The Aynsley China Brooch

This is a large brooch made of bone china from the old English company Aynsley.  It is done in classic blue and white with a pheasant, and peonies and chrysanthemums (my guess).  It is enclosed in a brass filigree ring.  This brooch only works, I think, at the throat, or maybe a bit further down, but always in the body's center. 

There was a time when I loved to order things from catalogs.  The more I ordered, the more catalogs I received.  This is one of my scores.  (Sadly, I began to score less and less and now do very little catalog shopping.)  I don't think Aynsley makes this kind of thing anymore; they are seriously into little tea services with stunning floral scenes.

This brooch is quite heavy and needs a good firm garment to hold it.  Here it is on a linen shirt with front shirring.

The Japanese Brooch

This is a take on the classic circle brooch.  It has broken lines with some brushed silver and asymmetrically placed pearls.

This was a gift to me from a man I used to date in Tucson.  He traveled frequently to Japan and brought me this after one such trip.  The remarkable thing about it is the speech he used at its presentation.  He said that it was given to him by a businessman in one of the obligatory gift exchanges that Japanese do.  He said it wasn't in his taste, but he was giving it to me.  Think about the semantics of this:  Was he saying he hoped I'd never wear it?  Or maybe, that I should feel free to re-gift it at any time?  Or that I was someone who should feel grateful for anything that got tossed my way?  Because the only feeling associated with the gift was negative, I have never loved wearing it.

But over time, I have learned to appreciate it for its very neutral color, its classic style, and the fact that it's so big.  It's good to wear with dresses with plunging necklines.  I can put it at the low point to keep the neckline from getting into mischief.

Here I have it on a flapper-style dress with a beaded low-cut bodice.

The quetzal

This is one of the first pins I acquired, at age 19, when I lived in Tucson.  It is in the shape of a quetzal, made of beaten silver.  It's from Guatemala, from the days before all fine crafts were obliterated in the civil war -- not earlier than the mid-60s.  It was a casual gift from Sybil Ellinwood, one of the grande dames of Tucson society in the 50's and 60s.  She was the best friend of my first mother-in-law.  They were of the last generation of women who entered into property marriages with the second generation sons of the men who first developed southern Arizona, then descended into dissipation and lost all the family money.  Sybil was a sharp-tongued alcoholic who should have been born 50 years later.  I was terrified of her, because she made fun of everything I said and did.  I couldn't have known that I would become who I am, and I look back at her as a tiny, sad woman who enjoyed feeling superior to a youngster out of her depth.

This pin fell off me one day, and landed on the sidewalk.  I knew it was surely lost, and was shocked when several hours later, I stumbled upon it again.  I knew then it was a little survivor, like me.

Here is a picture of it holding together the bodice of a linen wrap dress.

As a child

The first pin I remember  (I was perhaps 3 years old) was on my mother's green wool coat.  It was a knitted pair of tiny mittens, and they dangled cutely.  I liked the idea of having jewelry for clothes as well as for bodies.

The first pin I bought was at age 7 for my mother.  I can't remember where I found it, but it cost ten cents, which was precisely how much money I had.  There was only one at that price.  It was literally in the shape of a window in a house, with a potted violet on the sill.  The pin seemed to be made of stainless steel of some sort, and the flower was plastic.  I slapped down my dime and proudly wrapped it up.  My mother looked at the pin, and made some kind of noise, but was rather less excited about it than I had hoped.  I never saw her wear it, but once I put it on one of her coats as a service to her.

I'm sure the pin was truly hideous, but it was made in the era of chrome and formica "dinette sets" and Melmac dinnerware in assorted colors.  The height of American kitsch. I wish I had it now.

Here I go!

My student Corry mentioned that he'd like for me to start a blog about my brooches (and pins).   In it I should show them (there are 23) and give their backstory.  It's for him to say why he would find this the least bit interesting.  For some reason, I did not dismiss this, and instead made a quick and rash decision to just do it.

I will assume that Corry alone is reading this blog, but who knows what sorts of people might tune in?  No turning back now.  In my next post, I will start with a photograph of one of my brooches and talk about it.