homeowners rarely had the labour or money for their upkeep, and many fell into dereliction. Even Joseph Paxton’s Great Conservatory was demolished in 1920 and the Crystal Palace – on its knees financially - went up in flames in 1936. But it isn’t all a tale of woe. Many of those that did survive have been lovingly restored and today the glasshouse – whether orangery or conservatory – is a proud feature of homes great and small, enabling lovers of nature to enjoy the feel of the garden all year-round.

Image credits: 1-2 Author’s own

Remaining; Chatsworth House Trust

Velvet Goldmine

Does the 1970s deserve to be remembered as the decade taste forgot? Absolutely not, says antiques expert Chris Yeo. It was a time of bold experiments and high glamour.

There is, they say, nothing new in fashion. Is there anything new in design? Whatever your thoughts it can’t be denied that the lure of the past has always been a potent source of inspiration. The Romans took their style tips for everything from togas to temples from the Ancient Greeks, the Elizabethans got dewy eyed over the Middle Ages and the Victorians were besotted by anything Medieval (apart from Chaucer, who was far too dirty for them). Not much has changed except that, latterly, we have tended to take a leaf from the more recent pages of style’s back catalogue. Anyone who was around in the 1970s will remember that the 1950s held a powerful draw and now it’s the turn of the ‘70s itself to be the focus of our rose-tinted spectacles. Ah, the Seventies. They called it the decade taste forgot. Of course, “they” were the 1980s, which, if we’re talking taste, is nothing short of the pot calling the kettle black. But now the decade that brought us Abba, the hostess trolley and the three-day week is being mined by a new generation of tastemakers. Fashion has been nostalgic for the 1970s for the last few seasons, with tinted sunglasses, long floral dresses and straw handbags omnipresent on the high street and catwalks alike. However, when it comes to interior design, it’s been a different story. For years, the very mention of the word ‘Seventies’ was enough to strike fear and loathing into otherwise reasonable, aesthetically broad-minded people and it seems old prejudices die hard. Style pundits from Wallpaper magazine recently collated a shortlist of the most egregious design faux pas of the past half-a-century and guess which decade came top? But look beyond the avocado bathroom suites and macramé plant pot holders and a different picture soon emerges.

In the 1970s, interior design reached a level of exuberance that has never since been equalled. The decade centred around bold patterns and textures, strong colour schemes, and a playful approach to the adaptation of space. The austere 1950s had picked up on straight-lined 1930s modernism and run with it; the radical social changes of the 1960s threw familiar aesthetics up in the air and dropped them back to earth in a psychedelic explosion and, as the mid-century slid into the 1970s, a bold new design era settled in. The great titans of 20th century design – Mies, Marcel and Arne– hung up their pencils and went into retirement leaving the playing field clear for a new generation of designers with fresh ideas. Decorating, too, shook off its formalism, mixing patterns, time periods, materials, and colours in fresh, exciting and occasionally shocking ways. And in the decade that taste apparently forgot, certain design groups were aiming to overthrow the idea of “good taste” altogether. The so-called radical design groups such as Archizoom, formed in Italy at the turn of the new decade, were up for creating playful and provocative furniture and lighting which became the building blocks for Post-Modernism in the 1980s. 
The Seventies was a study in contrasts and contradiction: austerity and decadence, muddy earth tones and eye-popping colours. Trends that began life in the hippy communes of Haight-Ashbury grew-up, got a haircut and went mainstream. Italian designers schmoozed the world with their take on high-tech, high gloss futurism and, all over the world – from Studio 54 to Abigail’s Party – a mood of defiant decadence reigned supreme. As David Netto in The New York Times memorably put it:“The 70s were sensual and decadent. People were unafraid to take risks. The furniture was made for hanging out, lounging or sex — activities infinitely more tempting than what was going on in the places where post-war design made its mark. Imagine trying to make out on a Barcelona Chair."

Decadence and glamour were the twin beats that throbbed throughout a decade that was bookmarked by Bowie at its beginning and Grace Jones at its end – oh, be still my beating heart! They were the torch bearers of the new mood that thrived in a world filled with the harsh realities of economic uncertainties and political strife. In a decade that saw two miners’ strikes, countless I.R.A. bombing campaigns, runaway inflation and powdered orange juice, what to do but loose yourself in a whirlwind of hedonism? A mood of defiant decadence was abroad, whether it was glam rockers “gender bending” – as contemporary parlance had it – on Top of the Pops or Bianca Jagger riding into studio 54 on the back of a white stallion (because, let’s face it, how else do you let people know it’s your birthday?) In London the mood was encapsulated, branded and retailed to perfection at Big Biba, opened on Kensington High Street in 1973. Biba had started life as mail order fashion outfit but over just a few years had come to dominate the UK fashion scene. Big Biba was the firms last great shout before bankruptcy in 1975 brought an end to its reign of fabulousness. Housed in Art Deco splendour at the former Barker’s department store, complete with live flamingos on the roof garden, Big Biba offered an interior vision that took elements of Hollywood’s Golden Age and mixed it louche colours, peacock feathers and peacock chairs, crushed velvets and Art Nouveau prints. It was bold, daring and worked perfectly a world jointly ruled by Marc Bolan and Pan’s People (ask your parents).

At the same time as Biba was refashioning homes in the UK, Willy Rizzo (1928-2013) was introducing a chic – not to say disco – sensibility into furniture design. Rizzo had started his career as a fashion photographer but, at the suggestion of his friends and clients – the great and the good of fashion and film, he took a sideways step into furniture design. He was soon swamped with orders and requests. Rizzo designed and produced more than thirty pieces of furniture: sofas, consoles, hi-fi furniture, coffee tables and lighting, all of which were handmade. Rizzo’s world is one where coffee tables rotate like a vinyl disc on a turntable and then open up to reveal an integrated ice bucket – perfect for those pre or post-club Campari. He opened boutiques across France and Europe and had points of sale in New York City, Miami and Los Angeles. However, in 1978, Rizzo gave it all up to return to photography, his first love. Rizzo’s furniture design channelled the sophistication of Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier, his pieces combining clean, simple lines with bold geometric forms and a delicate handling of materials. The result is classic modernism and very chic.

Willy Rizzo operated at the glamourous end of the sleek International style, a movement which took basic Form Follows Function Modernism and added a sheen of Jet Set sophistication. Luxury was the watchword and materials like rosewood, bronze and chrome were in. The interior design world’s new face could, in a way, be summed up in a single word: plastics. Technological advances had begun to create more flexible varieties that could be moulded into striking, sensual forms—strong but weightless, often without any hard edges. Designers revelled in the creative possibilities offered by new materials, especially plastics, which could be coloured boldly, mass-produced and, therefore, enjoyed by a wide audience. Lucite was the brand name for a clear acrylic plastic resembling glass or rock crystal, which really took off in the ‘70s. This lightweight material was easy to mould and carve and was an instant hit for everything from costume jewellery to furniture and, of course, lighting. Lucite gives an instant hit of space age glamour, as intoxicating now as it ever was.And it seems you can’t keep a good decade down. These days the once maligned ‘70s are bang on-trend, with designers, architects and style savvy buyers all eagerly embracing the decade’s bold and brash personality, from Tom Dixon’s gloriously retro copper globe pendants to a renewed love for houseplants, via bold, clashing patterns and old-school gold accessories. That the decade should be ripe for plundering for inspiration should come as no surprise the question is how could it take so long to happen?

We’ve included a few iconic items within this blog but please browse our website for many more incredibly cool 1970’s pieces.
Images: Lorfords own & Willy Rizzo