notes

Sitting as I am amidst a vortex of period mahogany furniture, the opportunity to recast it as green has a refreshing, if not downright salubrious effect. Sort of like mixing a bit of branch water with whiskey.

No question, the watchword in interior design is green, and the reuse of period material can be thought the greenest technique of all. Our discussion will avoid a consideration, naturally, of the deforestation that occurred in the first place to produce the then newly constructed pieces so prized in the 18th century. Well, we don’t wish to foster an anachronism. In the decades just following the voyages of discovery, who knew but to exploit what the explorers found- particularly if they could work to annihilation the local population to so do. Times, thank goodness, change. Mind you, I am not suggesting we build a memorial pyre and fuel it with mahogany, satinwood, and rosewood furniture, in expiation of the spoliation wrought in the 18th century- we just won’t make that mistake again.

While the use of the woods and their novel color and, in the case of satinwood and some mahoganies, near iridescence, are features that we can barely see to appreciate some 200 or more years on, the grains that were also an integral feature need be mentioned. Referred to in the trade as ‘figuring’, the grain of the wood is at least as important as its color. While reforestation and proper management have made some timbers accessible, what can’t be duplicated is the figuring found in the old growth timbers felled centuries ago. Most of my 20 or so devoted readers have heard of figured mahogany veneers descriptively named ‘flame,’ ‘plum-pudding’, and ‘fiddle-back’, but satinwood veneers, for instance, can be equally as complex. The mania for satinwood peaked in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when it was used prodigiously in the production of Edwardian period ‘Sheraton revival’ furniture. Sadly, for all its use, the veneering patterns with their uniform striations betray a later growth satinwood, pretty but not as interesting as those timbers exploited a century or so earlier.

While period satinwood with its color and figuring should be considered a treasure worth preserving, its physical properties sometimes cause it to appear distressed when, in fact, it isn’t. It is worth bearing in mind that satinwood has always been in scarce supply and oftentimes, to accentuate its rarity and the preciosity of the furniture that utilized it as a primary timber, the secondary timber was frequently mahogany. Gillows, for instance, regularly veneered satinwood over mahogany. However, satinwood is much softer than mahogany- or nearly any other wood- and satinwood will often shrink and contract at a considerably greater rate than the secondary timber to which it is applied. Over time, veneers will lift and shrinkage cracks will appear in satinwood more than any other exotic wood. While lifting veneers can be flattened, shrinkage cracks cannot be repaired short of replacing the range of veneer- something I would not recommend. In fact, I generally look for shrinkage cracks in satinwood as an indication that the veneer is original.

With all the column inches dedicated to green design, there should be pretty general agreement that the use of period furniture is of benefit to the planet. A bit of connoisseurship might be engendered, as well, with the realization by contemporary generation of acquisitors that new furniture while it might be able to replicate the outline of period pieces, cannot duplicate their color and figuring.

It’s rainy in San Francisco, and has been through this past weekend. This presents a wonderful opportunity to read, or in my case, reread for the umpteenth time, Brideshead Revisited. What’s put me in mind of it was a recent photo spread in World of Interiors of Madresfield, a stately home in Worcestershire that was Waugh’s inspiration, both in character and locus.

What of course cannot be pictured are Lord Flyte’s fictional Oxonian digs, but Waugh doesn’t let us down, describing with exquisite detail the medieval paneling and disparate collection of objects that litter the interior. Litter is a poor choice of words, because one assumes the collection is, therefore, rubbish. Possibly to Sebastian Flyte, but clearly middleclass Charles Ryder was as taken with the novelty of this eccentric display of unrelated though each in themselves interesting objects as he was with the edible offerings that included lobster Newburgh- doubtless served in an antique silver tureen- and plover’s eggs in a moss-covered basket. This is unlike lunches I had whilst in college, but, then, not many of my friends were members of the traditional aristocracy. I thought I did pretty well offering spaghetti Bolognese.

What, of course, Waugh chronicled with some particular perspicacity was the phenomenon of short-lived aristocratic enthusiasms paired with sufficient money to indulge them. The collection of objects and their accumulation on any flat surface betokens sufficient means to indulge enthusiasm, and that the objects may be disparate in nature might signal, to those of us without the same mindset, as notable and eccentric.

But, of course, this notion of eccentricity has been endlessly aped by those not born to the purple, in the sometimes bizarre pairing of objects of disparate style and period in interior settings. When this works, as it so often does, it is termed ‘eclecticism’. When it doesn’t, we term it ‘interesting’ and politely look away.

The irony is the eclecticism that is the byproduct of aristocratic indifference is achieved with studious effort by interior designers. John Fowler’s ‘country house’ look was not automatic. What it sought to imitate, of course, was an upper class effect that was achieved through a generational organicism that is nearly impossible to replicate. I remember not so very long ago seeing a stately home interior, with one of the decorative elements a child’s model airplane. As it happened, though, this particular model airplane was a 1/25th scale model of the Wright Brother’s ‘Flyer’, purchased in the first decade of the last century and, following its brief service in the nursery, was confined for nearly a century to the attic store from whence discovered/recovered. In interior decoration, nothing substitutes for generation upon generation of habitation. Inherited wealth comes in handy, too.

No question, the results of the Yves St-Laurent- Pierre Bergé sales this past week cheer the heart of everyone in the arts and antiques trade. I’m not aware that the vaunted pair had as much as a stick of English antique furniture, but, as the saying goes, a rising tide raises all boats, and one hopes it might even raise mine.

And, of course, it is the hope of all in the trade that this does betoken a rising tide. But, another aphorism, one swallow does not a summer make, but, bleak as things are, the one swallow is none the less cheering. Moreover, the three day round of sales promises to be the largest in terms of turnover of any in history. Certainly a talking point over the next few weeks with the client who may be brave enough to darken the doors of our galleries.

Who made these purchases? If you haven’t heard, you are not alone, because, it seems, few of the big collectors whose names would hit the media were much in evidence. Buyers seemed to be drawn from the ranks of a class of people who we see in the trade- the very high end ‘affiliation’ buyer. By ‘affiliation’ I mean someone who will make a purchase in a high profile environment, apparently motivated in large measure by the desire to be seen making such a purchase. Mind you, the St-Laurent-Bergé sales had some extremely fine things but it was the gilded associations that seemed to have more to do with haute-couture than a finely honed collecting aesthetic that drove prices. In terms of auction sales, this is not an unknown phenomenon. Sotheby’s Bill Blass sale of a few years ago had the same thing occur. More within my ambit, the Regency antiques Blass had utilized to exquisite effect in his apartment were sold for stratospheric prices. While of excellent quality, the prices realized clearly had tremendous value-added based on their association with Blass. When, as so often happens, some of the Blass pieces came back on the market, their cachet had evaporated, and they sold for a fraction of what they had formerly- in the unique setting and amidst the febrile competition of other fashionistas- commanded.

Within this context, it is interesting to note how much material purchased at these sorts of auctions does come back on the market within a year or two. My suspicion is that a fair amount of it is never even unpacked, if it even makes it out of the warehouse. Even people of some considerable means have enthusiasms, which enthusiasms oftentimes do not extend beyond the joy of seeing something knocked down to them. That damnable illness beloved of the salesrooms, ‘auction fever’ is no respecter of social class.

The last couple of paragraphs sound like the naked denigration of the occasional buyer of art and antiques. Frankly, times being the way they are, I am not in the financial position to run anyone down and consequently away from my front door. All our businesses are composed of a variety of clients- ranging from the serious collector who makes a few significant purchases every year, to the spot buyer who makes one purchase and then is never again seen. One person’s money- and motivation- is as good as anyone else’s. Don’t let anyone tell you any different- even me.

Keith, Jack and I were pleased to attend the private preview of the upcoming sale of remaining material from Antonio’s Antiques. Our lamented friend and colleague, Antonio Mariani, died two years ago, and this sale, scheduled this Tuesday at Bonham’s and Butterfield’s in San Francisco.

For over 40 years, Antonio conducted a lively trade, and, with a number of his antiques pieces of the, shall we say, overscale variety, he consequently courted a fair number of interior designers working in some consciously overscale houses.

But, knowing Antonio, the type of pieces that were his stock in trade correctly matched the type of man he was- decided overscale. Granted, people had strong opinions about Antonio, but the man had strong opinions himself. Moreover, one never had to guess about his opinions- he was not shy about sharing them.

With all that, Keith and I enjoyed Antonio and we considered him an excellent trading partner. We are glad to hear that, although the antiques side of the business will be scaled back, the restoration side of the business, arguably Antonio’s first love, will carry on.

Not everything in the world revolves around English antiques, but that is my world, for good or for ill, and, consequently, the antiques trade has become my vector.

While the slow economy has certainly impacted the antiques trade, it has nearly wiped out our artisans. It’s simple, really- if we have not much custom, we require not much restoration. Beyond that, few of these folk, talented as they are, have little materially going for them but for their restoration talents. It is difficult, therefore, to go to the bank and ask for financing based upon skill in joinery, restoring paintwork, upholstery or metalsmithing.

Moreover, most of the people we work with would be unknown to us had they not been originally recommended by a respected member of the antiques trade. I don’t know of a one of them who even maintains a Yellow pages listing. Their custom is derived by word of mouth, and most of them prefer to deal with the better antiques dealers. The why of this is not too hard to fathom. When Chappell & McCullar requires restoration of an item- and they all do, frequently from a number of different artisans- we are very specific about what it is we want done. Keith and I have long, involved discussions with our trades people that include figuring to veneers, patination, pigment, historical context….the list goes on and on. The restorers like all this, and so do we, as critical discussion is central to achieving proper restoration.

That little established protocol exists for restoration is the primary reason why our restorers do not like to do work for anyone but serious dealers and the occasional serious collector. Realizing this, as frequently as we are asked to recommend a restorer, we rarely do. I know this sounds snotty, but the occasional collector would have difficulty in instructing the restorer, and if the ultimate job of restoration ends up being satisfactory to the collector, it is oftentimes a happy accident. More often, unfortunately, the collector doesn’t get what he wants, or thinks it is too expensive, or both, and both the collector and the restorer are angry, frustrated, and, the result of this failure to communicate, the restorer has to accept less money for his work than he deserves.