In addition to the Milk Paint appendix in the “The Anarchist’s Design Book” there are a few more resources that the new milk painter might find useful:
Chapter 25 on Finishing in “Chairmaker’s Notebook” by Peter Galbert, available from Lost Art Press.
Peter’s blog Chair Notes has tons of information including this article on using milk paint, “Bullet Proof Finish.”
Chris recently completed a DVD for a bookcase where he covers the use of milk paint. The DVD (or dowload) is available from Popular Woodworking.
For the adventurous painter and finisher:
Brian Anderson, our compatriot in France, experimented with a milk paint recipe and reported his results in “The Mad Chef’s Milk Paint Gets A Shellacking” post here.
A big thank you to Richard Byrne and Ryan Mooney for providing a wealth of links to painting and finishing resources in yesterday’s post, “Milk Paint – A Short History.”
From “Painter’s and Colourman’s Guide” 3rd ed. 1830 by P. F. Tingry
In “The Anarchist’s Design Book,” one appendix is devoted to milk paint. As Chris notes there are plenty of milk paint recipes from the 1800s and provides a reference from 1836, “The Painter’s, Guilder’s and Varnisher’s Manuel…” by Henry Carey Baird. I thought 1836 was rather a late date. And I wondered if there was a recipe that was accepted as a standard and when the recipe came into use in America.
In 1774, an updated edition of “L’Art du Peinture, Doreur, Vernisseur” by Watin was published. This book took an orderly approach to the painting arts compared to the many ragtag publications that covered trade secrets that ranged from royal cake recipes to how to do your laundry.
About 20 years later, Antoine-Alexis Cadet de Vaux, a French chemist (and friend to Ben Franklin), was experimenting with the distemper recipes in Watin’s book. He published his findings in “Feuille de Cultivateur” around 1793. This was followed by “Memoire sur la peinture au lait” published in 1800 or 1801 (depending on which month it was in the French Republic Calendar at the time of publication). Cadet de Vaux noted that his previous recipe was published at a time of public misfortune (the Revolution) and a time of shortages. Although distemper paint was inexpensive the cost and shortages of linseed oil led him to use milk instead.
In “Memoire,” Cadet de Vaux describes the advantages of milk paint compared to distemper: milk paint was cheaper, the recipe was not heated, it dried fast, did not smell of size or oil and when rubbed with a coarse cloth the paint did not come off. The recipe consisted of skimmed milk, fresh slaked lime, oil of caraway, linseed or nut oil and Spanish white. He explains that the “skimmed milk has lost its butyraceous part, but retains its cheesy part.” The cheesy part acts as a kind of glue and gives the mixture an elasticity.
Cadet de Vaux also provides a milk paint recipe for exterior work. In 1801, “Memoire” was translated and published in London in “The Repertory of Arts and Manufacters,” and you can read the recipe and the butyraceous remark here.
Cadet de Vaux’s recipe was repeated in “The Painter’s and Varnisher’s Guide…” by P. F. Tingry (a Swiss chemist) in 1804. Many more editions of painting and varnishing manuals with various titles and translations followed. Cadet de Vaux’s recipe appears to be the standard.
Somewhere around 1803-1808, milk paint recipes appeared in articles and almanacs in New York and New England and for the most part were from the English translation of Cadet de Vaux’s “Memoire.”
Now I get to write my favorite command in Franglish, “Fetchez la vache!”
In the first 90 pages of “The Anarchist’s Design Book” Chris has used “butt” or “buttocks” thirty-seven times (that might be a slight exaggeration). I know, disturbing isn’t it? Especially when you consider the huge number of other terms he could have used. To name just a few: arse, behind, bottom, bum, derriere, duff, haunches, hinder, rump, tush. Just for clarification there was also some mention of furniture to go along with all the butts.
Your twelve-year old self is probably giggling and thinking, “Butt! Buttocks! That’s my kind of book!” But, I’m a little concerned. Is this a developing theme or concept? Will “Butt” and “Buttocks, see butt” have to go in the index? Well, it wouldn’t be my first time for an unusual index entry; “cupcake” and “tube top” are in the index for “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest.”
Putting all the “butts” aside, I was a bit startled when Bambi arrived in Chapter 2. That’s Bambi, as in the cute little fawn, not the cocktail waitress. At this point you might think I’m reading Guillermo del Toro’s remake of Tim Burton’s “Nightmare in Wonderland.” Maybe I am. Those weird wired-legged models are in the book, but so far no white rabbits or clowns.
I may be in for some very disturbing dreams tonight.
It has been about three months since I became a blog minion so it must be time to lob a mudball towards Chris. Afterall, in my first post I revealed Chris’ “special” relationship with a certain jack plane. You can read about Schwarzlandiahere.
The Harry Potter-Chris Schwarz connection came to me while working on the post Fear and Anarchy in Fort Mitchell (and thanks to all of you who joined in and twisted some literature with me). The opening sentence to the first Harry Potter book just didn’t work for that post. Next, I tried the second chapter and things got a bit more interesting and uncanny.
“Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their anarchist on the front step…” And a few more pages into Chapter 2 we find this passage, “…Chris had a thin face, knobby knees, black hair and bright brown eyes. He wore roundish glasses held together with a lot of hide glue because of all the times Wally the cat had punched him on the nose. The only thing Chris liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a swooping A.”
When I showed the Harry Potter photo comparison to Chris his response was not about his resembleance to Harry but about his smile. His exact comment was, “Oy, I look so manic in that photo. I hate smiling with teeth.” My response to that nonsense:
A little tilt to his head and Chris and the Cheshire Cat are simpatico.
Chris, there is nothing wrong with smiling with teeth. There is no mania, or at least not very much. Smile, Chris, smile.
Now, I must get back to reading (and preparing to index) the portion of “The Anarchist’s Design Book” that Chris sent me a few days ago. Except for some artwork the first two-thirds of the book are done. As for the first two chapters, Chris is….feisty.
–Suzo Ellison
P.S. Thank you to whoevertook the smiley photo of Chris.
Edward Prince, Carpenter, Aged 73 by John Walters painted in 1792.
I follow one of Britain’s National Trust blogs that specializes in chinoiserie. Through the blog I was familiar with Erddig, a very popular National Trust site, outside of Wrexham in Wales. What I didn’t know was how the painting above was related to Erdigg and the extraordinary relationship between the Yorke family, Edward Prince and his successors.
The painting of Edward Prince has been in my file for a while but until I could decipher the writing on the scroll, Edward had to wait. Last night I found the poem and much more about the carpenters of Erddig.
Erdigg was built in the 1680s and passed into the Yorke family in 1733. Phillip Yorke I (1743-1804) commissioned portraits of six estate servants and composed poems to be included in the paintings. The paintings were completed between 1791-1796 and in addition to the carpenter, included an elderly housemaid, the blacksmith, the gamekeeper, the kitchen porter and the butcher and publican in Wrexham. Except for the butcher, all the servants were middle aged or elderly and had been in service from a young age. The series of paintings and the poems started a Yorke family tradition of acknowledging and honoring the servants of Erdigg. This remarkable and unique tradition continued for almost 200 years with the paintings, and later photos, displayed in the Servants Hall.
Phillip Yorke I by Gainsborough, late 1770s; the West front view of Erddig.
John Prince, father of Charles and grandfather to Edward, was the first recorded carpenter at Erddig. Charles Prince, known as “The Black Prince” because of his dark complexion, succeeded John. Edward became his father’s apprentice. As head carpenter Charles was paid 1 shilling 6 pence per day for a 6 day week; Edward the apprentice was paid 1 shilling per day for a 6 day week. In 1779 Edward succeeded his father as Head Carpenter and we learn a bit more about him from the poem in the painting:
Phillip York called these little compositions of his “Crude-Ditties” and actually published a volume of them. It isn’t a poem meant for a collection of classics, but a message of warm regard for the Prince family as a mainstay of Erddig and an affectionate thank you to Edward for his long service. And four wives! With each new wife I can just imagine what kind of greeting Phillip gave Edward, can’t you?
In 1830 Thomas Rodgers was the carpenter at Erddig and at age 48 he was painted at his workbench. Simon Yorke II wrote the inscription at the bottom.
Thomas Rodgers, Carpenter, 1830 by William Jones of Chester.
Rodgers started working at Erddig in 1798 first as a pig-boy and later as a thatcher’s assistant and a slater. After working at Erddig for over 65 years he was made a pensioner at age 90 and died in 1875 at age 94. Twenty-two years after the painting we find Thomas in a photograph taken in 1852. He is holding his saw with his son and successor James Rodgers next to him.
Erddig servants on the front steps in 1852. Thomas Rodgers is front row, second from right holding his saw; his son James is next to him.
The Yorke family documentaion of their domestic staff gives us a rare look at a 19th-century craftsman in a painting and a photograph. It is a reminder of how much life was changing mid-century. Although the pace of change was slower on a country estate, the traditional ways of life and of making things by hand was being challenged and changed by new technologies and machines.
John Jones, a descendant of Erddig servants, was the head carpenter at age 56 in 1911 when his photo was taken. He entered service in 1872.
John Jones, Erddig Carpenter, 1911.
Thanks to the Yorke family’s respect for their staff we have a glimpse into the lives of multiple generations of carpenters at one country estate. Hands down, this beats Gosford Park (except for Clive Owen) and Downton Abbey any day.
In 1973 Erddig became a National Trust property. Not long after that a local mine collapsed threatening the stability of the main house and out buildings and a major job of shoring up was undertaken. Although I couldn’t find any photographs of the carpenter’s shop taken in the 19th century I did find a few photos taken prior to and during the 1970s renovations, and a few current photos. Except for the current photos of the workshop all images in this post are from the National Trust.
If you would like to learn more about Erddig go here.
Rona Walker from New Zealand wrote “A Brief Story of the Prince Family” for a family reunion. I wonder if there are any Prince woodworkers in New Zealand?
–Suzanne Ellison
P.S. If you would like to see the original six paintings by John Walters, including the blacksmith, go here.
Interior of the Carpenter’s Workshop before restoration, 1974.
Interior of the Carpenter’s Workshop before restoration.
Interior of the Carpenter’s Workshop before restoration.
View of interior of the Carpenters’ Workshop during restoration.
In the first 90 pages of “The Anarchist’s Design Book” Chris has used “butt” or “buttocks” thirty-seven times (that might be a slight exaggeration). I know, disturbing isn’t it? Especially when you consider the huge number of other terms he could have used. To name just a few: arse, behind, bottom, bum, derriere, duff, haunches, hinder, rump, tush. Just for clarification there was also some mention of furniture to go along with all the butts.
