The last known works by Rosario Gautier

Posted on May 26, 2017 by shadflyguy

This handsome fellow lives in our living room. He is a favorite of ours, and we have come to find out that he was made by Rosario Gautier, late of St. Charles de Bourget, Lac St. Jean Quebec,. We didn’t know who made it when we bought him about 25 years ago, and it didn’t matter so much because we loved the piece, but it was satisfying to eventually put a name on it.

Over the years we have found and bought several pieces by the same hand. The chunky, colorful style is unique and easily recognizable, but all we encountered were unsigned, save for a few initialed “RG”. Not a lot to go on. Then one day, some picker, I can’t recall who, said ”Oh, yes that’s Rosario Gautier from Lac St. Jean. He’s been carving for years. Now at least we had a name and place to ask about.

The next big break came in Quebec city when walking back late one night to our hotel after a particularly memorable meal and lots of good wine with friends who are lucky enough to live there. We passed in front of a closed antique shop and there in the street light was a photo in the window of Mr. Gautier, along with several of his pieces, and a short hand written bio. We were able to find a pen and paper and copy out the bio, and take this slightly blurry picture through the glass. We were up and out in the morning and never got back there.

Here’s what we were able to record about him that night. “Rosario Gautier was born and lived all his life at St. Charles de Bourget, Lac St. Jean, Quebec. Father of a large family (12 children of whom 9 are still living), he was a farmer and a blacksmith in logging camps. He started carving after retiring in 1971, and produced a large body of work. Most of his pieces are in the medium size range, but he also produced life sized animals, as well as an eight foot crucifix. The muse de la Civilization du Quebec owns 350 of his pieces, and he is represented in many major collections in Canada and the Unites States.”

By this time we had bought many pieces of his work. We kept some, and sold most to Quebec collectors. All the while we love his funky, choppy versions of birds and animals. All of them rough, and not self-conscious, but also showing a fineness and understanding of form.

We were in the habit those days to try to meet as many folk artists as we could in our travels, but as much as we admired Mr. Gautier’s work and would love to have met him, we were unwilling to make the 3 hour drive north of Quebec city, on spec. Not even knowing at this point if he was still alive. I google mapped St. Charles de Bourget just now, and it appears to be a charming little village of 690 souls set on a beautiful northern lake, but it is well on the way to nowhere. With very few villages en route, it would mean three hours of looking at trees, and then if we didn’t connect, three more hours of trees coming back. We didn’t feel like risking it.

We continued to see and buy his work from time to time, then in the mid-nineties we bought the Mongeau collection, and it included about forty small pieces that Mrs. Mongeau described to us as Mr. Gautier’s last works, which he made just before passing away at the age of 80 in 1994. I’ve included pictures of some of this work here. I love the directness of this work, and even though you can see it is not as accomplished as some of his earlier pieces like our 3 ½’ long bull, it contains a mighty spirit.

I’d still like to make it up that way just to see if I could find that eight foot crucifix. Even if it turned out to be fruitless, it’s close to Saguenay which from the pictures seems like a pretty interesting place to check out. I love Quebec. Quebec J’taime. Maybe this fall.

Nova Scotia or bust

Posted on May 12, 2017 by shadflyguy

One summer, back in the late nineties we decided to take a quick trip eastward combining some antique picking and vacation activities as a fun time together with our daughter Cassandra before she left high school to go to university. The objective was to have no specific plan, and wander eastward as we saw fit buying along the way, with the ultimate goal of reaching Nova Scotia. Even if we didn’t have the time on this trip to explore further once we got there. We put about $4,000 in an envelope for purchases, packed out bags and food hamper into a full size cargo van we borrowed from our son Brodie, leaving him our pick-up to use while we were gone. We were not looking for furniture on this trip, and felt it safer to leave our small sized purchases locked up inside a van at night. We got a good, early start and made it to our regular stomping grounds around Victoriaville in time to do a quick circuit of the picker’s barns there before settling in for the night at our regular spot, the Motel Marie -Dan in St. Eulalie. We didn’t buy much, wanting to save our money for buying in the previously untraveled regions to the east.

Day two, after a hearty breakfast we shot down #20 expressway past Quebec city until the village of St. Jean Port Jolie. This pleasant little village on the banks of the St. Lawrence river is the home of the Bourgault brothers, who founded the “École de sculpture de Saint-Jean-Port-Joli” in 1940 with the support of the Quebec government. The carvings became very popular with tourists and locals alike, and still today the village is chock a block with wood carvers. To be honest although we greatly respect this form of carving, we were hoping to find a unique folk artist more towards the lunatic fringe of the spectrum who might be hanging out there. We had a great time looking at the museum and several shops but didn’t find what we were looking for.

After a nice lunch we made our way along the coast on the two lane Hwy # 132 past Riviere-du-Loup as far as Trois Pistoles, a trip which would ordinarily take about an hour, but in our case took over four due to several stops at yard sales, markets, and shops. We hadn’t expected it, but we found a lot of wonderful stuff and by the time we stopped for a coffee in Trois Pistoles the cargo area of the van was almost full, and our envelope was over half empty. We had a little conference, and thinking of Nova Scotia decided that instead of going further into the Gaspe we would turn back to Riviere-du-Loup, hang a left on Hwy #85 which becomes Hwy#2 as soon as you cross over into New Brunswick and on a good day with steady driving will get you to Amherst, Nova Scotia in about eight and a half hours. Our goal was to sleep in New Brunswick.

It was dark and raining by the time we had made our way past the endless forests of this part of Quebec and then we hit the construction. On a 1 to 10 scale of “hairy” driving this was a solid eight. Pounding rain, mud, and lots of starting and stopping. We white knuckled it for about another hour and finally made it to Grand Falls, New Brunswick. It was pushing ten o’clock, and we really needed to stop. Turns out there was a convention in town and we were turned away at every motel, and feeling quite desperate before we got the advice that the only room we could get would be at a bed and breakfast in a recently converted old nunnery a few miles out of town. We’re not big B and B fans but great. We’ll take any port in this storm, and after a call ahead to confirm they had a room, we went off with the little hand drawn map we were provided.

The storm grew stronger, and the thunder and lightning more brutal, as we wound our way up into the surrounding hills, until there in a flash of lightning worthy of Alfred Hitchcock, the huge, old, Victorian Gothic Institution appeared, with a giant cross above the entrance; and we drove up the hill and pulled into a parking space, wondering what we had gotten ourselves in to.

I can’t recall, but I’m sure we were greeted by a perfectly nice night attendant, although in my imagination he was someone akin to Igor. We were lead down a long, dark, corridor to a pair of rooms which seemed to remain untouched from their former life. I remember the institutional green walls and old steel beds. They were small, and basic, but a blessing in our situation. In bed, with the lights out, and the still frequent flashes of lightning and thunder I began to hear people moaning in the distance. It kinda freaked me out, but I had no desire to investigate. I put the pillow over my ears and did my best to fall asleep. It was a long night.

Next morning, we met Cassandra in the canteen, and after coffee and hot chocolate decided to get the heck out of there. “Did you hear all that moaning” Cassandra said. “It really freaked me out”. “ “Me two.” “Me three” said Jeanine. We saw the caretaker on the way out, and he explained that it had become a B and B, slash old people’s home, and that some of the old dears were restless. The place didn’t look all that spooky in the daylight.

In town, we sat in a little mom and pop restaurant, finishing breakfast and discussing our plan. We had learned that the construction which we had only experienced about an hour of, continued for several more hours ahead as they were making the highway into a divided four lane. Desperately need by this point especially with all the summer tourists. We sat there for a while discussing our progress, and what lay ahead. We were grateful for the use of Brodie’s van, but it was noisy and fairly uncomfortable. We realized we had a full day of crappy driving ahead just to reach Nova Scotia, and then we would only have a couple of days to look around before heading back. Then our conversation turned to how much we loved Quebec City, and we could be there by late afternoon if we turned back. It was an easy decision for us. We called our favorite, cheap hotel in old Quebec, Le Manoir des Remparts and made a reservation for three nights. We had a wonderful time, and felt happy and relaxed on the twelve hour drive home. Resolving to make it to Nova Scotia another time. Perhaps, looking into air fares.

La Malbaie, part two – Bringing it all back home

Posted on February 24, 2017 by shadflyguy

When our offer to purchase a small barn’s worth of antiques near La Malbaie, Quebec was accepted, we recognized we had two main problems to solve; getting it all back to our place, and having somewhere to put it when we got it there. The church showroom was already quite full, as was our little storage sheds, so we talked to our friend and neighbor Dave who had a farm around the corner with some unused out buildings, and arranged to rent them at a reasonable rate.

There were many items in the lot that were outside our regular inventory; commercial products mostly like old beer bottles, tins, etc., so our plan was to sell most of this as quickly as possible to realize back some of our investment, and allow us to focus on what we normally sell. We knew a lot of dealers by this point so we invited them all to come when all the stock had arrived, to have a first pick of it. This generated a bit of excitement that we all shared. It felt like Christmas was coming when you were ten, and you couldn’t wait to see what will be under the tree for you. A date was set in three weeks time.

I rented the largest moving truck they would allow me with my license which was really, really big. If I’m not mistaken the box was 20’ long, and 10’ high. A good friend named Sergio who ran a nearby apple farm offered to ride shotgun. When I talked to the seller in Quebec I asked if he could hire four strong men to load, and he said it was no problem. He knew such men who would be happy for the work. He said he had a motel room waiting for us. Things were shaping up.

Sergio and I set out about 5 am the next morning. A time which allowed us to cross Toronto before morning rush hour, and which barring delays would put us in La Malbaie about 3 in the afternoon. The trip, although long, passed pleasantly enough as we chatted about anything and everything and occasionally munched away at our packed lunch. Sergio is Italian so we spent a fair amount of time with him teaching me swear words, and street sign language. Did you know that if you are walking down the street with an Italian friend and he holds his hand straight out about belt level and waves it front to back it means “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat”? I didn’t either.

We pulled into the farm about 3 as expected and drove directly to the barn. There was our man with a team of 4 very large men behind him looking tough, and ready for action. We only took about fifteen minutes to stretch and get our bearings, and then the trucks ramp was lowered and we got started. I stayed in the barn and pointed at the items to be loaded, and Sergio stayed in the truck and arranged the placement. We started with the big, boxy pieces like cupboards, dressers and sideboards, stuffing smaller items like bicycles, signs, wall cupboards, etc. in all the little spaces. The guys were amazing. Strong and careful and we filled the truck form front to back in less than three hours. As we rolled down the door you could see that we had taken approximately half on the contents. We then all went down into La Malbaie where we had a delicious dinner and a few celebratory brews at our host’s motel. His treat. What a guy. Then we settled in for an early night and slept the sleep of the dead until about 7 the next morning. We grabbed some breakfast and headed west. Pulled in at home about 7 pm and went straight to bed.

It was all hands on deck the next morning at 9 am. It took us about five hours to unload in such a way that everything could be accessed. We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at all the small treasures that were stuffed in the various drawers and boxes. I had an early dinner and went straight to bed so that I would be ready to head out with Sergio at 5 the following morning for round two.

Essentially it was the same routine but with the added fun of the scrap metal dealer arriving to haul off all the recent and thus rejected cash registers and the like. Where did this guy get all those cash registers? He must have bought out a local supplier. When the truck was full again there was still a small pile of things left. I said I would probably be back for them with my pick-up, but if I couldn’t make it back, I’d phone and he could call the local junk guy to come and get it. I wasn’t sure if I had another trip in me. Turns out I did, and Jeanine and I left a couple of days later in our faithful old pick-up.

Well that small pile turned out to completely fill the poor old thing, and I’ve never seen it sit lower on it’s chassis due to the large number of cast iron pots and pans which dominated the load. The wheels were practically rubbing on the fenders and I thought I was going to run out of gears and have to back up some of the sharp inclines you need to pass to get out of the region. Somehow she hung in there and we made it home. I was so impressed I almost wrote Ford a letter. We got home and had a few days to prepare for the pick. We pulled out all the things that we wanted for ourselves and got them back to the church.

When the dozen or so dealers arrived we explained that the procedure would be for them to go through everything and make a pile of the things they would like to purchase. We explained that as we had known them all for years and had done good business we would trust them to tell us what they would pay based on a reasonable, but not outlandish profit. In other words “We trust you to be fair”. Unless we felt we were totally being screwed we would go along with the price. You know, it worked amazingly well. Almost everyone was completely fair and the few who were not stood out like a sore thumb. “Oh, so this 100 year old, unopened bottle of Molson Ale in mint condition is only worth $15. I would have thought more, but if you say so.” There were a couple moments of “I saw it first” tension but they got resolved without fist fights. Everyone felt encouraged to share in our good fortune and grab what they could use. At the end of the day we had reduced the load by about a quarter, and the venture was paid for. A hellish amount of effort, but we continued to make money from that load for years, but I have to say that the best part for me really was the joy of opening everything up and discovering all the treasures inside. World of Wonder.

When we hit the Motherload in La Malbaie

Posted on February 17, 2017 by shadflyguy

In the late nineties when we were making regular picking trips to Quebec, we would sometimes combine work with pleasure, and take an extra day or two to go exploring after making the rounds of the regular picking barns. It was on one such trip in mid-summer when we had finished combing the barns around Victoriaville, that we headed up route 183 on the North Shore past Quebec city, to the Charlevoix region, and the town of La Malbaie. Champlain named this place La Malbaie, or “the Bad Bay” when his ship got stuck in the harbour, but it was known locally as Murray’s bay for years until 1967 brought a new awareness and emphasis on preserving our history. Whatever you choose to call it, it is a beautiful and magical region of large rolling hills leading down to the mighty St. Lawrence river. The wilderness is dotted with tiny, quaint villages made famous in paintings by Clarence Alphonse Gagnon, Marc Aurele Fortin and A.Y. Jackson, to name a few. It has retained much of its early, rustic charm because the region was not easily accessible until the early sixties when the Quebec Government built the big highway, route 183. However it has been a summer playground for the rich, both Canadian and American since the early 1900’s because its untouched natural beauty was accessible by boat along the St. Lawrence. For this reason, you still find many impressive estates, and the magnificent Manoir Richelieu, established in 1899, with the current building being built in the style of a French Chateau in 1929. It’s a wonderful region to explore, and only a two hour drive from Quebec city.

Manoir Richelieu

So on this occasion after a full day of enjoying the region we settled on a small strip motel along the river in town, which looked clean and inexpensive. We had a great meal at the small, attached restaurant and settled in for a good night’s sleep. In the morning, we had breakfast and set about packing up to leave. I was putting the cases in the truck when a pleasant looking middle aged man approached me. “So I can see from your truck that you an antique picker. Would you be interested in looking at some things I have for sale?” I was a little taken aback as I was thinking about getting on the road, but answered “Well that’s what I’m here for so sure, what are we talking about.” He explained that the antiques were not at the motel, but in a barn on the family farm, about a half hour drive away. As it happened they had just sold the farm which had been in the family for years, and before the deal closed in a month’s time they had to clear a barn where they had stored the contents of their grandfather’s museum when it closed in the mid-sixties. Their grandfather had run a private museum in an old fishing boat which had been dragged up on shore along the river. The kind of place you pay a quarter to go through. When they needed the land to build the new highway, he had to close, and at the time just moved everything, lock, stock and barrel to the barn on the family farm. It had remained there untouched. He explained that his grandfather was an eccentric who collected and displayed everything he could get his hands on, so that not everything in the barn could be considered a valuable antique. There is a bit of everything there, furniture, farm implements, old signs, bottles, eyeglasses, furnishings, you name it. Although the time frame seemed ominous, I was curious so we agreed to go and have a look. What harm could it do.

by A.Y. Jackson

We followed him up and down the twisting country road, until finally reaching a charming, old Habitant farm house and barn looking out over a picture perfect valley. We drove straight up to the barn. It was not a large barn, but when we opened the door we could see that it was packed from wall to wall with every sort of thing. So packed that there was no possibility of entering without hours of shifting large cupboards and the like. And dark. As our eyes adjusted we could see about a dozen large armoires absolutely overflowing with objects. The whole space was chock a block with everything you could imagine. We spotted several old bicycles, one being a tandem. Lots of books and paintings. Right away I spotted several nice old signs, both commercial on tin, and hand painted on wood. There were quite a few cash registers, dressers, tables, and six glass store display cases. There were benches and beds, and dozens of cardboard boxes filled with God knows what. . I could see that four or five of the armoires were really nice, and it seemed he was making an honest appraisal when he suggested that about 80% of it was good but not extraordinary, but that there was some very good things in there as well. As he spoke I scanned the room and made a mental note of everything I could see.

“So here’s the deal. I want $20,000 for it all with the condition being that the barn must be cleared of everything by the sale date. When you have everything you want, I know a couple of scrap dealers who will come and scoop up anything that is left, especially metal. There has to be about forty cash registers in there, and a lot of them are newer and nothing special, not to mention heavy so I doubt you will want to take them.” I stood there in the sunshine, looking out over that beautiful valley and thought “this is a tough one. It would seem the value is there, but it is a hell of a lot of work, and this place is a long, long way from home.” Jeanine looked over at me and shrugged. “ O.K.”I said, “it’s a lot to take in. We are interested, but we need a little time to think about it. Give me your number and I will call you back within 48 hours with an answer.” He agreed and gave us 48 hours.

We then left after saying our goodbyes, turned west and headed towards home. We didn’t talk about it until we had travelled for a couple of hours and stopped for a bit of lunch at a roadside food truck. When in Quebec I always have to get my poutine and “vapeur” fix. A “vapeur” being a steamed hotdog in one of those funny Quebec buns. As we sat there at a picnic table looking out over the St. Lawrence towards Ile d’Orleans we finally got around to discussing the elephant in the room. I started, “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and we have to recognize that it is a rare opportunity to buy so much from one source. Also, from what I could see there is easily $20,000 value, but how much more I’m not sure, and it is definitely a lot of work and expense getting it all back home. Not to mention we only have a month to accomplish it.”. Jeanine agreed and added “well let’s make a list of everything we could see, and assign what we would think to be a low retail value, and go from there.” We did this and determined that of what we could see, there was about $35,000 worth. Of course we also recognized that what we could see was just scratching the surface of what there was in total. We drove a few hundred more miles and then Jeanine said “I think we should offer him $15,000, and if we get it fine. If he says no then let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.” I agreed. It was obvious he was under pressure to find someone fast and if we were going to take it on, we had to be sure it was worth all the trouble. Jeanine phoned him right away on the cell, her French being so much better than mine, and I was surprised to hear her offer what sounded to me like $10,000. Then there was a pause, and she gave me a big smile and thumbs up . A moment later she was concluding the conversation by saying, “O.K. it’s a deal and we will be in touch when we got home to arrange the details.” I looked at her and laughed. “Am I correct that you made a snap decision there to offer him $10,000, and he agreed?” “Yes, well I was going to say $15,000 but then I started thinking it’s typical in Quebec to ask twice what you really want because everyone negotiates so fiercely, and $10,000 just came out of my mouth. He jumped at it.” Good work Jeanine. Now we just have to go home and figure out what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

Next week – Bringing it back from La Malbaie.

Lunch in St Eulalie

Posted on February 10, 2017 by shadflyguy

Just as many of the dealers and pickers active in the Victoriaville area in the eighties would meet at the Esso Station across from Kojak’s place on the outskirts of town for breakfast; the same bunch would turn up for lunch at a trucker’s diner twenty miles away, on the north side of the big highway 20, in a tiny place called St. Eulalie. At lunch time the parking lot of this busy establishment would have from 6 to a dozen pickers trucks lined up, and typically you would find small groups of men checking out what was tied down there, and discussing the possibility of a transaction. Most of these pickers were loyal to one or the other of the half dozen antique centers in the area, so they would not sell to you directly, but they may tell you where a piece was going and to whom you needed to inquire about it. There was always a lot of lively dialogue and laughing going on. Tips, news and gossip in equal measure. Sometimes you would witness heated arguments. Eventually everyone would make their way inside, and take their favorite seat in the crowded dining room, and the talk continued.

I loved the scene. If we were nearby at lunch time we would turn up there along with everyone else. After checking out the action in the parking lot, we would make our way inside to order a lunch special, or sandwich, followed by a nice piece of sugar pie. A Quebec delicacy that is as disgustingly sweet as it sounds, but it goes well with a cup of coffee and dialogue.

It was always crowded with locals, and those who were travelling on the Grand Route 20, and the wait staff was plentiful and efficient. The joint was jumping.

I remember one sunny summer day in particular sitting in a booth looking out onto the parking lot with one of the main dealers of the area, and a good friend, Ben. Ben was always smiling, and his sunny disposition rarely changed. On this day however, we were sitting there peacefully having a coffee before ordering when he looked out the window, saw a man get out of his truck, and suddenly jumped up and said” I’ll be right back.” I watched as he raced out the front door, crossed the parking lot, and went right up to the fellow, parking himself about an inch from his face; and then started yelling. I could not hear the conversation but you could see that it was heated. The intense conversation continued back and forth for another moment and then suddenly, bam, Ben hauls off and punches the guy in the face. The guy falls back a couple of steps rubbing his chin A few more angry words are said, and then to my surprise both of them come together back into the restaurant and sit down at our booth. “You didn’t have to hit me like that Ben. I told you I was sorry about the deal.” “I didn’t have to but I wanted to, and I told you that if you ever crossed me again like that, you’d pay for it.” Well, o.k. I was wrong but I’ve apologized and now it’s water under the bridge, right? “ Yes, but don’t you ever try to pull anything like that again. You know I will find out about it and It’s no way to treat me after all the business we have done.” “You’re right Ben. I’m sorry.” After that it was all sweetness and light. Pleasant conversation, jokes and eating a good meal together, as if nothing unpleasant had happened. I realized then that the Quebec guys ran a little hotter than we do in Ontario, and they have ways of resolving differences that we wouldn’t consider. I respected that they could be so open in expressing their feelings, and that issues got resolved quickly, and then they moved on. Still, I made a mental note to avoid pissing off Ben.

I cannot remember the name of the place. It was something generic like Voyager’s Inn or the like; so I went on to google map to see if I could see the sign out front. I was shocked to discover that there is nothing there now save for the big paved parking lot and a lot of weeds. The place must have burnt down. It made me feel sad that if we were to go there now, we would have to discover where the new place to meet is, if they are still even doing it, and it would surely not be the same. That’s the problem with going back after so many years. Everything changes and some things disappear. Brings to mind Thomas Wolfe who so succinctly put it in his 1940 novel, “You can’t go home again.”

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

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

shadflyguy

seeking authentic

Category Archives: Quebec folk art