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.

Bob MacDonald and the fantasy cities

Posted on March 17, 2017 by shadflyguy

I can’t remember how we met Bob MacDonald. It’s most likely that he found us. Bob was a full time antique picker who would pull in unexpectedly from time to time in whatever old wreck of a car he happened to be driving. I don’t think he ever paid over $100 for a car, and he spent all his time in them, so they didn’t last long. Bob was the type of character that kept me interested in this antique business, come lifestyle.

Bob was charming, intelligent, well read, and knowledgeable in the arts, and literature; but he also liked the bottle, and survived on almost nothing, occasionally being reduced to living in his car. When he came by, we would make sure he got some food in him, along with his beloved black coffee.

Bob spent all of his time following up leads, and beating the bushes for valuable artwork and rare books. He was good at it and would occasionally score big time. Then eventually the money would be gone and he may have to suffer through a fallow period. Those where the ropes. When he found something in folk art, like a Maud Lewis painting or the like he would come to see us. Sometimes to convince us to put some money up front, so he could actually purchase the object he had found. We trusted Bob, and he always delivered.

I was working in the garden on a fine summer day in the late eighties when Bob came roaring up the driveway, a big smile on his face, and a car full of what appeared to be aquariums. On closer inspection I could see that they were hand-made display boxes with plexiglass on the top and front. There was a half dozen on the back seat and two beside him on the passenger seat. He popped the trunk and there were another four large ones in there. “You’ll never guess what I’m bring you today”. He could hardly contain himself. “ I was up in Goderich and stopped in to the Chinese restaurant there for some lunch. I got talking to the owners and came around to telling them I was looking for art and books, and the young woman there said “Well, I don’t know if you will consider them art, but my father when he wasn’t busy cooking would get out a key-hole saw, and spend hours making these fantasy city landscapes. Would you like to see them?” Of course he was delighted to look. There in the back storage room were dozens of these boxes of various size and configuration. Every one similar with many layers of carefully cut out and painted balsa wood walls, towers, balconies; and courtyards adorned with little plastic trees and flowers. Most of them had a boarder of mini Christmas lights around the front, and occasionally there would be a plastic figure of a ballerina, or chicken, or duck perched atop a column making it appear to be a giant statue in the courtyard. The overall effect was mesmerizing. I know Bob would play it cool, but I bet his eyes were popping out. She explained that for a time her father would display them in the front window and occasionally someone would buy one, but eventually he became discouraged. The family had all kept their favorites, and so when Bob expressed interest, they sold the rest of them to him for a song. Really just wanting to find them a good home and free up the storage space I suppose. Bob drove directly to us.

What can I tell you. Jeanine and I both really liked them and felt they were strong examples of original folk art from a vivid imagination. Perhaps one looking nostalgically back on a childhood spent in China, although a China of the “crouching tiger, hidden dragon” variety. We felt and would continue to argue that they contained magic . We weren’t sure if anyone would feel the same and we now had a dozen of them. It’s the question you ask yourself when you invest your hard earned money in something that most people would find clearly crazy. If you see it, and can recognize it, I think you are under some obligation to act. Otherwise, why are you a folk art dealer, and not working at the bank. Or something else that rewards you with a pension, benefits and a regular “Johnny Paycheck”.

We took them to a few Ontario shows where they were pretty much ignored, or met with a polite curiosity, or in some cases they produced downright hostility. What is it about some folk art which actually makes people angry? I think it’s a combination of seeing something you revile with a big price tag. It makes one question the value of money, which can lead to questioning one’s values in general, which can lead to all sorts of problems. In any case, it soon looked like we would be owning them for a long while to come. We didn’t have a lot of money wrapped up in them as Bob had passed them on to us very reasonably so we were happy enough to set them all up in the showroom and plug them all in. Then turn out the lights and enjoy the feeling of being transported. An exciting Friday evening out on the ranch.

Fortunately, the next January we found ourselves doing a show in New York city, and within ten moments of opening a man came rushing up to us needing to know everything about them. He listened to the story and we soon settled on a price for all of them with the understanding that if any more were to become available he had first dibs. Also, we were to find out anything more that we could about the artist. Bob died not too long after, and we didn’t get a chance to ask him to go back. Our lifestyle was such that I couldn’t take the time to drive to Goderich to see what I could find out, but it’s something I still think about from time to time. The trails pretty cold at this point.

First, we take Manhattan – part two

Posted on January 13, 2017 by shadflyguy

We had outrun the snow storm, and arrived at the Puck building in Soho before the morning rush. Although it was two hours before the designated set up time of 8 am, Jeanine and I had already had a morning coffee and a lovely smoked salmon sandwich on rye. One thing you had to say about this promoter is that he really fed you well, knowing that dealers think with their stomachs. None of the crew that would help dealers unload would be there for two hours, but we hadn’t slept and were running on nervous energy. Anxious to get at it and set up, so that we could get to the hotel and sleep. We had rejected the idea of a nap. So, nothing to do but drive the truck up to the nearest door to our booth and start lugging. There was no traffic so this was a snap.

We pulled up the door of the cube van and became intimidated for a moment by the size of the load. We had a good-sized booth and wanted to do well, so we were loaded for bear. Just then as we were stretching out our muscles in anticipation of the task ahead we spotted a young, black guy, in a black hoody sliding up the sidewalk. He stopped as he reached us, smiled, and said “Can you use a hand”. “Well, if your offering, we could actually. I’ll be glad to compensate you”. Without a beat. “Let’s get started. I’m Leroy. Where are we going with this stuff”? “Right in here, Leroy. I’m Phil and this is Jeanine.” A little bow and a handshake. “Nice to meet you both. So what I’d suggest Phil is that Jeanine stays at the booth, you bring the small stuff to me off the truck, and I’ll look after the middle. The big stuff we’ll have to do together. ”Sounds great Leroy. Let’s get at her.” He was a wonderful helper, remaining positive and up-beat the whole time. Full of suggestions; “Well I think you should put that cupboard over there Jeanine”. It was actually fun. Within an hour and a bit everything was in front of our booth and we were already half set up. We thanked Leroy, and asked if he might come back on Sunday night at 6 when the show was over to help us reload. “Well that depends. I’ll try, but I can’t promise. No problem Leroy, so let’s see” We’ll call it an hour and a half, so how about 30 bucks? Does that sound fair?” “Oh no Phil. You’re in the big city now you know. Everything costs more. I think you’ll have to do better.” He was right, of course. My Scottish nature had made me offer him a country wage. “Alright Leroy, let’s make it $50.” That’s right, Phil. Now you’ve got it. Now you’re in a New York state of mind.” Leroy shook our hands, wished us a great show, and headed off in the same direction he was going before. Sometimes help arrives when you need it.

By the time I had taken the truck to the parking lot ($125 dollars there for the weekend. Now I know what you mean Leroy.) , and we had finished setting up, we were totally pooched. It had started to snow heavily about 10 a.m. so in the cab on the way over to the hotel later that afternoon we were becoming concerned as to whether anyone would be able to make it to the show the following morning. We were too tired to care much at that point. All we could think of was a shower and a bed.

We arose to snow covered streets, but nothing that would stop a dedicated antique show lover. At 9 am when we arrived at the show there was already a small line of people waiting. By the ten o’clock opening, there was maybe 60 to 80 who rushed in. Not a Bowmanville opening night crowd, but serious shoppers none the less. The first person to approach us was an interior designer from Brooklyn who could barely contain herself with excitement over the sphinx’s. She asked for the dealer discount which we provided and she immediately said yes and gave us $100 down, pleading with us not to sell them to anyone else while she went to a cash machine to come up with the rest. We reassured her that with the deposit they were hers, no matter how much extra someone might offer. I can’t imagine reneging on a deal once money has changed hands, but I suppose there may be some who can justify it to themselves. Somehow. It wasn’t a problem in any case because although others did admire them, everyone respected the sold tags, and she was back within the hour with the cash and a van to take them. Several more sales followed over the next two days despite the relatively low attendance. At least those who came were keen, and decisive. What surprised us most was the high number of people who knew about Canadian folk art. Many people would recognize a Charlie Tanner, or Edmund Chatigny, and everyone seemed to know who Maud Lewis was. We were told by several people that they had gone to Nova Scotia on a field trip arranged by the Museum of Folk Art. We were in high spirits at dinner on Saturday evening when we met our friends who live in Manhattan. We had delicious Japanese food that was still quite a novelty to us, in a place our friends frequented. A couple of glasses of sake and we really started to feel the buzz of the city.

Sunday was cold and blustery, but we did a bit more business and knew that we would go home with considerably less stock and more money, which is of course the point of the exercise.

Leroy was a no show at pack-up, and the gang of young Russian thugs the promoter hired to help load just about gave me a heart attack with their careless and at times downright brutal loading techniques. At one point I was having to catch boxes full of delicate items thrown at me from the back door of the truck. Hair raising stuff, and they looked like they might kill you if you complained. Still, we were packed in about an hour and heading down the West Side highway, heading to the George Washington bridge as the sun set, and the street lights came on. The icing on the cake is when I heard the immediately recognizable first chords of waw waw guitar and the golden voice of Isaac Hayes utter the first lines of “Shaft”. A song I had always heard as quintessential New York. It was a magic moment we had there heading down the West Side Highway listening to Shaft. A perfect moment.

First, we take Manhattan – part one, getting there

Posted on January 6, 2017 by shadflyguy

In the early nineties one of Canada’s top promoters of high end antique shows bravely decided to take a swing at the big apple. He decided to piggy back on the excitement around the annual January Antique Week in Manhattan where at the time there was about a dozen shows taking place in the area over two weeks. He managed to rent the well-known Puck Building in Soho, and he advertised widely. He even organized a free shuttle bus to run between the Puck building and the Winter Antique Show held at the Park Avenue Armory, and a couple of other of the big venue shows. His full-page ad proclaimed “the Canadians are invading New York….” I forget the exact wording, but the gist of it was we were there to kick American ass. It didn’t appeal to my humble Canadian nature, and I don’t think it appealed all that much to the American dealers either who stayed away in droves, but I must admit it was a gutsy move.

Things started to unwind a bit before they even got started, when a couple of the established big guns of the Canadian Antique scene decided it was too risky, or the costs were too high, or whatever, and refused to participate. The promoter had promised folk art, and had asked me to come along, but I too thought it was too large an investment on a first time show and passed. It was a week before the show when I received the call stating that I was desperately needed in New York, and I could name what it would take for me to come. Well, I thought about the success of the two Outsider Art Fairs that I had recently participated in, and how I liked and respected this promoter and what he was attempting, so with a nod from Jeanine I let him make me an offer I could not refuse. It was still a risk, but we love New York, and the thought of selling there was very exciting. We also had a lot of interesting “gear “(stuff for sale) at the time, including a pair of fiberglass Sphinx that had once graced the entrance of the Bill Lynch Circus which was big out of Nova Scotia in the forties. We thought they were magnificent but had not been able to get any interest at two or three fall shows in Canada. We thought they might be appreciated in New York so we put a bold price on them, figuring if we didn’t sell too well otherwise, the sale of “the girls” would help out the bottom line.

I remember that set up was from 8 a.m on Friday January 24, 1992, but you could arrive anytime provided you were set up for the 10 a.m. opening on Saturday. Our truck was old and open backed, and they were forecasting a lot of snow coming so we decided to rent a cube van. In for a penny. In for a pound. Logistically we decided to pick up the truck on Thursday at 5 p.m. which I talked the rental company into counting as being picked up the next morning, saving us a day’s rental. They knew they were going to make good money in the kilometer charges and I was a regular. The concept was to load the truck which we knew would only take a couple of hours as everything was packed and ready. Then we would leisurely have our dinner, take showers, and catch an early night, so we could leave about six the next morning. On a good day this would put us in Manhattan about 6 in the evening, and we would be able to unload and set up in the evening and hopefully get to the hotel about 9 or 10. We did not know how long it may take to clear customs, but we did know that we could take all night to set up if we wanted to, and we did not want the expense of another night in New York and another day’s truck rental.

But here’s how the best laid plans can fail in January. You guessed it. The weather. All day Thursday as I waited for the 5 p.m. pick up of the rental the weather reports became more and more alarming about the huge snow storm which was making its way across the mid-west U.S. on line to arrive at our place about sunrise. Just as we would be leaving. This was a biggy. A no kidding, you are going to get nailed snow event. About two in the afternoon when we stopped for lunch I looked to Jeanine and said. “I think we have to try to outrun this baby. We should pack and go right away and at least get through customs and a bit down the road and then pull into a hotel for the night. At least if we can get out of the Buffalo area it shouldn’t be so bad. We cannot afford to not make it there in time. We have too much riding on it.” Jeanine found this a hard pill to swallow but soon saw the logic. So right after lunch I called the rental place, put on my sweetest voice and talked them into letting us have the truck then. We hurriedly packed the truck with the help of our worker Albert and our son Brodie who was called into duty, and so by 5 in the afternoon we were on our way.

I remember that it was beginning to snow lightly as we entered the customs warehouse in Buffalo. We sat in a cold little room over-illuminated with a weird green fluorescent light alongside a dozen or so actual truckers. We were all trying to stay warm sipping lousy vending machine coffee, and making small talk as we waited for our number to be called. All the while conscious of the increasing snow floating gently down outside the tiny window. This was the scene for about 45 minutes which felt like 45 hours when you can see and feel the coming storm. When we pulled onto the interstate I said to Jeanine, “let’s just go down the road a way to get a little distance in tonight. I’m feeling awake and every mile we cover, makes one less mile tomorrow under much worse conditions. I gassed up the beast, and we headed down the line.

The snow was getting thick on the road and the road reports were not encouraging but we kept on. Then after about an hour the snow started to lessen, and we realized we were becoming slightly ahead of the storm. We got some coffee at a service center and I looked over to Jeanine who before the stop had begun starting to snooze, and suggested “Look. I’m feeling o.k. there’s some good tunes on the radio, and the road is clear. I say, let’s just keep going until the snow comes, or I am too tired, or something stops us. Surprisingly, she agreed. What a trouper. She even stayed awake for the most part engaging in any, and all conversation we could muster as to keep me from sleep. The hours and miles passed. The snow started up again, very lightly at first. Reports on the radio suggested that Buffalo was already virtually closed due to heavy snowfall. The giant storm was arriving a little ahead of schedule, and it was breathing down our back. We kept going, not stopping again until about two hours before New York when we stopped at a service center for a half hour nap, and another round of coffee. I hated to stop but I was at my limit. Surprisingly that half hour of shut eye was all I needed to wake up and complete the journey.

The snow began to come down heavily then, and I remember that it became very blustery and slippery just as we crossed over the George Washington bridge into Manhattan, and the truck did a little slide to the left just to let us know what we were dealing with. It was about 6 a.m. and there was no traffic so we pulled right up to the Puck building, realizing at that hour we could unload from the street rather than having to bring everything in from the loading dock. We looked inside the locked doors and were delighted to see that some people were already there starting to put down carpet and set up drapes. There was some good strong coffee and some nice snacks set out, and within an hour we had refreshed ourselves, and then they allowed us to begin unloading. And that’s when we met Leroy. But I will save Leroy for next week and the continuation of the story. What mattered then, and it was all that mattered then is that we had arrived safely before the storm.

A rooster for Sue

Posted on December 30, 2016 by shadflyguy

People who are creative have a need to create. It’s in them, and it needs to come out. For some, it manifests in the way they lead their daily lives, for others it takes the form of performance, or composition, or the manufacturing of an object, be it painting, drawing, sculpture, or other media. They get up in the morning, put their thoughts and intuition in motion, and they create something.

My wife Jeanine is such a person. She was active as a fine artist through the seventies and early eighties; exhibiting and teaching sculpture and other art making forms at Beal Art School in London, and for the University of Windsor art school in Chatham Ontario. She was the head of that school for a couple of years actually, and made the one hour trip (each way) three days a week from our home in Delaware to the Chatham campus. She sold lots of work, won awards, had one woman shows, and received grants. She was well respected, and completely involved in the contemporary Canadian art scene. In 1981 when we both quit our jobs and moved to the old Methodist church in Wyecombe, Ontario, she also stopped her professional life as an exhibiting artist. She had had enough of the game, and had developed new priorities; but that doesn’t mean she stopped being creative.

In a previous blog I talked about Jeanine’s decorative painting of furniture. Today I am conveying a little tale of the time she made a special gift for a friend.

In the late eighties, we were doing a lot of antique shows with the same dealers, when one day an exciting new dealer came on the scene. She was young, well in her thirties which is young for an antique dealer, had good taste in all things Canadiana and folk art, and was honest and dedicated. She bought widely from the community and soon developed a sterling reputation. We did some good business together, and quickly got to know and like Sue; so before long we were hanging out together, back and forth between our places, always having as a common bond a strong appreciation, and enthusiasm for folk art. It came about one year that Jeanine wanted to make something special for Sue’s birthday. Sue loved roosters. She loved a lot of folk art, but she really loved roosters. So Jeanine decided to make a rooster for Sue. She confined herself to the workshop and set about with wire, paper-mache, and oil paint, and presto, several hours later emerged with a dandy of a large, cross-eyed, black and white rooster. A fine specimen who portrayed the confidence and insolence of a truly fine cockerel. We loved him, and were fairly confident that Sue would love him too. At least we hoped so. Giving people folk art, even to a folk art lover, can be a tricky business.

And so Jeanine was feeling shy to present the work as her own for fear that Sue may not like it, but feel compelled to say she did because the artist was standing right there in front of her. Thus we decided to create a folk artist to go along with the folk art. Ah yes, now M. Rooster was created by a previously unknown 65-year-old folk artist from the Baie St. Paul region of Quebec named Benoit Rotisserie. Or something to that effect. I honestly can’t remember. Then we dressed up Jeanine in old dungarees, fake mustache,a scarf and hat, and took a photograph of the artist next to his work. We created a bio of the artist,document of authentication, and photo which all went into the box along with the sculpture.

Sue’s birthday came. She opened the box and hooray, she was delighted with what she found inside; and we got to enjoy several minutes of snickering and grinning at each other before she began to put two and two together and started to question the authentication. Great fun was had by all, and Jeanine had the reassurance she desired.

Four favourite folk art pieces by “unknown” artists

Posted on December 23, 2016 by shadflyguy

It is the day before Christmas eve, and I will soon be going downstairs to carve up apples for pies. Here’s wishing you dear readers, a very Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays as the case may be, and the best to all in 2017. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on the way out 2016. I think we will all be glad to be done with you.

So rather than go into a researched account of things past, or detailed description of some refinishing procedure, I am simply going to show you four of my favourite pieces in our collection, whose maker is unknown, and talk a bit about them. I think it will be fun, and I will be able to get to the kitchen quicker.

Much folk art is unsigned. Many who make folk art do so for their own gratification and therefore don’t bother to sign. Others are perhaps unsure as to whether they want to own up to it. For whatever reason, it can be frustrating to a collector when you come across something you really like, and then can find no clues as to how to find other pieces by the same hand. Sometimes you continue to find pieces you recognize are by the same maker in the same places, so you know you are getting close, and eventually you may be in the right place at the right time to have someone tell you who made them. Other times you may find a piece which totally blows you away, and never, ever see another piece like it.

Walking around the house I have chosen these four pieces for your consideration.

Elephant on a fungus

We came across this unsigned piece on the second floor of Alan Chauvette’s pickers barn in St. Valere Quebec, in about 1985. I remember the excitement I felt as I pulled it out from underneath a pile of blankets, and immediately fell in love. Obviously local, the creator was dreaming of exotic, far-off Africa, with palm trees carved in relief against a blue sky. I have always had a thing for the tree fungus you come across in the woods, which seem to scream out “do something with me”, and after finding lots of pieces involving fungus, I realize that there are many who share my enthusiasm. For a while there I collected fungus folk art. That was before Jeanine expressed that she found many of the pieces ugly, and she developed a theory that they may be releasing spores into our environment, so she would prefer that I move on. This piece however, because she loves it as much as I do, and because the fungus is painted clearly falls into a different category. I cannot logically explain why this piece falls into as Chuck Heston so famously put it, “if you want it, you’ll have to wrench it out of my cold, dead, hands”. But it truly delights me every time I look at it.

Chief Sam Goose

This piece was again found in Alan Chauvette’s barn about the same time. All we could learn about it was that it was picked in New Brunswick, and had stood at the entrance to a Mi’kmaq reservation for many years. Oil paint on plywood, it is a wonderful example of how time and nature can have a hand in making a truly unique piece. If I were to see it new, I would enjoy it for it’s graphic qualities, but it is the fact that the paint has deteriorated into the grain of the plywood in such a beautiful way that it looks as if the chief is looking at us through the fog of time. I bought this piece for next to nothing, and actually put it out at three or four shows with a price tag of about $175. Then one day when packing up I took a good look at it and thought “are you crazy. This is a wonderful thing. They’ve had their chance, and now it’s mine.”

A couple of stout fellows from New Brunswick

Again, it was love at first site. This time it was in the early nineties and I was having a quick look around the Inside/Outside show held near the Toronto airport before the crowd was let in. I came across these fellows in the booth of Cathy Constantino, of Timber River Farms. Cathy is a sweet woman and you can always count on her giving you a good deal so I simply asked for her best price. She knew they were very good, but she gave me a reasonable price in any case based on her purchase price, which makes Cathy a “class act” in my books. I put them in my case and didn’t show them to anyone for fear they would offer me “stupid” money, and I may be tempted by the bottom line. You can’t eat art, but you can’t live without it either. She actually did have the name of the artist, which I actually did write down in my day book which is how I kept track of everything in those days, but it would take me hours to go through those books to retrieve it now, and as I mentioned I am anxious to make pies. I will do it one day, and write it on a note underneath them but these fall into the category of “I never found another piece by the same artist.” So, it can wait. Aren’t they just the greatest figures of manhood that you can possibly imagine. They hit all my buttons.

Two facing off Magpies

Last, but not least, we have a couple of Magpies facing down each other over a worm (missing). We acquired this at last spring’s Aberfoyle show, from the booth of Craig Gamache. Jeanine has a large collection of bird carvings, and we knew right away that these fellows would have to be added, so it was with some relief that he offered them to us at a decent wholesale price. He had no information on the artist but mentioned that there had been a twig, looking like a worm, between their beaks when he bought them; but the worm was broken when he found it, and had become lost. One of these days I’ll get around to putting a new worm between them so the tug of war can continue, but in the meantime, it just looks like they are having an animated conversation. As Magpies will do.

A Retrospective of the work of Ewald Rentz at the R.O.M. (almost)

Posted on December 16, 2016 by shadflyguy

Most folk artists don’t see much recognition for their work during their lifetime. To most it would never occur to them to expect it. So it is particularly satisfying to note that two years before his death, the Thunder Bay Art Galley gave Ewald Rentz a major exhibition called “The “Completed” work of Ewald Rentz “. This was not far from his village of Beardmore so many of his friends made it. His son Ernie told me that it meant a lot to him to have this recognition. Rentz wasn’t at all interested in the commercial aspect of his art. He just wanted to please people. He was a modest man.

Nova Scotia does a wonderful job of promoting it’s folk art and artists. I think it is fair to say that this is largely due to the tireless work of Bernie Riordan during his long tenure as the director of the Art Gallery of Nova scotia, and to Chris Huntington who has sold and promoted Nova Scotia folk art since he arrived in Eagle Head in 1974. n 1988, Chris was instrumental in helping to establish the Nova Scotia Folk Art Festival which is held in Lunenburg during late July or early August of each year. There are many others of course, but these two really got the ball rolling.

My home province of Ontario on the other hand has done little to promote this type of artwork, and so it was of great interest to me when in 1988 I was contacted by our friend Susan Murray whom at the time was a powerful lobbyist (since retired) and dedicated folk art collector. She had set up a meeting with a person she met from The Royal Ontario Museum who expressed an interest in Canadian folk art. Susan was and is a dedicated promoter of Canadian Folk Art. The someone in question was Dr. Howard Collinson, head of the department of Art and Culture for the museum. This is what can come of rubbing elbows with the right people at the right parties, and having a very persuasive nature.

It was a very exciting potential that we considered on the way over to the meeting. I took to Howard immediately. He was friendly and personable, but direct. He got right to the point, that the basement galleries of the museum needed to be changed. For decades it housed a rather uninteresting, and frankly in some cases incorrect representation of furnished rooms of Canadian homes of various periods. It needed to go, and in it’s place he wanted something vital and relevant. What he had in mind was a show of some sort on Ontario Folk Art. We looked at pictures of several Ontario artist’s work, thinking this initial exhibit might be a cross section of artists, but when we got to the work of Ewald Rentz, he said “That’s it. I want it to be a solo exhibition of this man’s work”. Well alright then. I could see his reasoning. Rentz’s work is very friendly and approachable, just like the man himself. Let’s keep it simple and direct. We went down to see the basement space and then agreed to meet again in a month or so. The timeline for the show was for late the following year, and he had a lot on his plate to deal with before he could dedicate any time to the project. It all felt very positive and I began to look forward to getting started.

Unfortunately, as these things sometimes go, the next thing I knew I was being contacted by a pleasant-sounding woman who informed me that the museum had a new director, and that Dr. Collinson was no longer with the gallery. She had taken over his position. She stated that she was still interested in the project, but was currently unable to devote any time to it, having inherited many other more pressing issues. My heart sank. I could sense from her description of the current situation at the museum, and from her tone that the chances of an Ewald Rentz exhibition at the R.O.M. was quickly becoming slight or most likely not at all. The one that got away. I was right. She got back to me a few weeks later and said that the new director had imposed a completely different agenda for the department and that she could not see anything happening for the foreseeable future. I was disappointed of course, but still held the desire to push for an exhibition of Canadian folk art somewhere, at some time. I did realize this years later in 2005 with the Finding Folk Art exhibition at the Eva Brook Donley museum in Simcoe Ontario. Admittedly it was not nearly as high profile, but it was a very good exhibition of which I am still proud. But that’s a different story, for a different day.

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

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.”

shadflyguy

seeking authentic

Tag Archives: Canadian folk art