Notwithstanding the noise, dirt, and discomforts of London, there are thousands of its population who prefer it to all other places. We have known some of these town-worshippers: when, after much deliberation, they visit a country friend, they are always miserable until they get back again. Charles Lamb, who
—’Ranged the crowded streets
With a keen eye,’
affords a memorable instance of love of urban life, amounting almost to a devout feeling. We have another example in Dr Johnson: his attachment to London breaks out in many parts of his writings. In one place he says: ‘The happiness of London is not to be conceived but by those who have been in it. I will venture to say there is more learning and science within the circumference of ten miles from where we now sit, than in all the rest of the kingdom.’ (more…)
A circa 1800 worktable. Thanks to Richard O. Byrne for digging this up.
“It is of no use to design furniture; it cannot be designed.”
— Kaare Klint, Mobilia Magazine, No. 56, 1960
As a teacher especially, Kaare Klint exerted a strong influence. With his students, he studied how a piece of furniture was to function and took anthropometric measurements. As a design theorist, Kaare Klint looked back to the crafts tradition and skilled craftsmanship, for which meticulous attention to detail and a knowledge of materials were essential. This was the basis on which new forms were to be created from existing forms that had proved their worth, not a radical break with tradition but rather an evolution.
Our plan was to offer 1,000 postcards and order a few extra in case some of the postcards were spindled or mutilated in transit. When ordering from our supplier the next tier up was 2,000 postcards.
As a result, we have a few hundred left in our warehouse and will continue to ship them with every domestic order until they are gone.
One other note: The first press run of “Virtuoso” is nearly depleted. So if you are one of those people who desires a first edition, you better click quickly.
This week John stopped by to pick up a pile of books left over from the Handworks show and tossed me a bag packed with computer cords and a silver bullet.
“Uh dude,” I said. “You left some ammo in my bag.”
“Nope,” John said. “Someone gave me that to give to you.”
“Oh great,” I replied. “Another death threat.” (Note: This is an exaggeration. I haven’t gotten a good solid death threat in 20 years. However, people do regularly threaten to beat me up.)
I examined the curious ribbed capsule and turned it over. Yup – the base looked like a shotgun shell. OK, time to open it up and read the threatening note inside that is no doubt written in all capital letters.
I twisted the top. It came off and I laughed. Inside is a nozzle. It’s an oilcan.
It turns out to be a Perfect Pocket Oiler, patented in 1889, that was manufactured by Cushman & Denison of New York. The little gizmos were sold to dispense tiny drops of oil on household machinery, such as bicycles and sewing machines.
Unlike typical oilcans, the Perfect Pocket Oiler has some nice details.
The oil reservoir is all one piece so it cannot leak. Most oilcans are made from a base piece that is folded together with the sides. And they leak.
Instead of the oiler being just a reservoir and a nozzle, this has a clever spring-activated pump and seal. Nothing comes out of the tip until you press the ring around the nozzle down. Then capillary action dispenses a drop of oil.
A lid. So you can put it in your pocket without getting your privates oily (I realize some of you will actually see this as a disadvantage).
I don’t know who pressed this oiler into John’s hand at Handworks, but thank you. It’s getting some good use already because I loaned my two favorite oilers to Thomas Lie-Nielsen.
