New discovery: Woodstock Handmade Houses

I'd never heard of Woodstock Handmade Houses, written by Robert Haney and David Ballantine and photographed by Jonathan Elliott, until I liberated it from the clearance shelf at my local Half Price Books (ha! love that I can still make scores there). It is funny to find a relic from upstate New York here in San Antonio, but it's not like I'm the first New Yorker to relocate to this godforesaken place, and doubtless not the last. Anyway, this book is light on words, heavy on spectacular photos, but here's the first lines from the introduction:

When the American dream still seemed a good trip, about seventy years ago, some nonconformists got together to explore a different lifestyle up in Woodstock, where the Catskill mountains start getting tall. They were mostly artists, craftsmen, tinkerers and thinkers. In those days they got labeled: Bohemians. Today, perhaps they'd be tagged freaks. Their first shelters were sometimes just a hunk of oilcloth or a free flop in a farmer's barn. But when they really started to build they went heavy on imagination, light on money.

Let me say up front that while I admire the houses-yurts-forts-domes-secret hideouts featured in this book, I don't think I'd want to live in one. I'm intimately familiar with New York winters and these singular domiciles don't seem to come equipped with many of the basic amenities. But, holy crap, aren't they incredible? I mean, call it outsider art, hippie homesteads, freecycled, upcycled, the original green design, whatever. Some rose out of the ruins of old schoolhouses, churches or barns; others appear to have sprouted from the trees. 

According to the introduction, both authors had built and resided in their own handmade houses. I wonder if they're still standing? Or if any of these houses remain? The book was published in 1974 so who knows? I'd like to assign some intrepid reporter to go find out, please.

My kind of estate sale

Two Fridays ago, I went to my ideal estate sale. It had all the ingredients: unrehabilitated (i.e., smelly), overstuffed, shag-rugged midcentury house belonging to (dearly departed) art teacher. I've addressed this topic in a previous post but I'll reiterate: Yes, I feel like the lowest bottom-feeder when I trawl the classifieds for the estates of artists and art teachers—but I can't help that they always have the best stuff!

The first clue that you've stumbled upon my ideal estate sale is in the photo above; the house must have a built-in stereo/PA system, preferably in the kitchen. (I still nurse regrets about the House that Got Away nine years ago, which featured just such a hi-fi—the controls were housed in a built-in desk in the center of the kitchen. I love my ramshackle ranch, but, alas, she does lack a built-in sound system.) 

Still, it's not like you can buy the sounds system, so let's move on to the craft room. Is the existence of a craft room a good sign? Why yes, yes it is—especially when it features a wall of shelves groaning under the weight of vintage decorating, crafting and art books. I scored books for myself and I scored books for the etsy shoppe, including doubles of some great books I've featured on this very blog, which I'll be selling soon. 

This lady had a ton of diet and exercise books, including Jane Fonda and Heavyhands and all that kind of thing from the glory days of aerobics. Mostly I resisted, but I had to get this ’70s gem from Family Circle,  How to Stay Pretty & Trim (hint: it takes lots of Jell-o salads!).

I bought a pile of crafty books. As you know, I'm no crafter so these will probably get listed on etsy. Then again, they are so very pretty...

And I'm not sure I've seen more Sunset Books in one place as I did here. As you also know, I have a bit of a Sunset Book obsession so not one could go unpurchased. But now I face the conundrum of what to sell because I like to hoard the various editions of each title. So, for example, while I have Cabins and Beach Houses (sixth printing, May 1959), I did not have (till now) Cabins and Vacation Houses (seventh printing, May 1970), which means I've gotta keep both, right? (Another awesome thing about this estate sale is that the homeowners appear to have actually used their Sunset Books to build shelves, furniture, weird cabinets—all the stuff I enjoy looking at but would never attempt to make.)

And just to clarify: This family's library was not confined strictly to crafting and DIYing and decorating and other artsy stuff. Makeshift shelves and DIY bookcases filled every room and were grouped by theme: theater arts in one of the bedrooms, psychology in the living room, classic lit in the den. I bought this 1950 Perma Giant edition of Emile Zola's Nana cuz the silhouette illustrations by some genius named Fred A. Mayer are absolutely amazing. I'm thinking about buying another copy online (they're quite cheap) and pulling the pages out for framing, but since dissembling books makes me feel like a monster I'll probably never do it. 

When previewing this sale online, my kids were excited to see enough textiles to fill one of those punnily named sewing stores (we patronize one called Yarnivore). The older daughter has recently taken up finger-kintting, which I don't understand, but basically she makes very long chains that end up stuck between sofa cushions So both kids put in orders for specific colors of yarn, which I ended up totally having to fight for in the apparently very popular sewing room (yes, there was a sewing room, separate from the craft room). Why so crowded? It seemed that a search party had been sent to this sale by one of our local cults, possibly Yearning for Zion. Not that I'm any kind of expert on our local cults. 

I'm making this assumption because the party consisted of one stern, Amish-looking gentleman bossing around several meek women of varying ages, all of whom wore hand-sewn, floor-length dresses, Little House on the Prairie–style. Perhaps they were just odd, and had made their sartorial choices of their own free will. Perhaps. Since they seemed to be focused on furnishing their compound and dressing their family—as opposed to buying old books to hoard or resell—we didn't really throw elbows, but I gotta say the action was pretty hot in the sewing room. I barely got out of there alive, with just a few technicolor skeins tucked under my arm. But that's what made this my ideal estate sale—driving away with a car full of stuff, and a story to tell.

From the etsy shoppe: Architectural Digest Celebrity Homes

Coco Chanel's staircase

I hope it's not troubling anyone that lately this blog has been more bookish than thingish; that's just where my head's at during these waning, hideous days of summer. I know in other parts of the world early August is prime-time hazy crazy dazey what-memories-are-made-of, but here in San Antonio you just want to wither and die. So I like to stay hunkered in my cave as much as possible and sort books.

Architectural Digest Celebrity Homes is a great big honkin' coffee table book published in 1977. I'm not a huge fan of the magazine—too glossy, too remote—though I admit I haven't really read it since the renowned EIC Paige Rense "retired" a few years back. When Conde Nast shuttered two of my favorite shelter mags, Domino and House & Garden, they sent AD in its place and mostly it collected dust. This book, however, is different. I love it because it's a 1970s time capsule; the selection of celebrities is just the right mix of right on and WTF. Gayelord Hauser? Who he? Sybil Connolly? Huh? But then: Woody Allen, Pauline Trigere, Robert Redford, Joni Mitchell,  Bob Newhart, Diana Vreeland, Sonny & Cher... The list goes on (and on—I also have the second volume, which I'll feature at some point).

For the most part, the interiors in this book are not my particular cup of tea—too much toile, too many French antiques, heavy fabrics, you know—rich people stuff (though Joan Crawford's pad was pretty cool). But imagining Woody holding court at his farm table or Truman Capote descending the spiral staircase into his Hamptons library? You gotta love it. I've got a copy for sale at the etsy shoppe, but you can be sure I wouldn't be selling it if I didn't already have one in my library.

Woody Allen's dining room

Senator Edward Kennedy's living room

Pauline Trigere's guest bedroom

Barbara Walters' living room

Truman Capote's living room

Sunrise, Sunset Books

First edition 1968, fourth printing, 1970.

Sunset Magazine is what you might call venerable; a lifestyle mag focused primarily on the West, it's been around since the late 19th century. I'm not sure how well it's doing these days. For a time, a few years back at least, I noticed they had prime pockets at the check-out at my local supermarket chain, but I haven't seen a copy in ages. I would thumb through it, hoping their sense of style would be somehow frozen in time (frozen in the 1950s-70s), but alas, why would it be? 

Anyway, there's no reason to bother with the magazine when so many copies of their floppy midcentury guide books and idea books can still be found at garage sales, thrift stores, library sales, etc, at least in this part of the country. I started buying Sunset Books not long after moving into our midcentury ramshackle ranch house and only when I started taking inventory of my piles a few months back did I realize quite how many I had amassed over the past eight years. I've sold almost all of my doubles, triples and quadruples at the etsy shoppe (very pleased to be spreading the Sunset goodness all over the country), but I can't bring myself to get rid of the revisions and later editions of the originals, even though the content is often not that wildly different. 

It's those covers! Just look at how "recreation rooms" evolved into "leisure rooms" and on into "family rooms, dens & studios." The names changed, but the propping didn't necessarily: guitars remain a feature, as do art projects, though painting is replaced by textile art and then the typewriter.  

Second printing of 1974 edition.

First printing, October 1979.

I love the way the kitchen covers progress (or regress, depending on your POV), especially the way the model moms are dressed—I'll take the ’70s cover, thanks! Especially those Bertoia counter chairs. But why are the mom and daughter shooting daggers at one another a la Betty and Sally Draper over a bowl of fruit? When did a mother ever give a kid the stink-eye for helping herself to an apple? Mysterious...

Fourth printing (December 1968) of 1967 edition.

Revised edition, first printing, April 1974.

Sixth printing (June 1980) of 1976 edition.

Even more mysterious is the transformation of the children's craft book covers over just a few years, from primitive illustration (love the dollhouse) to pitiful elephant craft to menacing puppet. But I like it.

Tenth printing February 1970.

Tenth printing February 1973.

Second printing April 1976.

Etsy and spring break

Greetings from everyone's favorite Spring Break destination—Northern New Jersey! Right now it's hard for me to imagine doing anything but drinking Merlot and watching Pawn Stars on my parents' couch, but probably, maybe, hopefully, I'll be doing a little thrifting here in the hometown, though more likely I'll just be spending money in a decidedly unthrifty manner in NYC. All this being another way of saying: I probably won't be posting too much this week. Perhaps not at all. But you can always follow the swathe I cut through the Jersey thrifts on Instagram, and I also just listed a bunch fabulous new (old) books on my etsy shoppe. Here are a few choice pages—is this freckled amd false-eyelashed girl not completely awesome? Not sure why I'm selling this book...

More midcentury goodness from the etsy shoppe

I've been scanning and photographing and uploading and tinkering with photos of books for the past few weeks and let me say, I'm not sure if etsy is worth the trouble! But I'm not going to give up. At least, not yet. Any day now, vintage children's books will be raining down on ye olde Thingummery shoppe, just in time for the shopping madness that traditionally precedes the President's Day holidays. (Seriously, are you counting down the days like I am?) Till then, continue to feast your eyes on these scrumptious photos taken from the pages of my collection of decorating, gardening and cocktail books, and then feel free to go buy them if the spirit moves you.

Mick Jagger + George Nelson = Best Pinup Ever

It doesn't seem likely that I've coined this term, but...furniture porn? Does it already exist? Your idea of furniture porn may be somewhat different, but this photo sums it up for me: a downy-cheeked 22-year-old Mick Jagger posing languidly, somewhat petulantly, in his basement flat in Bryanston Mews. Somewhere beyond the frame lies his girlfriend of that moment, the model Chrissie Shrimpton (petulant and languid, too, one likes to imagine), but within the frame? A a beautiful walnut George Nelson for Herman Miller shelving unit (at least, I'm pretty sure that's what it is—I don't consider myself an expert in the things I can't afford). Mick looks like a Herman Miller salesman/spokesmodel, and this could be the world's most awesome print ad. It would also be a fabulous poster, framed and hanging in my office. If there were a way to make that happen, I would.

My brother-in-law gave me this coffee table book, The Rolling Stones: In the Beginning (Firefly Books, 2006), a few Christmases ago, because he knows, like most people who know me know, that no matter my love for chick singer-songwriters, the Stones will always be my Desert Island band, and that they remain in heavy rotation on the soundtrack to my life, despite the fact that I've been listening to them since 1982 (when I first laid eyes on stringy weird rooster-struttin Mick in his cheesy workout togs in the "Start Me Up" video). They just never get old. Well, okay, they did get pretty goddamned old, but these Stones, in this book, circa spring 1965 to summer 1966, are eternal eye candy, a perfect dream forever. My apologies to the Danish photographer Bent Rej, who took these photos, for not doing his work justice, but I invite everyone to go buy the book on amazon; it is quite reasonably priced.

I have to warn you though—out of more than 300 pages, there are only a handful of photos that belong in the Special Rolling Stones issue of Furniture Porn magazine, which I will found and edit one day. There aren't any of Keith; not surprisingly, you find him onstage, outside or on the floor of a nondescript hotel room. But there are some excellent shots of homebodies Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts as well as a good one of the depressingly haggard Brian Jones. Here he is in his rented house at 14 Elm Park Mews in Chelsea. Apparently every stick of furniture in the place was rented but dig that groovy hi-fi. That was Brian's.

Here's Bill Wyman and son in his London flat (at 8 Kenilworth Court for those who are mapping a future walking tour). Love the sofa. Love the low scale of all the furniture—and the picture of the TV where the TV is supposed to be? Or is that a radio? Not sure.

Charlie was the real surprise. I didn't realize he is half Danish, which would explain his good design sense. These photos of his flat at Ivor Court in Gloucester Place could have come straight from a Terence Conran book. Yum.