Button Up!

The Musée des Arts Décoratifs on the rue de Rivoli, forms one side of the massive complex of buildings that houses the Musée du Louvre, the Caroussel du Louvre, and the many and varied departments of the Louvre. You enter from the rue de Rivoli, and you can walk straight through the entry hall and step out into the gardens of the Tuileries. Red banners hang outside on the rue de Rivoli, heralding its presence, but somehow I often find myself forgetting it's there. Perhaps it is just overshadowed by the grandeur of expanse of the Musée du Louvre itself.  On its own merits, however, it holds one of the world's largest decorative arts collections, more than half a million artifacts, largely formed by donations and bequests.  Fashions, textiles, furnishings, graphic designs, rare and ancient documents all form part of the collection.

And buttons!

Made from beads...

...made from raffia...

...made from mother-of-pearl, wood, leather, ceramic, stone, gold and other metals, made from papier mâché, silk passementerie, fur, pretty much any material you can think of...

...even Wedgewood china! Some 3000 such small items, from the collection of Loïc Allio (acquired by the museum in 2012), are currently on display in a special exhibition that provides a wonderful journey through history, art, and fashion.

In the 18th century, for example, the usual wardrobe of a French gentleman included a jacket, waistcoat and breeches, adorned with buttons in a specific order, signifying his social status.

A vest could be richly embroidered, with toggles fastening the brocaded, passementerie buttons in a strictly form-fitting line.

Production of buttons was highly controlled, divided between different guilds, depending on the materials and techniques used. Rosary makers were charged with making bone buttons, and only silversmiths were allowed to use precious materials. This beautiful velvet jacket from 1790 has striking copper buttons, enameled in blue with decorative pearl beads edging each one, and with a starburst circling the centre. Only 3 buttons are functional, the rest are merely ornamental, leaving the jacket open at the neck and bottom.

By the 19th century, men's clothing sobered up considerably. Understated elegance became the order of the day. On waistcoats, buttons reinforced the cut and line of the garment, but discreetly, giving a note of sophistication. I love the little buttons on the lapels of this waistcoat.

The same held true for spats...

...and men's kid gloves. Somehow, these last three items made me think of Soames Forsythe  marching steadfastly every day up Ludgate Hill to his office!

For women, on the other hand, the 19th century heralded a bold step into the world of buttons, particularly inspired in the early years by the uniforms of the Hussars.

Perhaps a reflection of the bravery of these soldiers during the Napoleonic era, braiding and rows of buttons became the vogue for women.

By mid-century, with crinolines in full swing, buttons became a huge decorative device. On this luscious dress, seven taffeta buttons fall neatly in line from the neck to the waist, whilst the skirt has eight more, each one bordered with elaborate lace, creating flower "blossoms" down to the hem.

During the Second Empire, lines of buttons fell in a regulated way, giving shape and symmetry to the body, supposedly highlighting balance and modesty, as decorum required! Buttons tended to be the same color as the dress, or a darker color to match trim or braiding.

By the 1880's the bodice stayed tight and firm, holding women's bodies in place (!), even in coats like this orange travelling coat, with its dramatic shoulders and large pairs of buttons lining up down the front.

Soft kid-leather boots were in vogue, with up to two dozen buttons to close and open -- no wonder the button hook was invented!

Not quite so many on these silvery satin evening boots, with the cute button hook hanging behind, in the shape of a boot!

Underwear, too came with buttons. This pretty set seems very loose and comfortable, but this is the look before the corset and stays are tied on and tightened, to make the female body look like the dress on the left!

By now and moving forward into the 20th century, buttons were being mass produced and mass promoted, with catalogs displaying the very latest in design and materials.

Although you could still order your own box of buttons from Lucien Tesson, exquisitely hand-painted landscapes and birds, a rare treasure.

A sea change began to occur for women around 1910. The female silhouette became more linear, the designer Paul Poiret tossed out the corset and freed up women's bodies, highlighting their shape with rows of buttons placed along the seamlines, with false buttonholes or small loops of braid.

New materials included the use of celluloid, an early plastic, which took off in the 1920s in the world of jewellry and buttons, in bright colors...

...and striking black and white asymmetrical shapes and designs.

By the 1930's, fashion was all about the cut and drape of the fabric, as these two crèpe-de-chine day dresses show so beautifully, with the diagonal, black, ball-shaped buttons on the right hand dress echoing the drape effect.

With the advent of WWII, buttons took on a distinctly patriotic look and flavor. Here, the shape of the country of France, the colors of the flag, and the famous French rooster symbol all get transformed into buttons!

With dress materials in limited supply during the war, dressmakers looked to buttons to brighten and "buck up" the populace. In this classic shirtwaist not only does the eye go to the buttons and the buckle, but also to the decorative stitching on the bodice and around the hem.

By now, of course, the world of "haute couture" had long been established in France and elsewhere, and the doyens of this world continued to use buttons to focus and accent garments. This Christian Dior dress from the 1940's has a double row of round black buttons running down the back from top to bottom, revealing below the waist, an inset panel of tiny pleats. Dior believed that buttons "could even help give a dress its full meaning."

Those buttons, though, are clearly not functional, which would not have pleased Coco Chanel, who never placed a button on a garment without it having a corresponding buttonhole! They were arranged in a highly symmetrical manner, rather like a military uniform. The buttons themselves might be gilded and stamped with her own insignia.

From her 1958 collection, Elsa Schaparelli offered this beautiful red wool jacket with ceramic buttons and, calling on the "paruriers" (makers of fine jewellry and accessories), adorned the collar and pocket lapels with some kind of decorative swirls of metallic braid, or actual metal chains, I couldn't quite figure out which.

Andrès Courrèges, on the other hand, in 1965 unveiled a line of clothing with an almost austere line, highlighted with simple round disks for buttons. I lived in London in the early 1960's, and I was reminded of a Jaeger suit I bought with similar lines, very simple, straight skirt (mini in length!), boxy jacket, plain buttons. A far cry from those blue enameled, pearl-encrusted buttons the gentleman in 1790  sported on his velvet jacket!

As I strolled back out on to the rue de Rivoli, I thought about how small most buttons are, and yet what a familiar, every day part of our lives and our clothing they occupy. Just about every woman I know has a box of buttons somewhere in their house, full of spare buttons, odd buttons, buttons handed down from parents and grandparents, buttons waiting for a garment that will be perfect for them, etc. They tell stories of status and memories and dreams and wishes to come. True treasures.

I quickly buttoned up my coat as a cold gust of wind blew me back to the bus stop. The spring that peeked her head in here a couple of weeks ago has vanished, temperatures have been hovering in the upper 40's, skies are grey and low. The solar eclipse was only evident because the light in the sky dimmed seriously around 10 am on that day! So, we are taking a little break to visit with the kids and the grandkids on the Isle of Vieques, Puerto Rico!  Further Parisian adventures when we return in mid-April.

À bientôt!

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Serendipity!

Every now and then the stars align...we're in the right place at the right time...the Gods are smiling down at us...whatever the magic mixture is, something really lovely happens! It's happened twice to us just this past week.

On Thursday, I found myself at the fabled George V Hotel, that stands imposingly just a few steps from the Champs Élysées. In 1928, an American  businessman and architect, Joel Hillman, invested 31 million dollars in its design and construction. Initially, the clientele came mostly from America on transatlantic steamers to Cherbourg, from where they took the train to Paris.  Alas for Mr. Hillman, he was obliged to cede the property over to a group of bankers on Black Thursday, 24 October 1929. Two years later, François Dupre, another banker, bought it, added a new wing, and the hotel has never looked back since. Today, it is a deluxe destination for visitors from all over the world.

The last time, and the only other time, I had been in this hotel was during the 1960s (!), on one of my first visits to Paris. At the time, I was camping in the Bois de Boulogne with South African friends, one of whom follows this blog from her home in Australia. One evening, we took the metro into central Paris and came to the George V hotel for a drink. We marvelled at the sumptuous surroundings, particularly in comparison to our modest campsite in the Bois!

 I was remembering all this when I entered the hotel lobby the other day to meet a friend who had some theatre tickets to give me.  She was there to take a tour of the hotel, and to my delight --  as someone had not shown up -- she invited me to join her on the tour. Serendipity, indeed!

Monica, a member of the hotel staff and very charming guide, shared a lot of the history of the hotel as well as the day to day details that go into its operation. She paid particular attention on the lavish, stunning floral displays that greet you wherever you look. Artistic director, Jeff Leatham (who, surprisingly, hails from Ogden, Utah!) develops a new theme for these innovative, sculptural arrangements every three weeks. 12,000 blooms are driven to the hotel each week from Amsterdam, to update and refresh the displays. The annual budget for flowers: 4 million euros!

You could see those euros, front and centre, in all the public rooms where stands of flowers almost overwhelm the space itself!

A little less so in the Cinq Restaurant, where the gleaming Steinway piano took center stage.

And here was the bar, where we drank our champagne cocktails all those years ago -- as I peeked in, I wondered if they had ever missed the iconic ashtray we had somehow managed to slip into our bag back then, as a souvenir.....

Away from the public areas, there are 59 suites amongst the 200+ rooms. Each suite is decorated in different colors and style, all of them designed to give the feel of a private apartment. And priced accordingly! Here's the bedroom in the 5,000 euro-a-night suite...

...and the blue marble bathroom to go with it.

But that was just child's play compared to the bedroom in the 20,000 euro-a-night suite (over 200 square meters in size!), with maybe one pillow for each 1,000 euros...

...and a bathroom that was almost as big as our entire flat, with banks of orchids lining the walls....

...a coffee/tea bar with the very latest Nespresso machine...

...and, of course the perfect Parisian view from the private terrace that came with its own private jacuzzi. A suite for the world of royalty and celebrity, and a far cry from my tent in the Bois de Boulogne!

Our tour ended in the nearby Guerlain tea room, where delicacies like this "tartlette de citron vert framboise" topped the menu -- that's a little pastry shell filled with lime-flavored mousse, covered with raspberry glaze and decorated with sugared lime bits!

As if that were not unexpected treat enough, another bit of serendipity came our way two days earlier on the Île des Impressionnistes, an island in the River Seine to the west of Paris, a favorite haunt in the 19th century of impressionist painters like Gustave Caillebotte and August Renoir.

Today it is the site, twice a year, of the "Foire Nationale aux Antiquités, à la Brocante, et aux Jambons ", the largest such brocante in all of France and celebrating its 90th anniversary this year. We love to haunt markets of all kinds, large or small, curious to browse, not always with anything specific in mind, so on this beautiful, mild spring day, we hopped on the RER and headed out there.

This time, we did have something in mind. For the past three years we have had this elegant pedestal standing somewhat forlornly in the corner of our dining room, dark wood, fluted stem, some decorative touches at the top. All that is lacking is a nice marble bust to sit on top. We have looked in dozens of brocantes and flea markets, always coming up empty. Perhaps today would be our lucky day! 

Over 8.5 hectares, some 800 antique dealers had set up shop in rows and alleys, forming a veritable city of stalls, each row with a street name. Maybe it was due to the sparkling day, but everything we saw looked beautiful.

Some stalls offered a wide selection of china, furniture, paintings mannequins, books, rugs...

...others specialized in one thing, like this super pretty, wavy glassware... 

 ...or these two distinctly different items: a vintage baseball glove and ball, and just above it, a cricket bat with some kind of unknown logo.

At the end of one "street" we immediately spied these three little nesting tables, the exact match of the coffee table in our living room. A quick check of their condition (perfect), a friendly conversation with the stall owner who agreed not only to a good price, but also to deliver them the following evening to our flat, and we closed the deal! 

Time to celebrate with a little time-out for lunch. Here we finally understood the "aux Jambons" in the title of the fair -- it referred to a classically roasted country ham, expertly sliced by this Monsieur, piece after piece after piece, he never stopped. Served with generous dollops of "crackling" and freshly cooked vegetables, and a 1664 brand beer, it made for a delicious meal! 

Thus fortified, we continued on, loving this little "automated" bell boy whose sign, back in the day, would no doubt have waved a client's name telling him/her they had a phone call or a telegram.

And then, here was this cute little Mickey Mouse chest of drawers! Completely adorable, what kid (thinking Clio et al here!) would not want to stow their stuff in these drawers!

 They might find these doll "parts" grisly, though: torsos, limbs, heads, you could pick and choose!

This pineapple light caught my eye right away, because I knew my friend Martha would have bought it in a nano second and hung it in her flat!

And then...suddenly...there she was -- the perfect little marble bust for our pedestal! Hiding out in one of those endless rows of stalls. We could not believe our eyes. Sweet face, nicely carved, pretty colored marble. She's not really "Marianne", the allegoric symbol of France, maybe she's a shepherd girl or demure lady's maid, but there is enough dignity and presence in her that I immediately named her "La Petite Marianne". The stall owner gave us a great price and we did not hesitate. Matthew nobly struggled her into the rolly cart we had (fortunately) brought with us, and dragged her home, back on the RER, then onto the #20 bus that stops right outside our door.

And here she is, happily installed on the pedestal, surveying our dining room with her quiet gaze and sweet demeanor, under the somewhat bleary bloodshot eye of the Rick Griffin rock poster for a Jimi Hendrix concert in the 1960s! A clash of centuries and cultures, for sure, but somehow they complete that corner, just perfectly. Serendipity, again!

À bientot!