A block-and-shell kneehole desk, ca. 1768–1779, attributed to Edmund Townsend (1736–1811) and Daniel Goddard (1747–1779) of Newport, graces the paneled second-floor stair hall.3 As with documented examples by Townsend and his nephew Daniel Goddard, there are eleven lobes carved into the shells, rather than the ten seen on the work of other Newport craftsmen. The additional lobe on each shell creates a more visually dynamic façade, and when combined with the blocked drawers, astragal door, and volute-carved feet, the result is visually stunning.

    Frishmuth’s The Dancers stands on the desk, below John Joseph Enneking’s (1841–1916) Venice at Midday. Enneking was among the most prominent American impressionists. He made many trips abroad, painting with, among others, Monet, Pissarro, and Renoir. In the early 1870s, Enneking traveled to Venice, where he painted this scene in the brown and green Barbizon palette of Corot and Millet. “This is one of my favorite paintings,” says Frank. “Not only is it an emotive landscape, but Kristin and I have stayed in the balcony room of one of the hotels pictured in this scene; we couldn’t resist the painting when it became available.”

    To the side of this grouping is an early tall case clock, ca. 1740, with a lunar calendar dial signed by Peter Stretch (d. 1746). Stretch was Philadelphia’s most important early clockmaker. His name appears in cabinetmaker John Head’s account book. On Stretch’s death, John Wood Sr. purchased his shop. Among its features are the turned ball feet, holdovers from the William and Mary period, and the sarcophagus dome-top hood with elaborate blind fretwork.

People have long been fascinated with clocks—be it their appealing decorative brass or painted faces, the aesthetics of the case, or the intricacies of the timepiece mechanisms. There is something soothing about the sounds of a clock—the steady rhythm of the pendulum, the chimes heard on the hour, and with musical clocks, a roster of tunes. The dials offer dynamic visuals as well, with the movement of the hands and often, additional components such as the rocking of a ship or the shifting of moon phases.

Frank Hohmann and his wife, Kristin, are among those who are drawn to tall case clocks. With twenty-four placed throughout the rooms of their five-story Manhattan townhouse, Frank admits, “We have to limit ourselves, otherwise there would be no space left and the clocks would be filling the street; fortunately, Kristin shares this collecting interest.” Though the number of clocks in the Hohmanns’ collection may seem extensive, each one is carefully placed so as to achieve maximum visual effect, reflecting the historic tradition of tall clocks being prominently located in the home, signifying their importance.1

Frank began acquiring clocks in the late 1980s; and Kristin, since their marriage nine years ago, has joined him in this pursuit. When Frank began collecting, he was working with the investment firm of Donaldson, Lufkin, & Jenrette. Through his friendship with Richard Jenrette, who amassed an impressive corporate collection, Frank developed an interest in antiques. He became particularly enthralled with tall clocks, though he has also acquired a number of shelf, bracket, and lantern clocks along with other notable American furnishings. Over the years, he has had to become disciplined in his choices, either turning down clocks or upgrading, depending on what was presented. Where, at one point, there were Federal-period Aaron Willard and Solomon Parke painted dial clocks in the collection, there is now only one Federal tall clock; a moon phase dial clock signed by Benjamin Morris of Bucks County, Pa., ca. 1780. “I grew up in Morrisville, and the clock was made close to where I was raised, so I decided to keep it.” Adds Frank, “If there is a focus to our collection, it is brass dial clocks. I feel that the brass surfaces are a better fit with the furniture in our collection than the painted dials, and, in general, I prefer the casework of these mid-eighteenth century clocks.”

The numerous tall clocks purchased over the years—including those with dials signed by Peter Stretch, John Wood, Joseph Wills, Joseph Godshalk, Peter Lupp, Edward Spalding, Robert Pope, Daniel Burnap, and Duncan Beard—were all made along the eastern seaboard between Boston and Maryland. Frank’s reason for owning clocks from such varied origins is based purely in aesthetics. “I don’t focus on regionalism,” he says, “I am interested more in form and rarity.”

Like anyone with a passion for objects, Frank has spent years visiting museum collections, talking with curators and dealers, and reading books. Throughout this time, he has been frustrated by the lack of publications that focus on brass dial clocks. As a retired executive, Frank now has the time to devote to rectifying this concern, and has begun compiling material for a book in which brass dial clocks are the sole topic. He plans to record and document all known examples and provide scholarly information that will be useful to curators and collectors alike.

In the reception room, a tall case clock, ca. 1750–1760, frames the entrance into the guest bedroom. The clock dial is signed by John Wood of Philadelphia. Because both John Wood (w. 1734–1760) and his son, John. (1736–1793) signed their clocks in the same way, the maker is determined by dating the case. The tall enclosed bonnet with heavy baroque moldings, unadorned colonettes, and double-arch case door, are characteristics of clocks made into the middle of the eighteenth century, and thus identify this clock as probably the work of the senior John Wood. A similar clock attributed to him is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.2

Also shown in the foreground are a Chippendale drop-leaf table surmounted with Harriet Whitney Frishmuth’s (active 1910–1940) Scherzo, and a Massachusetts Queen Anne dressing table with a gilded George Washington mantel clock, another example of which is discussed on p. 69. The corner of a Massachusetts Chippendale blocked-end serpentine chest of drawers can be seen beyond in the guest room. A chest-on-chest from the same region is also visible, as is Frishmuth’s award winning 1915 sculpture, Child with Dolphin. Not photographed is the Benjamin Morris tall case clock mentioned in the text, a Queen Anne Philadelphia high chest, and a Massachusetts serpentine chest of drawers similar to the one shown here.
“The furniture in this room is like a study in regionalism,” says Frank. “Represented are objects from New York, Massachusetts, Newport, and Philadelphia. It’s a great opportunity to compare the stylistic variations in claw-and-ball foot carvings—the squared knuckles of the New York easy-chair feet (background), retracted rear talons of the desk’s Massachusetts feet, the taut tendons visible on feet of the Newport chair, and the flatter, more relaxed grip of the Philadelphia foot on the tilt-top table.

“The diminutive form and successful lines of the Newport easy chair (foreground), I feel, are superior to all others. Because their design is so successful, I can only surmise that their rarity is a result of fewer having been made because of competition from the Massachusetts chair industry, which had extensive production and trading networks in the period.” The pie crust tilt-top table is possibly an early effort by Philadelphia cabinetmaker Thomas Affleck (1740–1795). This table may have been among the furniture purchased by William Logan (1718–1776) for the marriage of his daughter, Sarah, to Thomas Fisher (1741–1810) in 1772, and documented in a bill from Affleck.

Paintings by Enoch Wood Perry (1831–1915), He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, and Albert Fitch Bellows (1829–1883), An Inn by the Ocean, flank a Chippendale looking glass. The mantel over which a Guy Wiggins scene of Washington Square is hung is not shown. Three of Frishmuth’s statues, Bubble Dance, Longing, and The Vine (the full-scale version of which is in the Engelhard courtyard at the Met), and a silver tea set from Philadelphia can also be seen.
A large New York Federal table surrounded by a matching set of six carved Philadelphia Chippendale side chairs sit in the center of the dining room. A Federal Salem, Mass­achusetts, sideboard is below la Seine pres de Paris by Louis Aston Knight (1873–1948), which is flanked by a pair of American gilded, carved eagle wall brackets holding a pair of Qianlong porcelain ice buckets. In the corner is Frishmuth’s full-scale sculpture, Bubble Dance (1928), a technical achievement melding sculpture and iridized glass; a small-scale version of which is downstairs (p. 65). The tall case clock with moon dial is signed by John Wood and in contrast to the clock in the reception room is attributed to John Wood Jr. (1736–1793), based on the later design of the case. The clock is one of five with carving attributed to the Garvan Carver, an unidentified craftsman responsible for some of the most brilliant carving executed in the rococo manner of mid-eighteenth century Philadelphia.
This is the second of the two French gilt George Washington mantel clocks in the collection. It represents Washington resigning his commission to the Continental Congress in 1783. The French dial is signed Dubuc/Rue Michel Le Comte no. 33/ A.Paris; the banner below the dial reads Washington./First in WAR, First in PEACE/ First in the HEARTS of his COUNTRYMEN/E PLURIBUS UNUM. Only a small number of these clocks are in existence. Of those in the group, there are two known versions, with variations among them. Frank saw this clock in an advertisement. Upon examination, he realized it was identical to the one he already owned (p. 64) and so purchased it so that he would have a pair. Both clocks feature the younger version of Washington, which may be based on a 1780 painting of him by John Trumbull. In all the clocks, Washington’s stance is derived from Trumbull’s General George Washington at the Battle of Trenton (1792).4
Shown in the library are two of six clocks in the room, a cherry wood tall clock by Daniel Burnap (1759–1838) of East Windsor, Ct., and a strike silent shelf clock with dial signed by John Elliott. The tall clock, ca. 1785, is one of Burnap’s musical clocks, for which he was known. It offers the tunes: “The Rapture,” “Maid of the Mill,” “Air by Handel,” “Over the Water to Charley,” “The Cuckos [sic] Nest,” and “French King’s Minuit [sic].” A goldsmith, silversmith, and watchmaker, Burnap trained with the English clockmaker Thomas Harland, and was working in East Windsor by 1780.

Research is currently underway on the English bracket clock to determine whether the japanning is American or English, and whether the dial, signed by John Elliott of Plymouth, indicates it was from Plymouth, England, or if it represents works retailed in Plymouth Meeting in Pennsylvania. John R. Covert’s (1882–1960) Moorish Warrior hangs over the mantel, and a Massachusetts easy chair is in the foreground.
This may be the only American tall clock with an automaton movement. While the rocking ships present on some clocks may be considered automatons, they are directly connected to the action of the pendulum, whereas the sawyers in this clock are driven by a separate mechanism. Boston decorative painter and Japanner John Johnston (1752–1818) may have been responsible for rendering this scene, as indicated by Johnston’s 1780 account book entry to Robert Pope for “painting a Clock face with sawyers.”6
Across from the Philadelphia high chest is its matching dressing table and an armchair, all of which were purchased at different occasions. “I was tenaciously seeking a side chair to match the high chest and dressing table,” says Frank. “I was shown an armchair and was ecstatic. As far as I am aware, it is the only matching high chest, dressing table, armchair combination. There is no doubt in my mind that they are all carved by the same hand and were originally made as a suite.”

Against the mantel is a Phil­adelphia tilt-top candlestand, and in the foreground is another elaborately carved Philadelphia armchair. The Apulian red-figure Greek hydra vase (ca. 340 b.c.) is attributed to the Copenhagen Painter. It is one of a pair in the room. M.F.H. de Haas’s (1822– 1895) Off New England Coast hangs over the dressing table. This grouping, combined with Frishmuth’s Ecstasy on the corner of the mantel, epitomizes the Hohmanns’ eclectic, yet harmonious collecting interests—focusing on beauty of form rather than time period.

While Frank’s scholarly pursuits may have begun with tall clocks, they extend to other areas of the collection. Another of his passions is the bronze sculpture of Harriet Whitney Frishmuth (active 1910–1940), on whom he and several scholars are collaborating on a catalogue raisonné. A Philadelphian by birth, Frishmuth received her initial training overseas, studying under such notables as Auguste Rodin (1840–1917) when in Paris. After her return to the States, she studied at the Art Students League in New York and became a member of, among other venerable associations, the National Sculpture Society, the National Arts Club, and the National Academy of Design. Her work was highly acclaimed, and she exhibited at numerous venues, including the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, the Paris Salon, and the Panama-Pacific Exposition of 1915 held in San Francisco, a winning entry from which—Child with Dolphin—is in the Hohmanns’ guest bedroom.

Frishmuth is most famous for sculpting spirited young women, examples of which can be seen in several rooms in the Hohmanns’ townhouse. Frank and Kristin are drawn to the playful aspects of Frishmuth’s sculpture. “Our daughter adores them as well,” says Kristin, “at times swirling about the rooms in imitation of the sculptures.” The Hohmanns also have examples of some of Frishmuth’s rarer forms, which include eagles and a few sculptures of men.

Of the approximately 150 works Frishmuth is known to have produced, the Hohmanns own nearly forty—from small table-top studies to an enormous sundial in the front yard. Pursuing her works for over twelve years, Frank admits, “I am an incurable collector when it comes to Frishmuths. Once Kristin and I got past ten, it seemed as if it was a challenge as to how many we could amass. They are absolutely engaging, with a tremendous spirit of vitality.”

In addition to the sculptures, clocks, and other fine antiques throughout the house, the eclecticism of this collection is furthered by the nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century American paintings that line the stairways and hang above the furniture—works by Guy Carleton Wiggins, Jasper Francis Cropsey, John Joseph Enneking, M.F.H. de Haas, Arthur Clifton Goodwin, and Edward Dufner, among them. “We like the way the later paintings accent the earlier furnishings, and they provide a nice transition to the sculptures. And even though they generally represent different centuries,” says Frank, “they blend together very well.” “The choice of subject matter is what we think makes it work,” notes Kristin. “We are careful to select paintings that are of outdoor scenes or still life works; those that have the essence of naturalism, which play with the design elements of the furniture.”

“At this point,” says Frank, “the collection, and effectively the furnishing of the house, is complete. Going forward we will focus on refining and upgrading the collection where possible.”

An elaborate English or American bombé-form looking glass (one of a pair) surmounts a magnificent Norwich, Ct. block and shell slant-lid desk. The blocking and carved shells are reminiscent of Newport, R.I. furniture (see p. 66) whose design influences spread through trading connections with the river port community of Norwich. This desk is nearly identical to an example in the Art Institute of Chicago, and both are attributed to the same unknown hand. They exhibit fifteen carved lobes and characteristic wavy bracket returns, and are unusual in their mahogany rather than cherry wood cases used in much of the furniture from Connecticut.7 A Song Dynasty (ca. 1250) porcelain pillow in the form of a tiger is centered on top of the desk with two of Frishmuth’s sculptures, Daydreams and Extase.
With eight tall clocks and one shelf clock in the dressing room, one might expect the sound of ticking to be deafening, but in fact it is quite calming. Along the wall shown are tall clocks with dials signed by Joseph Bruff of Talbot Courthouse, Md; Wood & Hudson of Mount Holly, N.J.; Benjamin Rittenhouse of Worcester, Pa.; and John Field of Cumberland, R.I. Each has distinguishing characteristics but share their brass dial movements and mid- to late-eighteenth-century cases. A Chippendale looking glass reflects a John Doane tall clock from across the room and is placed over a block-front desk, ca. 1765–1785, that descended in the family of Captain Nowell Prickett of Newburyport, Mass. The desk is distinguished by its carved interior and central drop, and its glazed prospect door. On and within the desk are several of Frishmuth’s sculptures. A rare example depicting a man, at first appears to be a fishing scene; on closer inspection it is evident that the line of his pole is a pointer and the sculpture is, in fact, a sundial.