Red Door Cottage: Discreet Ornamentalism, or When Is Not Enough Not Enough?

http://corcol.blogspot.com/2008/05/biedermeier.html

In October of 1996--just when the Guiliani urban gentrification party was in full swing--New York Times columnist, Julie V. Iovine, described a trend in design she referred to as the new ornamentalism. Observing how 1980's baroque had morphed into a hodgepodge of styles in the 1990s, Iovine advanced the tasteful restraint that had been championed nearly a century earlier in Edith Wharton's classic book, The Decoration of Houses. New ornamentalism was described as being "a modern hybrid combining contemporary interpretations of the classical fitness that Wharton so admired with the small luxuries that elevate everyday comforts to a more sensual plane." More directly put, it was "simplicity with resonance."

This particular approach to simplicity, however, resonated with a very high price. It separated those who had it, from those who had it, but felt confident enough to flaunt their wealth in a seemingly "discreet" manner. A vintage basket, made by a member of the Kikgongo tribe in the Congo, might be placed in singular view atop a custom-built, Shaker style table made of precious koa wood. A gigantic Julian Schnabel work, dominating the entire living space of a downtown loft, could be viewed prominently from a Biedermeier chaise longue covered in Andean vicuña silk velvet. New ornamentalism spoke to hyper-indulgence, as well as one's ease living in a world unfettered by attachment to clutter, while imparting a lifestyle of private-jet panache.

Unfortunately, as a distinct decorative style, new ornamentalism never truly took hold. A significant impediment to its progress was that people who had it (and, more often did not have it), wanted to show it in a way so that other people would know it. This meant the antique, hand-woven Aubusson rugs, auction house 18th century Chippendale chairs, and limited edition Wedgwood china sets, needed to be crammed into the same room. Another issue was that while new ornamentalism did not necessarily promote minimalism, it resulted in creating pared down spaces that gave a deadpan impression. It was as if one were confronted by an inside joke rendering a punchline of rooms that were beautiful to look at, but not necessarily comfortable to live in.

When The Decoration of Houses was published in 1897, Edith Wharton was not yet known as the famed writer she was to become. Co-authored with the architect Ogden Codman Jr., this primer of interior design encouraged symmetry and balance over excessive ornament. Unlike her Victorian contemporaries, Wharton believed that rooms and gardens functioned as theatrical sets for the characters who entered them, rather than those gardens and rooms being overpowering characters in themselves. Nowhere is this more evident than in her novel, The Age of Innocence, in which she describes Newland Archer contemplating how his fiancée might decorate the drawing room of their future house. The narrator muses that Archer "could not fancy how May would deal with it,"--that her tastes would most likely defer "cheerfully to the purple satin and yellow tuftings of [her family's] drawing-room, to its sham Buhl tables and gilt vitrines full of modern Saxe." Archer, himself hopes that in this hypothetical rococo structure, with its "wainscoting of varnished yellow wood," he would at least be allowed to decorate his own library with "sincere" Eastlake furniture, and "plain new bookcases without glass doors."

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The Mount, Wharton's own house situated in the Berkshires, functions as a lasting legacy of her aesthetic ideals. Careful attention to the use of space, along with strong architectural elements, are incorporated to make the house a comfortable home. Interestingly, although Wharton and Codman favored luxury, they discouraged mixing and matching styles of differing locations and eras. In this way, The Mount communicates a Thoreauian call, reminding us to "simplify, simplify”—albeit, simplifying to Wharton entailed only buying one Louis XVI armoire to accompany a directoire bedroom set. And yet, most importantly, she asserts that decorating a room is a delicate balancing act: part mathematical, part historical, and for the most part, intuitive. Through quality materials, experimentation, and a good study of the past, one simply just knows when the look is right.

The questions designers ask in our own century are strikingly similar to ones posed during the time in which Wharton lived. What makes a room both comfortable and tasteful? How does one know when to add a bit more or take away slightly less? Wharton’s era, however, was markedly different from the one we live in today. The upperclasses of her time strove to mimic historical European models as a means of manufacturing an aura of cultural prestige and social domination. Currently, the Eurocentrism of the Gilded Age has been replaced by modern-day Global Americanism, which, by the very nature of American society, reflects a mélange of many cultures with diverse histories. Given this, the mixing of various periods and styles becomes an unavoidable result, much to what would have been Wharton's chagrin. Likewise, the boundary-less, and essentially boundless, movement of people, money and products across the planet has given a large swath of various classes access to well-designed items that are of good to very good quality without being exceptionally expensive. There is also the sheer amount of information that has taken knowledge, once held by a select cadre of individuals, and literally democratized the principles of interior design. The internet, cable television and magazine after magazine promising Better Homes and House Beautifuls proffer glossy images that can be found from bookstores to drugstores. In this way, even a young couple, living in the sparsely populated town of Mist, Oregon, can conceivably have an abode that rivals that of any found in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They simply have to travel sixty miles to Portland for furniture from Ikea; silk pillows, rugs and a distressed teak bench can be found at Home Goods; pre-matted gilded frames, marked down 40% at Michael’s Arts and Crafts, are perfect for a set of vintage architectural prints gotten at a yard sale in Vernonia; a mission style shelf is purchased at Target; china and stemware are acquired at Tuesday Morning in Beaverton. When they arrive home, awaiting them on their front porch, is a very large package holding an 1811 Walker and Hughes grandfather clock, won on e-bay two weeks prior. Edith Wharton, herself, could never have imagined such a world, but one wonders whether she would have relished or abhorred it.

Just as we are experiencing a revolution with the food we eat, organic vs. processed, there is similarly a revolution in the way we decorate our spaces. Clutter is seen as the enemy, and is treated with as much disdain as artery-clogging trans fats. Needless to say, in a world that has become extremely complicated and filled with sensory overload, a room free of chachkas and bric-a-brac does offer meditative calm that imparts a feeling of organization and efficiency. Yet, is it possible that, in our attempt to re-create a feng-shui world of zen simplicity, we have gone too far? Has a diet of de-cluttering made us so apprehensive about anything perceived as extraneously decorative that we are left with rooms bordering on the ornamentally anorexic? Perhaps, it is time to rethink Iovine's evocation of Wharton and approach discreet ornamentalism in a new manner. Restraint should be the rule, but we should always keep in mind to incorporate luxurious elements of the sensual: venetian plaster on the walls, a gilt mirror, a silver tea service; or a vibrant color that highlights a particular chair. In the wake of the real estate crash and ensuing economic crisis, new ornamentalism presently may mean forgoing the $12,000 Bottega Montana custom dining room tables and the $125,000 rare Adam urns. Yet, we cannot underestimate how fortunate we are to live at this particular time when a convergence of factors makes it possible for an ordinary person to live with the kind of affordable refinement that was out of reach, not only when Wharton and Codman lived, but even when Iovine wrote her piece in the Times some fifteen years ago. Whether our own aesthetic leans towards modernism or traditionalism, the basic rules are the same. "The supreme excellence is simplicity," Wharton assures us. "Moderation, fitness, relevance--these are the qualities that give permanence to the work of the great architect." And, in essence, these are the key elements that have always kept the House of Home from becoming the House of Mirth.