Author: Michael Chappell

We are back from Chicago, and plan to spend the next 30 days or so in strict diet mode, trying to shed the end product of all the Chicago hospitality we enjoyed. The Merchandise Mart International Antiques Fair is, if nothing else, a test of the gall bladder and liver. With all that, though, we love it. A Dunkin Donut never tastes as good as it does in Chicago, and believe me, I am topped up on them until I return.

In typical fashion, the Mart made a tremendous effort to promote the show. The way I’ve just put it, this kind of sounds blasé, business as usual, and I  don’t really mean it that way. Frankly, that someone makes such a profound effort to promote an antiques fair is unusual these days. Further, the Mart, one of my favorite buildings anywhere, but more about that some other time, has now given over the entire 12th floor to a permanent venue for art and antiques fairs. As huge an area as that encompasses, the booth size for each dealer, consequently, is fairly large. The result of all this is that even ordinary material, spread across a larger area, is necessarily showcased. What we heard from show visitors, over and over, was what a great looking show it was. Certainly. The flip side of this expansive show is, naturally enough, it is so large that it is hard to get around. And it is. Further, with the show so large, it is difficult for us to gauge attendance. As well, the attendees, having to cover so much ground, tend to get worn out and, horror of horrors, leave the fair before they’ve seen all the dealers.

Some of this, certainly about the negative aspects of the size of the fair, are to some extent speculative. Frankly, Keith McCullar and I market the hell out of our fair attendance, regardless of the venue. It pays off, and certainly it did in Chicago. Private clients and interior designers of our acquaintance came en masse, with a number of them returning two or three times during the run of the show. While we appreciate all the Mart does in terms of marketing, we can’t expect them to market directly to our customers. Idiotically, a number of the dealers- the majority of them, frankly- do expect that the marketing should be done exclusively by the show organizer, and the dealer should be able then, to sit on his haunches and wait for the business to roll in over the counter. We term these sorts of dealers ‘losers’, or, more politely, ‘soon to be out of business dealers’.

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.