Michael’s Blog

We received this morning what could only be described as a jeremiad, penned by a well-known designer, a gentleman who has been a friend to us over the years, complaining in vigorous terms about his poor treatment by some people who, though a degree or two distant from the design community, nevertheless exercise what is perceived to be an inordinate degree of oftentimes baleful influence.

You’ll notice how carefully I’m couching all this, as we’ve no enmity toward either camp, but the fact of this fracas points to something that we see more and more in the closely allied art, antiques and design trades. Specifically, that things are in such a state of flux that within the world of fairs, galleries, show houses- all the things that in former times worked well to promote everything in the fine and decorative arts- we’ve all consequently become so defensive about maintaining and puffing our portion of inexorably shrinking turf that we’re unwilling to take anything on the chin anymore. In this regard, I am reminded of my own concern, expressed to one of my neighbors on Jackson Square, about the closing of a well-established gallery. My rather narrow-minded neighbor disputed this, and thought it a good thing, as, in his opinion, loosing one gallery meant more business for those of us who remained. Well, of course not- we all of us depend on each other for support. None of us does exactly the same thing- each designer has their own look, each writer has their own style, each art and antiques gallery has its own collecting aesthetic, and each finds consonance with its own likeminded cadre. A gallery closing on the street does not mean that, even in the short term, those of us who remain will see a bump up in sales. What it does mean is that what was once a venue becomes less of one, with a consequent decline in foot fall.

Though trying to avoid this spate of bitchy cynicism, it all does seem to be exacerbated by an inordinate number of people who, because the numbers of colleagues decline, are thrust forward within all the trades to positions of prominence, somehow managing to survive where others have not. The result of merit? Well, arguably, but I think it’s oftentimes more like Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper. The feuding Hollywood gossip columnists were reduced to one, Hopper, who as the younger of the two, would expect to physically survive her rival. It is said that Hopper always promised to prevail because she would, in Hedda’s own words, ‘Outlast the old bag.’ The upshot was, though, that Hopper survived in print only, dying some six years before Parsons, by which time Hopper herself became a journalistic anachronism.

I don’t suppose anyone in the larger design and antiques world really wants to achieve such a pyrrhic victory, so it behooves anyone who presently holds a position of influence to do some introspection to determine how their position was achieved. Times being the way they are, thankfulness and humility should be concomitant with survival. Moreover, it should always go without saying that a position of leadership, regardless of how it was gained, betokens a tremendous degree of responsibility for promoting the trade, much easier accomplished, wouldn’t we all agree?, through collegial promotion, rather than wiping out seeming competitors or those of differing points of view.

We don’t hear ‘How much is it?’ fractionally as often as ‘Is it in original condition?’ Presumably this is Les and Leigh Keno’s personal legacy, by way of the American version of ‘The Antiques Roadshow’, to all antiques dealers. Frankly, given the muddy appearance of many of the items over which some dealers and collectors wax eloquent, I now sometimes think French polishing has a lot to recommend it.

Not really… In fact, what the Kenos are trying to communicate is that original condition means that a furniture item has not been either altered or improperly restored. Pardon my Anglo-Saxon, but the vernacular term we use for bad restoration is ‘buggered’. This can mean, variously, a poor use of materials with, say, a plastic varnish applied over a proper shellac and wax finish, or a piece that has been completely stripped by chemical and mechanical means down to the raw wood, or ‘improved’ with the addition of marquetry and inlay where none existed before- or, tragically and too often seen, a combination of all of the above.

Frankly, our mantra is the littlest possible restoration is the best restoration. Certainly for English furniture, the quality pieces were meant by their makers to be shiny and brightly colored. Two or three hundred years of use and natural oxidation always do their work, and nothing, even under optimum conditions, will look exactly as it did when it first entered the dwelling of the original purchaser. We are, as we speak, working on the paint finish of a wonderful Regency period chair, whose original decoration is still largely intact- together with 200 years worth of furniture wax, soot, and poor retouchings. Even with painted furniture, the term ‘patination’ is frequently used, a catch-all meant to lionize rather than apologize for the effects of age. As I think about it, Keith McCullar’s birthday is coming up- I think I’ll tell him, by way of compliment on his natal day, that he’s becoming nicely patinated.

The point of all this is, despite the frequency of the query ‘Is it in original condition?’ the question rarely indicates what the buyer really wants to know- nor does it imply particular criteria for a buyer’s purchase. While we like minimal restoration, we also like pieces that show well. For an antiques dealer, there is just the slightest commercial imperative- we do have to sell something from time to time and pieces with a tired, ‘original’ appearance do not have much commercial appeal. This is the irony, of course- a prospective buyer might ask about original condition, but then actually find more appealing, to the point of purchasing, something with some restoration. There is nothing wrong with this because, when asking about original condition, what they really mean to ask is ‘Is this piece in serviceable condition, and how close is it to how it originally looked?’ When we acquire items for inventory, condition is critical as we want to accomplish any required restoration to put it in saleable condition without having to reinvent the appearance of the piece in our workshop. Consequently, when asked about original condition, we nearly always are able to respond- ‘We’ve had to do very little to it.’ This has proven to be a satisfactory response. In fact, our own rules about condition and restoration pretty generally accord with the vetting guidelines of the better antiques fairs: a piece must be substantially the same as when new- very little restoration, but not necessarily in unrestored ‘original’ condition. Further, a piece must also be ‘show worthy’, that is, of pleasing, saleable appearance. Maybe that’s what I’ll tell Keith on his birthday- that he’s passed vetting and is of show worthy appearance.

For my handful of devoted readers, harken ye back to my entry of a couple of weeks ago, wherein I chastised those punters who ask, for wont of anything better to say, for the unusual.

Well, we have it, and ‘unusual’ is said with an attenuated Hitchcockian accent, appropriately enough, because it is an item associated with the great man, albeit tangentially. Specifically, we have acquired out of the stock of Warner Brothers a George III demilune pier table of large size, well known to many of you, whether you know it or not, the result of its prominent placement in the Alfred Hitchcock film ‘Dial M for Murder’. With the movie itself taken from the play of the same name, cinematically it’s what’s known as a ‘rug show’, with all the action taking place indoors, in this instance in just two rooms of the fictional London apartment in Maida Vale occupied by the main characters, played by Grace Kelly and Ray Milland.  We’ve got some great photos of Grace Kelly looking harried and Ray Milland deceitfully calculating- with the pier table prominently behind.

Although Warner’s, along with MGM and Paramount, would import vast quantities of European antiques for use in set decoration, it is interesting to note that this piece was actually purchased from ex-star, prominent antiques dealer, designer to the stars and progenitor of the Hollywood Regency style, Mr. William Haines. As well as the Warner Brothers inventory mark, the piece also has a label from Haines-Foster, then located in exquisite premises at 8720 Sunset Boulevard. It was an astonishing place. Purpose built for Haines, with a colonnaded façade and curved display windows, Haines served the ne plus ultra in the industry, with prominent commissions from Joan Crawford, George Cukor, and Louis B. Mayer’s daughter and son-in-law, Bill and Edith Goetz. Haines was also the antiques purveyor to and designer for Jack Warner, whose grand new house designed when Warner married his wife Ann replete with Haines-selected fine quality English antiques.

In this case, though, the pier table connection between William Haines and Jack Warner is incidental, but more substantially linked to the set designer for ‘Dial M…’, the redoubtable George James Hopkins. A designer with a career in movies that lasted from the late teens into the 1970s, Hopkins work, mainly at Warners, included some stunning sets- ‘Auntie Mame’, ‘My Fair Lady’, and- wait for it- ‘Casa Blanca’. In his salad days, he was reputed to have had an intimate relationship with the director William Desmond Taylor, whose yet unsolved murder has always conjured up lurid associations with drugs and unconventional sex. Don’t you just love the movies?

It’s hard to believe that, living in San Francisco, something of overarching importance to the gay community could occur that would not exactly escape my notice, but not command the degree of my focus that it should. The unfortunate fact that 2011 marked the 30 anniversary of the first reported AIDS cases is occluded by the drug treatments that result in the survival of those of positive HIV status. A film very much watching, “We Were Here” is poignant reminiscence by several San Franciscans recounting their own personal horrors associated with the AIDS holocaust.

HIV is still with us, with a friend ours moving into hospice just this week, ill with AIDS related lymphoma. And those who’ve lost friends and family will not recover them in this life and still grieve. We are proud to support the mission of All About Care, founded and run by Cynthia Karraker, herself made a widow by AIDS, whose mission has always been to provide help and support for families bereft of a spouse or sibling. You might wish to substitute that extra box of chocolate or gift voucher at the electronics store for a donation to All About Care.

One of the highlights of our endeavours is when we accompany our pieces, as we do with as many of our items as possible, to their point of installation. Perhaps overly fussy- can one really be in this business and not be fussy? -but Keith and I want to make certain that we can give it a last minute buff and polish, and make sure that the placement is, as much as we can make it, perfect. A bright room, working with the client, we’ve got just the right mix of gilding to temper the mahogany, and all contributing to a dining room that would make a meal of hash seem pleasing even to Lucullus. Suffice to say, we were pleased with this install, and, of paramount importance, the client was, too.

Attending a function yesterday with a number of dealer colleagues, I was surprised, as I always am, pleasantly so, to find a few who read my blog, including that entry of a couple days ago. One gent in particular- a fair minded, easy going fellow who, although some years younger than me but with a considerably longer tenure in the art and antiques trade- commented on the relationship aspect of our business, underlining its importance in the success of any gallery. Somewhat moderating his ardent commitment to clients was, a few hours prior to our speaking, a phone discussion of some duration with what he with some charity described as an ‘erstwhile’ client- in this case, a gentleman who phones him every week or two to inquire about pieces in inventory, but, according to our colleague, has never, ever made a purchase.

Mind you, we all have these sorts of people who float within our ambit, and Keith and I make our best effort to be kind and treat graciously anyone who crosses the threshold. Are we always successful? Well, frankly no, but the occurrences of real acrimony are infrequent enough that we can recall each instance in some detail. What’s more frequent are those people who are the one-time visitor who seek to give the impression of being a punter, but are not and never will be. When we discussed this with our colleague, we quickly came up with stock phrases used by pseudo buyers who, as far as we can tell, never buy anything from anybody.

I have to tell you, all these standard responses are for us prefaced by the standard query we invariably pose to the first-time gallery visitor, to wit ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ We ask this, of course, to engage and also to inform that not everything in stock is on the sales floor. Moreover, it is a rarity that, for the honest to goodness, serious browser we aren’t able to either source something we don’t happen to have, or point the requesting party in the direction of a dealer who might be able to assist. Very much separate and distinct from the browser, though, is the pseudo buyer who one may not know on sight, but when their mouths open and words emerge, these, then, are some responses that, in our experience, have in their turn a standardized secondary meaning that says, in more succinct terms, ‘no sale’:

‘We’re looking for lots of things.’ Always a puzzle this, as, frankly, we have lots of things in inventory, and can put our hands on lots and lots more. But when I have, with as much cordiality as possible, provided some kind of rejoinder making this fact manifest, I usually get a vague ‘Oh?’ in reply. Sometimes, though, I get this response:

‘We’ll know it when we see it.’ Of course. As well as a secondary response, this well-worn statement runs just behind ‘lots of things’, making it a popular primary response as well. But help me out here, Mr. and Mrs. Punter- when you do see it, will it resemble a table? A chair? An iron lung? This, of course, begs the next most common response:

‘We’re always looking for the unusual.’ Well, me, too, but possibly those who say this are looking for something I would consider as somewhat beyond the pale. That may actually be the case, as ‘unusual’ is always said rather archly, in the way that English barbers of an earlier generation used to inquire of their customers ‘Something for the weekend, sir?’ by way of euphemistically inquiring whether a French letter, as well as short back and sides, was required. We never know what’s precisely meant by ‘unusual’, but we’ve often assumed that we’re expected to pull something from under the counter that is more than marginally risqué. I noted that in the sale of the contents of Malcolm Forbes’ home in London, several pieces of Queen Victoria’s underclothes were on offer. I hope we aren’t meant to have that kind of thing around. Fortunately, San Francisco is well provided with stores that sell adult novelties, so we always have something near at hand to suggest as a shopping venue for what we might call fun seekers.

The art world’s abuzz with the sudden closing of Knoedler & Company. The New York Times provides a glimpse of not only the company’s history, but their recent vicissitudes. Of course, all things are exacerbated by the weak economy but a phrase in Patricia Cohen’s article, that Knoedler’s prospects ‘darkened’ after the company passed out of family control, captures perhaps the essence of what’s happening in the retail art world today. As with the Duveens, the Wildensteins, and the Knoedlers, relationships established with clients were historically embodied in the personalities of the eponymous gallery owners, who knew their clients, built their collections- while taking in exchange art work that no longer met their collecting objectives, but simultaneously exchanging them for others pieces that did- and, very often, appealing to the better angels of the collectors’ nature,  the result of which the collections amassed were, in the fullness of time, brought to a wider view by their ultimate gift to a public institution. Mind you, the salesrooms have always offered some sales competition, but the personal service that a private dealer can offer was, and is, incomparable.

Trust me, the relationship aspect of this business is very much alive and well, and Chappell & McCullar would doubtless have dismounted its front of house shingle a number of years ago had we not been aware of it. Knoedler’s has for many years been investor owned, and, for all investors, sooner or later there has to be a payday. And, it must be admitted, paid staff, even at the highest levels, have less of a commitment to client relationships than they do to meeting financial targets and the time consuming palaver necessary to satisfy the board of directors- time that would be better spent with clients. This has historically been a very, very high touch business, and remains so, and one discovers at one’s peril that clients can quickly go elsewhere.

There are plenty of ways a collector can acquire art, and, times unfortunately being the way they are, there’s plenty of good quality material on the market. It’s interesting, a few months ago I wrote a blog entry in response to the notion that the traditional gallery model doesn’t work, to the extent that, with so many ways to buy art- through salesrooms, through online sales platforms- the bricks and mortar gallery has difficulty competing. However, the gallery that proposed the question about the traditional gallery model was itself investor owned. It seems that those of us who do carry on as the main salespersons and general dog’s bodies of our own gallery would then seem to have an opportunity to survive in a business that we love, carrying on in the tradition of say, Joseph Duveen. With the demise of Knoedler, an object lesson presents itself for all of us that survive in this business, and that is that it is imperative to value and cater to client relationships above all else.

Antiques Trade Gazette has reported today about the, as they have it, ‘lukewarm’ performance of the London Frieze art fair. Opening to great fanfare in 2007, it was thought to represent a new type of venue, dedicated to contemporary art and attracting thereby a younger group of punters who might ordinarily shun a traditional fair. Although attendance was good, albeit down from prior years, the sales were more than a bit thin on the ground. Although very few major sales were posted, most of what was sold was in the 4 and 5 figure range.

Wonderfully synchronic, we had a gallery browser in earlier today opining that younger buyers don’t buy high end material of any stripe any longer, and she asked me why I thought that was. I told her frankly that I didn’t really agree with her premise, that, actually, our mix of buyers is, chronologically, pretty much the same as its been since we started in July, 2002- some younger, some older, but none very, very young, and none very, very old. What makes them all the same, though, is the desire to pursue a connoisseurship that propels them toward making a purchase. For Chappell & McCullar, the mix of inventory needs to be something of a constant, as we’ve found given the relationship nature of the business- if we change our look dramatically, we’ll confuse, and lose, our clients. Cutting edge? Perhaps not, but then, what is cutting edge? In the fine and decorative arts, what’s cutting edge today will tomorrow look as dated as tweed upholstery on a sofa. We’ve always said in our business, we want to offer material that’s already established in the art and design canon. Ironically, one of our younger clients reinforced this idea for us when we started out. A gentleman that had survived the dot.com crash, he wanted to make sure that whatever he purchased from us was of a type and quality that, should the cycle repeat itself, he could bail out. He’s an astute fellow and, the result of the debacle of the last several years, he hasn’t had to find any of this out.

Still, this makes an excellent point, and something that the waning fortunes of contemporary art, and the related fairs, makes clear- the canon is time wrought and time tested. It just might be that a fair like the Frieze fair has experienced time passing it by.

It had to happen, and it has- my spam folder showed up this morning with a blast from a new website, dedicated to online browsing of upcoming fairs. While a number of art and antiques publications through their online editions promote fairs either through editorial or paid ads, this is the first site we’ve seen that is solely dedicated to fairs. However, the call to action from the new site isn’t to visit the fair, but unfortunately asks the question that large numbers of people apparently are already asking, to wit, why visit actually when, through the internet, one can visit virtually? And the site offers just such an opportunity.

And, clearly, this is a question that permeates the art and antiques world specifically, and the entire retail environment generally. Of course, the slow economic recovery has at least something to do with the numbers of vacant storefronts in even the best shopping venues, but the retailer that trumpets ‘free shipping with online orders’ has clearly altered his business model and is probably not planning a bricks and mortar expansion.

Frankly, our own gallery footfall has been mercifully constant over the course of the last couple of years- constant, but hardly increasing. One thing that is also a constant, that every first time gallery visitor has visited us at least once online before they’ve darkened our door. We chat about this frequently with gallery visitors who at once decry the declining numbers of galleries while at the same time acknowledging how much stuff they purchase online themselves.

I notice this morning the cancellation of a long running London fair, in response to the increasing difficulty punters have in reaching the fair venue due to the traffic congestion charge. Well, it’s always something- perhaps the fair organizer will develop a virtual platform- ‘save the congestion charge and visit us online’- it just might happen.