Ray Prince boxes
D Wood recounts the life of a box made by the late Ray Prince.
Once upon a time… I had a husband and, as in most relationships, gifts were exchanged. Sometimes, they took the form of jewellery and since I didn’t project an image of diamonds (at one end of the spectrum) or rhinestones (at the other), my husband sought alternatives. I have always admired the unique and unusual, and Ted’s profession as an architect meant his design aesthetic wasn’t conventional either. He began to explore craft galleries in Toronto and elsewhere.
The first handmade offering, purchased at the Guild Shop of the Ontario Crafts Council, was a brooch by Dorothy Kale. Ted purchased it because of my dedication to needlework as well as his being a New Zealander where paua (abalone) shell is harvested. In addition, a handcrafted Santa Claus pin saluted Christmas.
The success of the brooches prompted a similar design for other occasions. My long-standing commitment to craft determined the genre, but Ted’s eye selected pieces that stretched me. For example, a brooch by Mary Beth Rozkewicz made with sandblasted, anodised aluminium, and another by I Kmiec of Fimo and cut sequins. The advent of ‘a collection’ encouraged acquiring jewellery as trip mementos, such as a kinetic piece by Frank van Zwicht bought in Amsterdam.
Brooches and rings were lovely, yet I kept seeing beautiful earrings for pierced ears. So, for my fortieth birthday, I gritted my teeth and got holes in my ears. The earrings started to accumulate: a silver and titanium pair from New Zealand, and from New York, asymmetrical fish by Lynn Brunelle. Whenever possible, the maker’s name was part of each bijou’s provenance because an identifiable craftsperson created it. I haven’t met most of the artists, but items were enhanced on occasions when I encountered their makers. Fishing lure pins recall a conversation with an engaging Scotsman, Ian James, at the Harbourfront Craft show.
Each article touched my soul because of my affinity with the spirit in which it was made.
Every piece has a story relating to my life and forming one of its memories. In her article, ‘The Well Crafted Object,’ Susan Eckenwalder wondered how an owner falls under the spell of the crafted object: it is “by reaching beyond language, beyond intellect, to the core of experience, the senses.” My handmade jewellery affected my eyes, ears and touch, and acquisition might have taste and scent recollections too. Each article touched my soul because of my affinity with the spirit in which it was made. And Ted, in giving me well-made handcrafted objects, acknowledged this.
My drawers gradually became crowded with small cotton-wool-lined cardboard boxes. The collection needed a proper home, and while I looked at jewellery boxes in the same places I looked at jewellery, nothing struck me as good enough—until Christmas 1991.
Parcels lay under the decorated tree. I always saved Ted’s gift until last, knowing he had chosen something unpredictable yet personal. I undid the difficult wrap—delay prolonged the anticipation—and when it was set aside, tears came to my eyes. I held a jewellery box, the perfect jewellery box.
Ted could no longer contain himself. He had to explain how it opened, who made it and the experience of buying it. Obtaining this gift required more than entering a shop and putting cash on the counter. Browsing the familiar stores, Ted saw wooden boxes by Ray Prince. There were several at the Guild Shop where the clerks encouraged contact with the artist to see if he had anything more suitable. Ray, a refined Englishman, earns his living as an electronic organ builder and repairer; his spare hours include fine woodworking. Ted visited Ray’s workshop in Toronto, where the quest was rewarded.
Ray hand-cuts the veneers for his boxes. Some are from wood found in off-cut bins or firewood piles, and a continuing source is a century-old walnut stump rescued in 1978. He cuts one-eighth-inch sections with an old Spears and Jackson rip-saw. Part of Ray’s pleasure in making is the process and labouring with hand tools. He eschews commercial veneers because, apart from the impossibility of a machine cutting delicate slices from root branches and stumps, veneer logs are boiled to produce a marketable monotone. Ray believes the wood’s imagery determines its use, including retention of the bark, if appropriate. He says: “My approach is to create something visually pleasing, and then frame it in a manner that is useful, often as a box. I’m interested in colours and associations of colours.” He emphasises the natural line of the wood and employs the contrast between the innate colours of heartwood and sapwood when designing.
The Duchess
My box, The Duchess, has black walnut root veneer on top, bordered with fiddleback hard maple; the feet are maple. Corners are mitred and splined. The underside is marked ‘RP 83’. The top and sides are finished with de-waxed shellac, a natural product that shows off the timber’s inherent colours when French polished.
Inside, figured walnut on the top complements the figure on the compartment covers; the interior separators are maple finished with varnish. No hardware detracts from the imagery. Brass hinges are tucked behind the compartments, and a leather stay keeps the lid from flopping back. The compartments open with the touch of a finger. Some lids have bevelled edges that permit them to rock; others tip in a track; and the central lids are hinged on dowels. The box is lined with tinted pigskin and took 250 hours to make.
Ray Prince didn’t want to part with The Duchess. When Ted decided that this was the box, he had to persuade the artist to sell. Ray needed to be convinced that the new owners were appropriate. Satisfied that Ted and his description of me qualified, The Duchess made her way into Christmas wrap. Perhaps some of Ray’s reluctance to relinquish The Duchess concerned its partner box, The Duke, stolen from the Guild Shop, whereabouts unknown.
Like the jewellery, the box has stories—of the materials, maker, and purchase, all of which contribute to its aura. I connected with Ray through Ted and assumed custody of his handmaking. Quoting Susan again: “The craft object becomes an intermediary between the maker and the owner. It keeps alive ways of exchange beyond the monetary, such as giving, bargaining, trading, and, perhaps most significantly, offering.”
Although Ted and I are no longer together, The Duchess is a memory of us. I will bequeath this perfect box to a niece who collects fine craft. Her and maybe her daughter’s possession of The Duchess will honour the legacy of the handmade and its purveyor, Raymond Prince, who died peacefully in October 2020, at the age of 88.
