Remembering Jack R. Chappell

It’s been a couple of weeks, and the figurative stirring up of the dust has settled back to sort of what it was before, so now is an appropriate time to briefly reflect on the life and death of my father, Jack Chappell. An accomplished man who did well in his sphere, he was well liked, and well regarded, which to my mind is not quite the same thing. In any event, at his memorial service, he pulled a very full church.

An educator, a farmer, and a sportsman, he pursued these endeavors with an equal passion that, when these interests competed as they did from time to time, overset him. As he was perforce the overarching presence and personality in our household, the rest of the family was as a consequence oftentimes overwhelmed, as well. Quick to anger, but just as quick to forget, life at home was never ever dull.

Dad had a great love of the outdoors, and particularly our section of the Sierra Nevada, with resultant annual late summer trips through the high country on horseback where we’d not see another soul for weeks at a time. Though at the time I would rather have been visiting the Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco, now I realize this was an experience that cannot today be repeated, and am grateful for it.

A strong personality, with a son of strong personality, we frequently did not get along. With all that, we were as much alike as we were different, which was something my father understood without actually saying so, and as a consequence, kept his distance when he sensed that our personalities would collide. He loved family life, but hated discord, where for me, discord always seemed an inevitable part of life, and while not to be courted, need not be feared, either.

However, for the two of us, there were no go areas that functioned as not quite barriers, but hurdles. As Dad became very ill very quickly, overcoming these was much on my mind. But as I broached a couple of things that were heretofore verboten, my father was yet resistant and then it occurred to me- he was facing the prospect of eternity, and was very busy making up his own soul. What I sought to accomplish was the smallest of small potatoes in the cosmic scheme of things- and was mightily dwarfed by what my father faced. So the time was, as all wise people counsel, to let it go.

My father died on March 19, and while he’s left a void in my life, that void constitutes the largest element of my own grief. What both of us shared was a spirituality, albeit manifested differently in both of us, but I am nevertheless confident that he is now possessed of the wisdom of the ages, and that some of that wisdom he is yet able to communicate to me with some benefit. What for both of us were hurdles I considered were specific to our relationship I now know are part of life’s vicissitudes. While I don’t have the understanding of these that my father has achieved in his passing, I am optimistic that I will in the fullness of time, and realize that this is a gift my father has given me.

Crap that competes

With the trade in art and antiques in a state of shall we say flux, my readers have doubtless discerned my frequent and so far not completely successful grappling with the why of this. The major salesrooms have had problems with revenue growth and profitability, with the most graphic result of this the head rolling at the highest levels in both major houses. The retail trade in art and antiques has seen some of its major players sink below the waves over the course of the last decade, and traditional venues have shrunk to sizes now minuscule, if they continue to exist at all.

Some have said that much of this has been the result of changing tastes, pointing out that so-called ’traditional’ material is less desirable than mid 20th century or contemporary. For those who think there may be something to this, I point out that the numbers of those dealers whose speciality runs to the more recent are themselves rather thin on the ground. In fact, I read just yesterday of one of the most prominent of their number ‘rationalizing’ their stock in trade through the sale of much of it at auction. Hmmm….

Amidst all of this, I see the growth and expansion of a number (by which I mean ‘plethora’) of companies whose sole focus is the sale of vintage and lower priced new and used items on the internet. Aided by sites like Pinterest and any number of TV shows on cable, that ordinary people can be their own designer and do it on the cheap has captured the greater public imagination- and significantly undercut the market for good and fine quality art and antiques.

Hugely testimonial to this phenomenon is the IPO last week of Etsy, which is now, according to Skate’s Art Market Research, the company with the largest market capitalization in the decorative arts industry. Do they offer what I sell? No. However, they do offer the thrill of online shopping. What we’ve found, whatever stripe of buyer, they all have a budget- not just for the purchase of a particular item, but overall. If it is $5,000, that can be spent on one item, or an aggregate of 5 or 10 items, but once spent, the budget is exhausted. Consequently, my prospective purchasers, if they’ve spent their money on Etsy, will always have less to spend with me, or any other member of the accredited trade. So, while not a direct competitor, the finite buyer budget now, for good or for ill, now has many more opportunities to dissipate itself.

Of course, so much of what’s purchased constitutes garage sale items of the (probably not so distant) future, but so what? In the short term, and for the foreseeable future it still functions, even obliquely as competition.

Sotheby’s ‘middle market’

The Antiques Trade Gazette is reporting that Sotheby’s plans to expand to include the so-called middle market in an effort to repair its wobbly income statement. For those of you who don’t know, within our ambit, the middle market would be antiques and artwork with a value of about $5,000 to about $50,000. Or, put another way, the typical stock in trade of most members of the accredited trade in art and antiques. Sotheby’s has for many years eschewed smaller consignments, preferring to focus on individual items or collections with potential hammer prices in the 6 to 7 to 8 figures.

And how does one suppose Sotheby’s will fare in this endeavor? I can respond with a degree of pith unusual for my loquacious self- they will fail. The fact of the matter is, the retail trade in art and antiques is successful in a way that Sotheby’s can never be. At my level, our business is a relationship one of the highest level of high touch. The stock that we offer does not precisely fly out the front door these days, and in fact never has. Our business is mostly driven by collectors, and those collectors, while they may only purchase one item at a time, very rarely only purchase one item in total. The stock that we have in inventory is selected by my own good self, and, using these general criteria, must form a confluence of quality, rarity, and condition. Oh, yes, and price. Price does sell, but quality, of course, sells first. We never ever have items just for their commercial appeal. But the composition and appearance of our stock- that’s just a part of the story.

Surprising to both Keith McCullar and me when we started this business was the level of intimacy established between ourselves and our clients. The initial entrée may be our stock, and for those of you who are amongst the cognoscenti, each successful dealer has for want of a better term a ‘look’. And it is not the same look dealer to dealer. Subtle, in some cases, but as distinctive for those who know as the aromatic difference between rosemary and lavender. And then it is trading with Keith and me. I don’t think anyone would ever describe us as exactly companionable, but we always try to be fair and straightforward and patient.

In condensed terms, what we establish with our clients is an intimate connection where the relationship then begins to inform us, as well. We acquire stock, within our established criteria, where we have one or more clients in mind. Of course we have spot sales, typically on one of the sales platforms we subscribe to, but for those who trade with us regularly, we are always the go to guys when our client cadre wants something specific.

Sotheby’s is now and will remain, the vicissitudes of their financial performance allowing, an auction house. They sell what someone else is willing to consign, to anyone willing to buy it, with no identifiable ‘look’ beyond the very, very general. Moreover, while we are so specific about the condition of what we sell that we maintain our own restoration shop, a purchase from Sotheby’s is made as is, where is. Hardly high touch and always caveat emptor. If memory serves, the auction house has tried all this before barely 10 years ago with their so called arcade sales in New York, and their Olympia sales in London. As the inherent features of the saleroom remain unchanged, hard to imagine that they can achieve any success this time. At the risk of sounding redundant and immodest, the inherent relationship driven features of our own modest business remain unchanged, as well.

Endowed funds

Seeking a bit of real world inspiration for an upcoming garden project, Keith and I this last Sunday visited the Shin Zen Garden at Fresno’s Woodward Park. A lovely urban oasis within an oasis it was developed nearly 20 years ago, and as returning Fresno ex pats, this was our first visit. Certainly worth the effort to wander inside, it was nevertheless a bit rough around the edges. Of course, with anything the newness wears off, but here the maintenance wasn’t quite what it should have been, and our ‘Zen’ was marred by creeping neglect. On our way out, we saw the placard acknowledging donors, and Keith wondered aloud how many of them designated their funds be used not for construction, but endowed for maintaining in good order a lovely and lovingly designed garden.

One does wonder, and as we find ourselves getting older, we see very many other areas of the built environment, and not just locally, becoming decrepit at a faster rate than we are. Sad to see, and so unnecessary, if sufficient funds in the fundraising are endowed- but how infrequently this actually happens.

I suppose that the more grandiose the project the more it captures the imagination of prospective donors, whose own vanity extends no further than picturing a gallery, a foyer, a water feature, or even the wing of an entire building with their name emblazoned on the side or memorialized with a bronze plaque, but in that euphoria, the wing in a state of collapse or the water feature dry as a bone is not within their ken. Nor is it, typically, in the fund raisers’ spellbinding skill set- the construction of a grand edifice is a sexy inducement and prelude to reaching for the checkbook in the inner pocket. The mundane maintenance of the same is not- repainting the eventual peeling paint and graffiti outside and replacing worn out toilets inside are profoundly unsexy prospects.

Would that, in capital projects, the reach did not regularly exceed the grasp, and the eventual be ignored through underfunding or disregarding completely the necessity of endowed funds.  For a number of years now, England’s National Trust has cottoned on to the fact that, regardless of historic importance, visitor numbers and paid admissions do not support the upkeep on the properties in its care, and nothing is now accepted without an appropriate level of endowment to support it. I believe the general rule of thumb for the National Trust, and most wise charities of a similar stripe, is that an endowment is required that exactly matches the monetary value of the asset given in gift.

Times change, and the vogue charity and building project will always occlude what’s gone on before. But that’s the point- those things that are worthwhile remain so and will, properly endowed, be maintained and enjoyed despite being pushed temporarily into the shadows.

Post performance, or the ‘guppies’ have flown

Still enjoying the memory of the recent Fresno Philharmonic concert, and reluctant to temper my thoughts or those I have imparted to others with any bit of nostalgia. Nostalgia is tiresome for those without the same set of life experiences, so I typically try to corral recollective thoughts to my own private musings- but one overarching reminiscence refuses to stay penned. Though risking reader ennui, it is this- what a great event it was for Keith and me to attend the Saturday evening concerts of former days, and follow it on with a late supper  and (too many) drinks in the Tower District. Often as not, we would repair to that inn of blessed memory the Daily Planet, where our carryings on were always overlooked by Ron waiting tables, Jim at the piano, and the redoubtable Hannah the proprietress. This is starting to suggest Keith and I did at the time enjoy a louche existence, and we did. One evening that stands out was one while in the company of a particularly randy friend of a certain age and with whom we planned to travel to London in the next few days. Amidst the anticipatory rapture of our impending departure, and helped along by a half dozen Manhattans, he asked a younger member of the wait staff if he would like to accompany us, his way paid for by our friend. The young man was taken aback, but regained enough composure to ask Hannah’s advice. She told him in our hearing that he would be a fool not to go. Bless her- while not necessarily sage, she was always the daring one.

Not really trying to out anyone, but so much of what we enjoyed post concert was driven by what nearly any thoughtful person would describe as the Tower District’s gay renaissance of the 80’s and through the 1990’s. With a large gay population in the Tower District and the patronage- and ownership- of so many of the businesses along Olive Avenue, the entire neighborhood blossomed. It was a fun place to live, and there was always something to do, someone to see, and somewhere to go. Even the orchestra concerts, as the raison d’être and critical component of an evening of wonderful fun, are now rather diminished with- trust me in this- very many fewer gay attendees.  One of my faculties that still works at full strength is, I say parenthetically, my ample complement of gaydar.

painted-tableWith Keith and me transitioning back into the old burg, the question is now begged- where has everyone gone? I do miss the half closed eyes of the famed ‘nudes on ‘ludes’ mural in the Daily Planet. I have heard rumors that the Painted Table, the catering venue that has taken over the old Daily Planet space, will at some point open for restaurant meals. Believe me, we’ll be there, and we’ll behave- for ten minutes, or until the first round of Manhattans are consumed, whichever comes first.

To relieve those of you on tenterhooks, the young man did not accompany our friend to London. When we returned from abroad and repaired to the Daily Planet some weeks later we found the would-be traveler no longer employed there. When asked his fate, Hannah just rolled her eyes. Potential tragedy averted, perhaps, but it makes for a good story. We look forward to other opportunities in the Tower District to engender many more good stories. Who knows? The flown ‘guppies’ may return.