Zajac and Callahan: The Later Years

If you have followed my blog for the last few years, you know that I have frequently featured the work of designers Edward Zajac and the late Richard Callahan. Zajac and Callahan, as the design duo was better known, became design-world darlings in the late 1960s, when their work appeared almost constantly on the covers of American shelter magazines. What made their work so popular at that time was the designers' enthusiasm for zesty color and bold patterns. In fact, it was not uncommon to see five or six different patterns used within one Zajac and Callahan-decorated room. But rather than mixing color and pattern in random fashion, Zajac and Callahan concocted their pattern-laden decor with planning and forethought, something which resulted in rooms that were cohesive in spite of their variety and robustness.

Throughout their careers, Zajac and Callahan remained committed to marrying disparate patterns in their work.  In the Long Island home of Callahan's sister and brother-in-law (seen here and originally published in House & Garden, January 1999), the designers took an exuberant and playful approach to the home's decor, which H&G described as "American rococo."  Here, the Zajac and Callahan medley included Chinoiserie-motif wallpaper (a custom print designed by Zajac,) floral chintz, geometric-print ceiling paper, damasks, and even foliage wallpaper.  And tucked amongst this pattern-on-pattern was a collection of antique furniture in an array of styles, something which elevated this decorative play of prints to a level of maturity that was appropriate to its surroundings.

More than anything else, though, I think this home- and really all of the other Zajac and Callahan projects that I have shown on my blog- was evidence of the design duo's love of decorating.  Only enthusiastic decorators like Zajac and Callahan could have concocted such an enchanting blend of fabrics, color, prints, and furniture under one roof.

Image at top: The house's entrance hall.  The unique window valances were designed by Edward Zajac.

The living room.  The sofa was covered in "Fairoak", a Rose Cumming chintz.

The fireplace in the master bedroom.  The floral-print carpet was by Stark.

The dining room walls were covered in a custom paper designed by Edward Zajac.

The study with its foliage-papered walls ("Foret Foliage" wallpaper by Brunschwig & Fils.)

The master bedroom.  The bed canopy was based on a valance seen in a Venetian palazzo.

All photos from House & Garden, January 1999, Melanie Acevedo photographer.

A Guest Room Primer

Articles about the well-appointed guest room aren't really relevant to me considering that my home's second bedroom now serves as my study. If, however, that well-appointed guest bedroom can serve as inspiration for my own bedroom, well then, that is relevant. Such is the case with this January 1999 House & Garden article, which featured a guest room that was exquisitely decorated by Howard Slatkin. Slatkin also penned the article's text, which laid out the gracious necessities that all guest rooms should have.  According to the designer, these include adequate light for reading, snacks, a well-stocked medicine cabinet, and disposable slippers.

As helpful as this checklist is, it is the room's decor that is the real draw here.  The painted floor, the lit à la polonaise, and the rose-print fabric used on walls, windows, and bed canopy all help to create a space that few guests would ever want to leave.  And then there are the details: small wicker baskets that hold roses and hyacinths; elegant notepads with matching pencils; Porthault bed linen.  Really, it is enough to make me exasperated by my own bedroom.  Perhaps I need to spoil myself as I would a guest in my home and create an oasis of beauty in which to slumber.

P.S.- The rose-print fabric was custom designed by Slatkin.

All photos from House & Garden, January 1999, Claus Wickrath photographer.

The French Château

When a friend recently gave me a copy of the book The French Château, I was ecstatic. You see, the book's author, Christiane de Nicolay-Mazery, also wrote The Finest Houses of Paris, which happens to be one of my very favorite books. I had a feeling that I would be equally as taken with The French Château, and after reading it, I can say that I am.

As the book's title suggests, The French Château profiles some of the loveliest châteaux in France, including Château Lafite, Courances, and Brécy. But rather than focus on the grand rooms of these grand houses, the book captures the intimate side of life at these châteaux. There are lush snapshots of back staircases, family dining tables, elegant bedrooms, and family memorabilia. What I found to be most striking about all of the featured châteaux is the sense of comfort and coziness (really) that they all possess, coziness that was achieved through that always-enticing blend of rich color (reds and greens especially), traditional printed fabrics (chintzes), lustrous fabrics (damasks and velvets), and comfortable upholstered-seating.  Of course, the generations-worth of family treasures also help by further adding to the lived-in feel of these houses.

Life in a château looks awfully appealing, does it not?

*The French Château is out-of-print but can be purchased on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Abebooks.

Image at top: The library looking into the salon at Montgraham.

Sandy seemed to find the château at Courances quite cozy.

One of the many well-appointed bedrooms at Le Fresne.

The salon-library at Château-Lafite.

A painting of the dowager Marquise de Ganay at Courances.

Two shots of the big salon at Brécy.

The Great Hall at Courances.

More Thoughts on Richard Neas

Most of my blog posts about designer and muralist Richard Lowell Neas have focused on Neas's penchant for and proficiency at trompe l'oeil decorative painting rather than his decorating. That's not to say that Neas was not a talented designer, because he was. Neas's interior design work, which was frequently imbued with an unassuming elegance, reflected his innate flair and taste. And it's that flair, I think, that comes through brilliantly in his trompe l'oeil work.

Trompe l'oeil painting tends to be of two varieties. One type is an attempt at mimicry so realistic that one has to touch and inspect the work to determine if it's real or not. Neas was a master at this type of painting, able to make wooden floors look like they were made of centuries-old stone and wainscoting appear to be carved of real marble. And yet, Neas could just as easily execute the other kind of trompe l'oeil painting, which is realistic-looking up to a point and meant to fool somebody in a "wink, wink" fashion. This is the kind of painting at which Neas really excelled.

Take, for example, his work in the yellow dining room below.  At first glance, one might think the walls are embellished with elaborate treillage and wainscoting.  But blink once and look again and one realizes fairly quickly that the trellis, delftware and brackets are really decorative illusions.  The same goes for another Neas project, which featured cabinet doors painted with faux paintings of the china stored within the cabinet.  The value of this kind of decorative painting lies more in its ability to charm rather than to fool.  And charm is something that Neas's work had in spades.

Image at top: Neas's Manhattan apartment, c. 1983, featured a mirrored panel on which Neas painted trompe l'oeil curtains.

It was Neas who designed Brunschwig & Fils's Bibliotheque wallpaper, one of the all-time classic trompe l'oeil papers.

In the Philadelphia dining room of Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Gross, Neas painted the room's treillage, delftware, brackets, and delft-tile fireplace surround in the trompe l'oeil manner.  I assume that he was also responsible for the painted floor.  To be frank, I think that the floor was less successful than the room's other decoratively-painted flourishes.

For Mrs. Charles Engelhard, Neas painted the doors of this china cabinet with trompe l'oeil images of her Rockingham china.

In his own house in France, Neas painted the wood floors to simulate stone.  He also painted the chandelier in a delft finish.

Chez Adolfo

When I think of the fashion designer Adolfo, I think of my teenage years spent reading W. I devoured each issue (especially Suzy's column) because I couldn't get enough of Nan Kempner, Pat Buckley, Jerome Zipkin, and their see-and-be-seen canteen, Mortimer's, not to mention Donna, Calvin, Ralph, Oscar, Bill, and Adolfo. Back then, we knew fashion designers by their first names. And also back then, it was Adolfo who dressed the society ladies, including C.Z. Guest, Nancy Reagan, and Betsy Bloomingdale. It was a heady time for both fashion and society.

Adolfo may no longer be designing, but his name still conjures up images of ladies clad in elegant dresses and suits and accessorized with stockings and low-heeled pumps.  This was, after all, before the days of the high-fashion stripper shoe.  But getting back to elegance.  For decades, Adolfo has maintained a resplendent Manhattan duplex in the famed Berwind Mansion.  Photographed for House & Garden in 1997, Adolfo's residence is decorated, as the magazine noted, in baronial splendor.  Among the damask and stripes is a notable collection of antique pictures, including portraits of nobility, as well as furniture, whose styles range from Louis XIV to Napoleon III and American Empire.  What all of these pieces have in common, though, is that the designer and his late partner, Edward C. Perry, ardently collected them over the years.

All in all, a supremely elegant home, one that is fit for a supremely elegant designer.  .

All interior photos from House & Garden, November 1997, Michel Arnaud photographer.

Fantastic Voyage

Did you read last week's New York Times article, "Reclaiming Our (Real) Lives from Social Media"? I share the frustration felt by the article's author, Nick Bilton,  over time spent- and wasted- on social media.  What starts out as a quick morning check-in on Instagram or Facebook turns into an hour-long slog through status updates, sundry thoughts, and links to random websites.  As Bilton so aptly put it, "Yet I am blaming the Internet for sucking people into a cacophony of links, videos and pictures that are constantly being dangled in their faces like some sort of demented digital carrot on a stick."  Here, here.

While I try hard to avoid those labyrinthine visits to social media sites, I have no such qualms about time spent researching on the Internet.  Those twists, turns, and tunnels through which such research leads me usually result in my learning about places with which I am not familiar.  They also lead me to some really great photos.  And that was exactly what happened when I recently searched for German and Austrian porcelain rooms.  One room led to another, and before I knew it, I had spent close to two hours studying- and coveting- these paeans to porcelain.  But whereas I typically leave social media sites with not much to show for it, here I ended up with some beautiful photos, not to mention a bad case of wanderlust.

Schlossmuseum Oranienburg, Oranienburg, Germany

Porcelain Gallery at Schlossmuseum Arnstadt, Germany

Room of the Sibyls, Altenburg Palace, Germany

Neue Kammern, Park Sanssouci, Germany

Porcelain Cabinet, Schloss Eggenberg, Austria

Porcelain Collection at Zwinger Palace, Dresden, Germany; the design of the porcelain galleries was the handiwork of Peter Marino.

Porcelain Room, Schloss Charlottenburg, Germany

What Nifty Little Rugs

Cecil Beaton's circus-themed bedroom has long amused me, so much so that I discuss the room's attributes in my In with the Old lecture.  But until I read the July issue of World of Interiors, I had never seen the photograph that captured the room's fireplace wall.  (See below.)  Yes, the fanciful murals are enchanting as are the drum side tables.  But what especially caught my eye was the small leopard-pelt motif rug in front of the fireplace.  It reminded me of a similar rug that appeared in the Martin Battersby book, The Decorative Thirties.  (You can see a photo of that rug below as well.)

These trompe l'oeil-style leopard rugs fascinate me because I've always been curious of their origins.  Could they have been inspired by the now highly-collectible Tibetan Tiger Rugs?  Tiger rugs, whose designs feature simulated tiger pelts, hail from Tibet, where the large cats and their skins have long symbolized power.  Tiger rugs were traditionally given as gifts to lamas, who did their Tantric meditations on them.  Little was known about these rugs until the latter part of the twentieth century, so perhaps their existence was not widely enough known to have been a contributing factor in the design of those 1930s-era faux leopard rugs.  And of course, I do realize that the Tibetan rugs feature tiger pelts while the Beaton and Battersby rugs depict leopard skins, but the stylized images of their pelts are rather similar.

By the 1960s, it was Piero Fornasetti's faux leopard pelt rug that was all the rage, gracing the floors of some swank European residences.  And the stylized leopard skin rug is still going strong today, as evidenced by Diane von Furstenberg's "Climbing Leopard" rug design for The Rug Company.  But still I wonder, just who created the vogue for these chic and amusing leopard rugs?  

Images at top: You'll find two examples of Tibetan Tiger Rugs above.  The top photo shows a 19th-century Khotan Tiger Rug from Turkestan, while the second image is of an early 20th-century Tibetan rug.

Cecil Beaton's Circus Bedroom was decorated with murals painted by the likes of Rex Whistler and Oliver Messel, drum side tables, and a leopard-pelt motif rug.

Amongst this grouping of Syrie Maugham-designed furniture, Martin Battersby, author of The Decorative Thirties, placed a stylized leopard rug. Unfortunately, he made no mention of it in the book's text.

By the 1960s, Fornasetti's leopard style rug could be found in stylish halls and baths, for example.

And most recently, Diane von Furstenberg designed "Climbing Leopard" for The Rug Company.


Beaton image, World of Interiors, July 2014; Battersby photo from The Decorative Thirties; Fornasetti rug photos from Nouvelles réussites de la décoration française, 1960-1966; Climbing Leopard photos courtesy of The Rug Company.