The news media is historically given to hyperbole, so to say the art world is reeling over the revelations of fake Rothko and Pollack paintings is for me, albeit cosseted in my own little sphere, not much news. After the ABC Nightline broadcast, my email inbox was about as full as it always is and no welter of phone calls prevented anyone from ringing through.  In fact, I sold a painting- mind you, a painting by an artist well established in the canon, and the painting itself with a fairly long provenance.  I suppose what I’m saying is that the art world remains pretty much as it’s been.

What amidst the media brouhaha I managed to sell was a painting by an artist whose work we had handled before, which painting had been fairly extensively restored, with the upshot of those restorations creating some problems of their own. While one of the giveaways, per the ABC correspondent, that a Pollack was a phony was the use of a yellow pigment of a type unavailable to the artist, our painting, of mid 19th century vintage with a fine linen support, had been cleaned, revarnished, and mounted on hardboard sometime in the middle of the last century.  Does this make for difficulty in determining a painting’s authenticity? Absolutely. Does or should this kind of thing raise suspicions and affect the picture’s merchantability? Well- yes and no.

I hedge because, frankly, what results in a sale is as varied as the paintings we handle and the buyers who purchase them. We always chuckle when we see on broadcasts like Antiques Roadshow discussions about original condition, because the fact is, for most period material, either fine or decorative, if it is a century or more old, original condition often time means poor, unsalable condition. Invariably, canvas stretches and paint shrinks, leading to paint loss and tears to the support, and the very varnish used to protect the painting’s design layer is typically over time so yellowed and so approaching opacity that what’s depicted in the picture plane is often difficult to make out.  Our general rule of thumb is, whether painting or furniture, everything requires significant restoration at least once a century. When one sees a picture of some age that appears fresh from the easel, what one is admiring, without knowing it, is oftentimes the restorer’s art.  The yellowed varnish that is removed takes with it a fair old bit of the design layer which the skillful restorer oftentimes has to put back with his brush which, he hopes, will be guided by his knowledge of the original artist’s working technique- if that can be determined. Or, as is frequently the case, by the restorer’s own best judgment.

That there is no hard, fast and immutable rule for restoration, and that techniques have changed over time, complicates matters even further.  In the case of the painting remounted on hardboard, we see this fairly often and while it is perhaps not ideal, in the cases where we have seen it, it provided a simple, durable lining. No lining is ideal. Stretching the canvas over the lining and the effect of the heat table invariably result in a flattened appearance, with brushstrokes and impasto marking the technique of the artist diminished in the process.

Perhaps this discussion of restoration runs afield from outright fakery, but the fact is, artworks, even when genuine in their origin, oftentimes, and perhaps inevitably, have that originality occluded the result of attentions that were of the best intention. And these attentions might be interpreted to be if not fakery, than at least misleading.  Moreover, though personally we try to limit whatever restoration we carry out to what is the least required and always the least invasive, most of our clients require that paintings be wall ready and furniture pieces be room ready.  We do, like everyone else, have our living to earn, so pieces do need to be in saleable condition.

That’s where disclosure by the dealer comes in, as it should with all members of the accredited trade, and where better to disclose than in writing and on the face of the invoice.

The art newspapers are full of the possible fate of the Detroit Institute of Arts. Will the so called ‘grand bargain’ that allows a few heavy hitters to stump up save the museum and its artwork, or will there be a selloff in an attempt to whittle down the city’s enormous debt? Based on a Christie’s valuation of a few months ago, with the collection valued in the $500 million range, the grand bargain seemed likely. Now, however, it appears creditors want the collection revalued, with some indication that the Christies figure is very low indeed, with the collection probably worth in the range of several billion dollars.

On the one hand, the disbursal of any great collection is freighted with powerful emotion, and none of them positive, except for those, in this instance, felt by the city’s creditors, but the fact is, collections come and go. Nearly all the period holdings of any institutional collection were at one time owned by someone else, and acquired when the fortunes of the acquisitor were waxing and those of the disbursing party were waning. One can be sentimental about the industrial gigantism that was Detroit through most of the 20th century, a byproduct of which was the purchasing of cultural trophies that bedizened the museum, but that time has come and gone, and the city is in eclipse. No- eclipse implies that its problems are short lived and its fortunes will, in the manner of an eclipse, inevitably recover. Does anyone believe that? I suppose we are all bit by the same nostalgia bug, with the belief that America’s postwar economic expansion will return with the same force and effect as felt by nearly everyone in this country in the 1950’s. As I look out my window, I don’t see a single man with a crew cut, white short sleeve shirt and dark narrow tie, or any women with Mamie Eisenhower bangs. By which I mean, of course, this country and the economic engine that powers it is as different now as the appearance and modes of endeavor of its population.

To think the Detroit Institute of Arts and its collections should be saved as a public institution is, in the abstract, laudable in the way that making culture accessible to the general run of the populace who might not otherwise have access to it is always laudable, but now the collection serves a purpose that might yield it of far greater and much more immediate importance than it held formerly. The Detroit Institute of Arts as a civic ornament has, as the city it adorned, seen its day come, and now that day has gone.

We are pleased to be on familiar turf, which turf is actually incorporated into the adobe walls of our Cliff May design premises. ‘No place like home’? Not exactly- but something along the line of a realization, in my seventh decade, that one’s hometown is an ineluctable part of one’s matrix. Of course, a body can change locales, but takes with him inescapable elements of home. I cannot ever escape the link I have with the clay soil of this neighborhood and at this point in my life, I have no desire to.

Some wags when reading this might, when considering our move, borrow a thought from Louis D’Ascoyne in ‘Kind Hearts and Coronets’, to the tune of changing the medieval splendors of Chalfont Castle for the modern conveniences of Balaclava Avenue, SW, but as with Fresno’s impact, so has everything else had an effect, arguably not as great, but nevertheless things that, wherever and how often I move, will stay with me. The occasional whiff of coal smoke on a cold night in Islington, the smell of sewer gas at Jackson and Sansome in San Francisco, and the enveloping warmth of the plumeria scented night air in Honolulu. Why all these smells? In fact, the clay soil of old Fig Garden in Fresno has a particular smell that when damp, adobe bricks give off, too. I don’t really know why scent is the predominant sense as I write this. Actually, I do- the lawn is being mowed and the scent of newly mown grass is pervasive as it can only be on a warm Fresno day.

We’ll further consider vernacular Fresno- art, architecture, and culture generally. My own interest aside, I have to say, however, that the arts organizations locally find fundraising more than a modest struggle, the presumption on the part of the well heeled donor base that anything locally must perforce be second (or third or fourth) rate, that high culture is a phenomenon found in the great urban centers. Piffle. Culture is the natural byproduct of the sentient beings we all are, and from the vantage point of experience, over sixty years worth, I look forward to exploring this from the respite of Shaw Avenue.

An early morning email from one of the better local designers at once chided me for moving away from Jackson Square, but, having left the neighborhood herself a few months ago, quickly told me that moving was the best thing she ever did. I must say, we still have the occasional feeling of ambivalence, as we do have some people down here we will miss seeing, but believe me, by no means everyone.

A few of you know that for a significant part of my working life, I was engaged in commercial lending with a large bank. Asset based lines of credit to middle market companies, with the occasional commercial real estate loan, were what kept me busy, and up to the mark, as most of the businesses I dealt with, although legal entities, were basically the alter egos of the primary owner. All self made, they were to a person extremely sharp and always with their heads in the game. Then, too, were my colleagues within the bank- a few were occupied primarily with keeping the seat of the swivel chair warm, but mostly they were bright and hardworking. All, both customers and colleagues, had strong opinions that they were not reluctant to give voice to. That said, strident conversations were a rarity.

I say this because, in our years in the trade, strident conversations with colleagues are a frequent occurrence. It has astonished me what a petty, spiteful group of individuals are gathered together in one vocation. The why of this is mystifying, but the result of long custom, no longer surprising. A bit of insight was given me early on by one of our less collegial neighbors who, when I decried the leaving of a vaunted colleague on the street for the greener pastures of New York City, told me, and I quote- ‘What do you care? That’s just that much more business for the rest of us.’ What a fool. Any diminution of a venue makes it less of a venue and less of a destination for buyers. The not surprising upshot, when the dealer in question left Jackson Square, we noticed no uptick in business. Using our surviving colleague’s rationale, we should all of us be millionaires, because where we once had nearly 30 dealers in the neighborhood, we now have three. And when we leave, there will be two. They will reap, I suppose, but what they will reap will be the whirlwind.

It seems, though, that the penny did eventually drop, but it hasn’t resulted in anything but additional spitefulness and backstabbing. We had not so long ago a gentleman interested in a piece of our stock, but it was an item about which he was unfamiliar and wanted to have someone of expert mien provide a second opinion. We never say no to this, although it is a circumstance that rarely presents itself. Still, nothing happened until a week or so later, one of our neighbors presented himself right at 5PM. He had been drinking and his first remark was ‘Well, I guess you know why I’m here.’ I didn’t, but when he asked to see the item in question, I put two and two together. His examination was at best cursory, however, and he left without further comment. In fact, nothing further was said to us at all, save being copied on an email sent to the prospective buyer warning him off the purchase, citing a couple of inaccurate and biased criteria. Mind you, this is someone whose own place of business is less than the throwing distance of a large stone away from our front door, yet he did not extend the courtesy of discussing this matter any further with us, before he contacted the client in an effort to put the boot in. I must say, when Keith and  I read the email, we instantly paid a call on our neighbor and told him he was an asshole. We were not so upset, however, that we failed to notice in his shop an item similar to the one he was engaged to assess. Whether his attempt to knife us resulted in a sale for him I don’t know, but what I can say for sure is that he gained our everlasting enmity. Sue him? Ironically, he did us a favor. We sold the piece shortly thereafter for more money.

Diminishing a colleague’s stock in order to put forth one’s own seems to be a favorite trick and it can be accomplished in a variety of different ways. Not so long ago, we had a vetting issue at an antiques fair on an item that we knew was perfectly fine. Rather than relabel our piece with a description we knew to be inaccurate, we decided to just not exhibit the piece. What a surprise to find, later during the run of the fair, the dealer that had raised issue with our item, brought in something similar of his own- with the connivance of the vetting chair! Again, we were in the long run not damaged, as we sold the item to an institutional collector.

While one might initially suppose that commercial advantage (read ‘greed’) might explain a fair amount of this, it is hard for me to believe that so many of our colleagues would be so stupid as to think that a sale lost by me will necessarily result in a sale for them. Witness, of course, the dealers who’ve left, with no increase in revenue for those of us who survive. Beyond that, though, none of us have the same stock or the same look. Similar, perhaps, but the overall aesthetic that each dealer brings to his stock in trade is unlike that of any other dealer. We have people who will trade with us almost exclusively, while our colleagues certainly have a loyal cadre of buyers, as well. While we do have all of us spot sales, no one’s business is built on it. Even on the internet, we find that, as much as in the storefront, buyers still like our signature look and tend to return.

In the late 1980’s and through the 1990’s, though, dealers at least locally cut a fat hog, with dot com companies and their stock option rich owners buying wildly, with dealers achieving incredible markups. With the crash, everyone’s fortunes changed, with dealers very much diminished, both in revenue but also, crucially, in outlook. Keith and I missed all that, beginning trading full time in mid 2002. We’ve never known anything but tough sledding, but our surviving colleagues have never recovered their equanimity following the glory years. We see ego run amuck all the time. One nearby colleague whose fortunes are vastly reduced will tell anyone within five minutes of meeting them, regardless of subject or appropriateness, about his participation in the New York Winter Antiques Show. Our most telling experience, and ongoing for our entire tenure in business, is the absence- I don’t mean dearth, I mean total absence- of referral business from other dealers. I don’t mean it seldom happens- I mean it never happens. Our attitude has always been one of trying to keep business local. If we don’t have what the customer is looking for, we happily will refer them to someone we think might. As well, we do make purchases from other dealers from time to time, usually with a particular customer in mind. This always engenders- wait for it- ill-will from the dealer from whom we make the purchase. ‘Ill-will’? Yes, in spades. Not so long ago, we purchased a set of 12 chairs from a curmudgeonly colleague for a client who happened to ask us for a long set of chairs. When we returned to the dealer to also purchase a sidetable, he brushed us aside, telling us that, next time the client was in town, he could come in and make the purchase himself. The fact was, the client had been in, but found the dealer and his premises so off-putting, he had no desire to return.

So, while I suppose we still have some lingering ambivalence about closing our storefront, none of it is associated with the benighted neighbors we’ll be leaving behind. God bless them, as they stew within their own juices.