Reggie Out & About: Maureen Footer's George Stacey Book Signing Party at Brunschwig & Fils

As many readers of this blog well know, Reggie has a penchant for attending book signing parties, particularly ones that celebrate the authors of beautiful design books.

Last night he attended one in honor of Ms. Maureen Footer and her just-published book, George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic.

The party was held at New York's D&D Building . . .

. . . in the gorgeous new showrooms of Brunschwig & Fils.

The party was very well attended by members of the design communities and friends of the author.

Ms. Footer is one of the most cultured and lovely people I know.

She was exquisitely turned out for the party, beautifully coiffed and bejeweled.

She is one of the nicest people in New York, where she sits at the helm of her eponymously named decorating firm, Maureen Footer Design.  She's clever, amusing, and elegance personified.  And yes, Dear Reader, she is very chic.

Furthermore, Ms. Footer is highly intelligent, classically educated (she is a graduate of Wellesley College and holds advanced degrees from Columbia University and École du Louvre), and has an engaged and curious mind.  While she is firmly rooted in a rarefied world of beauty and refinement, her boundaries stretch far and wide, and she is eager to take in new experiences and explore new places and ideas.  I feel supremely fortunate to count her as a friend.

She is, in a word, divine.

Joining Ms. Footer at the party was His Eminence, Mr. Mario Buatta.  He wrote the foreword to her book.  They have been friends for many years.  I like Mr. Buatta, and I find his droll company amusing and thought-provoking.  They broke the mold on that one, Dear Reader.

Reggie is very pleased to have had his copy of George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic inscribed by both Ms. Footer and Mr. Buatta.

After paying his respects to Lady Footer and His Eminence, Reggie went on a search for a drink and to check out the Brunschwig & Fils showroom, and also to see who else was at the party.  He is happy to report that the event was well supplied with wine as well as tables laden with cheese, delicious cured meats, and tasty nibbles.  Everyone appeared to be having a delightful time.

Two of the first people Reggie came across that he knew were Ms. Dolly Lewis and Ms. Amanda Walker, Boy Fenwick's talented and fun assistant designers.  Reggie is very fond of them both.

In touring the Brunschwig & Fils showroom, which takes up a large portion of one of the floors in the D&D Building, Reggie came across a delicious tented room that caught his fancy.  He learned that the tables in it had been piled high with copies of George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic.  They flew off them during the party.  The young woman sitting on the banquette was there to take orders for copies to be sent later by Potterton Books.  You can order one for yourself, Dear Reader, from Rizzoli USA, the publisher of the book.

I've had my copy of George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic for over a week now.  It is beautiful to look at and chock full of marvelous photographs and drawings of Mr. Stacey's chic interiors and their aristocratic inhabitants.  But it is much more than a pretty coffee-table book.  Unlike so many decorator books that are rolling off the presses these days, Ms. Footer's treatise on George Stacey's work is a scholarly, deeply researched, and thoughtful exploration of the designer, his importance to the field, and his influence on subsequent generations of decorators to this very day.  With the publication of Ms. Footer's book, George Stacey is finally getting his due, and his estimable place in the world of modern-day decorating is now realized.  I expect George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic will become an influential source of inspiration for those in the field for many years to come.  It certainly deserves to be.

I highly recommend that you add a copy of Ms. Footer's book to your library, Dear Reader.  I am confident that you will find yourself returning to it again and again, as I have done in the short time I've owned it.

Turning around I was pleased to find and speak briefly with Mr. Mitch Owens before he slipped out the door for another obligation.  I am delighted to know him and will always owe him a debt of gratitude for the marvelous story he wrote about our house when it was featured in Architectural Digest, where he is the Decorative Arts & Antiques Editor.

And who should I come across next, but Mr. James Andrew, of What Is James Wearing? fame.  I often see him at such parties, and I always enjoy stopping and speaking with him.  He is very amusing and a pleasure to talk with.

I am happy to report that the new Brunschwig & Fils showroom stays true to its origins, with much of the fabrics on display colorful and patterned.  The place was flowing with chintzes, toiles, and printed fabrics, each one of them more beautiful than the next.  Thank goodness the new owners of Brunschwig have not turned the venerable fabric house into yet another promoter of beige boringness.  

Reggie throughly agrees with what the Miss Prescott character in the movie musical Funny Face famously instructed her magazine's readers to do, which is to "Banish the beige!!"

Of course I had to take a photograph of this gilt Louis XVI-style fauteuil, covered in Brunschwig's iconic tiger-patterned silk velvet.  Scrumptious!

And another snap of a rainbow of velvets.  It is such a relief to see color after a long winter!

I next came across Ms. Laurie Scovotti, who used to work for Boy Fenwick as an assistant designer before moving to Chicago.  I'm glad to report that she has moved back to New York.  It was fun catching up with her at the party.

I also enjoyed meeting and chatting with Mr. Jeff Petre of McKinnon and Harris.  If you are not familiar with the company's estate, garden, and yacht furniture, I suggest you check out their website.  I first came across McKinnon and Harris' outdoor furniture more than twenty years ago and have aspired to owning it ever since.  It is exquisite.

There were any number of people that I stopped to speak with at the party but did not photograph.  Reggie is not, after all, a professional photographer or recorder of such events, Dear Reader, but rather a happy-go-lucky participant in the fun of the social swirl.  I was pleased to run into Mr. Brian Sawyer at the party.  I first met him many years ago shortly after he arrived in the city when he was an associate at Robert A. M. Stern.  He has since gone on to become a celebrated architect and landscape designer. 

Everywhere one turned at Brunschwig there was something to delight the eye.  I loved the Venetian blown-glass chandelier in the preceding photograph.

I next stopped and spoke with Ms. Ashleigh Rich and Mr. Jonathan Tait, shown above.  I initiated the conversation because I was wearing what was virtually the same outfit as Mr. Tait, of an orange Hermes tie, a blue-and-white checked shirt, and a navy blazer.  Ms. Rich works for Kravet, the parent of Brunschwig & Fils, and Mr. Tait works at Scully & Scully.  I enjoyed meeting them, and found them charming and fun.

Here's another shot of happy revelers milling about in the impossibly pretty Brunschwig showroom.

The showroom is arranged as an enfilade of rooms, each one more elegant than the other.

Peeking my head into one of them, whom should I come across again but Ms. Dolly Lewis, Ms. Amanda Walker, and Ms. Laurie Scovotti, Boy Fenwick's current and former assistants!

Mr. Boy Fenwick himself soon arrived, and the four of them started flipping through the wings of lovely fabrics on display.

Caught in the act!

The five of us then decided that dinner was most defintely in order, so we retired to the nearby Canaletto Restaurant, on East 60th Street, where we had a jolly time of it indeed.

Ah, what a wonderful few hours I had last night, and how fortunate I am to have such an accomplished friend as Ms. Maureen Footer to celebrate and a bevy of others to join me in doing so!

George Stacey and the Creation of American Chic
by Maureen Footer with a foreword by Mario Buatta
Rizzoli International Publications, Inc.

Photographs by Reggie Darling

Reggie Out & About: Glenda Ruby Book Signing Party at Olana

Not long before the Holiday Season Madness descended upon us, Boy and I were invited to and attended a book signing party held at Olana, the celebrated, exotic fantasy of a stately home built by Frederic Edwin Church (1826-1900).  As readers of this blog are well aware, Mr. Church was one of our Nation's most revered and talented artists and one of the founders of the Hudson River School of landscape painters.  In his day he was as famous as a rock star, became rich as Croesus, and built Olana as a trophy of his well-deserved success.

Frederic Church's Olana at twilight

Olana sits on the top of a hill commanding a magnificent view out over the mighty Hudson River.  The house, which was designed in collaboration with Calvert Vaux (1824-1895), another creative Titan of the nineteenth century (he co-designed New York's Central Park), has been beautifully preserved and restored (with much of its original contents intact), and is open to the public.  Olana is one of New York's—no, this country's—historic treasure houses.  If you haven't made a pilgrimage to see it yet, Dear Reader, I highly recommend that you do so.  But be sure to book your tickets well in advance, as Olana is a popular destination and its tours frequently sell out.

The view from Olana's piazza, overlooking the Hudson River Valley

The book signing party was held in Olana's visitors' center, an attractively converted former carriage house on the estate's property.

The featured book was written by a dear friend of ours, Ms. Glenda Ruby, and is a delicious read.  It is a murder mystery, titled Death at Olana—which explains why the party was held there (although there is no formal connection between the author and Olana).  The book is very clever and amusing, and it marvelously captures the spirit and the doings of those of us who variously inhabit the surrounding Columbia County, an area known for its gorgeous rural scenery, a jumble of city folk and locals, and all the crafty shenanigans that one would expect in an area where such cultures (sometimes) collide.

One enjoyed a 20% discount in the Olana gift shop!

Here's what the book's dust jacket says:

"Most of the charming people and the ne'er-do-wells, the heroes and the villains in this tale, abide in Columbia County.  While this is still very much the country, agricultural and rural, about thirty years ago there began a diaspora of New York cognoscenti who chose to spend time in quaint hamlets and villages, rather than amid the haute bourgeois excess of say, Long Island, to choose a random example."

The book party's attendees, enjoying themselves

"And so among the apple, pear, peach, and cherry orchards, the dairy farms, and the good local people who run them, you will increasingly find upper middle, indeed wealthy families, singles, straights and gays, painters, writers, publishers, lawyers, media types, and investment bankers [editor's note: such as Reggie] who have migrated to this historic area.  We all believe we live in the most beautiful place in the world.

"Some of us are murderers."

Ms. Glenda Ruby

"Christmas at Olana, Frederic Church's Moorish fantasy castle . . . a new Church painting unveiled . . . beside a naked body hanging by a noose.

"So begins the first of the Hudson Valley Murders, a new series for lovers of mystery and malicious wit."

Our copy of Death at Olana

We arrived at the party on the later side after what I understand was a veritable crush of well-wishers and friends of the author.  Food and drink was plentiful, and I enjoyed myself immensely.  So much so, in fact, that I gleefully bought half a dozen copies of Death at Olana as Christmas presents, and had them inscribed by Ms. Ruby.  She gamely complied, I am happy to report.

Boy speaking with a strange bird at the party

One runs into and meets all sorts of people at parties I find.  I had a brief and pleasant conversation there with Mr. Stephen Shadley, the noted interior designer, who is someone I first met thirty or so years ago.  Goodness!  I find that I am saying things like "more than thirty years ago" more frequently of late than I care to admit!  Where does the time go, I ask you?

Mr. Boy Fenwick having fun with Ms. Ros Daly

One of the other guests at the party was the divine Ms. Ros Daly.  You can see her in the preceding photograph holding my copies of Death at Olana, which she graciously agreed to hoist while I snapped her picture with the admiring Boy Fenwick at her side.

The Lady Authoress, hard at work

I am beyond fond of Ms. Ruby, who is a wit, a bon vivant, a raconteur, and makes the best Boeuf Bourguignon that I've ever had the pleasure of eating.  Plus, she's a Southerner and has the most marvelous whiskey and cigarettes voice imaginable.  She is Heaven!

Ms. Ruby does a superb (and quite humorous) job of depicting (some would say skewering) the insulated little world we live in during weekends up in Columbia County, among the fields and orchards, and—occasionally as it turns out—naked dead bodies swinging from ropes!

"Oh, hello Reggie, so glad you could come!"

After reading Death at Olana, I sincerely hope that Ms. Ruby follows through on her threat that it will be the first in a series of Hudson Valley Murder Mysteries.  I want more!

If you are interested in a light and entertaining read (and who isn't?) full of colorful characters, amusing situations, and a healthy dose of keenly observed insights into the human condition (at least as it is found two hours north of Manhattan in the county where Reggie spends most of his weekends), then I highly recommend Death at Olana.  I assure you, Dear Reader, you will not be disappointed!

A parting view of Olana

Oh, and while you're at it, do buy at least several copies of the book to give to your friends and loved ones, too, as I'm sure they'll enjoy it as well!

You can order copies of Death at Olana here.

Please note: Reggie admits that he received a copy of Death at Olana as a gift from Ms. Ruby many months ago.  However, he insists that isn't why he wrote this review (or why he bought six copies of it at the party—at full retail price he might add).  No, he has written this post solely for the amusement of his readers and to encourage them to buy Ms. Glenda Ruby's book based upon its own many merits.

All photographs by Reggie Darling

Ella Fitzgerald Saved My Life

In my early teens I spent a lot of time by myself, alone.

As I have written before, as the youngest of four children I was the only one living at home with my parents during the several years leading up to when I went off to Saint Grottlesex.  We had recently moved to Connecticut from Washington, D.C., and into a beautiful, albeit glacial, modernist house at the end of a winding road on the top of a steep hill, with few nearby neighbors.  My parents' marriage had taken a serious turn for the worse by then, and they were barely on speaking terms.  They were often away, and I spent many evenings and weekends alone in our house.  Even when my parents were present physically, more often than not they were not present emotionally.  They had other things in their minds, I was later to learn.

If you've seen the film Ice Storm you'll have a fairly good idea of what my home life was like at the time.

At thirteen, then, I found myself rudderless in a strange new world where everything had suddenly gone haywire, and I was in a state of shock.  I had been very happy in Washington, where we lived in a rambling house in a neighborhood full of children my own age, and I had loved the country day school I attended there, where I was popular and had a close knit group of friends.  Now I found myself living in a strange modern house with parents who no longer spoke to each other in a strange and remote New England suburb where I knew no one, and I was attending a strange, decidedly mediocre school full of strange people who weren't all that interested in welcoming a newcomer into their ranks.  I felt awkward and alien, as if I'd been dropped there from the sky.  Given the physical isolation of the house where I lived and the fact that neither of my parents were at all inclined (or available) to shuttle me about to promote my social life, it was challenging for me to make any friends.  Besides, it was assumed that I'd be leaving for boarding school in a year or two, so why bother?

Nonetheless, it was a damnably solitary and lonely existence for Reggie, and he didn't care for it one bit.

But that's not the point of this story, Dear Reader.  No, it is the context for it.

Reggie is a resourceful chap, and he isn't one to sit around bemoaning his fate, crying into his lukewarm, curdled milk.  No, when things don't work out for Reggie as he planned, he finds a way to do something about it.  Which is exactly what I did.

I discovered Ella Fitzgerald.

The album that started it all . . .

One evening when I found myself, yet again, alone at home, I opened the door to the cabinet containing my parents' record collection, to see what I could find to amuse myself.  Both my parents were jazz aficionados, and I grew up listening to albums by Dave Brubeck, Thelonious Monk, and John Coltrane, and also Peggy Lee, Anita O'Day, and Miriam Makeba.  My father was also a fan of Frank Sinatra's Come Fly With Me era recordings, and he loved Benny Goodman's later, jazz records, too.  Flipping through the albums that evening I came across Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook.  I didn't recall ever listening to it, and so I put it on the turntable of our KLH stereo sound system to give it a try.

It was on a KLH stereo sound system like this one, ca. 1966,
that I played the records that changed my life
Image courtesy of furnishmevintage.com

I've never been the same since.

I instantly fell in love with Miss Fitzgerald's lovely, rich, crystal clear voice, along with Nelson Riddle's lush arrangements, and I was transfixed.  I couldn't get enough of it!  I found half a dozen more of her recordings on the cabinet's shelves, and over the next weeks and months I played them over and over until I knew every word of every song, and I could sing along to Ella's marvelous and impeccable phrasing without missing a beat.

I soon found my way into the bins at record stores searching for more Ella Fitzgerald albums, and I amassed several dozen of them to add to my parents' collection.  I bought many of the other Great American Songbook albums that she recorded, including most of what she made under the Verve label, and also earlier albums she recorded under the Decca label.

While other thirteen year old boys I knew at the time were obsessed with the music of Cream and Jethro Tull, I was swingin' to the musical beat of Miss Fitzgerald, far away in my own little world.  I soon broadened my listening to include her peers, including Frank Sinatra, Keely Smith, Julie London, Sarah Vaughan and Dinah Washington, and I also developed an appreciation for the horn-filled Big Band recordings of the great bandleaders of the 1940s.  This was the music that came to define my teenage years and that I continue to enjoy today, along with more contemporary fare.

I consider those few lonely years I spent in Connecticut as a lad as fortunate ones, for it was then that I was introduced to—and took to heart—the sublime music and superb vocal performers of the pre-rock and roll Great American Songbook.  Listening to it transported me away from my solitary existence into a sophisticated, grownup world of swell nightclubs, swinging orchestras, vocal champagne, the shimmer of romance, and the glorious singing of the incomparable Miss Ella Fitzgerald, the most talented popular female vocalist of the twentieth century.

This is my absolute favorite Ella Fitzgerald album.
I play it at least once or twice a month

My love affair with Ella Fitzgerald has been a life-long one, and has continued unabated since I first came across that Cole Porter songbook album more than forty years ago.  I was fortunate to see Miss Fitzgerald in concert three or four times, first as an undergraduate at Yale in the nineteen seventies, when she was still relatively in her prime, and last at Carnegie Hall in the nineteen nineties, when she was a very old and fragile lady.  I will always treasure the memories of those concerts.

Thank you, Miss Ella Fitzgerald, for befriending a young Reggie all those years ago, and for giving him so much pleasure then, and ever since.