Unusual Oiran

Although in the West, people generally refer to any figurine or image of a traditionally dressed Japanese woman as a "geisha," the geisha, traditional female entertainers highly skilled in dancing, musicianship, singing, and witty conversation, were a small subset of Japanese womanhood. The geisha and the maiko, a geisha in training, are identified by their specific hairstyles and wardrobe. This lovely lady, clad in layers of elaborately embroidered kimonos, is not a geisha, but an oiran, or a grand courtesan. The clue is not only her ornate outfit and hairstyle, but her obi (sash) tied in a wide knot in the front. Originally, Japanese women all tied the sash of their kimono in the front, but in the 1600s, as the obi became wider and more elaborate, most women shifted the knot to the back for convenience. However, the high-ranked courtesan wore her obi knotted to the front, the better to display the costly material and embroidery. For like her bejeweled hair, multiple kimonos and opulent obi, the oiran was a pricey status symbol only the wealthiest men could afford and enjoy. 

In 1642, the Tokugawa shogunate, in an attempt to impose order and morality, limited brothels and prostitution to isolated "pleasure quarters:" Yoshiwara outside of Edo (now Tokyo); Shimabara in Kyoto, and; Shinmachi in Osaka. Inside these pleasure quarters was a strict hierarchy of prostitutes, with the oiran (and her predecessor, the tayū) at the pinnacle. They were the glamor girls of the ukiyo or "floating world," in which men could temporarily escape from strictures of a highly regulated society by floating in gently swirling currents of beauty, passion, and pleasure. These were the women pictured in woodblocks or scrolls, flawless beauties with idealized interchangeable faces, cocooned in costly kimonos. With her highly ornamented hair, whitened face, layers of padded silk, and stylized poses, the oiran was an extravagant objet d'art, only a glimpse of the nape of her neck or a flash of a bare calf revealing there was a woman underneath, like a present waiting to be unwrapped

Although there are no contemporary writings by the women of the pleasure quarters, even the highly literate oirans, the crowded quarters were certainly less than pleasurable for the women forced to work there. Most were sold to brothels as children by their desperately poor families. If a girl showed unusual beauty and grace, she would be trained as an elite courtesan, learning not only how to play instruments, sing, and dance, but also to write poetry, do calligraphy, and be a witty conversationalist, all skills intended to make her more attractive (and therefore more profitable). Although the company of a courtesan was costly for an elite customer, the oiran herself profited little from the transaction. She was kept in continuous debt to the brothel, expected to pay for everything from her ever-more elaborate wardrobe to her entourage of attendants. Her only hope for freedom was for some enamored man to pay off her often enormous debts. Although her life was certainly more comfortable than that of the sex workers lower in the hierarchy, the oiran still faced the dangers of sexually-transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancy, abuse by the men who owned her or paid for her, and the demands that she make her quota of customers, even when exhausted or ill. Most women working in the pleasure quarters died young.

Now, I know that some of you are thinking, "Yes, the figurine is lovely and the history is interesting, but where is the naughty part?!"  Well, here it is. . . she lifts out of her lower garments, revealing that she is bare from the waist down. Made out of beautifully modeled and glazed stoneware, this figurine is 10 inches tall.  There are no marks.

 

Spitfire

Another squirter featuring an under-clad damsel and her pussycat, but the look on this rather formidable looking femme suggests she does not appreciate being interrupted in a rather personal moment. Perched on her chamberpot, she holds an equally fierce-looking feline who is ready to spit on any intruder. Atop the lady's bonnet is the opening that would have held the rubber bulb and the water would have squirted out the cat's mouth. Although clearly the double entendre on "pussy" was intended, unlike similar squirters own my collection, the kitty's head rests on her mistress's lap and not between her legs. Three inches tall and of good bisque, this piece is unmarked except for a freehand blue squiggle underneath. 

 

Copy Cat

This rather demure damsel holding her orange tabby has been in my collection for many years. She is a squirter; the high crown of her bonnet once served to hold a rubber bulb and when she was filled with water and the bulb squeezed, her pussycat would spit out the tiny hole in its mouth. Pussy's head, you may note, is strategically placed for a naughty double entendre. Although of rather good bisque and nicely modeled, with ruffles along the brim of her bonnet and deep folds in her gown, the finishing and decoration are rather rough. These were inexpensive novelty items massed produced in factories and not a lot of time and effort was expended on perfection. She is incised on the back of her skirt "Germany 6685" and is 3.75 inches tall.

A friend sent me a link today to a copy cat listed on eBay. It is yet another modern piece from Germany. As is often the case, the bisque and decoration on the copy is superior to that of the antique original. The doppelgänger dame has a delicately painted face and her feline friend, now black, has tiny painted green eyes. The bisque lacks the original's rough imperfections and somewhat uneven coloring. However, as is typical of these modern copies, some of the modeled details are lost or blurred, such as the ruffled bonnet brim or the sharp dress folds, as well as the markings on the back (interestingly, the seller lists the figure as 4 inches high). Another indication is that the seller's inventory consists mainly of Frankendolls and pseudo-Hertwig anthropomorphic animals, as well as new fantasy items like candy containers. However, unlike some of these fraudulent fakes coming out of Germany, most of these items are under $100, which is pretty consistent with what you might pay a contemporary doll artist for some cute little creation. The dolls are well-made and appealing, and if they were sold as modern artistic reinterpretations of German antiques, I would have no problem with them. But they are not "rar" and they are not "antique," and therein lies my beef.

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.