My thoughts after attending the fall 2018 Christie Antique and Vintage Show

Posted on September 14, 2018 by shadflyguy

field1 “Canada’s favourite antique & vintage show with hundreds of dealers and almost 10 acres of treasures to be discovered. You’ll find china, jewellery, signs, tins, scientific instruments, folk art, postcards, native artifacts, Canadiana, fine art, nostalgia items, furniture and much, MUCH more! Food vendors onsite. Rain or shine. – you’re sure to find something to love!”

This is the way the Ontario Summer Fun Guide describes the Christie show and I think it’s accurate up to a point. You will find all the things listed above on the field. What they don’t include in the list and I feel should be, is reproductions: and it should be way up the list. Perhaps number one. The field is rife with them. And as you stand there and watch the crowd you realize how few people notice, or perhaps care for that matter, if they are buying a reproduction or not.

I saw a man ask the vendor as he lifted one of ten identical cast iron string holders, “so this is old, right. It looks old.” There’s ten of them sir. He bought it. I rest my case. I’m afraid that sounds elitist but I think it is a fair observation.

field4 This is sort of tragic in the way that a lot of what is happening to our society over the last while is tragic. Fake is as good as real, as long as it makes you feel good about yourself. If it’s cheap and it looks like an expensive thing, who cares? Well I care, and I think a lot of people care.

In the interest of education, and fairness for goodness sake, I think that show management should insist that every reproduction is a clearly indicated on the tag as “Reproduction”. That’s all. In fact a separate, uniform tag with “Reproduction” in big red letters would be best. I think it would make a world of difference, and there’s no down side. Those who don’t care will not begin to do so, those who know it is a repro will no longer be offended, and most importantly those who are in doubt will no longer feel as vulnerable, and will trust the system well enough to go ahead and purchase that item he or she “thinks” is an antique. If we have to accept that reproductions are a big part of our antique and vintage markets today, and I guess we do, then at the very least, label them as such. I would think that it is easy to make a strong case to the dealers that this is in their interest, and I doubt that it would even result in less sales. There’s still always going to be lots of people happy to buy a reproduction if it does the job for them.

The problem with continuing on the current course is that it eventually cheapens everything, and dumbs us all down to the point that it all becomes meaningless. On the field you can already feel that for many it is more of a shopping “experience” than it is an actual attempt to acquire an antique or vintage item. I didn’t see that many people actually carrying anything.

field3 Still, several dealers did tell me that they did o.k. I guess they’ve still got their regulars, and if you sell one or two strong items that can make your day. Also, I have to add that overall, people seemed to be having a good time, and there’s nothing wrong with that is there. It’s a lovely way to spend the day looking at things, eating some junk food (or better. They offer that now), chatting with friends, etc. But to get back to business, bottom line, if not enough enterprise is exchanged, the vendors will give up on it. As will the people.

If you go back ten years the Christie show was run by Jeff and Wendy Gadsden and there was no reproduction allowed. They policed it and would ask you to take down any reproduction they found. In those days the audience demanded this and would complain to the management if they found out they had bought a re-pop. Jeff would go with the offended purchaser and the dealer was confronted. It could get ugly. That seems a life- time ago and a world apart. Where has everyone gone who cared about quality and integrity? Wow, now I’m really sounding like a grumpy old man. But really. What happened? Did the I-phones and I-pads and the whole inter-whoop business melt all of our brains so quickly and completely. I can see I’m on a roll, so I will stop.

I notice that of my principal interests, folk art is number six on the list, and Canadiana comes in at number nine. That feels about right in terms of crowd interest. But it’s hard for those of us who know that for about twenty of the shows thirty years life span, Canadiana was definitely number one. They wouldn’t even let in folk art for the longest time.

Ah well. Not to despair. Change comes, and we never know what form it will take, or when. In the meantime, let’s do our best to keep our interests alive, and support the like-minded people involved as best we can. And let’s agree to label reproductions as reproductions. Some dealers would do it voluntarily if they weren’t afraid of losing their shirts. It’s really up to the show promoters to come up to the plate. I think it would really help this show, and furthermore labeling reproductions as such should be encouraged right across the industry. field2

All the usual suspects

Posted on August 3, 2018 by shadflyguy

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, we spent every Sunday for much of the 1980’s attending the Toronto Harbourfront Antique market. It was a very lively market in those days, and you could rely on hundreds of people to attend. Most of them serious buyers looking for a special decorative object, or piece of antique furniture to decorate their homes, as was popular at the time. Also, it was a time when several Toronto people had already bought and furnished their house in the city, and they were all going out into the hinterland and buying up the low priced rural properties which would become their country week-end homes. For these in particular, they were looking for antique country furniture, most often in refinished pine, or similar. For an antique dealer these were heady times.

So eventually, within this continuous flow of humanity you would soon learn to recognize the specialty collectors or dealers who would arrive every Sunday to scan the market for their select products. Some smaller Toronto dealers would set up to sell, and to advertise their shop but there were several more dealers who had established shops in the city, and they would come by to add to their stock. You got to know these people as regular buyers, and you would get to know what they are after, and try to supply it.

One fellow would buy any refinished pine chest of drawers I would bring, and at a price close to what I would get from the public. Another dealer only wanted original paint pieces, and he would be there every week as you pulled in, hopping alongside the truck and pointing at anything of interest with the same question, “how much for this”, followed by a “ yes, I’ll take it, hold it for me and I’ll be back to settle up. He would then run off to follow the next truck in. Generally there would be five or six of these alfa type dealers to deal with right off the top so it made for an exciting first hour. Although you had to be on your toes especially when you brought in something really good, and there was a frenzy to determine who of the group was the first to commit. Get this wrong and people got offended. Guys would get pretty mad at each other over lost treasure.

Then as the day wore on many other dealers and collectors would make their way to your booth, most often looking for specific items. There was the pen guy. At some point he would slide up beside you and say quietly “got any pens for me?” If the answer was no he would just keep walking. However, if you did have something it wasn’t a certainty that he would be interested. He was after top end Parkers, etc, so once in a while I would come across something he liked, but for the most part I gave up after a half dozen failed attempts. Still he appeared like clock-work every week.

Then there was the defrocked priest couple who would always turn up seeking Catholic items. Extraordinary looking guys with extravagant wardrobe and hair down to their asses. As I was so often in Quebec, I usually did have something to show them. They really knew their stuff and would explain to me the symbolism and meanings of the pieces. They bought only occasionally, and I always looked forward to the little theology lesson in the middle of the day.

Later in the morning, preferring to get up at a civilized hour, along would come MonsieurTaschereau , a possible candidate for anything spectacular I might have. He had wonderful taste, and a highly respected shop in the Four Seasons tour. A relatively small space, but full of good things. He was very dry and came across as haughty at first, but when you got to know him he was down to earth, and a good guy. When he bought something from me, no matter how small he would always ask me to deliver. Then he would grab a ride so he didn’t have to take the transit back. I didn’t mind because we always had interesting conversation on the way, and I loved looking at his shop.

Another in this category was a lady named Susan Miller who had a wicker shop on Mount Pleasant for years. She was an institution with all the upper crust for their supply of white wicker furniture. All the rage for your patios and sun rooms, and Susan could be relied on for the best, and the whitest. No matter how good I would think the white paint finish was on a piece she would always say, “well, off course I will have to have it repainted”. It was part of her negotiation technique, but just the beginning. She was a lovely, refined lady always decked out in top end white and beige clothes with highly coiffed white hair adorned with a beige, wicker looking, basket-weave hair band. To top it off. It was her costume. Susan was lovely, but she was tough as nails. She had a special technique. For instance, if she liked a chair, but didn’t like the price she would simply sit in it, carry on pleasant conversation, ask for the occasional glass of water, and wait until you couldn’t stand it any longer and would say “O.K. you win Susan. It’s yours for what you asked, and of course I am happy to deliver it today. And of course she would always grab a ride. Again, I really didn’t mind because the conversation was good. I got to know a lot about Susan. How she took all her meals at Fran’s. How she couldn’t stand the smell of garlic and wouldn’t touch the stuff. It is what she disliked most about taking the transit. How she met her husband when she was a hairdresser at Eaton’s. Ah, so that’s the reason for the perfect hair all those years later. How her husband was an accomplished accountant and had written the Canadian tax code. Unfortunately he had died young, so she used some of her capital to set up the wicker store, and as it turned out she was really good at it, and enjoyed it, so it became her life until she retired (I think) at about age 70.

Being such divergent people I have to say we got along very well, and over the many trips up Mount Pleasant to deliver her and her wicker I got to know her. “One day we were riding along when she looked over and said “You know Phil I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve worked hard, and you want to know what I can tell you about life?” Pregnant pause while I imagined she was going to go on about family, or good friends or the like, but then she said “In the end Phil, you know who your best friend will be? “ Please tell me. She looked at me squarely and said, “a couple of bucks in your pocket”. When you get older and need some help, that’s what it comes down to. A couple of bucks in your pocket.” It surprised me, and puzzled me for a moment, but I could see from her expression that she was right. harbour1

Changes

Posted on August 18, 2017 by shadflyguy

I’ve just looked on my Word Press home page and this is my 107^th blog entry. I promised myself 100 entries. Tiny drum roll please. I’m enjoying it, so I’ll keep on going. My goal has been to write something once a week about an aspect of my life spent in the antique trade, and the pursuit of Canadian folk art in particular. Beyond this my intension has been to go beyond the technical, and take a look at a life spent as I suggest “seeking authentic”. What is it in an item that catches me, and keeps me interested? Why do I care? Actually, I am more interested in the expression of beauty, and the preservation of it, than I am in the industry per se, but I have also made a living from my full time involvement, so the industry part affects me. Today I’m thinking about that.

We listen to a lot of NPR in this house. Jeanine tries to clear her agenda every day at three to listen to Terry Gross on Fresh Air. I’ve become a fan as well. It’s too much politics these days, but it’s still intelligent radio. On Wednesday in the morning I was listening to a business review as I was doing up the breakfast dishes, and a report came on about changes in the antique business since the introduction of on-line shopping about the year 2000. The program confirmed that as those of us in the industry know, the antique industry has taken a hard punch, and is now greatly reduced in size. I think it suggested over-all the industry is down 60%, but I could have that figure muddled, and after spending a half hour searching the NPR site I could not find the interview to check it. In any case it’s dramatic. They had a quote from one of the appraisers from the Antiques Road Show on how half of the shops in his home town of Houston, Texas had already closed down, and the others were in trouble. The thesis suggested that the value of dark furniture, china, pottery, etc. dropped dramatically as these items became more easily available on-line. Basic consumerism. Why drive around when you can sit at your desk and order exactly what you are looking for? This situation is essentially true for all retail, and with rising costs for a bricks and mortar location, it just takes a trip through the down town of a small city to see the results of this situation. We have big box stores on the edges of towns but less and less independent little shops in the core. It’s a shame really for those of us who live to dig around in crowded, interesting spaces, but it is entirely understandable.

They chose the antique industry as an example because it has suffered the double whammy of changing retail structure, and of changing cultural tastes. There are now more Millennials than there are baby boomers. It’s a fact, and so far the kids don’t want their grandparents finely made dining room suites, or their knick-knacks. Nor do they want their Great-Grandparents diamond point armoire or harvest table as difficult as that is to comprehend. At this point the show tried to be up-beat by suggesting that the day may come when the children of the Millennials will decide they want fine mahogany furniture again instead of Ikea, and the cycle will begin again; but I doubt it will be as simple as that. And what dramatic changes would need to take place in the economy for the rents of commercial space in busy markets to drop significantly so that an antique shop could start to open up again. I’m not looking to bring everybody down here although the program did not make me feel chipper. I believe that by looking at the reality of the situation, and acknowledging the changes , we might better be able to make the best of it. There is no question that the industry has diminished, but there is still a lot going on.

Pickers are still dropping furniture off the back of their pick-up trucks at various antique shows. A lot of the co-ops, on-line sites, and surviving shops continue to do good business. Facebook groups, and magazines continue to support and bolster the ideas behind collecting, and at the heart of it all, yes, I still believe that many people will potentially come to grow tired of mass consumerism, and will come to “seek authentic” for themselves. To everything, change, change, change.

O.K. next week I will be back to tell a humorous story about my truck catching fire or some such thing, but this week I really wanted to acknowledge the effect that radio report had on me. It can’t all be happy face, and I believe in facing these realities head on to understand and move beyond them. And the one thing I know for certain is that some unforeseen thing, or event will come along that will totally change everything. We have to remain positive to make that positive change. We have to keep at it. Support and encourage, and enjoy what you love. It’s still the best game in town.

Fond remembrances of participating in L’ Exposition et Vente d’Antiquités d’Eastman

Posted on June 2, 2017 by shadflyguy

In the late nineties, it was common knowledge that the two finest country antique shows in Quebec were the North Hatley show held in July, and The Eastman show which ran in late September. The two towns are situated about 30 kms apart in the beautiful Eastern townships region, and so you would think that many of the same people would attend both shows, but the reality is these shows reflect the “two solitudes” of Quebec, with the North Hatley show being attended mostly by local, English-speaking home and cottage owners, while Eastman is predominantly attended by local Francophones. In those days at least, not many of the English dealers who participated in North Hatley would consider doing Eastman. They believed that unless you were recognizably French Quebecois with good language skills you would be overlooked. We heard this over and over for a few years before we decided to test the theory. I get by fairly well with my high school French, and of course Jeanine being from France, speaks the language beautifully. The thing is although neither of us were Quebecois, we determined that we could overcome this by just being welcoming, open, and good natured. We also liked the town and would go through from time to time to visit a good shop there, Antiquities Rosalie. A family place where we often found good folk art and early smalls.

Antiquities Rosalie

We knew also that the mayor there, Mr. Pierre Riverin was one of the biggest collectors of Quebec folk art in the country. He had “made” our show in North Hatley the previous year and suggested that we come to Eastman. So we contacted the show promoters and were happy when they welcomed us to come, and gave us a space in the main salon which was in the basement of the church at that time. This original space only held 15 dealers and as this was 1999 it was the first year that the show had been expanded to a second salon in a “Golden Years” club a couple of blocks away, bringing the total to 30 dealers. Of course people checked out both locations.

Unloading through the back door into the basement we definitely felt like the “new kids’ at school, but everyone was friendly and helpful and it didn’t take long to set up and feel quite at home. We discovered that Tom Devolpe, a dealer friend of ours from Montreal was doing the show as well, and we were staying at the same motel so we suggested that after setting up he come to our room for a glass of wine and a snack before going to the dealer welcome night, being held that evening in the restaurant of the same motel. What a nice idea to have all the dealers get together for dinner before the show. Dealers love to be fed.

Tom DeVolpe and me having a glass on another occasion

We stopped in a local depanneur, or convenience store to pick up a bottle of red and some cheese and bread to share with Tom in the room. This is one of the wonderful things about this region. Even the smallest local stores have a good selection of wine and cheese, not to mention pates. We bought a great baguette, and a soft ripened cow cheese from France called Chaource which we had never encountered but which immediately became one of our favorites. I remember that it was 40% off because it was quite ripe, but this of course made it even more delicious. We should have had to pay more because it was perfect. It could have been that we were just really hungry from setting up and skipping lunch, but that snack of fresh baguette, Chaource, and a few olives with Tom in the motel room remains one of my favorite all time eating experiences.

I recall we were a little tipsy walking over to the restaurant for our 7 p.m. seating. When we arrived we were taken directly upstairs to a private room just large enough to hold the 60 or so people participating in the show. We were all assigned a table and presented with the menu, and a program. A program of all things. We sat next to our old friend Alan Chauvette who owned a pickers barn near Victoriaville. It was his first year as well.

The meal was excellent, and surprisingly we still had a bit of appetite after all that bread and cheese. The place was soon hopping, and quite noisy with all those ramped up dealers. Then came desert, and along with it a few friendly greetings and encouragements from the promoters, followed by a sing along. Yes. I didn’t see that one coming. There in the program were the words and tune to follow for three or four special antique dealers songs. Everybody now, let’s sing, “Nous sommes les Antiquaires” set to the tune of “Les Miserable “ or some such thing. I forget exactly but it was hilarious, and good natured, and friendly, and everybody sang along.

This was followed by the announcement of who had won the “best booth” award which was a prize of a free ad in a local trade magazine were you could announce your honor I suppose. Being newbies we had no expectation of winning, and it was no surprise when a local couple won who not only had a beautifully set up booth, but also wore (get this) period costumes. I looked over to Alan, and said “ah that’s it Alan, next year, – Costumes!” We just about fell out of chairs. The festivities and merriment continued well into the night, but we soon made our good-nights and left to get a good night’s sleep.

The show was great. People were friendly and interested, and sales were brisk. Contrary to the fears of our fellow Anglophone dealers we were made to feel most welcome and accepted. We went back for another four or five years until we changed policy and only did shows close to home. It’s still going on today but has been moved to a larger facility “La Grillade” where there are 50 dealers in one space. Well worth a trip to this region, especially in the fall.

us setting up in Eastman

Coming in on a wing and a prayer- part one

Posted on April 21, 2017 by shadflyguy

In the eighties and nineties, in spite of spending a lot of time on the road going back and forth to Quebec and doing weekend antique shows all the time, I never had auto club coverage. It’s not that I’m against auto clubs. I’m sure they give many peace of mind, and before the days of google map they would plan a nice trip for you. But I inherently have faith, I guess you can call it, that things will generally go well, and should trouble arise I can handle it. This may stem from being influenced as a young person when I watched a t.v. interview with Orson Bean, who was a political commentator and popular comedian at the time. He argued that he doesn’t believe in the value of insurance. He proposed that if you saved all the money that you spend trying to insure yourself against every eventuality, you would have plenty of money to cover yourself should anything actually occur. Of course this was before the days of multi-million dollar liability settlements. But I took his point, and have avoided buying any insurance other than car and house which I consider essential, and it’s worked pretty well so far.

Here’s how I deal with a breakdown. The first thing is to get the vehicle out of harm’s way. Then relax, take a deep breath, and realize that the plan has changed. When I become comfortable with this fact I then go about finding and contacting the nearest garage. If possible I seek out local input. Because I am not afraid to make contact with strangers, if someone is around and looks reasonably normal my first move is to explain my situation to that person, and ask if they might direct me. Gratefully, breakdowns have been rare, and touch wood, my luck has held. Here’s an example.

It was the mid-nineties and I was heading solo to North Hatley, Quebec to participate in the mid-summer show there. The truck was tightly packed and I remember there was an almost full size folk art moose tied to the front rack. At a passing glance, it looked like I was hunting and got lucky. So, I was bombing along happily, East-bound on the 401 near Gananoque‎, Ontario when the engine started to sputter and choke. There was an exit right ahead so I took it, hoping I could make it to a garage or at least a parking lot. I just made it up the ramp and it started to die out, so all I could do was to pull over as far as I could on the shoulder and it shut down. I was distressed in that it was late in the day and although I had planned to stop soon for the night, I was counting on getting up early and driving straight to North Hatley so that I would have time to set up before the seven o’clock opening. If it took all morning or longer to repair the truck I would not make it in time.

At first I just sat there, and took stock. It was a beautiful late afternoon. That time of day when you get the wonderful clear horizontal light as the sun slowly sets. Around me were green fields and a couple of small houses nearby. As the motor stopped I could hear the sound of a lawn mower. Excellent, there’s my first move. I hopped out, crossed the road and waited until the man on the riding lawn mower turned the corner and was headed back towards me. Putting on my best non-threatening smile and waving, he saw me and waved back. He drove right up to me and killed the engine. “Beautiful evening. I don’t mean to trouble you, but that’s my truck over there. I’ve just broken down and I need to phone a garage. Could you suggest anyone?”. We exchanged names. “Well, I work for the Canadian Tire in town so we could fix it tomorrow sometime, but I’ve got a buddie who’s got a country shop just down the road and he may be able to get you going faster. He’s cheaper and better too” I appreciated his honesty. “Sounds great. Can we give him a call?” “ Sure can. He’ll probably still be working at the shop” . A half hour later the truck was hooked up to his tow truck and we were headed the few kilometers to his shop. He was a great guy. Right away he offered to stay and work that evening to get me going first thing in the morning. He figured correctly that it was the fuel pump and he had a rebuilt replacement on hand. When I asked him about a place nearby that I might spend the night, he suggested that his sister had a bed and breakfast, and he could take me there and pick me up in the morning. How Ideal is that?

His sister and her husband also turned out to be really nice people, and offered me a beer and some sandwiches when they realized I had not had dinner. After a good night’s sleep, and seven o’clock breakfast I was ready to be picked up at eight. The truck was repaired, the bill was reasonable, and I was on right on schedule to arrive in North Hatley for set up. Thank you kind people, and here’s to serendipity.

But as fate would have it, this was not the only “test” I would experience on this particular trip. I will continue the story in next Friday’s blog. Stay tuned, as they used to say.

How did this whole thing get started?

Posted on April 7, 2017 by shadflyguy

The other day as a friend was about to leave, I spotted a couple of small finger jointed pine shelves leaning against the back porch wall where they had been standing for the last six months or so. They were part of a cheap wooden shoe rack I had bought a few years back at Canadian tire for about $16 on sale. The finger joints had begun to come unglued and one of the upright supports had snapped, so rather than repair it we bought ourselves a better one . Although I had no use for shelves, I found it difficult to throw them away. “Hey, could you use these shelves. They need a little gluing but they would make a great little rack for drying herbs or something.” My friend looked at me and said, “I have no use for them as a shelf, but if you want to get rid of them I will use them for kindling for my wood stove.” I stood there for a moment assessing whether this was acceptable, and then reason clicked in and I said “Sure, go ahead and burn them up.” I thought they may have served a nobler purpose, but hey, a man’s got to light a fire. This incident got me thinking about why I have a tendency to save things that I either find interesting as an object, or which I think I might find useful later on.

I’ve never lived through a period of want. Never not had enough to eat. Never even longed for a new pair of pants. I’ve been a pretty lucky little monkey when it comes to living in a time and place where I have not wanted for much. So why do I save broken shelves? And being someone who saves things, why have I not become a collector per say? Or for that matter, a hoarder.

Over my 35 years in the trade I have encountered and come to know several collectors, and indeed we do have a pretty large collection of Canadian folk art, but this is largely due to my vocation, and the tendencies of my wife Jeanine who does have a true collector’s instinct. In collecting terms I relate most closely to the crow. Not in that I am necessarily attracted to shiny things, but in that I tend to pick up and carry away that which I find interesting or pleasing enough that I think I may want to look at it again and again. Knowing that one day, I may find that I have enjoyed the object enough, and if it no longer holds a special relationship to me, I am quite happy to find it a new home. I recognize this makes me more a dealer, than collector.

It is the process I am interested in. Not so much the act of possession. I like handling the stuff and taking it somewhere else where it will be safe. I like to feel I am saving it from the fire. Also, I like to be surrounded with things that resonate with me. Things that make me feel something when I look at them. Things I find beautiful.

Does my becoming a dealer come from me not wanting to throw out possibly useful things as much as it does from an appreciation of beautiful things? Probably so, at least in the first place. As I grow alder I save a lot less for eventualities.

And why with this tendency have I not become a hoarder? The simple answer is I guess it never appealed to me. I have always lived in environments that are essentially orderly, and although far from being minimalist, have never been overly crowded or chaotic. That being said, from a very early age I have always had a room, or a space in a barn , or someplace where I could pile things that were of interest, but not necessary for my day to day life. My hidey-hole. My Raven’s nest. I have included as evidence a tricky triple exposure photo I made of myself in a room I had for my “extra” things in London when I was in my early twenties .

As a kid I wasn’t particularly prone to dragging things home, although as soon as I had my own space in the form of a tree house, I started to put things in there. That was when I was most crow-like. An interesting rock. A discarded cowboy beIt buckle. You name it. Then when I was about 16 my Uncle Clare and Aunt Lottie decided to sell the farm and move to a house in town, so that was when I attended my first auction.

I remember that lovely late spring day, arriving to see everything from this familiar place being dragged out of the house and barn and spread across the yard. My initial response was sorrow. My next response was interest. I was there with my parents and my Aunt Marie and cousin Ron. Ron was eleven days older than me, but already a lot cooler. He had started to grow his hair longer, and had taken to wearing torn blue jeans and moccasins without socks. We were close, so when he excitedly told me that he was going to bid on and buy the Bakelite portable record player, I was excited for him, and decided then and there that I would also bid to buy something to remind me of these folks and their place.

Ron’s record player came up first, and he was up against considerable competition. About half way through the bidding he had to ask Aunt Marie if she would cover him if he went over his savings. She agreed, and he won it for about thirty bucks as I remember. A lot of money in those days. It was worth it though. It was a great sounding unit and loud, and we had countless hours of enjoyment playing large stacks of hit 45’s in his bedroom as we discussed everything under the sun, and ate mandarin oranges from a tin.

The auction wore on and I tried for a couple of things unsuccessfully before winning an old pine drop leaf table which had never been painted for $5. It washed up beautifully, and I began to sit at it to do my homework feeling an indescribable closeness to it. The table is still with me; and although it’s nothing special, I continue to love it for the association.

Uncle Clare and Aunt Lottie’s table today

Anyway, it was on that day when I bid and won a useful table for $5 that something clicked in me. And the switch is still stuck in the “on” position. Within a year I had made an arrangement to rent some space in a barn from a 70 year old man I had befriended, who lived by himself on an unworked farm at the edge of town. And the rest as they say is history.

“That’s funny. Someone’s burning wood on this hot summer day.”

Posted on March 10, 2017 by shadflyguy

In the late eighties Bill Dobson decided to hold a one day antique show in a small town just south of Montreal. I’ve been on Google map, and for the life of me can’t figure out what town it was. It may have been Napierville but I wouldn’t lay money on it. In any case, it struck us as a good prospect and fit our agenda so we signed up. First time shows are a toss of the dice, but Bill kept the rent reasonable so even if it was a wash you were not out much. We also liked the fact that after the show we could make the two hour drive to Victoriaville to check out if anything great had arrived recently at the picker’s barns there. Cassandra was out of school so she came along and so we also made it a bit of a working vacation. Which is about the only kind of vacation we were taking in those days.

It was already a glorious day when we pulled in to the quaint small town fair grounds at 7 a.m. on that Saturday morning. There was about forty dealers arranged in two back to back aisles along the race track between the community hall and the bandstand. We spotted many of the usual suspects, especially among the Eastern Ontario and Quebec dealers who did Bill’s other shows, but there were also a lot of dealers we had never seen before. We did some good picking after setting up in those first couple of hours before the show opened.

When we pulled into our spot I noticed that a Quebec dealer I had never met was set up behind us and he had some wonderful things. We made our acquaintance and did a little business. Ah, that wonderful feeling of optimism that sets in just before starting an outdoor show on a beautiful day when bad weather is not a worry. I noticed that there was a very old lady sitting in the shade behind his truck already starting to cane chairs, while chain smoking. She was the dealer’s mother and was well into her eighties. He said she loved caning chairs and it was a good part of his business. I enjoyed meeting her in spite of the fact that she barely spoke and continued to smoke one hand-rolled cigarette after another. I noticed she threw her butts on the ground and there was already a little circle of them around her, but didn’t think much of it.

The day preceded to be fun and profitable. Many Montrealer’s made the drive and we also recognized lots of eastern Ontario collectors. At 5 o’clock shows end we were happy with our day both from a buying and selling perspective. It didn’t take long for us to pack up, and the last thing I loaded was a stack of packing blankets that had been sitting by the back door of the truck, and were no longer needed as the pieces they were protecting had been sold and were gone. I picked up the whole bunch and stuffed them in a space in the left, back corner just at the base of a wonderful old one piece cupboard in original red paint that in spite of it’s attributes had failed to attract a buyer. We hopped in, turned east and started the two hour drive to the Motel Marie-Dan in St. Eulalie where we had a reservation. This motel was clean and friendly and inexpensive and situated near the pickers barns so it was were many dealers stayed. It has a nice little pool too which Cassandra liked. We arrived without incident, got our key which was to an upstairs room, and unloaded our luggage. We switched on the air conditioning because it was and continued to be a stifling hot day; had ourselves a cool beverage, and proceeded to relax and count the loot we had taken in. At the end of a good day of selling this is the best part. Cassandra who was about 8 at the time watched a few late afternoon cartoons and just as I was starting to nod off in my chair, looked over and said “ how about a swim ,Dad?” To be honest a quick nap in a cool room after such a long day of unloading, selling, and loading again was more appealing, but Cassandra had been such a trouper, helping out with packing and keeping herself occupied over the long hours in the hot sun, that I was not about to deny her this simple pleasure. Plus, I knew that a little dip would do wonders to restore my energy. So I put on my bathing suit and ten minutes later we were happily floating, and jumping and otherwise enjoying the little pool which had grown almost warm in the summer sun. It was quite idyllic. The sun starting to lower behind the forest which ran behind the motel bringing that beautiful evening light which softens the contrast and pushes the red end of the colour spectrum that film makers call the “golden hour”. I remember floating peacefully while hanging off the edge of the pool by my ankles, which is a favourite trick of mine. I loved watching Cassandra jump in over and over and otherwise enjoying herself. We were the only ones there. As I lay there thinking how fortunate, content and grateful I felt, I was at one with the world. And it was about then that I faintly detected the beautiful smell of burning wood. I remember thinking, “That’s funny. Someone is burning wood on this hot summer day.” Almost as quickly I thought “ well it must be someone burning up old surplus wood to get rid of it.” And that’s when I looked over towards the parking lot and noticed smoke billowing from the back door of my truck.

You’ve never seen someone exit a pool, and cross a parking lot as fast as I did that day. I ran to the back door of the truck which was hot, but of course it was locked and I quickly realized the keys were upstairs. I raced upstairs, pounded frantically on the door until Jeanine who was coming out of the shower answered with a ‘hold your horses, I’m coming, where’s the fire.” “In the truck” I fairly shouted, “the truck’s on fire. Quick get me the keys.” It seemed like an hour but it was probably just a few minutes before I was again at the back door of the truck. As soon as I unlocked and opened it, of course the rush of air hit the flames and the blankets were truly ablaze. I grabbed them out and dumped them on the parking lot, and could see that the fire had also connected to the bottom of that big red cupboard which was laying on it’s side in front of the blankets. I looked around wildly assessing my next move. My first instinct at seeing open flame was to run, but I recovered my senses and noticed a long hose hooked up to a faucet by the garden so I raced over and was relieved to find that water came out when I cranked it and also that the hose was long enough to reach my truck. It only took a couple of minutes to put the small fire out on the bottom of the cupboard, and extinguish the large pile of burning blankets by now safely away from the other vehicles parked in the lot. Cassandra was there beside me all along but there was little for her to do but watch and shout encouragement. When it had cooled, we dug through the blankets and sure enough there was the smoldering butt of a hand rolled cigarette.

Thanks to Cassandra’s insistence on a swim, I had discovered the fire in time, that surely would have otherwise escalated within that truck filed with 100 year old pine to the point where I imagined the headline would read “Truck explodes on motel parking lot causing massive damage”. The bottom board of the cupboard had to be replaced due to the smoky smell that would always inhabit it, but otherwise we just lost a pile of old blankets. A close call.

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

Looking back at over twenty years at the Christie Antique Show

Posted on September 2, 2016 by shadflyguy

Me (looking really heavy), and Jeanine in our booth, mid nineties

The Christie Antique show is coming up on Saturday, September 10^th at the Christie conservation area near Hamilton, Ontario. It is Canada’s largest outdoor antique show and draws thousands of people to both the spring and fall shows. It was started in 1988 by Jeff and Wendy Gadsden in partnership with John Forbes, and a few others investing. I remember everyone getting excited about the prospect of a new outdoor show in the Golden Triangle area. At the time the Flamborough Antique show held nearby, also in the spring and fall by promoter Bill Hogan was the only large outdoor show, and it was uncertain how this new show would stack up. We liked the fact that it was a one-day show held on Saturday so we didn’t need to miss the Harbourfront market in Toronto on Sunday which was still going strong. Also, Christie is an hour away from our home so we didn’t have to factor in staying overnight at a motel.

From the beginning the Gadsden’s and Hogan ran a tight ship. There was active vetting and anyone foolish enough to try to pass off a reproduction or junky piece would be certain to be brought to task and made to remove the offending item, or in some extreme cases be thrown out altogether from future shows. Older folk art was o.k., but mass produced, contemporary folk art was not; especially if misrepresented. I remember one spring show when Jeff made the dealer next to me return the money to a customer, and accept back an Aime Desmeulles horse that the gentleman had bought for a large sum because he was told it was old and rare. He was not happy when someone had told him the truth, and so he went to the promoter’s office to complain. There was no tolerance for early packing, no matter what the weather conditions. You could be sure that everything would be on display right up until closing time at five. Load in and load out was carefully supervised. It was in every sense a well-run show and collectors and dealers alike loved it.

Something is amusing Jeanine.

Many dealers would come the night before to set up their tents, and then settle in for the night so they would be ready for the morning rush. This continues to be the case. You could not unpack your stock, so in the evening there was a fair amount of partying and card playing going on. Not to mention a fair amount of subtle trading and purchasing; everyone being very careful not to be caught as this was forbidden. You were allowed to unpack starting at 6 a.m. and so those two hours before the field was open to the public at 8 was crucial. Typically, you would do a lot of dealer business during this period quite often selling many of your nicer pieces as they came off the truck. Clay Benson and others would race around buying, following up leads given to them on their walky-talkies by scouts also combing the fields. The negotiation was accomplished quickly and when a deal was reached it would be completed later in the day when things had calmed down. I loved to buy at the show but I would always stay in the booth during this critical period because I was most interested in selling, and the type of thing I buy was esoteric enough that it would still be there later on. It felt great when on occasion you had sold enough to consider it a successful show before the public had even entered the field. This was the hay day, and everyone was tuned up for it.

Like everyone else, we had our fans. Early on, there was not a lot of folk art on the field so folk art collectors made our booth one of their first stops. These “keeners” were also in a hurry to buy and move on, but many of them would circle back later for a visit. Things were typically busy until about ten, when it would slow down enough that Jeanine could handle the flow, and I would take off for a couple of hours to comb the field, coming back about every twenty minutes to unload purchases, and check how things were going. I could tell by the expression on Jeanine’s face as she saw me approached with my treasures if I had some “splaning” to do, as Ricky Ricardo used to say. I loved it on the occasions when I would quickly sell again something she would flatly tell me that “you’ll be taking that piece to your grave with you”. But then again she was often right, and we mostly agreed. She would take her turn after lunch, and it was my turn to hold down the fort, and offer comments on her purchases. We didn’t have any cell phones or walky-talkies at this point which was just as well. There’s nothing worse in my opinion than trying to explain and convince another of the relative merits of a piece, talking on your phone in someone’s booth while they look expectantly on. It takes the fun out of it.

For the first several years we had a spot right in the middle of a row in broad sunlight. It was awfully hot until we purchased a tent to provide shade and shelter. As helpful and necessary as it was, the first twenty minutes in the morning setting up the wretched thing, and the last twenty minutes at the end of the day packing it, where my least favourite parts of the day. Some swearing was involved as you would inevitably at some point pinch your skin putting the stupid thing together. When Marjorie Larmond quit doing the show in the late nineties she was nice enough to bequeath her spot under a big shade tree to us. Jeff went along with her wishes, and so after that we had a lovely spot at the back of the booth, in the shade to set up our picnic lunch. These lunches started out innocently enough, but being French Jeanine kept upping the ante until it became quite a production with tablecloths, a range of excellent cheeses, beverages, etc. Many friends got in on this, and it became a very pleasant way to spend the slow time after two, until it was time to start wrapping up the business and beginning to pack at five. We tried to keep it subtle and behind the truck and we made sure that someone was always on duty up front should someone wish assistance. Still some people would give us some very odd looks. This reminded me a bit of the shows in France where at mid-day, everyone sets the table, and puts out their lunches and bottles of wine and you carry on regardless. The French have their priorities straight.

We happen to agree with a no packing before show end policy so although we would have our boxes and packaging ready we would wait for the announcement that it was over and it was o.k. to start. It usually would take a couple of hours at a leisurely pace to pack up and leave. We were always exhausted, but most often happy and satisfied with our day. There is a Chinese place we like called “the China King” going into Brantford where we would stop and eat before heading home. I don’t think Chinese food ever tastes better than at the end of a long, arduous day which also provides the satisfaction of good visits, exciting purchases, and if lucky, lots of sales and a full wallet.

We did our last Christie in 2010 which as it happens is also the last year the Gadsden’s ran it. Anyone who has attended regularly over the years will tell you Christie has changed dramatically, especially in these last few years. To everything, turn, turn, turn; so let’s not get maudlin about it. There’s still plenty of wonderful stuff turning up on the field, and many good dealers. Look harder and filter out the stuff that grinds on your collector sensibilities. You just might find something to cherish, and you’re likely to enjoy yourself. Quite possibly snag a nice lunch. We’ll see you there.

“living the dream”, a church full of great stuff in the middle of nowhere

Posted on August 26, 2016 by shadflyguy

later on when most of the furniture was gone and it was largely folk art

I can remember standing in the partially dilapidated main hall of the old Wyecombe Methodist church for the first time, and thinking “this would make a fabulous antique store.” It’s 1981 and Jeanine has read a classified ad in the London Free Press about a church for sale in Norfolk County for $21,000. We decided to take a ride in the country and have a look just for the fun of it. Seemed harmless enough. Well damned if we didn’t fall in love with the vaulted, 28’ patterned tin ceiling, and surrounding 14’ Gothic windows. We loved the size, exposure and location of the place and saw the potential; and so in spite of all our friends and family advice against it, we bought the dream. Thus along with our new alternative life style we began several years of hard labor renovating and maintaining the joint. We soon discovered why these church halls are typically taken on by a community, and not individuals. Everything is large scale. Thirty gallons of paint rather than four. We loved the challenge. We could see the phoenix rising from the ashes.

As life demands, simultaneous to the renovation we began to buy and sell antiques, to meet our needs, and so our main concern was to sell every weekend at the Toronto Harbourfront market. We didn’t think many would find us in the outback and we were happy with the income from the market. But it wasn’t long before dealers and other customers started to make the trip out to see what we had at home. At first it was more of a warehouse than a show room, but over the years we refined and added showcases, and shelving and by about 1990 it was usually quite full and fairly organized. Of course everything had to be dragged up and down the wide, front steps, but we were young and stupid; and didn’t care. Like many of us at that time who found themselves being full-time antique dealers, it was the alternative lifestyle thing that attracted us. It was more out of an aesthetic interest than any well thought out business plan that the sales room of Old Church Trading came about. That and the natural tendency for things to pile up as you continue in this business, and thus the need to find some place to keep them.

In the fall of 1996 a Quebec dealer friend of ours started to bring huge loads of mediocre stuff to a Guelph auction every other week, and proposed that he also bring along some good things for us to sell for him. Things were changing in Quebec. We had the room, and had done good business together over the years so we said yes. It was great. He kept bringing us wonderful things. Not a lot at a time, but excellent quality. We loved to see him pull in. It was like Christmas.

Our Harbourfront days were now behind us, but with some good dealer trade and with a schedule of about twelve shows a year we continued to go through a lot of stock. People who had not been by for a while often commented that it was amazing how much the stock kept changing. That, and it just kept getting fuller. Cupboards were now in rows and stacked one on top of the other. I felt proud that it was looking like a Quebec picker’s barn. I loved to stand at the front of the big room and look over the variety of interesting things. Although visitors were few and sometimes far between, those who made the trip usually were serious and went home with something, or often with lots of things. We really didn’t advertise all that much, or encourage passing trade. There was a small sign at the road but that was all. Most who came were people we knew from shows. Or people who learned about us through them. I guess we could have pushed harder, but we like staying a bit out of the way. Mysterious and a bit aloof. Not in a “pearls before swine sort of way”, but just by saying “here it is. We think it’s great. If you think it’s great and want to take it home, we are happy to help you carry it out. Otherwise, we hope you had a nice time and it was worth the drive.” You could be that cocky back then.

Late in 1997 our Quebec pal’s arrangement with the auction house ended and he stopped coming, so we bought about half the stock we had, and sent the rest home with him. The market was changing, and so were we. We were becoming more interested in the folk art, and although I loved the furniture, my back was just about pooched, and the furniture market was slowing, so we decided to downsize and focus on smalls. Oh how dismissive a young me and my colleagues had been watching the “smalls” dealers bringing in their boxes, and now I was one of them. Less and less furniture came up those stairs.

Our daughter Cassandra had left for Queens a few years earlier, so by the year 2000 we started to think about ourselves in the not too distant future being old, and a bit crazy, rambling around the church in old patched sweaters, so we decided that a move into town and a new scene was the next project. It took us three years to wind down the church and move on to Port Dover, and don’t get me wrong. We’re happy we did. But for a while there we were living our dream. A great shop, in the middle of nowhere, which almost nobody knows about. Looking back, I can see that it was almost like building a folly.