OK, the love of a snowy day is not a passion that everyone shares. But I’m sure we all love a Snow Day, a day that is chalked up as a “bye” from the get-go. A day when no one in the outside world expects anything from you. A day when it’s OK to not even show up. One of those days.
Well, it has still refused to snow here on the Long Island Sound, so I had no choice. I had to go thrift shopping.
I do loves me a good Salvation Army Thrift Store.
Especially when there are so many thought-provoking objects on display.
Are these chairs supposed to be faux-pony or faux-Holstein?
Better yet, they swivel, too. Oh, dear faux-pony/Holstein chairs, why were you forsaken unto the Salvation Army thrift Shop? Did the lady of the house change the decor from hipster-faux-hipster to wretchedly-sincere? And wouldn’t you have made the transition just fine if given half a chance? Oh, dear faux-pony/Holstein chairs, the world was not meant for ones as beautiful as youse.
And if ever there was a couch whose upholstry referenced Paul Klee, it’s this one:
Get it, Get it, Get it, the hamsters in my brain are shouting at me. Not to sit on. (It doesn’t look as if providing a comfy seat is one of the priorities of this piece of furniture.) Just for looking at, and admiring my taste for acquiring it.
And it was hard for me to pass up this…
…given my love of vintage Paint by Number art. But the mountains did not hint enough of Scotland, and there wasn’t a horse behind the fence, and the season wasn’t Fall. So I talked myself out of buying it.
It was also hard to not grab these immediately:
The season is right (Fall)…
…and the landmarks are iconic (Sacre Coeur)…
…and the weird geography is wondrously dreamlike (if that’s the Arc de Triomphe, then there’s no way that can be the Champs Elysees, at least not the one that’s actually in Paris).
But the set was over priced at $13.00 and I can not, can not, can not start collecting ironic French stuff because there would be no end to that and I’m trying to live a de-cluttered life and I will pay no attention to the hamsters in my brain, pay no attention to the hamsters in my brain, etc.
Except when they go crazy over something like this:
Somebody loved this little dog statue very, very much. It’s only eight inches tall, and made of ceramic from a company called Tilso(the label on the base also says “Handpainted – Japan”).
I know that this little object was beloved because for one, it was spotlessly clean. Usuallywhen a piece as old as this turns up at a thrift shop it’s coated in a film of grease and grime from having been overlooked in an old person’s house for decades. No, this little dog had been cleaned regularly, so someone loved it very much.
Also, there was nary a chip of the most vulnerable bits — the flower petal and the ear tips were in tact, another indication that someone cared deeply about this object and protected it. Probably gave it the place of honor somewhere in the living room, or boudoir. I don’t find this dog particularly cute but I could not bear to see it languish in the Salvation Army Thrift Shop, where it might get brushed off its perch by a passer-by or shoved against the old lamp next to it, shipped or cracked or smashed, an ignoble end after all those years it spent as an object of desire. I suspect that that is exactly what happened to the twin of this little dog, since this is the kind of thchokha that comes in pairs, otherwise what is the little fella looking at???
So for $6.00 I rescued this little dog, and until I can find an obsessive collector of Tilso knick-knackery, it will have a good home with Top Cat and me.
Thank DoGfor the Internet. Because it took one Google to find out that:
Tilso was part of L.Batlin and Son, a New York City-based company that was formed sometime prior to 1913. L.Batlin and Son began as dealers of antiques, and following the depression formed the import company Tilso. Importing various ceramic items from Japan, including vases, clocks, dishes and figurines, Tilso was in business until 1976. The name Tilso was derived from the names of the owners wife and daughter, Tillie and Sonia.
I also brought home another piece de resistance.
No, not the groovy vintage floor-length Summer frock:
I found a hand-sewn fully reversible jacket, made of a pomegranate-toned batik material on one side:
And a very 1980s patchwork purple corduroy on the other:
It’s the asymmetry and the startling colors and the trying-too-hard cool zaniness that brings back fond memories of those good old days when I was in my prime, that halcyon era of yon 19 and 80s, when terrorists were everybody else’s problem and nobody had even heard of “rap” music. And we wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told us that hip hop was going to kill rock and roll. Sigh.
You can’t tell from these photos, but this jacket is beautifully made. Someone went to a lot of trouble to sew this.
Oh, dear wearable art project of unknown provenance, why were you forsaken unto the Salvation Army thrift Shop? Did someone not wear you to the big Duran Duran concert after all? Did you get pushed to the back of the closet when grunge became all the rage? Or was your exuberant sense of style too embarrassing when your owner went goth?
If only corduroy could talk.