Commonly called ‘Darwin’s Water Lilly’ , or just ‘Darwin’, it is one of the few Wedgwood printed patterns of the first decade of the 19th century that was not Oriental in inspiration, and in fact an original creation.
The inspiration for the design was pulled from several different engravings in Botanical magazines of 1803-6, and shows specimens of three types of the ‘Nymphaeaceae’ family, commonly called ‘water lily’ – left to right they are: 1 -‘nymphaea stellata’, or starry water lily, 2 -‘nelumbium speciosum’, or sacred Lotus of India, 3 -‘nymphaea lotus’, or Lotus of Egypt.
The original version designed in 1806 was printed in brown as a basis for enamel decoration; this is said to be the earliest instance of printing in brown that can be accurately dated.
The difference between this earliest example and those slightly later is very subtle; a half-submerged leaf at 5 o’clock is the best indicator, not appearing in the 1807 version, but there by the circa 1815 examples.
Onglaze red was used from late 1809. In 1811 blue was introduced and become a favourite. Underglaze red appears in 1828. A later 19th century version was named ‘Old Water Lily’.
But why is it so often called the ‘Darwin’ pattern? It turns out it’s a family affair. In the British Museum is a plate, very similar to our brown printed example, and another is in the Victoria & Albert, both from the same source: the family of Charles Darwin. In older literature, there is a story about them being from a service made by Josiah I Wedgwood for his friend Dr. Erasmus Darwin, on occasion of his marriage in 1781. However, this date is far too early for the pieces we are examining. The present conclusion is it was designed by John Wedgwood – the eldest son of Josiah Wedgwood, a noted horticulturist who was co-founder of the Royal Horticultural Society, Kew.
It was ordered in 1807 by Dr. Robert Darwin, son of Erasmus Darwin, and father of the famous Charles Darwin. He received it in 1808.
The Darwin family and the Wedgwood family were intimately linked. Josiah Wedgwood and Erasmus Darwin were both part of the ‘Lunar Society’, the incredibly forward-thinking group of scientists and engineers that regularly met to discuss the exciting new world of science & technology – and botany – that was emerging in the late 18th/ early 19th century. A friendship was obviously formed, and several generations of inter-marriages followed. Erasmus’s son Robert married Josiah’s daughter Susannah, and their son, Charles Darwin, married his cousin – Emma Wedgwood, daughter of the second Josiah Wedgwood and his wife Elizabeth. She was therefore the daughter of his mother’s brother, and genetic problems are obvious in the generations that followed… Much has been written about the irony of Darwin’s fascination with aspects of genetics and evolution in nature – including how in-breeding caused a species to be fragile – and he himself wrote of his genetic concern for his own family….
Analysing the image source reveals the draftsman who created the ‘Water Lily’ design used multiple images, combined. Four source botanical images have been identified in the literature, one of which is a double – the following diagram shows which part comes from which publication. (Slide the divide for the arrows. )
The use of five different prints, from two of the botanical journals of the time, shows the designer was well aware of ‘botanical correctness’. They keep the leaf type of all three specimens separated and correct, and by combining the two prints of the Nymphaea lotus – no. 3 below – they show their scientific interest in the accurate description of species the botanists were striving for. The suggestion that it was John Wedgwood, co-founder of the Royal Horticultural Society (along with Sir Joseph Banks) makes perfect sense.
In the Wedgwood archives, a letter written to John’s brother Josiah Wedgwood II by the manager Thomas Byerley, states:
‘Your brother is extremely active and intelligent, and is fast paving the way for a radical form, and will greatly benefit the concern ’.
Unfortunately, John retired from the firm in 1812, leaving just a handful of fascinating precise botanical statements as his ceramic legacy.
We’re pleased to have a selection from the earliest products of Wedgwood in this mesmerising pattern – a chamberpot and dish in the blue of the 1820’s, three red plates from around 1820, and an example of the earliest short-lived brown print. The final piece is a 20th century Wedgwood re-creation, limited edition for the Wedgwood Collectors…… enjoy!
It’s always rewarding to discover something that has not been identified before. In the British Ceramics world, this is possible even in Australia….
This curious figure turned up in Melbourne recently, and is obviously a depiction of Dr Syntax, a creation of the British writer William Combe which led to a series of books describing his bumbling catastrophical travels.
They were illustrated by the contemporary illustrator Rowlandson, beginning in 1812 with ‘The Tour of Dr Syntax in Search of the Picturesque’. From the illustrations in these books, the Derby factory created a series of humorous small-scale figures. Moorabool had one example a few years ago.
left: the figure in front of an illustration from an 1820’s Dr Syntax publication . –> see more
These are well documented by the late Bradbury in his definitive work ‘Derby Figures’. The problem is, some figures had not been recorded in Britain, and these are referred to in the publication as ‘Unknown to the Author’.
We’ve found two of these ‘Unknown’ figures in the past in Australia: could this be the third?
A look through the list finds items G11-24 are all Dr Syntax, and three are listed as ‘unknown to author’. Of these the only likely candidate is No. 13: ‘Dr Syntax Crossing a Lake’.
Looking at our figure, we believe it is a perfect candidate for the missing No. 13, as he steps off a rocky shore into a lake – apparently too distracted by the picturesque surroundings to notice!
We are always fascinated by the origins of things…. when and where did it all begin?
In the porcelain world, it was of course China, around 1,000 years ago. This was so foreign and magical to the Europeans that pieces which made the perilous journey across the globe were only affordable by the most wealthy, being far more valuable than gold.
This all changed as the lure of such riches led to experimentation, and the first instance of a European porcelain body appears in the Medici courts in the 16th century, bankrolled by Francesco I; today, only 70 pieces have been identified, and the enterprise was a dead-end.
The next successful production appears in France. In Rouen, a pottery industry had for many years been producing Faience – earthenware pieces with a white tin-glaze, as an imitation of a white porcelain body. They developed a distinct design, known as a ‘Lambrequin’ – a border with repetitive symmetrical floral elements, borrowed from Baroque designs often seen in embroideries, metalworks, and related artistic products. In 1673, a privilege to make porcelain was granted to Louis Poterat, and he seems to have experimented without a viable production of commercial scale resulting – only a possible dozen Rouen porcelain pieces have ever been identified. A 1702 comment in the petition from the next factory mentioned described the Rouen effort at porcelain manufacturing as this:
“…..(they) did nothing more than approach the secret, and never brought it to the perfection these petitioners have acquired”.
-1703 Saint Cloud Royal Petition
The first commercially successful porcelain manufacturer is the factory at Saint Cloud. This manufactury, like Rouen, began as a faience producer. A 1664 ‘Royal Privilege’ was given to a Parisian merchant named Claude Révérend, ‘..to produce faience and to imitate porcelain in the manner of the Indies (China) ‘ As a merchant, he was importing faience from Holland, and would have been very familiar with the superior Chinese porcelains. He selected a manufacturing base, and in 1666 set out to make faience products – in the manner of Rouen – on the outskirts of Paris, at Saint-Cloud. Within a few months, Claude Révérend had passed ownership to his brother, Francois Révérend. He had actually lived for many years in Rouen, and it is no surprise that these first products of Saint Cloud faience are very close to Rouen products.
An artist employed at this time to paint the tin-glazed faience wares named Pierre Chicaneau is the important character in the development of the first commercial porcelain production in Europe. He is possibly from Rouen, and George Savage speculated in his 1960 “Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century French Porcelain” that he may have been exposed to the porcelain experiments while there. He begins at Saint Cloud in the 1660’s, and in 1674 he was made the firm’s director. He died in 1677, and it is the documents provided by his widow’s petition to the King for a Royal Privilege to make porcelain that gives us the full story of what was happening in Saint Cloud through the late 1660’s and early 1670’s; active pursuit of the secret of making porcelain. His widow wrote in the 1700 petition
“Pierre Chicaneau, having applied himself for many years to the making of faience and having arrived at a very high level of perfection in this work, wanted to push his knowledge still further and find the secret of making true porcelain; for this purpose he undertook several experiments with different materials and tried different finishing techniques, which resulted in works that were almost as perfect as the porcelain of China and the Indes”
-1700 Saint Cloud Royal petition by the Chicaneau family
They go on to state the first success – a repeatable, commercial prospect that allowed manufacturing of the product – was achieved by the firm around 1693. Dr Martin Lister, physician to Queen Anne in England and prolific writer, visited the works in 1698, writing;
“I saw the potterie of St Clou with which I was marvellously well pleased, for I confess I could not distinguish betwixt the pots made there and the finest China ware I ever saw. It will, I know, be easily granted me that the painting may be better designed and finished because our men are far better masters of that art than the Chineses; but the glazing came not the least behind theirs, not for whiteness, nor the smoothness for running without bubbles. Again, the inward substance and matter of the pots was, to me, the very same, hard and firm as marble, and the self same grain on this side vitrification. Farther, the transparency of the pots the very same.”
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Examples of Saint Cloud in Moorabool’s current stock – click for more
Moorabool is pleased to offer a piece of this earliest commercial production from what can be seen as the first European Porcelain Manufacturer*. Our piece was a necessity on the elegant tables of the time, where salt was an important – and expensive – commodity that enhanced the dining experience. It was also a status symbol, as while the Crown imposed a tax on salt (la gabelle), exemption was made for the privileged Nobles and Clergy.
Several of these open salts would have been scattered down the table amongst diners. There are metal examples of the same form, and clearly the porcelain copies them.
The decoration is classic Saint-Cloud, with a repeating pattern of lambrequin motifs in underglaze blue. Such decoration appears on the full range of Saint-Cloud shapes, such as cups & saucers, cosmetic jars, and even eggcups. Comparing the patterns on ours with other examples is fascinating, as it appears the artist was not faithful to any specific design – there are endless slight variations regarding the location of the various leaves, flowerheads, and the symmetrical tendrils that define them.
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The ‘Sun’ mark is the earliest Saint-Cloud mark, and refers to the most important patron in France – Louis XIV, the ‘Sun King’. The factory location at Saint-Cloud was chosen because of the King’s younger brother, Duc d’Orleans, had an estate there, and became a patron of the fledgling factory. Louis XIV died in 1715, and the mark would most probably not have been used after that date; the more usual ‘St C’ begins during the second decade of the 18th century, and is identifiable as being post- 1722 by the addition of a ‘T’ beneath, indicating the change of Director to Henri Trou in that year. They continued making similar porcelain wares throughout the 1730’s-40’s, and finally closed in 1766.
Other examples can be seen various museum collections around the globe; the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in Paris has 5 examples, of which 2 have the ‘Sun’ mark and are dated 1697-1700, while the other three are unmarked and catalogued “Saint Cloud or Paris”, post-1700 (reflecting the other porcelain manufactories in Paris who copied Saint Cloud in the early 18th century). In 1997, the collection catalogue (Christine Lahaussois) suggests a date of 1697-1700. In 1999, the catalogue for a NY exhibition (“Discovering the Secrets of Soft-Paste Porcelain at The Saint-Cloud Manufactory”, editor Bertrand Rondot) illustrates three of the same examples as definite Saint-Cloud, and dates them all post-1700, with the closest to our example (including a Sun mark) being 1700-1715.
George Savage “Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century French Porcelain” 1960
Bertrand Rondot (editor) “Discovering the Secrets of Soft-Paste Porcelain at The Saint-Cloud Manufactory” 1999
Aileen Dawson “French Porcelain -a catalogue of the British Museum Collection” 1994
Christine Lahaussois “Porcelaines de Saint-Cloud, La collection du Musee des Arts Décoratifs” 1997
*I should note; when I use the term ‘Porcelain’ in this article, it is best described as ‘Artificial Porcelain’, meaning it was not the same as the Chinese products, as it lacked one of the main ‘stiffening’ ingredients. This is commonly called ‘Soft-Paste’, and defined the earliest French and English products. True Porcelain, in the Chinese manner, was produced by the Chinese from around the Song Dynasty (900 AD), and in Europe, the experiments at Dresden (and subsequent production at Meissen) were by chance identical in their basic ingredients, and this product is known as ‘Hard Paste’.
There is also a ‘Soft-Paste’ twist, with some fascinating experimental products appearing in England in the latter 17th century, possibly pre-dating the French efforts. John Dwight of Fulham was awarded a patent for porcelain in 1671, and may well have been successful – but not commercially!
A part Victorian tea service in today’s Fresh Stock has an interesting tale to tell.
A glance at the mark suggests two possibilities: ‘Dresden’, ie made in the German city famous for the Meissen works, and ‘Worcester’. It’s neither!
The printed mark is typical of Staffordshire makers in the mid 19th century, and describes the pattern; a wreath of flowers in the Dresden style. They often had their name directly below such a mark, and indeed here we see 293 ‘Worcester’ written here.
But something’s not right: this is unlike any Worcester products, being printed and painted in quite a loose manner, and on porcelain which isn’t the usual pristine Worcester bone china…. closer investigation reveals a very interesting feature: the ‘Worcester’ is hand-painted over a printed name! Careful study reveals ‘G. F. Bowers & Co’ to be the carefully concealed maker’s name.
George Frederick Bowers & Co. were a Staffordshire porcelain maker from 1842-68, a perfect date for this type of teawares & decoration. But how did ‘Worcester’ come to blot out their name? It seems unlikely that Bowers workers would do such a thing as the name was an important part of advertising, allowing a household to order replacements from the right firm. This appears to be a case of Porcelain Fraud: as Worcester was well-known and expensive, the logic conclusion is that a retailer has added the mark fraudulently in order to pass it off to an unsuspecting customer as ‘Worcester’!
Moorabool is often a place of meeting, both for people who enjoy Antiques – and for the Antiques themselves! We have occasionally been guilty of ‘match-making’ in the Antique world, discovering pieces that were quite literally made to be together…. but somehow became separated. It’s a thrill to re-unite pieces.
In today’s ‘Premium Fresh’ there is a rather sweet Vienna figure of a lady. Very early, she is circa 1755, and her costume is very distinct – very well dressed – and yet she carries a sickle and bundle of wheat. There’s more wheat behind her waiting to be cut; clearly she is a ‘Harvester’ off to sickle the wheat crop – but take a look at her shoes! How would they be practical in the fields…?
While today we tend to place these lovely pieces in cabinets or a mantel shelf, in the 1750’s in Europe they were intended for the table. A scene would be set up along the length of a grand table, to entertain the guests with depictions of the gods, the Greek myths, a hunt, or in the case of a group of one group of interesting Vienna figures, “Pastoral Pursuits’.
The definitive book on these early figures helps us understand their purpose. ‘Ceremonies Feasts Costumes : Viennese Porcelain Figures during the reign of Maria Theresia’ is a splendid 2007 publication with large clear illustrations, detailing hundreds of Vienna figures from the 1740’s until the 1780’s. A private businessman, Du Paquier, had started the porcelain works in Vienna as early as 1719 ( making it the second true porcelain manufacturer in Europe, after Meissen), but by 1744 he was financially struggling, and the Viennese State purchased the works. This was of course ruled by Maria Theresia, the Empress of Austria, and she loved a good party… the porcelain works were an excellent source of the needed table wares, and this included table figures.
We find a series of well-dressed ladies & gents going about various occupations such as picking grapes, making wine, collecting milk…. and our lovely lady harvesting wheat. They’re an example of the idealisation and romantic notion that prevailed in the courts of 18th century Europe that the peasant lifestyle was an idyllic, carefree one. France of course excelled in this – think Mary Antionette and her role-playing as a milkmaid – and other courts tended to follow the fashions of France. Dinner parties could have an ‘Arcadian’ theme, meaning everyone would be dressed as a ‘commoner’ of some sort, but in silk and satin instead of the rough cotton the authentic garb would have been made of! These fancy-dress banquets had a curious way of dispersing the guests along the table – a lottery game would decide – giving the evening a sparkle of uncertainty in what was otherwise a very formalised environment.
Some rare survivors are model buildings for a table setting – also recorded in parallel in Meissen productions – suggesting the appearance of the table, with this banquet’s theme being Wirtschaft, meaning ‘Economy’ or ‘Workplace’ . This is the perfect fit for our lovely lady with the sickle. She’s actually a Princess, pretending to be a Harvester for the evening…..!
While exploring this fascinating topic, I came across a colourful ‘Cavalier as reaper’ group illustrated in the before mentioned book. Our lovely lass isn’t illustrated, but a comparison with the ‘Cavalier’ figure leads us to an exciting conclusion: this is surely a long-lost partner figure.
A fascinating fresh item at Moorabool is this tinglaze plaque – inscribed & dated ‘Della Vittoria / 1619’. It depicts a Madonna and Child, with her arm supporting a spear/staff from which flutters a banner with a cross.
These plaques are a common sight in the Mediterranean countries, in shrines on country roads and on building facades in the towns. Private houses have them inside their walls as a sort of ‘private chapel’. Some where no doubt painted in oils, but the tinglaze pottery panels were the perfect medium for exterior display. They have lasted exposed to the elements for hundreds of years, the clay strong & well fired and the pigments unfading.
Their purpose was a simple dedication of faith. Roadside shrines generally appear at a place of spiritual significance for the locals, and a colourful plaque would act as a vivid reminder of that significance to all who passed. Some are public declarations of perceived miracles, a thank-you for the protection from some tragedy.
In Deruta, the city of potters, the various churches and chapels are full of these plaques, commissioned and dedicated by individuals who were keen to record their own miracles and faith; there’s a builder falling from a building, a horse tipping upside down and throwing his rider, and updated versions incorporating cars crashing!
A unique ceiling filled with tile panels can be seen in the Church of San Donato, Castelli, with a vast variety beginning with many dated examples in the early 17th century. It is in this context our example was made; being dated is a great start, but where was it made – and why?
This title is interesting: ‘Della Vittoria’ translates as ‘Our Lady of Victories’, a title given to the Madonna in the context of a military victory. This image of Mary militarised is quite a rarity – she’s usually shown very differently, a merciful mother rather than a militant one.
Interestingly, ‘Madonna della Vittoria’ is the title of a fabulous work by Andrea Mantegna, now in the Louvre. This was commissioned by Francesco II Gonzaga, the ruler of the city of Mantua and the leader of the Italian League’s resistance to Charles VIII of France’s incursion into Italy in the late 16th century. He had fought to a stand-still victory at the battle of Fornovo in July 1495; one year later, the newly commissioned painting by the court artist Mantegna was carried into the newly built Santa Maria della Vittoria, commemorating Mary’s help in the historic victory. It now hangs in the Louvre, having been souvenired by Napoleon during his domination of Italy in the late 18th century!
Following this train of thought, the plaque in question was perhaps another celebration of a victory; however, while 1619 is within the timeframe of the ’30 years war’, (1618-48) the first decade was a series of conflicts in Northern Europe, not relating to Italy. The plaque is therefore best described as a dedication or shrine image, rather than an example commemorating an event – the date 1619 being the year of dedication.
The inspiration for the unusual image is one of two things; either a creation of an unknown artist on the pottery workshop, direct from his imagination – or perhaps it is a copy of an elegant work depicting a militaristic Madonna which has not survived the tides of war that have swept over Europe ever since this plaque’s creation in 1619; rather ironic!
They are both tinglaze- but did you know there is a difference between ‘Delft’ and ‘delft’…. ?
The blue & white decorated pottery with tinglaze surface is a familiar sight in the Antiques world, instantly recognisable as ‘Delft’. This name comes from the city in Holland where vast quantities were made and exported from the 17th century.
One of the export markets was England. The fashion in England for the blue & white had been well established by the importing of Chinese porcelains, and this is obvious when you look at the styles produced; some are direct copies of Chinese patterns.
But England of course already had a long history of pottery manufacturing, with ample clay to make their own. While the imported Dutch Delft was a less expensive option to imported Chinese Porcelain, it was only natural that the enterprising English potters imitated the Dutch, and produced their own tin-glazed pottery.
Attribution is difficult at times – we find a number of manufacturers which are virtually impossible to separate – the esteemed Victoria & Albert Museum in London itself constantly describes pieces as ‘London or Bristol’….. We can’t just go by the decoration, as movement of artists to different firms is well documented – including to & from from Holland. The body can be a help – although once again, there is much trade in clays both in England and even across the channel! At times, an attribution can only be made to a country: English or Dutch? And this leads to a problem, with the name ‘Delft’ describing a pottery type, not an origin. The main division needed is the Dutch from the English, and so a subtle method has been devised:
We us ‘Delft’ with a capital D for Dutch – and ‘delft’ in lowercase for English products!
Of course England not only imported Dutch Delft – they imported their new King & Queen with the regents William & Mary (1689-1702). These Dutch monarchs brought with them close connections with Holland, and it is no coincidence that the English delft productions start appearing in volume in this late 17th century period. This was a time of great prosperity for the English, and while the Continent had Holland to supply their tin-glaze needs, the English delft works were kept very busy supplying local needs – and found a ready market in the distant American colonies. London was an early producer, followed by Bristol, Liverpool, Belfast and Glasgow. All of these were trading ports eager for the overseas market, and English delft is often found in American archaeological sites of the period. It was written at the time that in Liverpool, ‘every merchant was concerned in a pot house made of delf’.
Delftware found a perfect niche market in the lower-middle strata of society of the time; while Chinese porcelain was superior, it was also expensive. Local porcelain had not yet commenced, and while the Germans and French were producing porcelain from the early 18th century, it was only for those of ‘great means’ – out of reach for most people. Delft had the same look for a fraction the price. The age of English delft lasts from the late-17th century until the mid-18th, when a combination of local porcelain production (Bow, Chelsea, Worcester….) and over the next few decades, the increasing volume/decreasing price of imported Chinese porcelain reduces the demand for the cheaper local products, and all manufacturers quickly disappear by the start of the 19th century.
Moorabool has some superb pieces of delft – and Delft – in stock at the moment – as well as the other Continental equivalent products of Faience (France), Fayence (Germany) and Maiolica (Italy) – all basically the same soft earthenware body hidden beneath a thick glaze filled with white tin oxide… but they’re a good topic for another post!
We had a fine couple of Imari pieces put out in a recent ‘Fresh Stock Tuesday’ release, catalogued as Ridgway. Thanks to a keen collector online, and their nicely worded email (“I think there might be a mistake….”) – we now have a re-attribution, and an interesting story to go with it.
Our attribution came via the jug, which shares the pattern & pattern number mark with a sucrier. Slight differences in the pattern suggest different hands – probably different years – but both collected by the same Australian collector, who had an eye for lush Imari.
The jug was found in Berthoud’s ‘Cabinet of Creamers’ (p102 – pl. 609) where it conforms nicely to Ridgway circa 1812, the lower handle spur being distinctive, and having a flare to the top thumb rest. If we look at the Coalport example a few pages before (592 & 594) we see they have weak little spurs, and a flatter thumb rest….. another John Rose Coalport, pl 588, has the same issues. Ridgway seems a good attribution – and as the pattern number is the same on the sucrier, Ridgway seems good for both.
And then along comes the email…. stimulating a re-evaluation. Our lovely contact has given a reference to Geoffrey Godden’s ‘Coalport & Coalbrookdale Porcelains’, and there the mystery deepens. Illustration 69 is the same pattern – and he illustrates examples of it alongside the original John Rose Coalport pattern book, from which the painters sourced their designs…. irrefutable proof, as each of our pieces has the correct pattern number, ‘597’.
But we still have a non-conforming jug handle, according to Berthoud – and the sucrier to explain. On the next page of Godden is an illustration of a Anstice, Horton & Rose teaset – with the exact handle profile! Tis the other Rose…. in an interesting twist, while John Rose had a porcelain factory on one bank of the canal at Coalport, his younger brother Thomas ran one on the opposite side ( partnered with Anstice & Horton) for several years! Much confusion results, with patterns and shapes being copied by both…. so a piece without a number can be impossible to place. Both of ours have John’s numbers, meaning they have to be John’s production – and yet, here it is, on a piece considered to be Thomas’s variation of handle shape.
The Sucrier is perfect for John Rose, and bears his pattern number. Why is the same number on the jug? Perhaps the simplest answer is the correct one – John decorated a piece of Thomas’s production with his own numbered pattern. Was he one jug short for a tea service, and sent a boy over the canal to obtain one from his brother?
The other possibility revolves around the origins of the Coalport works, and the short life of the Anstice, Horton & Rose partnership.
John Rose is best know, beginning as an apprentice at the 18th century softpaste works of Caughley, not far as the crow flies from the Iron Bridge Gorge location of the Coalport works. He left (and later bought it up!) and set up the first Coalport works in 1792, alongside the newly opened Coalport Canal. This canal was a part of the huge network, the preferred method for industry to transport both raw products and the finished goods throughout England. The Coalport Canal was perfect for bringing in the clay and coal, and then safely transporting the fragile products to the markets in the big cities.
A few years later, his younger brother Thomas sets up a porcelain factory on the opposite side of the canal. This is running by 1800, and made porcelains in exactly the same manner, and of the same quality as his brother. It must have been an interesting situation separated only by the canal….! While Thomas remains, there were a couple of partner changes – ie the money behind the costly business of porcelain manufacturing comes & goes – then in 1814, during the economic turmoil of the Napoleonic Wars, it all collapsed, debts were called in and his works is offered for sale. Unsurprisingly, his brother John – just over the canal – is the purchaser.
So the other solution to our mysterious jug revolves around the absorption of Thomas’s works by John. The jug was probably an undecorated white piece in 1814, and shortly after Thomas closed his works, made its way across the canal to be decorated by John’s artists. How does ‘Circa 1815’ sound? Perfect!
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While I have called this post the ‘War of the Roses’, there is no indication there was outright conflict; rather, the market seems to have been big enough for both brothers to provide very similar goods: perhaps sharing the workload for big orders. When economic uncertainty caused a drop in sales, only John survived. They did use different ‘pattern books’, and while Thomas’s has disappeared, we do have one of John’s, full of wonderful patterns to be painted onto porcelain. Amongst these designs are some contemporary notes, referring the reader to the ‘other Rose’: pattern 319 in John Rose’s book for example bears the note “No. 696 at Mr. T. Roses’.
We do try to be as accurate as possible – but as shown above, things can slip through. If you notice something, please send us a note!
There are two pottery jugs in this week’s ‘Fresh’, sourced from the same amazing collection of early 19th Century pottery & porcelain as all the similar pieces we have released recently. Our research team had been working overtime (thanks John!) and poured through every book in the library to help identify the vast number of items that have come in.
This jug has a very similar example illustrated in the book ‘British Jugs’, marked for a Staffordshire company called Goodwin. Bridgewood & Harris. Case closed, maker identified…? not so fast!
There’s another example, in our collection, which bears an uncanny resemblance, although in porcelain rather than in pottery. Many manufacturers made the same shape in both bodies, the pottery being much cheaper to make, and therefore to sell, than the porcelain. This other example is from the small firm of Machin & Potts, which has until recently had very little documentation. Fortunately two collectors, Bill Thom and Phillip Miller, spent a good deal of time collecting and researching the firm, and published the definitive book in 2008. This exact same porcelain jug is in the book, identified by the unique dedication to a certain ‘R.W. KIRKBY of THRENTHAM HALL’.
This leads to an interesting detective trail of identification, involving a ladder, a beehive, a basket, several farm implements and a hen & rooster!
In the above image, you see the first clue; the porcelain jug. The illustration above reveals it to be the exact same piece of marked Machin. Below this (hidden by our jug) is another example with a pattern no. that conforms with known Machin teawares. You can see the tip of the handle though the handle-hole of our jug – it is an exact version of the smaller jug we have, shown to the right in the above photo. This jug has the amazing ‘scrap’ printed decoration, and a distinct pink lustre rim – both appear on the illustrated jug, giving us a close linkage; the small jug we have is also now attributable to Machin.
Then comes the ‘big one’ – the large jug with ‘scrap’ decoration. Its form is the ‘Dutch shape’ , a perfectly normal & popular shape that is very difficult to identify… usually. In this case, we have the prints, and a side-by-side comparison of the same items proves most interesting…. basically, they’re not just ‘similar’, they are identical, right down to the little flaws in the printing plate that have been replicated. Note- in the photos there is some distortion due to the curved surface of the jugs.
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The person who printed the smaller jug used the exact same printing plate as the larger jug, therefore most probably worked at the same factory:
Machin!
Footnote: Thom & Miller note “other makers including Goodwin, Bridgwood and Harris … made very close versions to this shape” – we trust the above identification of the prints used justifies our attribution!
A fascinating and most probably unique creation is also the most modern item in stock at Moorabool – dating to the 1960’s, it is an Australian Pottery ‘Medieval’ chess set, by David & Hermia Boyd, members of the remarkably artistic Boyd family.
David Boyd (1924-2011) was born in Murrumbeena, Victoria, the third son of Merric and Doris Boyd. He met Hermia when she was decorating pots for his brother Guy Boyd in his Sydney studio. Married in 1948, they headed over to London in 1950, where they potted & painted for the next 5 years. After returning to Australia for a few years, they were off to Europe again in 1961, where they lived & worked in Rome and London, returning to Australia in 1975. It was probably during this trip they created the chess set, perhaps as a personal piece or a special commission. Certainly, it was not a commercial production and appears to have been only on the market once before, at Christie’s, Melbourne, in the 1980’s.
The board has wonderful mottled glazes, giving it an ancient feel, and is made up of four ’tiles’; these have firing fissures and cracks, and are mounted on a wooden backing with beading edge, all finished with a limewash. This work is probably by the hand of David, and is reminiscent of his other ‘Medieval’ sgraffito wares.
The set is very reminiscent of the ‘Lewis Chessmen’, a part set of 12th century Norwegian game pieces made from Walrus Ivory, discovered in the Outer Hebrides in 1831. Some of these would have been on show in the British Museum in the 1960’s when David & Hermia were in London.
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The pieces are all individual creations, and are probably the work of Hermia. It may just be my imagination, but one of the knights appears to have disguised initials…. ‘H / B’.
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