Recently, for reasons I have yet to ascertain (but which I suspect have something to do with our mutual affection for stars) I went through a little Peter Max thing. And I can report back that, as micro-obsession fodder goes, Peter Max makes for pretty decent material. According to his Wikipedia page, the bard of suburban psychedelia had a whopping seventy licensing agreements with various corporations over the course of his career.
There was his highly successful collaboration with GE on a line of clocks.
And his short-lived magazine.
And plastic blow-up pillows. Remember plastic blow-up pillows?
He was the artist laureate of 7UP.
And did time at Pan-Am as well.
There was bedding, of course. And he even did this crazy-awesome cover of Seventeen magazine. But it’s funny: unlike most of my obsessions of this kind, I actually don’t want to live with any of this stuff.
Any of it, that is, except for the enamelware, pieces of which are almost impossible to find, and seem to sell out almost as soon as they show up on Etsy or Ebay. This trivet makes me impossibly happy.
This one too. I think maybe, because these particular items are a bit more art-nouveau-ish-ly psychedelic than his other stuff, they’re actually kind of pretty to look at, which is what makes them more appealing. I would almost say that they transcend their era—if something that is desperately of its era can also be said to transcend it.
I am nuts for the fondue pot—which can currently be found pretty much nowhere except for one place that’s charging over $600 for it. Which is lunacy.
And this cute red pan! Can’t find it anywhere right now. Scour your vintage stores, ladies.
Tags: Peter Max, the 70s