Wearable Art and Collecting It In the Sincere Hope That Keats Had it Right

Detail from a scarf called "Persepolis" from the French firm Hermes.

"When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'"
John Keats May 1819
Ode on a Grecian Urn

I've heard such bad news this week. A friend of mine lost his brother. Another friend lost her son. The government seems to be spending America into poverty. Our military bickers among itself while facing enemies abroad and budget cutters at home. I don't know what to do about any of this: so I retreat into triviality.

I began to research a collection of mine that seems to have been born on its own, grown without my knowledge, and come to full bloom in my scarf drawer.

Opening the drawer and taking out these works of art has been a joy. Joy is something one must treasure. And a scarf made by the French firm Hermes is a treasure indeed.

I bought my first scarf because it was pink and I thought it might go with a jacket I had. I was in television then and always looked for ways to make the same clothes look different, so that I wouldn't have to have 365 new outfits to wear every year. Hermes scarves had a great reputation for quality.

This is my very first Hermes scarf, called "Tsubas." A tsubas is the handle guard of a Japanese sword.

Here is another: called "Paris Modiste" which is covered with a variety of French hats and has a hat box in its center.

This is another scarf in my collection, called "A Propos de Bottes" and is covered with riding boots. The first Mr. Hermes was a saddle maker so many of the themes on the scarves have to do with horses.

If a person buys only one or two of something each year, and the thing itself is not harmful to one's health, can one be called an addict?

Another of my early Hermes scarves. It is covered with dolls in a variety of styles, and has an English, not a French, name. The scarf is called "Hello Dolly."

That is Robin on the press plane, going to Kuwait to cover the end of the first Gulf War. I'm speaking to the Kuwaiti Ambassador Prince Saud al Sabah, and I'm wearing "Hello Dolly" with my obligatory war correspondents' jacket.

Very few of each scarf pattern are produced each year; though similar ones can be found in a variety of colors. When I first started buying them, each one cost about $200. That is not a small amount of money; but it was much less expensive than buying an entirely new outfit of clothing. So, I felt the expense was professionally justified. The scarf colors are vivid and they look great on television.

HRH Princess Grace of Monaco in an Hermes scarf, bending down to speak to one of her children. I don't suppose Princess Grace was constrained by a clothing allowance.

There was something else that drew me to Hermes scarves. The silk used to make them was softer and yet stronger than anything I had ever seen. The designs of the scarves were unusual and the colors rich. I've since learned that each scarf is silk-screened by hand, and one screening is required for each color in the scarf. Each scarf is then hemmed by hand.

I began to think an Hermes scarf was an astounding piece of art to sell for $200.

Actors Alain Delon and Romy Schneider. She is wearing a Hermes scarf called "Les Becanes," which means it is covered with bicycles. Photo courtesy of The Hermes Scarf by Nadine Coleno.

After more than two decades, I opened my scarf drawer one day and a large collection of Hermes scarves appeared to have reproduced themselves in there. They looked like a cheerful and beautiful extended family. It made me smile.

I tried to research the designs and the designers of this wearable art, but found little information. Hermes, on its web site, will sometimes explain the theme or design of a scarf, and sometimes will not. Some designers sign the scarves. Some do not. Hermes seemed to keep no public record of its annual styles or a list of its designers.

Grace Kelly and her sister at a racetrack in New Jersey, both wearing Hermes scarves.

Then, I read that a book was coming out about Hermes scarves and I put in an early order for a copy.

The Hermes Scarf: History & Mystique, a book by Nadine Coleno.

Like the House of Hermes, the book was gorgeous, full of beautiful designs and exquisite colors. But it included much "mystique" and very little "history." I did learn that the company's designers put the scarves on the floor of their workshop in order to review their designs, which seemed like a very French thing to do with such valuable stuff.

From The Hermes Scarf by Nadine Coleno.

The scarves have risen in price in the last few years and I have much less excuse to buy them now than I once did. But thanks to the Internet, there is a man in Switzerland who is collecting a database of the Hermes designs by name, by designer, by colorway, and by years of issue. He has over a thousand entries so far, and he has a small list of vintage scarves for sale.

This picture from the Hermes book, shows four of the colorways of the scarf I own called "A Propos des Bottes," which I've learned was first issued in 1967 and then reissued, when I bought it, in the 1990s.

I'm delighted that someone is finally trying to build an accurate historical record of these objects d'art while they are still being made in their historic way.

With the French protesting cutbacks in their retirement age, and hand work of almost all kinds fading away in the industrialized nations, I'm afraid the scarves will one day soon be shipped out to Asia to be printed and hemmed.

Nothing against globalization. But if and or when this happens, my scarf drawer will hold a small wake, and announce that it has closed its borders forever.

This scarf is being worn by an Hermes model. The scarf's name is "Jungle Love." Very French, a name like that, for a scarf which shows two leopards nuzzling.


"Jungle Love" up close.

Hermes Scarves Data Base at Luxury-Scarves

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What a Hollywood Screenwriter Had in Common With an Officer in the U.S. Navy

Minutes of the Last Meeting by Gene Fowler. This is a non-fiction book about some of smartest and most talented men in 1930s Hollywood. They started a group called the "Bundy Drive Boys," where they discussed important issues of the day, exchanged news and information about their business, and always got totally snockered.

There has been an enormous buzz this week--in conversations, in print, and on the Internet--about the recent demotion of the Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, who was removed from his post after videos surfaced that he had made and shown to his sailors several years ago, when he served as Executive Officer of the Enterprise. The videos were such that, even under modern liberal broadcasting standards, they can not, in their entirety, be shown on television.

Admiral John C. Harvey, Jr. , Commander, U.S. Fleet Forces, made the announcement of his decision to relieve the unfortunately named Honors. Most interesting? The bulk of the Internet chatter supports Commander Honors, not the Admiral.

The occasional voices in the wilderness, from horrified civilians and members of other services who support Admiral Harvey's decision, have been shouted down and in several cases have been told they didn't have a right to comment, "not having served on a US military ship at sea."

That kind of thinking brings to mind a story directly relating to this subject: it will also explain the book cover at the beginning of this post, because the protagonist of the tale was a sprightly member of the "Bundy Drive Boys" in this fascinating and somewhat poignant book ...

Way back in 1930s Los Angeles, there was a screenwriter. He was a member of an informal group that included actors John Barrymore and W.C. Fields, artist John Decker, poet Sadakichi Hartmann and several other talented and successful people. They called themselves the"Bundy Drive Boys" and loved to gather in fellowship to exchange gossips and bon mots and, in the course of their chats, get plastered on adult beverages.

Before working in films, the screenwriter in question had been writing for a newspaper in New York. When he got his first Hollywood contract in 1932, he and his wife decided she would remain in the East with their children, since they weren't sure whether his screenwriting would job would last.

After he had been gone some months, his wife grew concerned. He was a writer by trade; but, he had written very little to her.

Trundling her children off to stay with relatives, she caught a train for the Coast, as California was called back in those ancient days. The scenery, as she headed West, was gorgeous. The service on the train--superb. She began to relax and felt her fears drift off into the sunlit skies of Arizona--or whatever state she happened to be passing through at the time.

She arrived in Los Angeles with the address of her husband's studio and asked a cab driver to take her there. At his office, his secretary said, Oh, I'm sorry: he's not here. You'll find him at his apartment--that is where he likes to work.

The wife hailed another cab and headed down to Santa Monica, to the address the secretary had given her. I think I'll go to lunch with him, she said to herself--and told the cab driver to wait.

She knocked on the door of her husband's apartment.

After a long-ish delay, he opened the door a tiny crack, peeked out and said: "Yes?" and then, "Oh my God, Agnes! You're here! Oh my God!!!" Then he flung the door open to give her an enormous hug.

Unfortunately, he had no clothes on at the time. Behind him, on the edge of the bed, sat a beautiful blonde in the same state of undress. She smiled. In a sort of a wan way.

Mrs. Screenwriter turned and headed back to her cab.

Her husband after consulting briefly with his briefly-dressed guest, followed his wife and behind her she could hear him calling: "Wait! Wait! I can explain!" This was not a happy moment for her, but the scene began to look very funny to those observing it, since her husband was still not wearing any clothes.

By the time she reached the sidewalk and took hold of the door handle of the cab, the driver was trying very hard to keep a straight face, so he would be understood when he said: "Where to, lady?"

As the husband caught up with his wife, she leaned forward in the cab and said: "Get the hell out of here."

"But wait!" said the screenwriter: "I can explain!"

As the cab pulled away, this stalwart wife reached into her handbag for her handkerchief. Above the traffic noise, she could still hear her husband's voice calling after her.

"But honey! You don't understand! This is HOLLYWOOD!"

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Hello Aliens? This is the Deep Space Network Calling: Please Contact Jim Lewis

The Deep Space Communications Network's first transmission of messages to outer space. The sun was setting as they worked, hence the spectacular image.

Businessman Jim Lewis has been a friend of mine for two decades, ever since he asked me if I would be interested in doing some freelance work for his production company--Communications Concepts Inc.--in Cape Canaveral, Florida. Most of his work comes from military and space related corporations, so producing videos and television broadcasts of space launches and other scientific enterprises has become his speciality.

Jim also writes movie scripts and television shows; so he's a creative guy. What I didn't realize until this week, was that his interest in broadcasting has now gone much father afield.

Farther afield than planet earth, that is.

He has formed a second company, in addition to CCI, called the Deep Space Communications Network. The Deep Space Network will sell you the opportunity to send messages into outer space. Messages to anything that might be within hearing distance Out There. Like aliens, for instance. And lest you think this is not taken seriously: Craig of Craig's List was one of his first customers.

Jim Lewis in his office with a model of the Korean satellite launched for KARI, the Korean Aerospace Research Institute. He produced television coverage of the launch from Vandenberg AFB which was seen worldwide.

Now, he is advertising on eBay as well. And on eBay he is encouraging people all over the planet to bid on the opportunity to send a "virtual self" into the galaxies, so it can float around there and meet up, one day, with anything or anyone of some form or another who/which might be able to decode what you send. Like the double helixes of your DNA, for instance. Scans of your photos.

DNA is one thing: but I, for one, would exclude a scan of my driver's license photo.

And, for the record, the price is not inconsiderable. Think five figures.

Jim's company will also store your "virtual self" in a safe place here on earth; just in case somebody wants to clone or reincarnate you prior to the Second Coming when, presumably, you'll have to account for the behavior of both your first and any additional selves on Judgment Day.

Jim Lewis' Deep Space Network satellite truck in action outside the Planetarium of Brevard Community College.

My sister says she is having enough trouble trying to keep up with her correspondence and email right here on earth, so she has decided not to take advantage of Jim's technology. Her inbox overfloweth. But, Jim and his Deep Space Network may find they have plenty of takers. As one gets older one does ask oneself: what, on earth, am I doing here?

So, what with that and the popularity of Science Fiction books, the Star Wars saga and the Star Trek phenomenon: it probably isn't only Buzz Lightyear who yearns to head off into " ... infinity and beyond!"

It would, at least, be a good escape from spam. I hope they don't have that in outer space too. Otherwise, they might put our messages in their spam file and we'd have to start this thing all over again.

For more information on Jim Lewis and the Deep Space Network check out his ad on eBay:

CONTACT ALIENS ON EBAY

Or find further information on Florida Today's web site:

FLORIDA TODAY: FIRM SENDS MISSIVES TO SPACE

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Baby Boomer Goes Nano! Holy Cow!

To the left of my coffee cup there on the table, is the box my iPod came in. Yikes!

It all started when I mentioned to my niece at Thanksgiving that I was hoping she would get me an iPod for Christmas--with a speaker to play it on. I gave away my CD player when I moved to California and then, the last time I gave a party, I noticed I had nothing on which to play music.

Besides, I love my iPhone and, as my niece put it, it was now time to experience "iPhun on an iPod." In other words: time to bring Aunt Robin into the 21st century.

When you are old enough to remember playing vinyl 45s on your record player (with the clown on it), the world seems to be changing very fast. I'm determined to stay (somewhat) abreast of the changes. I was hoping to get one of those little white things the size of a cell phone, with the earbuds, I see all the girls wearing at the gym, so I could wear one too and feel as cool as they look.

Instead, this tiny little thing arrived in a tiny little plastic box. It was so intimidating, it took me several days to work up the nerve to accept the challenge of opening the box and reading the directions. When I did so, I discovered a little music device slightly larger than a postage stamp.

My hand, my iPod Nano, and, a Christmas stamp.

The device was so small and came in such a small box, the printing on the instructions had to be very small to fit inside. Fortunately, the directions weren't complicated. I know this because I read them carefully--after I got out a magnifying glass and a flashlight so I could do so. (Don't laugh: it will happen to you too, one day!)

But, like all the Apple devices I have used so far, it is an absolute delight. My family went together to buy me the iPod and also bought me a speaker for it and now the whole thing is all set up.



I found an old CD a neighbor of mine in Florida made several years ago, filled with Christmas music, and I downloaded it onto the iPod Nano and I'm listening to it now. Yesterday, I downloaded Luciano Pavarotti singing on a disk called "O Holy Night." But it was so moving it made me cry, so I will wait a spell before I play that again. At this bittersweet holiday, I'm trying to live with my grief--not wallow in it. What a moving thing, is music.

Wouldn't my engineer father be astonished to see music coming out of a postage stamp! Next thing you know, someone will use this nano technology to help people overcome profound deafness--something that devastated my father in the last decade of his life. Maybe Steve Jobs--with all his gifts--can work on something like that in his spare time.

There is already a watch band you can get for this iPod Nano, so you can carry it around without losing it in your pocket. Meanwhile, if the iPod gets any more Nano, I guess you'll have to wear it on your earlobe like an earring and let the sound come out of the top of your head.

But they will have to start putting it in a larger box. Because if they don't: no one, over the age of 30, will be able to read the fine print.

Fortunately; all you really have to do is plug the thing into your computer and you are on your way. Directions? What directions?

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Christmas in the Foothills of High Mountains or True Tales of Christmas (Part Four)

Robin's note: For these True Tales, I asked two of my nieces to give me their memories of Christmas. One tells us about Christmas near one of our nation's most beautiful mountain ranges, and the other of holidays as a Peace Corps volunteer in a Central Asian nation on the plains beneath the Himalayas.

St. James Lutheran Church in Golden Colorado is now a wedding chapel; but, you can see it is a beauty.

Christmas in Colorado by Robin's Niece "Alpha"

"Christmas always reminds me of St. James Lutheran in Golden, Colorado. It was such a picturesque church up in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Closing my eyes I can see and feel the excitement as I stand in line with the rest of the Sunday Schoolers waiting in the cold basement for our cue to climb the stairs to the sanctuary, singing "Oh Come All Ye Faithful." We followed each other to stand in our places at the altar in front of a packed church. All of us had memorized this song along with several others songs and Bible verses in the weeks before Christmas Eve.

The Christmas program was the same every year--the Christmas Story from the Bible--and the children would step up to memorizing more songs and a harder verse as they moved up in school and age. It's a good thing, though! I can now recite the Christmas story from Luke:2 in the King James Bible, which always brings me back to St. James Lutheran Church.

The interior of old St. James. Both photos courtesy of foothillschapel.com.

One cold and snowy night after the service, my mom, sisters and I were driving home, and we heard the song "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." We must have been tired, because we laughed and laughed on our dark drive down the mountain.

Christmas morning was full of excitement and opening presents, and some years our grandparents or aunt were visiting us which added to the fun. But it was Christmas Eve at our little church in Golden, that, in my memories, is always most filled with magic."

Christmas in Uzbekistan by Robin's Niece "Omega"

"About seventy percent of Uzbeks are Sunnis and so December 25th comes and goes without any fanfare.

The first year that I was there, I tried to celebrate Christmas by going to visit my friend, Jill, who lived in Yangier. This was about a twenty-minute ride to Gulistan from my village and about thirty-five to forty-five minutes from there by bus.

I had only been in the country for about five months, so my language skills in Uzbek weren't the best. It was snowing that first Christmas, which shut down most of the taxi traffic, and my limited Uzbek made it difficult for me to explain to the few working drivers what I was trying to do.

I finally got a taxi into Gulistan, but missed the last bus into Yangier, so I just went to the post office (one of the few places a person could find a telephone back then) and called Jill to tell her I wouldn't be coming. That was my first Christmas.

My niece, making noodles with her host mother in Uzbekistan, 1999. If you look carefully you will notice the blur in the hands of the host mother: those are her noodles spinning so fast you can hardly see them. My niece is wearing a scarf, not for any reason required by Islam, but because, as she reported: "There wasn't enough extra water for us to wash our hair!"

"My second Christmas, I don't even remember, which means that I probably just taught my English classes and didn't worry about
it. Uzbek holidays were more interesting, by then, than trying to fabricate my own. Some volunteers did, mind you, but I was quite isolated, which made planning and logistics with other volunteers difficult.

A relatively large group of volunteers did meet up in Bukhara for the 1999/2000 New Year holiday. One of the female volunteers had an apartment that we all crammed into, and we rang in the new century by consuming far too much bad vodka and sharing the joy of speaking English--until the vodka got in the way.

The next day-ish we all went back to our host families and that was that."

Robin notes: Two very different stories of two very different Yuletide experiences. Yet each is memorable. Both girls are married now and both have their own families. One day, their children will enjoy hearing these memories, as, in their own lives, they write their own "True Tales of Christmas."

"True Tales of Christmas" ... To Be Continued ...

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Christmas For a Soldier Far From Home: or True Tales of Christmas (Part Three)

Robin notes: The following story comes from an Army Reserve 1st Lt. who now commands a unit near his home. But Christmas six years ago was spent in a faraway place indeed with the Florida National Guard, where in those days he served as an NCO. For his safety and security, we are identifying him as "American Soldier J":


"Howdy,
Christmas 2004, I was in Ad-Diwaniyah, Iraq, with almost one year in country and looking forward to getting out of Iraq to return home. I worked the night shift on the signal equipment most of the year and I remember the week before Christmas walking back from late night chow, in the cold, with Sgt. P, and seeing American and foreign soldiers had put Christmas lights up on some of the buildings: not too many (to be dangerous) but just enough to remind us all of the season.

As for myself, I had a small, one-foot Christmas tree in my little room that my mom sent me and some large Christmas cards that the kids at a church I attended sent me. The Christmas cards were great and everyone in my platoon enjoyed having them posted on the wall in our common area.

My wife and two sons (ages two and three) had sent me a Christmas care package. I really missed them that year. I wished I didn't have to be so far away and leave my wife all alone with the large task of taking care of the home and such young babies all on her own.

On Christmas Day, the chow hall had a giant Christmas dinner and was decorated with Santa, ribbon, and lights. I think some of the foreign troops really enjoyed an American Christmas dinner. That night, one of the guys in the platoon had his guitar out and we sang some Christmas songs.

Christmas cards from school children, posted in the soldiers' common room, brought Christmas home, even in Iraq.

These days, I'm a 1st Lt. in the Army Reserves back here in the States and now, I'm the Company Commander. I have the task of deploying one of my men to Kuwait. He leaves December 27 and will be on deployment for a year. I also have two other soldiers overseas and some more away this Christmas at training. Hard on their families, that's for sure.

Christmas is the best time of the year, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus. Sometimes, God pulls us back and puts us in places we don't want to be during Christmas and gives us time to reflect on all the many things we have to thank Him for.

'American Soldier J'"

"True Tales of Christmas" ... To be Continued ...

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Johann's Pilfered Tree or True Tales of Christmas (Part Two)

Middleburg, Virginia, Christmas 2010. Very horsey, is Middleburg. Liz Taylor lived there when she was married to Senator John Warner. (Photo courtesy middleburgonline.com)

Robin's Note: I asked you to send me your own tales of Christmases past. This one comes from a reader who tells the story of how a "found object" lifted his spirits one holiday long ago.

"The Magical Discard" by a Reader of Robin Chapman News

"A few years back, I was planning to spend Christmas with my family in Europe after my girlfriend and I had parted ways. But, something came up and I had to scrap my plans a couple of days prior to leaving. As it was already nearly Christmas, I decided not to purchase a tree.

Then, on Christmas Eve morning, I took my dog for a walk in Middleburg, an attractive small town in the Virginia horseback country near Washington, with an English feel to it. We walked around for a while and past the town’s community center. In the back, I could see an already discarded Christmas tree lying on its side next to a refuse container.

I thought to myself, Noooo, I couldn’t, could I? I walked further down the street but was unable to get the tree out of my mind. We turned around and went back. The tree was approximately eight feet tall, still in great condition, and perfectly shaped. I knocked on the community center’s front door to ask whether I could possibly take it, but everyone had already left for the holidays.

I quickly got my car, tied the tree to the roof and then drove off, unsure whether it was really okay for me to take it. I remember once reading that even discarded property destined for the landfill or incinerator is still a legal possession of the home/property owner while on their premises. [Editor's note: the law may differ from state to state in America, but the detectives on those police shows always say it is legal for them to go through the trash, once it has been set out!]

So, legally speaking, I "appropriated" the discarded Christmas tree and headed for home. Once there, I immediately began to decorate it.

I filled it with white electric lights, red bulbs, artificial but authentic looking poinsettia branches, real tree candles (not to be lit), and ornaments that I had collected over the years. After I was done, around the time it began to get dark, I turned the Christmas tree lights on and stepped back to see how it turned out. I was amazed to see that this previously used and questionably acquired tree ended up being the most beautiful Christmas tree I had ever had. It looked magnificent. In the following days, I received lots of compliments from my friends ... and the tree was difficult to take down when the time came in January.

Let’s just say my name is François or maybe Johann--in case you have Middleburg readers (like the town's sheriff.)"

Robin writes: If there was a crime, which I doubt, the statute of limitations--both morally and legally--must have expired by now. François or maybe Johann, your "forfeit" was your story and for that we say Fröhliche Weihnachten and/or Joyeux Noel!

"True Tales of Christmas" ... To be Continued ...

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