DISTINCTION DISTINCTION Summer/Fall 2011 : Page 27

THE ORS CT COLLE 8LISFNIGXWSJSYVEJJIGXMSR³XLI]QMKLXFIZMRXEKIKSSHW VIWXSVMRK F] 63&)68%8:3;)00 +036= TLSXSKVETLF] ,928)674)2')6 “It was ’70s polyester,” Jeff says. “Really ugly.” They posted a picture of it on an Internet sales site. A buyer clicked, the shirt sold, and the Whites were vintage dealers. The Portsmouth couple christened their 9-month-old business Oh! Glory Vintage. Their Facebook site offers refurbished furniture and clothing, and the couple’s blog (ohgloryvintage.com) praises relics that others might discard. They were collectors of midcentury fashions and furnishings long before they began their business. Jessica, 27, grew up with an antique-loving mom in Frank-lin and began collecting vintage clothes as a teenager. Jeff, a 36-year-old Suffolk native, always gravitated toward items that had stood the test of time. “She says I’m a young old man,” Jeff says with a smile toward his wife. ”I love knowing that something has been used before and has a story. Anything I buy and repurpose are things I like and would use myself.” Their ’40s-era home near Port Norfolk is furnished with a pair of sleek-lined chairs in a creamy swimming-pool blue that the duo found in mint condition – the things had been stored when a beauty salon was redecorated decades before. They share space with a metal dresser rescued from an old hotel, and brass-bladed fans rewired by Jeff. “I like atomic-age stuff,” Jessica says. Jeff nods along. “Space-age stuff,” he says. “I grew up with that whole Cold War, bomb shelter, Jetsons thing.” The Whites don’t always sing the same song. Jeff, a graphic designer by trade, sports a stylized ’50s haircut and a full collection of tattoos. Jessica, a Norfolk hairstylist, has soft waves framing a dreamy face that would be at home in an Impressionist painting or a snapshot from Woodstock. . eff and Jessica White’s Americana journey began with a disco-era shirt. He favors rusted metal and machinery. She loves time worn cotton and silk. The vintage hunt, she says, “brings us together.” He looks at her across their living room and starts to smile. “OK,” she says, “it makes us argue.” The smiles turn to grins. “I don’t like everything she picks out,” he says, “and she doesn’t like every-thing I get.” “I think about the selling,” she says. “Who will buy it.” They agree on their mission. “Vintage things are so unique,” she says. “You can buy a real vintage dress like this” – she spreads out the skirt on a brown-and-pink dotted sundress bearing the label Miami Miss – “or you can pay $20 for a wannabe (vintage-look) top that’s new and it’ll fall apart in three washes.” He points out a metal-topped kitchen cart. “I sanded and grinded on it for hours and hours. Maybe 20? Then five to six coats of latex paint. “But you know, if we don’t do it, it’s going to sit there and rot.” Jeff scours Craigslist before weekends, checking for yard sales and estate sales. “I look for the older neighborhoods,” he says. “They have the cool stuff.” One weekend this spring, he spotted a wooden cabinet TV, probably from the late ’40s or early ’50s, sitting on a porch, kind of shunned even from the odds and ends of the accompanying yard sale. It was about 3 feet square, a solid piece of work intended as a tabletop model, if you happened to have a mighty sturdy table. He emailed a phone picture to Jessica. He got a tepid “Unh-uh.” Still, he loved the solidity of the box, and the slightly curved edges of the TV screen. “I was trying to figure out what to do with it,” he says. “At that point, it’s a giant paperweight.” He paid a few bucks and hauled it home. There he gutted the TV parts and added sturdy wooden legs from a home store. He made a door for the back of the box, and the unwieldy TV became a most intriguing cabinet. Its next life: displaying a shelf of vintage books in the Whites’ home, a wink to the idea of TV replacing reading. It was again for sale, at $175. “I love the idea of repurposing anything,” Jeff says. “I love to take something and make it into something else.” His reconstructions are sometimes simple and ingenious, like the magnet board made from tin ceiling tiles. Other times, he’ll sand, strip and replace the hardware on a slightly battered find. “I’m not trying to bring them back to their original condition,” he says. “We kind of like things shabby chic, or distressed. Not everyone wants to do it, or knows how to do it, or even sees the potential.” And, Jessica adds, the glory is all in the potential. “You have to see beyond the surface.” =BLMBG<MBHGAK'<HF 27

Restoring Glory

by Roberta T. Vowell

Jeff and Jessica White’s Americana journey began with a disco-era shirt. “It was ’70s polyester,” Jeff says. “Really ugly.” They posted a picture of it on an Internet sales site. A buyer clicked, the shirt sold, and the Whites were vintage dealers. The Portsmouth couple christened their 9-month-old business Oh! Glory Vintage. Their Facebook site offers refurbished furniture and clothing, and the couple’s blog (ohgloryvintage.com) praises relics that others might discard. They were collectors of midcentury fashions and furnishings long before they began their business. Jessica, 27, grew up with an antique-loving mom in Franklin and began collecting vintage clothes as a teenager. Jeff, a 36-year-old Suffolk native, always gravitated toward items that had stood the test of time. “She says I’m a young old man,” Jeff says with a smile toward his wife. ”I love knowing that something has been used before and has a story. Anything I buy and repurpose are things I like and would use myself.” Their ’40s-era home near Port Norfolk is furnished with a pair of sleek-lined chairs in a creamy swimming-pool blue that the duo found in mint condition – the things had been stored when a beauty salon was redecorated decades before. They share space with a metal dresser rescued from an old hotel, and brass-bladed fans rewired by Jeff. “I like atomic-age stuff,” Jessica says. Jeff nods along. “Space-age stuff,” he says. “I grew up with that whole Cold War, bomb shelter, Jetsons thing.” The Whites don’t always sing the same song. Jeff, a graphic designer by trade, sports a stylized ’50s haircut and a full collection of tattoos. Jessica, a Norfolk hairstylist, has soft waves framing a dreamy face that would be at home in an Impressionist painting or a snapshot from Woodstock. He favors rusted metal and machinery. She loves time worn cotton and silk. The vintage hunt, she says, “brings us together.” He looks at her across their living room and starts to smile. “OK,” she says, “it makes us argue.” The smiles turn to grins. “I don’t like everything she picks out,” he says, “and she doesn’t like everything I get.” “I think about the selling,” she says. “Who will buy it.” They agree on their mission. “Vintage things are so unique,” she says. “You can buy a real vintage dress like this” – she spreads out the skirt on a brown-and-pink dotted sundress bearing the label Miami Miss – “or you can pay $20 for a wannabe (vintage-look) top that’s new and it’ll fall apart in three washes.” He points out a metal-topped kitchen cart. “I sanded and grinded on it for hours and hours. Maybe 20? Then five to six coats of latex paint. “But you know, if we don’t do it, it’s going to sit there and rot.” Jeff scours Craigslist before weekends, checking for yard sales and estate sales. “I look for the older neighborhoods,” he says. “They have the cool stuff.” One weekend this spring, he spotted a wooden cabinet TV, probably from the late ’40s or early ’50s, sitting on a porch, kind of shunned even from the odds and ends of the accompanying yard sale. It was about 3 feet square, a solid piece of work intended as a tabletop model, if you happened to have a mighty sturdy table. He emailed a phone picture to Jessica. He got a tepid “Unh-uh.” Still, he loved the solidity of the box, and the slightly curved edges of the TV screen. “I was trying to figure out what to do with it,” he says. “At that point, it’s a giant paperweight.” He paid a few bucks and hauled it home. There he gutted the TV parts and added sturdy wooden legs from a home store. He made a door for the back of the box, and the unwieldy TV became a most intriguing cabinet. Its next life: displaying a shelf of vintage books in the Whites’ home, a wink to the idea of TV replacing reading. It was again for sale, at $175. “I love the idea of repurposing anything,” Jeff says. “I love to take something and make it into something else.” His reconstructions are sometimes simple and ingenious, like the magnet board made from tin ceiling tiles. Other times, he’ll sand, strip and replace the hardware on a slightly battered find. “I’m not trying to bring them back to their original condition,” he says. “We kind of like things shabby chic, or distressed. Not everyone wants to do it, or knows how to do it, or even sees the potential.” And, Jessica adds, the glory is all in the potential. “You have to see beyond the surface.”

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