The making of a historic slipcover.

Early original furnishing textiles are rare. They were often recycled as tastes changed, or simply as they wore out. "Slip", "loose", or "protective" covers are examples of such textiles. Once upon a time they were a common item custom made for all types of furniture (not just upholstered seating furniture) often to protect the expensive fabric or surface that lay beneath. Leather coverings for tables were also made, as were covers for expensive carpets. Now, few of these coverings survive. A few museum collection's have them, with probably the fewest examples for easy chairs.

Boscobel House and Gardens has an early easy chair that originally was not upholstered, but instead protected with a slip cover. They wanted to recreate a slip cover in the historic manner. The problem was how would it have been created? Where did the seams lay? How did they work the cones? Was there a flounce? The questions and the "unknowns" were endless. What was known, is that it could not be created with a modern eye.

The "bare-bones" of the chair. This chair has a slip seat, under which,
 at center, is indeed an opening for a chamber pot to be placed below.

Historic illustrations, as well as small domestic and formal paintings of the time, are hugely beneficial and very useful in recreating a slip cover to accurately reflect the time period that Boscobel wanted to interpret. Such examples of historic illustration are by Ella Emory and Mary Ellen Best, two women who created many illustrations of interiors in the late 1800's. The amount of detail found in their illustrations is remarkable, as is their amazing detail. These sources can assist with identifying fabric type and indications of fabric direction and trimming locations.

However, questions of construction still remained.

The solution was to find originals. With the help of the Boscobel curator, Judith Pavelock, two were located. One from the collection of Historic New England, which was quite well known, being illustrated in several publications on slipcovers (Its accession record can be found here), it specifically comes from the Sayward-Wheeler House in York Harbor, Maine. 

The slipcover is made of chintz cotton fabric printed with columns of large scale
 undulating flowering vine flanked by dendretic vine/roots of blues and golds; 
off white ground. It is edged-hemmed with striped linen tape. It dates from the
1840's and was made for a 1759 chair; 1977.541A for an Easy Chair (1977.253)

The other is from Locust Lawn, an 1814 historic house outside of New Paltz, New York, that was shuttered in the 1880's, and so remained a time capsule of the early nineteen century.

Chair from Locust Lawn.

The two examples were both floral chintz with striped tapes. By blending solutions from the two examples, a plan for the new slipcover was developed. The fabric was selected as a white dimity with a small herringbone pattern. The tape was simple twill tape also in white, both woven by Thistle Hill Weavers.

The wing of the chair during the construction of the slip cover.

Dimity refers to a cotton, woven on a harness loom into a patterned fabric. It was originally imported from India, but soon was woven in Britain and in the Americas. The term dimity covered a wide variety of weave patterns, from figured, bird's eye, to stripes. Strips were the most common being the easiest to weave. Dimity was both sturdy and serviceable, being attractive for finishing and clothing.

Positioning the fabric around the arm and cone.

The completed slip cover.

Linda Baumgarten wrote in "Protective Covers for Furniture and its Contents", that "Checks and stripes were preferred for public rooms such as libraries or parlors, whereas printed cottons were favored for the bedchambers, where the slipcovers often matched the bed hangings". Her article goes on to talk about that at various times chairs were fitted with slipcovers to protect the finer fabric below.  And at other times the opposite was true for chairs that were covered with a simple linen, with the intention of    being covered. It is on chairs like the later, that the absence of nail holes for an outer textile can be observed, thus these chairs were made to always have a removable slipcover. She also discusses in great detail the use of covers for nearly all valuable property and furnishings, from beds to desks, to bookcases and clothespresses.

Read what you can about these textiles. Slipcovers are a fascinating and often overlooked textile.  Another great resource is "Furnishing Textiles" by P. Clabburn. Chapter eleven in particular is fully devoted to "case covers".

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Gwen Spicer is a textile conservator in private practice.  Spicer Art Conservation specializes in textile conservation, object conservation, and the conservation of works on paper.  Gwen's innovative treatment and mounting of flags and textiles is unrivaled.   To contact her, please visit her website.

Cleaning the textile wall coverings of Wilderstein, home of Ms. Margaret "Daisy" Suckley

by Gwen Spicer

I have known Wilderstein for many years now, mostly as a pleasantly preserved home of a woman, who happened to give a scottie dog to a former president.  Over the years it has gone through some drastic changes, like a coat of paint (it hadn't been painted since 1910), or a new roof that is actually water proof.  These improvements have all occurred under the loving attention of several devoted people, but especially Duane and Linda Watson, who are just two of the dedicated volunteers who keep Wilderstein going.

This house is not just another estate that over looks the Hudson River, but behind the once weathered clapp boards is an interior that was attentively detailed by some of this country's most important fashion decorators of the later nineteenth century.

Ms. Suckley's (pronounced "sooklee") family spared no expense when building and selecting how their home was to be decorated, and of course only the best artisans of the time were contracted.  

Spicer Art Conservation has been helping Wilderstein for several years with bringing the fragile and dirty wall coverings of the home back to their former glory. The first room was the dining room, which due to water leaks was in great need of conservation. Then later the front parlor.

Hard at work in the Dining Room

Panel of Dining Room fabric

The two rooms feature original panels of weft-face woven fabric which covered the walls.  The parlor has 10 fabric panels made from silk and cotton.  The dining room has 15 panels of wool, silk and cotton or linen fabric.  In each room the panels were quite fragile and showed varying degrees of fading with layers of soiling and soot deposits as well as signs of general deterioration.  A note to this is, these panels were placed on the walls nearly 125 years earlier and for that kind of lifespan, the deterioration actually could have been much worse.  Perhaps that is a testament to using such incredibly well made fabric.  For the first generation Suckley's, it appears to be money well spent.

The dining room had suffered the most damage.  The floral print fabric was dirty, but had also been affected by webbing cloth moths, who had left their casings

behind.  The room had also suffered water damage from a long term leak.  This room also had many decorative features: wainscoting, intricate wood work, embossed and painted plaster, each which contributed to the detailed cleaning that would need to be done.  See the photo below: the left side shows the condition of the room prior to beginning the treatment, and the right shows the area that had, up to that point, already been cleaned.

Detail of dining room ceiling and upper wall during treatment.  

Notice the color of the parlor ceiling, seems like it could have blended very well with the "hidden" fabric.

The parlor, which could be referred to as a gold-colored room revealed some surprises about the true original color, which was (as you may have guessed) not gold.  The images below reveal small hidden sections of the fabric.  The closeup below is of the fabric hidden behind the gimp (aka the edging trim). Here you can see cream, mauve, pink and some blues.  When you view the ceiling in this room (see photo immediately above), the color of the hidden fabric "makes sense".

While still very faded, glimpses of the original colors in the wall covering fabric is evident where a frame once covered this section of wall (see images left and below).

The Suckley house has unique issue which contributed to the condition of the wall  coverings.  Any house built before gas and oil fired furnaces, used coal.  The coal dust went everywhere and attached to  everything.  You see, it is the oily nature of the coal dust which allows it to adhere especially well to all types of surfaces, but especially textiles.  It is a gradual build up that is not noticeable at first, but after years of buildup, it becomes impossible to miss.  To add to the issue, the coal dust can also be trapped in duct work.  Which means long after a system has been transferred or changed to another fuel source, the oily coal dust is still being sent throughout the house (this would be especially damaging if the system was switched to forced air heat).

When this project was completed, we had treated 444 square feet of fabric in the parlor, and another 144 square feet of fabric in the dining room.  To get a sense of the magnificence of this house as it once was truly was an amazing experience.  It is a wonderful place and one can easily see how it was a beloved home to generations of Suckley's.

True, historic homes dot the landscape all across the Hudson Valley.  And until recently, Wilderstein was just one of those many homes.  However, Wilderstein got a recognition boost recently with the awareness of it's former owner and her relationship to FDR in the movie, "Hyde Park on Hudson" where the relationship between Ms. Suckley and President Roosevelt was fictionalized.  Nonetheless, spending time at Wilderstein, getting to "know" the house, and knowing how important it was to Daisy Suckley, it was so wonderful to see Ms. Suckley "come to life" in this film, as I never had the privilege to meet her.

If you would more information about Wilderstein, visit their website here:  www.wilderstein.org.  If you would like to read more about Wilderstein, check out the story written about Daisy Suckley in the New York Times here: http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/19/ghosts-of-the-hudson-valley/ .  And if you have the chance to get to Wilderstein when it opens in the Spring, I recommend it highly.

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Gwen Spicer is a textile conservator in private practice.  Spicer Art Conservation specializes in textile conservation, object conservation, and the conservation of works on paper.  Gwen's innovative treatment and mounting of flags and textiles is unrivaled.   To contact her, please visit her website.

Vacuum Vexations and Victories while conserving a large hanging textile

How many times does it take to safely vacuum an 18' x 18' projection screen?  That was the question we asked ourselves on Tuesday while working on-site at the Thomas Edison National Historical Park in West Orange, NJ.

Thomas Edison Laboratory, view of original archway and water tower.

Thomas Edison Laboratory, Library exterior

The screen while rolled.  (It is the cylindric tube spanning
across the top of the clock and upper windows.)

We arrived Monday, December 10th for a four-day stay in New Jersey for the primary purpose of cleaning and repairing the two-story high projection screen located in Edison's library.  The library itself is three floors high and houses remarkable documents attesting to Edison's various certifications and honorary awards, along with numerous volumes dating back to the late 1800's, as well as the screen where Edison would show films to those who visited his laboratory complex.  Needless to say, I found myself overwhelmed and consumed by sheer excitement about the pieces of history surrounding me as I walked around the library to take various photos of the screen, as seen to the left and below.

The screen fully unrolled

The beginning of the treatment process was very simple.  Using the vacuum we brought from the studio, I systematically cleaned the front and back of the bottom portion of the screen while Gwen followed behind with the soot sponge to further loosen any embedded particulates.  The bottom portion of the screen is considerably darker, as seen in the picture above, which we determined was purposefully stained either as a protective coating or as a visual countermeasure to the shadows cast by viewers' heads.  This is only speculation, due to the fact that we do not have an original photo of the screen.  Of course we did not wish to remove this discoloration, only the dirt and dust caked on the surface.  To the knowledge of current park employees, it had been 15-20 years since the last time the screen was unrolled.

Working along, I proceeded to vacuum ever higher with the assumption that when I reached a certain point I would be able to safely proceed with the screen's treatment.  However, such was not exactly the case.  Within the last year or so the site had discarded their backpack vacuum, as well as their scissor lift.  We were then told that it was possible to set up scaffolding behind the screen that would allow me to reach the very top of this immense canvas.  But of course, the scaffolding was not available for our use, and no one had a clue where it was.

Taped attachment

Now here was the predicament: how do I stand on a ladder while holding a small, but still weighty, piece of equipment for an extended period without risking my life in the process?  Holly, one of the park employees, was so kind to find a potential solution to my predicament.  She brought a 3M vacuum, which I could swing over my shoulder.  However, the 3M vacuum unsurprisingly no longer had any of its original brush attachments or a wand extension.  So what did Gwen and I do?  We improvised!  Holly Marino, who works at the Edison site, brought us a wand attachment from another machine which we taped to the hose, then we taped our brush attachment to the wand!

Example of 3M vacuum with only crevice tool

I proceeded to climb up our little step ladder and extend the wand in order to vacuum the backside of the screen as far as I could reach.  It was not long before I started to notice significant cramping in my arm and the strap cutting into my left shoulder, not to mention how awkward it was to maneuver with this huge black box swinging freely around my hips catching on everything.

In addition, I could not control the suction power, which not only resulted in an almost deafening noise, but was also not ideal for the artifact.  After cleaning what I could reach on three of the six canvas panels, I got down and said, "there has to be a better way to do this!"

"the contraption"

On to improvisation part 2.  We removed the wand from the now dubbed black box of misery and attempted to attach it to our vacuum, but only to find that the inner ridge on the wand prevented us from simply connecting the two parts.  We taped the two together, but it was clear that the contraption was nowhere near strong enough.  I indicated to Gwen that I needed a splint of some sort to fix the issue.  She looked around our tools and offered first the small 1/8" thick sticks we use for swabbing, then metal micro-spatulas, both of which I rejected as insufficient support for the task saying, "I need more reinforcement than that!"  After a few seconds Gwen returned with a small chip brush that I taped to the wand and hose as she held it in place.  At this point both of us are giddy with amusement at the lengths we have had to go to so far to come up with a solution.  But that was just the beginning.

Vacuum splint 

Now that the issue of extending my reach was solved, we had to next figure out how to rig the body of the vacuum to the ladder to free my hands for the task.  Gwen had brought small bungee-cord-like elastic bands that I used to hook the vacuum to the step ladder, which worked as I finished doing what I could of the last three panels.  However, I still had over nine feet above me that I still could not reach.  Now it was time for a taller ladder.  With the assistance of another park employee, Walter Baginski, I retrieved a 10' ladder, brought it into the library and slid it under the tables supporting the bottom of the screen and stood it up successfully behind the screen.  The problem arose again of how to keep the vacuum up there with me.  With some clever thought on my part (not to pat myself on the back or anything...wink, wink),  I removed the support strap from the bulky black 3M box and strung it through our machine's handle.  Carrying it up the full height of the ladder, I was able to secure it to the top with the strap, as well as, some of the elastic ties from before.  Gwen handed me the wand and hose, which we had disconnected beforehand, and upon reattachment I was finally good to go!  With the wand fully extended, and standing on the top step of the 10 foot ladder, I was just able to reach the top of the screen and finally vacuum the screen with confident speed, all while Gwen and I are laughing at how ridiculous things get, and the improvisation needed when working on-site away from all your usual tools.

Me at the top of a 10-foot ladder after finally securing the vacuum to the very top.
Thank God I'm not afraid of heights!

Here I am when all is said and done, finally vacuuming after all that hassle, and still with a smile on my face, because after all my effort I was victorious and could proceed with relative ease.  The lesson of the story is of course: where there's a will there's a way.  And my own personal inspiring quote: "Be the hero with a smile on your face because life is too short to sweat the small stuff, or in this case the big and tall stuff!"

written by Nicolette Cook, Assistant Conservator, Spicer Art Conservation, LLC

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Gwen Spicer is a textile conservator in private practice.  Spicer Art Conservation specializes in textile conservation, object conservation, and the conservation of works on paper.  Gwen's innovative treatment and mounting of flags and textiles is unrivaled.   To contact her, please visit her website.

My Visit to Thurber's Home

by Gwen Spicer

Earlier this fall I was visiting Columbus, Ohio, when I visited the Thurber Home. For those who do not know James Thurber is was a contributing humorist for the New Yorker in the 1920s and 1930s. He is famous for his short stories, such as the incomparable "The night the bed fell". "The secret life of Walter Mitty" has been a staple of anthologies for decades. His dog cartoons and illustrated poems that first appeared in the New Yorker are justly famous. Much of his work is readily available in the The Thurber Carnival, also adapted for Broadway.



The house is interpreted to the few years that Thurber and his family lived in the house, 1913-1917,  the years that Thurber attended Ohio State University. His family lived in many houses in Columbus, none of which survive. This house at 77 Jefferson Street opened as a museum in 1984.

Two floors can be visited. It is a self-guided tour of the two floors. The visitor is given a brochure upon arrival; each room  has a storyboard. Cartoons and quotes form My Life and Hard Times, are used throughout the house and interspersed with the self-guided tour.

The first floor is furnished as it might have been during the years that the Thurbers lived there. In the second floor, two of the bedrooms are devoted to exhibition spaces. The other rooms on the second floor are offices, but no one seems to mind the presence of visitors. The third floor has been turned into a residence for a visiting writer.

The front bedroom where the parents slept. (TH)

The wallpaper was researched and was reproduced based on recollections of Thurber's younger brother, who was still alive when the house was purchased. He recalled which layer of paper was present when they lived there. As a rental property, many layers of paper were  found, none having been removed over the years.

Due to his eye injury, Thurber was unable to complete a compulsory ROTC course, so OSU would not let him graduate. Later they did give him an honorary degree.

Magnifiers that Thurber used.

His typewriter, one of the few artifacts that was owned by Thurber

One of the intriguing aspects of the museum is that it is not just an historic house where a great and important figure lived. The house has been turned into a living embodiment of writing, humor and education. One can walk into the home and imagine an earlier time, but that also workshops and writing events are also happening on-site and in schools.

The living room in use. (Courtesy of TH)

There are no "do not touch" signs here; rather visitors and program groups are asked to interact with the space. In fact their mission is Thurber House: Where laughter, learning and literature meet. Does that not just make you want to be a part?

Learn more at www.thurberhouse.org. Their blog is http://thurberhouse.wordpress.com
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Gwen Spicer is a textile conservator in private practice.  Spicer Art Conservation specializes in textile conservation, object conservation, and the conservation of works on paper.  Gwen's innovative treatment and mounting of flags and textiles is unrivaled.   To contact her, please visit her website.

The Dilemma of Historic Conservation - Which Era to Preserve?

Imagine you are an influential architect who's life spans nearly a century and who's work resonates from your home where it is carried to all the commissions you receive.  Such is the case of Philip Johnson who built his famous Glass House in 1949 and its accompanying guest house, referred to as the Brick House.  Why was Johnson's second home so significant?  Simply because it is where he allowed his architectural dreams to take flight.  Here existed his "practice palette" for his most influential ideas.

Original 1949 floor plan of Johnson's Brick House

Brick House in foreground, Glass House in back ground (c. 1949) 

In 1953 Johnson created the dramatic interior of the Brick House.  The most important elements are the arched ceiling, supported by triangular pillars, and the Fortuny fabric, which hung as curtains, covering its walls.  Johnson would use these elements in many of his subsequent projects, some of which can still be seen today.  His choices in fabric and his architectural vision seem timeless.  In fact, the Fortuny fabric he used nearly 60 years ago is still available from the company's active line.

Johnson's weekend estate underwent many changes throughout the decades.  None were more dramatic than those that occurred in the 1980's; curtains became sliding panels, the fabric was stretched and stapled to these panels, the bed, floor and built-in bookshelves were all altered, all under the direction of Johnson, who was now in the early winter of his life.

Johnson's 1953 renovation - substantial changes only four years after the original construction. 

In 1986 the National Trust acquired the property and Johnson was allowed to remain in residence until his death in 2005.

What is in store for a historical landmark that has a history as rich and evolving as this?  Here lies the dilemma: interpretation.  Most historic sites are faced with common questions when the site undergoes restoration.
- Which elements are critical to the original concept?
- How have the elements changed over time?
(For example, has the Fortuny fabric altered sufficiently to no longer create the luminous quality Johnson intended?  How are decisions reached for restoration, and are they consistent from room to room?)

As with most decisions, underlying issues are at play.  One issue is mold and whether the levels are safe for visitors.  The other is the period of interpretation.

Brick House bedroom 1953 with original Fortuny Fabric curtains and Ditzel wicker chairs

WHICH TIME IS THE RIGHT TIME?

The National Trust states their period of interpretation is between 2001-2003, literally the final years of Johnson's life when the interior consisted of worn, fading and stained textiles and when Johnson was no longer actively working as both his sight and health were failing.  When the site was nominated as a historic landmark in 1997, the period of significance was indicated as between 1949 and 1995, (an long stretch of time based on the dates which reflect Johnson's working years.)

Clearly these two periods of interpretation are in conflict and are the crux of the tension derived from  such a decision.  The site must decide what is important: that it be left as it was at the end of his life?  Or restored to what he envisioned in 1953?  Or the 1980's.  Or perhaps some other time?

The Brick House bedroom during its 1980's renovation.  Johnson has replaced the curtains with panels with the fabric now stretched, the carpet is void of texture, the ottomans replace the original wicker chairs and the bed is narrowed.

DILEMMAS:

While era for interpretation may be the main dilemma, other dilemmas exists, which may not be as obvious, but will directly impact the site and how it moves forward.  Mold levels must be reduced, without this preventative step, the site may not be suitable for visitors.  As for long term preservation: what will be the traffic flow into the building?  How will it impact dust migration?  How will this impact wear and tear on the textile elements?  The Fortuny fabric covers every wall, it is a large component of the room and demands attention.  Will the site staff maintain the NT's period and surface clean only?  What about removal of the wall covering to treat it and return the original covering to the walls incorporated with with new mounting and backing?  Lastly, the fabric could be completely removed and re-housed, replacing it with vibrant "reproductions" (remember that the EXACT fabric can still be purchased today - a rare circumstance).

Lastly, is this an "all or nothing" dilemma?  Do all the pieces need to be treated or replaced?  These are the issues any historical site faces when evaluating renovation.  As a conservator, we must give our best  professional opinion and be prepared to assist the site in whichever it chooses.  Drawing on each aspect of conservation - treatment, re-housing, storage, preservation and stabilization - a site project of this magnitude provides both the challenge of dealing with these dilemmas, but most importantly, the opportunity to solve them.

This post by Barbara Owens is a summary of a talk given by Gwen Spicer called "Decoding the History of the Fortuny Fabric at Philip Johnson"s Brick House Interior" at the New England Conservation Association, held at the Shelburne Museum in 2010.

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Gwen Spicer is a textile conservator in private practice.  Spicer Art Conservation specializes in textile conservation, object conservation, and the conservation of works on paper.  Gwen's innovative treatment and mounting of flags and textiles is unrivaled.   To contact her, please visit her website.