Magazines
Boca Raton Magazine - September/October 2000
Woodcarver
Bertrand Jubert's first encounter with wood restoration was as a
teenager in the city of Caen, France, where his grandparents lived.
"The city was 80 percent gone, after being heavily bombed by the
Allied Forces during the June 1944 invasion," Jubert recalls.
"One day, on one of my visits, my grandma pulled a few parts of a
wooden dresser out of the rubble heap she kept from the times of the war,
and asked if I could fix it."
He tried to put it together, but found a part was missing. Using only a jackknife, he carved a new part - complete with a detail of flowers - and repaired the dresser. "Without any training, I understood right away what I had to do with the wood. I was amazed with myself," he says. Jubert got hooked, and became more involved with woodcarving.
A few years later, Jubert was referred to two old woodcarvers in Paris. They were impressed with his work, and hired him. "These two old guys, in their 80's at the time, were masters of the craft," he says and smiles. "They taught me the tricks of the trade, and helped me with advice on how to improve my skills." Soon, Jubert tried his hand at carve his own artistic creations out of wood. He has had several exhibits in Paris, including seven at the Grand Palais, and also participated in a show in Chicago titled "At Home with France." After a four-year stint in New York, where he built high-end custom furniture and repaired antiques for Long Island's rich and famous, he returned to France and lived at Cannes for a while.
His most important project, Jubert said, was a replica of a 300-years-old altar inside a private chapel in Cannes. "The chapel was dug into a cave underneath a mansion," he says, demonstrating with his hands, "and the altar was in such bad shape, it couldn't be moved or it would surely crumble." Jubert ended up using a video camera to film the altar, with a ruler by its side, from every angle he could think of. "I then set up a TV set at my shop and I would fast forward or rewind the tape till I found the section I needed to work on, and slowly carve away," he said. The project was completed successfully and the owners were thrilled. "I used a few techniques to make it look old," he says and winks. "When you really get involved in a restoration project you have to find out who the original artist was, how he or she worked, what tools were used," he whispers as if sharing a secret. "You actually have to go back in time to fully understand the project. Then you can go about doing the actual restoration."
Jubert, who now resides in Boca Raton and manages a shop called Brandine Woodcraft, loves working with wood so much, he actually admits to having a "relationship" with the wood. "Even though it appears to be dead, wood as a medium is still very much alive," he explains. "It expands and contracts, it decays slowly, it has smell. As a craftsman, I bond with the wood I am working with, I study its grain texture, I assimilate its essence, then I make a complete plan on how to carve it. "I take my time when carving and I do it with extreme care. You have to remember that once you hit the wood the wrong way, game's over," he says, and then smiles. "And gluing is cheating."
Chandelier Restorater
"I am not that good with words," Brazil-born Marcos Da Costa
apologizes at the beginning of the interview, "but I am very good
with my hands." Indeed, he is one of a few in South Florida who have
the touch and knowledge required to successfully restore and repair
antique chandeliers, sconces and lamps. "My father is Italian and
emigrated to Brazil, where he married my mother," he says. "He
learned the craft from my grandfather in Italy, and I in turn learned it
from him. I worked by his side from young age, and later on moved to the
U.S. to open my own business - Da Costa Lighting Service."
Da Costa has been working out of the same shop for more than 12 years, and most of his clients are from Palm Beach, Manalapan, Highland Beach and Boca Raton. He has done work for a number of local celebrities, and has even worked on lights in Versaci's South Beach mansion. "It is not important whom you work for," he says. "It is more important what pieces you work on, and how well you do your work." Da Costa's small, quaint establishment, filled with so many broken down and nearly-fossilized chandeliers and lamps that one can barely see the walls, looks like a thrift store selling second-hand merchandise. To the untrained eye, that is.
He points to a six-foot tall chandelier adorned with details of bronze lion heads and laurel wreaths, which is missing at least half of its original crystal beads, and a few arms. "This 19th century chandelier here was probably bought at $40,000. When I am done with it, it could retail for as high as $70,000." Next to it, a beautiful Maria Teresa chandelier hangs in sad silence, its wiring hanging out in disarray, after an inexperienced craftsman tried to fix it without much success. Its dozen bronze arms, which extend out as wavy octopus tentacles, are covered in flat crystal on both sides and underneath. When it extends down from a high ceiling, the lamps at the end of the arms seem to simply float in the air, and the various crystal prisms and beads turn the simple white light into a dazzling lightshow. The price tag: $18,000. Da Costa will do whatever is needed to repair and restore an antique light fixture, big or small, and bring it as close as possible to its original condition.
Many of the pieces that arrive at Da Costa's shop are ones that were bought by collectors in Europe and then brought to the U.S. Whether the damage was time-induced or caused by careless shipping clerks, Da Costa takes the chandelier apart and starts restoring its components. "I clean the metal parts with special acids, which take away the rust but keeps the metal's antique look," he says. "The metal will have a satin-type finish, but it won't look new. Most people want the antique to still look like one after I am done with it." If there is a missing or broken part, Da Costa will die-cast a new part and utilize various trade-secret tricks to make it look as if it was an original part. "You won't be able to tell which part was new and which part was original unless you inspected it very carefully," he says with a smile. "If there are any missing or damaged crystals," he says, pulling open a wide drawer filled with all shapes and sizes of the transparent mineral, "I will either mend them or replace them. I often buy irreparable antiques, strip their crystals and parts, and when possible use those instead of buying completely new crystals -- save the customers a few bucks."
When the chandelier is put back together (Da Costa makes sure he replaces the wiring with U.S. electrical code-compliant ones) he takes a step back to eye the restored piece. It must look like an antique in mint condition before he will show it to the customer, he says. And, of course, all lights must work properly. In the back corner of the shop Da Costa keeps the really old pieces he is working on. A rusty, 18th-Century round chandelier, complete with five roaring bear heads for candle holders, hangs from coarse metal chains, looking like it could have easily hung over King Arthur's Round Table in its past life. "What I am doing to this one, besides restoring it, is taking candles and drilling large holes in their middle," he says pulling out an orange hollow tube made of wax, "and I glue this candle to the holder, so the bulb is hidden by the candle. When the chandelier is turned on, it looks as if the candles are burning."
Four 17th Century sconces sit on the nearby table. They are very heavy, made out of cast iron, and are covered with a curtain of strung crystal beads. "These were made to hang on a wall and hold candles, and I am going to make more of the hollow candles for them." he says, straining to lift one of them to demonstrate. Seeing the chandeliers transform from a run-down, dilapidated piece to a beautiful, fully restored antique, is gratifying to Da Costa. "I have been in this business all my life, and I love it. There's a personal touch and a passion that are needed for this job. These chandeliers cost a lot of money, and you have to know what you are doing. The money isn't the most important part of my job. Sometimes I spend a lot more time than I'm supposed to on a piece, just to make sure I get it right and the customer is happy."
Mural Painter
Susan Bridgforth painted her first mural at the age of 15, and fell in
love with painting walls. Now she does it professionally out of her 'Off
The Wall' studio, a two-room suite in downtown Delray, which is filled
with heavy and colorful books, home design and art magazines, sketching
pads and canvases, as well as brushes and crayons of all shapes and sizes.
Artistic images of all sorts fill every nook and cranny.
"Ever since I began painting, I have had an affinity for large scale art," she says. "The idea is that this form of art becomes a permanent thing, since it is painted on the wall." Bridgforth feels the role of her art extends beyond that of routine paintings. "A full-wall mural, for instance," she says, arms outstretched as if to emphasize the words, "is an architectural element, which becomes part of the house itself. It enhances a room and opens a whole new perception to the viewer."
Since Bridgforth applies her paintbrushes directly onto the wall at the customer's home, and due to the length of time each project can take -- sometimes upwards of a month - she tries to use the opportunity to build a relationship with her customers in order to understand them as a person. "I believe a person's house is his or her sanctuary," she says, "and I try to offer the customer an avenue through which he or she can personalize their home. I never impose my ideas. Usually the customer has a passion, be it the ocean or Mediterranean landscape, which appeals to them individually".
Bridgforth's largest painting to date, a mural at the Harbor Branch Oceanographic Institution in Vero Beach, measures 26 feet by 13 feet and depicts an underwater world, complete with whales, dolphins, sharks, exotic fish and coral reefs. "This project took more than 150 hours of painting alone," she says, letting out a sigh, "but I love it. It has a life of its own." Some of her murals can be more accurately classified as tromp l'oeils and faux finishes. "The faux finishes, such as a marble finish on a living room wall or a sky finish for a ceiling, are done by glazing layers of paint, and are done on the wall directly. It's a very painstaking and slow process - it takes a certain touch to accomplish," she says.
Bridgforth admits she grew to appreciate Michaelangelo's devotion and passion much more after she did her first ceiling. "It is a very difficult task, because being so close to the ceiling you lose the viewer's perspective, which is from down below. On top of that, it is simply neck-breaking." Bridgforth also designs, constructs, and paints custom, freestanding, multi-paneled folding screens, which she likes to call "mobile murals." Most of her own creations revolve around ancient civilization themes such as the Mayans, Egyptians, and the Greeks. She does all of the work herself, from the shaping of the wood to the installation of the hinges. "My job is a whole spiritual thing," she says, "like in Feng Shui. My paintings and screens help direct trapped energy in an otherwise cramped room, and sort of move it along. My customers enjoy their homes more, and feel more relaxed. I enjoy giving this gift to people." "I don't think I can do anything else in my life," she confesses.