Imagine an amethyst meteorite colliding with a comparable one of lush cream and brown marble. The result, the blending of the two, would go some way to describing the extraordinary appearance of the striking Blue John. It is a porous and oh-so-delicate material, making the feat of successfully turning, carving, and mastering the stone significantly fraught. But the results, when they are on scale, are tantalising.
My first encounter with this material was at a Sydney antiques fair, more than two decades ago. Martyn Cook, the giant, impeccably dressed Sydney “antiques dealer to the stars” was proudly, but ever so understatedly, nursing an urn displaying these colourings in his big arms. As he roamed the fair, I recall asking him what it was. He explained it was Blue John, that he’d snapped it up at the famous Melbourne dealers John D. Dunn, and that he had “just the client for it”.
The classical urn shape, carved and refined from this visually complex stone was memorable for me but until this article I have thought little about this peculiarly English stone. Recently, I began thinking about it again, and that encounter at the antiques fair.
Castleton in Derbyshire is home to the two cave systems where Blue John is sourced, and nowhere else in the world, I might add, has it been found. The Romans mined lead there; a reminder of just how ancient the civilisation of the British Isles is, but it wasn’t until the 18th century that this “English Jade”, as I like to describe it, was discovered.
Treak Cliff Cavern, still jointly owned by two families and open to visitors to this day, and Blue John Cavern represent the two sources of Blue John. A small amount is still extracted from the sites, but tour guides are more occupied these days than miners, and while I have not been there myself, I’m told that both professions find themselves in the same individuals running these mines today.
I won’t dwell too much on the origins of the name of this material but the most plausible seems to be that it derives from the French expression “bleu et jaune”, while others suggest that the old mining name “black jack” is where its name derived. While Blue John is where it has settled, it is also known affectionately by locals as Derbyshire Spar.
There remains debate as to whether the French or the English first recognised and deployed this material into the hands of decorative artists, but what is beyond dispute is that by the late 18th and well into the 19th century the material gained favour with high artisans and aristocracy alike, both in the United Kingdom and abroad. Its earliest use has been documented in fireplace panels in the later 1700s, by artisans like Robert Adam, who worked the material to great effect.
There is no doubt that for Blue John, like so many materials, when it comes to styles and techniques, the late 18th – 19th centuries were its time. The great period of mass industrialisation, a burgeoning middle-class, and wealth upon wealth generated an explosion in the Decorative Arts, both timeless and fleeting, and Blue John enjoyed that too.
Matthew Boulton of Birmingham in the 1760s became synonymous as the great manufacturer of items for the formal home in this material. He became so enamoured with it, that he tried – unsuccessfully – to lease and control the entire output of Derbyshire, such was the demand for this stone that lent itself so well to the striking and elegant nature of fine ormolu metalwork.
No doubt Blue John’s scarcity, not just its look, drove its demand, with the stone’s delicate nature allowing a mere 6mm of turning per day. This almost excruciatingly slow rendering of the raw to the refined gives one a feel for how intricate and slow the process for production was, not to mention delicate, given how fragile and porous the stone was. What this has ensured is that Blue John is coveted to this day by connoisseurs, with a scarcity of fine examples available for purchase.
An understanding and appreciation of Blue John, like anything really, can only be acquired with context and a visual immersion into the subject matter. Just this morning I showed my wife her first piece of Blue John online, and, I must say, she was not remotely taken by it. I’m hoping as she sees more examples; more shapes, sizes, periods, and designs, that in time she will also be attracted to this awkwardly beautiful material.
By John Albrecht, Managing Director & Head of Important Collections
Top Image: Candelabrum ca. 1770, Matthew Boulton, British / Alamy
July 2024