My almost-two-year-old grandaughter, Sofia, got to meet her almost-two-year-old cousin, Martina, when Martina, her mother and her grandmother came, from Ecuador, to visit for the month of December. The two little girls had a wonderful time together and were adorable together, except for the usual occasional tiffs over toys and such. During the month-long visit, they spent quite a bit of time at my house. I found the two little chairs that my children had when they were young, and cleaned them up so Sofia and Martina could use them. Each quickly claimed "her" chair and used them for coloring and for meals, as well as posing for photographs. Several days after Martina and her family returned to Ecuador Sofia came to spend an afternoon with me. When she spied the little chairs, Sofia looked at them somberly, then went over and patted the seat of one and said, "Martina," a bit wistfully. Then she patted the seat of the other and said, "Sofia." Now each time she comes to the house she repeats that exercise. Those little chairs are part of her memory of Martina.
Chairs become so personal. Doesn't everyone have their favorite chair? Is there a family anywhere that sits randomly at the dinner table night after night—or isn't it more the rule that we find our own place and sit in the same chair ever after?
I really like the simple, universally recognized shape of these little chairs. I have had an idea in my mind for some time to try using very neutral fabrics, with only a hint of color, and this seemed to be an opportunity to try the idea. The end result reminds me of a woodcut or intricate ink drawing. And I am perversely pleased that the color scheme is not the bright, primary colors one might expect children's chairs and toys to be.