Author: Michael Chappell

As something of a sidebar to my blog entry yesterday, our stay in West Hollywood was at a new hotel near Beverly Center. Boutique hotels must sprout up like fairy rings following a spring rain. The present generation includes a number that we’ve enjoyed, including the London on San Vicente, formerly the Belage, which we also used to enjoy. By the way, despite usually running the other direction at any mention of culinary badboy Gordon Ramsey, I have to say the restaurant Gordon Ramsey at the London provided us not so long ago with one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Coupled with the ambience and the service, the overall dining experience, pardon the cliché, was superb.

Given enough ointment, however, and there’s bound to be a fly. It was our misfortune to find it last week. The hotel we stayed at sought to be chic in the way that was pioneered by the W chain a decade ago, and a number of European hotels 2 decades ago. In the 2 decade category, my memory runs to my first trip to Spain. As much as I enjoyed my stay at the Condes de Barcelona in 1987, I was 22 years younger then, and the angst of the difficult to figure out taps and temperature controls not being within reach of the oddly shaped soaking tub were compensated for by their novelty of design. Apparently, however, this no-longer novel design someone feels necessary to foist on the not so cognoscenti of southern California. Another clichéd phrase- been there, done that, so now any hotel anywhere in the world that is long on design concept has to provide an at least compensatory level of comfort. Returning to our recent concept hotel experience, the tub filling from a spout placed in the ceiling above it is, well, noisy as the water hits the tub from a height of nearly 8 feet, and tub sides of nearly 3’- that’s right, 36”- require something akin to running the hurdles to get into.

It might be age, but it might also be experience as a function of age that results in Keith and me avoiding concept in favor of comfort. A large room with large beds and good quality bedding, comfy, large chairs, plenty of closet space with plenty of wooden hangers (shades of ‘Mommie Dearest’), and a double-sided desk with reliable internet access. Mind you, as English antiques dealers, our hotel experiences certainly as regards to bathrooms are heavily influenced by places we stayed in our early days in England. Actually, one of the first to enter our own ambit remains one of the best. The Park Lane, although on Piccadilly, is a marvelously comfortable, purpose built hotel from the late 1920’s. By the way, it still has one of the best set teas of any London hotel. The bathrooms are still a wonder of one luxuriant bathing- one of those things the British, when they are of a mind, still do really well. The long, deep soaking tubs are equipped with those oversize Czech and Speake taps that fill the tub quickly, as though from a fire hydrant.

As much business as we do in Los Angeles, it is surprising how little time we spend there. Although we stay in a single stretch a week and a half annually, including the set up and vetting, at the Los Angeles Antiques Show, the majority of that time is spent inside Barker Hangar at the Santa Monica Airport, the show venue. I can tell you intimately about the commute to and from, and can describe in tedious detail the inside of the Hangar. By the time the show is over and we’ve made one or two house calls on clients, we are bagged out and ready to return to San Francisco. Our trade in English antiques, as my 20 or so devoted readers will have by now divined, is not terribly glamorous.

But, then, what is? Our time on and proximity to a number of red carpets over the years made us realize early on that a place in the sun is always brief, with hard work in preparation before followed by a long period of dénouement. This may sound by turns both jaded and spoiled, and so, I suppose, we are. What, then, is the linkage between overall world-weariness, Los Angeles, and the road trip of today’s title? Simply that we drove to Los Angeles this last Thursday to deliver a couple of sold pieces to two designers in West Hollywood, with the 6 hour drive down Interstate 5 something I looked forward to, giving me a good long time to meditate. Times being what they are, meditation is a good counter to what one is tempted to do otherwise, which is to become overwhelmed with worry and anxiety. Fruitless pastimes, with worry tantamount to second-guessing God. Maybe not ‘simple’ in terms of linkage- how does ‘synchronic’ strike you?

I don’t know whether I was mentally in, as they say, a ‘good place’ once we arrived in LA, but traversing as we did the design district in West Hollywood I can say that, overall, the commercial activity would give rise to some distress. Vacant storefronts abound, with only a fraction of what had been long established antiques dealers now surviving. Moreover, long stretches of Melrose, Robertson, and La Cienaga that had formerly been the nearly exclusive province of the decorative arts have been taken over by apparel, with some, but by no means all of it, high style and/or couture.

We see this over and over, with established fine art and antiques venues displaced by fashion, with ‘why?’ the obvious question. Bond Street and Mount Street in London have experienced this blitz, as has Madison Avenue.

All this is a surprise to me, with so many fashion boutiques in San Francisco closing. Of course, fashion/couture has gone mass-market, and one has to assume that San Francisco is not the glam capital that LA is. Those red carpet shots at the Academy Awards must give fashion retail a considerable shot in the arm. Keith and I need to hoick ourselves up and move back onto the red carpet. I wonder if we could bring a Pembroke table with us?

We are gathering a bit of market intelligence about the performance of the Olympia and Grosvenor House fairs. Methodologically, I can’t say we will entirely avoid any what’s hot, what’s not scenarios: we will at least try to pepper the anecdotes with some reasoned analysis.

What for the moment begs interest and doubtless will factor into the ultimate success of the London fairs season is the introduction this year of Old Masters Week. One wonders to what extent the gate particularly at Grosvenor was reduced the result of old master dealers who chose not to exhibit, staking summer time sales on the success of Old Masters Week. Certainly, hosting an event in your own gallery is less expensive than a show booth, but is it as effective from a marketing standpoint? We have always felt that show participation is our most important marketing tool, as both collectors and interior designers will see our gear in neutral territory as it were, not having to make even the modest commitment necessary to enter and browse our shop premises. Further, our collectors typically have areas of interest other than English antiques, and we find the notion of one-stop shopping at a show generally appealing even to connoisseurs. While we all of us experience our fair share of browsers at antiques show, we have curtailed our participation in galleries events because the only people who were turning up were browsers.

Times have been very tough for all of us with all of us, consequently, doing things out of financial necessity we would not do otherwise. I think the notion of a contra fair, as Old Masters Week seems to be, is one of these, and driven entirely by money- or, more precisely, a lack of it. While I hope that the participants in any contra fair find it sufficiently remunerative to allow themselves the luxury of earning thereby a sale or two, I would find it surprising, once the global economy achieves straight and level flight, to find these ad hoc events carrying on, with the erstwhile participants folding back into and enhancing the for the moment somewhat depleted fairs.

Although we try not to whinge, you may have divined from my blogs over the course of the last few months that there is a bit of a lag between inventory acquisition and eventual sale. Even in the world of English antiques, our cash conversion cycle is always important, and not merely to impress the bank manager. Our annual summer sale which, mercifully, some of my 20 or so devoted readers have taken advantage of, provides Keith and me with the opportunity to review our stock in trade, and review it critically.

By and large, despite the general, although now thankfully abating, economic malaise, we are fairly close to typical turn days for our inventory, but this has more to do with the first 10 months of last year, which were good for us, than anything that has happened recently. Still, as I mentioned above, we do look at our inventory critically, and assess summer sale prices, if not ruthlessly, than at least aggressively. If you do not find this to be so, my devoted readers, then make me an offer.

Times being the way they are, we have expanded our Summer Sale to include some fairly recent acquisitions. Frankly, though, some of the not so recent acquisitions still surprise me that they haven’t found a home. An example is the pair of George III period salon chairs.  A matter of price? Possibly, but based on the amount of interest these chairs have engendered, it can’t be just that. Moreover, with their bold outline, wrythen carving, and large scale, to say nothing of the visual interest contributed by the mixing of gilding techniques, the chairs certainly have presence.

In preparing this blog entry, I took a look back at the pieces we’ve sold in the last couple of years that I particularly enjoyed handling, and it was this notion of presence that many of the pieces shared. Let me give you two examples. A mid Georgian sofa we sold a couple of years ago had presence in spades.

Of a large scale, the piece was in pretty good shape when we acquired it, with the frame in solid, original condition to say nothing of the legs, with their elegantly scrolled feet surmounted by exquisitely wrought low-relief carving in an acanthus motif.

The piece even had its original leather-wheeled castors.  The Pindler cotton tone on tone damask we were able to use paired perfectly with the sofa.

Even without the lightening effect of green damask, a Gillows mahogany bookcase from 1820 is about as light in feel as brown furniture can get.  With its soaring, 10’ height, it brought a profound presence to our galleries during its brief stay with us, but, with its narrow doors and delicate glazing bars, that presence was never brooding.

My last blog entry engendered a lot of discussion amongst my 20 or so devoted readers, particularly as it related to color. Frankly, with the use of the shorthand phrase ‘brown furniture’ to opprobriously describe something both twee and wildly unfashionable, a consideration of color has, by association, become no-go area.

When we started in business not quite seven years ago, we sought to offer color by way of a selection of painted furniture. Our Georgian forebears loved color and bright things generally. Moreover, the mahogany that has over nearly three centuries become either considerably darker or considerably lighter, was originally all a fairly bright red, with a redness enhanced by a wash containing red pigments applied by the joiner. Chippendale certainly did this, as an examination of the furniture at Dumfries House has proven. So, of course, brightly painted furniture would be a natural articulation. Unfortunately, the painted surface, no matter how exquisitely wrought, is still the thinnest, most delicate of skins over vernacular woods- deal and beech, most often. Consequently, when after a generation it is knocked about and shows its use, it was discarded. What, then, was ubiquitous in the homes of the quality is now rare as hen’s teeth. None the less, we are always on the lookout for English antiques from the 18th century with their original painted surfaces. I’m not going to hold out much hope, though, that the National Trust will sell out of Nostell Priory Chippendale’s green japanned bedroom suite.

What fared better, clearly, was furniture composed of exotic woods. Even delicate veneers like satinwood still held up better than paint. With the comparative rarity of our sought after painted furniture we of necessity had to make do in our inventory with exotic woods. I am reminded of something one of our colleagues had said, about having a showroom full of tables, all of them shiny and all of them brown. Tables, yes we have plenty of them, and yes, a fair number of them are brown-ish, but none of them are the same. While wear, age, and use contribute patination, timber quality and figuring are features that must have been present from the beginning.  We are fortunate enough to be able to handle Gillows pieces from time to time. While we see attributions to Gillows, with those attributions based on similarities in design to those contained in the firm’s pattern books, what is generally overlooked is the exquisite quality of Gillows timbers. The figuring, depth of color, and matching of veneers, whether in mahogany, rosewood, or satinwood, are features central to any 18th or early 19th century Gillows piece.

While a collector may develop his connoisseurship toward an ultimate recognition of the merits of Gillows material, the best dealers should always be possessed of that recognition.