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Attending a function yesterday with a number of dealer colleagues, I was surprised, as I always am, pleasantly so, to find a few who read my blog, including that entry of a couple days ago. One gent in particular- a fair minded, easy going fellow who, although some years younger than me but with a considerably longer tenure in the art and antiques trade- commented on the relationship aspect of our business, underlining its importance in the success of any gallery. Somewhat moderating his ardent commitment to clients was, a few hours prior to our speaking, a phone discussion of some duration with what he with some charity described as an ‘erstwhile’ client- in this case, a gentleman who phones him every week or two to inquire about pieces in inventory, but, according to our colleague, has never, ever made a purchase.

Mind you, we all have these sorts of people who float within our ambit, and Keith and I make our best effort to be kind and treat graciously anyone who crosses the threshold. Are we always successful? Well, frankly no, but the occurrences of real acrimony are infrequent enough that we can recall each instance in some detail. What’s more frequent are those people who are the one-time visitor who seek to give the impression of being a punter, but are not and never will be. When we discussed this with our colleague, we quickly came up with stock phrases used by pseudo buyers who, as far as we can tell, never buy anything from anybody.

I have to tell you, all these standard responses are for us prefaced by the standard query we invariably pose to the first-time gallery visitor, to wit ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ We ask this, of course, to engage and also to inform that not everything in stock is on the sales floor. Moreover, it is a rarity that, for the honest to goodness, serious browser we aren’t able to either source something we don’t happen to have, or point the requesting party in the direction of a dealer who might be able to assist. Very much separate and distinct from the browser, though, is the pseudo buyer who one may not know on sight, but when their mouths open and words emerge, these, then, are some responses that, in our experience, have in their turn a standardized secondary meaning that says, in more succinct terms, ‘no sale’:

‘We’re looking for lots of things.’ Always a puzzle this, as, frankly, we have lots of things in inventory, and can put our hands on lots and lots more. But when I have, with as much cordiality as possible, provided some kind of rejoinder making this fact manifest, I usually get a vague ‘Oh?’ in reply. Sometimes, though, I get this response:

‘We’ll know it when we see it.’ Of course. As well as a secondary response, this well-worn statement runs just behind ‘lots of things’, making it a popular primary response as well. But help me out here, Mr. and Mrs. Punter- when you do see it, will it resemble a table? A chair? An iron lung? This, of course, begs the next most common response:

‘We’re always looking for the unusual.’ Well, me, too, but possibly those who say this are looking for something I would consider as somewhat beyond the pale. That may actually be the case, as ‘unusual’ is always said rather archly, in the way that English barbers of an earlier generation used to inquire of their customers ‘Something for the weekend, sir?’ by way of euphemistically inquiring whether a French letter, as well as short back and sides, was required. We never know what’s precisely meant by ‘unusual’, but we’ve often assumed that we’re expected to pull something from under the counter that is more than marginally risqué. I noted that in the sale of the contents of Malcolm Forbes’ home in London, several pieces of Queen Victoria’s underclothes were on offer. I hope we aren’t meant to have that kind of thing around. Fortunately, San Francisco is well provided with stores that sell adult novelties, so we always have something near at hand to suggest as a shopping venue for what we might call fun seekers.

The art world’s abuzz with the sudden closing of Knoedler & Company. The New York Times provides a glimpse of not only the company’s history, but their recent vicissitudes. Of course, all things are exacerbated by the weak economy but a phrase in Patricia Cohen’s article, that Knoedler’s prospects ‘darkened’ after the company passed out of family control, captures perhaps the essence of what’s happening in the retail art world today. As with the Duveens, the Wildensteins, and the Knoedlers, relationships established with clients were historically embodied in the personalities of the eponymous gallery owners, who knew their clients, built their collections- while taking in exchange art work that no longer met their collecting objectives, but simultaneously exchanging them for others pieces that did- and, very often, appealing to the better angels of the collectors’ nature,  the result of which the collections amassed were, in the fullness of time, brought to a wider view by their ultimate gift to a public institution. Mind you, the salesrooms have always offered some sales competition, but the personal service that a private dealer can offer was, and is, incomparable.

Trust me, the relationship aspect of this business is very much alive and well, and Chappell & McCullar would doubtless have dismounted its front of house shingle a number of years ago had we not been aware of it. Knoedler’s has for many years been investor owned, and, for all investors, sooner or later there has to be a payday. And, it must be admitted, paid staff, even at the highest levels, have less of a commitment to client relationships than they do to meeting financial targets and the time consuming palaver necessary to satisfy the board of directors- time that would be better spent with clients. This has historically been a very, very high touch business, and remains so, and one discovers at one’s peril that clients can quickly go elsewhere.

There are plenty of ways a collector can acquire art, and, times unfortunately being the way they are, there’s plenty of good quality material on the market. It’s interesting, a few months ago I wrote a blog entry in response to the notion that the traditional gallery model doesn’t work, to the extent that, with so many ways to buy art- through salesrooms, through online sales platforms- the bricks and mortar gallery has difficulty competing. However, the gallery that proposed the question about the traditional gallery model was itself investor owned. It seems that those of us who do carry on as the main salespersons and general dog’s bodies of our own gallery would then seem to have an opportunity to survive in a business that we love, carrying on in the tradition of say, Joseph Duveen. With the demise of Knoedler, an object lesson presents itself for all of us that survive in this business, and that is that it is imperative to value and cater to client relationships above all else.

Antiques Trade Gazette has reported today about the, as they have it, ‘lukewarm’ performance of the London Frieze art fair. Opening to great fanfare in 2007, it was thought to represent a new type of venue, dedicated to contemporary art and attracting thereby a younger group of punters who might ordinarily shun a traditional fair. Although attendance was good, albeit down from prior years, the sales were more than a bit thin on the ground. Although very few major sales were posted, most of what was sold was in the 4 and 5 figure range.

Wonderfully synchronic, we had a gallery browser in earlier today opining that younger buyers don’t buy high end material of any stripe any longer, and she asked me why I thought that was. I told her frankly that I didn’t really agree with her premise, that, actually, our mix of buyers is, chronologically, pretty much the same as its been since we started in July, 2002- some younger, some older, but none very, very young, and none very, very old. What makes them all the same, though, is the desire to pursue a connoisseurship that propels them toward making a purchase. For Chappell & McCullar, the mix of inventory needs to be something of a constant, as we’ve found given the relationship nature of the business- if we change our look dramatically, we’ll confuse, and lose, our clients. Cutting edge? Perhaps not, but then, what is cutting edge? In the fine and decorative arts, what’s cutting edge today will tomorrow look as dated as tweed upholstery on a sofa. We’ve always said in our business, we want to offer material that’s already established in the art and design canon. Ironically, one of our younger clients reinforced this idea for us when we started out. A gentleman that had survived the dot.com crash, he wanted to make sure that whatever he purchased from us was of a type and quality that, should the cycle repeat itself, he could bail out. He’s an astute fellow and, the result of the debacle of the last several years, he hasn’t had to find any of this out.

Still, this makes an excellent point, and something that the waning fortunes of contemporary art, and the related fairs, makes clear- the canon is time wrought and time tested. It just might be that a fair like the Frieze fair has experienced time passing it by.

It had to happen, and it has- my spam folder showed up this morning with a blast from a new website, dedicated to online browsing of upcoming fairs. While a number of art and antiques publications through their online editions promote fairs either through editorial or paid ads, this is the first site we’ve seen that is solely dedicated to fairs. However, the call to action from the new site isn’t to visit the fair, but unfortunately asks the question that large numbers of people apparently are already asking, to wit, why visit actually when, through the internet, one can visit virtually? And the site offers just such an opportunity.

And, clearly, this is a question that permeates the art and antiques world specifically, and the entire retail environment generally. Of course, the slow economic recovery has at least something to do with the numbers of vacant storefronts in even the best shopping venues, but the retailer that trumpets ‘free shipping with online orders’ has clearly altered his business model and is probably not planning a bricks and mortar expansion.

Frankly, our own gallery footfall has been mercifully constant over the course of the last couple of years- constant, but hardly increasing. One thing that is also a constant, that every first time gallery visitor has visited us at least once online before they’ve darkened our door. We chat about this frequently with gallery visitors who at once decry the declining numbers of galleries while at the same time acknowledging how much stuff they purchase online themselves.

I notice this morning the cancellation of a long running London fair, in response to the increasing difficulty punters have in reaching the fair venue due to the traffic congestion charge. Well, it’s always something- perhaps the fair organizer will develop a virtual platform- ‘save the congestion charge and visit us online’- it just might happen.

It would be difficult to consider vernacular style without a consideration of the influence of local materials. While the local oolitic limestone in Bath, with its golden color and ease of carving resulted in some astonishing effects, the use of basaltic lava in Honolulu is possibly, pardon me for saying this, Madame Pele, a little less pleasing.

What’s pictured is the Bishop Estate Office along Merchant Street built in 1898 and designed by the same Charles William Dickey who designed the entrancing Alexander & Baldwin Building around the corner. It is interesting to note that the original Bishop Museum buildings, constructed at the same time, are of the same stone, and have the same dour appearance. It would be hard to imagine the use of a more truculent building material, with the consequent effect the rudimentary elaboration the result of lava being so difficult to work with. Although the Bishop Estate Office has been described as Romanesque in the manner of Henry Hobson Richardson, the American architect who popularized massivity in scale wrought in stone in the late 19^th century, I think the stylistic application to the Bishop Estate Building is not entirely appropriate.

Firstly, the building is very strictly symmetrical, with the heaviness of the building material ameliorated to a great degree with the fairly lavish use of apertures- note the doorways and the tripartite and thermal crowned window on the ground floor. The upper floor contains a range of four windows, interrupted only with engaged columns that function to draw the eye skyward where, in a fairly subtle decorative elaboration, the big-ish undressed stone blocks of the lower storeys gives way to considerably smaller blocks that for all the world remind me of Roman opus reticulatum. All in all, a thoughtfully designed and sophisticated building more in a classical idiom, made all the more noteworthy given the difficult vernacular medium used to achieve it.