The phrase ‘boring brown furniture’ is usually used by those with an experience of interior movables limited to what one’s grandmother had in the parlor. Frankly, our modern opinions about muted color and patination are not unlike those Sir Joshua Reynolds had about the Italian quattrocento painters- the old masters of  his day- whose work, several centuries on, caused Reynolds to mistake the depredations of age with the artists’ original intent. The restoration of the Sistine Chapel would have shown Reynolds, as it shows us, that people have always loved color. The 18th century was no exception. While brilliance was possible with exotic wood furniture- figured mahoganies, satinwood, calamander, rosewood- the list goes on- the effect could likewise be achieved to dazzling effect with painted furniture.

It is difficult to know how much painted furniture existed in fashionable 18th century interiors, because comparatively little survives. The why of this is difficult to know precisely, but changing fashion had something to do with it. The rarity of exotic wood furniture in 18th century England made it available to the few. Improved transportation and the use of machine tools for mass production made exotic wood furniture more available, and consequently cheaper, with the fashion in Victorian times moving toward, almost exclusively, wood finishes. As well, painted finishes are, well, painted on, and easy to damage, and, rather than repair, painted furniture was generally discarded. Since the paint application was on common woods- beech and coniferous woods, generally- once scruffy, the pieces were easy to throw out, or use as firewood. Gilded pieces were the exception.  Something to bear in mind, though- pieces we see as completely gilded today were often originally painted, with gilt sparingly applied to accent certain portions of the decoration.

One of the most popular painting methods was ‘japanning’- the generic term for the  European manner of using painting techniques to try and imitate Oriental lacquer. Ironically, japanned pieces are frequently more exotically decorated than the Oriental pieces they sought to imitate, and certainly use a broader range of colors. For an 18th century tradesman whose knowledge of the exotic east was limited to what he found in the shop’s pattern books, an Indian was an Indian, whether south Asian or North American, and Indians of any geographic locale could reasonably share the same decorative space as Mandarins.

Paint effects for their own sake could become quite sophisticated, as witness the Regency armchair pictured. The antiques trade uses the term ‘ebonised’ frequently, but inaccurately, to indicate that a piece is painted black. Of course, ebony is not black, but a deep brownish gray, often with lighter brown striations. This chair is painted precisely this way, suggesting fine quality macassar ebony. 

As a follow-on from my last blog, I thought I’d devote a bit of time to discussing so-called soft furnishings: upholstered chairs and sofas, with the frames mostly covered with fabric, except for ‘show’ elements- legs, arms, and backs of exotic or painted wood.

The fact is, we rarely offer period fabrics on our period pieces quite simply because of the rarity of  fabrics surviving along with the piece upon which the fabric was applied. Over 200 years on from the invention of the spinning jenny, the jacquard loom and the cotton gin, we have lost sight of the fact that, up to nearly  the end of the 18th century, all fabric was hand made- all the threads were hand spun, and hand loomed, from the roughest of linen to the finest of silks. Consequently, the cost of all fabric was prohibitively expensive, and its use on furniture was actually quite sparing. Added to that is the ephemeral and delicate nature of fabric. As all of us who have ever had window draperies know, after only a few years of exposure to the elements, fabric will be reduced to little more than dust. Bear this in mind, and then add to it the frequent contact seating furniture would have with rumps and sweaty backs, and, well, you get the picture.

With all that, the best period pieces that survive with original period fabric are always, and I mean always so delicate, and not to say dear, that they are of museum quality, which is where such things generally find their way. Our attempt is typically to replicate not only the period fabric, but also the manner in which the upholstery is applied to achieve an accurate period look.

An excellent example is a terrific large sofa we had in inventory a couple of years ago, dateable to around 1750.  The finished piece had, I must say, a wonderful look to it, achieved with a modern cotton damask, of a style and of a tone on tone color typical of the middle of the 18th century.

Before the upholstery, of course, we took the sofa down to the frame, and made certain that the outline of the frame had not been altered- which, luckily, it hadn’t. Our attempt, even in soft furnishings, is to offer pieces where the frames, not just the show elements, are original.  As well as the frame, we were also pleasantly surprised to find a fair amount of the original horsehair padding, consolidated in its original muslin casing. This is an important survival, and for a collector, important to preserve.

Although the fabric we used was of an 18th century type and palette, we also tried to give the impression, through our upholstery technique, of the use of a period fabric. Although the length of the sofa would require us to seam the fabric in three places across the back and across the seat, we split the length of the runs in thirds, giving the impression we used a narrow-loom width period fabric, instead of a modern, 54” loom width fabric.

Some suggestions that my dozen or so devoted readers might find useful. Frankly, we sell a lot of period soft furnishings, and always utilize this sort of technique.

The short answer- true and false. I’m not obfuscating- the fact is, restoration in the decorative arts is a complicated business, and determining what is an appropriate protocol is nothing that is generally agreed upon.

We’ve all seen the Keno brothers on the American version of ‘The Antiques Roadshow’ bemoaning the fact that something is not in original condition, but the fact is, as an antiques dealer, we also have a commercial imperative. We do need a few pieces to sell from time to time, and if in ‘original condition’, by in large, most pieces would appear very unappealing. Also, just because something is in so-called original condition, that does not mean ‘original appearance.’ Usually, very far from it.

Our core business is Georgian furniture, and, to put not too fine a point on it, people in the 18th century loved bright colors. Surviving paintwork and fabrics from the period are ample testimony to this fact. Exotic wood furniture was brightly colored, too- look at the brilliant, iridescent red of the interior of a Georgian bureau- the portion of the piece that, over the centuries, was unlikely to be exposed to the depredations of sunlight- and you will soon realize that the often very dark, unfigured, nearly opaque finish of the exterior is the result of two hundred years of coal smoke, household dust and furniture wax. The antiques trade terms this accretion of surface detritus ‘patination’. For an 18th century joiner who often, in the case of mahogany furniture, enhanced its bright reddish brown color by brushing it with a reddish wash, the prospect of, two centuries on, patination that would occlude the piece’s original brilliance would have made very little sense.

With all that, we realize that under the best of conditions, furniture pieces are composed of dynamic materials- timbers expand and contract, veneers oxidize and darken, or fade in direct sunlight, hardware tarnishes- or is replaced altogether- and all these factors must be considered when we undertake restoration. Do we employ a standard protocol? Emphatically no.

Every piece we’ve ever handled has required some restoration, and each has required subjective evaluation, and that evaluation is conducted by Keith and me. We never, I mean never, just turn the shop loose on anything. If veneer is missing, we examine and select the replacement. If a finish has become muddy and dark or sun faded, we determine to what extent the finish needs adjustment. If hardware needs to be repaired or replaced, we personally either select the replacement hardware or determine the method of repair. And this is just a brief consideration of wood furniture. We take the same degree of care with upholstered pieces and painted pieces. Fabric covered pieces will be discussed in my next blog, and painted pieces the blog after.

Following on from a brief discussion about provenance, one of my readers reread my blog entry of late last year about provenance. Her specific interest was how provenance aids attribution, and, in our brief e-mail exchange, she suggested that attribution is one of those terms that loosely fly about, but should be defined. Your wish is my command.

Within the context of the material that makes up the core business of Chappell & McCullar, i.e. 18th century English furniture, attribution refers specifically to who made the piece. As readers of my occasional articles about English furniture will know, attribution is often difficult to determine, as English furniture is seldom marked or labeled by the maker. There are exceptions to this rule, and enough of them to have a volume devoted to marked London made furniture. Christopher Gilbert’s Pictorial Dictionary of Marked London Furniture illustrates the pieces that are labeled, obviously, but it does not necessarily follow that unmarked pieces that match those illustrated can be attributed to the same maker as the marked or labeled examples. The fact is, London, as the style center, was a veritable hothouse of design, with workshops all copying fashionable styles and motifs from one another. One of the most prolific and best known shops, that of Thomas Chippendale, didn’t label or mark anything.

However, a number of makers, Chippendale included, completed some huge suites of furniture in the 18th century, and invoices from the various workshops survive in the inventories of some of the great houses. This, of course, is where provenance aids attribution, in that, if it is known who owned the piece before, this ownership can be matched against surviving documentary information and an attribution can then be determined. This is still tricky work, as invoices and inventories are seldom exact. ‘Armchair in the French taste’ might be enough of a description to determine an English-made bergère, but often the inventories run to the likes of ‘divers(sic) chairs & stools’. As well, house contents were added to, and, given the size of some of the commissions, a number of workshops were simultaneously providing contents- all to the same sets of designs.

Speaking of design, furniture makers in the 18th century were awash with pattern and design books, with Chippendale’s Director … only one of very many. As with the finished product, the design books were repositories of fashionable motifs of the day, not what was original to either the workshop or the designer. In fact, some of the most prominent designers were not cabinet makers at all. Thomas Sheraton, for example, earned his living as a drawing master, with his furniture designs perhaps functioning primarily to promote his prowess as a draftsman. Consequently, design motifs drawn from pattern books are seldom any real help in determining attribution. Although use of a pattern along with quality of workmanship can reflect a sophistication that might indicate a piece as London made, some non-London makers, Wright and Elwick in Leeds, Gillows of Lancaster, and Henry Hill of Marlborough as examples, were as up to the minute as their London colleagues.

The use of the phrase ‘In the manner of…’ or ‘In the style of…’ as a prefix to signify a design relationship with a particular 18th century maker is perfectly acceptable in the antiques world. At present, we have an exquisite pair of late 18th century pier tables the frieze of which has an anthemion motif favored by the architect Robert Adam.  We have, then labeled these ‘in the style of Robert Adam.’ But this motif was a neoclassical design element used with some frequency during the period. Although sophisticated, the maker of the pier tables is unknown. ‘Style of…’ and ‘Manner of..’ should not be confused with attribution.

Attribution, then, is tough to arrive at absent some fairly compelling support.

You’ve read my earlier blogs about the ecommerce giant whose business model was found lacking by a French court a couple of months ago. Specifically, the company was found liable for damages for allowing knock-offs of luxury goods to be marketed on its site. In this country, Tiffany’s sued the same company for the same reason and likewise seeking damages, but a Federal court found that it is Tiffany’s responsibility to protect its brand, not the ecommerce giant’s- the ecommerce giant only provides a sales platform for others. When the offering of knock-offs is brought to its attention, they say they ‘aggressively’ endeavor to get them removed from the site. That’s large of them….

The giant’s business model is pretty simple, assuming both buyer and seller are honest, with the ecommerce giant functioning as an honest broker, providing, for a fee, an online sales platform to bring buyer and seller together. In a perfect world. Unfortunately, as anyone who has patronized this ecommerce site can tell you, it is fraught with abuse. Of course, the conscious sale of fraudulent merchandise is the most reprehensible, but I’ll give most sellers the benefit of the doubt and just say that a fair percentage are just plain ignorant about their material. One swallow does not a summer make, but, exemplar gratis, let me cite something that occurred just as I was about to pen this blog entry.

I received in my morning’s e-mail a wordy message from a lady who offered what she described as a ‘unique, one of a kind’ (redundant, I know, but A-level language skills are not required of online sellers) mahogany and metal lined box. She had made some astonishing claims about the materials used, the rarity of this type of box, and its provenance. The fact is, this poor benighted soul was offering something very, very ordinary indeed, and in terms of provenance- well, I guess you’d just have to take her word for it. A couple of months ago, I wrote a fairly long entry on the subject of provenance, and, without reprising that entire blog, claiming provenance isn’t enough. When we, or any other accredited antiques dealer, indicate provenance, it is backed up with written documentation- original invoice, probate inventory, or the like- that links the piece with its original owner, or photographs that show the piece in situ in its original location. Certainly, if you were to purchase a piece at a vetted antiques show, the dealer who is claiming provenance would be obliged by the vetting committee to produce such documentary evidence before the piece could be offered in the dealer’s booth. ‘Take my word for it’ cuts very little ice. Oh, and I know you want to ask what price the lady wanted for her gem of a box- let me say it was a multiple of about 10 times what it was worth, but less than what most of us would hassle over once we’d found we’d overpaid.

Of course, this begs the question- how can the ecommerce giant possibly police something like this? The short answer is, they can’t, and apparently they are, in this country at least, under no legal obligation to do so, either, even if the abuse of their model is egregious and widespread- witness Tiffany’s recent experience. Although ecommerce is the most modern of modern commercial phenomena, ironically it is one of the oldest of all business axioms that applies, in spades, to the ecommerce giant’s model- caveat emptor.

Although I endeavor to stay current, I’m always happy for information from my admittedly small cadre of loyal readers. A kind lady forwarded an article published in the October, 2007, edition of W hailing the rebirth of sleepy old Mount Street in London as a hotbed of fashion, with the primary focus the opening of a Marc Jacobs store. With the Connaught at one end and Berkeley Square at the other and Scott’s right in the middle, I’d hardly say that Mount Street was off the beaten path, and sleepy? Not even the most jaded urban somnambulist could call it that.

You might recall my own blog entry from precisely a year earlier, October 11, 2006, in fact, when I decried the death of Mount Street as an antiques venue, with the just then announced departure of Pelham Galleries, and the loss a couple of years earlier of Stair and Company. Although longtime dealer Kenneth Neame is still in place and was mentioned in the W article, none of the other surviving dealers- Alastair Sampson or Blairman and Sons- were, and Pelham, the former tenant of Marc Jacob’s new space was not, either. In fact, dismissal of dismissals, the author of the article said the new shop moved in to ‘a former antiques store.’ Hmmm…the ark of the Lord has fallen into the hands of the Philistines.

What fractures me is that, in a section of W identified as ‘Fashion’, what is reported is less a phenomenon of fashion than the effect of aggressive brand marketing. One can’t argue with the success of LMVH, the French multi-billion dollar luxury brands conglomerate that is the owner of Marc Jacobs, and Louis Vuitton, and Givenchy, and Donna Karan, and Thomas Pink….the list is extensive. And, of course, it is difficult to compete with the amount of capital LMVH is able to throw at the development of a brand, including the establishment of storefronts. Mount Street is all leasehold, with the owner in fee simple England’s largest landowner, the Grosvenor family, whose patriarch is the Duke of Westminster.  A leasing agent for the Grosvenor Estate waxed eloquent about the excitement associated with the arrival of Marc Jacobs, and a couple of other couture houses, and how this would revitalize Mount Street. Of course, His Grace needs to earn his daily crust, but I don’t really think Mount Street, or any other part of Mayfair or the West End generally, is in danger of becoming blighted.

But, as I think about it, ‘blighted’ might be thought a relative term. That the likes of Pelham Galleries are replaced by international, multi-outlet luxury brand fashionistas might be thought something of a blight. Of course, it isn’t like a McDonald’s or BurgerKing going on to Mount Street- but, then, those are international brands, too.

A geographic cataclysm has occurred in San Francisco and I wasn’t even aware of it. Apparently the high country of the Sierra Nevada Mountains has moved to within a short walking distance of the city. That has to be the reason so many people riding the San Francisco Municipal Railway are sporting backpacks that bulge as far to the rear of them as Aunt Tillie’s ass.

What can they have in those backpacks that, when moving to the right or left, function to knock down hapless passengers adjacent? My partner Keith McCullar and I use public transportation to commute back and forth and never carry any more than the occasional saleroom catalog or magazine to peruse at home, and keys and wallet on our person. Believe me, my wallet is never very fat, so doesn’t protrude far enough to ever be a danger to anyone.

Of course, none of these people are going hiking, in spite of their ostensibly packing survival gear. But a lot of it is sport, with a number of them presumably gym members packing their kit, and ample objets de toilette for afterward.

Mind you, I wouldn’t criticize anyone who sought to exercise to improve health and enhance one’s overall quality of life. Although swatted with backpacks I find a detriment to my own quality of life, it is a minor one, and anything that should eventually function to lower health care costs for the general population and eliminate the visual eyesore of the porcine from my field of vision is okay with me.

We did, Keith and me, not so very long ago spend a bit of time regularly at the gym. As Keith was about to turn 40, he was determined to lose a few pounds and get into better shape. Our physician at the time had counseled us both that losing weight at 40 is do-able, and nigh unto impossible at 50. Sage advice- a decade on, I can testify that our doctor clearly knew what he was talking about in the weight loss department.

Keith engaged a personal trainer upon the recommendation of an erstwhile acquaintance who, as it happened, trained with the trainer the hour before our appointed time. Keith and I dutifully went to the gym four nights a week- an hour to train and an extra 40 minutes or so to walk on the treadmill for cardio conditioning. We did this for the best part of a year. Grueling it wasn’t, but I can’t say that either of us ever got into it. That is one of the things that pass my understanding, how many people, particularly men- not just gay men, but it seemed as though the gym was replete with them, the storied gym bunnies- who make going to workout their whole lives. We couldn’t do it.

We would have been content to keep this regimen up, I suppose, but one day Keith happened to notice how our acquaintance was achieving some, not spectacular, but significant change in the bulk and muscle definition department. He was progressing quickly from the gym bunny to the muscle bunny category. Keith inquired of our friend, who we knew was working out no more than we were, what accounted for this, and was told that our trainer was juicing him with human growth hormone for muscle bulk and testosterone for muscle definition. No kidding. We were appalled and quit the gym, and the trainer, that very evening.

Since that time, what? four years ago or so, I suppose Keith and I have gained a little weight- no euphemism here, just a little weight. We walk about 2 miles a day or so, taking the circuitous route to the Muni station for the ride to and from work. Strength training? If you knew how often we move furniture in our galleries, you wouldn’t ask that question. And we both feel good. Oh, and we do get some exercise dodging the backpacks of the non-recalcitrant gym bunnies.

Are we in the midst of a bear market, generalized recession, or just a period of correction? I argue for the latter, as the drops we’ve seen in the worldwide financial markets are quickly followed by significant upticks. Trending downward? What constitutes a trend? As with so much else in life, any market cycle has to be experienced going forward, but can only be understood looking backward.

Amongst market analysts, though, I am sure the bears will always outnumber the bulls, except in the strongest and longest of bull markets. The why of this really has more to do with human nature than it does with any particular analytical expertise. This is what I would term the ‘happy to be wrong’ syndrome. A negative view expressed by anyone can always be tempered with the phrase, ‘I am happy to be wrong.’ Well, of course you would- ‘This plane is going to crash, but I am happy to be wrong.’ The fact is, the use of the phrase makes one right whatever happens. If, for instance, a company fails to perform, or an entire market tanks, the naysayer is looked upon as a sage. If nothing of the sort happens, as is often the case, everyone is overjoyed, and, in their joy, the marketplace Cassandra is forgotten. He’s happy, anyway, at least to have been wrong.

We’ve had an ongoing discussion about the housing market, battered if not necessarily in the market place, certainly in the press, and statistics about housing sales, housing stocks, and current market price declines are so varied it has been impossible for me to keep track of them. Moreover, in this sound bite world, nothing more than a statistic prefixed by a three or four word explanation is ever given. As statistics vary so wildly from time to time, I have to presume that different criterion have to be used in their calculation. As I am sure some of you do, as well, I closely follow a couple of particular real estate markets- not by reading about them in the newspaper, but by subscribing to a couple of research letters published by people I trust. Both are issued monthly, use base years and numbers as their constants in calculating statistical comparisons, and both cover a defined area with roughly 1 million residents and 750,000 housing units. And, both abstracts are, each month, in excess of 50 pages in length. As there are 300 million people in the United States, I would bet there are hundreds of similar reports published each month. Are these all read by any one analyst? As so-called subprime mortgage hedge funds were sold by the representations of third party rating services, I suspect that most analysts are deriving conclusions from the briefest of brief statistical abstracts. As the bull market in mortgage securities- so-called collateralized debt obligations- was driven by a limited understanding of the underlying investment, it seems highly unlikely that there has occurred any analytical spot-changing now. What we have, basically, is a preponderance of naysayers who are reporting selected statistics gleaned from others.

Perhaps a gloomy outlook is fashionable at the moment- it’s an election year, and economic gloom and dissatisfaction provides the most basic impetus for making a political change. Are we then in the midst of a manufactured market, with market turmoil engendered to ensure a political outcome that will return market stability? Cynical this sounds, and although this sort of thing has happened before, I am happy to be wrong.

I’m in the midst of reading Martin Wood’s terrific recent book about John Fowler, John Fowler: Prince of Decorators by Martin Wood- buy it, read it! If you are a Fowler fan and appreciate his country house style, I would recommend it. We’ve got plenty of books about Fowler, and by Fowler (and his research colleague and amanuensis John Cornforth), but the recent work is ever so slightly gossipy, giving one a few more glimpses into Fowler’s personal life, and his relationships with two redoubtable women, Sybil Colefax and Nancy Lancaster.

Of course, these ladies’ length of purse- well, longer than Fowler’s anyway- and social contacts certainly provided Fowler opportunities to broaden his range beyond the clever, though pretty basic, style associated with his first atelier in the King’s Road. Even with the assist of Colefax and Lancaster, the first 20 years or so of Fowler’s career proceeded through some astounding obstacles- the depression of the 1930‘s and war and privation that didn’t really end until England went off ration in 1954. What was available for use in interior design was in limited supply, and it was this necessity that was the mother of invention, witness old table cloths, for example, reused as loose covers on furniture, and elaborate window treatments composed of several types, colors and patterns of fabric- to mask the fact that there was insufficient supply of any one of them. ‘Shabby chic’ was, in large measure, born of this necessity.

Nancy Lancaster, with her flair and the experience of decorating her own homes, first of Kelmarsh Hall and then Ditchley Park, brought grandeur into Colefax and Fowler that allowed the firm, and Fowler, of course, to fairly quickly segue into the development of their signature country house style. What I always tend to forget, of course, is that for each family that had a country seat, they invariably had at least a pied a terre in town. Social and economic changes brought about by the war resulted in the decline in the number of grand townhouses, with the great and the good finding they now had to make do in oftentimes minuscule London accommodation. Fowler, of course, could call upon his early design experience in the King’s Road to make these small flats work for his clients.

I’ve often heard that Fowler himself was not a particularly happy man, possessed of perhaps a skin too few. His many contentious relationships included of all people, Nancy Lancaster, his closest colleague. Even so, Fowler’s style, even at its grandest, is fun without being fantastic, and inventive without being contrived. Well, maybe some of the window treatments are a bit too, too- but, then, if passmenterie is available, it simply has to be used, doesn’t it? If there is any criticism of Fowler, and there is always a revisionist view of any great man, it is that his interiors are insufficiently based on strict historic precedent. This, of course, ignores the fact that the canonical figures like William Kent, James Gibbs, and Robert Adam, into whose 18th century rubric Fowler sought to bring some modern restatement, were themselves great innovators. As Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony is an homage to Mozart and not just imitative, Fowler’s work represents an historically inspired aesthetic, tempered, naturally, by his own experience in his own day and age.

Reading this morning’s stock market report on MSN, the Dow decline, a confluence of higher jobless claims, some lower corporate earnings, and a decline in existing home sales, yielded what the reporters termed ‘the perfect storm.’

This expression is apt so far as it goes, but the implication is that, as with the hurricanes in the late summer of 2005, these are rare economic events, as in the 100 year storm that will happen only once in a normal lifetime. As someone who attempts to avoid clichés, it appears that ‘the perfect storm’ as ‘once in a lifetime’ has come to mean ‘not typically seen’, or more accurately ‘not too often’- either that, or  perfect storms are more common and lifetimes have become significantly shorter than they used to be.

Is it, though, ‘the perfect storm’? The so-called housing crisis was made very much worse by developers who got plenty of money and built houses not strategically, but wherever they could get cheap land. Naturally enough, the cheapest land is the furthest from any existing development and urban infrastructure- by this I mean, where there is no public transportation and people have to drive long distances to work or find basic services. Big surprise, home buyers find car commuting an expensive proposition and want to find something close in. My nephew and his wife, looking to purchase a home to house their expanding family, are shocked to find a dearth of housing in Los Angeles with the features they want- a neighborhood with good schools, and close to work for a short commute to his job. The flight to even the closest suburbs is a thing of the past. The empty nesters who are selling their large suburban homes with huge gardens and a pool, to be replaced with an in-town condo of reasonable proportions, are not finding younger couples with growing families to take their place. In our own highly urban neighborhood of Jackson Square, a huge number of formerly small, and not so small, office buildings are being changed over into condominiums- and selling quickly.

It is difficult for me to feel terribly sorry for builder-developers whose ignorance of fairly pronounced demographic trends led them to build in places where no one really wanted to live. Not sorry, but not surprised, either: home builders are something of a one-trick pony- if they can get the money to do so, they build houses. So, in fact, banks and investors who provided capital are all in the same intellectual boat as home builders. It is seldom that our president says anything particularly apt, but he did the other day- apropos of the freely flowing capital into the home building and mortgage markets over the last few years, ‘Wall Street got drunk.’

Some, of course, of the fairly recently built houses in remote suburbs, either sitting empty or now bank owned will be sold, and sold at a discount. One wonders to what extent these sorts of declines are skewing existing house price and sales statistics. Even bearing this in mind, my view is that the modest declines overall from a year ago suggest a correction in the market and not exactly the cataclysm of the perfect storm. Unfortunately, present activity is generally compared to events over the last however many years, without any statistical consideration that the last five, with explosive sales and price growth, represented an anomaly that was, in an apt use of the cliché, something seen once in a lifetime.