George's Odhni | Cora Ginsburg

The lessons I've learned from my godfather George continue, even two years after his death. This lovely textile of his recently sold at Cora Ginsburg—the notable New York City dealer of antique textiles + historic clothing. My godfather highly regarded the shop and [now] owner Titi Halle, lugging many pieces he collected over the years to Titi for her expert knowledge of textiles from all over the globe. This particular piece is an Odhni, a woman's veil-cloth or head covering. The intricately embroidered silk from India [Banni, Kutch region, Gujarat, circa 1900] was made perhaps, as part of a dowry. At the center of the design is a large diamond-shaped medallion of mitered stripes of branching triangles, worked in running stitch. Each corner is finished in a geometric embroidery studded with shimmering mirrors, and the entire textile is covered in minute, embroidered eyelets. The embroiderer limited the scheme to just four colors of silk thread: garnet red, dull gold, cream, and black. According to Halle, a similar example is in the Victoria & Albert Museum collection. A serious art collector, my godfather volunteered at the Metropolitan Museum in the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts Library from 1992 until months before his death at age 88, in 2009. He was a life-long scholar of the arts and luckily for me... a teacher, too.

INSPIRATION | SILKWORK

One of the hundreds of pages that captured my interest over the years reading House & Garden magazine, included a story about Silkwork by Christopher Finch. These vivid tableaux became fashionable with the opening up of the China Trade during the eighteenth century—and depict scenes from mythology to the Mayflower. During this time when silk thread became available, young women learned the craft of silk embroidery to demonstrate accomplishment and breeding. Unlike the more commonplace needlework samplers that were stitched on grounds of linen or canvas, the intricate pattern of stitches on Silkwork were created on satin or moiré backgrounds. The lovely piece shown above is from a dog-eared page I saved as inspiration for a front hall mural that we never got around to installing in our 1740s Massachusetts farmhouse. This early 18th-century English tableau portrays a scene of courtly love and was made available to House & Garden by Cora Ginsburg, New York.

A TRIBUTE TO EXTRAORDINARY GEORGE

In the last weeks of my godfather George's life he told me he loved the actress Louise Brooks. He told me to learn about Maggie Lane's needlepoint kimonos and Anne Ryan collages. We talked about Cora Ginsburg and antique textiles, William Spratling and Alexander Calder jewelry, 17th & 18th century European paintings, Moghul drawings, Iranian jewelry, and Japanese prints. I read him articles from the New York Times. He asked me to tell him about my dog and he closed his eyes and smiled as he listened. I held Freesia up to his nose so he could smell its peppery sweetness. We held hands. We talked about blogs and blogging. We talked about how The Met glows in the evening. He gave me instructions for thank you notes. I got to know his nurses and aids. We looked through postcards of paintings and he thought the Dutch pastoral scene with the cows was "a bore." He was a consummate New Yorker but had also lived in Rome and Paris. When I attended art school in London he gave me a list of his friends to visit in Europe with priceless descriptions of each one. He began his career in the antiques department at Lord & Taylor, then as a silver buyer for Tiffany & Co. Later, he started the original museum gift shop at The Brooklyn Museum and then The Crafts of all Nations shops at The United Nations. He volunteered in the European Design & Decoration Library at The Met for eighteen years, with a few of them spent in the Costume department. He was a serious art collector. When I told him on Monday that I would be back at the end of the week he said "you better call first" with a smile. He died on Wednesday, March 11th after a spin around the hospice halls in a wheeling recliner. He was 88. I was lucky.