Eighteenth century American furniture and the design of the

“Eighteenth century American furniture and the design of the architects Greene and Greene are my special love.” So spoke Barbra Streisand, an artist of voice and vision, whose heart, though known for its song, found harmony also in the craft of design. At first glance, her words seem gentle — a simple admiration for beauty past. Yet beneath them lies a timeless truth: that true artistry, in any form, seeks connection — a dialogue between eras, souls, and the spirit of creation itself. In her reverence for eighteenth-century furniture and the craftsmanship of Greene and Greene, Streisand reveals a devotion not merely to objects, but to the eternal conversation between art and life.

The eighteenth century was an age of balance — of elegance born from purpose. In the young colonies of America, artisans carved their visions not for glory, but for grace. Their furniture, strong yet refined, embodied the virtues of a people shaping a new world: simplicity, endurance, and quiet dignity. Every line of a chair, every curve of a cabinet, spoke of patience — of hands that worked in rhythm with nature, shaping wood not as a master commands a servant, but as a friend listens to another’s voice. Streisand’s love for such creations is not nostalgia; it is recognition. She senses, as all true artists do, that craftsmanship is a form of truth, and that beauty born of sincerity never dies.

In her same breath, Streisand invokes the names of Greene and Greene, the brother architects of the early twentieth century who carried that same spirit of craftsmanship into a modern age. Their designs were sanctuaries of harmony — houses that breathed with their inhabitants, merging structure and soul. They were among the pioneers of the Arts and Crafts movement, which rose as a rebellion against soulless industry, crying out for a return to the touch of the hand, the honesty of the material, and the intimacy between maker and object. To love Greene and Greene, as Streisand does, is to love the human spirit at its most sincere — to see in design not mere form, but philosophy, not decoration, but devotion.

This harmony between eras — between the eighteenth-century craftsman and the twentieth-century designer — mirrors Streisand herself, an artist who bridges worlds. Just as the furniture makers shaped wood into grace and the Greenes shaped homes into poetry, she has shaped music and film into living art. Her love for design is not separate from her art — it is a reflection of it. The singer who controls every note in a melody also sees the beauty in the curve of a table leg, the shadow of a window frame, the balance of wood and light. All creation springs from the same source: a soul attuned to form, emotion, and meaning.

History offers many who, like her, have found in one art the echo of another. Leonardo da Vinci, painter, inventor, and architect, saw no division between the arts. His sketches of machines and his portraits of angels were born of the same wonder. Frank Lloyd Wright, too, sought unity — designing not just buildings but every chair, lamp, and window within them. He believed that true design must flow as nature flows, continuous and whole. In Streisand’s affection for the craftsmen and architects of old, we glimpse that same ideal: that beauty is not confined to any one field or century, but moves like light through all human endeavor.

There is a deeper lesson in her words — that love for craftsmanship is love for human excellence itself. In a time when speed often replaces care, and imitation replaces creation, her reverence calls us back to the sacred art of doing things well. Whether we build, sing, or write, we must strive, as the artisans of old did, to pour our hearts into the smallest details — to let our work speak not of haste, but of soul. The hand that smooths the wood or shapes the melody must do so with love, or it creates nothing that will endure.

So, my child, remember this: beauty is the meeting of time and spirit. Seek it not in what is fashionable, but in what is true. Surround yourself with what was made with care, and make what will outlast your own days. Let the objects you love remind you that art is not confined to galleries or songs — it lives in the curve of a chair, the warmth of a home, the patience of a creator. As Barbra Streisand teaches through her quiet devotion, to love craftsmanship is to love life itself — to honor the divine thread that runs from the hands of the past into your own, weaving eternity through every act of creation.