A Closer Look At: Face Screens

Am SO excited about today's entry, which opens a door to a realm of domestic history I hadn't encountered before.

The round screen above, currently up for auction on eBay, originated in Venice. Unlike most of the handheld fans we know, it was not used to cool the face by displacing the air. Instead, it shielded the face from the direct heat of a fire, which, not too long ago, was the only way to keep a house warm.

A fire could redden the carefully cultivated pallor of upper-class women--and worse. The caption that describes this pair of puzzle-inscribed face screens (from the Puzzle Museum) elaborates the extent of potential damage:

"200 years ago, most of your makeup was wax based. If you warmed up your face, your make-up will run and you will look like a mix between a zebra and a strawberry-slice. So these face screens were invented for when your neighbour came round for a girly chat. Using them you could protect your face from the direct heat while the rest of you kept warm; and at the same time you could solve the puzzles."

How inviting is the idea of hanging around in front of a cozy fire with your friends, gossiping and playing guessing games . . . according to the seller, the Venetian screen's conversational prompts were the figures depicted on it. Virgin Mary in the middle is easily i.d.'ed thanks to her blue robe, but as for the rest, especially the little guys with the shears . . . perhaps an early-19th-century Italy expert could write in.

Just as evocative, in a different way, is the wonderfully shabby floral on the reverse of the fan, reminiscent of lush Venetian velvet tapestries that have withstood centuries of rising damp and fog . . .



(with many thanks to the Puzzle Museum and especially to Anti-qs for providing the wonderful photos of the Venetian screen.)

All a Flutter

Certain accessories, like jewelry and sunglasses, have their shape-shifts and periodic retools, but they never really go out of style. Such is not the case with others: parasols, white kid gloves, or chatelaines.

Fans fall into the latter category. Apart from special circumstances like flamenco dancing, burlesque, or kabuki theatre, they are well and truly period pieces: to carry one is to signal a deep affiliation with times past.

It's a shame, because back in the pre-air-con days when they were carried as a means to keep cool, fans also had a flirtatious language of their very own. A lady going to the opera, for example, could spot a paramour in the balcony opposite and launch into an elaborate series of covert glances, flicks and flutters (example: resting the fan on the heart meant that the heart was breaking). The subtlety made the bellowed drama on stage elephantine in comparison.

Today arcane, vintage fans abound at fairs, markets, and in shops specializing in Victoriana. More surprising, they can also be found in the accessories department of one of London's poshest department stores, Fortnum & Mason. The gorgeous black and white lace versions there are sold primarily as bridal accessories, but, as a saleswoman explained, they could also be carried outdoors, when it's warm, to picnics, open-air theatre, even rock festivals. Given that it's England the "when it's warm" part was optimistic but you could see fans such as these gorgeous Habanico versions making a dramatic counterstatement to the usual Kate Moss tripwear at Glastonbury.

To my delight I've learned that there is an entire museum devoted to fans in Greenwich, a tube ride out of London. The museum holds fanmaking seminars one Saturday a month. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity to while away an afternoon, amid all those sultry memories. Especially if outside, there's a chill rain.