#commode

[designobjectory]

French Louis XV-style marquetry commode with cabriole legs and ogee-profiled rojo marble top, 18th century

[vintagehomecollection]

A pair of monkeys carved from lemon wood greets visitors in the entrance hall. The monkeys, considered a symbol of good luck, were commissioned by the archbishop of Paris in 1740. Handmade moldings and a gleaming Italian marble floor provide a splendid setting for an eighteenth-century fruitwood commode, purchased in New Orleans. The trumeau above exhibits its original glass.

Southern Interiors, 1988

[aistobascistod]

Acculturate : Fit into a culture :: Accommodate : Fit into a commode

[mote-historie]

1912 Paul Iribe, Commode. Mahogany and tulip, interior light mahogany, top slate cladding green tinted green, ebony buttons, ebony base and carved garlands. Art Nouveau. 

This commode was one of Paul Iribe’s furniture designs for Jacques Doucet’s apartment at 46, Avenue du Bois in Paris, where he lived from 1913 to 1928. (x)

[weepingfoxfury]

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday ... yet another topsy turvy day in Tuesdayville ...

I lay in bed last night and, as so often happens these days, sleep evaded me. Tiredness follows me round like the smell of a wet dog all during the day but wants to play ball the moment my head hits the pillow. I'm beginning to think that the light switch does more than enable and disable the light bulb.

I tried the usual counting backwards from 100 ... nothing doing. I tried picking a subject (animals, flowers, cakes) and running through the alphabet naming a something or other for each and every letter ... nothing doing. I tried clearing my mind altogether ... ha ... fat chance! Twas like the one and only marble had decided to have yet another house warming after a recent cranial hammock AWOL.

So ... I gave in ... put the light on and grabbed my notebook and pen.

Small talk ... that's what was going through my head. Not the content per se ... just my problem with it. I fully realise why small talk exists, I just don't do well at it. The moment the weather is mentioned, my one and only marble starts to javelin little cocktail umbrellas towards my brain and all the cogs just stop turning. All I can hear is erm, erm, urp, urp ... and all I can feel is me and my face desperately trying to co-operate. If you've ever watched Big Bang Theory and Sheldon's attempts at smiles, then you get the idea. ;-D

I also have a habit of staring. Can't help it. You'd think it was yet another Sheldon moment ... you maybe know the one? ... where he's staring hard at Leonard and trying to make his head explode. Well ... maybe not quite that intense ... although ........ ;-) But I do like to get the whole picture. I like to have eye contact ... to see all the facial movements of the other person ... to be able to gauge body language. I do my best to look away periodically ... but then, chances are, my head is going to wander off on a tangent and the thread of the conversation will be lost. I'll notice something else ... tune out the small talk ... and by the time I look up again the other person's face has crinkled a bit, crumpled towards that ever familiar 'are you listening to me?' kind of expression.

The more I wrote in my journal last night, the more I came to the conclusion that without the eye contact then not only is the small talk difficult, but the whole situation has the feel of a funeral. We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of so-and-so's head ... lost during small talk and a full on stare from 'Staring Girl.' ;-D I give a delighted and hefty nod there to Tim Burton and his book, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories. I'm also going to mention Stain Boy ... he knows who is he is.

And now, in spite of my fairly sleepless night, this, that and a whole pile of the other are beckoning, so off I must go. The shiny metropolis will beckon tomorrow and I need to go practice (in between mouthfuls of porridge) weather talk with possibly a little something or other thrown in about food, just for good measure. Hmmmm ... food ... food fight? .......... stoppit, stoppit, stoppit!! ;-D ...

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

Recycling by Karl Popewo

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Commode made for Princess Amelia or Prince Frederick of Hesse, 1763.