TAKING CARE OF THE ABANDONED
It's seems most design blogs eventually start a "Before and After" segment within their postings. There are even blogs and Instagram sites dedicated solely to "Before and Afters". I'm sure TikTok has postings of someone swirling from funky to glam.
In the world of interior design there's already someone reclaiming an old bucket and turning it into a funky dining room chandelier or repainting an old dresser in shades of Barbie pink and vanilla white for Suzy's tenth birthday bedroom surprise. I am now waiting for the design industry to keep pace with the rest of the world's rescue organizations and develop one of our own.
There are all sorts of organizations out there willing and hungry to protect the unprotected. Animals and plant life of all shapes and species have a group of guardian angels to look after their welfare. There's the Wildlife Fund, the ASPCA, PETA, the Society of Kind Understanding and Not Killing Skunks (S.K.U.N.K.). It seems every form of animal life, every endangered species, every tree, flower, and rock has a group of people out there willing to raise funds to make sure they're protected. Who hasn't melted at the sight of those sad puppy eyes on the matted mutt peering out from behind a wire cage on an animal rescue commercial? For just nineteen dollars a month you can make sure that little mongrel will be well fed and taken care of well into its dotage.
Every cause seems to have its group of advocates. I'm not cold hearted enough not to have fallen for several of these causes but the cause that has pulled at my heartstrings is a little less well-known and has yet to have an official organization attached to its efforts. It's a cause I've already hinted at. It's a cause I've been involved in most of my life, ever since I was a young boy. I rescue abandoned furniture. I can't walk away from a curbside find or a trash yard chair that has thrown into a junk heap left waiting to be reduced into kindling. Like those sad puppy eyes a rickety table left out in the rain makes my heart melt. I can develop an emotional attachment to an inanimate object. It becomes an anthropomorphic process where I see the pain of a gouge on a Queen Anne leg, or the rust on an enamel top table. Their wounds make them all the more endearing and desirable. It's like rooting for the underdog. I was never attracted to complete perfection, if such a thing even existed. My empathy always ran to the reject, the neglected, the imperfect second a manufacturer wouldn't put out on the sale floor but would sell at a discounted price in the back, in the rough room.
It was two days before junk day and I had taken a short cut on my way to the Hyvee, our local big box supermarket. From our house you can cut across on Jana Lane and shave about ninety seconds off the trip, but on that day my shortcut ending up adding time for what I felt was a very good reason. That's because I had to circle back around the block three times to look at this vintage cushionless sofa sitting out curbside next to some recycling trashcans. It was love at first, second and third sight. The back, the curved sides, the fringed bottom all tugged at my minds imagination. I reeled at the possibilities. I saw it transformed with vintage linen, contrasting piping and a pleated box skirt brushing the floor and hiding its dainty legs. I tried to tell myself to snap out of it and leave the couch where it was. It wouldn't fit in the trunk of our tiny compact car anyway. I finally pulled myself away from the curb but as I drove on to Hyvee the image of that sofa wouldn't evaporate from my mind. It lingered in my memory seducing me. Later that evening I made Rick and Emmy take a ride by the curb to see if the sofa was still there and to see if they saw what I saw in that sofa. My heart skipped a beat when we turned the corner and I couldn't see the sofa. Then my endorphins took a huge leap when I saw that pea green brocade peak from behind a parked a car that had been obscuring its view. Rick was a little skeptical. Emmy was only embarrassed I might stop and actually try to "steal" someone's junk. I had to leave it on the curb one more time but it's pathetic state refused to leave my imagination. It waltzed through my dreams that entire night.
When I woke up the next morning Charlie Shortino, our NBC weatherman, was hard at work warning of afternoon thunderstorms between segments on ridiculous Wisconsin politics and how to make the perfect pancake. It was the fear of pelting rain and bolts of lightening that tied knots in my stomach. I panicked about that poor sofa soaked and shivering, a prime target for one of those bolts of lightening. All morning I fought the urge to go and cover the sofa with a plastic tarp until providence set in. My sister, Bonnie, had the day off. The day before she asked me to come over to pull up some rhubarb and cut down some lilacs. Bonnie had a truck, well one of those mini cars with a flatbed cargo section about the size of a child's plastic blowup pool. I sped over to her house and pestered her about the sofa until I insisted, I mean INSISTED, we stop picking rhubarb and go get the sofa. I felt guilty about making her go down Jana Lane as my get-away driver as we, hopefully, kidnapped the pea green sofa. When we got there the sofa was still sitting there waiting to be rescued as the storm clouds were beginning to form. The weather clock was ticking. We parked the truck. Bonnie got at one end of the sofa and I got at the other. Then on the count of three we tried to lift the sofa onto the back of the truck.
The sofa proved to be a true vintage piece, solid wood, metal springs and horsehair stuffing. That sofa weighed a ton. But now I was not about to be deterred. We tugged and inched and pleaded and sweated that sofa into the truck bed and on to the top of the cab. We tied it into place with some hemp rope and drove it home. That beautiful piece of furniture made it into the garage minutes before that first raindrop splattered against the truck's windshield. I had to lean on Rick to come up with a final design and reassure Emmy that I would keep the garage door closed so none of her friends would see the creepy green sofa hiding out in our garage. Then the next step was to get it to the upholsterer.
It was a true Eliza Doolittle transformation.
The back tufting was taken out and replaced with a smooth panel and mini pom-poms Rick made himself. The smooth profile allowed the sensuous curve of the back to be more pronounced.
We tore off the fringe and replaced it with a box pleat skirt to soften the look. Then we had a new seat cushion made since the original was missing. The combination of the curves of the seat with the curve of the back upgraded the castoff from a thrift store couch to a vintage sofa.
Sometimes the damaged aspects of a discarded item enhance their history. Their imperfections are their appeal. Others need a little tender loving care and a pig's ear can become a silk purse in this case bathed in Hollywood glamour.
THE GALLERY
Two Shells, 1927, Edward Weston, photographer, represented by Tate Gallery, London
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