Form & Function: Met Archives

Treasures galore

The last time I wrote about my own possessions, it was through the lens of useful items with pleasing design. Today, items that have uses, but which go unused. Their purpose, really, is to be loved and admired. The fact of their potential functionality is enough!

As a little twist, and as a challenge to myself, I’ve searched through the Met’s archives to find parallels to my own goods. It’s so delightful to cut across a bit of time and find something connecting us to design’s past, to hold something someone else held and crafted all those years ago.

Teapot and Toast Rack, Christopher Dresser, both c. 1880.

This pairing is creator-based, not item-based. Both are made by Christopher Dresser, a Victorian trailblazer of decorative and industrial design. He wrote extensively about ornament as a science; wanted to create design-forward household goods; and, given the Industrial Revolution’s new concept of the “consumer,” was interested in the possibilities of retail on a mass scale.

These glorious items! 1881 wasn’t THAT long ago, and they make it feel like no time has passed at all.

Dresser made many geometric teapots, of which I have this doughnut-shaped one. It’s so simple, but so perfect. It balances on these spindly legs, and the tilts of the spout and handle make it seem like it might roll over, or walk, at any moment.

Both objects are almost Beauty and the Beast-ish in the way they feel alive. The toast rack seems if the joy of holding toast has bent it; as if it’s pushing itself up to meet the breakfast-eater’s hand. Can’t you imagine them both arching and stretching?

If you adore the toast rack, and wish you could find something like it from our current era—with an extra dose of whimsy—might I suggest visiting Gohar World!

They focus on the tension between luxury & functionality, asking: are the two inherently at odds? Among their toast rack-ish (read: normal) objects, they also sell lacy bags meant only to hold baguettes, a tool belt for carrying crudité, aprons for wine bottles. Usable, yes, but useful? Unclear. I love thinking about that boundary, where ultra-specific practicality circles around and becomes excessive, frivolous.

MINI PIANOS

Lighter, c. 1940, and Toy Square Piano, Charles Martin Crandall, c. 1860-1880.

Miniaturization renders a normal item fascinating; look no further than Kansas City, MO’s National Museum of Toys and Miniatures. I go every time we visit my grandparents, and could spend forever examining their trove of impossibly intricate, tiny, and shockingly fancy tableaux.

First, from my collection. This is a lighter from the ‘40s, which lights when you press the little bakelite keys. I’ve never used it, out of fear of doing it harm, but the idea that I could keeps me entranced.

I got the lighter from Biggie’s Bodega on the Lower East Side, which sells a whole host of vintage and novelty lighters. Sam, one of the owners, takes her lighters incredibly seriously: she knows everything about each one and lovingly restores them by hand. They also sell old copies of Mad Magazine, vintage toys, and hard candies, so if you’re a certain type of person (me) it’s a dream store.

The Met’s tiny piano, which can play C and F notes, is alluring not for its accuracy but for its charming off-ness. The keys are scaled too large, the black ones printed flatly. To the modern viewer, it looks especially odd because it’s a square piano; these have a smaller range of notes and are considered early versions of the modern instrument.

These treasures reflect so many eons of people! Not just in their specific designs, but in their purposes. Tea, toast, fire, music, little trinkets. The impulses to create something small and cunning, or to energize daily-use items. Next time I’ll go even further back, if you like. Maybe I’ll find an ancient phone charger.

I love you I love you, bye!