One of the fads in the 1980s was for granular, if not downright coarse-grained, photographs in magazines. I recently found an article about, I think, a Michael Taylor interior, with photographic surfaces so promiscuous, the images are almost obliterated. And so it is with these photographs of Richard Lowell Neas' own apartment in Manhattan, not particulate to the point of carnage, but proving to be a bane at least, if not pain in the arse.
However, the matter at hand today is not Neas' room, singular in more sense than one, at twenty-two feet square, and a dissertion in nineteenth-century comfort, with furniture from the time of George II, the Regency and Victoria's long widowhood, strewn with leopard velvets, paisleys and bespangled with chintzes, but rather about conceits we have known and loved.
Trompe l'oeil painting – and this was Mr Neas' profession before he became a decorator – was together with its more shameless relatives, faux finishes, one of the more capricous aspects of 1980s decorating. Acres of pine boards were marbleized into floors befitting a Florentine palazzo, mile after mile of walls were scumbled, ragged, dragged, gessoed and frescoed into facsimiles of Tuscan or, better yet, Roman surfaces apparently crumbling into dust these two thousand years past. Faux marbre lent many a mediocre doorcase the granduer of the Vatican. Raphael sired endless variations on his loggia. Gobs of putti, ribbons veiling their genitalia, lounged over innumerable dining tables on the pinkest and puffiest of clouds. Table tops uncounted were waggishly strewn with playing cards and dice. Stair wells were transformed into bulwarks of ashlar, whimsically pitted with pockets of dandelions and ferns. Fireplaces were stopped up with renditions of blue and white vases, butterflies flitting jauntily across them. Books .... well, it is here I quit my rant and return to Mr Neas for it was he that designed one of the prettiest of trompe l'oeil wallpapers, Bilbliotheque for Brunschwig and Fils.
Trompe l'oeil painting – and this was Mr Neas' profession before he became a decorator – was together with its more shameless relatives, faux finishes, one of the more capricous aspects of 1980s decorating. Acres of pine boards were marbleized into floors befitting a Florentine palazzo, mile after mile of walls were scumbled, ragged, dragged, gessoed and frescoed into facsimiles of Tuscan or, better yet, Roman surfaces apparently crumbling into dust these two thousand years past. Faux marbre lent many a mediocre doorcase the granduer of the Vatican. Raphael sired endless variations on his loggia. Gobs of putti, ribbons veiling their genitalia, lounged over innumerable dining tables on the pinkest and puffiest of clouds. Table tops uncounted were waggishly strewn with playing cards and dice. Stair wells were transformed into bulwarks of ashlar, whimsically pitted with pockets of dandelions and ferns. Fireplaces were stopped up with renditions of blue and white vases, butterflies flitting jauntily across them. Books .... well, it is here I quit my rant and return to Mr Neas for it was he that designed one of the prettiest of trompe l'oeil wallpapers, Bilbliotheque for Brunschwig and Fils.
Richard Lowell Neas died of cancer in 1995 at the age of 67.
Photographs by Jaques Dirand from The World of Interiors, January 1986
Thirty years ago (as best I can recall), I used Bilbliotheque in three places in my city house -- on two landings, where there are the chronic plaster problems associated with a very old house, and in a powder room. In the latter instance, the blank books have been given titles suggested by friends and dinner guests over the past thirty years. (The effect is by turns riotous and arguably libelous.)
ReplyDeleteLove the book walls best - can't have to many!
ReplyDeleteBlue, whew! But really you don't like it? I never liked this sort of paper, this one in particular- but I did use it once in a gentleman client's wc. It was the only place I would allow him to use it (so to speak) My preference is a new magazine and complete privacy.
ReplyDeleteAncient, it is a very cheery wallpaper ideal for places you used it, and the use to which your friends put it. Great opportunity to be scurrilous and witty and write on the wall! Perfect. Nina Campbell, I think, used it too in her house.
ReplyDeleteSanity fair - I agree but in my case I have about 150 square feet of 'em and none are trompe l'oeil.
Little Augury, do I like the wallpaper? I do, and I think now it has nostalgic charm, but I remember when I saw it first finding it a little too cartoon-like for my taste.
I love this apartment -but particularly the wallpaper. It may be a bit cartoonish but then, so many of the 'greats' from the early 20th century used cartoonish wall decorations. LittleAugury -think of Cecil Beaton and the bright young things! They would have loved this bibliotech wallpaper!
ReplyDeleteArchitect, I loved the apartment, (actually a bed-sitting room for one of the armoires flanking the sofa contained a bed) too when I first saw it. You're right about the Bright Young Things but I must say this BYT as I was did not take too kindly to the wallpaper when first I saw it, but the BOT I have become relishes it.
ReplyDeletePlease don't think less of me because I love this room. Red and leopard and plenty of life going on here. Would love to read the titles on The Ancient's walls.
ReplyDeleteHow could I think less of a charming lady, home before dark, because you like a room I also like? It is one of the most comfortable bedsitting rooms I have ever seen. As to the Ancient's books - I certainly would love to browse.
ReplyDeleteBlue- I was asking about the room-but do you like the room? pgt
ReplyDeleteLittle Augury, yes I do like it. Is it a room I'd design for myself? Definitely not, but it is one of the most approachable of its kind.
ReplyDeleteBoy this post was way over my head but "..mile after mile of walls were scumbled, ragged, dragged, gessoed and frescoed into facsimiles of Tuscan or, better yet, Roman surfaces apparently crumbling into dust these two thousand years past..." just sounds dirty.
ReplyDeleteWhen the construction of a new house in the Hamptons, Neas realized his dream and moved to France. There, he added many painted details to give considerable charm to an otherwise very simple provincial house.
ReplyDelete