There he is, that wild and crazy bohemian, the one and only Augustus John (1878-1961). Painter, gypsy and virtual force of nature, he consumed wine, women and life in equal quantities. He sits here more demurely than I've ever seen him looking (probably because at 22, he was just beginning to dip his toe into the tidepool of decadence), but that rapacious gaze riveted on the viewer gives the game away.
I'm not unmoved.
In fact, I'd be more than happy to give him exactly what he needs.
(Augustus John by William Orpen, 1899)
A wall-mounted coat and hat rack, of course.
(Coat hanger by Authentic Models via here)
He must be getting overheated sitting there in that wool overcoat and the hat needs a better resting place. (What? Did your minds go into the gutter? Pull them out at once.) I love the dark blue, the vintage-inspired brass details and that unexpected bold red shelf. It feels like a piece you'd find in the back hall of a centuries-old European bistro. Or maybe bolted to the wall of a first-class carriage on the Orient Express headed to Vienna. Or in the cloak room of a very exclusive boarding school in the remotest wilds of Inverness. Or...or...or...make up your own story.