I laid down on the sofa with my legs pulled up, covered myself with a thin blanket, tucked the pillow under my head and took an afternoon nap – just like my grandmother had done for years. All snuggled down, I felt a sense of complete satisfaction. The old sofa that was covered in cloth that rotted over the years was made good as new – maybe even better.
There is more to this story than a sofa in disrepair that needed to be fixed. This is the story of a master artisan.
One day I received a call, “Hey. Do you want Gommie’s sofa? It needs to be recovered.” What kind of question was that? “Yep. I sure do.”
Before… I tried to salvage some of the fabric but it almost disintegrated.
The fabric was prickly like dry stubble. Now I know why Gommie always had it covered with blankets.
I had not seen the sofa in years – not since my Grandmother last sat on it or had taken her last afternoon nap on it. I knew it would cost something to get it repaired, but to me, it was worth it. Immediately I called a dear friend whose husband did upholstery. They were very special friends to me. Mr. Charles was one of the most gifted craftsmen I have ever known. My mother would certainly have approved of his precise skills. My friend is an expert artist herself and a mentor. Fabric is her gift, quilts in particular. [How I have wished she would have come along earlier so she could have met my mother. They would have been close friends.] When I told them of the sofa that needed to be reupholstered, Mr. Charles said, “I’ll do it for you as long as you don’t give me a deadline. Just go pick out the fabric.” After speaking with him, I was elated!
Rich tones of deep red, black, and a bit of gold
When I found just the perfect fabric, I sent them a picture. Mr. Charles said the paisley designed fabric in deep red tones with a bit of gold was perfect for the “contemporary” style sofa made in the 20’s – 30’s era. Even the texture and weave of fabric was fitting. I left the sofa and fabric in their care and waited very patiently.
It wasn’t long before they called me to come check on the progress. The sofa was sitting on sawhorses and was stripped down to its skeleton. Springs in the back and seat of the sofa were laid bare. Only four of the myriads of springs were tied together. All the other strings that had once held the network of springs had rotted and fallen off causing some of the springs to lie cockeyed. The batting that had been in the sofa was so rotten, a sawdust-like residue seeped through the seams and cushions. One section of the back of the frame was busted. Woodwork on one of the arms was split. The cushions were no good and were so hard, it was not comfortable in the slightest. The sofa needed a complete makeover.
I can tell you, this was a labor of love. Mr. Charles was on oxygen most of the time. He had a long tube that was his lifeline, but he didn’t let that get in his way of doing what he loved. In fact, he thanked me.
When I got the call that he was done, I couldn’t get there quick enough. It was gorgeous. It was perfect. My friend had stripped and refinished all the woodwork. The rich tones of the wood just gleamed next to the posh fabric. The cushions were comfy yet firm. The piping was even and neat. He did leave one thing though; he left the memories intact. I could not have asked for anything greater. Maybe the sofa will last for another hundred years. Mr. Charles was a truly gifted artisan. He was a master!
Finished sofa still on the saw horses
When I look at the sofa that is just my size, I see the work of the master’s hands. There is expertise in every stitch. The colors, the craftsmanship, and the refinished wood all compliment one another. More than seeing the work of the master artisan’s hands, I see a work of the master’s heart, an act of love.
I often sit on the cushions and rest a bit while having a cup of hot tea or while telling stories to the kids. Sometimes I even lie down for a few minutes and might even steal a quick nap. Memories ooze from the seams and every stitch whispers memories of time spent with Gommie, warm fuzzy memories of cuddling up beside her and listening to her stories. I can see her look at me, smile, squint her eyes, and click her teeth.
Among the memories that fill the room, I am also reminded that I have witnessed the touch of the master’s hand and heart. The gift of a master artisan is a special treasure, but the gift given from the heart is priceless.
Finished and where it belongs
A couple of years ago, I took a couple of friends with me to Montana. One day we walked into the Grand Hotel in Big Timber to grab a bite of lunch. Had they seen my face they would have known I was surprised. I asked them, “Do you notice anything particular about the booth seats?” The fabric was exactly like the fabric I selected for Gommie’s sofa. Good choice!