Maine Antique Digest March 2015

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Maine Antique Digest, March 2015 11-A
Sotheby’s October 21, 2008, sale of
her estate totaled $5,665,006. Sothe-
by’s October 29, 2014, “Part II” sale
of her estate totaled $2,045,668.
The suit claims that Gallery 63 ad-
vised the Knispels in 1994 in connec-
tion with the sale that it would arrange
to have the painting appraised by an
“expert” in the field, Laurence Casper
(d. 2014) and Casper Fine Arts. The
estate of Laurence Casper and Casper
Fine Art & Appraisals are named as
defendants in the suit.
Casper examined the painting in
October 1994, the suit claims. His
written appraisal reads, “[A]s request-
ed...I have examined the painting in
detail and find the brush strokes, the
painting texture and the draftsmanship
consistent with Rockwell’s technique.
The type of faces and expressions
are typical of his characters in other
paintings as well. The painting is not
recorded and I believe the painting
was commissioned for an advertise-
ment and never used. In my opinion,
[the Painting] is an original by Nor-
man Rockwell with all the humor and
artistic quality that Rockwell created
in all his works.”
With the appraisal in hand, the Knis-
pels completed the purchase, and
the painting has hung on their wall
ever since. The Knispels insured the
painting, and by February 27, 2013,
the retail replacement value was
$1,750,000, “pending receipt of ev-
idence of authenticity.” Chubb, the
insurance carrier, required that the
painting, along with other works of art
in the Knispel collection, be examined
to determine authenticity and current
value.
This time, New York Fine Art Ap-
praisers examined the painting, and
the findings were not good. The ap-
praisal report noted that the painting
is not an “original oil on canvas by
Norman Rockwell.” Instead it was
determined to be an illustration for
a Mobil Oil advertisement by Con-
necticut and Massachusetts illustrator
and commercial artist Harold An-
derson (1894-1973), titled Patching
Pants. Worse, the report noted that
the “Rockwell signature was painted
over the signature of the original artist
and that this alteration is (and should
have been) open and obvious to any
appraiser with training and experience
similar to Casper’s,” the suit claims.
The Knispels have been advised that
the painting is now valued at only
$20,000.
(The highest auction price for a
Harold Anderson we could find was
$17,500, paid at Heritage Auctions in
October 2012 for Peace on Earth .)
The Knispels are charging breach of
contract, negligence, fraud, and viola-
tion of New Jersey’s Consumer Fraud
Act.
No Regrets
by George Bulanda
One of Édith Piaf’s big hits
was “Non, je ne regrette
rien ” (No, I regret nothing), but I
doubt the French chanteuse was
a collector.
All collectors and dealers have
regrets about purchases, some of
them costly. If they deny they’ve
made mistakes, they’re either
too embarrassed to admit them
or think the admission will erode
their credibility.
We have a habit of talking
ruefully about the ones that got
away, the great antiques that,
because of a Hamlet-like inde-
cision, escaped our clutches and
landed in someone else’s hands.
We knew they were good, rare,
or valuable, but we let them slip
away.
Yet, how about the pieces we
wish had gotten away, the ob-
jects we paid too much for or
bought before we had sufficient
knowledge about a particular
antique? Maybe, early on in our
collecting enthusiasm, we were
sweet-talked into a purchase by
a wily dealer or an insufficiently
educated owner, or perhaps we
just got swept away at an auction
and bid far higher than what an
item was worth.
Sometimes we convince our-
selves that an object is authentic
or rare because we want so much
to believe it, despite evidence
to the contrary. Nobody likes
to talk about those lunkheaded
buys, but in the spirit of facing
the still-fresh new year, I’ll come
clean about my, let’s say, “mis-
calculations.”
There’s an anatomical chain
reaction that’s typical of most
antiques transactions—eye-
heart-brain. We have all heard
of people with “a good eye” who
can spot quality or rarity. If it’s
pleasing to the eye, the heart is
the next organ to take over. Do
I really love it? If not, that’s as
far as it goes, but if so, the brain
is the final organ to sound off.
Sometimes it’s an alarm. Yes,
the piece is pretty, but it’s a fake,
made to look old. Or, certainly it
has charm, but the craftsmanship
is second-rate. Finally, the mind
has to decide if the asking price
is fair.
The big problem comes when
the heart refuses to listen to the
brain. Don’t underestimate the
pull of sentiment or romance;
it’s made fools of us all. As Edna
St. Vincent Millay wrote at the
end of her Sonnet 29, “Pity me
that the heart is slow to learn /
When the swift mind beholds at
every turn.”
Atop my piano sits a carved
wood Buddha, black-lacquered
and showing traces of red and
gold paint. If only he could talk
he could tell me plenty, such as
when he was actually made and
by whom. An ad for an estate
sale mentioned that the carving
dated from the 16th century with
a certificate of authenticity to ac-
company it. But when I arrived
at the sale and saw the Mon-style
figure, my skepticism kicked
into high gear. Why wasn’t the
lacquer crackled with time, and
why wasn’t the exposed wood
at the back darkened with age?
And may I please see that “cer-
tificate of authenticity”?
When it was presented to me,
I almost gasped. There was no
address or phone number of the
company that had authenticated
the piece, only the illegible sig-
nature of someone who verified
that it was “Mon Style, Pagan
Period,” dating from the 16th
century and a “Genuine Bur-
mese Antique.” Oh, and that
Old English typeface really lent
credence! As tennis great John
McEnroe would say, “Are you
serious?”
When I voiced my reserva-
tions, the woman running the
sale countered with a non se-
quitur: “This man could afford
almost anything.” Perhaps, but
wealth doesn’t shield one from
naiveté and vulnerability. She
produced a bill of sale from a
long-gone shop in Detroit. The
man paid $2250 for it in 1982,
and the estate sale company was
asking, I believe, $950.
There were more red flags
than at a matadors’ convention,
but there was also something I
liked about this contemplative
figure, so seraphic and serene.
In my mind, I began to make ex-
cuses. Maybe the wood wasn’t
darkened in the back because it
was against a wall for centuries.
And perhaps the lacquer wasn’t
crackled because of a more con-
stant climate in Burma. Against
my better judgment, I bought it,
though I was able to get the price
reduced to $800.
In time a clearer head pre-
vailed. I suspect it actually dates
from the early 20th century, ages
later than what was claimed, and
was probably worth about a third
of the amount I paid.
On another occasion I bought a
boudoir lamp, the base of which
is made of carved ivory; this
was well before the flap about
buying and selling ivory. The
antiques shop owner guessed
the carving was done in the late
19th century and later made into
a lamp. I didn’t doubt it and still
don’t today. It sits on a rosewood
base with an amethyst implant-
ed in the center. It had a cheap,
unsuitable shade, so I replaced
it with an expensive Asian-style
silk one. I told a dealer friend
who specializes in Asian piec-
es about it, and he asked to see
it. He took one glance and gri-
maced. “That’s an inferior piece
of carving,” he weighed in with
crushing authority. “Nice shade,
though.” Ouch.
He suggested I go back to the
store and ask for my money back
($500), but I was too humiliated.
Why had I acted so impulsively?
Why hadn’t I compared it to su-
perior pieces of ivory I’d seen? It
was about 125 years old, but age
doesn’t always translate to qual-
ity. Too late. It sits on top of an
early 19th-century painted Chi-
nese cabinet as a reminder—a
lesson, really—of a bad move on
my part.
Another flub almost happened
at an auction. I got caught up in
the moment, but when the heat
was on, I braked instead of ac-
celerated—to my credit. I was in
a battle with a telephone bidder
over a circa 1900 painting by
an accomplished Detroit artist.
I even had a place picked out
where it would hang. But the
bidding escalated into a region
that was too steep, well beyond
the estimate and what the artist’s
works were selling for at the
time.
“What are you doing?” I re-
proached myself. “And don’t
forget the buyer’s premium and
taxes,” my inner voice warned.
When it was my turn again to
counterbid, I kept the paddle on
my lap. I felt defeated, but also
oddly triumphant.
About a year later I saw the
painting at a local antiques shop
for an even higher price than
what it sold for at auction.
“So you’re the one I was bid-
ding against,” I said to the pro-
prietor.
He admitted he was and of-
fered to let me have it for what
he paid, including the buyer’s
premium and taxes.
“No thanks,” I said. “I think
you spent too much.”
You see, he was the same fel-
low who had sold me the poorly
carved ivory lamp. I didn’t ex-
actly feel vindicated, but as an
antiques buyer, I did go away
feeling smarter.
Pewter & Wood Antiques’ ninth annual
Alzheimer’s Silent Auction Benefit for
Research is being held March 21 in Cave Creek,
Arizona. All items are donated by customers,
dealers, and supporters. Donations of antiques
are currently being accepted through March 13.
Donations are tax deductible, and theAlzheimer’s
Association will mail out letters directly to donors
after the benefit. If you are interested in making
a donation, contact Barb Johnson for a mailing
address.
An on-line catalog with photographs will
be available beginning March 16 on Pewter &
Wood’s Web site .
com). Bidding may be done in person as well as
by phone. Successful bids are payable by check
made out to Alzheimer’s Association Desert
Southwest, memo: Research. Direct all questions
to Barb Johnson, Pewter & Wood Antiques, at
(602) 677-5686.
by Shaun Markey
In the realm of folk art, woodcarving
is a popular collectible. The Ottawa
Valley in Canada was home to a
number of folk artists who worked
in wood. One in particular, Charles
Vollrath (1870-1952) of Chalk River,
Ontario, was immensely talented,
and his carvings of wildlife, angels,
and other religious items are highly
sought after by collectors. Vollrath
was active in the 1930s and ’40s
producing woodcarvings, which he
sold to tourists at a roadside stand.
From that small stand, his carvings
were distributed throughout Canada,
the U.S., and beyond.
Recently, Chad Vollrath of Sarnia,
Ontario, a grandson of Vollrath, read
my book Folk Art in the Attic, which
included a passage about his grand-
father in a chapter about folk artists.
As it turned out, he wanted to find
a carving by his grandfather to give
to his father as a gift. It was nice to
receive the e-mail, but unfortunately
I knew his search was going to be a
difficult one. I certainly didn’t have
a Vollrath carving in my collection,
and it had been several years since I
had seen one, but I told him I would
keep my eyes open and would let
him know if I came across any ex-
amples of his grandfather’s art.
A few months went by. Then one
day, I decided to make the rounds
of a few antiques stores downtown.
Popping in once a week to review a
dealer’s inventory is standard proce-
dure for almost all collectors.
I included one store that I visit
only infrequently. I climbed the stairs
to the second level, said hello to the
owner/dealer, and proceeded to wan-
der through the maze of rooms piled
high with all manner of books, paint-
ings, antiques, and various collect-
ibles. Some antiques dealers prefer
the “jumble” approach. Pile the stuff
everywhere and anywhere within
the shop, and let customers have the
fun and the challenge of searching
through the store looking for a par-
ticular item. This dealer takes that
model to a whole new level.
I wandered here and there through
his store and returned to where he
was seated in a chair near the en-
trance. We chatted for a few mo-
ments about the state of the antiques
business in general. It was about
two o’clock in the afternoon. I was
standing next to a table brimming
with small antiques. My left foot was
touching a stack of paintings piled on
the floor. Light streamed in through
the dusty windows behind me.
Just then, an elderly man emerged
from the entrance hallway and took
a few steps into the shop area, where
he paused for a moment in front of
the two of us. He was breathing a lit-
tle heavily from coming up the long
flight of stairs that led to the shop. He
wore a beige overcoat that seemed a
few sizes too large for him. In his left
hand he was carrying a paper shop-
ping bag. Jutting out from the top
of the bag were the antlers and the
head of a very large woodcarving of
a moose.
My eyes immediately locked on to
the bag. I blurted out, “Hey, is that a
Vollrath or Patterson carving?” (Abe
Patterson [1899-1969] was another
very talented carver. His work is also
highly sought after.) Undeterred by
my question, the old man crossed in
front of me and sat down heavily in
Searching for the Works of a Master Woodcarver—Charles Vollrath
Antiques to Help Beat
Alzheimer’s
the armchair across from the dealer. He placed the bag
in front of him on the floor. Slowly, he reached down
and extracted the piece from the bag and held it briefly
in the air in front of him.
I knew immediately this was an impressive carving
by Charles Vollrath. Of course, I was anxious to buy it.
The dealer reached over and took the carving and began
to examine it. The old man explained that while bring-
ing the piece down to the store he had broken one of the
The author and the circa 1930 carving, which stands about
2' high and is carved from a single block of wood.