Richard Saja is the witty and creative gentleman behind Historically Inaccurate Decorative Arts.Mr. Peacock first became aware of Mr. Saja’s mischievous and cheeky toile pieces a few years ago, and immediately became a fan of Historically Inaccurate. You may already know that Mr. Peacock is fond of Toile de Jouy and embroidery.
The Shelburne Museum is an art and Americana museum composed of 39 different structures, including the Kalkin House, nestled in the of Vermont’s scenic Lake Champlain valley. The Shelburne is home to the finest museum collections of 19th century American folk art, quilts, 19th and 20th century decoys, and carriages...and is the perfect local for the clever work of Queens, New York based artist Richard Saja.
Above left to right: "Just this once" 23" round embroidered toile at the Shelburne exhibit; the piece which inspired it—"The Garden of Eden" by Eratus Salisbury Field, which is part of the Shelburne permanent collection.
Mr. Saja turned the Kalkin House (a two story prefab structure designed in 2001 by New Jersey-based architect Adam Kalkin) into a 19th century salon infused with his “historically inaccurate” take on tradition.
Above: A detail from "Just this once."
He used the upper space to showcase his own work inspired by objects in the Shelburne Museum’s collection, including quilts, silhouette portraits, and needlework.
He filled the bottom floor of the house with 40 portraits he commissioned (from Craigslist, Facebook and friends) depicting himself as an albino animal hybrid, and called it, The Salon of Love & Horror (above).
Above: Square Quilt print from the Shelburne exhibit, 44" x 44"—the squares are computer generated noise fields.
Mr. Peacock: Did you always want to be an artist, or did it happen through serendipity? Richard Saja: As I child, the first thing I remember wanting to be was one of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan...the (shudder) Disney version, I guess because I had bed sheets with illustrations on them from the film that my grandmother had given me. There was something so appealing and compelling to me about running around Neverland in an animal costume and I so wanted a part of that action. When I realized that was not to be I settled on "rock star" but as the glittering, gender-bending excess of the 70's gave way to the aesthetically horrific 80's, I found myself without a clear career goal.
It took about 20 years of knocking about—streets of NY, art school, ceramics, great books of Western Civilization, bread delivery guy, art director on Mad Ave., waitron—to finally land on textiles. It was serendipity ultimately, but all that had come before laid a solid foundation for the work I now do.
Above left to right: A cushion from the Travers series; detail.
Mr. P: What attracted you to work with textiles, specifically toile? I grew up in the late 60's and early 70's when the world was ablaze in the polyester prints my mother was so fond of. How could anyone not be seduced by all of those super-saturated acid hues? While I credit that for my initial love of textiles, my interest in toile was borne out of a waking reverie where I conceived of embellishing through embroidery tattoos on the faces of traditional 18th century figures. Unfortunately, I've yet to find a ready-made toile print where the figures are large enough to have tattooed faces but I modified the concept and the Toile & Tats series was begun.
Above: Historically Inaccurate's first toile sofa (and detail) from a few years ago. Mr. P: When did you create your first toil(e) piece? And Frankentoile piece? My first toile piece was created over the Independence Day weekend of 2001, I believe. I wanted to upholster the seat of an old wooden chair that I found in my basement for my booth at the International Gift Show the following month so while my friends were frolicking on the beaches on Asbury Park, I sat on the porch and put needle to toile. A few weeks ago the chair collapsed (dry wood!) and I cut the embroidery from the frame.
Frankentoile was borne out of my inability to discard any piece of toile (see pillows above), no matter how small that still had a full print on it. I have bags of scraps lying about so piecing prints back together seemed inevitable at some point. The Son of Frankentoile series is where the concept really shines for me, though: to recontextualize a toile and imbue what is traditionally a very sedate print with humor and mystery through simple patchwork.
Above left to right: A cushion from the Travers series; detail with French knots.
Mr. P: Are you a self-taught embroiderer, or did someone teach you? Except a brief 1/2 hour tutorial in a bar on the complexities of the French knot (see photo above), I'm completely self-taught. I'll also share that I'm in no way a technically skilled artisan and have included pictures on my blog of the reverse side of some of my pieces as a testament to this fact.
Above: A detail from the Tats & Toile series. As a kid, did you sew, quilt or embroider? No. I was way too busy making dioramas of haunted houses. I did however, create superhero costumes using crayola iron-on fabric crayons and t-shirts. Starboy and Timberwolf (he has no pupils!) from the Legion of Super Heroes were favorites of mine.
Above: At the Shelburne Museum exhibit—Saja's Fauxnasetti Bar Towels, an homage to Piero Fornasetti.
Who or what has been an influence on your life and artwork? The great 20th century Italian designer Fornasetti has been not so much an influence as a kindred spirit from beyond the grave. I wasn't all that aware of his work until a few years after I had begun my design career and I immediately saw great similarities in our aesthetic.
Above: A view of the top floor bedroom tableau at the Kalkin House, and details of the Diversity Quilt (a statement on contemporary Gay culture)—a matrix of men all walking in the same direction with walking sticks stitched in different hues.
The actual source and inspiration comes from everything everywhere...my world is a rich, surprising and delightful one and I think that translates into many, if not all, of my pieces.
Your ProtoBolsters are at the same time endearing and a bit disturbing—I love them! Are the names metaphors for what you were thinking as you created each one, or purely random? Neither. When I was working on them I thought, "where can I find a nearly inexhaustible source for interesting names? " Catholicism was the obvious choice: they're named after the saints.
Above: A ProtoBolster "chandelier" hanging at the Kalkin House. I'm glad you picked up on the endearing/disturbing aspect...it's something that just happens but it happens often in my work and I LOVE it. Things are rarely black and white and to embody 2 completely different emotions in one object really amps me hard.
Portraits from The Salon of Love & Hate, left to right: by Mark Blanton; by J. Tom Legaspi; by Steven Levan. The Salon of Love and Horror is brilliant. I know asking you to pick a favorite portrait would be like asking a parent to pick their favorite child, but do you feel one particularly struck a chord and really personified your personality? Ah, Sophie's Choice! Although I feel like it would be nearly impossible to concentrate my entire personality in one painting, I think the Kristina Carroll piece touches (see below) on an aspect of me that is ever-present yet not really evident.
It's somewhat difficult for me to characterize, but I think it's a wistful but world-weary knowledge that everything is going to be alright...that things always somehow work themselves out in the end and that it's usually for the best: weathered hope, I suppose.
“Weathered hope”...Mr. Peacock likes that phrase and description. I think that sums up many folks feeling right now.
Above: Richard Saja photographed by Hiroko Masuike for The New York Times.
I usually buy too much stuff—it's difficult to just buy the essentials. The stone fruits (peaches, plums, nectarines, pluots, and cherries) have been especially juicy and flavorful this year.
I recently bought a large amount of Bing cherries with the intent of making a pie.
I like fruit pies, but I don’t like them too sweet or gummy—especially cherry pie. I’ve been on a quest to find the “perfect” homemade cherry pie recipe for the last few years. Canned cherry pie filling is so disappointing—overly sweet, gummy, starchy, fake red coloring, and very few cherries.
Here’s Mr. Peacock’s version of a summer cherry pie using fresh Bing cherries—with no red food coloring. I like using a 9” spring form pan, instead of a pie plate. I like the pie to look a bit rustic.
Mr. Peacock’s Cherry Pie Makes 6 servings Preheat oven 375 degrees
2 lbs pitted ripe Bing cherries juice of 1 lime ¾ cup sugar ¼ teaspoon almond extract (just a little enhances the cherry flavor) pinch of salt 1 ½ tablespoon of minute tapioca 1 tablespoon of cornstarch mixed with 1 tablespoon sugar 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter cut into small pieces Pastry for a double-crust pie (your favorite recipe or see below) 2 tablespoons turbinado sugar
1) Carefully pit the cherries. I used a deep mixing bowl and simply squished the pit out of each cherry. It is a bit labor intensive, but the process goes fairly quickly. Wear latex gloves if you don’t want your hands to get stained with cherry juice. I washed my hands immediately, but my cuticles were stained a bit. I also suggest laying newspapers on your floor and having paper towels and some sort of spray cleaner nearby—because your work area will get splattered with cherry juice.
2) After you pit all of the cherries, I slightly mashed them a bit with the back of a large spoon to get some extra juice. 3) Pour the sugar, almond extract, pinch of salt, and tapioca over the cherries and gently toss together with a spoon. Let this mixture rest 10-15 minutes. 4) Pour the filling into the prepared piecrust. Sprinkle the surface with the cornstarch and sugar mixture. Sprinkle the cold butter over the top. Push the extended edges of the piecrust over the topping.
5) Arrange the cookie cutter pieces of dough over the top of the mixture and pie crust edges. I slightly overlapped the pieces going in circles from the middle to the outer edges. Sprinkle the top with the turbinado sugar. 6) Place the spring pan on top of a cookie sheet and place in the preheated 375-degree oven.
7) Bake the pie for approximately 40-45 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown. The filling will still appear runny when you first remove it from the oven. Let the pie cool at least 1 hour and the filling will set. Enjoy!
Pastry for a double-crust pie (adapted from Gourmet magazine) 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour (I used unbleached) 1 tablespoon of sugar ¾ tsp salt 12 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into a dice 4 tablespoons of frozen solid vegetable shortening (you can get non-hydrogenated at Whole Foods), cut into a dice 1/3 cup ice water (plus 1-4 extra tablespoons)
1) Dice the cold butter and frozen shortening. Place in the freezer. 2) Pour the flour, sugar, and salt in a food processor with your regular blade and pulse until blended. 3) Spread the frozen butter and shortening over the flour mixture. 4) Get your ice water handy and pulse the flour and butter, alternately adding a bit of cold water. Continue pulsing and adding water until the dough forms a ball. Once the dough comes together—do not over process.
5) Dump the dough on a large piece of plastic wrap and pat out into a round disc—about 1 inch thick. Chill in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, or place in the freezer for about 15 minutes.
6) Roll out the dough between 2 pieces of lightly floured parchment paper until about 3/16 of inch thick. Drape dough over the spring form pan and gently press into the pan. Cut away excess dough. 7) Roll the excess dough between the parchment papers. Use a cookie cutter to cut as many shapes out of this extra dough. I used a 2” round scalloped cookie cutter.
If you’re not into making your pie (and live in the San Francisco), you can order and purchase a fresh pie from the Pie Truck(thanks Sara). The pie truck is a one-man operation. The pie man, a former architect, bakes and delivers these delicious sweet and savory pies—even on Saturday. Click here for more information about the Pie Truck.
In the summertime during my tween years, I would work for my father in his golf pro shop taking golf tee times, light book keeping, picking up golf balls on the driving range (ugh!), and keeping the golf carts clean and charged up. I would also sell golf accoutrements such as golf balls, golf gloves, golf shoes, golf clubs, and of course golf apparel...and do displays and merchandising in his shop.
Above: My dad, on the far right, with fellow golf pros in the early 1960’s. My father was almost 6 feet tall, so the third gentleman has to be a giant. My father disliked “loud” golf clothing—bright colors, busy patterns, and especially any cute patterns…ie whales. He sold Lacostein his pro shop, but never wore anything himself with logos or branding. He didn’t want me wearing any “advertisements” either—that’s what he called any clothing with obvious logos and branding.
Above: My dad, second from left, wearing tailor made trousers—sans belt loops in the late 1970's.
As an adult, I understand where my dad was coming from about logos, and by choice I seldom wear anything with logos or obvious branding. However, I’ve always liked patterns (plaid,polka dots,paisley), colors, and even the occasional kitsch wardrobe item. I guess I’m rebelling against my father.
When Mr. Peacock first became acquainted with Loudmouth Golf clothing—I had to chuckle. It’s everything my father disliked...
Loudmouth offers various trouser cuts. The plaid and patchwork pants are 100% cotton, and the printed and striped pants are a summer poplin (97% cotton and 3% spandex). Above: Loudmouth even has patterned golf grips for a customized look on your golf clubs.
It’s nice to see an alternative to drab sportswear. Loudmouth clothing may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but Mr. Peacock thinks you can wear “loud” clothes and still look chic.
Above: Alice Cooper wears Loudmouth, and has always been an avid golfer.
Wear one “loud” or patterned piece of clothing, and pair it with a solid color such as white, black, gray or navy—and wear it with confidence!
Above: A peacock golfer in Loudmouth plaid pants. The US Open Golf tournament championship is this week. My father played in this tournament in the 1960’s—wearing only black, gray or navy trousers, with white, powder blue, and pink polo shirts. Let’s see if anyone is wearing Loudmouth at the US Open. Above: A custom après golf jacket—you select the fabric...perfect for cocktails at the “19th hole.”
Do you wear any “loud” clothes—bright colors or patterns?
Madras is lightweight plain weave cotton fabric that originated from Madras (Chennai), India. It's is used for shirts, pants, and hats—and can come in a variety of checks, stripes and plaids...and you my fondness for plaid.
Early madras fabric wasn’t always colorfast, so the vibrant colors faded each time you washed it—and became softer and softer.
Most of the madras today is colorfast, but I still launder my new madras pieces separately—just to be safe, in case any colors bleed. Mr. Peacockloves patchwork, but it has to be the right kind of patchwork. Some of the mass-produced madras patchwork has become somewhat clichéd looking—I think because it looks a bit too perfect. Patchwork is charming when it’s not so perfect. Leave it to Ralph Lauren to make a unique madras patchwork shirt that utilizes the heart and soul of the Indian textile colors and patterns—with a bit of a hippy vibe.
Vivid colors in stripes and checks are overprinted with patterns of paisley, leaves, and other forms—and patchworked into a shirt. The color palette of these madras check swim trunks looks so vintage (50's or 60's)—but they’re brand new.
There’s also a long sleeve madras check shirt available. The color palette would work well all the way through autumn, and look great worn with a sweater.
Band of Outsiders showed many fantastic madras plaid patchwork pieces in their Spring/Summer 2009 collection.
I love the details, including the tab at the neckline.
A great madras tie is an easy way to incorporate some pattern into your wardrobe.
I love the vibrant color palette of orange, red, sky blue and cream on this madras checked tie.
Madras plaid sport coats(they're on sale too) are perfect for either dressing it up with a tie, or dressing it down with a soft, worn t-shirt and cut off shorts.
Madras trousers also look good worn casually with your favorite shirt, or more polished with a navy blazer. There are lots of great madras pieces for men this year. The lightweight fabric is ideal for hot weather. Mr. Peacock has a vintage pair of very soft madras patchwork pants that he’ll be lounging around in this summer.
Richard’s current site-specific installation, The Bright and Shining Light of Irreverence: Richard Saja and the Historically Inaccurate School, is at the Kalkin House (above) at the Shelburne Museum. Hurry, the exhibit ends October 23, 2009.
Above left to right: "Just this once" 23" round embroidered toile at the Shelburne exhibit; the piece which inspired it—"The Garden of Eden" by Eratus Salisbury Field, which is part of the Shelburne permanent collection.
Above: A detail from "Just this once."
He filled the bottom floor of the house with 40 portraits he commissioned (from Craigslist, Facebook and friends) depicting himself as an albino animal hybrid, and called it, The Salon of Love & Horror (above).
Above: Square Quilt print from the Shelburne exhibit, 44" x 44"—the squares are computer generated noise fields.
It took about 20 years of knocking about—streets of NY, art school, ceramics, great books of Western Civilization, bread delivery guy, art director on Mad Ave., waitron—to finally land on textiles. It was serendipity ultimately, but all that had come before laid a solid foundation for the work I now do.
Above left to right: A cushion from the Travers series; detail.
Above: Historically Inaccurate's first toile sofa (and detail) from a few years ago.
Frankentoile was borne out of my inability to discard any piece of toile (see pillows above), no matter how small that still had a full print on it. I have bags of scraps lying about so piecing prints back together seemed inevitable at some point. The Son of Frankentoile series is where the concept really shines for me, though: to recontextualize a toile and imbue what is traditionally a very sedate print with humor and mystery through simple patchwork.
Above left to right: A cushion from the Travers series; detail with French knots.
Above: A detail from the Tats & Toile series.
Above: At the Shelburne Museum exhibit—Saja's Fauxnasetti Bar Towels, an homage to Piero Fornasetti.
Above: A view of the top floor bedroom tableau at the Kalkin House, and details of the Diversity Quilt (a statement on contemporary Gay culture)—a matrix of men all walking in the same direction with walking sticks stitched in different hues.
Above: A ProtoBolster "chandelier" hanging at the Kalkin House.
Portraits from The Salon of Love & Hate, left to right: by Mark Blanton; by J. Tom Legaspi; by Steven Levan. 
It's somewhat difficult for me to characterize, but I think it's a wistful but world-weary knowledge that everything is going to be alright...that things always somehow work themselves out in the end and that it's usually for the best: weathered hope, I suppose.
“Weathered hope”...Mr. Peacock likes that phrase and description. I think that sums up many folks feeling right now.
Above: Richard Saja photographed by Hiroko Masuike for The New York Times.
