These pictures are from the Doxford Engine Works, taken between 1957 and 1958. WIlliam Doxford & Sons was an English shipbuilder going back as far as the later part of the 19th century. The factory floor is massive and seemingly either green or brown. Not to mention that with so many men milling about (literally), somewhat unfamiliar to our modern sensibility.

I have a love-hate relationship with the car. I am grateful for the autonomy that it offers me. And, as a functional object, I marvel at those vehicles that are well-designed and efficient. But I loathe the beastly, gas-guzzling monstrosities that lately seem to rule the road. These miniature vehicles are commonly referred to as Microcars or Bubble Cars, and (as I have just discovered) they have cult status. They came about as an outgrowth of post WWII ingenuity paired with the need to give mobility to the populations of Europe. The scarcity of materials and resources at that time created the perfect conditions and limitations for the birth of these teeny cars. Some of them are so small that they don’t even have a reverse gear. Instead, they have a handle on the rear end so that you can get out of the car, lift it up and actually turn it around. Sometime in the near future I hope to find myself in Atlanta (I’ve never heard anyone say that!) on my way to the Microcar Museum so that I can get a full dose of these diminutive machines.

When I travel, the first places I (and most everyone else I know) usually hit up are the local hardware stores, supermarkets, stationery shops and probably a pharmacy or two. Alisa Grifo, the proprietor of the much-beloved NYC shop Kiosk, manages to recreate this oft rewarding pursuit through a series of curated country-specific shows. I bought these Japanese clips at her store when it first opened. And while I have never been to Japan (how is this possible??) at least I get to gaze upon these fasteners daily. I know I should use them, but I can’t bear to break up the happy family.

I was having dinner at the home of some friends the other night and found the need to jot something down. My friend Pete (or maybe it was his wife Sue) handed me a pencil that was perfectly sharpened and a joy with which to write. It got me thinking about the pencils to which I am addicted — the Eberhard Faber Blackwing 602s. Soft and smooth! Here I go again, the perfect tool for the job. Sadly, the Blackwings were taken out of production back in 1998. They have recently been re-introduced to somewhat mixed reviews. I know, I know…a lot of time and breath expended on what is, after all, just a pencil. But just consider the product tag line printed on the originals: Half the Pressure, Twice the Speed. How could anyone resist that?

This basket is traditionally known as a Nantucket Lightship Basket. This particular specimen was made by my stepfather, Howard G. Jones, who was an industrial designer and model maker, and the inspiration behind much of what I do today. He could make anything — for Sea & Ski, he modeled the first “Girl Watcher” sunglasses, and for GM he lent his talent towards designing the Futurama exhibition for the 1939-1940 World’s Fair. He even turned wooden buttons during the Great Depression. At the age of 75 or so he decided that he wanted to start making baskets. Baskets…really? This is one stunning example of his endeavor. This “the one egger”, is part of a larger nest, something like the baskets featured in this link. He made every element himself…from ripping the cane, to tooling the little hinges to turning the wood bottom. Hats off to you Mr. Jones.