Bathroom Humor

I finally completed the updating of my hallway bathroom, including the removal of the outdated and oversized wall mirror that ran the length of the counter, replacing it with a smaller mirror just over the sink. This opened up wall space to hang some floating shelves for display. And what better to display in a bathroom?

My collection of squirters of course. I didn't even realize just how many I collected over the years, until I started arranging them on the shelves (and securing them with Museum Gel). 

 

What a Card(s)!

I recently came across more pages from the album printed by William S. Kimball and Company for its 1889 "Fancy Bathers" cigarette card series. I had read that there were fifty cards issued in this series; each album page had a place to paste five cards, but I now have a total of eleven pages with spaces for cards, which would make 55 voluptuous bathing belles. Looking back on the original post, I realized the first pictured page must have been from a different cigarette album, as it is 9 inches tall by 6 inches wide, while all the other pages are 7.5 inches by 6 inches. Checking the five bathing belles pictured on the larger page against a list I found of the beauties in Kimball's "Fancy Bather's series," I discovered that one of the pictured scenes is labeled "Nice," which was not part of the Kimball series. Further, looking closely at the ladies, although they are as lovely as those pictured in the Kimball album, they were done by a different artist. So not only do I apparently now have the complete set of Kimball's seaside sirens, I have an extra page from another cigarette card album.

Although the pages show some wear and creases, the colors of the chromolithography are still bright and vivid. The pages at one point had been tied together with red thread, but several had come loose, so without page numbers, it is not clear what, if any order, they should be placed.

I discovered a bit of an artistic cheat as well.

Ms. Helgoland, pictured on the above page. . . 

was apparently separated at birth from her long-lost twin, Ms. Dinard, displayed in the earlier post.

The Kimball album offered a bonus feature as well, with some pages portraying . . . 

a full page portrait of one of the cards. Here Ms. Trouville gets a starring role.

An extra-large Ms. Paramé showing off her lustrous locks.

Ms. Saint Malo wades in the waves.

Ms. Ostende holds on to her demure bonnet while a naughty zephyr bare the tops of her thighs.

This page offered two enlarged lovelies. . .

Ms. Saint Enegat and. . . 

Ms. Torquay.

Only one page is printed on both sides. This appears to be the end of the album, advertising various varieties of Kimball's "Finest High-Grade Smoking Mixtures." The page also features cards of comic frogs. They were the work of American illustrator and author Henry Louis Stephens (1824–1882), known for his amusing anthropomorphic animals. 

The back of the page, and the album, features a bathing beauty seated on an oversized seashell. The bottom edge is marked "Julius Bien & Co Lith." Julius Bien (1826-1909) arrived in New York City from Germany around 1848, founding a successful lithography enterprise. He was the first president of the National Lithographers Association and may be best known for his beautiful, although unfinished, chromolithographed edition of John James Audubon's The Birds of America. I wonder whether there was also a front cover printed on both sides as well. 

A Unique Maneki Neko

An update on my Maneki Neko page tells the story about how this one-of-a-kind cement kitty came to live in my garden.

Good E-Nef. . . .

A nef is an ornate table decoration in the shape of a ship. Often made of precious metal and adorned with gems or enamel, a nef was not just a fancy centerpiece, but also could hold condiments, utensils, or napkins. Sometimes the nef was on wheels, so it could be rolled to the next person who needed a little salt or a clean spoon, but often the ship was stationary, supported by some denizen of the sea, including, of course, a curvaceous mermaid. Originally dating back to the 13th century, the nef saw a new rise in popularity with the invention of electroplating base metals with silver in the 1840s, coinciding with the Victorian love of elaborate ornaments.

This leads to my newest mermaid mystery, a 21-inch tall lamp featuring a silver-plated siren rising from roiling waves as she supports a sailing vessel (being very considerate mythical maiden, she carries a life preserver, just in case any sailors fall overboard). This lamp meets all my collecting criteria for weird and wonderful.

When switched on, a soft light shines through the seashells wired onto a metal grid that serves as the ship's deck.

Although the silver plating is worn in areas, the sculpting is superb, from the swirling waters and spiraling scaled tail to her ample supple curves.

However, I do not think this lovely lady started out as a lamp. Looking underneath, it is clear that someone drilled a hole and rigged the wiring.

In fact the lamp seems to have been creatively, if not always carefully, jimmy-rigged. The upper portion of the boat lifts off, but is now screwed into place; however, for some reason, the heads of the screws were sunk into the upper deck, leaving the unsightly ends sticking out from the boat's bottom. It was a simple matter to reverse the screws, so that the heads were now flush with the hull and the ends tucked in under the shells. The shells are thin and frail, so I did not want to poke around to much, but it looks like the light itself is a short string of tiny white fairy lights, which indicates that the lighting is much newer than the base (and I sure hope that they are LEDs, because replacing them would be a nightmare). 

There are no marks, other than a small diamond-shaped paper label that reads, "M. Vernis 13." I could find no company or business by that name, and I suspect that it may refer to an address.

So, back to our word of the day, "nef." My theory is that this lamp started life as a Victorian revival of a nef, and that originally the ship offered guests sweetmeats or salt, which would explain why the upper deck once lifted off for filling and cleaning. But I am open to any other suggestions as well.

 

Sisters, Sisters. . .

There were never such devoted sisters. . . .

Sisters, Irving Berlin, 1954

These sea siren sisters were so devoted to each other, that after a century of separation, they finally found each other at last. The lovely lorelei with the red flowers adorning her hair has been in my collection for many years, but I recently found her long-lost sister with blue blossoms. Reunited, these mermaids are of excellent precolored bisque and each is about 4.25 inches long. They are of the split tail variety, with legs that end in finny feet long, faint molded scales reaching from their ankles to mid-thigh. The recently-arrived sister is incised across her lower back "Sp. 1275" and on left edge of her back "Germany." The other has similar markings, but is instead incised "Sp. 1274."

On January 7, 2001, Theriaults auctioned off samples from the Hertwig and Company archives. Subsequently, Theriaults published a book entitled The Ladies of Hertwig, picturing pages from catalogs found in those archives; the catalogs were undated, but Theriaults stated that they stretched from the early 1900s through the 1930s. This is a copy of one of the pages in the book, featuring these two nubile nixies.

The "Sp." suffix was originally used by Limbach Porzellanfabrik, however, in 1922, Limbach was struggling financially and Hertwig took a controlling interest in the company. This would explain how what were originally Limbach models ended up in Hertwig's catalogs. 

 

Mysterious Mermaids

While mermaids have always been magical and mystifying, these sinuous sirens have mystery all their own. Of gilt bronze, these mermaids mounted on stylized dolphins have holes behind the dolphins' serpent-like tails for mounting on some object, perhaps an ornate bronze urn or elaborate mirror frame, or as ormolu adornments for a fancy piece of furniture. They are beautifully cast and finished, as well as amazingly hefty. I bought four of them years ago, I do not even remember where, thinking to use them as decorative hooks. Each is about 7.5 inches long and there are two sets, as two of the mermaids look over their right shoulder, while the other pair turn the opposite way. But I soon realized that the curved tails did not allow easy wall mounting and my brother Steven, who was teaching himself woodworking, offered to mount the mermaids on wooden backs for hanging.

Well, that was a couple of years ago. Steven soon realized this task was far more complex that it first appeared, as each mermaid was different in many small ways, from the curves of the tail to the number of screw holes in the back. To complicate things even more, the screws needed were different sizes and had to be attached at different angles. As he acquired new skills and better equipment, Steven finally cracked the mermaid mystery and has presented me with all four undines attached to oak backs and ready for hanging.

It is interesting that there are such subtle differences among these sirens. I suspect they may have been sand cast, rather than produced by the lost wax method, which would result in minor variations. As for the different fastenings, perhaps these lovely lorelies were originally part of some rococo-styled object with asymmetric roiling curves, requiring each mermaid to have her own unique attachment. I would love someday to find out what these undulating undines originally adorned. 

 

Bet Santa Would Like to Fill These Stockings. . . .

Marvelous Mata Hari

This luscious lady, barely glad in a gold bra top, has been dubbed "Mata Hari" by collectors, although there is very little resemblance between this ravishing redhead and the famed courtesan and failed spy.

Her reddish hair, sultry amber eyes surrounded by smoky gray shading, and the elongated graceful hands are all characteristics of her creator, the German firm of Fasold and Stauch.

As big as she is beautiful, at 5.25 inches high and 5 inches wide, she is of excellent china and incised  faintly incised "5905" on her lower back. 

The Belgium firm, Mundial, under the name Keralouve, produces several modern versions of this half doll harem lady, with a gold or silver bra, as well as with a parrot perched on her left hand, but frankly they are all are just crude copies of the wonderful original. The Mundial models are not marked as reproductions, but because they were taken from the mold of the authentic antique, they carry a faint impression of the mold number. Unfortunately, these knockoffs have found their way into flea markets, antiques shows, and online venues where they are often offered as old. Although very poorly painted and modeled, the modern reproductions are just good enough to fool a collector or dealer who has not had the opportunity to see the antique original.

 

Creepy Crawlers

The nude nymph cringing at the little crustacean crawling up her calf has appeared previously on this blog. By the German firm of Carl Schneider Erban, she is 4 inches long and is incised “15223” and “Germany," on her pincushion base. Her raven-haired companion in the same pose has lost her pincushion base but gained a rather daring off-the-shoulder striped bathing suit. Also 4 inches long, she shows how a clever manufacturer could tweak an existing mold to create a new model and expand a product line. 

She is incised “15150” under her lower hip. 

Who Would Be A Mermaid Fair. . . "

Singing alone,

Combing her hair

Under the sea,

In a golden curl

The Mermaid, Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1893

The image of a beautiful mermaid perched on a rocky shore while she combs out her long, lovely locks has long been an image in folk tales and sea shanties. Perhaps that is what inspired the French maker of this folding comb to adorn it with an image of a more modern version of the mermaid, a bathing beauty.

Just 3.5 inches long, this compact comb would be the perfect size for a beach belle to tuck into her purse for a trip to the seaside.

Of ivory-colored celluloid, the piece is stamped, "Made in France." 

Another New Neko. . . .

Check out my Maneki Neko Page to see this pretty kitty carved out of ivory.

Pretty as a Picture. . . .

This comic card tells a tale of the course of true love not quite running smoothly in three acts, or more correctly, folds. When the card is completely closed, we see a young man, dressed in his best to impress, holding the photograph of a beautiful bathing belle he has apparently arranged to meet by the seaside,

Open the card once and the astonished swain seems to discover that the object of his affections does not quite match the petite proportions portrayed in her photograph. Or maybe he's not quite that shallow and is just shocked that she is not wearing stockings, which were de rigueur for female beachgoers. 

The final act or fold reveals that the lady's portly posterior and pilose pegs actually belong to a well-fed fellow who is innocently enjoying the view. There is no epilogue regarding whether the would-be beau simply fled or, discovering his mistake, invited the lovely lady for a stroll along the boardwalk.

This card was not intended as a postcard, as there is no place for an address or stamp. It was most likely offered as a comic trade card. Beginning in the mid-1870s, with the advent of affordable color printing, merchants and businesses began advertising on trade cards, typically small pieces of cardboard with a brightly colored images, ranging from sentimental to silly, with the name and address of the business. Companies that could afford it created custom cards picturing their products, but many businesses simply used stock cards offered by printers. The colorful cards, which were distributed for free or as premiums, were popular with customers, who often collected them, mounting them in scrapbooks. More elaborate cards, like this one, folded out to reveal new images. By the early 1900s, with color printing now widely featured in magazines and catalogs, the interest in trade cards faded.

Another folding trade card, this one actually die cut in the shape of a changing cabin. The front of a card features a young man dropping his cane, either in anguish or anticipation, as it appears that the lissom lass is about to emerge in her birthday, rather than bathing, suit. 

When the card is opened, it is revealed that she has indeed donned a swimsuit. The inside of the door carries an advertisement for Vino highballs or cocktails, found at "all First-class bars," demonstrating how a business might use these eye-catching cards to advertise. Perhaps the young lady is hinting that the gentleman, who is lingering behind the door, should buy her a drink.

 

A New Neko

Read about this latest addition to my maneki neko page.