Have a seat. But don’t get too comfortable. For when we are comfortable we are forgetful. Forgetful of the struggle, the hardships, the long days and longer nights that we thought would grind us into dust.

But little did we know that the grind is what sharpens us. Toughens us. Tests our resolve. It is what we become. When I first moved to New York City I had $600 to my name and no job. In two short days I made my way to the flea market at 3 am on a blustery February Saturday morning and spent what was left of the little money I had. Realizing that eating at some point in the future would be interesting, I took those antique frames that I had bought and turned them into cash. The grind had begun. I was hungry. Quite literally. I got a few jobs at nightclubs, restaurants and antique shops - all concurrently. Sleep was an idea. Not a reality. I felt that time was clicking past and if I wanted to make the most of it, I had to be in every moment. The moments of self doubt, of failure, of mistakes were plenty. And I am thankful for them as they were the whetstones I used to sharpen my skills. But there came a point in my life when my blade became dull. I had settled into the proverbial La-Z-Boy and gotten comfortable. I did not merely stop to rest on my journey. I stopped. Complacency is the enemy of the hustler. For the house was on fire, but I lulled myself into a false reality of contentment in the confines of that recliner. It was easier to make excuses for my stalled career than to actually get up and do something. Those memories of the hustle had grown faint and I no longer questioned my stillness. Time had sidled up next to me and whispered, “sit, relax, you have nothing but time”... It was at that moment that I chose to awaken. To sharpen my skills once again. To fail. To succeed. To be in every moment. To be uncomfortable. ;-) hkv

So here’s a chair that every once in a while I think about. I’ll be on the subway enjoying the latest pole dancing routine when all of a sudden this chair pops into my mind. Weird, right? But you see I sold this chair to a friend of Michael Jackson’s so I’m kinda thinking it may have been something special.

Wait a minute, you say! The King of Pop? Yes. That Michael Jackson. So here’s what happened. I came across this chair in a favorite shop and was immediately smitten. The wrought and woven cage covered in strips of woven, well worn leather. The big, boxy shape. It was cool. Barely fitting into my car, I hauled it up to my booth in Stamford. And there it sat. And then I schlepped it on Metro North (don’t ask) and carried it over to my booth on 44th Street. And there it sat. I steadfastly remained smitten even though there was no interest save my own. Then came the Pier Show. As I was dollying it to my booth I heard the pitter-patter of knee high, high heeled boots behind me. “Darling, darling” she called out in a voice oh-so-familiar “What is THAT chair?” It was at that moment I knew my infatuation had been validated. You see, this particular dealer was a friend of Michael Jackson’s and remains one of the most interesting people you can ever meet. Having an eye for the unusual, the exquisite, the out-of-the-ordinary is her speciality. And now she wanted a price. The show wasn’t even close to being open. This was set up and a great time to make deals. I rattled off a strong asking price and she jumped right on the chair as it was on the dolly. We went sailing down the aisle and I happily delivered both chair and dealer to her booth. Accepting payment and running back to set up, I put the chair out of my mind. That was ten years ago. But I still wonder. Was it some imported outdoor furniture or an amazing prototype? I’m still not sure. But that’s part of the fun of this business. ;-) hkv

No risk. No reward. But we each have own our definition of those words. I do not choose to define them in any terms. Because they are fluid. Changing as we change. I choose to ebb and flow, to rise and fall, to wave and crash. I want to jump in and see where the current takes me.

So when the time came to pick up and move to Brasil, I approached the opportunity as one would approach the ocean. Walking along the sandy shore, feeling the stability of the earth beneath my feet. Then slowly as the waves rush over my feet, enveloping my legs, I walk farther out until the ground slips away and I am supported by pure movement. And so I gave myself over to the rhythm of Rio. To her risks, beauty, power, dangers and rewards. Back in New York City I was an antique dealer buying and selling pieces I knew, in a place that I could navigate to my own clients. But in Rio I was a true risk taker, buying things I didn't know in a place that was unfamiliar and not knowing if I'd have a clientele. Weekend mornings found me at the famous flea market at Praça Quinze. I dove into the rapids without charts or guides, but always kept my eye on the shore not wanting my ego to usurp my hustle. So with limited Portuguese and limitless hustle, I met dealers who introduced me to Brazilian Modernist furniture. Who took me to their shops, brought me on house calls and sold me pieces from their private collections. Quietly and confidently I purchased a large collection of important Brazilian mid century designer furniture. Piece by piece. I shopped throughout the city, in Cidade de Deus, Tijuquinha, Santa Teresa - I wanted to explore Rio and see all that she had to show me. Each piece I bought gave me an appreciation for the designers and architects of Brasil. Those who forged a path with their passion and intellect and hustle. Ten years later I still think of the lessons this taught me. For there are those who say, stick with what you know. But I say, how can you know if you don't go. x hkv

Can you spot it? The item I'm going to tell you about. Look a little closer. No, maybe take a step back. It's there. It's the Stanford White design picture frame probably made by Le Brocq. Yup. Lying on top of a bunch of banana boxes.

This is the behind the scenes shot of an everyday shopping trip for an art dealer. Oh, and my kids were in the car too. You see, we had taken a trip down the shore for the weekend and of course I had to squeeze in some antique shopping. After going through a few stores, I came across an out of the way shop that didn't get much traffic because the owner of said shop was notoriously cranky. Well, I thought, time to put my years of waitressing skills to work and kill them with kindness. It worked and I was let in to shop. After putting together a pile of odds and ends, the owner asked if I wanted to look in the warehouse. Um yes please. And it was there that I saw it. Tucked up in the rafters of the roof. A gorgeous and huge Stanford White design antique frame. I grabbed a ladder and climbed right up into the roof to haul it down. It had been refinished at some point, but it still retained its gorgeous basket weave and eared corner design. The molding width was crazy wide. It was a thing of beauty. You know why I love frames so much? It's because they are at once beautiful and useful. They are architectural and artistic. They are furniture and art. I couldn't pay for it fast enough. After a quick rearrange of the day's pickin' I headed back to the hotel with a huge smile. You know, I've been back to that same shop a bunch more times hoping that lightning strikes twice but it hasn't happened. Yet. Where is the shop, you ask? I never sell and tell. ;-) hkv

This is an excerpt of something I wrote in 2011. "For those of you who set foot in New York City within the last 30 years or so you have probably seen The Brute ... He's the creation of famous NYC artist Robert Loughlin ... He's been in all the right places at all the right times.

He was buying important mid century furniture before it was important ... He was a staple at the Chelsea flea market ... There are stories about Robert ... For now, let's talk about the one that I know best ... It was an unusually cold day in early spring 2002. I was making the rounds at the flea market. Robert was one the person who I noticed first. You couldn't miss him. Booming voice. Calling everyone 'girlfriend'. Standing at the back of his pick up with some amazing finds that all the other dealers would fight over. It was as if he were holding court and teaching school at the same time. This morning I had brought with me a chair I found on the street ... When I asked him if he'd paint my chair he quickly agreed. He did what any dealer would do and examined the chair. Joking, he made a few references to famous designers but I said that I didn't care who made the chair I wanted him to paint it. The chair disappeared into the back of his pick up truck and we went about our shopping in the early hours. Me with my coffee and Robert with his felt tip marker and eye for detail. I felt like a superstar when I would hang out with him ... So, the day finally came. Robert walked up to me and said that he had brought my chair ... The other dealers seemed envious and made the immediate assumption that I would try and flip it right then and there ... I placed it under a vendor's table and kept it out of sight until I was ready to head home ... It became my desk chair ... I felt as though I had elevated my business just with this chair alone ... He was a truly nice person ... I will always cherish the chair he made for me and remember fondly the fun times. ;-) hkv