Resorts at Sea: Malolo | Queen Frederica

Several of the ships in Resorts at Sea ended their days under foreign ownership. Among the first vessels examined, Matson’s Malolo, built in 1927, lasted until the late 1970s. Most of that time was spent under the moniker Queen Frederica for National Hellenic Lines, and later for Chandris.

As cruise ships today seem to have theme room after theme room, before the mid to late 1930s, American ships had a similar pattern: Georgian lounge, Tudor library; a hodgepodge of dated styles designed to keep the traveler’s mind off the sea outside. Post World War II, a unified “modern” look took hold, with each seafaring nation putting their own stamp on things via artworks and furnishings. Currently, I’m of the opinion that American ships embraced the sea and a seafaring heritage more than other nations.

(One of the better quotes I’ve found addressing this switch includes the phrase “decorative claptrap.” And you can find the source yourself; I’m not going to give it all away.)

I have two Queen Frederica brochures. Neither are dated. (Dang it.) The smaller one, page wise, on the left, is probably after 1955, but before a 1960 refit; the latter, and larger of the two, is after the refit.

When Malolo was originally built, stained woodwork, and lots of it, was the rule. Oddly, given the California to Hawaii route, and later South Pacific cruises, dark wood wasn’t given a second thought. Dark tones absorb heat, and this was before the days of air-conditioning. Whatever the ventilation, it must have been stifling, and the dark, oppressive woodwork would not have helped. A refit that raised the lifeboats up a deck and added several Lanai suites also resulted in a name change, to Matsonia. The original interior décor was not altered. Here’s a shot of the smoking room …

After the war, under foreign ownership, Matsonia’s woodwork was painted. Ordinarily, I would disapprove. White was the predominant color, but depending upon the room, gold, grey, or green was used as an accent. Coupled with colorful art and modern furniture, it works. Case in point …

This shot of the foyer between the lounge and Crystal Club is from the older brochure. Get a load of that mural! (Unfortunately, no idea who did it.) Note the grey columns, cross beams, and selected panels, as well as the slate blue baseboard. Not a fan of the pink and green floor, but that’s why they make rugs.

The first class dining room underwent a change, too. Odds are the décor on the upper level are mere stencils, but they do add to the overall scheme of things. (Not that I’m part of the “something is better than nothing” crowd, but if a space needs to be broken up, there are worse ways to go about it.) Note the two fans towards the back of the image, a holdover from the Matson days? The flooring may well be Malolo original, too, from the Pennsylvania Flooring and Woodoleum Manufacturing Company of Philadelphia.

One more room caught my eye, the children’s playroom. I do believe there are some well-known Disney characters on the left. One couldn’t get away with that today without paying hefty licensing fees.

Overall, these looks are a prototype for what is considered today’s luxe design. Take a look at any high-end magazine, like Architectural Digest, for land-based versions, or sticking to the seas: Oceania Cruises and Crystal Cruises, to name two.

Something to ponder ... A bit outside the realm of possibility, but had it been feasible, do you think a non-British operator, doing a France/Norway-type conversion, would've painted over Queen Mary's opulent veneers, culled from over 50 types of trees from all corners of the globe?

Resorts at Sea: September: The Art of Moore-McCormack

“Why they were built in the first place remains a mystery of corporate decision-making,” said Moore-McCormack’s chairman about Argentina and Brasil at a U.S. Congressional hearing.

Entering service towards the end of 1958, Argentina and Brasil were laid up by the fall of 1969, victims of the jet age, which cut into passenger loads, and increasing labor costs.

Several months back, author David Hendrickson forwarded me pages from booklets detailing the artwork on these ships. (We’ve been trading info back and forth like baseball cards.) And recently, I stumbled across a copy of the Argentina booklet on eBay. Had. To. Have. It.

What was unique about the art on these ships is it was mix of new and old. This was in part thanks to Raymond Loewy, who styled several Moore-McCormack ships, Matson's Lurline, and more. In the library was Vanitas by Jan Vermeulen, a contemporary of Rembrandt. In the Casino Lounge: Georges Michel’s Approaching Storm. Michel, according to the text, rarely signed his works, Approaching Storm was an exception. The Sala de Argentina housed Indians on the Lower Mississippi by Felix Marie Ferdinand Storelli, court painter to Louis-Philippe, King of France after the Bourbons were restored to power after Napoleon.

I’ve tried to track these pieces down through an auction tracking sites. There are visual variations of Vanitas and Approaching Storm, and a plausible description of Storelli’s work, but without an image, it may well be a variation, too.

Compare those works to the one below. Very dynamic, very fresh. There were four 16 foot panels each on Argentina and Brasil lining the walls of the café balcony. You see the artist’s name? Rikki? Yeah, that’s a pseudonym. I haven’t been able to crack that one … Yet. The Brasil booklet says they believe the mural technique of baked enamel on aluminum was an innovation. It was, in 1952 when Peter Ostuni used it for the First Class Cocktail Lounge (aka: Navajo Lounge) on United States. Granted, Ostuni’s panels were not this large, and last I checked, size was not an innovation, merely an evolution.

This has lead to theories of how much design influence these two ships had on Holland America when they bought them in the early 1970s. There are definite “genetic” traits at work, and I will explore them soon.

Resorts at Sea - February 2013

The first ship in this study should be Matson Lines’ Malolo, which entered service in 1927.

(Now I’m still wrestling with whether the Leviathan should take this spot. Technically the German-built Vaterland, William Francis Gibbs gave the ship a top to bottom rejuvenation, but if I hold true to keeping the ships in this study American-built, then no Leviathan. Argh.)

I found a pamphlet listing the artworks installed on the Malolo. Not murals, they were paintings meant to accessorize whatever room they were placed. I don’t believe they were specially created for the ship.

However, the prints adorning the staterooms and suites were created specifically for the Malolo. I had the name of Mary J. Coulter, but little else. Then I stumbled across a small piece in a long-defunct magazine: The Argus. (Subtitled: A Journal of Art Criticism and News.) Folios of the prints onboard the Malolo were on display in two galleries in San Francisco.

Stranger things have been listed on WorldCat.org, so why not search? Lo and behold, a catalogue of etchings and dry points* dated 1927, same year the Malolo entered service, same year The Argus article appeared. Not 100% conclusive proof, but as her work for the Malolo took two years, did Coulter make time for other projects? Perhaps, just to take a break and do something different, but that’s how I would do it. (And I admit Time Management is not always my friend.)

To my knowledge, there are no libraries in my area that are on WorldCat, so it may take a personal visit to check this lead out.

*Yeah, I didn’t know what dry points were either. Webster’s says a dry point is “a fine, hard needle for engraving lines on a copper plate without using acid.” Sounds pretty time-consuming.