Why did you take on this restoration?
By 1968, when Edward Schillaci created this sculpture for Austin Productions, JFK was already an American icon. So, of course I was pleased to offer this stately bust in my shop. That made it very disappointing when it arrived broken into many pieces, with the cruel irony of the imagery not lost on me. Honestly, had it not been JFK, I might not have gone to such lengths, given how shattered it was. But the face remaining perfectly intact meant that it was an achievable repair, because the aesthetic center would show no evidence of having been broken. So, in the end, I took on the project out of respect, which is the spirit in which I am sharing it with you here, despite the unsettling imagery of the before photos. No ironic tone intended.
What glue did you use?
For ceramic, a two-part epoxy works best. I used a slow set formula, because quick set is for very easy projects where you have a clearly defined glue job of two or pieces. When trying to reconstruct a 3-dimensional piece with multiple parts, it gets serious fast. You need the time to adjust as you go along, and slow-set epoxy gives you that option by staying malleable longer.
Word to the wise:
If you are new to something like this, do not start with a sphere or head. The level of complexity that the third dimension brings makes it exponentially harder to achieve successful results. The final broken pieces can only be put into place effectively if all the glued areas can shift ever-so-slightly as you gently coax them into the limited remaining space. Since re-inserting every single tiny chip or flake is logistically impossible (some chips literally pulverize at the moment of impact), the once again intact piece will have inevitable gaps, but they can be filled in later. The goal here is to recreate the rounded sphere in such a way that filling in those small places will bring you back to a recognizable head (or spherical) shape.
Filling the gaps
Now that I had an intact infrastructure, I filled the remaining gaps and holes with a two-part wood filler. This material actually dries harder than wood, so it is a good medium for fixing ceramic. Wearing gloves, I mixed the two parts in my hand. Because it cures rather quickly, I made small batches and, without delay, methodically pushed the filler into the voids. I used my fingers because human hands are still the best tools we have.
The next step after the filler was mostly cured (about 20 minutes), was to use a small file with a point to etch back in the rough texture of the original.
Since the filler hardens like stone eventually, it is ideal to get the desired shape while it is still malleable. Once fully cured, I sanded the rest of the repaired areas to make them blend in and undiscernible to the touch. The color difference in the filled areas disappears when the finish of the piece is once again unified.
The Finish
The original finish from Austin Productions was a baked-on glaze, so I let go of attempting to replicate it since I do not have that equipment. The color was black with some bronzing that had eroded over the years. There were a limited number of these busts made, but still enough around for me to see a range of finishes, some more black and some more bronze. This made me feel I had some latitude to figure out what worked best in this case.
Several restorations ago, I learned that you can achieve amazing things with today’s spray paint. There are formulations available that will allow you to replicate a ceramic glaze or a metallic surface, and they can take a repaired sculpture and give it a convincing new life. That doesn’t mean I always nail it right away. First, after a coat of spray primer, I painted this bust with black paint, the approximate original color of this piece, but I found it unsatisfying. It looked one-dimensional and flat.
So, my next step was to paint the bust with a quality brass paint which, ultimately, looked convincing. But I realized, with reluctance, that it was also one-dimensional, and somehow lacking. Both options left the sculpture with the impression of being mass produced. I decided I wanted to (attempt to) elevate the finish such that it gave the appearance of being solid bronze.
At this juncture, I realized I needed a combination of the two paints. For a clean slate, I again painted over the brass with black. Then, I put my gloves back on and sprayed brass paint directly onto the gloves. I immediately hand-rubbed the bust, “smoothing out” the surface points and leaving the lower parts less polished. This turned out to be the alchemy I needed.
And that brings us to the final product! I am happy with the outcome and proud to offer this bust of JFK for sale here in our shop.
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Running an errand in Cobble Hill Brooklyn one night with my daughter, I came upon this 1980’s oak coffee table on the curb. People had given up on it, but they were decent enough to put all the missing slats out with it. I left it there sort of hoping someone else would take it on, but walking back to the car, there it was. I had to take it. (You can see how much my daughter appreciated this extra detour)
Why did you have to take it?
If someone took the plans for this table to a shop today to have it custom made, it would easily be $1500 or more for the wood and machining. I simply couldn’t let it go to the landfill.
What do you know about the table?
Despite the solid wood, this table was early “knock down furniture” by Mersman, an American mass-producer of mainly living room tables that closed down in 1995, after over 100 years. It would have shipped in a flat box, to be assembled by the consumer (or more likely, employees at the furniture store).
Today’s equivalent coffee table would be made of pressed board, not 5/4 solid oak, so you wouldn’t even think of restoring it in 40 years—but the solid wood and good design here merited a professional approach to restoring it.
What was your process?
My first step was to carefully knock the rest of the slats out with the intent of properly reconstructing the whole table. Interestingly, the slats were originally held in with a higher quality mortise and tenon joint, but then somewhat crudely nailed because gluing them would have required serious clamping which would have been beyond the expertise and resources of most assemblers. This made the table less structurally sound -- so I knew that when I was done, it would be even better than it was new.
I pulled the nails out and cleaned all the joints out of crud. Fyi, glue doesn’t adhere well to crud. There was some very minor collateral damage from removing the nails, which I filled and sanded.
I applied a stripper to remove as much of the old finish of the table as possible. (I am not brand loyal in my wood strippers, I find they all basically work fine for my purposes.)
After the stripper, I used a stripper wash with steel wool to remove all chemical residue. This is an important step in the process and skipping this step will almost always compromise the newly applied finish. Sometimes right away, sometimes in a few months or even longer. The bottom line is that it can be a real mind-fu*k so just do the work and clean it right.
Let’s talk about sanding.
Hand sanding was next. Sanding the slats and rails was much easier because they were apart, allowing me to sand evenly right off the edge. Whenever you have the chance to take a piece of furniture apart to work on it, you should.
You’ll notice in my photos that the round legs actually have machine sanding marks from the factory, which they covered when they put the tinted topcoat finishing on the wood. These days we appreciate a natural wood aesthetic, so I knew I wouldn’t be applying an opaque finish; I needed to hand sand these marks away for a high-quality restoration. (see photos)
Speaking of the right way to do things, many people don’t take the time to truly sand away all the old finish, particularly at joints and other tight spots. If you are a purist (I am) you may think you can never go across the grain (which makes cleaning old finish at the joints nearly impossible.) So related to this matter please indulge me in this minor tangent…
I’d like to pay homage here to an old timer here in Bed-Stuy Brooklyn, a man named Dorsey, who passed away a few years ago, but who taught me this trick (among many other life lessons he imparted to me). Fifteen years ago I was new to the neighborhood and just starting out in my business (and my life as a husband and father -- you get the idea). A very affable man who was the super at the church on the block, he walked by our house at the same time every day like clockwork, always stopping to watch and chat if I was working outside. I’ll never forget the day I was kind of struggling with the tedium of sanding one the aforementioned type joints when he leaned over the fence, with a stogie in his mouth and the gravelly voice expected to accompany such, and asserted “Just get in there and clean it up, get a little circular in your motion, then go back and take them lines out!” In other words the old master gave me permission to ‘break the rules’ just enough to get the job done. And he was so right – once in a while we have to break the rules and that’s that. (Just don’t turn into Trump.) Anyway, Dorsey had some great stories about his life including the half season he spent on the Brooklyn Dodgers when Jackie Robinson was there. He only played a couple innings in one game but of course he proudly relayed his experience and I was proud to know him. I don’t mean for this sound in any way funny or ironic because it’s true: I cried when he died.
Re-assembly (and some chat about gluing)
Now it was time to reassemble the piece in the professional and serious way that the solid oak and cool design deserved. I got out my stash of clamps and commenced with planning, because when you have this many joints (16) that must be glued at the same time, you need to work skillfully and efficiently. I also recommend using slow-set glue in such situations to allow enough time to get every joint completely coated and then cleaned up after the clamping.
I needed to glue all at once to ensure the table ultimately fit back together properly and square, which is a lot more trouble than gluing in stages. Plan ahead so you can work quickly! Once you have your plan, get glue in all the joints, then get it all put back together, and make sure your clamping pressure is even all the way around to avoid twists and turns that you don’t want. Check it with a square if necessary, to make sure everything is lined up well.
The most tedious part of gluing is not the planning, its making sure you get all the squeeze-out glue wiped up. I use recycled paper towels and lots of water. It’s a mess, and it’s supposed to be a mess, so do it on a drop cloth!
Then I let it dry for 24 hours. Wood glue technically dries in an hour, but I never unclamp things that early, because why rush it?
I’m pleased to say that this table is now much stronger than it was originally, thanks to the magic of wood glue and proper clamping.
Once the clamps come off, you have to go around and sand everything again, because making it wet while wiping up the glue raises the grain. So go back over it lightly with 180 or 220 grit to do a final sanding and clean with mineral spirits, which does not raise the grain.
Finally, it was time to refinish. I chose a tung oil for the legs and slats, to protect (but not hide) the wood, and a clear lacquer on the top for a harder more resilient finish for the everyday use that a table top is subjected to.
I applied the lacquer with a high-quality bristle brush. I gave it a light sanding between coats only for de-burring purposes, with a 600 grit paper. Four coats of lacquer on the top, as well as 4 coats of tung oil finish. (I find that Tomahawk is a better brand of tung oil.)
The finishing touch after the re-finishing
I purchased the glass cut at a local glass shop, where they took my measurements and had the glass for me a couple of days later. I chose smoked because it is light enough to see through allowing the structural design to be appreciated, and it is dark enough to create contrast and definition in the piece.
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What made these lamps worth saving?
Good timing and good materials. A little while back I got a text from my friend/neighbor Brad, with a snapshot. “These are out on my street, should I grab them?” After a long winter and chilly spring, this was on one of the first warm days, and the good weather had me in an optimistic mood. Sure, I said. I knew that even dismantled for parts, these vintage metal lamps had intrinsic value. Since I regularly buy lighting parts for restoration, I know good quality components are expensive. The cast iron bases alone are worth about $100 a piece. I could certainly use the parts to make other lamps. Why let them go to the landfill?
Why did you restore them rather than “part them out”?
Though they once had a certain Hollywood Regency charm, the “antiqued bronze” finish just doesn’t appeal to our current sensibilities. But once they were dismantled, I started to get inspired by the idea of reinventing the lamps as themselves, yet better. Metal takes paint well, so the color could change, and I began to consider creative ways I could work with the amber crystals that remained on the lamps (there were a few missing). The black & white marble squares were one of the design elements on the lamps that had me visualizing a new black and white color scheme overall. I made peace with the idea of accepting the challenge of re-making these lamps into something fresh and contemporary.
What steps did you take?
1.Disassembly
As always, my first step was to take pictures of the lamps for reference before taking them apart. Then, I took them apart, photo documenting along the way for anything that might be tricky to remember.
Disassembly is a must for any project like this, especially if you plan to paint, and yet people are often tempted to skip it and try to paint the piece as a whole. Don’t. If you keep the parts in the order you take them off, you can easily reassemble by reversing that order -- and you will never be able to clean properly or apply paint evenly if you don’t separate the parts.
2. Cleaning
Sometimes I joke that I’ve built a business on cleaning things. It always surprises me how little effort people give to the mechanical process of cleaning, and how much you can accomplish with elbow grease. In the case of these lamps, the dirt was so caked on it looked like they hadn’t even been moved in 40 years. Always start with the mildest cleaning agent first, generally mild dish soap and water, which is what I used to clean these lamps…along with the aforementioned elbow grease, applied with a stiff nylon bristle brush.
3. Priming
Next I applied a spray-on metal primer. I painted outside, with all the pieces separated on cardboard. If I had it to do over again, I would have chosen a light-colored primer, as the dark undercoating required more coverage than a light primer would have needed.
4. Painting
For a larger, flatter surface I would have had them professionally powder coated, as you simply cannot replicate a professional finish on flat surfaces. But here, the ornate surfaces of these lamp parts allowed for a well-applied spray lacquer to work just fine (which was part of what encouraged me to take on this project in the first place).
The first paint I chose was called Pearl White, but after testing it on a small section I could see that it read more silver than white, which was not what I wanted. I was looking for a true white to bring a clean modern aesthetic to the elaborate details on the lamps, and allow them to shine through in an interesting way.
I was able to achieve my goal with a spray-on lacquer by Rust-Oleum that said simply “Lacquer”, with a white top to indicate the color, and the words “High Lustre Coating” and “Factory-Like Finish…”, both claims I found to be accurate. It dried quickly, allowing for additional coats to be applied without much waiting time. In the end, I applied as many as 10 coats, for a strong finish that will rival the durability of a powder coating.
For one last chip-resistant touch, I finished them off with a clear lacquer top coat over the white, which I did after they were already reassembled (taking care to mask off the marble). Not only did this give them an extra high-gloss finish, it subtly brought the pieces together as a whole.
5. Reassembly
Referencing the photos, I then rebuilt the lamps, sliding each piece over the threaded hollow rod that is at the core of most table lamps. In the end, I decided to leave one piece off, the decorative sunburst piece that, while pretty, nearly completely covered the marble piece in the original design, because…well, I’m not sure why they decided to cover up the gorgeous marble in the first place.
Otherwise, I kept every piece.
Now I just had to find a solution for the missing amber crystals, which I had already soaked in water to clean.
Originally, each lamp had a total of 14 double-hung chandelier crystals, in two tiers of seven, with a smaller crystal on top and a larger teardrop crystal on bottom. Though I had as many as 20 of the originals, I needed 28 to recreate them exactly. Buying new ones would require that I replace them all, which seemed wasteful and antithetical to the guiding principle of the whole project. So, I decided to separate the small upper crystal from the bottom, which effectively doubled the number I had. By using the smaller ones on the top tier and the larger ones on the bottom, I could fully honor the original look of the lamps using what I had available. I was even able to reuse the metal connectors to hang the crystals, since now, after separating the crystals, I had more than enough.
(Re-wiring these kinds of table lamps is quite simple, so I won’t waste too much time explaining what was a very straight-forward task of threading new wire up through a straight hollow core.)
6. Shade Selection
To complete the transformation, I now just needed to find shades. Though the originals were nowhere to be found when Brad found these lamps on the street, I know that they were likely large barrel shades with the same ornate Hollywood Regency aesthetic, perhaps with pleats, certainly with fringe. How to interpret that look for the new streamlined palette? After trying out several shapes, it seemed the barrel shape would still be the best, but the decoration should be minimal to allow the rest of the lamp to shine. In terms of color, anything white would have to compete with that bright lacquer, but black would hold its own.
Happily, to continue the recycling groove, I was able to find a pair of black barrel shades in a compact (more contemporary) size, still new in their package but available on Ebay, purchased a few years ago yet never used. When they arrived and we tried them on the lamps, it became clear that these shades were just waiting to complete the black and white color scheme of our transformed table lamps!
These cool lamps are currently for sale, with free shipping/delivery anywhere in the US.
]]>Why this dining table?
I was hired to restore this dining table for its owner, perhaps because I have restored many Paul McCobb pieces before this one. He was prolific. Long ignored by collectors because of their affordability (and ubiquity) in the era, McCobb pieces have become popular again in the last 15 years or so. After all these years, they still suit the way we live, offering compact design with clean lines and a touch of flair. And because they are made of wood, they can be renewed.
Who was Paul McCobb and what is The Planner Group?
Born in Massachusetts in 1917, Paul McCobb came of age as a designer just in time for the mid-century suburban explosion. More than any of his contemporaries, he embraced the opportunity to bring good design to the masses. He had more expensive offerings, but the inexpensive Planner Group, made of birch and maple and produced from 1950-1964, was his most popular. It was full of modular, interchangeable designs and simple, clean angles, and it has continued to influence the way our furniture looks and works ever since.
“The Planner Group was the furniture of the people. It was basic and simple, easy to understand and easy to use,” said Chon Gregory, McCobb’s chief associate for 17 years. This was in a New York Times article in 1996; he went on to say “It holds up well”, and I agree (though those iconic chairs of his have structural issues sometimes, but that’s a different blog post…).
What was your process?
My first step was to remove the leaves. If there are moving parts, you simply cannot restore a piece of furniture well without taking it apart. (Pictures and/or video along the way really help make sure you have the information you need to put it back together when the time comes.)
Next, I applied a chemical stripper to remove as much of the old finish as possible. I am not brand loyal in my wood strippers, I find they all work pretty well. I used steel wool and had to reapply a few times to fully remove the factory finish.
After the stripper, I used a stripper wash with steel wool, and a fine wire brush for the crevices, to remove all chemical residue. This is an important step in the process, and people tend to skip it, which they shouldn’t.
Sanding everything was next. This table is made from solid wood, not veneer, so I didn’t have to worry about taking too much away. I started with 150 grit sandpaper for the larger imperfections, then followed with 180 for the bulk of the job, and then used 220 to finish it up. (220 is particularly fine, and is not totally necessary, but I strive for an uber-smooth surface.)
Next I applied a wood conditioner. With lighter woods like this one, it really pays to do so, because light woods can otherwise take finish unevenly and be blotchy. Mohawk is my favorite brand for this sort of thing, it’s a professional line, but Minwax works okay too, and perhaps is more widely available. I applied with a brush and let it soak into the wood. (The bottle will have more detailed directions, which you should follow if you are doing this at home.)
A brushing lacquer offers a harder finish but is not quite as water resistant, so I chose polyurethane for this dining table. I like to brush it on with a wide (3 or 4 inch) foam brush. After the first coat had dried, I de-burred the whole thing by sanding with 400 grit sandpaper, very lightly. I repeated this process twice, for a total of 3 coats, which is generally enough.
You can see in the photos that the original color of the finish was a bit darker than my finish. In the mid-century, they often tinted and darkened finishes to cover or even out the natural grain of the wood. In our time, we tend to want to see the natural variations in color that the wood offers, perhaps because we simply don’t get to see as much wood in our daily lives. So, I chose to use a clear urethane that allowed the depth and luminous quality of the wood to show through.
I allowed the urethane to cure for 72 hours before rubbing it out by hand. I often do so with 0000 steel wool and lemon oil, but in this case I wanted a high shine, so I used a series of polishing pads, starting with 1000, then 2000, then 3000, then finally 4000. This gives the even, durable high-gloss finish that is so nice to behold, and which holds up to use.
Putting the table back together is the final step, taking care to ensure the leaves move up and down easily and everything is aligned. You are essentially reversing the order of taking it apart, using your photos as a guide.
It’s a great feeling of accomplishment to bring a worthy piece of vintage furniture back to this level of functionality and beauty. I think Paul McCobb would be pleased to know his work is enduring.
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Why did you restore this table?
Connections between neighbors are one of the best things about living in my historic Brooklyn neighborhood. On a recent Saturday, a neighbor and repeat customer named Diane came to ask my opinion about a table being sold at a stoop sale across the street. The table had been in that home, on my block, for more than 70 years. Now the son of the late owner was cleaning out the house, and Diane wondered if this old Duncan Phyfe style drop-leaf table could be made beautiful again. She walked me across the street to give an estimate before buying the table. I normally focus on mid-century modern pieces, but a well-made piece of wood furniture from any era is worth bringing back. It is particularly meaningful when a piece can be given a new chapter in the same neighborhood where it has already served faithfully for generations. This particular piece was in particularly bad shape, which made the prospect of transforming it even more challenging and ultimately a more satisfying endeavor.
What (or Who) is Duncan Phyfe?
Mr. Duncan Phyfe was a mover and shaker in the furniture world of the nineteenth century. A poor immigrant cabinet maker from Scotland, he eventually employed over 100 workers at his New York City workshop, and became one of the most respected and well-known furniture makers in the nation throughout the 1800s and beyond. He championed a dark wood, neo-classical style that became the standard of upper-class décor in nineteenth century America; he even changed the spelling of his name from Fife to Phyfe, probably to be more neo-classical.
Widely copied, Duncan Phyfe-inspired pieces are plentiful in the antiques world, though most are likely not made directly by him (he died in 1854). Since his pieces were rarely marked, however, you never know! Particularly in the New York area, there are true Duncan Phyfe pieces still in existence.
What was your process?
I first disassembled the table for easier access, creating three separate parts—each leaf, and then the center section that I left attached the base. I removed the metal ferules on the feet as well.
Next, I applied a chemical stripper to remove as much of the old finish as possible. I am not brand loyal in my wood strippers, I find they all basically work fine for my purposes.
After the stripper, I used a stripper wash with steel wool (a plastic wire brush for the crevices) to remove all chemical residue. This is an important step in the process.
Once I allowed the table to dry overnight, I set to work gluing everywhere that had loose veneer, both on top and under the leaves as well (since the underside is visible when the leaves are down). I used my hand to get glue as far in as I could, and then used painter’s tape to hold the veneer down for drying.
Since there were many sections of completely missing veneer—nothing to glue down—my next step was to fill in those sections with professional grade two-part wood putty. You can only fill so much at one time, so I had to apply and let it dry, then come back again. It dries chemically, therefore quickly, so I was able to build the putty three times over the period of a few hours.
The next step was sanding the entire table with 220 grit sand paper to unify the filled sections with the rest of the wood, being careful not to sand too much of the veneer away since it’s only about 1/64” thick.
Now that I had a clean slate, I applied the first coat of Danish oil, which was cherry-tinted at Diane’s request. You pour it on, wipe it around, then wipe it off.
Wood filler won’t take the oil in the same way, so those sections have to be approached as an artist would approach restoring a painting. Since I had already applied the Danish oil, I knew the color to match. Utilizing my many professional touch-up supplies, I first created the background color of the wood then, using a 3 bristle brush, filled the areas in with matching grain – both the color and the direction. Since wood grain itself is three dimensional, it makes sense that this process is also done in stages. One can only go so far however in recreating the natural look as the appearance of wood changes based on the viewing angle and light. But when this process is performed well, the eye simply moves past those places as they no longer obviously appear to be problem areas. A tedious and time-consuming process but ultimately extremely satisfying!
Now I let the Danish oil cure for about 3 weeks. That much time is not always necessary but in this case I wanted to make sure it was fully cured, because I knew I would ultimately be applying a coat of urethane as the final coat for this dining table.
But first, to create a finish that was close to the feel of the wood, I elected to use a tongue oil finish after the Danish oil. I applied two coats with 24 hours in between, and let that stage cure for 72 hours.
Then to the final coat: hand-applied, brushed on semi-gloss urethane. Had I used only urethane for all three coats, the finish would not have felt as natural. The combination of the tongue oil and the single coat of urethane allows for the best of both worlds—a natural feeling finish that can also stand up to moisture, which is desirable in a dining table.
I allowed the urethane to cure for 72 hours before rubbing it out by hand with 0000 steel wool and lemon oil. This gives the even, durable satin finish that is so nice to touch.
And at this point, the table was ready for its next chapter at Diane’s apartment, all dressed up to continue its life of service in this Brooklyn neighborhood.
PS See my neighbor Diane's website here.
]]>Before Mike meticulously updated this clock with a high-torque C-battery quartz movement to make it relevant again (painstakingly incorporating the original hands of course), all that space inside the back cavity was filled with two motors and two large dry cell batteries. One motor was for the clock, and the other received a radio signal activated by the Naval Observatory at noon each day which would sync the clock mechanically (!) to noon, and in turn light up that little red light to let everyone know this little bit of magic was happening. By the 1930s, this service cost $25 a year, and it included the maintenance and lease of the clocks themselves, which were located all across the country in Western Union offices and other prominent businesses as well. These establishments were able to give their customers a valuable commodity -- trust in the accuracy of their time -- when one couldn't just check their iphone, computer or toaster for such.
But what was it all about anyway?
In 1845, sick of being late for wars and such, the Secretary of the Navy had a time ball installed on top of the Naval Observatory which was to be dropped every day precisely at noon. Now the residents of Washington D.C. could set their time pieces, and ships in the Potomac River could set their clocks before going to sea. Two decades later in 1865 The Observatory Time Service was initiated, which allowed a time signal to be transmitted via telegraph lines to the offices of the Navy Department.
At 11:50am each day, Western Union suspended regular work -- then telegraph wires across the country were tuned to the government for receiving time signals. At exactly noon, The Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. sent out a synchronizing signal to all WU offices East of The Rockies allowing the manager to accurately set their 'official' clock, thus eliminating the expected and routine discrepancy inherent in mechanical clock movements.
Years later, upon the introduction of the self-winding technology, this same telegraph signal automatically set all the Western Union office clocks to noon by electronically stimulating an internal solenoid, mechanically causing the minute and second hands to point straight up. The service was extended to train stations in order to establish accurate time for railroads across the nation which previously had relied upon arcane time-keeping methods such as the sun, the church tower or the one shop clock in town. Born was the concept of a national Standard Time.
Keeping this in perspective, turning a telegraphed radio signal into a mechanical result in both big cities and also remote locations was certainly impressive and cutting-edge technology at that time -- and most certainly gave new licence to (probably already annoying) people to now complain because their train was two minutes late...
In order to honor the historical and mechanically-advanced functionality of this clock, Mike discreetly installed a separate battery pack and a momentary on/off button on the bottom of the clock which powers up the light when the button is depressed -- an homage to a noteworthy system that once unified time across a still fledgling nation.
Incidentally for our local readers, these clocks were made for Western Union by The Self-Winding Clock Company of New York, which was located at 205 Willoughby Avenue in Brooklyn, now part of the Pratt campus.
This clock is for sale.
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Restoring A George Nelson Desk With Respect (With a Twist)
Tell Us About This Piece
The diminutive size is the first thing you notice in this desk, which is not a child’s desk but is often mistaken as such. In everything from cars to household items, our mind is ready for classic mid-century goods to be bigger than today’s version, not smaller. It holds true here too, if you know the whole design story. This desk was created by George Nelson to be part of a “desk system” manufactured by Herman Miller. It is a smaller companion desk (to hold a typewriter or steno machine) that can roll right under the main (appropriately gigantic) desk, hence the smaller size and side wheels.
What Made It Worthy?
Anything George Nelson designed is generally worth saving, and this is a rare desk to find in any condition. Plus, being in New York City, I appreciate small footprint furniture that is sophisticated.
But right after noticing the size, the next thing you see is the fact that the top is…well, not wood. The good lines and impressive pedigree of the desk, and in fact all the other components (wood body, iconic metal drawer pulls), were juxtaposed with the dingy laminate top. It is a disappointing contrast.
Why a Laminate Top on a Designer Desk?
Today a laminate top on a George Nelson desk is a confusing mash-up of “high” and “low”, but many mid-century designers used laminates in their designs. They were exploring the world of new materials that technology was making available to them. From bending plywood to capitalizing on the strengths of steel and the versatility of resin, the possibilities were exciting, and long-entrenched paradigms of furniture building were being upended by the use of man-made materials that were affordable and "hearty."
Their innovations were mainly successful, and in certain ways these new materials certainly changed the way we live. But with the distance of a few decades, we have a more keen awareness of the limitations of (particularly) synthetic laminates. We now know that in many cases they actually aren't as durable as wood, especially from an aesthetic standpoint, as these designers hoped they would be. And it reads to our current eye like a cheap substitute for the real thing (especially when made to look like wood, as it was here).
What Did You Do First?
Honestly, this desk was in my “Projects for Later” stash for some time, partly because I hadn't decided which approach I wanted to employ in restoring the top.
To honor the original, did I need to replace the old (woefully un-renewable) laminate with a new laminate? Early on, I had begun to chip it away, which quickly revealed this to be a very tedious and labor intensive proposition. The brittle top layer of laminate came off in small jagged pieces, leaving an uneven substrate unsuitable for reapplying a new laminate, or for that matter, any new surface.
And even if I did forge through all that work, would anyone really want a Formica top on a newly restored desk? It was not an inspiring plan. Back into the “Later” cue it went.
A Good Match & A New Plan
On a recent Saturday, a woman came in to I Like Mike’s in search of a small desk. After speaking to her about her desk needs and space limitations, I realized I may have piece for her, if she was on board with waiting for my restoration.
In the time that had passed since I acquired the desk, experience had made me less inclined to get hung up on a false sense of duty to an original. I had learned that misplaced reverence for a designer piece can stop you from thinking freely about restoration solutions. I know now that (in certain cases) my duty is to bring the piece back to its best usable and aesthetic state, and not to over-sentimentalize the exact way it was in its original state. It's a good chance that George Nelson would be the first to agree that we should not hold the past in more regard than the present, at least where furniture is concerned.
It was now clear to me that the best way to restore the top was to get rid of it, and replace it with a slab of reclaimed mid-century walnut that matched the body of the desk.
I shared this idea with my customer and she was instantly enthused. Her excitement about owning this mid-century classic, but with a gorgeous vintage wood top, was exactly the inspiration I needed to move the desk into the “Projects for Now” category.
Easier Said Than Done: A Journey of Problem Solving
Separating a vintage desk top from the body is generally a matter of unscrewing some hardware. In this case, the metal legs unscrewed, but to my dismay the small solid wooden cabinet (for the 4 drawers) did not. Because of the small size and lack of any room for external brackets or hardware, the manufacturer had elected to (SOLIDLY!) glue the top to the cabinet instead.
This was a formidable snag to say the least. The only path forward required literally cutting off the top. Easier said than done since basic bench saws cold not navigate the tight turns required to effectively extricate the good from the bad. Sounds like a Seal team mission. I'm of course kidding but the best tool for the job certainly looks like something with which any verifiable 'tough guy' would like to pose: The Sawzall! Usually reserved for rough larger-scale demolition work, it was just what I needed to perform this unusually 'rough' furniture cutting task.
So, I took the desk outside and slaughtered it (going with the fore-started violent theme) in order to restore it. The laminate top and substrate had to be removed in separate pieces to 'effectively extricate' just the cabinet, which could then be further cleaned up on the table saw.
Once on the table saw, I was able to cut off the remaining u-shaped section of the top that had not yet been removed by the Sawzall, leaving a 16th of an inch (to make sure I didn’t cut into the cabinet).
At this point I was pleasantly surprised to find that this remaining layer could be chiseled and/or peeled off without any of the cabinet being removed. This was good, because if any of the cabinet was inadvertently cut away, I knew the drawers would no longer fit as they should.
The leftover nubs of dowels that had been used to secure the top to the cabinet would be helpful in lining up the new ones. But there were still some problems to be solved...
Reassembling
I had a piece of walnut from a larger damaged mid-century table that I had saved for this project (before I knew about this project ;). Being the same wood from the same era, it was a perfect match. It needed refinishing, but so did the drawers and cabinet, and being refinished together would make them meld even more seamlessly. Because this was being restored as a custom job, the new owner asked if the top could be a little bigger, so I cut the top to her measurements (giving the new desk a slight ((and pleasing!)) overhang the original did not have).
I opted to completely reconstruct the desk before the refinishing, because gluing requires clamping, and clamping can be rough on a finish. And I knew I wanted to utilize the same construction technique (dowels plus glue) that they had used to build the desk in the first place.
To do so, I put a spot of green paint on the top of each dowel nub then carefully and precisely placed the cabinet upside down exactly where I wanted to make the new connection, thusly marking the underside of the new top for the location to drill holes for the new dowels. Then I drilled out the nubs from the old dowels on the cabinet with a dowel jig and replaced them with new longer ones.
Refinishing
I first chemically stripped all the wood, and followed with a stripper removal wash (very important!). After this, I hand-sanded the wood with graduating levels of grit, starting with 150, then 180, then 220 grit, in the direction of the wood grain (not against), until I had a clean, smooth and fresh surface.
The three front edges of the cabinet had a fair amount of damage. I could have filled them with wood filler, and touched them up visually—something that I did in fact do on other areas of the cabinet and drawers—but because of the extent of damage here I made the choice to remove the battered veneer and reapply new walnut veneer (purchasable in rolls). This veneer is applied with a household iron that activates the pre-applied, heat-activated glue.
I also used this veneer to finish the four edges of the cut walnut top.
Lastly, I finished the wood with a tongue oil finish—four coats that each dried for 24 hours before the next coat was applied. I allowed the final layer to cure for 7 days before hand-rubbing it out with lemon oil, progressing from 0000 steel wool and patiently working my way up to a 4000 grit emery paper. The result is a pleasingly refined satin sheen, completely unattainable by any machine-applied finish.
Happily, the classic George Nelson hook pulls were all there and in tact, and simply needed some cleaning and polishing.
The Reward
It was a pleasure to deliver this small but sophisticated George Nelson desk to its new home, firmly out of the "Projects for Later" category and into the "Gorgeous Restored Iconic Mid-Century Desks for Now" realm. With its beautiful reclaimed walnut top integrated into the rest of the impressive design, this restored desk embodies all I love about my work. In short, it's not new, it's better than new.
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What made this project worthy:
This classic undulating mid-century sofa set is just so much fun. Whoever designed it was in a good mood. If they weren't, they were in a good mood when they were done.
Add to that the fact that it is built like a tank -- you could park a car on this thing! So much style, and so solid. Definitely worth saving, despite the significant amount of work involved.
The process:
The original upholstery was too damaged to save. And to do the job right, everything had to be stripped off -- all of the fabric and all of stuffing materials. No small task. But after beginning that process in my own workshop, I realized how well the sofas were made, which made me commit even more to a top-notch restoration job for this set. These sofas may look like the life of the party, but they are also substantial furniture.
If you are a competent DIY-er, recovering the seats of, say, a simple dining chair is well within your reach. But the complexities involved with stuffed seating pieces require the hand of a professional. Good upholstery is like sculpture. It takes a keen eye and lots of experience to reconstruct a three-dimensional amorphic surface that has to be comfortable, structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing.
The upholstered sofas sit atop a wooden frame with permanently attached legs. I took that section off to be repaired and refinished in my own workshop. Then I delivered the sofas, without the wood portion, to the workshop of an old pro. He has done upholstery work for me before and I trust his skill and expertise.
As he continued to strip the sofas, I began the search for the fabric. I needed 22 yards of the Right Stuff, preferably a print to reflect the original, but not something so busy that the sofas would compete with themselves. After an exhaustive search of material suppliers, I was able to find a fabric featuring a modern amorphic pattern which echoed the original, as well as sofas themselves. The weight was substantial and the color was vibrant. Red may seem like a bold choice, but it plays surprisingly well with other colors...and these couches aren't for the timid anyway.
Meanwhile, back at the upholsterer's shop, it turned out that because the sofas had been originally so well-made, they didn't need new springs. In fact, discarding the original exceedingly strong metal springs would be not only unnecessary but, frankly, a step backward considering the fact that 'they just don't make 'em like that anymore.' Indestructible infrastructure like this is one of the main reasons to restore vintage furniture in the first place. Each spring needed to be re-tied, however. This involves skill -- the aforementioned skill of the experienced upholsterer -- because there is tension in them and they must stay even and uniform in order to make a desirable seating experience. (Which was achieved in spades -- these sofas are amazingly comfortable!)
After the springs were re-tied, the body of the sofas was recreated with natural cotton stuffing combined with high-density sponge.
While this was happening, I was doing the work on the wood frames in my own workshop. First, I completely stripped the factory-applied paint. They were a hard wood but once stripped, a much lighter color. Therefore, I used a hand-polished tinted urethane method to refinish them, in order to maintain the same dark aesthetic as the original black.
At some point, a mirror had been put over the ottoman table. It was clearly not original, and in truth, it made the ottoman table look like a pedestal for a giant Hummel figure or perhaps the centerpiece for a well-attended 1970s cocaine party, instead of what it was, a versatile piece of very cool furniture. The mirror had to go.
Because the glue for the mirror had damaged the wood extensively, I re-fabricated the top altogether from new wood, then applied the same multi-layered urethane finish used on the sofa frames and legs.
When it came time to reupholster the ottoman, it was clear that to achieve the correct visual flow, the pattern on the fabric had to be oriented horizontally, not vertically -- just as they had done originally. This took three times as much fabric, which is difficult to swallow at first, but it was essential to maintaining the overall cohesive aesthetic of the finished set. Just another example of the fact that we did not spare expense nor effort in bringing these pieces back to life!
Interested in owning this amazing set? Read more here.
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The before and after pictures of this clock don't look much different from the front...and that's a good thing!
The challenge:
-To replace the burned out electric (plug-in) motor of a circa 1960 Westclox alarm clock with a battery-powered quartz movement, while using the original hands and design elements. (Replacing movements on vintage clocks is one thing, but keeping the original hands is the real feat.)
-Also, to find a new method of holding the clock together, since the original movement had been performing that function.
What made this project worthy:
There are plenty of new clocks available these days that attempt to replicate the mid-century aesthetic, but for a variety of reasons (manufacturing processes, materials available, not to mention 'no longer Made in the USA') they are never quite the same as the real thing. Furthermore, the iconic cat's-eye design of this red and gold clock is unusually terrific (especially those unique hands) and so I deemed this definitely worthy of saving from the landfill.
Marrying New Technology with Old Housing
Many older clocks, like this one, rely on the clock movement itself to hold the whole thing together -- so if you remove it, you have to rethink how you're going to keep the components joined. The original movement had two studs protruding backward from it which attached to the casing with two nuts, and the face was bolted to the movement by way of the shaft. Contemporary movements are less substantial and as such aren't used or needed as an integral part of assembly, so there would be no help there.
To separate the clock face from the casing, I unscrewed the nuts and slid the clock apart. The plastic bezel is held in by tabs and easily removed by squeezing it's edges and backing it out.
Next, I carefully disassembled the clock so as not to inflict unwitting damage to the interior parts, which are delicate and must be handled with extreme care. Older clock faces are notoriously easy to mar -- vintage spun metal is quite prone to scratching if rubbed with even the friendliest of cloths (like an old cotton T-shirt), let alone if an abrasive paper towel is used (never do that by the way). Luckily, being an enclosed design, this particular face was relatively clean so I decided it best to leave untouched whatever minor buildup was there and forgo any inherent risks in attempting to clean it.
For the new movement, access through the back of the casing would be needed in order to replace the battery and to set the time and alarm. As the photos show, there was a raised eyeball-shaped section on the back of the housing which worked well as a template for me. Using an oscillating saw, I cut along that edge then cleaned up the jagged melted plastic left behind with a Dremel, creating an ergonomically friendly and aesthetically acceptable opening. I had considered ways to save the back and re-use it in order to maintain the completely closed aesthetic of the original design, but alas, it would be more trouble than it was worth mainly because access to the alarm shut-off would be hampered in the early morning when nobody's in the mood to execute three extra motions to shut off the damn alarm. Also, who's wasting their time looking at the back of the clock? Enough said. Open design wins.
Then I was ready to begin reassembly. First, I needed to secure the new quartz movement to the back of the internal face. These contemporary light-weight movements are designed to be stuck on, and usually a little industrial-strength double-stick tape does the trick, but in this case the thickness of the face left no tolerance for the tape while still allowing enough shaft length to accommodate all four clock hands. Therefore, I secured the pieces using a two-part epoxy, gently clamping them (pictured) to ensure proper and precise adhesion.
Next, I went to work on the hands -- one of the key design elements that made this clock worth saving. The new movement came with hands that I definitely did not want to use but the old hands of course were not designed to fit the new movement. So, I cut the round hubs off the new hands and used them as adapters by affixing them with epoxy to the hubs of the old hands. Also, the old minute hand had a metal lip on it that had to be filed down to allow for proper adhesion. (Pictured) The alarm hand happened to be the same design, just red instead of gold, so I simply used the new one.
The final step of reassembly was securing the movement/face back into the body of the clock. For this job, I cut three small pieces of wood corner molding to use as braces and secured them with epoxy to the insides of the face and casing.
The clear plastic crystal front simply snapped back into place. My terrific vintage clock was once again whole and functional, while maintaining every bit of that original Mid Century Modern style!
This clock has sold.
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As customers of our shop already know, in my current life I own a mid-century furnishings business in Brooklyn. It is very fulfilling to use my brain and my hands in equal measure to restore and renew worthy pieces from another era, and I am proud of my work.
But before I did that, I was a comedian.
I started doing stand-up gigs in my early 20's, and by the time I moved to NYC a few years later, I had gone from opening in local clubs to headlining venues around the nation. Through the exhaustive amount of travel to unfamiliar places, my one constant was laughing and bonding with Dave in every hotel room, in every nook and cranny of this country. Unbeknownst to him, he was my mentor, friend and my home away from home.
Over the years I saw more than a few friends do his show, but for various reasons, some in and some out of my control, I never landed that golden spot. A lot of funny guys never do and that's that. Anyway, I know this funny furniture guy in Brooklyn...yes, always a comedian at heart, I'll occasionally crack up customers in my shop, spin a sidewinder at the DMV and be mildly amusing at school meetings. It's all just enough to keep me at least vaguely connected to my comedic roots and that's perfectly fine with me...Oh yeah -- and there was always still Dave on the TV, my last connection to hanging out with fellow comedians, a twisted and deeply funny pastime for which there is no substitute...
Once Dave announced his retirement, it was like hearing that a great old friend was joining the witness protection program. I realize that as a matter of necessity, when joining the witness protection program, your friends most likely can't know that you're joining the witness protection program in order for it to succeed in your not finding out first hand where Hoffa is buried. But please go with it anyway, because there is definitely one major parallel, ALL CONNECTION LOST.
With the news, I'd been lamenting more than usual not getting the show and never meeting Dave. All of these years I could have at least gone to see the show but didn't. And now I assumed that getting tickets would be impossible. But when some friends had recently been able to do just that, knowing what it would mean to me, my wife made it her mission and amazingly succeeded in getting us tickets to his tenth-to-last show.
My mind started to race. I had wanted to be on his show mainly so he could see what I'd done with what he'd taught me. And to make him laugh would've wholly ratified my constitution. Now the Universe had provided this unexpected eleventh hour opportunity to be in the same room with Dave, but the last thing I wanted was to make a stupid human of myself.
Fortuitous random seating placed us in close proximity to the stage. Energetic audience coordinators told us that Dave would come out and take a question or two before the taping. And like a Grand Plan it happened: mid warm-up, Dave peered into the audience and said "questions anyone?" I shot my hand in the air like a kid in class. Somehow, through the blur of noise, he pointed at me and said "Yes?" The audience hushed, time expanded, and just yonder was David Letterman watching, waiting...
The audience laughed in a giddy but supportive way. He smiled and said "Sure, give me a little piece of your act." My heart raced. I'd been granted the Golden Ticket. But now the reality: I'd just asked the funniest man alive if I could make him laugh. I bared down and launched into a bit I'd done a million times about an unaffectionate girlfriend. I interjected that this wasn't about my current and beautiful wife sitting next to me. "She's great, everything's good but no act."
The audience laughed. But in the microphone, Dave's laugh was the loudest -- low, guttural and authentic. He laughed at me! "I did it!" Wonderful applause as I shouted "Yes! Thank you!" He laughed again then said that I'd touched on a truth about comedians, that without misery there's not much funny. I was truly floating. As a cynic pushing 50, I don't much float. Kids float, but they're tiny idiots who don't know any better. For that brief moment, I was once again a tiny idiot. Then, through my haze of elation, I heard Dave say "So what's the bit?" HE STILL WANTS TO HEAR THE BIT!
Okay, no big deal, just the defining moment of a career...or, more appropriately, the career of life. Let's go with that. Feeling the time pressure, I speed-talked my way through the rest of the bit, somehow still making it work. Laughing once again, through a smile, he repeated my punch line as does Dave, he waved and said "Thanks everybody, see you in a minute", then handed the mike off and disappeared back stage. Within two minutes the taping began. Dazed on morphine I didn't know I had with me, I smiled and watched; then, about three minutes into his monologue, "IT" happened...
David Letterman, on national TV, to my utter amazement, uttered the first words of my bit. A roar of joy left my body. The crowd wailed with awe and extended appreciation. As he skillfully paced through this obviously unscripted tangent, his razor-sharp chops firing on all cylinders, he delivered his version of a bit he'd barely heard once with the giddiness of a kid who'd just pulled a major fast-one over on all of us. Although my intercut reaction shots clearly indicate that this had quite a bit to do with me, he never said so. He didn't have to. He knew he was giving me a priceless gift, for which I was, and will be, forever grateful.
So watch the clip for yourself. It's a testament to Dave's generosity, the fact that anything can happen, and, well my hero David Letterman must think I'm kinda funny. Or funny for a furniture guy anyway.
And on the off-chance that Dave may stumble onto this post (I have no idea why that would happen but as I've certainly learned, you never know), I would like to leave a personal note for him: Thank you Dave, for making my life better in a profound manner that has already manifested in an underlying but constant bit of 'extra' happiness for me and my family. And thanks for devoting your life to making us all feel a little bit better every night. We, the nameless and faceless millions will miss you as much as all of those sobbing celebrities. I do sincerely wish you all the best and happiness for your retirement. It's hard to say good bye, but I will with one last hopeful word: PODCAST? (Once a week from your garage -- how hard could it be?)
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RESTORING A CONVERTED 1930'S RADIO CABINET
What made this piece worthy of restoration?
Just look at it! It's an impressive 1930's era cabinet, made with beautiful walnut veneer, with unique bookended grain on the doors. Deco radio cabinets are a little outside of our mid-century modern focus but sometimes a piece comes along that you feel you must save. And come along it did -- my young daughter and I were kick scooting in our Brooklyn neighborhood when, up ahead, she spotted this piece out on the curb, waiting for the garbage truck. It was in such a dilapidated state -- and what a shame, given its history and quality workmanship. Believe me, I wasn't looking for another project and this needed so much work I knew I could never recoup my time investment...but sometimes these things find you anyway. Sometimes via your daughter. So it took a ride home on our scooters instead of that scheduled trip to the land fill.
What did it need?
A better question might be "what didn't it need?" The wood was obscured with wear, grime and paint in the form of a dizzying array of interlocked, multi-colored circles, which were caused and shaped by old paint cans that had so rudely been piled on the top. The bottom front was very damaged, the interior was shot, the brass handles were loose and tarnished and the mechanism for the sliding doors -- which you could see was pretty cool when working -- was not functional. All of this is par for the course when you're relegated to a 50 year solitary confinement in some dark corner of a basement. Papillion take flight!
What steps did you take?
It had already been converted into a two-shelf storage cabinet many years ago, so there were no radio workings to deal with.
First, I used stripper to remove the finish from the wood. To my surprise and delight, as an added bonus, it had beautiful bird's eye maple detail at the top that had been completely obscured by the original opaque finish.
The bottom front of the cabinet had really taken a beating over the years. So I re-shaped and rebuilt the wood in order to optimize what was still present, while making sure to create an aesthetically congruent line that would seem organic to the original design.
Next, everything was hand-sanded to ready the surface for a new hand-applied oil finish. No machines were used -- they leave subtle but still visible grooves that I never want on any of my restored pieces.
The floor and back of the cabinet had to be replaced. Happily, I was able to fashion those out of salvaged vintage wood.
The sliding mechanism for the doors had become misaligned over the decades and as a result it no longer functioned. The design allows both doors to open and close at once, though you slide only one -- which for its time was quite a magical occurrence. It actually still is a feature that makes me smile every time I open them up. With some time and focus, I was able to discern the ways in which it needed adjusting and then reattach the mechanism so that it once again opened effortlessly and then properly aligned in the center when closed -- probably for the first time in 50 years! I also have a suspicion that it may never have been aligned 100% correctly from its creation, perhaps a slight misstep taken at the factory when originally produced. Better late than never!
The small but very pleasing solid brass pulls needed to be polished to bring back their luster. And so that happened.
And there you have it. It took even more time and effort than I had estimated, but it is now a truly gorgeous cabinet with both a rich history and a bright future.
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Mike talks about...
CREATING A MODERN ENTRY BENCH THAT MIXES OLD & NEW MATERIALS
Mike Talks About...
Creating a Modern Entry Bench that Mixes Old and New Materials.
"You could dance on this surface--that's how strong it is" says Mike, and he ought to know. This compact solid wood bench/table is a piece he re-crafted himself. It started as the teak companion cabinet made to sit atop a mid-century credenza (they were long ago separated); it was not functional on its own, and in fact, it was broken. What it became is a beautiful piece of modern furniture, a mix of old and new, and a great opportunity to celebrate the beauty and strength of angles.
First, Mike trimmed what had been extended sides that sat on that missing credenza. With that done, he had an elegant rectangular box made--unusually--of solid teak instead of the more prevalent teak veneer on a substrate.
Next, he designed and built new legs out of solid oak. Though the lines of the legs are clean, they are not simple. Often, the classic splayed-legs silhouette of the mid-century era was achieved by taking standard straight legs and affixing each with an angled disk of metal underneath. Here, Mike made the legs to be angled before attaching them--so the splayed angle you see is intrinsic to the legs themselves, not created with hardware. That gives added strength to the piece.
To make the design more interesting, Mike cut the inside lines of the legs at a slightly sharper angle than the front--a subtle variation that heightens the dynamic visual impact of the splayed legs.
The thoughtful use of 3-dimentional angels continues with the custom drawer pulls, made from the same oak. They are connected to the cabinet with metal cylinders, a subtle yet intriguing design element.
To create visual contrast, Mike ebonized the new handles and legs using a multi-stage process he has perfected--a hand-applied urethane that he then meticulously rubs out for a rich color and silky sheen. He restored the teak with a complete re-oiling to bring out the beauty and enhance the durability of the vintage wood.
The result is a beautiful and strong piece combining old and new elements, many angles, and lots of attention to detail.
This piece is currently for sale.
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Mike talks about...
BRINGING BACK A LIGHTOLIER TWO-CONE DESK LAMP BACK TO A STATE OF AMAZING
MIKE TALKS ABOUT...
Restoring a Unique Mid-Century Dual Cone Lightolier Desk Lamp
What made this piece worthy of restoration?
Just look at this terrific lamp! It's very unique and certainly one of the most attractive versions of a mid-century conical desk lamp that I've seen. Integrated cone switches are always such an attractive combination of form and function. Any time a necessary component is integrated into the aesthetics of a piece it means that someone put a lot of thought into its design to begin with, which makes me feel it is worthy of putting my own thought and time into bringing it back. And never mind that just about anything made by Lightolier is worthy of restoration. They employed some of the best designers and their work is always top notch. So this is an heirloom piece, which I told the owner when she came to me with the restoration job. I knew it would take a fair amount of time so she had to feel good about the investment, which she did.
What steps did you take?
The lamp, while still cool to look at, was pretty beat up. One of the switches was completely broken and the surfaces were all compromised.
To fix the broken integrated cone switch, I needed a new socket/switch combination that turned out to be a challenge to find. But after some 'off-line' digging, I was able to locate the right part which, after some (still!) minor modification on my part, allowed me to reattach the conical cone switch cover so that it would line up and function correctly.
I stripped all the original paint off of the metal base and resin cones. Different kinds of paints are used for metals than for plastics, so that further complicated the process. But I have a great 'lacquer man' who knows his craft and makes my pieces really shine!
While that was being done I polished the brass to a high sheen using a mechanized buffing wheel. In certain cases I'll polish metals by hand, but with this lamp, nothing but 'like new' would suffice, especially since the other parts were going to be newly lacquered. No room for patina or tarnish here! I also ground all the burrs off the original brass screws that had been caused by screwdrivers slipping off over the years, and polished those up as well.
The last step was putting the lamp back together, which included rethreading new wiring throughout. The lamp is now as gorgeous and functions as well as it did the day it was manufactured over 60 years ago.
This terrific lamp is in a private collection in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Shop our deep selection of mid-century lamps here.
Before Pictures
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Mike talks about...
RESTORING A MODERN MASTERPIECE, A GEORGE NAKASHIMA CREDENZA
Earlier this year, I was fortunate enough to come into possession of this incredibly rare Nakashima/Origins/Widdicomb credenza. George Nakashima is mostly known for his stunning studio work, but he also designed furniture for both Knoll and Widdicomb, the latter for which he designed the "Origins" line. It would have been impossible to recreate in scale his amazing studio work, but you can definitely see he was the mastermind behind these gorgeous Widdicomb pieces. From its asymmetrical aspects to his signature over-hang influence, to the intense attention to detail, craftsmanship and materials, oh yeah, he's all 'up inside' these pieces. And although these were in production from the 1950s to the early 1960s, very few examples still exist from this 'Top of the Line' line.
It was structurally sound but desperately in need of a restoration to the outside of the cabinet. I've performed many complete restorations of some pretty high-end pieces during the last decade, including those by George Nelson, Florence Knoll, Jens Risom, Paul McCobb, Harvey Probber, as well as a very rare chair from George Mulhauser. (In fact, Mr. Mulhauser's son, Paul, contacted me personally, writing in an email "it appears that you did an excellent job on the restoration" -- an honor and a thrill for me indeed, that he took the time to reach out!) But I have to admit, I had to think twice about whether I wanted to take on a piece by the Godfather of it all, George Nakashima. And think I did...I knew I was completely capable of doing the credenza justice and it pained me so to see it in a compromised aesthetic state...so that was enough info for me. I'm a fix-it guy to the end and these modern pieces aren't supposed to be full of water stains, cigarette tar or chips and scratches from peoples' careless use and abuse. Nope, Modern means 'Crisp and Clean', period. Let's save 'old, disheveled and beat-up' for the real antiques, eh?
Luckily, the doors and the inside of the cabinet were in extremely fine condition so restoring those parts would not be necessary (although a painstaking cleaning was definitely needed and performed -- see all of those slats?). But the top and sides needed to be completely sanded down to bare wood (100% BY HAND, OF COURSE) in order to eradicate the decades of stains and scars. Again, I have to admit, I was a bit on-edge about being able to accurately match the new finish to the existing one on the doors, but again, that's what I do...I called on my extensive experience with natural oil finishes and was able to achieve 100% match both color and texture-wise. In fact, if I do say so myself, my completely hand-rubbed finish is more like his studio finishes than the shinier, machine-sprayed finish that came stock on this piece. So I guess I'm hoping that Mr. Nakashima would be happy that one of production works got a little extra special attention...I can definitely say that I called on every skill and resource available to me to restore this piece of history and I'm immensely proud to have had the opportunity and the time (30+ hours!) to do so.
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RESTORING AN ICONIC MID-CENTURY PERCIVAL LAFER COFFEE TABLE
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What made this piece worthy of restoration?
I appreciate the boldly unique style of this 1970's table. Let's face it, it isn't the most practical way to go and there are certainly sturdier coffee tables to be had--but there is so much richness in the different levels and textures and colors. Sometimes we take wood for granted. This design let's us see wood in a different way, as a very dynamic visual medium.
And, the table has some other advantages. Since the two sides are fastened with piano-style hinges, the whole thing folds up to store or ship quite easily. The glass top protects the wood and provides additional strength.
Who is the designer?
This table is Percival Lafer design, manufactured by his family's Brazilian furniture company. He was an interesting guy. He went to architecture school, even though he probably could have taken over the family furniture business w
What did it need?
Well, the glass had been protecting the middle of the table for decades, and the sides had born up well, but the wood of the frame had taken some bangs over the years and needed to be completely refinished. Structurally, the piece was sound. Aesthetically, it needed attention to bring it back to its original glory.
What steps did you take?
I painstakingly cleaned every crevice and facet of the piece on the top and side, using a variety of tools. There was 40+ years of caked dust and grime on the piece, so the cleaning took almost as long as the actual refinishing I did on the piece. You should never underestimate the aesthetic impact of a good cleaning on a piece of furniture.
Then I meticulously hand sanded the outer hard wood in order to renew the surface for a completely new oiled finish. One or two cracks had to be filled...the rest I was able to sand and finish with Danish oil. I was pleased with the beautiful tonal match
After I was satisfied with the wood, I had a new piece of glass cut for the table...I could have used the old one, but when you go to the kind of trouble I do to bring a piece back, you don't want to settle for glass with even a few scratches.
This table recently sold.
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This is beautiful and versatile little table by the American mid-century powerhouse Heywood-Wakefield. The design was first introduced in 1947 when the company was creating their hallmark rounded curves, a style strongly influenced by French Art Deco. Like all their furniture, it is made of solid hardwood (in this case, American birch), with their famously durable craftsmanship. The ingenious lazy susan function is a surprising feature in such a solid piece. It short, it's a terrific mid-century table and certainly worthy of a new chapter.
The table itself was structurally sound but the finish was tired. The complete refinishing job it needed was also an opportunity to update the finish aesthetically. Though birch is prized for its strength, its tight grain makes it difficult to finish evenly (it becomes blotchy), which is why it is almost always given a painted-on factory finish that in today's sensibilities can make it feel less like the real wood that it actually is. And the blonde "wheat" color felt dated, not in the good way. I knew the piece was a great candidate for my dark polyurethane finish, which is hand-applied and hand-rubbed to an amazing gloss. It's an artisan finish that offers the same coverage with much more durability than the factory- applied one.
You can see me give a how-to video on this finish in the "About Mike" section. But here's a break-down...I completely disassembled the table in order to have optimal access to every nook and cranny, which allows for the cleanest and most professional results. Then every piece had to be hand-sanded with three different grits. I hand-applied four coats of finish, sanding lightly between each coat (an important, oft-ignored step). At last, I gave it the highly polished final coat, which involved a three stage hand-rubbing with beeswax and pumice. The result is the exceedingly smooth, mirror-like gloss you see here, which will repel liquid beautifully without diminishing the natural connection you feel with the wood.
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