notes

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.

Several times over the course of three years I’ve written this blog- can it be that long?- I’ve mentioned our former near neighbor, and now sadly ex-antiques dealer Gaylord Dillingham. Gay is possessed of a tremendous eye, with everything I’ve ever seen in his premises of exceptional quality. One of the things Gay was nearly manic about was color. What Gay knew and had a particular eye for was color in wood. Gay’s inventory at any given time formed a benchmark for appropriate color in mahogany, walnut, oak, or rosewood. Although formal furniture was his forte, Gay would have the occasional piece of country furniture. I remember a late 18th century elm cricket table, that ubiquitous tripod table found in any crofter’s cottage. What set Gay’s apart, however, was the exquisite color of the elm. What is an ordinary wood, normally relegated to the seats of spindle-back chairs when it is used at all, Gay’s example was a wonderfully patinated, deep yellow color. Before it was Dillingham and Company, Gay’s firm traded as Dodobird Antiques. As with the extinct dodo, the right color, wrought from centuries of use, oxidation and general environmental detritus, cannot be reproduced.

Where all this is coming from is a follow-on from a blog I read yesterday penned by a gallery assistant of my acquaintance. A nice guy, but he knows nothing about period material. Scotch that- he knows how to read, and a fair number of his opinions are gleaned from others, and he gives occasional editorial credit. He did, however, start to discuss the importance of proper color in period pieces and at that point, I nearly lost it, as the fellow patently had no idea of what constituted ‘proper’ color. ‘Unusual color’ (his words) was also a desirable characteristic. Unfortunately, the firm this gentleman works for turns out shall we say ‘improved’ antiques with wood colors unknown to nature.

‘Unusual’ for a prospective buyer should be synonymous with ‘suspect’. The fact of the matter is, British and continental European cabinet makers for centuries have produced furniture pieces that conformed to standard models that in turn was driven by a demand generated by local custom, and rendered in recognizable national styles. A scrolled foot on a piece of furniture- a standard French motif- when produced in mid-18th century England would always identify the foot style as, say, a ‘French’ scroll, or ‘in the French fashion.’  Prior to the growth of international trade in the early 19th century, European furniture was executed in vernacular woods- oak, beech, and walnut, and painted or gilded as required. The two notable exceptions were the ebenistes in Paris, whose work was exquisitely worked in costly materials, including porcelain, and the English joiners, whose extensive use of mahogany was fueled by consumer demand- and the fact that English shipping from about 1740 entirely controlled the worldwide supply of this timber.

To be continued…

It seems astonishing, no sooner than I began penning blog entries about the late fall antiques fairs than I’m embarked on an entry, doubtless the first of several, about Olympia and Grosvenor House. Significant, of course, because these fairs are traditionally the culmination of the season for English antiques before a hiatus that lasts most of the summer. Traditional in another sense, too, with the fairs’ primary focus over the years the showcasing of 18th century furniture from the finest dealers- London, the English countryside, and a few from abroad- with their stock in trade arrayed in exquisitely artful stands.

Both traditions have, however, been derailed with the tough times the antiques trade has experienced over the last few years, with casualties that include some names one assumed would survive anything, save a direct hit by an A-bomb on their showroom premises. Shows you what I know.

Consequently, both fairs, out of necessity, have altered their look, with a lot less in the way of Georgian antiques, and more- what? Traditional non-furniture material, it appears, but more ‘price point’ types of dealers. Fine quality, of course, but material that has a better chance of selling on the day, giving the punter less opportunity to talk themselves out of the purchase. This phenomenon, something I’ve written about lately with unfortunate frequency, has been the bane of the surviving dealer- buyers want to buy, but after strong initial expressions of interest, get cold feet. Interestingly, the physical size of the item, regardless of price, seems to exacerbate this tendency. Where a buyer might purchase, say, a piece of silver for $20,000, a George III bureau bookcase for the same money- requiring the buyer to go home and measure the space before they commit- will not sell. The interval between the expression of interest and the drive back to the family manse allows enough time for the change of mind. If only I could manage to put our furniture pieces in a carrier bag!

Although we have just begun our annual ‘discreet’ summer sale, I hope to absent myself in the second week of June to scope out the fairs. In past years, this has always proved a valuable experience, with arriviste Chappell & McCullar comparing notes- and prices- with antiques dealers some of whom with over a century of tenure. A show visit now might be a bit more maudlin, to see who has so far managed to survive.