Danish Teak Classics: Fine Vintage Danish Modern Furniture

DOCOMOMO Must-Reads

While searching for interesting mid-century modern buildings to see on my upcoming trip to Manhattan, I stumbled across the new DOCOMOMO website for New York/Tri-State area. Within their news feed, they posted a wonderful list of must-reads for anyone interested in mid-century modern architecture. The Modern Library is a compilation of notable books published in 2010, ranging in topic from women in architecture to utopian modernist Japan, to the influence of Cold War architecture, to the beginnings of eco-architecture in mid-century design. Fans of Danish Teak Classics may especially be interested in Alvar Aalto Library in Vyborg: Saving a Modern Masterpiece by Markku Karjalainen, and Knoll: A Modernist Universe by Brian Lutz. 

DOCOMOMO stands for the DOcumentaton and COnservation of buildings, sites, and neighborhoods of the MOdern MOvement and is an international organization founded in the Netherlands in 1988. Their mission is to "increase public awareness and appreciation of Modern movement architecture, landscape and urban design; to identify and document local examples; and to advocate for the protection of those determined most significant." There are 10 regional chapters within DOCOMOMO US and many more DOCOMOMO International chapters. Whether you are a modernist affictionatto or working in the field, these sites are a great source for news and opportunities for involvement in the preservation of the structures of our recent past.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics

The Nelson A. Rockefeller Empire State Plaza

Last Thursday, I tagged along to drop some friends off at the Albany Airport. Afterward, the remainder of our group walked around the historic district of Albany starting at Lark St. Emerging from cool, tree lined streets of colorful walk-up apartments, we were greeted by possibly the most glorious beacon of modernity I've yet to see. Stark, clean, and imposing, it was obviously an aftermath of urban renewal. In reading about the architect afterward, I had to smile to see he was a friend of Robert Moses. In true urban renewal fashion, 9,000 lower-income residents were displaced and small ma & pa shops were ruined by the loss in business if not by the loss of their physical store. Like many city downtown areas in the 1960's, Albany's was blighted, worn, and inhabited in large by newly immigrated Italians and Jews. After what Governor Rockefeller saw as an embarrassing visit from Princess Beatrix of the Netherlands for the celebration of Albany's strong Dutch history, Rockefeller decided to give the seat of the state government a make-over of epic proportions.

Although, what has been lost to urban renewal projects can sadly never be reclaimed, the movement in itself interesting and deeply revealing of the aspirations and fears during that era. Aside from the Empire State Plaza, Governor Nelson A. Rockefeller is remembered as a prolific philanthropist in the realms of art and business. As President of both the Museum of Modern Art and Rockefeller Center, Gov. Rockefeller, who looked oddly similar to the character Jack from 30 Rock, played an influential role in the selection of art and architecture in New York. Governor Rockefeller worked with architect Wallace Harrison to develop the impressive government plaza in Albany. Expansive, lavish, and monumentally scaled, the complex is everything an ideal of modernism ought to be. The buildings are overbearing and onerous, yet elegant and aloof. The reflective pool and stone plaza were awash with sunlight, setting an inviting atmosphere while the buildings are secretive in their monotonous repetition. The stoic Agency Buildings are balanced by the artistically expressive form of The Egg, which rightly houses the performing arts center. I felt as though I was walking through a work of art and a t-shirt and jeans seemed utterly out of place. For being an expression of democracy, the architecture had a peculiar conflicting aesthetic between Imperial importance and that of the Soviet Communists. In turn, the space made you feel both self-important and inconsequentially small.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics

The Lustron House

This month, the Preservation Alliance of Minnesota will be hosting a tour of Minnesota's largest grouping of Lustron houses. The Lustron House was one of the more curious answers to the housing shortage after the end of World War II. In 1947, Carl Strandlund designed the prefabricated houses that could be built on-site within two weeks time. The houses were advertised as "maintenance free" since every surface was made of porcelain-enameled steel and the exterior would never need to be repainted. The houses originally came with 8 different layouts and the color choice of semi-matte exterior panels in maize yellow, surf blue, dove gray, or desert tan. At an affordable price of $10,000, Lustron houses were popping up in America at the rate of 1 every 4 days. Many of the 12,000 returning veteran soldiers were forced in desperation to make homes in grain silos, train cars, and chicken coops. My own grandmother's honeymoon home was a converted coop. The Lustron house seemed to be answer to the prayers of a young family, but the Lustron phenomenon was to be short lived. Fearing job loss for union builders, the Lustron houses were forbid in many cities, including Chicago. Then in 1950, the Lustron corporation filed for bankruptcy. Though its productivity was stilted by political concerns and agendas, approximately 2680 Lustron houses were constructed, of which 2000 or so still survive.

Don't miss your chance to see one of these unique houses in person. On August 21st, the Preservation Alliance of Minnesota will be hosting a tour of the Minnesota's largest grouping of Lustron Houses. The tour begins at 10:00 am and starts at the Washburn Library on 5244 South Lyndale Ave in Minneapolis.

Architect and MIT professor Carl Koch, who had worked briefly for Lustron on a deluxe model that was never produced, later reflected: “When I leaf back through the records-plans, brochures, contracts, the transcript of Congressional autopsies-I admit to a confusion of feelings between the way we regarded it then . . . and the way it turned out to be. Seldom has there occurred a like mixture of idealism, greed, efficiency, stupidity, potential social good, and political evil. Seldom, surely, has a good idea come so close to realization, and been so decisively slugged.” (Sourced from www.lustronpreservation.org)

For further reading or advice on Lustron preservation, visit www.lustronpreservation.org

A documentary covering the history of the Lustron Houses has also been produced, which I have not yet seen.

Brief Thoughts on Norway, by David Sollie

Through the kindness of strangers I spent the month of July living and working in the former train station of Hval, Norway.   About a hundred years ago some of my forebears lived within a few miles of this place this and I've always been looking for a reason to visit.  My reason came in the form of an available studio space, where I've been able to make new paintings and find inspiration.   As a studio I've been using the first floor of what was once the train station's freight depot.  The building is perhaps a hundred years old.  It is a two story structure, build in the post and beam manner.  The exposed joinery in the upstairs level is quite lovely, and it's still doing the job.  Even in heavy winds the freight station seems completely solid.   Overall the houses and buildings in Norway seem to be remarkably well built, perhaps even seaworthy, which is what you might expect from a nation with a history of outstanding boat-building. 

   
The exterior of my studio, with some new pictures                                                                                        

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The Bookshelf: the mirror

Upon first visiting the home of a friend, colleague, or romantic interest of sorts, I snoop. We all do, so admit it. I don't go as far as opening cabinets and closets, but I assess the order of the room, the art on the wall, and if there is a bookshelf, I am drawn to it with an almost irrepressible curiosity.

Aside from multitasking as efficient insolation during the blustery winter months, a wall of books intimately reveals the personality and interests of the person who stocked it. Upon a quick glance, one can gauge the owners level of education, the span of their interests, and to an extent, their ambitions in life. Are their shelves filled with travel books [and have the pages been dog-eared or the spines broken, indicating that they have actually traveled to these places]? Are they from Barnes & Noble or are they the type to get lost in secondhand bookstores? Are there any old or valuable books? Fiction? Non-fiction? Foreign Languages? Machiavelli, Edith Wharton, Capote, or Sedaris? Are there an alarming number of self-help books? Has their collection been contrived knowing that people like me will be perusing the titles and inferring broad personal conclusions from them? All these details piece together to construct a multifaceted persona that is likely to be more honest than their match.com profile.

The words filling the pages on those shelves are as incriminating as the shelves themselves. Like any piece of furniture, the bookshelf is a bold representation of the owner's style, or lack thereof. If the shelf is of high quality, it suggests that the books, art, and collectibles they hold are prized possessions. Is it a built-in system or a midcentury modular system? This can indicate either a preference for stability or a propensity to pick up and go. At this point in my life, it is the latter that appeals to me, for its ease to assemble and disassemble, its multitude of arrangement possibilities, also for the clean minimalist aesthetic. In midcentury Danish design, Kai Kristiansen and Poul Cadovius designed the most popular modular shelving systems. Both systems are quite similar, but have notable aesthetic and mechanical differences. Kristianson's FM system or FM-reolen features metal wall standards and often rosewood storage pieces that creates a pleasing juxtaposition of utility and luxury. The Cado system, aptly named after Cadovius, is visually a bit warmer, with teak wall standards supporting the teak storage units with golden brass rods angled at a 45 to support the outer edge of the shelving units. So embrace your style, cultural knick-knacks, and conglomeration of literature, for even if your shelves are stocked with comics, romance novels, and Troll dolls, I believe it is of greater offense to have none at all.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics

Koppla av: Treehotel

Sweden and the other Scandinavian countries may have been late to embrace modernism, however, when they did, they did so with open arms. In the 1930's, modern architecture came to represent the Social Democratic vision of emancipation. At a time when anti-Semitism was promoted by some governments, King Charles XIV of Sweden had already granted Jews legal protection and civil rights in 1838. As the hostile persecution escalated and expanded to envelop Modern designers, Sweden welcomed them as well. The Modern architecture of the 1930 Stockholm Exhibition was light, airy, restrained, and optimistic, which made it ideal for representing the egalitarian political reform for the increasingly urbanized city. Swedish homes were traditionally designed around a warm hearth, rich woods, and bright colors, but because the surge in Modern design in Scandinavia was spurred by conditions of exile, I believe Swedish Modernism took on a more humanistic and calming aesthetic than that of other locales. Bruno Mathsson (1907-1988) was one leading Swedish architect and furniture designer who mastered the art of comfort. Drawing inspiration from the organic forms of nature and the study of ergonomics, he created a line of bent wood seating including the Pernilla chair, which is, in my opinion, arguably the most comfortable chair yet designed. Rather than a passing phase, contemporary Swedish architecture today seems to have inherited this cool yet calming persona.

The latest example is the Treehotel, an amalgam of individually standing hotel rooms in a forest near Harads, just 60 km south of the Arctic Circle. The mastermind behind the project, Kent Lindvall, dreamed of a hotel of sorts where each room stood alone in the woods and was utterly unique in design. He commissioned different architects for each room, and thus, each unit takes a wholly different approach to relaxation in the woods. The mirrorcube is as you would expect, a cube-shaped unit with mirrored-glass on all sides, allowing it to blend in with its surroundings. What you wouldn't expect is that it is, like the rest of the units, elevated 4-6 meters off the ground. In 5 years time, the Treehotel complex will consist of 24 units designed by 24 different architects. Each unit is state-of-the-art, high-design, and eco-friendly; Lindvall sought to make as little an impact on the pristine forest that envelops the complex. Rather than opting to offer guests a snowmobile safari, he offers them guided treks through the landscape. At the Treehotel, guests find serenity in their solitary unit and a oneness with the nature they are perched within.

For a more in-depth look at the design of individual Treehotel units, read the article posted on designboom.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics

“36 Hours in Copenhagen”

So this feels a bit like a cop-out, but I couldn't skip connecting our readers to the wonderful travel article and slide show provided by the New York Times on July 1st. The Danes consistently rank amongst the happiest people in the world, and I can see why with 9 out of 10 adults owning a bicycle. Like many these days, I've rediscovered the childish joy of two wheels. No matter where your travels take you this year, check with your hotel, because they may just offer a complimentary bicycle or suggest where to find one. The NYTimes produced another fine article on this topic last year.

To add a little substance to this article, I've looked into one of the landmarks highlighted in 36 Hours in Copenhagen. Vor Frelsers Kirke (Our Savior's Church) is a baroque church built in Christiania during the 1680's symbolizing King Christian V's absolute rule after Denmark lost the lower part of what is now Sweden. On a side note, this long destructive war is memorialized in an enormous stained glass window for Swan Turnblad's Mansion in Minneapolis. When you go there for the My Paradise exhibit, take a few minutes to study the message of the window. Throughout Vor Frelser Kirke, one can find Christian V's emblem, the order of the elephant, aligning the first hereditary monarch with this impressive architecture. For a Lutheran church, it is uncharacteristically similar to the Baroque Roman Catholic cathedrals. In fact, the alter is said to be an exact replica of Borromini's design at San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane in Rome. This Nether-Palladian church is large by Danish standards, but it is the later spiraled tower that is literally the pinnacle of the structure. The tower was added about 50 years after the church was completed and served both as a visual interest and for defense purposes. The exterior staircase spirals upward to the right so that a soldier could rest the barrel of his gun on the railing while using his left hand to balance himself on the rising steps.

The Establishment of the Wilderness Camps

My post this week was inspired by the most recent episode of This American Life. If you've ever been a camp counselor or a camper, I highly recommend you download it; I can't tell you how much I laughed. I still keep the letters from my campers in the same file as my college graduation certificate, loan documents, and some original photographs from at late-19th c World's Fair. The podcast, in turn, lead me to think about the institution of summer camps in America. Today, young adults from all over the world come to the states to work at and be part of this uniquely American summer ritual. By delving into the history a bit, I've noticed that many of the founding principles have changed very little.

The first camps were established in the 1880's and aimed to expose young boys to life in the wilderness. Some feared the constraints of the Victorian lifestyle were emasculating young men. To counteract this cultural effect, the early camps had an undomesticated connection with nature. The activities had little planning or supervision, allowing the boys to go on long hikes through the woods, go fishing, and go swimming unsupervised and without lessons, like the photo of boys jumping off a rock face into Lake Champlain. In the early 20th c, boys camps further developed this haven of masculinity by modeling them after an army base, complete with drills, calisthenics, army-like uniforms, and taps. After the romance of war had worn away with WWI, the camps sought more uplifting themes, like Wild West settlement and Native American camps. Interestingly, these themes are still quite common, despite the often politically incorrect activities associated with them. Separate camps were developed for girls with activities fitting their future domestic roles, like basket weaving. A sign of the times, Jewish children were not admitted to the camps for white Christian boys until after WWII, but had similar camps of their own, the largest near Schroon Lake, New York.

Camp Santanoni, the camp I am working to restore this summer, was a private camp, but it embodied many of these early Victorian ideas of wilderness. Robert and Anna Pruyn were an affluent and influential family in Albany, hobnobbing with other leaders of that era, such as J. P. Morgan and Teddy Roosevelt. They built Camp Santanoni in the heart of the rugged Adirondacks in 1893 to reap the benefits of a more pure and simple life in harmony with nature. Traveling two full days by horse and buggy over rough terrain that could barely be categorized as a road, they finally found the freedom that only a rustic wilderness could provide. Here, young women were allowed to let their hair down (figuratively, but most definitely not literally). Though the dress code was still quite strict (street-sweeping skirts, high-neck collars, and activity-appropriate hats), the women who visited Anna Pruyn's camp weren't just encouraged to venture into the outdoors, but were expected to try their hand at any activity in which the men were engaged. They went on hikes, went canoeing, fished, camped in the Adirondack lean-to's, rode horses and shot guns. While this was all exhilarating, from letters and journals written by Anna's niece Huybertie Pruyn, it seems the most exciting aspect of a vacation at Camp Santanoni was the freedom to talk to men without the burdensome supervision that was mandatory for young women during the late 19th c and early 20th c. They played pranks, teased, flirted, danced, and sang. I believe they lived life to the fullest and cherished its most basic joys during their time spent here.

For further reading on the socio-cultural history of American summer camps, A Manufactured Wilderness: A History of the American Summer Camp by Abigail A. Van Slyck is a wonderful resource.

A photographic sideshow from A Manufactured Wilderness.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics

“From Bauhaus to Our House” by Tom Wolfe

I never understood the country blue and dusty pink in my mother's house nor the tie-on seat cushions with ruffled edging. The frosted glass bulb shades on the faux-gold chandelier even had a ruffled edge. Everything in that era seemed to be a lie. The linoleum poorly feigned being tile, the hairstyles were unnaturally curly, and the prints on clothing rarely wrapped completely around the shirt. Did that person really think no one would see them from the back much less the side? It's a curious phenomenon that unfortunately continues today. As I take the satirical approach to the era marked in my mind by eerie visits from the Pillsbury dough boy to homes with interiors poorly-mimicking early-American traditional craft through mass-manufactured means, author Tom Wolfe has taken a similarly bitter, yet incredibly informed approach to the architecture and artistic movements of early Modernism. And in effect, he's inadvertently helped me to understand, and possibly appreciate, the post-modernism ideology.

Before I finished the first page, I was struck by what seemed unnecessarily vitriolic criticisms of mid-century design. Then I checked the copyright date: 1981. Oh. Though feeling slightly dismissive, I was intrigued and continued to read. After all, he wasn't wholly wrong. I guess many of our mid-century elementary schools do look like a "duplicating-machine replacement-parts wholesale distribution warehouse," but I don't buy that Modernism took hold in America because the CEO's became "…diffident and reticent….willing to accept that glass of ice water in the face, that bracing slap across the mouth, that reprimand for the fat on one's bourgeois soul, known as modern architecture" – despite how convulsively witty Wolfe states it.

By the Victorian Era, American's had long forgotten the assault of the British on our democracy and shores. Europe was idolized and those who could afford to, went on "the Grand Tour" of London, Paris, and Rome. This idolatry holds true today to some extent, as it did in the early 20th c as well. Americans are practical and hard-working, but Europeans, they're artistic, moody, and they have aristocrats. It was the onerous influence of the bourgeoisie on the arts that originally fueled the avant-garde modernists. Otto Wagner and Joseph Olbrich created the Vienna Secession, being the first to reject the national establishment for the arts and architecture, they created an artistic compound immune to any outside influences of taste. Gropius picked up on this notion, centering his commandments of design around the attainment of a purely non-bourgeois creation. Ultimately, after some fine-tuning, to be non-bourgeois was to be equated with being machine-made. Honest materials, honest construction, and the elimination of expensive and luxurious materials and forms was touted as the pinnacle of design; functionalism at its purest. Yet, as Wolfe points out, these ingenuous architects were designing flat roofs without the least of an overhang on the 52nd latitude – a line also shared by Canada, Moscow, and Siberia. With new eyes, it seems Gropius, le Corbusier, Mies, and the like, had supplemented Functionalism for Non-bourgeoisie to give a necessary base to their anti-establishment manifesto. Whether you adore Modernism or detest it, Wolfe's satirical take is one worth entertaining.

On a relative side note, the MoMA will be opening an exhibit entitled: Underground Gallery: London Transport Posters, 1920s–1940s, on July 28th, 2010. The exhibit features graphic works by László Moholy-Nagy, an instructor at Bauhaus when the school was beginning to fully develop its intentions to meld the arts and industry.

Caroline Engel for Danish Teak Classics