epigram 01: on men’s feet

These feet rule: only if your feet look as good as Constantine’s may you disregard this epigram (Capitoline Museum, Rome)

From head to toe, true gents are discreet,

And never neglect to cover their feet.

With the exception of those times that they are immediately engaged in aquatic activities, men’s feet should be covered at all times in public.  That is, completely, not partially, concealed.  Even under the best of conditions, those meatpegs men walk around on are pretty ugly; Taste demands their concealment from an innocent glance.  No thong sandal, scuff, Birkenstock nor definitely the dreaded flip flop can take the place of a nice  loafer, Oxford or boot.  Those vaguely sandally things may provide a modicum of protection to the wearer’s sole, but does not protect the rest of us from the vision of the foot itself.

For those men of the world who are not be persuaded that this service to humanity is worth the price of their personal comfort, we beg them to consider their own advancement in every arena of their existence, since clearly availing ourselves of their ego is the only trick that may work.  History and popular culture are full of examples of the men who have and continue to run the world, and they do it in full-on footwear. Behold:

Without his fine boots, Napoleon would have caught frostbite crossing the Alps.

Without cleated sneaks, David Beckham would have had a Tinfoil Foot at best.

Pres. Obama’s shoes tell us that even when he puts his feet up, he’s still a hardworking guy just like the rest of us.

Would the ladies think that Don looks Draperesque in flip flops?

Action heroes depend on proper equipment, down to their toes, to execute their proper action.

Yo-Yo Ma could never have tapped his toe to the top of the charts as the World’s Favorite Cellist if it was just his big piggy slapping out the tempo.

What kind of a figure would Professor Snape cut in a pair of Keen slip-ons?

Colin Firth has been nominated for dozens and dozens of acting awards and scooped up an impressive number of them, always wearing shoes.  How many Oscars, Golden Globes, Screen Actors Build Awards and BAFTAs do you have?

The efforts of Le Corbusier and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe to spread European Modernist architecture all over the globe were greatly enhanced by their footwear (bonus points for the spats, Mies).

“One small step . . .”  Neil Armstrong wouldn’t have been able to moonwalk without his footgear.

And neither would this guy.

Clearly, shoes are a key to the success of all these icons from entertainment to law enforcement, from the performing arts and sports, politics and lady killers.  What do they all have in common, aside from performing with general awesomeness?  One word: shoes.  Few men can get away without them–although, to be fair, we should note the exceptions.  So, unless you’re this guy:

or this guy:

or this guy:

don’t go unshod!  But you don’t have to take our word for it.  This guy has been telling you about proper footwear for ages:

Be a good neighbor, wear your shoes.

how to go to Barcelona

Las Ramblas

Barcelona . . . say it out loud, and take your time with it.  Bar-ce-LOHHH-na.  The word lolls around in the mouth, briny and sweet, like salted caramel.  It’s an elegant, loopy kind of name for an irregular city, a place of inconsistencies and contradictions.  Most people who can read a map think it’s part of Spain, but the Barcelonans who fly the flag of Catalonia steadfastly deny this.  It’s a patchwork of small historic neighborhoods but also a sprawling modern city; it’s located on the Mediterranean yet it doesn’t know how to be a seaside town.  If Spain is, as Edmund Burke pronounced it, a “great whale stranded on the shores of Europe”—not really a part of it but too big to be shoved back into the sea—maybe Barcelona is some kind of barnacle stuck on the whale.  To cite another unexpected and strange source (but why not, for this strange town), Leon Trotsky described Barcelona (in 1916) as a  “Big Spanish-French kind of city.  Like Nice in a hell of factories.  Smoke and flames on the one hand, flowers and fruit on the other.”

it was OK

In their quest to understand the world through food analogies, MoT staff members approach Barcelona through the metaphor that, by law, must be included in any travel writing about Spain (or this not-Spain part, Catalonia), Barcelona is like paella–but paella that has some nice sausage and shrimp and peppers that you want to pick out and leave the unevenly seasoned rice for somebody else.

What it’s like

Even though like, oh, everything everywhere, Barcelona has a Roman history, it’s not highly in evidence any longer.  Its main core down by the sea (which you can completely avoid ever seeing during your stay there; they invented their beach quite recently, for their hosting of the Olympics in 1992) is a mash up of dense medieval quarters cut through by nineteenth-century urban planning, wrapped to the north and east (cardinal points being sort of relative here) by the Eixample, one of nineteenth-century Europe’s stupidest urban planning schemes (more of this below).

In part a result of this messiness, Barcelona has a serious image problem.  Pop quiz: what does it look like?  That’s a question you can easily answer for other cities with monumental images like Chicago’s skyline seen from the Lake or the plan of Paris as seen from above, and cities with memorable individual landmarks like the Taj Mahal and Colosseum: great monuments of artistic achievement and cultural relevance that show us what has been and/or continues to be significant for a place.  The most recognizable thing in Barcelona is an unfinished, weird church that is not celebrated as a center of religious faith but rather for its famous architect who is famous for being kind of weird.  That’s the best Barcelona can do in the way of emblems; its vast character is similarly unknowable; kind of a wreck.  That barnacle metaphor is looking better to us all the time.

At the same time, Barcelona has some things that are really worth a focused visit (although, given the choice of Spanish cities alone, we’d head down to Andalusia).  But, if you must go, here’s how MoT suggests you deal with Barcelona, if your tracks lead you thither.

What to avoid

A lot of cities repay a directionless meander; this is not one of them.  At best, it can get skanky fast, at worst, just dangerous (like any big city, Barcelona houses great economic disparity, but—worse—it also tends to draw a sleazy spring-break kind of crowd to some of its neighborhoods).  And that’s one thing we don’t like about it: you really need to stick to a map, and are better off shooting under questionable, boring, or noisy parts of it on the metro.  Identify the spectacle that you really want/need to see, and ignore the in-between parts (it’s like going to an action movie and avoiding the “dialogue” that connects the scenes with stuff blowing up).

we get it. really, we do.

Another thing to avoid: language.  Your high school Spanish will help a bit here, but remember that this is Catalonia, not Spain, and Catalan is the preferred “co-official” language here.  We’ve heard it said that Catalan sounds like Spanish, French and Klingon rolling around in a concrete mixer.  Get used to it, since it is verbally flown like that super-stripey yellow and red flag.  Indeed, Catalan is the first language listed on the airport signs, above Spanish and English, in generous service to the Catalan-speaking population of the world, which numbers fewer souls than the population of North Carolina.  We get the point. One nice thing about Catalan: no one else in your tour group will be brave enough to try it, so when they frown at your crummy high school Spanish, you can just brush off their criticism: it’s Catalan, idiota.

What to see

If you’ve read this far it’s because you know about the things that are really worth seeing and, as confounded as we are to explain it, the travel department here at MoT can’t deny that they are richer for having waded through the murk of Barcelona to enjoy a few of its real treasures.  If you need someone to tell you three things you cannot miss, here they are:

I. The Medieval

Santa Maria del Mar

Barcelona’s oldest concentrations of good buildings date from the medieval period, and there is some cool stuff in this category, just a little different from the Romanesque and Gothic you see elsewhere in Europe.  The Barri Gòtic is a no-brainer, so go there, where you’ll find the cathedral and lots of narrow streets with interesting doorways and sculpture. In the neighborhood: Restaurant Can Culleretes, which is fantastic, marvelous (check them out here).  Plan for an early meal so you beat the crowds and can have the extra joy of lingering over your meal while you watch a long queue of people salivating at the door.  Go in, put yourself in the hands of the wait staff and order whatever they recommend.  If there’s anything served with white beans, get that.  Buy as much food as you can afford and leave nothing behind. Do this now, thank us later. Another great wandering area (which are, again, too few and far between in this city) is El Call, the old Jewish Quarter.  The more you travel in Spain the more you’ll read history along the lines of “The Jewish population of [city x] was vibrant and healthy prior to the ascension of Isabella and Ferdinand.”  You can spend your whole Spanish vacation angry about the riches of Jewish and Muslim culture lost to the machinations of los Reyes Católicos and really only get started.  And this is not wasted time: better to growl along the picturesque and narrow streets of this sad quarter than to simmer about it at home.

Markets outside of Santa Maria del Pi (to the right)

Find your way to the fourteenth-century Santa Maria del Pi, which is one of several medieval churches in the city that reveal the unique characteristics of Catalan Gothic.  In general, these churches tend to be taller across their whole width, with big rounded naves.  Without a clerestory, they are somewhat dark and murky, and the apparent lack of a cleaning regimen for a few centuries only enhances that character.  Santa Maria del Pi is surrounded by several oddly-shaped and nicely-scaled plazas full of restaurants, shops and people.  Markets are held here pretty frequently, allowing you to buy unexpected and spiffy things you didn’t know you needed.  But you will be better off with a set of those hand-carved paella spoons, trust us. A bigger church from the same period, Santa Maria del Mar, hovers over the Ribera district.  Incredibly tall and broad, the exterior looks mural and boxy; interior is totally different: unified, vast ad exceptionally lofty—the vault height is consistent across this transept-free church.  Outside is the Fossar de les Moreres, a monument to the dead of the War of Spanish Succession of 1714 and thus is another reminder of the independent spirit of Catalonia.

juice at La Boqueria

Cutting back across town, you’ll run the sensory assault of the Ramblas, made worth the effort by two things.  FIRST: the Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria is one of our favorite things in Barcelona.  The history of La Boqueria runs back to the thirteenth century (and thus the way we can justify your stop here during your consideration of “medieval Barcelona”); the current structure dates to the mid-nineteenth.  Stall after gorgeous stall of fruits, nuts, spices and all manner of take-away treats make an easy and fun lunch on your feet.  Several restaurants offer a place to sit and enjoy great stuff too. La Boqueria is the redemption of Las Ramblas.  SECOND: make your way through an admittedly dingy neighborhood to a site which was, as the church’s name implies, in the field beyond the city gates: Sant Pau del Camp, a wonderful little gem, is the oldest church in Barcelona.  The core of the small Greek-cross church building is Romanesque with heavy, strong, dark vaults, awkward domes and squinches.  It’s stark, cool, serious and quiet.  A later cloister is lighter with foliated arches and great capital sculptures.  You can sit for a long, long time without seeing another soul.  Keep in mind that this under-visited church means a lack of tourists and tourist amenities in this area; you will walk through real-people Barcelona to get there so have your act together and don’t expect to fall into a sangria and tapas fest on the way out. In the neighborhood: If you are so inclined, on your way back to Las Ramblas you can stumble upon the Palau Güell, built by Gaudi for his great patron in 1890 (More on him below.)  When we were there in 2010 it was under renovation and thus open for free, which seems just about right (details here).

Resonating with that medieval vibe?  Or just need a breather out of the city?  Work out the trains (it’s not hard, really) and take a day trip to the Monastery of Santa Maria de Montserrat.  You’ll find some impressive architecture, moving spiritual devotions, and a landscape that is unique in the world.  We tend to be city people rather than nature travelers, but this was amazing even to us.  (See some of it here.)

II. The Modernisme 

our kind of Mod

Art Nouveau was a wonderful movement: across Europe, architects and artists strove to develop an intentionally modern style rooted in the culture of their region.  In general, it was a legible, readable development of regional customs into a self-conscious modernity.  The fabulousness of Art Nouveau reached Barcelona during the Renaixença, or “Catalan Renaissance,” one of the many efforts to re-establish political independence from Spain. Art Nouveau, then, developed with more political oomph in Barcelona than it did in many other European capitals where it was not more than an aesthetic movement alone. Even if you’re not an architecture person you’ve probably learned about Antoni Gaudí, Barcelona’s most famous architect and designer of some of the city’s most famous buildings.  Gaudí: the name sounds to us like the sound our dog makes when she yawns.  Of all the versions of Art Nouveau across Europe, his is the one we understand and admire the least.  It has none of the elegance of Victor Horta in Brussels, nor the classical clarity of Otto Wagner in Vienna, nor the whimsy of Ödön Lechner in Budapest.  It is lumpy, irregular, and like the language that Gaudí himself celebrated, pretty unintelligible to most people.  Remember the Palau Güell we mentioned above?  At street level, two large catenary arched openings are filled in with dark, gruesome ironwork that may have been on H. R. Giger’s mind when he started work on Aliens.  Images of seaweed and snakeheads lurk about.  On the top are some of those ceramic doodles of Gaudi’s that are more palatable—but they are way up high, destined for the enjoyment of the birds, not us.

up on the rooftop: Casa Milà

If you go to Barcelona for the architecture, you can’t ignore Gaudi’s monuments, so why not see them: the perpetually under-construction Sagrada Familia (warning: its district is horribly congested and noisy; we wonder how it might have impressed Trotsky); the Parc Güell with its admittedly cute lizards (but not cute enough to make up for the nightmares inspired by the Palau Güell); the Casa Vicens, which has all the elegance subtlety of a giant pile of Legos; and the Casa Batlló which charms us a little with its painterly façade.  Several of the Gaudí monuments are open to the public, most at exceptionally inflated ticket prices (currently 17.50 euro, or $24.84, to get into the Casa Batlló, which he only renovated!!!  You can do all of Versailles for that!!!).  Of them, we can recommend the Casa Milà, which offers quite a lot for the entry fee.  There is one large suite of rooms open for visit and decorated in the continental Art Nouveau; it is very elegant and quite nice (you could almost forget you’re in Barcelona).  The attic space reveals the bizarre, wafer-brick arched construction of the building, and is fitted out as a big museum to Gaudí.  There you can see some very interesting and beautiful models of Gaudí buildings and their structural designs, as well as a lot of that unfortunate Gaudí furniture (neither interesting nor beautiful).  The big fun is on the roof, where you can walk all over the undulating moonscape of the building.  That’s pretty neat.  (More info here.)

And, of course, the bonus of being in a Gaudí building is that you look out at something else. Sadly, in this case, it’s Barcelona, and one of the most tiresome parts of it: the Eixample (a Catalan term that loosely translates as “monotunfriendly”).  From above, it looks like there was a fire sale on chamfered squares.  The designer did this, on purpose, to increase visibility and light and air while expressing political equality, blah blah blah.  It’s brutal (not to mention boring) for pedestrians: to negotiate these weird big intersections one must walk, and walk, and walk to get to the crossing, and then it’s still not very safe since the cars have started turning onto your street and have picked up speed long before they see you. It is a relentless grid of a development with sameness celebrated in the cause of egalitarianism.  No boulevards pointing at important cultural markers here (as was done in contemporaneous developments in Paris, Vienna and elsewhere); the Eixample is all about endless sameness that allows no one to stand out: it’s urban planning’s version of the whole little league team getting the same trophies to celebrate Excellence In Participation. Perhaps because of this utterly boring setting, the late nineteenth-century architects in the vast development were inspired to go nuts in elevation. Sure there are a few Gaudí buildings, but he was not the only architect in Barcelona during the Fin de Siècle.  Very near to Casa Mila is the Illa de la Discòrdia (“Block of Discord”), where Gaudi’s Casa Battlo is cheek-by-jowl with interesting buildings by his lesser-known peers Lluís Domènech i Montaner, Josep Puig i Cadafalch and Enric Sagnier.  In fact you can spend a few hours wandering through this neighborhood and see a lot of architecture from this period.  This link and this map will help you find your way.

The Palau: Barcelona’s Best

But if you really want to celebrate Barcelona’s Modernisme, take the metro back to La Ribera, where you will find the building that in our estimation is Barcelona’s best: the Palau de la Música Catalana, a music hall designed in 1905 by Domènech i Montaner.  It is a brilliant, exuberant building on a tricky site.  The building is hemmed in on all sides yet through its decorative tile work and most importantly amazing sculpture on the corner (by Miguel Blay) commands attention while manifesting the great independent spirit of the music that the building was designed to celebrate.  Definitely get a tour of this building; go see whatever show is playing while you are in town so you can spend time here. Note: the folks who run this joint are really picky about photos inside; you will get hollered at if you try to sneak one.  Better to just play by the rules, buy some postcards in the shop and splurge a bit on the pastries and tapas in the café, which is a wonderland of ceramic tile.  You’re paying a surcharge for the environment but really, here, it’s worth it.

III. The Modernist

Of course, Barcelona was not done in 1914, and some interesting, and important, things lurk about, if you are so inclined.  (We would be more inclined to write about them if we weren’t exhausted from writing about Gaudí.)  There’s the Jean Nouvel Lite-Brite tower—but figure out the schedule before hiking up to see it since it’s not glittery every night.  There is the giant Santiago Calatrava tower that looks like the world’s most elegant and biggest elevator lobby ashtray.  And then there’s MIES.

how do you say “spiffy detail” *auf Deutsch* ?

Way away in a tucked-away corner of the city, displayed with all the care given to a wedding gift you didn’t really want but can’t give away without offending a rich family member, stands the German Pavilion by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe.  Built as a temporary structure, it was dismantled after the close of the 1929 International Exposition and rebuilt in 1986.  Go early for the great fun of watching the crew climb gingerly all over this thing to make it look as pristine as Mies intended.  Close up, this is an extraordinary collection of materials: everything is sumptuous, rich, gorgeous, detailed to the last beinahe nichts.  If you are the kind of person who is sometimes tempted to lick chrome, proceed with extreme caution.

IV. A few more things

“Smoke and flames on the one hand, flowers and fruit on the other.”  That’s pretty much it—although in our experience, it was more like flowers and fruit, few and far between, in the midst of a sea of smoke and flames.  One more very nice island in the midst of sea of smoke is the Museu de la Xocolata.  It’s educational and delicious!  And maybe the best museum ever, just starting with the fact that your ticket is a BAR OF CHOCOLATE and 50% of the merchandise in the gift shop is edible.  (Get more here.)

Not really a barnacle, Barcelona is a string of islands: Santa Maria del Mar, la Boqueria, Sant Pau del Camp, Palau de la Música Catalana and the German Pavilion are all worth your visit; we’re very glad to have seen them.   It can’t be all bad or the Plastiscines never would have extended their invitation to us to get down in the Catalan capital.  Even the in-between parts are not all bad: scuttling under the surface of the city, we enjoyed lots of strolling musicians in the metros.  Dodging gaggles of art majors and questionable characters on the street we hunted churros and admired the awesomely well-behaved Dogs of Spain.  And we really loved the tidy, speedy, overnight train to Granada.

Quixotic in Xocolata

“good design” at the Smart Museum

Lindig tea pot -Smart Museum, Chicago

Otto Lindig, earthenware tea pot (1929)

Typically when the phrase “Mid-Century Modernism” is bandied about (in Our experience at MoT, this happens most frequently among architects and design school faculty–who can bandy with the best of ’em), the speaker assumes everyone to understand that the century in question is the twentieth.  Those talismanic words should prompt the listener to instantly conjure heroic images of, say, anything that Mies van der Rohe might have designed, built, sat on, worn, drank from, driven or smoked.  This is the typical image of what “Modernism” means; it is a picture painted primarily by a group of critic/historians like Sigfried Giedion and Carl Condit, who arranged design history of the post-Industrial Revolution era into a neat, tidy ascending line beginning with the “functional” aspects of the British Arts and Crafts and finding its apex in a narrow, if undeniably significant, band of work that fits within the confines of the International Style.  In this story, proper twentieth-century design is industrial, ahistorical, purely “rational” and above all else über-functional.  If the theory is taken to its extreme, We would have to say that twentieth-century designers really had little imaginative involvement in the calculation of practical objects: don’t blame (or praise) me; the zeitgeist made me do it.

Marianne Brandt, metal tea pot (1924)

A more recent development in criticism and scholarship recognizes that the movement which still commonly commandeers the term modern (the problem with this word-hijacking is another tale for another day) is much messier and harder to pin down.  It appreciates that the Mid-Century Modernism of Mies, et al., was not a foregone conclusion, nor the only reasonable development of the era.  Instead, it looks to earlier periods to work out the difficult details to find the fuller story, believing that the previous century’s middle had some pretty interesting things happening too, and they were often the result of creative individuals thinking, well, individually.  This is the kind of approach taken by the Smart Museum’s exhibition “Mid-Century: ‘Good Design’ in Europe and America, 1850-1950.”

Wilhelm Wagenfeld, glass tea pot (ca. 1931)

The exhibition reveals a strong sense of the real quality of work in this century (+/-), and the great range of design that could be considered “good.”  Given the fact that the exhibition has no loaned objects, and is relatively small, its scope is especially admirable.  “Good Design” communicates the diversity of form/aesthetic arising from different designers’ interests/taste; We are delighted to see that the website text actually refers to taste (as in “aesthetic preference”) as a viable consideration within the design process itself as well as a factor for the critic/historian to weigh with other contextual issues.  Exemplary works like the trio of tea pots shown here reveal drastically different forms (organic and mechanistic), materials (natural and industrial) and general qualities (opaque and transparent) even while performing the same basic function.  All of them designed by Germans within six years of each other, the vessels exhibit their designers’ different views of what modern form should suit the function of brewing tea.

Edmond Johnson, metal processional cross (ca. 1891) & A. W. N. Pugin, dessert plate (ca. 1849)

Such comparative display pieces related by time and place abound through the exhibition (behold the family of vases . . . consider the herd of chairs . . .), within an overall narrative that is is roundly inclusive for the century advertised in the exhibition title.  It opens with two Gothic Revival works, including the requisite A. W. N. Pugin piece (as all good modern design exhibitions seem to do lately–although one wonders how Pugin himself would feel about being colored a proto-modernist while his unwavering Catholicism is cleanly cut from the discussion: he is represented not by church fittings but rather a cake tray).  Associated with these, as they are within the historical record, are some nice Sorta-Nouveau works, including a very pretty biscuit tin from Liberty & Co. (and if you are a regular here at MoT, you know We always reward extra credit for the inclusion of Liberty in any undertaking).

Archibald Knox, metal 'biscuit barrel' (ca. 1903)

Vilmos Huszár, maquette for a side chair (1918-19)

The exhibit catalogues some famous items, such as those drawn from the well-worn path of the Prairie School (including–you guessed it!–a Robie House dining set, abiding by Illinois law that nineteenth/twentieth century design exhibitions MUST include the Robie House dining room furniture and at least one Frank Lloyd Wright window per 5,000 SF of exhibition space).  But it also includes some surprising and interesting unknowns.  One piece that was new to Us was a maquette for a side chair by Hungarian de Stijl designer Vilmos Huszár.  It’s a crude little thing, but shows that Gerrit Rietveld was not the only one obsessed with primary-colored planes and lines back in the 1910s.  (Speaking of “humble” work, there is also a jarringly coarse Mies drawing on display that makes one wonder, if Herr Ludwig was better at freehand sketching, would he have relied on the straightedge and compass so much?  Who knows how differently the twentieth century might have turned out if he had just learned to draw back in Aachen.)

Charles and Ray Eames, leg splint (1942) & chair (1946)

In short, “Good Design” is a terrific little exhibition that assesses famous designers along with the less-well-known for a comprehensive view of a richly diverse period.  The catch phrase, good design, is cited not only for the general idea of reformist design in the period 1850-1950, but is taken from a series of competitions and exhibitions that were the joint work of MOMA in New York and the Chicago Merchandise Mart.  We would have liked more fleshing out of this collaboration, but are satisfied to have been made aware of it; the curator of this show (Richard A. Born) is a good teacher, and makes us want to get a book from the library to find out more about that nibble of Chicago design history, as well as this Hungarian Huszár, and makes us think that maybe We should read a little more about Archibald Knox while We are at it.  With its placement of the usual suspects (like Mies’  lounge chair for the German Pavilion in Barcelona) among lesser-known points of contrast (like a folding chair with woven cane seat and back by Dane Hans Weber that begs to be compared with the Barcelona lounger), made this much more than a university museum trying to make do with whatever it had in storage (as such, it was much more successful than the Art Institute’s recent Arts and Crafts exhibition).  Seeing that famous Eames chair next to a leg splint reinforces the idea that these iconic pieces did not solidify out of vapor but had strong connections to historical events: in this case, the designers’ association with wartime activities.  The arrangement is straightforward, with variety set within four historically consecutive timeframes.  The wall text was helpful enough without being overbearing; it felt very much like a place for discovery and/or teaching–as indeed the whole museum is curated to serve education at several levels.

Exhibits such as this one help to repair the damage done by several generations of modernist critics pushing an agenda that was historically inaccurate and also, well, just sort of boring.  Whereas the famous MOMA show of 1932 organized by Philip Johnson and Henry-Russell Hitchcock worked overtime to squish examples from Plano to Brno into a strict and unforgiving thesis, the Smart exhibition takes the evidence and tells the story that the objects communicate.  It’s a richer, more honest and smarter look at a great century of design.

Hans J. Wegner, folding chair (1949) & Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, lounge chair (1929)

“Mid-Century: ‘Good Design’ in Europe and America, 1850-1950” at the Smart Museum of Art, University of Chicago: July 8 – September 5, 2010

Museum Credits:

Otto Lindig, Glazed slip-cast earthenware tea pot (1929; Gift of Barry Friedman, 2004.384a-b)

Marianne Brandt, hammered sterling silver and ebony tea pot (designed in 1924; anon. gift in memory of Liesl Landau, 2006.19.1-2006.19.4)

Wilhelm Wagenfeld, glass tea pot (ca. 1931; Gift of Barry Friedman, part of a tea service: 2004.395, 2004.396, 2005.29a-b, 2005.30)

Edmond Johnson, wrought and cast metal Processional Cross of Cong with gilt, silver, enamel, and glass decoration (ca. 1891, 1967.121.2)

Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin, glazed stoneware Dessert Plate (ca. 1849, 1997.7)

Archibald Knox for Liberty & Co., cast pewter Biscuit Barrel with enamel inlay (ca. 1903, 1997.23a-b)

Vilmos Huszár, painted pine maquette for a side chair (1918-19, 1988.80)

Charles and Ray Eames, leg splint (1942, 1984.28) and Chair (1946, 1984.23) both molded and bent plywood

Hans J. Wegner, oak-frame folding chair with woven split cane seat and back (designed in 1949, 1991.353)

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, chrome-plated steel frame lounge chair with leather upholstery (1929, 1985.31)