“Grandma’s Chair”

Grandma’s chair sits lost and lonely, buried in the attic
Beneath old clothes and blankets, it’s fabric stained and worn.
You’re tempted to discard it, along with it’s matching hassock-
Despite it’s sentimental value, it’s battered, lifeless, torn.
New chairs in the department store cost less than to upholster
That sad ancestral legacy now fading toward disaster.

What differentiates the two is quality of structure,
The lack of which degrades the essence of what you speculate
Might be a fine replacement for this piece of antique furniture,
Which has soul and innate beauty which the wise appreciate.
Don’t compare this treasure to some trash, expecting me to understand,
For excellence must be revered, and restored at your command.

Once, furniture was built to last, each joint a source of pride
To craftsmen who perceived enchantment in the spirit of the wood.
They carved and chiseled lovingly a frame that dignified
Commitment to creation of exquisite lines which could
Flow gracefully from every detail certain to delight,
With beauty’s charm embellished when it’s finish flirts with light.

Excellence remained the standard followed without fail,
As the chair grew toward it’s purpose, evolved toward it’s design.
Upholsterers were artisans obsessed with each detail,
Creating style and structure out of horse-hair, tacks and twine.
With patience that old chair was built, with pride it was hand-stitched,
To be a timeless source of comfort in the lives that it enriched.

But what was noticed always was the beauty of fine fabric
Cut and tacked and sewn precisely, honoring perfection,
Installed with flair to please an artist’s sense of the esthetic
Desire to exceed ideals that color all perception.
     By a man who had the wisdom to know grace cannot be forced,
     Merely eased along and guided as the fabric seeks it’s course,

To settle, matched and centered, in the void the eye demands
Be filled with form and color, each pattern blessed with symmetry
Exquisite in it’s placement, stretched and pleated by strong hands
Whose touch can sense the limits in each fabric’s tendency,
     Ensuring graceful lines and curves which flow throughout the chair-
     Perfection in all tufts and channels, excellence with flair.

That chair was bought by newly weds investing in a dream
Of life fulfilled and joyous, with a family sharing love,
As their home grew and expanded, the chair symbolized extreme
Devotion to one’s children, for it became the focus of
     Evenings shared and cherished, stories read by firelight,
     By Grandpa in his favorite chair, a comfort every night.

 These hands of mine, so passionate, can transform your ragged treasure,
Adhering to the standards that sheer excellence demands,
Into the classic beauty whose style gave your Grandma pleasure,
Because dedication to perfection flows from pride which now commands
     The precise techniques from ages past, fulfilling my life’s honored guest,
     For through these callused hands my pride and joy become expressed.
  
Ken Fisher
 Franklin Decorators 
April, 1999