Maine Antique Digest, March 2017

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18-A Maine Antique Digest, March 2017
- FEATURE -
18-A
The Devil’s Dictionary of Antiques Collecting: Part 4
by Baron Perlman
This is the last installment of “The Devil’s Dictionary of
Antiques Collecting.” What a wondrous language we use.
And perhaps more technical and mysterious than we realize.
Polychrome—This is one term that is relatively easy to parse. Poly
means “many” and chrome (chroma) indicates “color.” So why not
call a carved piece of wood “colored?” I guess that would indicate
one color and perhaps not many colors. You could, of course, call
something “many colored,” but that is prosaic and not the stuff of
jargon or exotic language. Of course there is Joseph and his coat of
many colors, or should we say his “polychrome coat.” You get the
point.
Rare— Everyone knows what rare means—scarce, hard to find,
infrequent, few and far between. But many on the outside of the
antiques world, and even some within, have a built-in notion that
rare means valuable, and thus expensive. Dealers and knowledgeable
collectors know that is far from the case.
Why might an antique be rare? Well, for example, it could be that
a very expensive (and I mean expensive when it was constructed) set
of eight dining chairs was ordered
in Philadelphia in the last quarter of
the 18th century. And the patron or
merchant wanted the latest design.
And it turns out that the shop from
which he ordered had a master carver (few and far between). That set
of chairs would be rare in and of itself. And if one or two of the set
of eight are missing and you find one, go buy a new automobile or
add on to your house—jackpot. It is rare and dearly priced because
of its form, provenance, and beauty.
On the other hand, a piece can be unique or rare and not be worth
a farthing (quarter of a penny, or one nine hundred and sixtieth of a
pound sterling. Minted of bronze and first issued during the reign of
Queen Victoria, it wasn’t worth much, to say the least. But I digress).
Rare could mean so unusually awkward or, excuse the term, ugly,
that few were made, and even fewer preserved. A case piece can be
so wide or deep or tall as to be ungainly and clearly unpleasing to
the eye but rare. I could go on. A piece that is rare and worthy of
stewardship will probably be a “ten” in whatever genre it exists in,
and therefore will be beyond most collectors’ pocketbooks.
Sandpaper Painting—Well, this one is easy, or it should be. It is
a painting on sandpaper, right? Nope. Nor is there abrasion from
sandpaper in the paint. Sandpaper paintings are often Hudson Valley
or Civil War renditions. Young ladies did much but not all of this
work, and the art form was taught in academies in the 1850s.
I have read that marble particles were mixed in the paint to achieve
the effect. Others describe the process as covering a drawing board
with white paint and when it was not quite dry sifting pulverized
marble through finely woven muslin onto the surface. Charcoal
and, rarer yet, pastel in stick or powdered form created the images’
shapes. To achieve lighting and definition, some of the board could
be left untouched, or the material could be rubbed away with an
eraser or leather or a sharp knife. The end result is that the painting
glows or shines.
Sandpaper paintings are more vital and mellow than “normal”
paintings. By the mid-19th century they were sometimes called
Historical blue Sta ordshire, Liverpool pitchers,
War of 1812 luster jugs, and snu oxes of American interest.
One piece or a collection. All letters answered. Instant cash paid.
W. R. Kurau, Jr.
P.O. Box 457, Lampeter, PA 17537
717-464-0731 • e-mail:
WANTED TO BUY
Grecian or monochromatic paintings. But as you by
now have concluded, sandpaper is nowhere to be
found.
Scrub Top—Surely this is a top of something that
has been scrubbed. Exactly. You’ve defined it. Think
of a tavern table used in the 18th century. It may
have begun with a painted, shellacked, or otherwise
finished surface. But such objects’ surfaces are
going to be cleaned repeatedly. What happens is that
any surface disappears, and the piece is left with a
raw wood top. That is a scrub top. Some collectors
prize a scrubbed top. It can really offset a painted
or dark wood base. I for one do not like the look
but appreciate what it represents, if genuine. It is
easy to fake, obviously. New furniture is sold with a
“scrub top” that has a natural wood appearance, but
it does have a finish on it to protect it.
Smalls —Smalls are antiques that will fit
anywhere when one is filling a house or decorating.
“But what they are cannot be as easy as that,” you
say, and you are correct. For example, a small
piece of silver would be called silver. And small
framed silhouettes or paintings are called artwork,
silhouettes, or paintings. In one of Jonathan Gash’s
books about Lovejoy—one of the most beloved
fictional antiques dealers to ever exist—he calls
a small a “finger,” something small enough to be
held in one’s hand. I think of smalls as something
one can buy at a dealer’s shop or an antiques show
and easily carry away in a shopping bag or stick
under your arm. Note the term “easily.” I am not
sure that a small cannonball that weighs a great deal
would be considered a small, despite its size. Think
something no bigger than a breadbox.
Smalls are not a smaller version of a “large.”
When looking at a child’s Windsor chair one might
say, “That’s a really small Windsor.” But that
doesn’t make it a small. Just as a dwarf clock is
surely smaller than a regular size tall-case one. The
same is true for most salesmen samples. Again, one
knows a small when one sees one. Fabergé eggs do
not qualify, nor does jewelry. Smalls can be truly
expensive if they are wonderfully painted boxes,
firkins (round wooden containers with a cover and
a handle), and the like. A very expensive small box
with original paint and provenance known or if the
location of where it was made can be identified
becomes a large to some people.
Smalls are typically more modest in history and
use, such as boxes of all shapes, kitchenware, and
1001 other objects that had a household use long
ago. I think most smalls have a utilitarian use.
Redware, spongeware, Rockingham, and other
small-size pottery would be defined as smalls. On a
drop-front desk one might find a quill holder, sander
(used to blot the ink), a pipe tamper, and perhaps a
painted tin box. Are the brass candlesticks on the
desk smalls? Good question. Some folks would
consider them brassware. Just as I think that a
small piece of glass belongs to the “glass” category
rather than as a small. There is, of course, reason
to differ on what one defines as a small. I would
think a small toy is a toy. I would think a pincushion
would be a small, but perhaps to a diehard collector
it falls in the sewing or textile realm. Of course this
“Devil’s Dictionary” is meant to be more fun than
definitive. Attend an antiques show and look in the
cases that dealers have in their booths. Therein you
will find many smalls. Adealer’s website often calls
smalls “accessories.”
Smalls complete a room. A Colonial room with
a wooden floor, molding, and furniture would look
bare without some smalls to round the edges and
complete the setting. Many wonderful collections
are marked as much by their smalls as by anything
else. Smalls are important.
Speaks, The Antique—Ask a non-antiques
collector if antiques can talk and you will get looks
as if you are out of your mind. Of course antiques
cannot talk. They are inanimate objects after all.
But collectors hear their voices; antiques certainly
can speak. They tell you what was fashionable way
back when and how they evolved. AWindsor chair
in the 1830s or ’40s might have had dabs of gold
paint (teardrops) put on its spindles, for example.
Antiques tell you who was negligent of their needs
(look for replaced hinges, replacement glass in
cupboards, and so forth). They tell you how styles
changed (a transitional Chippendale chair). If you
listen they will remind you what marvels they are to
have survived this long, and who doesn’t get a ding
or two along the way?
But the truest sense of “an antique speaking to
you” is one telling you, despite its size or how
hidden it may be on a shelf of smalls, or in a
dealer’s booth or shop, that I am really good! Once
you know something about various forms and
objects, you let the antique tap you on the shoulder.
You simply stand in a dealer’s booth at an antiques
show or in his or her shop, and feel. It is eerie. Put
your conscious mind aside for the moment, and
then simply observe which way you turn and what
antique you walk toward. If an antique is a ten,
and you have some knowledge of what a ten is, the
antique will whisper or shout to you.
Sure, collectors at crowded shows often do a
quick “walk through” or two, especially if they are
looking for a piece they have been searching for
forever. But I believe the bliss of being a collector
is when the show thins out and you have the luxury
of strolling, of simply standing and listening. But,
of course, you have to be in to know to do that, and
in to know what to call your behavior. As for the
antique, it already knows it is speaking to you.
Treen—One would think that small wooden
objects, usually for domestic purposes—think
bowls and the like—would be called woodenware,
wooden utensils, domestic woodenware, or wooden
“stuff.” But no, technical language wins out. So it
is called treen or treenware. Treen is made up of
small domestic functional objects made entirely
of wood, and some hold that the term applies only
to antiques. So you would not call your new salad
bowl treenware if you belonged to this school of
thought. (On the other hand, I guess you could if
you wanted since there is reproduction treenware
for sale.) The term derives from the old English and
modern English “tree,” think tree-en. As best as I
can determine, its use began about 1800. It consists
of bowls, cups with stems, mortar and pestles,
shoehorns, needle cases, snuffboxes, dough bowls,
measuring “cups,” trenchers, trays, and spoons. The
term does not apply to chests of drawers, tables, and
other wooden pieces. I have read that the term does
apply to agricultural wooden objects, but I assume
they must be small. A wooden plow would not be
termed treenware. Close-grained native trees were
chosen for their wood, sycamore and beech, for
example. Treen is jargon personified.
Volute—A volute is a spiral scroll found in Ionic
and later Corinthian columns. Now if a Windsor
chair has an ear on each side of the top known as
a comb piece or crest rail—a round piece of wood
with a spiral carved into it—we call that a volute.
The same is true for the arm of a Windsor chair
ending in a carved scroll. The end of the arm is often
called a knuckle, and if the knuckle has a carved
spiral incised in it, that is the volute. Woodworkers
have sets of tools for such carving, and one can find
YouTube videos of carving volutes. One first has
to draw where the carving will take place and then
carefully carve the volute. It gives a fancy look to
my eye; I like volutes.
Conclusion
We have come to the end of this edition of “The
Devil’s Dictionary of Antiques Collecting.” By now
you should be on your way to being an informed
insider in the antiques world, or at the least, not
embarrassing yourself. The former professor in me
calls for a quiz at the end of our musings, but we will
forsake one. The true measure of your learning lies
in your knowing the paradoxes and twists and turns
the language of antiques takes as all involved try to
discuss, define, and demonstrate that they know what
they are talking about. And we do, don’t we?
I am certain that I have omitted words in the
antiques world that are the equivalent of verbal
secret handshakes. If you have some great words
that belong in “The Devil’s Dictionary ofAntiques,”
please let me know. I will be more than happy to
write an addendum. I have done the best I can. It is
time to rest.
I can be reached at > and
welcome your comments.
What a wondrous
language we use.