Wharton Esherick
Binny’s Hi-Fi and Record Storage Cabinet, c.1950

“Wharton made these stacked cabinets from walnut for his Irving “Benny” Rabinowitz. In the years to come, he would be commissioned to make other hi-fi cabinets, each one different from the previous one” (Mansfield Bascom. Wharton Esherick: The Journey of a Creative Mind. New York; London, Abrams, 2010, p. 195).

Full excerpt from “Wharton Esherick: The Journey of a Creative Mind”:

“Through Harry Miliken, Wharton met Irving “Binny” Rabinowitz, a composer who, between classical commissions, wrote music for television. The two men became good friends and spent hours talking and playing chess in Wharton’s studio. Binny coveted Wharton’s abstract chessmen and late one night, after several drinks, suggested that the winner of the next game keep the set. “No, you don’t,” responded Wharton. “This set stays here. It isn’t even for sale.”

While they were playing, they discussed their work. Binny spoke of form in music as compared to form in sculpture how a musical piece is shaped from beginning to climax to end, each step leading to the only logical next step, and of the passive role of the listener, who can do nothing but sit and listen; whereas with a sculptural piece, the viewer can walk around it slowly or quickly and look at it from many angles.

Wharton talked about movement in sculpture: “It doesn’t take much thought to draw a straight line. But a curve, oh, a curve. You have to think about the changing rate of curvature, where to stop and change direction to maintain the excitement-the point of decision-which way to go.” And he spoke of the tactile as well as visual characteristics of sculpture, inviting Binny to close his eyes and run his hand along a curing edge, to caress it.

High-fidelity sound was the latest thing in 1950. One could buy the components-record player, radio tuner, amplifier, woofer and tweeter speakers—and spread them on a shelf or house them in a cabinet. Binny kept his on a table near the piano. He stored his large collection of records in ubiquitous wooden orange crates: They were the perfect size and shape. Wharton wanted to build him a cabinet-it would provide a new design challenge but Binny knew he couldn’t afford it. Finaly, anticipating future commissions for such cabinets, Wharton offered to charge his friend for only the walnut and John Schmidt’s time to make the dovetails, and constructed models for him to choose from.

The design Binny chose consisted of two elongated triangles, stacked one above the other, with their hypotenuses against the wall, but offset to produce a leaning, prismatic form. This cabinet sits atop a larger cabinet that holds the records. The top of the hi-fi unit slopes, both to clear the needle arm and to keep guests from placing a drink on it.

At first Binny used a twig to prop up the hinged lid while he changed records, but eventually he asked Wharton to make a proper wand. Wharton took a small piece of cherry from a pile of scraps and, with a few deft passes through the bandsaw, produced a slender thirteen-inch baton. With his belt sander, he shaped the piece, which was four-sided at one end and almost magically changed to three-sided at the other. He instructed Binny to rub it with boiled linseed oil daily, using progressively finer sandpaper each day to 400 grit, and finally, with bare hands, oil, and pumice, to rub the oil and fines into the grain of the wood. As the oil was absorbed it would fill the pores in the grain with the fines, making a rich, smooth, marble-like finish. “Just thoroughly rub off any excess oil each time or it will get gummy,” he admonished. “And,” he warned, “if it mildews in the summer, use crude oil for maintenance oiling.”

During the next several years Wharton would be commissioned to produce other hi-fi cabinets, each one completely different from the previous one; that’s where the challenge-and the fun—was. The audio components were bulky, boxy affairs with rows of knobs, but only the record player had to be level. The other pieces could function at any angle, even stood on their ends or sides; and flexible extensions, such as those for an electric-drill chuck, could be added to their controls, so the pieces could be at any angle to the face of the cabinet and its knobs. This gave Wharton considerable freedom in shaping the cabinets” (Mansfield Bascom. Wharton Esherick: The Journey of a Creative Mind. New York; London, Abrams, 2010, p. 194-195).