NICK HAUS

I love winter --

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 06:31:00 +0000

-- but not the dismal slushy mess we've had most of the last week. Why not have some lovely snow instead? I really like that it's been colder today. Send more of this, posthaste.

I was photographing a few vases in the Little House (which is not heated; it was lovely and frigid in a way that I perversely enjoy), and I needed some flowers to demonstrate scale and use. These pathetic posies were the best thing my frozen garden could produce:

Blackened sticks, almost. Reviled vinca, which I tried in vain to eradicate in the fall, looks better than anything else that I was willing to cut (the rhododendrons & mountain laurel look lovely, of course, and the rhododendrons are even starting to bud). I really haven't yet reached the level of sophistication as a gardener where I can pontificate on how lovely my grounds are even when everything is dead or in dormancy, waxing poetic on husks and dessicated stems, Piet Oudolf style (which I love from afar).

I miss growing, thriving things with leaves and berries. I don't miss flowers all that much, though I am looking forward to the fruit trees this year, which should give us a pretty good show for the first time this spring.

Still, I'll must admit that I lust for something more like these memories of Lake Como in late summer; taken at Villa Melzi and Villa Carlotta. I love a good old fashioned specimen garden:

Did that silly Italian peasant majolica vase put me in this frame of mind? I'm sure it's a little dismal on the lakes as well, but I doubt there's slush falling from the sky. Shall we go for a few weeks?

Christmas at Pastiche

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 01:34:00 +0000

Things have gotten busy here at Nick Haus, leaving the blog to fend for itself; the holidays have made my day job and little store bustle as never before. But I want to show you a fun recent project that I worked on with my neighbors, who happen to own a truly delicious bakery -- I helped Eileen & Brandt (the owners) to make Pastiche look like Christmas:

Several garlands, a dove milagro and a bushel of lacquered berries do the trick. You can never have too much milk glass and sugared fruit:

But what they are truly known for is their astonishingly good desserts -- it's almost painful to watch:

If I don't send out another missive before, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!

All beautiful photos taken by Steven, who is not feeling very appreciated tonight, though I assure you this is not the case.

Death (with lace)

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

... from a mausoleum in Southern France: Happy Halloween!

Tweedy Weather

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 26 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

This weather makes me desire tweed above all else -- and my favorite tweed is Donegal, from northwestern Ireland. Like most things I love, the most dedicated consumers of Donegal tweeds are in Japan -- thus this extremely well done video by Beams of Tokyo on a particular, very small family of weavers; I highly recommend watching it.

MOLLOY & SONS from BEAMSBROADCAST on Vimeo.

The Two Guys in My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

... caught in a rare moment of rest. They look a little shell shocked:

Steven and Aesop.

Why Don't You ...

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

... plant a tree smack dab in front of your door. I can't tell you why I love this so much, but I do:

I can half tell you why I'm into this -- mainly that it's symmetrical, and thus balanced, but also profoundly weird.

The first image is the Villa Melzi on Lake Como, the second is of a lovely Russell Warren designed house a few blocks from where I live.

And no, not a Diana Vreeland dictate, but I say go for it.

Springer Tortoiseshell (and Acceptable Poufs) at Wright

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 17 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Ok, fine: I admit it. I do like Karl Springer, and luxe interiors of the 1960s -- blame it on my grandmother and all of her Dunbar furniture, silk velvet upholstery sectional sofas in fawn brown and silver bibelots scattered around. In an abstract sense I understand good taste and know that I'm supposed to live austerely with a lot of Serge Mouille and Charlotte Perriand, but frankly I find all of this recherché 60s crap a lot more comfortable. I would file Springer, Jansen and Mendoza in the pantheon of designers who favored luscious materials, good proportions and classical references over good taste or at least progressive design work, and I would rather have their works because they remind me of home, even if I would feign recommend their pieces for a client.

I mean, come on -- scoot over that pouf and get me a cocktail. Time for a tete a tete:

Silk velvet walls? Ribera St. Francis on the wall? Onyx obelisks, aluminum trim and crown molding, baseboard and coffee table all in tortoiseshell? Yes, please. Throw in the signed 18th century fauteils. It's all so terrible and expensive and perfect.

Well, lucky for me I could recreate this room, or at least poach some of its contents -- Wright is putting several on the block October 18th. Though not in this image, these 7 foot obelisks were doubtless somewhere in the same room:

And I HATE most poufs -- but these, in a moss suede, oval in form and contained in a slimming aluminum band are exactly what I'd like in my own living room, used in exactly the same way:

But really the best thing would be the tortoiseshell coffee table. Thankfully there are very, very few of these floating around -- Wright says "very rare" and honestly, I wonder if there are any others. The entire thing has a veneer in true tortoiseshell -- almost certainly the baseboard and crown molding are faux. God knows how many centuries-old tortoises bit the dust to cover this silly table, but isn't it gorgeous?

Feel free to bid on my behalf -- I'll forward my address to any interested parties.

UPDATE: Obelisks sold at the low end of their estimate at 5,000, the poufs sold for about 7 times the high estimate and achieved 20,000, while the coffee table went for a respectable 27,500. Sigh.

Musée national Gustave Moreau

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

The things we love as children don't always hold up over time, but when we fall in love with a place early in life that continues to enchant into adulthood it can be hard to visit with an outsider who has no history and may not understand this decades-long love affair. For me, one such spot is the Thorne Rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago; for my godsister Kyra, it's the Musée national Gustave Moreau in Paris.

Last summer Kyra generously (bravely?) shared her place with me, and we spent hours poking through the deliciously overstuffed rooms, barely contained messes of silk damask walls, Palissyware majolica, Greco Roman bronzes and luminous color harmonies. And that's not even taking into account the paintings, which are diaphanous to the point of insubstantiality -- they're like mist clinging to walls.

Kyra has been here countless times, and no trip to Paris is complete without a visit, to turn the massive pages of double-sided glass frames and look at sketches, or simply sit in the studio with the windows open and listen to the wind through the trees, gently stirring the heavy velvet drapes that cover light sensitive works.

I based the color of trim in my house on the color of woodwork in Moreau's dining room:

Alors! How I wish I had that Palissy majolica. And it's lovely how they still stock the house with flowers:

The study:

Go! You really must. Or don't -- there was almost no one else there when we visited, and it was great.

Pretty sure I wasn't supposed to take these photos, but mah. Look ma, no flash.

Flea Market Diaries, 10.07.12

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

There's not much (i.e. NOTHING) in life that makes me happier than riffling through dirty piles of junk lying on the grass at dawn -- sometimes nothing turns up, sometimes I'm left with an embarrassment of riches. This week it was the latter:

Please ignore the messy dining room, with painting tools, plaster repair detritus and the odd ugly stair rail lying about.

Note the semi-absurd gilded mirror, which is luminous with first-surface gilding. The glass is replaced, but the frame is remarkably intact -- it's in a style and quality I don't usually find in dirty piles of junk on the grass at dawn, but beyond that, this is out of my wheelhouse. It elicited at least three gasps and a few exclamations as I was carrying it out. Is it late Federal? Early Victorian? The proportions are so bulbous, but the motifs look like those I've seen in frames from the 1820s/1830s -- what do we think, guys? (I'm asking you, Reggie.)

Let's move on to the oversize pewter lamps, which I adore -- I love that they function as a pair, but are asymmetrical above the bottom foot. Solid pewter until you hit the wiring, then they shift to patinated bronze. The finials are a sight to behold -- spikes at least 6 inches tall, and weighing about 5 pounds each.

And lastly a beautifully battered late 18th, early 19th century serving piece (technically, found a few weeks ago). I don't think it could be more worn. The glaze has been rubbed away from nearly the entire surface -- how long does it take to do that? Two centuries of continuous use? It's really quite beautiful, though of course it has zero value.

It's laying on a large piece of Japanese indigo dyed linen in a shade of blue so vibrant it's a little hard to look at. We also found an 18th century Sack-backed Windsor chair with remnants of the original green paint that will live in my office -- it's so comfortable. Perfect for use while on the computer.

Each of these was about a quarter of the price you'd pay for the same category of object at Ikea.

What about you: find anything interesting at the markets lately?

A Long Absense, Only Vaguely Explained.

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 05 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

It's true, I've been absent the last several months, and for that I must apologize -- it's not for lack of interest or material. I've been squirreling away bits and pieces to show you while I was on my generous break. It would be fair of you to ask what I've been doing -- in quick summary, I've been gardening quite a bit: Also, finding things at the flea market for me: And things to sell in my store -- I've set up a ramshackle studio in the outbuilding where I take photos. Here are some photos of things I'm putting up in the shop: Also, a few trips. All (sort of) domestic -- to Chicago, various summer spots in Wisconsin and Michigan, finally I was able to see my partner's family's summer place on the Bay of Fundy in New Brunswick (which still seems pretty domestic to me, as it's just above Maine), and we just got back from a magnificent wedding in Hudson, NY (more photos to follow):

(With a fresh crop of elderberries in Wisconsin)
(The dunes at my Godfather's place in Michigan) (Steven's family's place in New Brunswick -- low tide. The light on the cliff to the right is the house) (The wedding in Hudson that I assisted in designing -- magical) All of this to be explained in further detail, along with much anticipated house photos. But really, what have you been up to? Fill me in!

I couldn't have said it better myself.

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Tue, 08 May 2012 15:15:00 +0000

"Mr. Sendak was at his finest a shtetl Blake, portraying a luminous world, at once lovely and dreadful, suspended between wakefulness and dreaming. In so doing, he was able to convey both the propulsive abandon and the pervasive melancholy of children’s interior lives." here

Glorious Weeds

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 04 May 2012 14:00:00 +0000

I hemmed and hawed and finally pulled about 50 thistles from the lawn, but got lazy and left the ones nearest to the fence for another day; this morning, they looked like this: Shit. NOT thistles, but poppies. Glorious, weird, opiate poppies. Honestly, nothing has the right to be this absurdly beautiful. I half hate myself for my weeding zeal -- I've run out of dandelions and prickly lettuce and buckhorn plantain, and I moved on to the "thistles" that had managed to escape the purge of other weeds. Sigh.

R.I.P. Agnes Heywood, Dear Grandmother.

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 05:43:00 +0000

My dear grandmother, Agnes Kathryn Heywood nee Weiler, died Tuesday at noon. In infancy she survived a bomb blast intended to kill her entire family in Cheyenne, Wyoming, but was ultimately taken down by age. She was 97.

Her first memory was of the train-side fanfare surrounding the return of troop from World War I. Until very recently, her mind was sharp and almost terrifyingly complete -- she could recall with perfect clarity the guests at dinner parties she attended in the 1940s. Her love of conversation and genuine interest in people was boundless. Well into her 90s, any event I attended with her ended only after she had made the acquaintance of everyone in the room, learning their circumstances and picking up intuitively on what topics of conversation might interest each, along with what would make them most comfortable. All anyone wanted to talk about after meeting her was how lovely and fascinating my grandmother was. She was a true social animal.

The time we had together was some of the happiest of my childhood. I was lucky enough to spend a few summers with her and my grandfather. My grandmother would send me out to cut flowers from the gardens which we would then spend hours arranging; we would carefully go through all the jewelry in her dressing room, pulling everything from the safe and the secret compartment hidden in the bathroom cabinetry; she would insist I bathe in the sunken tub in her bathroom, using an antique ewer to play with the water; we would polish the silver together, a task I still enjoy because it reminds me of her.

We would visit her friends and on the drive over she would say, "Nicky, compliment Bethy on her ring and she'll show you the rest of her jewels. She has the best diamonds in Omaha," or "On the way to the bathroom, look in the atrium -- she keeps a Della Robbia out there." There was always the feeling of conspiracy to our conversations, and I loved her very dearly.

Her favorite places were beautiful and far away -- Rome and the surrounding countryside, which she used to explore with her driver and good friend Bruno (I still have the pasta maker and Etruscan head he gave her in the 1950s), Los Angeles, which she knew most in the 1930s (before smog, still awash in stars and orange groves), as it was the last stop on the railroad she was a stewardess for prior to marriage, and New York, where she went often with my Grandfather for medical conferences. I never visited any of these places with her, but my own experience in each started with the memories she imparted to me, and it is in these places that I imagine her now.

In some ways I am like her, but not enough.

I did pass ...

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 14:50:00 +0000

and now, since we're not worried about looking capable, I think I need red lacquered shoes:

The key, I think, is to wear them with an otherwise completely prosaic outfit. They remind me of these ammmmmmmaaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzing Dr. Martens (which, despite their recent resurgence, I almost entirely despise) that were vividly colored in primary hues (plus green), everything in one bright color: sole in matching colored rubber, eyelets enameled, laces DTM. They were in some English store or other, on sale, and I didn't buy them. Never to be seen again. Wait, I've found an image:

They were called "Dr Martens Primary Pascal 8 Eye" and I still want a pair. But those more subtle reds depicted at the top of the post are just as good, and certainly more wearable. Found here, care of Todd Snyder.

My Most Capable Looking Outfit

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 15:02:00 +0000

Believe it or not, my driving test is today, after 13 years of putting it off. I've always lived in urban areas and never bothered to learn how to drive, not to mention that I much prefer various forms of public transit (ferries, trains, buses, in descending order of preference).

So: what is my most capable looking outfit? Will I pass? And will I end up with Paul Rudd after a series of comic mishaps? Boring blue shirt and jean, maybe, and probably not. Only time will tell...

But if a fail, I'll just go back to my public transit ways. Maybe I'll run into charming Jonathon Richman.

Isn't it so fantastic he uses the word swain? When's the last time you heard that one?

Y Bwythyn Bach or Little House

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

In truth, for years I have dreamt of having a little house next to my normal sized house -- I've looked at impractically tiny houses with the thought that perhaps I could do away this a main house altogether, but when it comes down to it, I need my little house to be a retreat. Thus my recent focus on restoring our little outbuilding.

But where did I get this notion, of a little house? There are a few possibilities, a strong contender being Y Bwythyn Bach:

"In March 1932, on the occasion of Princess Elizabeth's sixth birthday, when the Duke and Duchess of York had started work on the grounds of Royal Lodge, a little straw-thatched cottage, 'Y Bwthyn Bach', (The Little House), was presented to Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret in the name of the people of Wales. The gift was received by The Duke and Duchess of York in a ceremony at Cardiff on behalf of the young princesses. It was subsequently re-erected in the gardens of Royal Lodge in April 1932 and was furnished both inside and out. It had its own front garden with scaled down hedges and flower borders. The cottage survives to this day much to the delight of royal children visiting Royal Lodge."

here

I recall hearing about it during a documentary on Queen Elizabeth when I was 6, and ever since I've been smitten.

My Little Shed, With Little Men

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

You only realize how diminutive the scale is when there are figures all over it. Meet Dave, and his assistant Clayton, both of whom worked through all of my absurd concerns:

The ridge of the roof was so very off kilter mainly because the building had no ridge beam, only a series of independent rafters joined at an angle. Charming though this was, it had failed terribly over time, and a ridge beam had to be introduced:

Additionally, collar ties, or horizontal structural members, were added on both sides of each rafter. Though I was repeatedly assured these were unnecessary, I'm a belt and suspenders guy, and I never want to address this problem again.

I'd also like to show this odd little detail that as of yet I haven't mentioned:

This slotted stone is the stoop to the outbuilding (temporarily removed to jack up that side of the building); story goes, a past owner was friends with the caretaker of a cemetery (likely the lovely North Cemetery) who would give him obsolete stones. This stone was the foundation for a state tombstone, which would have been fitted into this slot.

We have several others in the yard, and large slabs of slate and white marble that I need to turn over -- no text is visible on any of them, but doubtless hidden somewhere.

My Little Shed, Naked

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Stripped bare of its roof, the poor thing. This cockeyed roofline was one of many problems needing correction:

I must admit a certain fascination with the interior during all of this -- one of those beautiful moments never to be seen again:

Tableau Vivant

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Alanna's Marat:

After this one:

I can't claim to have witnessed the performance, but I was around for the too-much-champagne, dancing, chair-carrying mess of a fun wedding that led to this late night tableau vivant.

Uh, happy Valentine's Day? No, this story doesn't relate at all, but maybe I thought of it because of the love-fueled gaiety of the wedding that day. Nice bit of post-rationalizing, that.

Lonely She-Wolf

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Lost, and with neither Romulus nor Remus, on the Blvd. Saint Germain:

Oddly, this relief produced in me an acute melancholy. The stance of the she-wolf, tail straight down, ears up and head raised in expectation, longing or searching. It made me think of all the empty nesters, of my parents without me and my brother, of all my friend's parent who now live alone.

Maybe I was in this mood because of the rain, or because I hadn't had lunch, or that the Dries Van Noten shop was closed and we couldn't find Deyrolle. There were a lot of very serious problems at the time.

House Update: Green Painting In Progress

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Soooo behind on posting images of our house, but here are a few of the progress shots from the epic painting of the room with the fireplace -- as always, Steven and I were assisted by Steve Sr., Steven's dad.

The color is less violent than it appears in this image, though it does have some vim and vigor.

It's Cottage Green by California Paints, from their Historic Colors of New England line. We weren't manic about using historic colors, but liked the look of it -- this was the 5th green we tested.

We started out with Seascape Jade, also California paints, as it's the exact color used in the Golden Steps dining Room at Beauport, but that color looked completely insane in our room.

We toned it down quite a bit, and now it's closer to a true verdegris. The white on the walls is a color I mixed myself and had matched -- that seriously took like 8 or 10 tries.

I promise you, I used to make fun of people agonizing over whites, but I get it now.

A Slow Dribble, Please: The Mossy Rocks of Aix

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

I have to admit something ... I don't like fountains. Or really, I should qualify: I don't care for water thrown artificially into the air -- no Jet d'eau or Buckingham Fountain for me, thank you. I do however love a still pool, or water flowing in a stream (a la Villa Lante or the Alhambra). But what I enjoy most is a slow drip, the sort of mossy dampness of a good old grotto.

As far as I'm concerned, these mossy old rocks are perfection:

Lovely. Aix en Provence, August, 2011.

Urban Endangered Species. Also, Mark Hearld.

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Have I told you about they squirrels in our outbuilding? No? Well, they're very cute, and the scamper around a lot, and Aesop the Cat loves watching them, and they chewed three large holes through the roof of my outbuilding. Also, completely stripped about 4 feet of electrical wiring (thank god it was disconnected) -- how much will it cost to fix all this? Let's just say I could visit London for a few months for less. With airfare.

I don't get it -- Squirrels, I have been your champion! As a child, I read an article in National Geographic about how squirrels were the urban endangered species, and ever since I've done everything to support squirrel's rights. I have to say, they look a lot less cute to me now.

Nonetheless, I do find the latest Mark Hearld print offered from St. Jude's quite charming. Less so the actual squirrels in my yard.

More Nautical Melancholy, This Time in Newport

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

The week after Christmas, all of the Chicago Heywoods (plus Steven) trekked out to Newport to look at the seals in the Bay. Out of curiosity, we visited the Seamen's Church Institute of Newport, and I discovered the marvelous little chapel while trying to find the bathroom:

Every surface in the small room is mosaic, terrazzo or fresco -- a jewel box, with the dull grey light off the water; a little bit melancholy, but so beautiful. Little cushions with needlepoint seashells line a low bench of stone set into the walls:

It reminded me of being underwater -- it had that feeling of stillness and filtered light. The frescoes are pretty great, too -- here a very specific dog, certainly a portrait, gives St. Roch (who protects against storms) a biscuit. It is said that St. Roch was nursed through a life threatening illness by a dog:

Oh, Gio

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Heywood) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

I've had a design crush on Gio Ponti for years, but it has gone into overdrive in the last 6 months -- Wright sold an amazing number of objects from the Villa Arreaza in Caracas that had me drooling for days, and I seem to keep running into his works. Late august I spied these marvelous jars in Milan:

The same room had a masterwork portrait by Ribera -- I didn't even bother trying to photograph it, knowing how poorly it would translate. But trust me ...

I'm painting the diagonal brickwork pattern found on these jars in the back of a bookcase built into our upstairs hall ( a la Charleston) -- love it.

This beauty would have looked quite fine on our downstairs mantle; we need nautical crap with an edge. No pleasure craft, this -- try a ghost ship come to get you:

Reminds me of lacquer ... Dunand? Anyway, I want it but can't have it. Sold for 13,750 USD.