When my grandmother died a few years ago, my grief was deep and stubborn. It held on tight, like a parasite, to my beating heart which gave it life. I could not get past my sorrow until Janet Wheelock, the first priest with whom I ever sat down to pray, coaxed the grief out of me. Amid cathartic tears, I had a vision. And when I say that, I don't mean an apparition that floated above me like an angel in some Medieval triptych. But I had a clear image in my head of my grandmother, my Oma, in white robes, looking like she did in my earliest memories of her. She gazed at me silently with such peace and contentment that my sorrow melted like the dirty, crusty pack of snow that finally, in May, becomes water and washes down the gutters. I felt certain that Oma was happy, and I felt whole again.
I bring this up because I am trying to grapple with the grief that is absent upon designer Eva Zeisel's passing. To be sure, when I read the news on my phone last Friday after leaving the chiropractor's office, I uttered a wail of "Oh, no!" that came from the bottommost well of my emotions. Paul (who was driving) worried that my back had flared up again. I told him no, "Eva Zeisel died this morning." In a strange, egotistical way, I wondered to myself if her passing had occured the moment my back went out. Because I could believe that. I could believe that Eva's departure from this plane would rupture not just my physical body, but the bodies of all my collector friends. We speak of her by using her first name. We use her objects, and feel like we have her in the room with us. Her spirit occupies our homes and our hearts. Why shouldn't her death crumple some of us in pain?
But a moment later, the deep pang left me. I had this thought: If Eva could create the designs we love on earth, constrained by the laws of physics and the infirmities and frailties of her human self, what resplendent ideas had suddenly been unleashed in heaven? What inconceivable beauty was suddenly unspooling from her spirit on another plane?
I'm not typically spiritual in that way, but that's where my head went. I imagined all the souls in heaven with fantastic dinnerware.
I thought I would take a moment to cite a few favorite designs here on this plane, photographed above. Starting with the gravy boat in front and going counter clockwise:
9. The underdog of Eva's oeuvre, Meito Norleans is an underappreciated line largely due to the floral decorations applied to her shapes. But if you consider the exquisite quality of the china (manufactured in Occupied Japan) and the fine gilding prominent in most of the patterns, you can understand the line's popularity in postwar homes, prior to the height of minimalist modernism in the 50s. The fact that the indentations on several items (like the underplate pictured) were intended to evoke a baby's bottom drives some collectors batty (I'm talking to you, Scott Lindberg), but I find this uniquely feminine. I don't think a male designer would ever have thought of that. And clearly, it resonated with American housewives, at least on a subliminal level. The gravy boat is a precursor to the multifarious forms of the Hall Century line -- squat from some angles, slender from others, it surprises the beholder at every turn.
8. The crystal candleholder designed for the Orange Chicken in the 1990s is a heavy, gorgeous piece of glass that refracts and reflects light like no other object I have seen. And though it may seem like an heir to Eva's earlier buttocks-inspired shapes, I encourage you to imagine it with a candle in place and see what other anatomical reference comes to mind.
7. The Riverside goblet ranks among my favorite designs of all time. The delicate, almost translucent china gives it a ghostly presence, and its bulbous, ergonomic form begs you to hold it. As your fingers clasp the neck, they feel comfortable, at home. This object was meant to be touched.
6. The cruet for Tomorrow's Classic by Hall is my favorite form in the line. True, I haven't figured out how you get oil into the cruet's slender opening without spilling, but who cares? It has grace and proportion and presence. The example pictured features the "Buckingham" pattern, which Eva helped design, and was based on the wrought iron gates in the park near her New York apartment.
5 and 4. Eva's late-career, short-lived collaboration with Nambe yielded several exceptional designs that made you scratch your head and ask, "How old is she? And she designed this just now?" Her stemware features unique, trumpet-shaped stems that flare at the bottom. Her metal alloy vases exploit the reflective surfaces and create a funhouse mirror effect for the onlooker. Genius.
3. Castleton's Museum ware, comissioned by the Museum of Modern Art, earned Eva the first one-woman show at the museum. A lot of people (rightly) point to the teapot and coffeepot in Museum White as enduring icons of modern design. I happen to collect the line in the Mandalay pattern by Chinese artist Ching Chih Yee. The red and gray Asian botanical design seems very 1950s to me. And as sublime as the other Museum pouring pieces are, the water pitcher is perfection. It reminds me of a stately male bird, puffed up to woo a mate. I don't know how Eva did it, but with that pitcher, she created the perfect, dripless spout.
2. Silhouette, by Bryce Brothers, is a rare line of glass that came in luscious, jewel-like hues. The thick glass at the base is a rich repository of color, and the thinness of the bowl allows to color to dissipate and almost vanish. It's like the color of the glass is evaporating, and you are witnessing its evansecence.
1. It's hard to select a favorite shape from Red Wing's Town & Country line. Even non-collectors love the "Schmoos," the salt and pepper shakers that nestle together like mother and child (another feminine motif). The gaping mouths of the pitchers, the tilt of the plates, the ergonomic handle of the casserole, the grace of the syrup pitcher. Really, how do you choose? Simple. You look at the teapot. You look at it from every angle and try to understand how it works. How does that squat, off-kilter blob of a teapot achieve mystery and majesty? How can that handle so perfectly counterbalance the weight of the full pot? How can that slender spout pour so effortlessly? How in God's name does the lid stay on? The first time I encountered one of these teapots, it was like I was having a conversation with it. It was a character, a presence, a lively sprite, teasing me with questions, longing for interaction. The fact that it was made in my home state only makes it more wonderful.
I could easily have cited a dozen more "favorite" designs, but I stop here. I was lucky enough to meet Eva once, briefly, and thank her for the joy she had brought to my life through her work. One rarely has the chance to tell that directly to one's heroes. It was a blessing. And I say thank you, again, Eva, for a long and creative life that inspired so many others.
Rest in peace.
What a beautiful tribute to Eva Zeisel. I love the photo of you with her.
Posted by: Dana@Mid2Mod | January 05, 2012 at 10:37 PM
So much about Eva inspires me to live better, complain less, see the beauty in simple curves, and to take the little extra time to add style and playfulness to lift up whatever is on myu to-do list du jour.
Thank you Cousin Eva!
Posted by: Brian | January 06, 2012 at 02:47 AM
Antay, thank you for this wonderful tribute.
Posted by: Brad Hissing | January 08, 2012 at 06:45 AM