 by Dr. Jeffrey Lant. Author's program note. I always get nostalgic Labor Day week-end, for it was on the Friday of this holiday in 1969 that I arrived at Harvard, more excited than I'd ever been before, perhaps more excited than I've ever been since, notwithstanding a life packed with incidents and ardors, loves of every kind and duration. And so it was this year, over 4 decades since I first arrived. Events seemed to conspire... I worked a long day on an important article about Internet "trolls", the anti-social forces who threaten the necessary comity and tolerance the 'net requires; a depressing subject for which one needs more energy and optimism than I could call upon just then; its conclusion the signal for loud, raucous, unnerving clasps of thunder, not merely sharp but bombastic, the kind of portentous sound that comes when great sovereigns die and their great works crash into smithereens, reminding us lesser beings that it's all vanity... the thought that never fails to impress upon us yet again our own insignificance in the cosmos which surrounds us but which we know next to nothing about, and that anxious and perplexing. I needed relief.... and there in a brown cardboard package in the lobby of my residence, I found it, in the weighty catalog pertaining to the extensive collection of art and artifacts of Professor Sir Albert Richardson (1880-1964), sometime President of the Royal Academy. I had only to thumb the fewest number of pages to know that this was a sign to me and that I should greet it accordingly. Thus I hurriedly scanned the well over 650 lots; the first reconnaissance always taken at a gallop, no sauntering, no savoring allowed; that would come later when time permitted and in a special place, at once comfortable, well appointed, where one connoisseur could undertake the vastly satisfying and useful work of learning from another connoisseur, once as vital, inquisitive, acquisitive as you are now; now gone before, his vast legacy yours to peruse, admire, desire, reject, covet, consider, and reconsider, each a necessary step in the important business of transferring knowledge, object, cultural heritage, through purchase, the act by which one generation shakes hands with the next, letting go of their stewardship however reluctantly to others self designated to continue the great and necessary work at hand. Lot 594 (estimate $910-$1400) I am not of the custom to purchase vintage clothes but the exception proves the rule. This lot is an Aesthetic Movement dress of mauve silk velvet, purchased in London at Liberty's grand department store circa 1910."One piece day dress with wide bell sleeves and trained, and heavily embellished with embroidered trailing roses to the bodice and waist." Provenance Lady Ethel Wickham, daughter of the 10th marquess of Huntley, given to Lady Richardson The minute I saw this elegant costume, I virtually exclaimed "Sharon Oshatz" so much so that I e-mailed her the link to see it online. It was so "her" I would have felt remiss has I failed to do so. Then, all in a minute, the conversation jumped from the dress, which both suited and charmed her, to "Howard's End", (published 1910) , arguably E.M. Forster's best and most famous novel, the basis for one of Merchant-Ivory's magical productions. Never has any writer been more fortunate than Forster (1879-1970) in his producers and directors and acute actors, the people carefully bringing the symbols on a page to vibrant life and reality. The gown "so very Sharon" leads us through fast stages to an important scene at Liberty's where the shopping characters played by Vanessa Redgrave and Emma Thompson bond as women do while confiding thoughts of life, death, friendship, eternity, Christmas presents and the loss of home. Lot 594 elegant, comme il faut, the essence of femininity, the back straight, the manner sweet, the finest of fine ladies, tailor-made for this scene and the brilliant music composed by Richard Robbins (1940-2012), music which you need to search for and listen to at once while the artifact is clear in mind, a bridge connecting you with the settled past and with the very unsettled future. Avenue House, London. Now it is time to invite you to Sir Alfred's residence, Avenue House, the place his grandchildren are now breaking up. Simon Houfe, one of them, writes "After a lifetime in this place, redolent with my family's past, I had hoped to transfer it to the nation... However, seven years of negotiations with the National Trust proved fruitless and futile and with regret I decided to put it on the market." The fact that Mr. Houfe and family will walk away with a packet does not, I am sure, enter into the matter at all, the correct response from Mr. Houfe et al being that impertinent even insolent remark, "whatever" and the look of the cat who has just eaten the canary. However, dear reader, as I... and perhaps you... may benefit from the matter, one best look the other way and book one's place for the auction for I at least intend to benefit. Let us go then, you and I, drawn by curiosity, by the universal hope of collectors everywhere that there are undiscovered bargains to be had, even a steal or two, and a feeling of wistful sadness that Sir Alfred's lifelong labors and his famous drawing room must be dispersed, even if we are the beneficiary; breaking up a home, a time capsule of brilliant objects, and the recognition that this, fellow connoisseur, will one day happen to your things makes this a very emotional and thoughtful day, a mixture of sadness and the thrill of the chase. Turn up the Richard Robbins music "The Basts/Spring Landscape". We need it now... Let the chase begin... Sir Albert was a man with a mission in his collecting, which he pursued with obsession and a trained eye. He wanted his house to be at once impressive, livable, useful, a laboratory where he could try his aesthetic theories, and his own university, for his many visitors liked to hear what the great man was up to... and he enjoyed the opportunity to expatiate on the objects and especially on their provenance, that is who owned them. Avenue House, as you may imagine, was a very busy place indeed... and as he found and acquired more and more items of value, more and more people with every motive came to see, to scrutinize, to learn. Clues about the owner. Serious collectors like me enjoy the process of matching wits with the owners of their treasures; the fact that these owners, like Richardson, are dead matters not at all. They have... we want. And so the game begins. Take Lot 16, for instance, a lovely Regency parcel-gilt and ebonized side chair circa 1805, in the manner of Marsh and Tatham. Estimate $1600 U.S. to $2300. The chair is impressive, but there are problems to be solved. The eye-catching faded red silk color you'd call cherise covering back and seat is "distressed". Richardson covered it with a plastic cover. Thus he demonstrated at once his belief that the silk was probably original, thus untouchable, as well as just how tight with a penny he could be (considerable). I shall call the auctioneer, Christie's, and find out. If the silk is not original, I may well take the plunge, though I, unlike the professor, will never descend to the indignity of plastic cover. I shall instead post a sign, "Noli me tangere". It comes with superb provenance. Thick and fast. Robbins' exquisite waltz plays in the background, a work of lyric beauty punctuated by notes at once uneasy, alarming, somber, as if to remind us as we review the haul that these objects were the unending work and study of a man of taste, discernment, and learning, whose legacy we must respect and venerate, even as we cackle over it and make the occasional dismissive, even catty comment, like what will surely be said about Lot 271, a pearlware two-handled chamberpot, first half of the nineteenth century. The face at the bottom Napoleon's, England's Nemedis, the message "Pereat", its estimate $610-$900 dollars. It will sell, perhaps at a premium John Bull will pay while tittering, "Oh, Sir Albert..." The old knight, Edwardian gentleman to his fingertips, had humor so long as you knew the Latin. Now we are both ready to participate in this notable auction and event with such a plethora of beautiful items, so many historic, so desirable, even unique. But here's the rub. I am booked to bid, but you cannot. For you see, this article won't be published until the auction has occurred. After all, I couldn't take the chance you'd bid against me and so raise the cost of acquisition. I'm sure you understand... |
