Author: Michael Chappell

For those of us in the trade, the London season formerly meant the overlapping June extravaganzas that were the Olympia and Grosvenor House fairs. Alas, Grosvenor is no more, and Olympia is much diminished. The Haughtons’ Art Antiques London, also just concluded, and Masterpiece London,  to begin the end of next week, are both redoubtable fairs, and it is hoped that their longevity will testify to their success. But for now, all this has to be in the future.

David Moss had reported that a particularly well-known media personality had this month shopped both Olympia and Art Antiques London, along with her interior designer. It was noted that this particular person was a buyer known for her shopping sprees. Not noted, however, was whether or not she had indulged in one on these recent visits. Frankly, this person is also known to Chappell & McCullar and I must say, she knows the value of a dollar. Presumably earlier shopping sprees had left her, by the time we began to trade with her, much wiser than she had been. Moreover, stories of vast sales to a cadre of moneyed buyers are, for Keith McCullar and me, the stuff of legend. In the 9 years we’ve been in business, it’s never happened to us, and, frankly, it’s never happened at any fair we’ve ever participated in.

One swallow does not a summer make, nor one uber-celebrity an antiques fair successful. What seems lost now in the mists of time is that the London fairs were originally timed to coincide with a larger social season that culminated in early July, where after the beau monde carried on to estates in Scotland, or seaside holidays in Brittany, Biarritz, or the villas of the Cote D’Azur. The fairs capitalized on the masses of moneyed folk watering in London, and certainly with Grosvenor’s royal patronage, it traditionally attracted the right people. Like any other fairs, these developed their own momentum, even while the seasonal progresses of ‘society’ became somewhat amorphous. Still, Grosvenor and Olympia- Grosvenor because of its quality, and Olympia because of its huge number of dealers- represented an unparalleled buying opportunity.

Clearly something changed. The hordes that trooped through Olympia and Grosvenor began to dissipate even before the economic debacle of the last several years. Of course, the waning numbers of dealers who are the backbone of any show are unable to make the (substantial) financial commitment to participate- but probably would do so if their experience had, heretofore, been profitable.

What to do, what to do- possibly a blood offering to the god of economic cycles- we would happily volunteer one or two people. But even if propitiated, will that necessarily bring back those thousands who once traversed the fairs of the London season, or will they continue to find their time, and money, better spent elsewhere?

With the phenomenon of the Grand Tour something of perennial interest to both Keith McCullar and me, we were eager to visit the exhibition ‘Canaletto and his rivals’ at the National Gallery. For all the English milordi fortunate enough, and their were many, to further the worldly education thought necessary for those who were the inheritors of the mantle of not only civility but civilization, following the de rigueur stay in Rome required to absorb what one could of the classical world, the ultimate goal, then, was Venice. The Las Vegas of its day, Venetian view painters daubed busily to render the views of Venice that were then sent to England as pleasant reminders of what were in most cases memorable visits. Reminders that could, of course, be displayed in polite company.

The exhibition was noteworthy as it was curated not by a museum professional but by the dealer in view paintings, Charles Beddington. The exhibition itself was not large, and featured, as the name implies, works not only by Canaletto, but also by his contemporaries and students- Marieschi, Bellotto, and Guardi. As well, the exhibition featured works that predated Canaletto’s preeminence- Vanvitelli and Carlevarijs most prominently- giving us some artistic and commercial context from which Canaletto emerged as a major figure.

Although a number of the paintings were pictures we were already familiar with, it was none the less pleasant to see them all grouped together. Sadly, though, the exhibition and the catalog provided no new scholarship, and, in fact, mostly consisted of a rather trite formal comparison of the work of one artist to another, using Canaletto as something of a benchmark. What would certainly have added interest to the exhibition would have been, at the very least a discussion of the pigments that made view paintings look the way they do. Venice’s long history as a port made it a bonanza for artists and their colormen, with imports of rare, expensive and unusual pigments typically available in a broader array than perhaps anywhere else in Europe. Further, it is hard for me to imagine that an exhibition limited solely to 18th century view paintings could be complete without a discussion of Prussian blue. The first synthesized pigment, it solved a centuries old problem for artists- an inexpensive blue that was also non-fugitive. The expansive skies of Canaletto’s, and all his contemporaries, probably are in no small part influenced by the ability to conveniently use Prussian blue to achieve them.

Interestingly, Brian Sewell, the long time art critic of the London Evening Standard was likewise disappointed at the level of scholarship. But Sewell was more than anything alarmed that the National Gallery in London, where the exhibition originated, should have allowed a dealer whose stock in trade are Venetian view paintings, to mount such an exhibition. Heretofore, I would generally argue that a dealer is a great person to curate an exhibition anywhere, as dealers not unusually have a greater knowledge base than many academics and museum professionals. The reason for this, in general terms, is that dealers, whose own academic backgrounds often match those whose sole profession is scholarship, have the advantage of seeing many, many more objects. A museum professional’s particular familiarity with his own institution’s collection often leads to a type of tunnel vision. The dealer, on the other hand, will perforce have the opportunity to see and examine a much broader range of material at auctions and in private collections access to which academics or museum professionals might not be privy. What alarms Brian Sewell is that the Canaletto exhibition seems to have an overarching commercial imperative, with the associated catalog with its dearth of scholarship more on the order of what one might expect in a selling exhibition.

Unfortunately, in this Sewell and I agree.

Not surprising to find that Keith McCullar and I are cultural tourists, and, given our vocations, it might be more precise to say we’re material culture tourists. Though not  spiritualists, we every now and again find a nearly palpable presence visiting certain historic sites that preserve and contextualize the habitation and personal property of the original occupants. One of those places is Mount Vernon.

Despite the hordes of visitors, Mount Vernon nevertheless carefully preserves a mansion and farm that I would venture to say the nation’s first first couple would, were they to return, not only recognize as little changed but also find instantly habitable. Although George and Martha Washington had no children together, Mrs. Washington’s descendents and General Washington’s nephews constituted an enormous extended family that, upon the death of Martha Washington in 1802 resulted in the dispersal of a significant amount of the original contents of the mansion. That said, all the articles removed from Mount Vernon were instantly accorded the status of relics by subsequent owners such that their preservation was insured. Consequently, in the fullness of time, articles have found their way back to Mount Vernon in such significant numbers that one can gain a real sense, at least visually, of what life was like during Washington’s final years there.

An understanding of all this is helped immeasurably by the catalog The George Washington Collection: Fine and Decorative Arts at Mount Vernon, written by estate director of collections Carol Borchert Cadou. Along with the descriptive text, the original acquisition of virtually all the items by the Washingtons is given some considerable measure of context by the citation of family correspondence related to each item. Often it is a letter from Washington himself, either to his London agent or some such other trusted friend or relation, requesting that a purchase be made in his name. What’s particularly interesting is the frequency and specificity with which Washington, while seeking pieces of the best quality in the latest fashion, gives the admonition that, in purchased articles, any thing of a showy mien be avoided. One could say that these sorts of inclusions in the catalog might serve a hagiographic purpose, but I rather think the ostensible serves to reinforce the actual, that Washington was thoroughly the prudent, practical figure that he is always thought to be. Though knowledgeable in the ways of the world, through the catalog his possessions speak of someone who is not precisely worldly and, moreover, consciously seeks to avoid any such association. His ongoing attachment to Mount Vernon and its furnishings reflects very little in the way of self-aggrandizement, but more in consonance with a manifestation of the virtue of rural life Washington felt accorded with his own position as a member of the gentry. As a military and ultimately a political leader he knew himself to be a public figure whose every action, and every acquisition, must be in keeping with this same virtue he knew his countrymen should, and hopefully would, emulate.