A “psychic link” through Elvis

It was the late 1980s when the problem started. I was in my early 20s, living in a New York City walk-up apartment, broke, sleeping on a borrowed bed … and yearning for an “important” chair.

Granted, I had no clue why certain designs made my gluteus maximus twitch with desire, sending “I want to sit on THAT” signals to my brain… (Sticker shock would then inspire me to high-tail it out of the store.) Twenty-plus years later, as Matt and I undertook our home renovation, these images were still fresh in my mind.

Trouble was, I’d see a piece I long loved, such as Eero Saarinen’s über-comfortable Womb chair with ottoman (1948), and then I’d see it again. And again and again and again. Open up Dwell magazine: there it is. Open up Atomic Ranch and here it is again. I showed Matt the Womb chair in so many spreads, he hatched a theory: Photographers of midcentury modern interiors brought one to each shoot. (BYOWC?)

We spied a collection of midcentury marvels—including the
Womb chair—at NYC’s House of Futons on May 31, 2010.

This happened over and over. Harry Bertoia’s Diamond Lounge chair (1952), Arne Jacobsen’s Swan chair (1958) and the Ludwig Mies van der Rohe Barcelona® Chair (1929), which I learned had caught my father’s eye as well, and pretty much anything Eames...

Bertoia’s Diamond Lounge chairs,
Live from Lincoln Center, on November 9, 2009.

These designs were so right—so desirable—they were becoming downright ubiquitous. Key pieces are even part of the Miniatures Collection from Vitra.

I admired a collection of miniature chairs
at Minima in Philadelphia on May 5, 2010.

“Isn’t anyone, anywhere, doing something new? Something ‘right now’,” I wondered. “Or, at least, something created after my 1966 birth?”

Yes! They caught my attention as Matt and I took a lunch break in mid-April to scan the web for the right chairs for our screen porch.

Chartreuse. Perfect complement to our parrot green daybed cushions. But it wasn’t just the color that got my heart racing when I saw the Jellyfish House Chair and Ottoman (2003-2005)... It wasn’t just that the proportions perfectly met our needs… Or that the set was designed by Dutch architect Wiel Arets (Amsterdam is a favorite city)... And it certainly wasn’t the name, as jellyfish in the sea scare the hell out of me! No; there was something more... More, even, than the promise that the chair ROCKS “slightly.”

Whatever it was, Matt needed to see this compelling couple. When he loved them, too, two chairs and an ottoman needed to come live at Casa de Roo.

Thus began the odyssey to make them ours. None of the online stores could get our new friends to us before late August. End of summer? If that was the case, we’d place the order in winter.

I was feeling a bit “Veruca Salt.” Instead of going into an “I want it now” tirade, I turned to Google. The objects of our desire are produced by Quinze & Milan, but aren’t available via their online store. When I found an NYC contact on their site, I called and left him a message. Taking a “boot-n-suspenders” approach, I sent an e-mail, too.

“I will NEVER hear from them,” I assured my husband, wondering where I got the ovaries (obviously, I lack the balls) to use contact information aimed at people buying 300+ units, not three.

Luckily, Antoine is a “Crackberry” addict. He responded via e-mail. He called the warehouse in Belgium, but their weekend had already begun. He e-mailed again with more info. Red, yes; green, no. We discussed other color options. By Saturday morning, he’d located exactly what I wanted. By Sunday, I had an invoice and agreed to close the deal. On Tuesday, April 27, I called to follow up and Antoine answered before I heard the phone ring. I identified myself and he noted he had just sent over the instructions for payment; before he finished his sentence, the e-mail hit my inbox.

“Must be a psychic link through Elvis,” I exclaimed, to his amusement. Certainly, we were “meant” to have these chairs. Not only did the design make me tingle, so did the whole buying experience.

Thanks to Antoine diverting our order while at the warehouse in Belgium, our two chairs and ottoman were not on a slow boat to the U.S. with those destined to arrive in about 12 weeks. Nope! My order greeted me when I got home from work on June 3.

Even before I opened the boxes, I was delighted. The packaging was a marketing masterpiece.

Beyond the pictures of their contents, company logo
and “creators of atmosphere” tagline, there were
the shipping instructions, which I interpreted as:
don’t use a box cutter to open, keep dry, fragile,
this end up and be cool like a 70s porn star.

I moved the lightweight pieces into the screen porch just before Matt got home from his softball game. That night, we rocked gently as we listened to bullfrogs sing. Not just easy on the eyes, Jellyfish House Chair and Ottoman are good to the glutes and spine.

Does the void provide a house for jellyfish? Or just the right
visual impact for a room dedicated to enjoying the lake view?

Will Jellyfish become an “important” chair within 50 years? Well, it was already important to me. And, although part of me hopes I do not start seeing it featured in magazine spreads and commercials, the more altruistic sliver of my soul wants everyone to have this much fun!

Viewed from above or below, the Jellyfish House
Chair and Ottoman look right at home in our casa.