About shadflyguy

Owner/ operator of Shadfly Antiques.

On buying a large collection of Quebec folk art

Posted on December 9, 2016 by shadflyguy

surrey and driver by Albert Conrad Ranger, and documentaion

surrey and driver by
Albert Conrad Ranger, and documentation

Collectors collect, and then eventually die, and then most often it is up to the family to decide the fate of the collection. In the cases were the subject of the collection is dear to the hearts of spouses and offspring things are dispersed within the family. In other situations, no one is interested, and so it becomes the responsibility of the family to disperse that which had taken their loved one all those years to acquire. Sometimes collections get donated to a public institution for a tax write-off, sometimes it all goes to auction, and sometimes the preference is to sell it outright.

composition vegetale
by Yvonne Bolduc

It was such a case when at the springtime Bowmanville show in 1999 we were approached by the wife of a well-known Quebec collector and given the sad news that he had suffered a sudden illness and died. She came right to the point in suggesting that based on several happy past dealings she felt compelled to offer it to us first. We chose to believe her.

muscleman by
Leo Fournier

She was only interested in selling it all outright, with no picking or choosing. She pointed out that her husband had kept meticulous records on the purchase of all the pieces and realizing the nature of being in business she would be content to recover 50% of the money spent. It sounded reasonable but we had no idea how large a collection it was, or just what we were talking about. We knew and respected the taste of the collector, so in spite of the fact that we had just spent a lot of money a few months earlier to buy the Ewald Rentz collection, we told her we were interested and to please send us the pictures and information she had. She warned us that she was busy with other things and that it would be awhile.

About six months later as we beginning to wonder if something had happened, we received a package which contained photographs and information on the 164 items that made up the collection. There was a package of rolodex cards which carefully listed where and when each piece was bought, and any notes he had about the carver. It was all quite interesting, and at times downright wonderful stuff. Many pieces by known contemporary artists such as Leo Fournier, J.C. Labreque, Magella Normand, Robert Paradis, etc. but also a lot of older, hard to come by pieces such as a composition vegetale by the highly -regarded Yvonne Bolduc of Baie St. Paul, Quebec. An absolutely stunning surrey and driver made in 1970 by Albert Conrad Ranger (1894- 1973).

a group of the last carvings by
Rosario Gautier

The last 19 pieces created by Rosario Gautier (1914-1994), a primitive master from Lac St. Jean, Quebec. There were 5 wonderful lamps by the previously unknown to us Adelard Patenaude. Also included were several early carved candle sticks and wall shelves which we knew would fly off the shelves. The most interesting, but also potentially problematic was a collection of 12 Quebec crucifix of various age. I sense that today these might find a lot of interest, but in 1999 it was hard to sell a crucifix out of Quebec. We knew of only a couple of collectors. The notes recorded that he had spent a total of about $38,000, so we are not talking pocket change. Still, when we went through the list assigning modest retail prices, the value was there, so we decided to take the plunge.

one of 5 finely carved pieces by
Leo Laramee

When you take into consideration the hours and the dedication it takes to build a large collection, to be able to buy it all at once at a good price is an attractive proposition; provided you relate to the sensibility of the collector, and there is an active market to sell it in. That was the case for this collection in 1999. Quebec was and remains home to many knowledgeable and dedicated collectors of it’s past, and it’s art. Most everything sold quickly, and the rest in due course. Even the crucifix sold, although to be accurate the lot sold to the one collector we knew would be interested. Had he not gone for it, it may have been a different story.

one of 12 Quebec crucifix by an unknown carver,circa 1900

one of 12 Quebec crucifix figures
by an unknown carver,circa 1900

Frozen hard boiled eggs – Recollections of Quebec in the winter

Posted on December 2, 2016 by shadflyguy

nice day for a buggy ride in old Quebec

It is December 1^st and we are still enjoying mild temperatures and no snow here in Port Dover on the “south coast” of Ontario, which is how they promote the region around here. In actuality, it is not a coast at all but rather the north shore of Lake Erie. You need an ocean to have a coast, and I bring this up because I am not about supporting the deterioration of the language. In any case, the forecast is for temperatures to drop at the weekend to normal values and then if we believe what we are told we are in for a rough winter. I was looking at the old Bell line van pictured at the top of every blog and thinking about how cold I used to get traveling in that van to Quebec in the winter.

I did my best to fit trips in between snow events, but it goes to say that when you are back and forth every couple of weeks you are going to get caught. I can remember white outs on the four lane #20 highway when looking out the windshield was like looking into a snow globe. Everything is white snow swirling and dancing in the headlights; everything is hypnotic and there is no hint of an edge to the road, or white line to guide you. You are lost, and afraid to stop for fear that a transport will run straight over you, but also afraid to pull over because you have no idea where the highway ends and the ditch begins. A total white knuckle scenario which lasts for minutes that feels like hours.

You know those “bridge freezes over before highway” signs you sometimes see on northern bridges. Well I can attest to that being true. Late one December night I headed through Montreal, and on to the south shore with the temperature dropping steadily, and the rain starting to glaze up and turn to snow. By the time I reach the Drummondville bridge it was cold enough that indeed the road before the bridge was fine, but the second I hit the bridge that big old truck thought itself a figure skater and decided to pirouette the entire length of the bridge, spinning gracefully all the way across until it hit the dry pavement on the far end, and miraculously I had completed a turn and the wheels were aligned so I just stabilized and kept going as if nothing had happened. Good thing I bring a change of underwear.

Another time when I picked up Jeanine at Mirabelle airport after her spending a few weeks in France, we were so happy to see each other and getting caught up that we hardly noticed the ever increasing magnitude of the snow storm which was coming in. It just kept getting heavier and heavier but we continued to crawl along in the tracks of the transport ahead of us. We made it like this as far as the Ontario boarder before the front bumper of the van was literally plowing snow and that’s when we decided to call it a night.

The old Bell line van held a lot of gear and you could rely on the 350 Chevy engine to start and get you there and back, but the body wasn’t built for traveling for a long time in sub- zero weather, with it’s non insulated sliding side doors. It was meant to be a delivery van after all I would wrap up in long johns, two pairs of pants, a pair of insulated cover-alls, and a blanket over my legs but even with the heater blasting full it could get damn cold. I remember one -30 degree morning when surprisingly the engine fired up after turning over so slowly you would think it was being hand cranked. After leaving it to heat up for 15 minutes I set off to get on with my day of visiting the picker’s barns with my lunch box on the engine cover. I got hungry about an hour later and decided to have a hard- boiled egg, only to find that it was frozen as hard as a rock. It’s amazing what you will put up with when you are young and have lots of blood flowing through your veins. I could not believe the feeling of absolute luxury when the old van finally died and I started traveling in a pick-up truck. What was I thinking?

Of course the flip side to this potential discomfort and hardship is just how wonderful and special it is to be in Quebec on a , crisp sunny morning with the snow piled as high as the rooftops. Quebec city in particular is absolutely magical in the winter. To look out your hotel window and see the people below hustling along narrow paths between buildings, with every other inch of space being covered with deep,deep snow is unforgettable, and quintessentially Canadian. “”Mon pays, c’est l’hiver” or “My country. It is winter” is more than a popular Quebec expression. It’s a concept to understand and cherish.

I leave you with one last recollection. That of the Northern lights dancing magnificently overhead as I drive the lonely distance between Quebec city and Trois Riviere late at night listening to the CBC, and thinking about what my loved ones were doing at home. Loving what I was experiencing with the light show and all, but also thinking about my family and bed and wishing I was home.

Repainting an antique cupboard in oil

Posted on November 25, 2016 by shadflyguy

before

On occasion, people will like the form and size of a painted cupboard, but can’t live with the colour. Your options assuming the paint is not original which is when I would encourage people to learn to love it as it is or let someone who does own it, are to either strip it down and refinish the wood, strip it down and repaint it, or in the cases were the piece is in a stable old oil paint, to simply prepare the surface and repaint right over the last coat. Done properly this approach can be the most natural of any of the processes, and is in fact what happens to many cupboards over the course of their lives anyway. I imagine the scenario were someone decides the old cupboard just looks tired and doesn’t fit in anymore, and the most natural thing to do is to go out to the garage and grab a can of paint you like and away you go. It’s currently fashionable to strip the cupboard and apply a “chalk paint”, and then rub and sand it down in an attempt to look like natural wear. If this is the look you like, go for it, but I think in many cases it ends up looking unnatural. Especially if a cupboard was made in the period after oil paint was invented around the turn of the 20^th century, the most natural thing to happen would be for it to be painted in oil. Therefore, if your objective is to make it look good but not “messed with” your best approach can be to repaint in oil paint and then rub down the surface a bit to not have it look too new and shiny. To my mind, this is the most natural and effective way to give a piece new life, and of course it is a lot less work that stripping it.

Witness here exhibit “A”. A big old beast of a wardrobe from Quebec made about 1900 of an unattractive Ash wood which was probably painted white as soon as it was made. On top of that original white, someone later has painted it cream with a flashy, vibrant blue for the panels and trim. My customer loves the form but cannot live with the bright colour, so has asked me to paint it all in a mid grey which will fit in with the rest of her décor. She prefers that it be all of one colour so it blends in to the room. She gives me a paint sample of the preferred colour.

Here in Canada they have decided that oil paint is dangerous and have taken it off the market, so you either take a trip to the states where they are still sensible and allow the sale of oil paint, or find some old stock (I’ve hoarded quite a bit of the stuff), or in this case use the only form of oil based paint still available here which is rust paint. The paint store informed me that this too will soon be pulled from the market. A pity because for one thing all latex “so called” floor paints are total garbage and should be banned. Every time you drag something across latex paint it peals like a balloon and so is quite worthless. This is the case as well if you use it on your cupboard and try to rub it down a bit to look aged and worn. It just peels off and looks like garbage. I much prefer the old original oil paints as you can get a less shiny surface, but the rust paint works in a pinch and you can tint it exactly as you wish.

cleaning the surface

The first step is to prepare the surface. It must be clean and any loose paint removed. Sometimes this requires some light sanding but in this case, all I did was to brush and rub it down completely with turpentine to remove the dirt and any wax that may have been applied. You can use paint thinner, but for a couple of dollars more I prefer the turpentine. Do this in a well-ventilated area of course. A garage on a nice day when you can have the door open and a fan going is perfect. When it is completely rubbed down and clean you are ready to paint.

I thin the paint by about 20% with the turps. I’ll even go thinner if I want a lot of the old paint to show through, but in this case, we want only small areas of the old paint to show.

Put an even coat over everything. Then wait a day or so depending on the temperature to let it dry. This is the slightly tricky part, because you want the paint dry, but to soften the gloss of the surface and wear it through slightly it is best if it is not completely hard set. A bit of rubbing along the bottom of the side is a discreet place to test.

waxing with a stiff brush

In the case of this cupboard, as the weather was warm it was ready to be rubbed down the next day. It should be noted that you must have a temperature above 50 degrees Fahrenheit or the oil paint will take forever to dry.

Next, apply a thick coat of Min wax for dark woods over the entire piece using a stiff brush and fine 00 steel wool. You will see that when you rub hard a bit of the paint will come off along the edges and where the under-paint is worn. Take your time and work evenly. Do not attempt to rub through more vigorously around the knobs or in places you think should show more wear as this always becomes obvious.

If you rub evenly the paint will naturally come off a bit more in these places. You will note that the dark wax lays in the little creases and accentuates them. This slight dirtiness also gives the piece a more natural patina and softens the overall look. Let the wax dry for a couple of hours and then give it a light buffing with a bit of burlap or an old wool sweater. Not too much or it becomes shiny.

showing how wax dulls the surface

When this dries, you are done. The piece may still look a little shiny but let it be and nature will take its course. Over the weeks and months, the surface will settle and age. If you get it right, it’s a good way to bring new life to a piece without having it look done over.

after

Breakfast in Quebec

Posted on November 18, 2016 by shadflyguy

One thing that I look forward to when on the road, especially in Quebec, is having breakfast at a little, local restaurant. Typically, we look for the mom and pop place in a small town with a lot of cars in the parking lot. That’s a sure sign because the locals know best. I love walking into a lively room full of morning light and people, talking, laughing, and generally getting on with things. It’s that happy time when you are full of hope and energy before the day has a chance to complicate things and wear you down. It’s all about that first cup of coffee, filling that empty stomach, and getting your communication skills working. In Quebec, on a good day, these places are full of noise and merriment, and most often delicious food.

At least I can now by Creton at our local Food Basics

At least I can now buy Creton at our local Food Basics

I like to go with the traditional Quebec big breakfast, a couple of eggs, sausage, toast, baked beans, and a little container full of Creton. What is Creton you may ask. Well it’s basically pork fat mixed with bread crumbs, and a little onion and spice, and it is delicious spread on toast. Just the thing if you are going to go out in sub- zero weather to cut down trees. Maybe a few more calories than you need to drive around and search out antiques, but a great way to start the day none the less. I know a lot of people at this point are crying out “cholesterol alert”, but I have a well-researched theory that a small amount of this type of heavy fat is actually good for you. The operative word being a “small” amount, and provided you are active enough to burn it off. Because you are satiated it cuts down on snacking, and your stomach recognizes the fat and puts out the proper enzymes to digest it. Something that doesn’t happen with “low fat” foods, most of which are filled with dangerous chemicals. But I digress.

I also love that a lot of these places, although clean, have not been professionally decorated or modernized. It is one of my greatest pleasures to sit, sipping my coffee, anticipating my food and just taking in the local scene. Randomly tuning in on conversations of people you do not know and will never see again makes me feel energized, and connected. At one with the world.

When on an antique hunt you are basically driving from place to place, and walking through barns with occasional moments of lifting and loading. So after a big breakfast we then go through the day snacking on things out of a cooler we bring along. This is not only cost saving but satisfying because even the little grocery stores in Quebec have a wonderful selection of fruits, bread, meats and cheese that can be munched on between stops, or if we feel like a break at a rest stop. Not to forget those little packages of delicious cheese curds left out on the counter of almost every little country variety so that they are the right temperature to get every little bit of “squeaky” texture and flavor out. This was then. I hear that now the powers that be have forced the store owners to refrigerate for fear of us becoming sick. Ridiculous. It takes days for curds to go bad. It’s like buttermilk. You can leave it out on the counter and it just continues to be buttermilk for days. The restrictions on raw milk cheese are also ridiculous, but don’t get me started.

Finally, at the end of the day it was our pleasure to drive around and seek out a simple meal at some place that looked good and not too expensive. Now days we do a little trip advisor research in advance. It works and saves some gas, but it takes some of the fun out of it. Over the years we have found our favourite spots and we look forward to revisiting them.

Eventually we took to carrying two coolers, one for the day to day use, and one for bringing back all the products that we discovered and came to love, and can find only in Quebec.

We always make our first stop at a little place on L’Isle Perrot when coming into Montreal on Highway 20. It used to be a dairy Freeze but then one happy day it became Smoke Meat Pete. Their slogan is “you can’t beat Pete’s meat” and I heartily agree. Pete smokes his own, and it is super delicious. Second only to Schwartz’s in Montreal and even that may be because Schwartz has the advantage of being the traditional favourite. We always arrive hungry. Have a huge sandwich, and leave super full with a big brisket in the cooler to take home. Yes, gratefully they sell full briskets to go.

Jeanine, full and happy leaving Smoke Meat Pete’s

Next on the tour near the picturesque town of Knowlton lies the giant Lac Brome duck producers. A great source for packaged duck confit legs. Duck confit is a traditional food from Jeanine’s home in the south/west of France and is one of our favourite things, so we usually buy ten or twelve packages containing two legs each, and put them in the freezer when we get home.

Then it’s a short drive over to the Abbaye De St-Benoit-Du-Lac, a picturesque monastery on the top of a hill which produces and sells many award winning cheeses. Nearby Magog has a couple of excellent bakeries and specialty shops. You can buy every kind of pate imaginable from rabbit and duck, to elk and you name it. In Magog you can buy over a dozen types of pates while here in rural Ontario you are lucky to find anything other than a basic pork pate with pepper corns. Why is this?

Once while doing the Eastman show we found out about a little bakery about six kilometers south of town on Rte 12 that is locally famous for making the most delicious tourtiere you will ever encounter, and the clincher is they sell them for between $12 to $16 each depending on the type. We put as many as we can cram into the cooler for freezing back home. Excellent.

When you think of Quebec food, you may think of meat pies, baked beans, poutine, sugar pie and those $2“vapor” hotdog stands with those funny little buns, but increasingly you must also think of world standard cheeses, meats and produce. All this talk is making me hungry. It’s time for me to wrap this baby up and go downstairs, and make myself a sandwich. Bon Appetit.

An outhouse full of bird houses

Posted on November 11, 2016 by shadflyguy

I think that it is accurate to suggest that a high percentage of what we define as folk art is made by energetic people who reach retirement, and find they need to produce something to keep their interest in life alive, and burn off creative energy. Some of these people turn to enhancing their immediate environment. Edmund Chatigny comes to mind who spent his working day creating a yard full of spotted flowers, animals, and birds, all in a similar style. What he made innocently has great artistic strength, and integrity. His intention was not for profit, but rather to decorate his yard. Here’s a link to my blog about him, https://shadflyguy.com/2016/09/16/its-not-saleable-it-doesnt-get-made-in-a-minute-the-art-of-edmund-chatigny/

And then there are other folk artists who seek to create a product. Something saleable which will bring in cash. A craftsman’s approach. Some of these people are uniquely talented, and the work becomes very popular in spite of their lack of professional training, or intent. Maud Lewis is a good example.

We were driving along Rte 138 on the north shore of the St Lawrence near Trois Rivieres Quebec, when we spotted a sign for a yard sale. We are talking about the 1980’s when it was a good idea to check out all yard sales. It was early on and there were still lots of good things coming to light. So we pulled in and became immediately drawn to a few odd looking, hand-made bird houses sitting under a tree. Really cool, looking like something out of Dr. Seuss. They were unpainted and a little rough around the edges, but you could see the potential. Jeanine asked in French, “Can you tell us something about the birdhouses please.” An elderly gentleman came over to us and explained that he had made them in his little shop out back just to keep himself busy. Then he started quoting prices, all of which were reasonable. “I see you have six out here on display. Do you have others?”. He smiled and said “come with me”. We found ourselves in his back yard, behind a small barn and there sat what looked to be an old two-seater outhouse. Door latched shut with a stick of wood. He swung open the door, and taa daa, the entire space from floor to ceiling was stuffed with birdhouses. There had to be 100 or so in there. He grinned, “You see I have more. How many would you like?” We excused ourselves for a moment so we could have a quick huddle, and then Jeanine asked “Well what do you want for all of them?” His eye’s lit up and he said without hesitation “Take them all and pay so much a piece no matter what the model.” I honestly can’t remember the exact price, but it was extremely reasonable, say $15 each. Deal.

I drove the pick up right to the outhouse and we began the arduous task of unloading and reloading all those birdhouses. They filled up every bit of space we had left, and when we were finished there was so much rope holding everything in place that it looked like a spider’s web. We were full at this point so we headed home, feeling quite giddy.

It was summertime, and our daughter and three of her friends had just discovered what a drag picking strawberries was as a summer job, so we offered them the job to sand, prime, and paint all those birdhouses. They set up at the picnic table under a big tree, cranked up the radio, and started to work. We provided paint, brushes, sandwiches and beverages and paid them by the piece. They were happy, and we were happy with the excellent job they did both in the quality of the work, and their choices of bright colours. We loved to look out and see more and more brightly coloured bird houses hanging from the cloths line, and hearing the happy chatter from the work team. It lasted over several weeks and we sold them just about as fast as they became available. Eventually they all had new homes and we contemplated a return trip to see if more had been made, but never got around to it. We thought that with all that space available in the old outhouse and after such a successful sale, our maker friend would probably get right back to it. We never did find out. I still see them from time to time at antique shows.

Driving the Vatican to Montreal

Posted on November 4, 2016 by shadflyguy

we loved bringing something big to Bowmanville

When it comes to selling folk art, something you learn pretty quickly is that size matters. In this case, small being better than large, because not many collectors have a large amount of space to dedicate to their interest, and so although they may be delighted to see a large piece, not many of them are going to take it home. The exception being things like totem poles or other vertical forms that don’t take up too much floor space., or can go outdoors. Even then it has to have a lot going for it, or you risk hauling the thing around from show to show like a giant albatross around your neck. That being said, it’s good to have something spectacular for a show like Bowmanville, where you focus on building a reputation as well as sales, and big and flashy gets them into your booth. This is why on the rare occasion when I did find something large that made my heart skip, I found myself drifting from ”isn’t this an interesting thing. I’m so happy to have experienced it and now I have it to remember”, to “I wonder if I can Squeeze this thing into the truck and when I get home convince Jeanine it is a good idea.” It’s a feeling recognized by elements of excitement and danger coming rapidly in equal amounts.

It was early spring and the hope brought on by new life and growth was thick in the air as I pulled in to Jean Deshaies or as he is known “Kojak’s”. I was flying solo and with a full truck, so it was a last look in case of an interesting small or something worth putting aside for next time. I could see that Kojak was excited when I walked in, and he jumped right up and hurried towards me, “ Phil, you’ve got to see what just came in. It’ll blow your mind”. He brought me into his small front room where he kept his special things and there perched on a table in front of the window was a spectacular 7 foot long, 4’ tall, red and white, three tiered birdhouse in the form of a ship. The name “Vatican” painted prominently on the bow. Wow. What a thing. Double masted, with twin funnels spewing black smoke asthe French flag overlooked all from high above. You could see that great care had gone into the creation. Every piece was carved lovingly from wood or shaped from metal, and it was built to last.

The Vatican
in Kojak’s front room

It was made in the late 1940’s by two priests who taught and lived at the seminary near the town of Lobiniere, situated on the south shore of the St Lawrence river. It took them over two years to make it, and then they mounted it outdoors under a sheltering roof where it served as the home for many birds over the next thirty years or so until the seminary closed. By then the brothers had died, and it was bought by a local. Fortunately, he looked after it well, keeping it painted and maintained and under a roof as the brothers had, so when Kojak bought it, it was just a question of giving it a really good cleaning. This was the state it arrived in hours before I pulled in.

It hit all my buttons, had great provenance, and was definitely top drawer folk art, but it was also a lot of money, and huge, not to mention massively heavy. My mind kept telling me to “avoid” “just move away and nobody gets hurt” but when Jean told me he had already called a couple of Quebec city dealers, and they had not committed but would be coming to look at it, I started to panic. Something about it spoke to me. I’m not naturally inclined, but it felt almost Holy. I wanted it, and I had to think fast. “Can I have a hold on it for 24 hours, and take a couple of pictures. I’ve got a guy in mind.” He hesitated. “Well, I don’t want you shopping it around to everyone, but if you have somebody in mind I’ll give you until closing time tomorrow.” Great. That may be all I need.

As it happened this was a time when I was selling a lot of folk art to a new, high end interior décor and furniture shop setting up over two floors of a converted warehouse in an up-scale neighborhood in Montreal. The owner, a Mr. Camelot, (how do you forget a name like Camelot), was very progressive and pushing hard to come up with the very best. Today I would have phoned him and sent him the picture, but in the day, after he had expressed interest over the phone, there was nothing left to do but drive to Montreal and show him the pictures. The next morning at 8 am we met at the store and he quickly decided based on the two polaroids, and my description that he had to have it, and so it just became a matter of driving the two hours back to Kojak’s and fetching it.

I had to pile up the things I already had on my truck at Jean’s because the ship took up the entire box of the truck from front to back. I roped it in place and started out for Montreal. I can remember it as vividly as if it happened yesterday, cruising at 120 klm down Hwy 40 headed for Montreal when suddenly the sky turned black and a torrential summer rainfall let loose. Looking in the rear view mirrors it looked like the Vatican was sailing her way through heavy seas. I was concerned but she was built to take it and there was nothing to do but sail on. As Mr. Camelot’s workers unloaded it and brought it up in the lift, I was thinking that although I was happy the ship had found it’s new dock, the only unfortunate part was that I would have loved to make it the center piece of our Bowmanville booth that year. Still, a bird in the hand.

Something about seeing that ship in those rear view mirrors left a big mark on me, and a little while later I was messing around and found myself painting in a decorative old mirror frame I found, a rendering of the Vatican floating on a cloud off into a starry night . It’s still hanging there on the wall over my left shoulder, and every once in a while I notice it and I think about the two priests staying up late, and using all their leisure time to create such a wonderful home for the little birds.

Ironically, about twenty years later, I walked into set up for the Bownmanville show and there it was. A Quebec dealer had brought it on consignment. The Vatican was looking for a new dock. It did not sell. As I watched them load it back onto the truck for the trip home I said to myself, “that could be me.”

Madam Tessier, and her brother

Posted on October 28, 2016 by shadflyguy

walking in the park

In the late 1980’s when we were antique shopping in Quebec on a regular basis, we would follow up on leads for new sources that were offered to us by other dealers. We were told about a great shop in the town of Deschambault, which is on Rt. 138 on the north shore of the St. Lawrence river between Trois Rivieres and Quebec city. Rte. 138 was a popular tourist route back in the heyday of motoring vacations in the fifties and the sixties, but traffic dropped dramatically when the auto-route 40 opened and people’s attitude changed, and they started to just want to get from point A to B as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much of the old “motoring” culture left along the route, but it was a gorgeous drive and every so often you would spot a handmade sign in front of a little roadside shack indicating “Souvenirs”. Naturally we would stop and check it out. You never know when and where you may find the next great folk artist or crafts-person. Most of these shops were a disappointment however in that they contained the St. Jean-Port-Jolie style tourist carvings, and the typical plastic commercial schlock, but once in a while we would find some crazy, old guy making something interesting, or in this case of this story, a great source of charming, original designed hand hooked rugs.

woven runners and mats

It was a fine summer morning as we rounded the bend just a few klicks from our destination of Deschambault, when we noticed several signs around an old frame house indicating “Souvenirs” “Quebec textiles”, “hand hooked rugs”, etc. These signs had a charm all their own so we were hopeful that we may be on to something. We went through the door indicated as “shop”, and entered into a long thin room which had an end to end run of long, thin, fabric cutting style tables, stacked with dozens of different varieties of hooked rugs and woven runners, and mats. The back wall was covered with examples of rugs, and behind the tables stood a lovely looking elderly woman looking every bit the Victorian lady with piled up hair and white powder makeup. Right out of central casting. She had a radiant smile and seemed truly delighted to meet us. She told us her name was Madam Tessier and all the textiles on sale where either made by her, or one of her three or four rug hooking neighbors.

a geometric

Our attention moved from her to the rugs, and we were immediately taken with the charming original subjects, the vibrant colors, and the workmanship. The expected florals and geometrics were interesting, but what caught our attention were the many depictions of rural Quebec life. Scenes of bringing in the ducks at night, of workers stopping in the field to observe the “angelus” or moment of prayer at 6 pm, a sugaring scene in early spring, a farmer about to feed the animals, and so on. There were also riffs on classic themes like a beaver on a log, a maple leaf. As well there were tables full of multi coloured runners. Rainbows in fabric everywhere you looked. The prices were very reasonable considering the amount of work that went into them, and you could see that they were well made, and would wear well. She was surprised and delighted when instead of choosing one or two, we bought a dozen or so. We explained who we were and that we were buying for resale, and that if they should sell as we thought they would we would soon be back for more. And so it was. They went like hotcakes and within a month we were back buying about twice as many as before. Madam Tessier grew to look forward to us pulling up.

farmer and his yellow wagon

farmer in the yard

After a few visits she asked us into the adjacent house for tea. She explained that she had lived there all her life with her brother, but that he had recently passed away so she was now there on her own. She said she didn’t mind because she had many friends in the village and was never alone for very long. It was lovely to sit in her kitchen and have tea and listen to her story. It took me several minutes before I noticed something peculiar about the walls. As I looked more closely at the tongue and groove wood grained boards which ran from floor to ceiling, I realized that they were not wood paneling at all, but rather a hand painted facsimile. I couldn’t believe it. The whole room had been meticulously grain painted by hand. Every groove and the wood grain was done free hand, one at time. Then I realized that where there was a painting on the wall, that the painting had been done in the same hand right on the wall with a painted frame around it, as it should be. Amazing. Can you imagine how long it would take to do something like that? I had to ask her. “oh that. Yes, that was my brother’s project later in life. He volunteered to paint the place but then he got the idea of the wood grain so it took him several years.” He completed many rooms before he died.” You could see she was proud of her brother’s accomplishment.

beaver on a log

It’s funny what sticks with you in life. Sitting in that room, drinking tea with Madam Tessier and coming to the realization that the entire room I was sitting in was faux painted freehand by her brother remains as vivid in my memory today as the day it occurred. I’d imagine that the conclusion of a psychiatrist would be obsessive/ compulsive behavior, but to me it felt like an act of a deep dedication to the concept of beauty and love of environment, not to mention persistence. I had a deep feeling of warmth come over me, and I knew I was in the presence of true inspiration. Madam Tessier there smiling benevolently with her white powder make up and piled up Victorian hair.

farmers pausing to pray – the Angelus

An Irish-Canadian table makes its way to the Motherland

Posted on October 21, 2016 by shadflyguy

In 1998 we had the great fortune to be asked to purchase an entire house full of Canadian antique furnishings for a country home near Galway, Ireland. A lovely couple whom we had done good business with over the years wanted to make their newly purchased Irish retreat contain the warmth and aesthetic of early Canadiana furniture, of Irish-Canadian decent where possible. They had a long wish list, and entrusted us to search and come up with a few best candidates for each item. We sent photographs and particulars, from which they would pick the winner. Then we would buy the items and bring them to a shipper in Toronto, who held them until the list was complete when they packed and shipped them in one large container. It worked well, and we made a lot of our fellow dealers happy by buying up their expensive items. It’s fun spending other people’s money.

The one thing our friends were keen on having was a great, original harvest table of about 9 or ten feet in length. Something solid at the right height, with a naturally smooth and attractive original finish. Not an easy order to fill. We bought many wonderful pieces over the next 12 months but the all-important harvest table continued to eluded us. Lots of well-made re-builds on offer, but nothing original. We were growing concerned because the shipping date loomed, so I started calling everyone I knew, dealer and collector alike to ask if they didn’t know of something. Eventually it was Bill Dobson (thanks again Bill) who recalled that a retired, Eastern Ontario collector/dealer of high repute had been storing away just such a table. He did not know if it would still be there, or if it was for sale, but he gave me a name and number, along with a warning that if it was available it would be a lot of money and deservedly so. He also advised me to tread softly as this gentleman was an honest and reliable person, but was not known to suffer fools. I called the next morning.

The fellow who answered was indeed a bit stern and suspicious at first, but after several minutes of establishing mutual friendships, and exchanging philosophies that we arrived at the point where I was told that yes there was a table, and it could be for sale, but for a price that was non-negotiable. I became excited as he described it. Nine feet long, decent width, Irish-Canadian family from Eastern Ontario, circa 1840, ”H” shaped stretcher base, original red stained pine boards on top, bottom with early apple green oil paint over the red stain. No repairs, and no apologies. It ticked all the boxes. “Can I come and see it” “Sure, if you are seriously interested, and o.k. with the price which is $_,000, and as I said before non-negotiable.” A chunk of cash for sure, but if it was as described, it was rare and exclusive and therefore a piece were the seller can pretty much name his price. I assured him I was serious and so we made the arrangement for me to come the very next day. A twelve-hour drive, there and back to look at a table. I’d say I was serious. On arriving I felt a bit anxious, but soon relaxed when I found my host to be intelligent, knowledgeable, and interesting. We had a great talk and a good look around his home and out buildings before heading out to an open drive shed in the middle of a cattle field. There, covered with a tarp, resting upside down about eye level on top of a large piece of farm machinery rose the magnificent green tapered legs with stretcher. What I could see of the top was covered with linoleum, and so I asked “what about the top?” Are there are any problems like it being gouged or badly stained?” “The top is excellent and untouched. There’s no problem.” To bring it down and flip it over was a big deal, and his reputation and my gut told me to trust him so I did some measurements, took some pictures and went home. After talking with my clients, and getting an enthusiastic thumbs up, I found myself arranging to pick up the table the following week on our way back home from a Quebec trip. Jeanine was on board this time.

In Quebec we happily filled our van with smalls, and then started home. About two in the afternoon we were near Cornwall, when I phoned ahead to make sure we were still on track for picking up the table. “I’m here and ready for you, and by the way you are bringing cash, right.” “Cash? That’s a lot of money to be walking around with. No, I just assumed you would take my cheque.” “No I’m sorry, not that I don’t trust you, but it has to be cash or no deal”. “O.k. I understand. leave it with me and I’ll figure something out and call you if there is a problem. Otherwise we’ll see you soon.” We banked with Canada Trust and so we drove directly to a Cornwall branch in a suburban strip mall near the highway to see what we could do. We were fortunate in that as the staff explained, they do not usually have that amount of cash available with such short notice, but as it happened they had just received a large cash deposit so they could do it. We left a few minutes later with a big brown grocery bag full of mostly small bills. It felt like a heist.

We drove directly to our destination and after a long counting session, and a lot of friendly talk along with a nice cool beverage, we found ourselves out at the drive shed with the cows mulling around us, trying to see what the action was. I backed up the van to the table, and saw that it lined up perfectly to be slid directly onto the roof rack. There had been talk of bringing it down and lifting the linoleum but I could see that it would be best to leave the linoleum in place to protect the surface, and it was so damned convenient to just slide it forward. “So if you’re sure that the top is O.K., let’s just slide it on and tie it down.” “If it is not as I told you, and you are unhappy, bring it back and I’ll return your money.” I knew he was sincere so off we went, paying out all that cash for a table without having seen the top of it. Well placed faith in your fellow-man, or just plain fool hardy. It would soon be revealed.

We got home about midnight and so it was first thing the following morning that I had my worker help me take the table up into the church. I gingerly lifted the linoleum which was held on by just a few small tacks around the perimeter and after peeling off a couple of layers of old newspaper I beheld just what I wanted to see. A superb, original top with undisturbed patina and no gouges or ugly stains. Just as advertised. It cleaned up beautifully, and a few days later I dropped it off at the shippers, soon to be on it’s way. We had the thrill and honor of visiting our friends/clients in Ireland the following year to see the finished project, and it was an absolute delight for us to sit and dine with them at this splendid Irish-Canadian table that had made it’s way to a new home in Ireland.

the table at it’s new home in Ireland

Our times at The North Hatley Antique and Folk Art Show

Posted on October 14, 2016 by shadflyguy

a giant moose head that came along for the ride.

When, in about 1986 we decided to expand our show calendar beyond the weekly Toronto Harbourfront Market and the spring and fall Christie shows, we decided that we would like to include the North Hatley Antique and Folk Art Show, held annually in early July in the beautiful Eastern Townships region of Quebec. Known as Canada’s oldest antique show, it also had and still has a deserved reputation for presenting top quality antique and folk art to an exclusive and appreciative clientele. North Hatley is a picturesque charmer of a small town on the banks of Lake Massawippi, and a playground to the affluent and powerful of Montreal and surrounding areas. The show, put on by the local Recreational Society is held in the old curling club with about fifteen dealers set up where the ice would be, and another 6 or so set up in the onlooking lounge. For the years we attended, until his death in 2007 it was run by the legendary Sam Pollock, who among many other things was the manager of the Montreal Canadians for 14 years, during which they won the Stanley Cup nine times. As you can imagine, Sam ran a tight ship. Every year he, and his loyal fellow volunteers would do everything from planning and preparing, to set up, and everything else involved in running a top notch show right down to the making of the delicious home-made egg salad sandwiches at the lunch bar. They may have been up in years, but those ladies knew their way around a good egg salad sandwich.

In those days, it was not easy to get invited to do the show. We were lucky to have friends like Peter Baker and Gerry Marks who had been doing the show for years to recommend us. The first year we had a tiny 10’ x 10’ booth wedged into a corner of the lounge area, which was mostly dedicated to book, pottery, and silver sellers, with the furniture dealers all being in the main room. We didn’t mind because being an unknown in terms of results, the rent was cheaper and we came with a smaller truck. We focused mainly on folk art, which was what the promoters wanted from us because it was becoming increasingly popular with this crowd. It went very well, and we had a great time to boot. Good sales, lovely people, and a stunning area to explore.

An interesting feature of the show is the gala Friday night opening. From 6:30 to 9:00 on the Friday night a $30 ticket buys you first crack at the stuff, and all the delicious hors-d’oeuvres, and wine you want. Lovely young waiters and waitresses passing amongst the crowd with trays. The experienced dealers warned us that opening night it is packed, and it may seem that all they do is talk to each other, and glance over your stuff. It is a big social event after all. But not to despair because when they see something they like they are in a good and competitive mood to buy. Also, they may go home and discuss it, and come back Saturday morning to buy. It worked out pretty much just like that. A few sales Friday night, then good sales all day Saturday, and even a few more on Sunday.

We kept the same booth for a couple of years and then moved to a bigger one in the same room when it became available. Then one year when I was doing the show by myself; I can’t remember when exactly, it must have been the late nineties, Sam came up to me and asked me if I would be interested in taking over a large room upstairs they had for the same price. He pitched “You can spread out the art and make it like a gallery. I think you can do well up there.” I knew the space. It was a big space, about 20’ x 30’ with two front facing windows which brought in a lot of natural light. It must have been used for meetings.

my “gallery”
at the North Hatley show

“Well, yes Sam the space is great, but not to mention that everything has to go up and down the fire escape, I will be on my own up there, apart from the show. It might get pretty lonely”. “Ah, but don’t forget Phil, that’s where the woman’s washroom is. All the ladies will pass by eventually, and they’ll drag their husband’s up”. I thought about it for a minute and decided he was probably right. It just might work, and if it did the price was right. So I agreed, and started to haul everything up the steep fire escape that led directly to the room. A big task, but much easier than dragging everything through the inside. It took the whole afternoon to set up, but in the end it looked like a gallery. I even had a table and chairs in front of the window where I could sit and do business, or read the paper in slow times. Not to mention eating egg salad sandwiches. So close. So tasty. So affordable. I put up a little sign with an arrow pointing up at the base of the inside staircase announcing “Folk Art Upstairs”. I hoped that somebody might see it.

looking into my “gallery”
from the hall

6:30 arrived and at first I wondered if I had made a horrible mistake because I could hear the people coming in, chatting and having fun for a full thirty minutes before anyone showed their face. But then it started. The first lady poked her nose in, and was surprised to find me and my offerings. Fortunately she was a folk art enthusiast and went directly to several pieces of carvers she recognized. She bought three things right then and there, and I was off to the races. It was out of the way, but when the folk art people found me, they really connected, and would not only buy, but go down and drag their friends up. I met several people that year that became long -time friends and customers. It was already a great show by Saturday at noon and then Pierre Riverin walked in. I’d heard about the “collecting” mayor of the town of Eastman for several years but we had never crossed paths. We talked for over an hour, he bought several pieces, and it was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. It is a rare and precious moment when you find yourself in the right place, at the right time, with the right stuff. Even with all the effort of getting everything up and down those stairs, it was worth it many times over. I had a wonderful show and I was happy up there. I repeated this for a few more years before the hauling up and down began to outweigh the benefit, so when a bigger booth on the main floor became available I grabbed it.

myself and Tom DeVolpi enjoying a beverage

Over the years we got to know several of the Quebec dealers, designers, and collectors who frequent this unique annual show. For a time many of us participating dealers would get together on Saturday night and enjoy the evening together at some wonderful local Inn or restaurant. There are several to choose from. Then through our friend Tom De Volpi, and our friends Jim and Ilona Fleming, we were invited to an annual Saturday night dealer’s dinner held at the nearby summer home of a lovely Montreal designer named Valery. It was always a wonderful, warm get together, not to mention a delicious dinner; and we were grateful for her hospitality and the chance to spend some happy time with our fellows.

Eventually, as in all stories, the pages turn, and times change, and so it was that by 2008, (I remember it because, although still a good show, it just didn’t feel the same without Sam being there), along with slumping sales, we reached the point and age where we just couldn’t justify the ten hour drive to and from home, and all the work that doing the show entailed. Mind you this was part of a larger retreat from doing shows altogether. We truly don’t miss the work, but we do miss the people. They were some very good times.

the “gang”
at Valerie and Henri’s

Going further than Faux

Posted on October 6, 2016 by shadflyguy

It started innocently enough. It was in the 80’s when we were either selling as found, or on occasion if the surface was bad, but the natural wood was good, we would strip and refinishing as was popular at the time. One day we bought a small handmade side table made from empty thread spools and crate wood because it was charmingly made. However, it lacked a good surface. The original white paint over the entire surface hadn’t developed a nice patina, and therefore could not be considered “shabby chic”. We were going to sell it as is and let the new owner figure out what they wanted to do with it.

But, as it happened we were at coffee break in the workshop one fine winter morning when Jeanine silently looked over at the table for several minutes and then said, “I think I want to do a decorative paint job on that little table. I’ve got an idea for it”. Jeanine is a talented visual artist in her own right, and had taught art at Beal Art in London, and St. Clair College, so great. Go for it. Knock yourself out.

Right after break she set to work by painting the entire table with leaf green oil paint. When that was dry she created a stencil of a leaf and proceeded to paint orange leaves radiating out from the center of the top, and in graceful arches on the lower shelf. Next she highlighted the edges in a buttery yellow and put a potato stamp texture of black on the background. What followed was a time consuming task of detailing each spool in orange. This took a while and a steady hand, but when she was finished the piece was transformed. Finally, when it was thoroughly dry she took 0000 steel wool and gently burnished the oil paint surface to soften the look. She signed and dated the paint job on the bottom, and we took it an outdoor show we were doing near Collingwood the following weekend.

It didn’t take long before it was noticed by a vibrant, and well- appointed middle aged woman who went into raptures about it’s “freshness”, and warmth of the design. She loved it and bought it without hesitation, obviously pleased to be buying from the artist. It quickly followed that she asked Jeanine if she would be willing to paint other pieces of furniture for her. She had inherited some pieces from her parents that had sentimental value to her, but did not appeal to her aesthetically. They were all quite typical turn of the century manufactured maple furniture. Well made, but not particularly interesting. She explained that she was an interior designer, and wanted the pieces to be transformed into something that would fit in to a modern décor. Some would go to the cottage. A few others to the house in the city. She gave Jeanine carte blanche to do as she wish, and urged her to push the limits of her imagination. Jeanine offered that she would be interested in “riffing” on traditional faux graining techniques, by using traditional tools and techniques, but shifting to a more vibrant palette, and freer organic designs. An hourly rate was established and it was agreed that she would start on a typical two door, over two drawer sideboard. But one that at least had quite a free style headboard and side pillars. We picked the piece up and took it home, and three weeks later we were dropping it off the back of our truck at her home in Toronto. It was an almost psychedelic sunburst pattern of multi coloured sponge painting. All free hand, and in a wide range of muted greens, and blues, with highlights in reds and yellows, as was discussed with the client beforehand, and after observing the room it was going into. We loved the piece, but it was definitely a statement, and we were anxious as to how she would react. A moment of anticipation as the shipping blanket comes off, and then big smiles all around. She loves it. She would have never imagined it, but she loves it. We were off to the races.

What followed was several years of regular commissions from the same patron, who collected many pieces herself, and before long had friends and clients looking for something similar. We never took any pieces of Jeanine’s work to shows, because she was as busy as she wanted to be with commissions, and antique shows of the time, generally frowned upon pieces that have been “repainted”, so we didn’t need the hassle. She signed and dated all the work not only as recognition, but also to assure that the age of the paint was not misrepresented in the future.

This rainbow table in vinegar paint is the last piece Jeanine painted, about the year 2000. Looking over these photos I wish she would do more.

shadflyguy

seeking authentic

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