This was my great-grandmother's chair. We call it the "Tart's Boudoir." I think I told you that we tend to nickname things around here. Everything except me. Anyhoo. Doesn't that look like where this chair belongs? All carved wood and deep red velvet. Perfect for a tart's boudoir.
I don't actually have a lot of good to say about my great-grandmother. I don't think I ever met her, but the stories my dad could tell! Boy-Howdy.
What I do remember of this chair is of it in my grandparent's house. Not a tart's boudoir. Past the days of parlors (and whorehouses, I suspect), this chair never looked like it belonged. It just didn't look quite right with their green shag carpet, ya know?
Still, this chair appealed to me, and when my grandparents died, I knew I wanted it. We tried it in the living room, but it just wasn't a look I was going for. Still formulating that look apparently. It landed in the dining room for awhile, but it was damned uncomfortable at the table (too low), even though the red looked really lovely against the turquoise walls.
We have a bare corner in our bedroom where once sat a leather club chair that Neel took into his office, and suddenly this weekend it struck me that Tart's Boudoir would look really nice against the dark blue walls. I had but to suggest it to my husband, and he snuck it up when I wasn't looking. It works, it really works. There's a window on this side of the room, and even curtained it lets in the most delicious shaft of subtle light.
The Tart's Boudoir belongs. In my bedroom no less.
