Reflections on a Pair of Brass Candlesticks

 The Darkest Place is Under the Candlestick ... 

(SA/2025)

 

 'I hate any thought of possessions sticking on to me like barnacles, 

at once I feel destructive.' - D. H. Lawrence [1] 

  

 

I. 

 

Apparently, brass candlesticks of the kind my mother kept on the mantlepiece from the early 1970s until the day she died in 2023 have seen a resurgence in popularity of late. People seem to think that they add a touch of warmth and maybe a hint of sophistication to a room. 

 

Of course, the British have loved their brass candlesticks since the 18th century when new casting techniques allowed them to be mass produced and to supersede and replace those made from wood or other materials, such as pewter. 

 

Brass - a metal alloy composed of copper and zinc - was seen as both practical and aesthetically pleasing due to its bright golden appearance and various styles and designs of candlestick emerged at this time; some with round, some with square, and some (like my mother's) with octagonal bases.      

 

Again, as with many of the objects I have inherited, I don't quite have the heart to throw them away or donate them to a charity shop (my sister, of course, would have sold them at a car boot sale at the earliest opportunity and been happy if she'd got a couple of quid for the pair).      

 

 

II.

 

Funnily enough, I find support for my decision to keep my mother's brass candlesticks in the following tale concerning D. H. Lawrence ... 

 

At the end of December 1915, he and his wife Frieda moved to Zennor, in Cornwall, staying initially in rooms at the local pub, The Tinners' Arms, before renting a cottage of their own, in which they lived for nearly two years. 

 

Clearly, unlike many of the other places he and Frieda lived at, Lawrence regarded Tregerthen Cottage as a genuine home; somewhere he could put down roots and it was his hope that the tiny village of Zennor, about 5 miles from St. Ives, might become the centre of a small community (Rananim) composed of friends and like-minded individuals, such as the literary couple John Middleton Murry and Katherine Mansfield.      

 

As one commentator notes: 

 

"Once he moved in to his small cottage [...] Lawrence's letters describe his engagement in sustained bouts of home making [...] he painted the walls pale pink and the ceiling white. From second hand wood his landlord gave him, Lawrence made book shelves that he painted royal blue [...] and also a dresser 'with cupboard below, and shelves for plates above' (2L 591)." [2]   

  

What Lawrence desperately wanted to finish furnishing his cottage with, however - as revealed in a letter to the artist Mark Gertler - were the brass candlesticks that had once belonged to his mother: 

 

"I only miss my pair of brass candlesticks. [...] I do hope they are not lost, because they are the only thing that I have kept from my own home, and I am really attached to them." [3]  

 

For Lawrence - as, I suppose, for me - his mother's candlesticks are more than just physical relics; they possess an almost magical allure and are invested with all kinds of memories; capable thus of evoking powerful thoughts and feelings.

 

Lawrence's anxious questioning of his friends on the whereabouts of his candlesticks indicates just how important they were to him and makes us wonder how sincere he was being in the epigraph that appears at the top of this post ...

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Lady Ottoline Morrel [15? April 1915], in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., ed. George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 318. 

 

[2] Jane Costin, 'Lawrence and the "homeless soul"', in Études Lawrenciennes 56 (2024): click here to read online. 

      Note that (2L 591) refers to The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., p. 591. Lawrence was writing to Lady Ottoline Morrell (7 April 1916). 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence in a letter to Mark Gertler (22 March 1916), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., p. 584. 

      See also the letter written a few days later to S. S. Koteliansky (28 March 1916), in which Lawrence is still banging on about his pair of brass candlesticks and their whereabouts (II. 589). I don't know if he ever retrieved them, but I hope so. 

 

 

Readers who liked this post might also like: 'Objects Make Happy' (4 May 2024) - click here - and 'Be a Little Deaf and Blind ... How Cynical Pragmatism Secures Wedded Bliss' (23 Feb 2025) - click here. Both these posts feature objects that had belonged to my mother. 

 

Idiorrhythmy

D. H. Lawrence: untitled ink drawing (1929) [1]

 

I. 

 

In a series of lectures in the academic year 1976-77, French philosopher and critic Roland Barthes explored the idea of how individuals might productively live with others in a manner that preserves the right of each to exist at their own pace and maintain a necessary degree of solitude. 

 

He discussed this in his own singular and imaginative fashion - i.e., as a form of fantasy [2] - in relation to the fascinating concept of idiorrhythmy [3]; a term that first appeared in the early middle ages in connection with certain orders of monks whose members although existing alongside one another in the same space, were free to work and prayer each according to their own specific rhythms  [4].

 

For Barthes, idiorrhythmy thus provides the clue as to how we might live together in a society, but, at the same time, respect the character quirks and behavioural idiosyncrasies of members - no matter how strange, irritating, or offensive we might find these things.

 

It sounds good, but, unfortunately, there's the very real danger that such an ultra-liberal (almost anarchic) model for social coexistence risks fragmentation into a chaos of self-sufficient, self-interested, and self-absorbed egoists, caring for nothing for anyone as they spin contentedly on their own axis. 

 

And whilst I might not fancy being a member of a really tight-knit community in which the interests of the individual are stricty subordinate to those of the collective, neither do I wish to live in a world of atomised individualism. 

 

II. 

 

Sometimes, like Barthes, I imagine myself living somewhere by the sea - or perhaps in the mountains - in a little house, "with two rooms for my own use and two more close by for a few friends" [5], as well as somewhere we might gather with our neighbours for celebration.

 

But then, like Barthes, I quickly snap out of this longing for Rananim [6] and realise that it's ultimately just a "very pure fantasy that glosses over the difficulties that will come to loom like ghosts" [7].

 

Indeed, it's hard enough living at times with just one person and one is obliged to ask: is there such a thing as an idiorrhythmic couple? 

 

Barthes doesn't seem to think so. In any case, he's expressly uninterested in such a model per se, preferring to only talk about couples in the context of wider groups. His main objection is not only that the couple offer a model of domesticated and legitimised desire, but that such a model "blocks any experience of anachoresis" [8]; i.e., it doesn't allow for a vital retreat into one's own peace and quiet [9]. 

 

But surely that depends; not so much on who that person is as a person with their various interests and ideas, but on their impersonal rhythym. 

 

Provided the latter isn't too disruptive of one's own and they don't, like Madonna, insist that you get into the groove in order to prove your love [10] - for this invariably means falling into line with their rhythm - then I can't see the problem with individuals forming a monogamous couple (on the condition that they are separated sometimes and don't become "'stuck together like two jujube lozenges'" [11].   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This astonishing ink drawing of two nude figures by Lawrence illustrates the unique rhythms of the body and how these individual rhythms interact in a pattern of relationship.

 

[2] In his late work, Barthes loved to use the term fantasy, by which he understood "a resurgence of certain desires, certain images that lurk within you, that want to be identifed by you [...] and often only assume concrete form thanks to a particular word [... that] leads from the fantasy to its investigation".       

      See Roland Barthes, How to Live Together, trans. Kate Briggs (Columbia University Press, 2012), p. 6.  

 

[3] The term idiorrhythmic is a combination of the Greek terms for personal and distinct, ἴδιος (ídios) and rule or rhythym, ῥῠθμός (rhŭthmós). In modern English, it therefore means something like self-regulating, or independent. 

[4] Barthes refers to these loose-knit religious communities as idiorrhythmic clusters. Sadly, they were eventually replaced by cenobitic orders of monks who lived according to a single model; we might say that individual rule and rhythm were replaced by centralised law and order. Or, as Barthes writes: "Power - the subtlety of power - is effected through disrhythmy ..." How to Live Together ... p. 9.    

[5] Roland Barthes, How to Live Together ... p. 7.

 

[6] Rananim was the name for a small utopian community dreamed of by D. H. Lawrence; a place where he, Frieda, and a few friends could escape the modern world and create a more fulfilling way of life founded upon the assumption that members were fundamentally good at heart and shared his vision for mankind.

[7] Roland Barthes, How to Live Together ... p. 7.

 

[8] Ibid., p. 8. 

 

[9] Barthes also claims that the history of modern communes has demonstrated that things quickly fall apart "from the moment that family groups are reestablished - due to the conflict between sexuality and the law". See How to Live Together ... p. 8.  

[10] I'm referring to the track 'Into the Groove' by Madonna, which featured in the film Desperately Seeking Susan  (dir. Susan Seidelman, 1985). Written and produced by Madonna and her then boyfriend Stephen Bray, the song was latter added to the 1985 re-issue of her second studio album, Like a Virgin (Sire Records, 1984). It was a number 1 hit and remains her best-selling single in the UK.     

[11] D. H. Lawrence, Aaron's Rod, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 91. This is Rawdon Lilly speaking. He continues: "'Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place [...] They can come together, in the second place, if they like. But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone, intrinsically.'" 

 

Musical bonus: 'I Got Rhythm' composed by George Gershwin, with lyrics by Ira Gershwin (1930). Originally sang by Ethel Merman in the stage musical Girl Crazy, it has been recorded on numerous occasions by a variety of artists ever since. Click here for a version by Ella Fitzgerald from 1959.