So my gentle readers know, I am not generally given to hyperbole. Although excitable by nature, I nevertheless try to rein this in. If I don’t, I am always several steps ahead of an inexorably unfolding reality that, usually, results in that reality not being as unfavourable as I had thought it might be. Hyperbole, excitement, and pessimism- that’s me, sorry to say, and facets of my personal makeup I am constantly warring against.
All the above seems not of a piece with my title, but I have to say, events from yesterday make it hard to characterize the present state of the antiques trade any other way. Sick and getting sicker, my conversation with one of the antiques experts at a London saleroom made all this all the more clear when he said he wasn’t sure how long they would continue to offer period furniture. This, after the same saleroom had winnowed out its support staff barely two years ago and reducing the auctions from nearly every week to only occasionally. Now, it appears, the main guys are down to three- three who are, not surprising, wondering about their, shall we say, long term prospects.
Mind you, the saleroom preview was fairly well attended and when I remarked on this, the chap pointed out the visiting demography. They were all people like me, of a certain age- by which I mean ‘old’- and as chatty as they were amongst themselves and saleroom staff, gave every impression of people enjoying an afternoon out. It was, as it happens, fairly sunny and, for London in early February, warm.
I suppose I feel this all the more just at the moment because the last week or so has been a cascade of bad news for the trade. Masterpiece London cancelled, the Summer Olympia Fair cancelled, one of the newer online platforms 2Covet in liquidation. All this conjoined with the current round of sales liquidated the stock of one of the few remaining dealers in New York, Hyde Park Antiques, makes one imagine that the trade, formerly just bobbing up and down for air, is now well and truly disappearing beneath the waves.
On Saturday, I had morning coffee with one of my near neighbours in Notting Hill, who remarked how a small hotel that had Georgian furniture in its rooms, during a recent refit, put the now unfashionable brown furniture out in the forecourt for any passers-by to help themselves. My neighbour did so, but he’s not all that young either, and he remarked how as he was helping himself to a pretty good late 18th century press cupboard, very many young householders just walked past with absolutely no expression of interest.
Certainly the same could be said of my saleroom experience yesterday. Here it is, bonus time, with all the City types flush with more money than they can spend on meals out and flash cars and expensive holidays- and not a one poking around for a bargain piece of Georgian furniture with which to accoutre their homes. And bargains there were- a Gillows dining table for £1,000 low estimate, and speaking of Gillows, a magnificent writing table that was akin to the one within the library of the fictional Downton Abbey for not very much more. Tragically, this wonderful piece of Regency period gear had been purchased by someone in the trade from a West County saleroom only a few years ago. But alas, the trade buyer couldn’t shift it, so here it is, being dumped as it were back onto the auction market.
Nothing cheery about the compendium of recent news regarding the trade in English antiques. It has occurred to me often in recent days how tempting it is to acquire excellent stock for, as of now, very little money and then re-enter as a retail vendor the trade I so enjoy. That cogitation makes me, at variance with my pessimistic metier, smile happily at the prospect. I don’t have to imagine however how my partner Keith McCullar would respond- he’d think I had lost my mind. Fortunately for us both, Keith has the keys to the chequebook.