By Teresa Silverman

	Please see the March/April 2008 issue of Old House Journal for images.

Today when we stand in a room filled with beautiful furnishings, we usually see windows as blank spaces—empty expanses of clear glass or, at best, a stretch of window shade in some neutral, unadorned color. In the 19th century, though, the experience was totally different. Alongside painted artworks hanging on walls, windows stood out as frames for dramatic landscapes, architectural elements, or exotic scenery vividly projecting from cloth roller shades. In daytime, sunshine would backlight these scenes so that they stood out in high definition, making them visually more arresting than anything in the room. At night the effect was reversed, as artificial light illuminated these spectacular pictures for the pleasure of passers-by outdoors.

What is so intriguing about painted shades is how a decorative art form once widely popular is almost totally forgotten today. To help bring these furnishing out of the shadows and, perhaps, pique the interest of old-house owners who'd like to revive them, here is a brief look at the history and artistry behind painted cloth shades.

The Art of Painted Shades
Translucent cloth window shades most likely emerged from ornamental painting techniques developed in the early 18th century for stage backdrops in theatrical productions. Here, images of buildings, landscapes, and mythical places were painted on sheer fabric that was illuminated from behind. Among the first evidence of painted shades in America is an 1792 advertisement for "transparent Blinds and Windows" by Hugh Barkely and Patrick O'Meara of Baltimore. By the 1820s and 1830s pictorial sheer shades were common in affluent homes because they met the need for airy, light-filled interiors with decorative aplomb. For the first half of the 1800s, shades were hand-painted by individual artists, but rapid increase in popularity led to mass-production in workshops with as many as 150 artists, and by 1850 they were being sold to average-income houses for as little as $1.

During the first blossoming of painted shades in the middle of the 19th century, landscapes were the most common subjects, particularly idyllic, romantic scenes of Europe. This trend is consistent with the rise of the picturesque movement that began in the 18th century, and the tendency of Americans to follow European tastes. The fashion for scenic shades went part-and-parcel with the vogue for scenic wallpaper—in fact, many households simply attached pieces of scenic wallpaper to cloth to make decorative shades. Nonetheless, there could be another reason why European-themed screens and shades became so prevalent in America. Europe was rife with political unrest in the late 1840s, and these scenes may have been the work of German and French lithographers who emigrated to America in its wake.

What did translucent shades look like in a typical room? The collections of Historic New England in Boston include a variety of 1870s photographs that provide tempting glimpses of the effect. One of the best views shows two Queen Anne windows half covered with shades clearly painted with landscapes. Other photos give a peek at shades outlined in decorative frames or architectural motifs.

Even more revealing, the museum at Old Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, Massachusetts, preserves dozens of actual cloth shades manufactured in the mid-19th century. The designs range from landscapes with Oriental and Moorish themes to decorative border treatments. Most scenes are printed on semi-opaque material but punctured with tiny pinholes. In the evening, candlelight from within a room would shine through the pinholes to create a starlight pattern for someone viewing the window while on an evening's walk.

After scenic shades peaked in popularity in the 1860s, the dominant style became ornamental and architectural designs, such as filigrees and classically themed roundel patterns. Some shade manufacturers created make-believe windows on cloth using tromp l'oeil illustration techniques. Fanciful as this illusion sounds today, it's tame compared to the designs called "Blue Curtains" and "Green Curtains" produced by Sawyer, Ashton, and Company in 1850 that used paint to simulate elaborate drapery treatments attached to a window—right down to fringes, tassels, and tie-backs.

Making Cloth Shades
According to 19th century references, the most commonly used material for cloth window shades was Holland fabric, defined as "a particularly strong linen, woven on purpose, the usual width of the window, " or "a coarse cotton fabric, woven plain, and furnished to imitate linen, for which it is usually sold." Another choice apparently was cambric, a "thin, coarse, cotton fabric made in imitation of the Holland, and glazed upon both sides," according to English references.

Whatever the specific material used, it had to be sized and then painted to become a decorative shade. First, the Holland was stretched on a frame. Next it was sized by applying a gluey material to fill the pores in the weave and prevent the fabric from absorbing the pigment. While the outlines of original designs could be sketched freehand, they were also transferred from another source by pricking the outline with minute pin holes and then rubbing charcoal through the holes. Stencils were used for stock patterns.

Then came the painting. In Decorative Painting: A Practical Handbook on Painting and Etching Upon Various Objects and Materials for the Decoration of Our Homes, author B.C. Seward describes in precise detail how to paint cloth to create a transparent effect using either water-based or oil-based paints. A modern day how-to guide would read something like this:

•  Stretch cloth on a frame and then size it with warmed and diluted gilder's size at least twice to ensure that it is firm and tight enough to hold the paint.
•  Smooth surface with pumice stone.
•  Trace the outline of the decoration directly onto the canvas or use a stencil.
•  Use a sponge to apply oil paint thinned with turpentine and let it nearly dry.
•  When the paint reaches that point, use a palette knife to remove it so that "lights and half lights are formed."

Seward recommends working at night with a lamp positioned behind the fabric and leaving "all white tints and highlights to be made by the unpainted surface." He advocates using bright colors (such as reds, blues, yellows, and greens) and to obtain shades by stippling one color into another.

In Decorative Painters and Glazier's Guide (1827), Nathaniel Whittock offers advice specifically on how to make transparent blinds. He recommends stretching cambric on a frame and sizing it with isinglass (an expensive fish gelatin) for small-scale paintings or boiled parchment for large paintings. Whittock recommends sticking to the most transparent pigments, such as Prussian blue, raw and burnt umber, and burnt sienna. He felt shades work best when the image has one or two bold objects that can be easily executed and the subject avoids too much foliage. He suggests scenes of storms by sea or land. Moonlight settings and other low-light or nighttime subjects, however, are not good because they block too much light.

Shades with trees were good for drawing rooms because they are seen close up, and the scraping technique creates nice highlights. While architectural themes suited libraries, long rooms, and galleries, Whittock felt they were too dark and heavy for a home.

Will Painted Shades Return?
Historians cannot explain why decorative window shades faded in popularity, other than that the market became saturated and tastes changed. It's doubtful that cost was a factor, because, at their peak, they were very affordable. What is without question is the spell they could cast on a viewer, such as the poet Emily Dickinson, who described the view of the castle on her shades and the movement of her curtains. That the scene was not a veil to shield her from the outside world, but rather, a connection to what was beyond—both in reality and to what was in her imagination. Perhaps that connection between one's interior and exterior worlds can be captured again.

Teresa Silverman is a Boston-based communications specialist researching decorative arts at the Boston Center for Design.

To learn more about Old Sturbridge Village and its collection of early American objects, go to www.osv.org and click on "collections."