Textiliphilia Antiquus

My name is Lisa Borgnes Giramonti and I am a vintage textile addict.

(Stack of rugs from Rugs and Art)

My latest obsession is a shop in Beverly Hills called Rugs and Art (436 S. Robertson, 310-247-1176) that I've been visiting with increasing frequency for about two years now.* Wally, the genial owner, and his son Sammy always indulge my candy shop cravings and assist me in unrolling as many gorgeous antique carpets as my heart desires (even if they know I'm not buying). They understand I need my "fix."

Their stock ranges from priceless centuries-old Aubusson tapestries (the kind you'd find hanging in a Belgian castle designed by Axel Vervoordt) to smaller antique rugs that are perfect for adding a little history to your foyer or dining room, and at prices that compare favorably with big box stores (I'm not kidding).

During my recent art show, Wally was kind enough to lend me a rug for the installation in the center of the gallery.

After the show came down, the rug had successfully burrowed its way into my heart. It currently graces my "forever-a-work-in-progress" bedroom.

To me, old rugs are a colorful narrative that link the handmade past to the hi-tech present. Literal pieces of history, they give a room a vibrant heart and add texture, color and drama to any space. I have an especial fondness for threadbare ones that have seen better days: their condition makes me long to know the tales behind the worn patches and ghostly footsteps and worn patches.

Since that's impossible, when I look at a rug, I weave a backstory for it...

Did it live in the dining room of a 19th century Danish sea captain? Is it in such pristine condition because he was away 8 months of the year and they rarely held dinner parties?

(Painting by Carl Holsoe)

Did it come from the study of a widowed English vicar? Is one particular area of the rug more worn because his faithful cocker spaniel sat patiently by his feet as he toiled away on his never-to-be-published memoirs?

(Edward Bawden, "Life in an English Village", 1949)

Was the rug part of a royal household? Did future kings romp and play upon it with childish abandon beneath the disapproving images of their forbears?

(Johan Zoffany, "George, Prince of Wales, and Frederick,

later Duke of York", c. 1764-65)

The masterfully photographed book "In Rooms" features quite a few swoonworthy spaces with tattered heirloom carpets that make you ache to sit down on a kilim-covered sofa, crack open a leather-bound copy of Boswell's "Life of Johnson" and sip a wee dram of amontillado sherry.

(Villa Malplaquet photographed by Derry Moore)

It's pure heresy to follow a monumental photo like the one above with an image of my little Hollywood dining room, but in its own very small way, I think my aged-to-perfection rug lends my 1935 house an eminence that belies its relatively youthful age.

Sadly, despite my love for rugs, I am completely clueless when it comes to identifying them by category, name or country...so driving by Rugs and Art the other day, I decided to go in and make Wally tell me the names of some of my favorite styles.

Ready? Some of you probably know the names of them already; if so, award yourself 50 points and go watch "The Real Housewives" reunion. Everybody else, read and be enlightened.

*Note: I took very close-up photos of the rugs to give you a sense of their vibrancy and detail. Obviously, they are much more subtle when viewed from farther away.

This type of triangular geometric pattern identifies the rug as a Turkish kilim. Now you know, now I know.

(Detail, Turkish kilim, 1930's, Rugs and Art)

In Annie Kelly's new book "Rooms to Inspire in the City", master decorator Peter Dunham uses a kilim in his dining room. There's no arguing with that seal of approval.

(Photo by Tim Street-Porter)

Here's another one that caught my eye: can everybody say "Konya kilim"? If you ask me, those dense patterns make it virtually stainproof -- perfect for a high-traffic area.

(Konya Turkish kilim, 19th century, Rugs and Art)

This next one is a Caucasian Chi Chi carpet. (Did anybody get that correct?)

(Caucasian Chi Chi rug, 19th century, Rugs and Art)

This next little rug is actually a Turkish grain sack from the 1930's. The fact that someone would so exhaustively embroider a bag used for daily transport is incredible to me. It's about 3' x 5' and would make a perfect bath mat for a sleek woodsy-modern bathroom.

(Turkish embroidered sack, 1930's, Rugs and Art)

This rug is also a Caucasian. I'm not normally a pink person, but this rug transcends its hue, evoking the wistful palette of sunset, twilight and the gloaming.

(Caucasian rug, 19th century, Rugs and Art)

In a wonderful bit of serendipity, I found a photo from one of my design files which shows a rug almost exactly like the Caucasian above. Subtly elegant and seriously gorgeous, no?

(Room design by Tim Clarke. Photographer unknown.

If you know, email me.)

Red rugs aren't for everyone, but they have a passion and a vitality that is inescapable.

(William Merritt Chase, "The Studio")

This red rug is called a Verne kilim. Love that fish pattern.

(Turkish kilim Verne, 19th century, Rugs and Art)

I had to take a photo of Wally's stacks and stacks of rainbow-hued, museum-quality suzanis, ripe for the picking.

(Suzanis, Rugs and Art)

One of my favorite stacks to look through is his remnants pile. This is where you go if you want to recover a chair or make a gorgeous pillow or cushion.

(Remnants pile, Rugs and Art)

Here, Wally upholstered this chair with a vintage kilim remnant.

(Upholstered chair, Rugs and Art)

I love this one, too. Kilim, you say? You would be correct.

(Turkish pillow kilim, 1920's-1930's, Rugs and Art)

And this oversized pillow made from an old Turkeman rug says, "Do you have any idea how comfortable I am?"

(Pillow made from 1930's Turkaman rug, Rugs and Art)

Here's another photo I found from an old Elle Decor. The combination of rugs, vintage textiles, books and that lovely oil portrait adds up to a room that's steeped in the past but still feels relevant today.

(Photograph by William Waldron; thank you, Style Court!)

Just two more pictures and then I promise I'll let you get on with your day...

Look at Rudolf Nureyev in this photo. Would you just look at that man? Swaddled in exoticism like a Middle Eastern potentate. Oh, that I could drape textiles like that around me and go to lunch at my neighborhood bistro and not be deemed a freak. I think the only places you can still get away with sartorial eccentricity like that are the Far and Middle East. (Note to self: book flight to India/Mongolia/Kazakhstan stat.)

(Photograph by David Seidner; via here)

And his bedroom. Enough said.

(Photograph by David Seidner; via here)

Okay, now go forth with visions of vivid hues and tribal patterns and faraway destinations and colorful adventures in your heads and see the world today through that rose-colored lens. Peace be with you.

*If you do happen to stop by Rugs and Art, mention this blog and Wally will be happy to give you a special discount.

"Alhambra": The Prequel

Behind every great textile design lies an inspiration. Here is one such story, step by step...

1. Travel to the Alhambra in Spain.

2. Become seduced with the serene geometry of a Moorish citadel.

3. If your name is Philip Gorrivan, allow it to clamber inside your brain and tattoo itself upon your memory.

(Philip Gorrivan)

4. Use these Byzantine influences as a starting point for your own elegant, modern interpretation.

5. Evoke the lush palettes of far-off destinations when you fabricate your colorways. I don't know about you, but when I look at the tones below, I'm reminded of a walled garden in Morocco.

("Alhambra" by Philip Gorrivan for Highland Court)

(Marrakech, 2007)

With these next three, I have a flashback of Agra at dawn.

("Alhambra" by Philip Gorrivan for Highland Court)

(Taj Mahal, 2007)

6. Finally, have the ethereal Margaret Russell throw you a cocktail party in LA. Speak so charmingly and persuasively about the genesis of inspiration that a blogger with two-toned hair feels galvanized to rush home and explore Moorish/Byzantine/Islamic architecture for herself...

...but not before she gets a quick snap on the way out.

(Margaret Russell and yours truly)

To see the rest of Philip's lovely new textile line for Highland Court, click HERE.

To see the Alhambra with your own two eyes, click HERE.

Tulu: Too Too Fabulous

At my monthly girls' dinner on Tuesday night, my fabulous friend Clare leant in toward me with a cryptic smile. "Tulu," she whispered provocatively. "Too what?" I replied. "Tulu. Check it out. It's this amazing textile company run by an American woman living in Istanbul. You'll kind of freak."

She was right.

What John Robshaw is to India, Elizabeth Hewitt is to Turkey. Talk about an exotic story: Married to a Turk, she's been living in Istanbul for the last five years and has parlayed her background in design and antiques into starting a company that creates original hand-printed textiles, bedding and pillows inspired by motifs from the past. I screen-grabbed some of her gorgeous photos so we could all ooh and aah together.

Refill coffee/cocoa/Campari now. I'll wait.

Ready?

Let's parse.

This entire bedroom works for me. That black wooden headboard is pretty incredible, methinks. It adds a sexy (choose one) Anglo-Indian/Goth/Edwardian/Ottoman Empire vibe to the space that contrasts brilliantly with the beguiling femininity of the bedding. And those Venetian mirrors on the back wall fuel the exotic tension that is rampant in that room already. It's all very "Wilder Shores of Love."

These pillows below are achingly lovely, especially set against that black inlaid mosaic piece. This is a great example of how two completely disparate patterns working together can create a "gestalt" in which the sum is greater than the individual parts, and it's a good mental reminder that soft, muted hues + ornate black accents = Fresh and Modern in 2009. (Whew. Long sentence.)

I'm on a temporary spending freeze due to my spree at the Hollywood at Home and Lucas Studio sale last week, but these gilty (guilty?) pillows have me hankering to click on Tulu's stockist locations.

But umm, can we just talk about that insane antique brass tabletop for a second? I want to buy it and sit on the floor surrounded by Turkish cushions and sip mint tea out of a delicate cup. Of course, in reality, it would become a repository for my son's collection of Lego. No biggie. Disorder = charm = life, right?

Here's a lovely selection of her more ethnic-inspired pillows. It's hard to tell from the photo, but I think those little circles are mirrored.

In case you haven't completely succumbed to her vision, here's Elizabeth's utterly charming company philosophy:

Tulu is cabbages, lotuses, tin cans, turquoise tiles, tulips, alvin ailey,

harold melvin, grandmother's curtains, dusty uzbeks on horses,

pasha's daughters in kandilli, mahatma spinning his khadi, mafouz...

I strongly recommend that should you be in the vicinity of Istanbul, you hop on this...

...and head here.

(All images via Tulu's website)

Heat Up the Rowenta!

When, during one of my recent internet trawls, I spied these deliciously chic napkins and tea towels from British designer Lisa Stickley, I had instant visions of owning them. 

In my fantasy, I had already skipped over the actual tea party and fast-forwarded ahead to ironing them. (Note: It's a predicament because I admit they ache with character all rumpled like that. But ironing linen is soo satisfying.). I'd send Piero and Luca on a multitude of errands, plug in my trusty Rowenta, turn up the soundtrack to "The Hours", take out my lavender ironing spray and go to town on these babies.

I love how the talented Ms. Stickley subverts a traditional idea and makes it cheekily modern. Her designs of vintage floral crockery completely avoid tweedom by mixing a nostalgia for the past with an elegant spareness.  

And look at this napkin with its photo of a menu from a local chip shop. 

I mean, come on.  Adorable, right?

This one, made of Irish linen, comes in a set of three and features a different dinner suggestion on each.

Here's another one which lists weekly food rations during wartime England in 1940. Among the items are "4 oz. bacon or ham", "2 oz. jam spread" "1 oz. cheese" and "1 shilling's worth of meat."

It just now came back to me how I found her website. I was doing a Google search for an ironing board cover and found her version. 

I love that it's scrawled with cleaning suggestions. The wallpaper tip is particularly appropriate for my house. (Stale bread? Who knew?)

Her website is extensive and includes a range of makeup bags, totes, pillows, mugs and more. And she couldn't be cuter herself...

Click here for the link to her press page which features an interview Elle Deco UK did on her and her darling retro apartment in South London.  She's a girl after my own heart -- I love that whenever she is stuck with work, she whips up a batch of scones!