Toy Chair c. 1936

Edith Magnette made this drawing of a chair—or perhaps more accurately, a diagram of a chair—with graphite on paper. I can picture her, carefully marking out each line and angle, trying to capture the essence of this object on a flat plane. The lines are delicate, almost hesitant, yet they hold a certain precision, a dedication to detail. It’s like a map, not of a place, but of a thing. It seems to be an architect's elevations of the front, top, and side of a chair. I'm curious about the chair itself, about its purpose. Was it just a model? Was it a chair for a dollhouse? Was it meant to be built? Was it meant to be sold? Maybe she imagined someone sitting in it, and that simple act of sitting became a contemplation of form and function. I feel a connection to Magnette, to her curiosity, to her desire to understand the world through the act of drawing. It’s a reminder that art isn’t just about big statements, but about the quiet, persistent act of looking.