Antique Grubbing
Once bitten by that particular bug there is no surcease, never any relief, the search goes on. Occasionally met with success, more often not. Of course if one is blessed (or cursed as the case may be; you may be prepared to shell out big for objects of great beauty and originality but having done so this does not guarantee authenticity, just ask those stung by criminal collaboration of "innocent" dealers of great repute) with great gobs of cash, the wherewithal to acquire becomes extremely enabling. On the other hand, as a member of the great unwashed (all right, nicely washed but of middle-class economy-class) the search is the thing. "You never know" becomes the mantra of the ever-hopeful.
And guess what? You never know, truly, when you may just serendipidously come across an object of great value to you. Answering to your aesthetic, your deep and abiding interest in perhaps one particular avenue of the densely-populated roadmap of what is Antique Alley. Your interest may have been piqued, innocently enough, coming across a modest little 19th century painting whose quaintness in expression particularly appealed, and you bought it. Treasured it, hung it conspicuously in your home to be regarded at intervals, appreciated and never found wanting.
In which case, what are the odds you may find another? And another? Why stop there? Go on from appreciating 19th century landscapes to similarly-aged porcelains, or furniture, or sculptures; marble, bronze. All of these acquisitions would certainly make a statement would they not? Their polished age and beauty of execution, originality (or not) of realization would add greatly to the pleasure you take in observing items of great merit - and you own them, personally.
So it is that the seasoned antique hunter never fails to respond to the lure of the potential. While wearily acknowledging that most "antique shows" and "antique sales" are rarely that unless they're of a rather rarified type appealing to the comfortably-cashed elite. At the antique shows readily available to the public-at-large one is more likely to come across junk better suited to second-hand shops and even curbside awaiting garbage pick-up.
Never deterred, the die-hard antique hunter keeps searching. Bearing in mind as he/she does that others, perhaps among them genuine antique dealers have in all likelihood already trolled the offerings. But - one never knows. And never knowing one never gives up hope that someone may have overlooked an item of great merit and beauty and you will be the fortunate one who will inherit it. Of course, through a painful cash transaction.
So it was that yesterday since it was such a nice cool, sunny yet breezy day and we'd already had our morning commune with nature, that we decided to drive the sixty miles to the Jewel of the Rideau for their annual summer antique show. The Jewel of the Rideau (river) is a 19th century canal town transformed into a 20th century tourist town, named Merrickville. And indeed, it is a pretty place, within the precinct of the Rideau Canal, with its own locks, river-side park, and 19th century stone buildings now posing as hotels, restaurants, communal artist colonies, handicraft purveyors, and antique shops.
The antique show is always held in the community's fairgrounds, a nice enough venue. With the added allure of nearby train tracks so that now and again a ghostly whistle from the past is heard drifting on the air as a train on its regular run moves on. There is a low-rise outbuilding where some of the purveyors of questionable antiques pay slightly more to set up and at times items on the edge of collectables/antiques can be seen. Rarely any items of great value, but then again, who knows?
We considered the fact that it has been years since we were tempted by any single item set out on display for sale at this venue, but then that old mantra comes up: "you never know". We enjoyed the drive down there, passing nice little Ontario towns on the way, marvelling at the extent of new subdivisions popping up everywhere, bringing with them retail outlets as never before.
Ah, the offerings! What a splendid display. It becomes more and more obvious that thanks to the televised, ubiquitous Antique Road Show segments would-be dealers feel they have exercised priceless judgement in obtaining truly antique objects for which they are justified in asking an arm and a leg. Speaking of which, one item in particular stood out among the trash: legs of a tired old table, jointed together sans top, the wood of which looked as though it had been frozen, charred, scraped and tossed innumerable times - yours for the unprincely sum of $45.
Memorabilia, collectibles, bits and pieces of someone's disposable life at one time or another over the past fifty years. Disposable trash, objects the purpose of which is transitory display or entertainment, made of the shoddiest material known to clever entrepreneurs. Objects completely lacking in any manner of design, beauty, even functionality. The meanest of materials, the worst possible construction. Objects which even in their day utterly lacked grace and form. Yet they are priced, incredibly, as though these are items of value. What's that old P.T. Barnum saying?
Take your pick; they're yours for the asking - or rather the transfer of cash.
posted by Pieface @ Sunday, August 27, 2006
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