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.

You’ve read my earlier blogs about the ecommerce giant whose business model was found lacking by a French court a couple of months ago. Specifically, the company was found liable for damages for allowing knock-offs of luxury goods to be marketed on its site. In this country, Tiffany’s sued the same company for the same reason and likewise seeking damages, but a Federal court found that it is Tiffany’s responsibility to protect its brand, not the ecommerce giant’s- the ecommerce giant only provides a sales platform for others. When the offering of knock-offs is brought to its attention, they say they ‘aggressively’ endeavor to get them removed from the site. That’s large of them….

The giant’s business model is pretty simple, assuming both buyer and seller are honest, with the ecommerce giant functioning as an honest broker, providing, for a fee, an online sales platform to bring buyer and seller together. In a perfect world. Unfortunately, as anyone who has patronized this ecommerce site can tell you, it is fraught with abuse. Of course, the conscious sale of fraudulent merchandise is the most reprehensible, but I’ll give most sellers the benefit of the doubt and just say that a fair percentage are just plain ignorant about their material. One swallow does not a summer make, but, exemplar gratis, let me cite something that occurred just as I was about to pen this blog entry.

I received in my morning’s e-mail a wordy message from a lady who offered what she described as a ‘unique, one of a kind’ (redundant, I know, but A-level language skills are not required of online sellers) mahogany and metal lined box. She had made some astonishing claims about the materials used, the rarity of this type of box, and its provenance. The fact is, this poor benighted soul was offering something very, very ordinary indeed, and in terms of provenance- well, I guess you’d just have to take her word for it. A couple of months ago, I wrote a fairly long entry on the subject of provenance, and, without reprising that entire blog, claiming provenance isn’t enough. When we, or any other accredited antiques dealer, indicate provenance, it is backed up with written documentation- original invoice, probate inventory, or the like- that links the piece with its original owner, or photographs that show the piece in situ in its original location. Certainly, if you were to purchase a piece at a vetted antiques show, the dealer who is claiming provenance would be obliged by the vetting committee to produce such documentary evidence before the piece could be offered in the dealer’s booth. ‘Take my word for it’ cuts very little ice. Oh, and I know you want to ask what price the lady wanted for her gem of a box- let me say it was a multiple of about 10 times what it was worth, but less than what most of us would hassle over once we’d found we’d overpaid.

Of course, this begs the question- how can the ecommerce giant possibly police something like this? The short answer is, they can’t, and apparently they are, in this country at least, under no legal obligation to do so, either, even if the abuse of their model is egregious and widespread- witness Tiffany’s recent experience. Although ecommerce is the most modern of modern commercial phenomena, ironically it is one of the oldest of all business axioms that applies, in spades, to the ecommerce giant’s model- caveat emptor.

Although I endeavor to stay current, I’m always happy for information from my admittedly small cadre of loyal readers. A kind lady forwarded an article published in the October, 2007, edition of W hailing the rebirth of sleepy old Mount Street in London as a hotbed of fashion, with the primary focus the opening of a Marc Jacobs store. With the Connaught at one end and Berkeley Square at the other and Scott’s right in the middle, I’d hardly say that Mount Street was off the beaten path, and sleepy? Not even the most jaded urban somnambulist could call it that.

You might recall my own blog entry from precisely a year earlier, October 11, 2006, in fact, when I decried the death of Mount Street as an antiques venue, with the just then announced departure of Pelham Galleries, and the loss a couple of years earlier of Stair and Company. Although longtime dealer Kenneth Neame is still in place and was mentioned in the W article, none of the other surviving dealers- Alastair Sampson or Blairman and Sons- were, and Pelham, the former tenant of Marc Jacob’s new space was not, either. In fact, dismissal of dismissals, the author of the article said the new shop moved in to ‘a former antiques store.’ Hmmm…the ark of the Lord has fallen into the hands of the Philistines.

What fractures me is that, in a section of W identified as ‘Fashion’, what is reported is less a phenomenon of fashion than the effect of aggressive brand marketing. One can’t argue with the success of LMVH, the French multi-billion dollar luxury brands conglomerate that is the owner of Marc Jacobs, and Louis Vuitton, and Givenchy, and Donna Karan, and Thomas Pink….the list is extensive. And, of course, it is difficult to compete with the amount of capital LMVH is able to throw at the development of a brand, including the establishment of storefronts. Mount Street is all leasehold, with the owner in fee simple England’s largest landowner, the Grosvenor family, whose patriarch is the Duke of Westminster.  A leasing agent for the Grosvenor Estate waxed eloquent about the excitement associated with the arrival of Marc Jacobs, and a couple of other couture houses, and how this would revitalize Mount Street. Of course, His Grace needs to earn his daily crust, but I don’t really think Mount Street, or any other part of Mayfair or the West End generally, is in danger of becoming blighted.

But, as I think about it, ‘blighted’ might be thought a relative term. That the likes of Pelham Galleries are replaced by international, multi-outlet luxury brand fashionistas might be thought something of a blight. Of course, it isn’t like a McDonald’s or BurgerKing going on to Mount Street- but, then, those are international brands, too.

A geographic cataclysm has occurred in San Francisco and I wasn’t even aware of it. Apparently the high country of the Sierra Nevada Mountains has moved to within a short walking distance of the city. That has to be the reason so many people riding the San Francisco Municipal Railway are sporting backpacks that bulge as far to the rear of them as Aunt Tillie’s ass.

What can they have in those backpacks that, when moving to the right or left, function to knock down hapless passengers adjacent? My partner Keith McCullar and I use public transportation to commute back and forth and never carry any more than the occasional saleroom catalog or magazine to peruse at home, and keys and wallet on our person. Believe me, my wallet is never very fat, so doesn’t protrude far enough to ever be a danger to anyone.

Of course, none of these people are going hiking, in spite of their ostensibly packing survival gear. But a lot of it is sport, with a number of them presumably gym members packing their kit, and ample objets de toilette for afterward.

Mind you, I wouldn’t criticize anyone who sought to exercise to improve health and enhance one’s overall quality of life. Although swatted with backpacks I find a detriment to my own quality of life, it is a minor one, and anything that should eventually function to lower health care costs for the general population and eliminate the visual eyesore of the porcine from my field of vision is okay with me.

We did, Keith and me, not so very long ago spend a bit of time regularly at the gym. As Keith was about to turn 40, he was determined to lose a few pounds and get into better shape. Our physician at the time had counseled us both that losing weight at 40 is do-able, and nigh unto impossible at 50. Sage advice- a decade on, I can testify that our doctor clearly knew what he was talking about in the weight loss department.

Keith engaged a personal trainer upon the recommendation of an erstwhile acquaintance who, as it happened, trained with the trainer the hour before our appointed time. Keith and I dutifully went to the gym four nights a week- an hour to train and an extra 40 minutes or so to walk on the treadmill for cardio conditioning. We did this for the best part of a year. Grueling it wasn’t, but I can’t say that either of us ever got into it. That is one of the things that pass my understanding, how many people, particularly men- not just gay men, but it seemed as though the gym was replete with them, the storied gym bunnies- who make going to workout their whole lives. We couldn’t do it.

We would have been content to keep this regimen up, I suppose, but one day Keith happened to notice how our acquaintance was achieving some, not spectacular, but significant change in the bulk and muscle definition department. He was progressing quickly from the gym bunny to the muscle bunny category. Keith inquired of our friend, who we knew was working out no more than we were, what accounted for this, and was told that our trainer was juicing him with human growth hormone for muscle bulk and testosterone for muscle definition. No kidding. We were appalled and quit the gym, and the trainer, that very evening.

Since that time, what? four years ago or so, I suppose Keith and I have gained a little weight- no euphemism here, just a little weight. We walk about 2 miles a day or so, taking the circuitous route to the Muni station for the ride to and from work. Strength training? If you knew how often we move furniture in our galleries, you wouldn’t ask that question. And we both feel good. Oh, and we do get some exercise dodging the backpacks of the non-recalcitrant gym bunnies.