When is a Signature Not a Signature

Mellow couldn't remember Thurn's first name, but recalled he was "short, pudgy, balding with a fringe of gray hair, forever chewing on a mangled cigar..." Mellow pronounced his teacher "disappointing," but noted that Thurn did wear a beret "... and that was surely the badge of authenticity." - excerpt from Essex County Chronicles: Years before WWII a tumultuous time for trio of Gloucester artists.

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Ernest Thurn. Who? Exactly. He was even forgotten by his students. He's not a household name. One of the countless artists who time and the history books have forgotten. So I had to dig deep to find any information about him. And to debunk some of the information online about him. Let me share what I know so far. Mr. Thurn was born in 1889 in Chicago. He attended University in Chicago and joined an arts club called the Palette and Chisel Club in 1908.

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He began appearing in their theatrical events as early as 1911 and would continue to do so through 1921. It appears that he thought of himself as a commercial and illustrative artist, rather than only a fine artist, and exhibited with the Palette and Chisel club in 1914, 1915 and 1916.

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In 1922, Mr. Thurn traveled to Germany and wound up studying under Hans Hofmann until 1927. There's a source online that states Mr. Thurn studied in Paris, France under Andre Lhote at the Academie Julian - this is not true. As far as I can tell, Thurn stayed in Germany from 1922 through 1927. Thurn returned to the States and opened his first art school in the Lincoln Square neighborhood in New York City (often misstated as Lincoln Center) and finally settled his school in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Thurn now considered himself a Modernist thanks to his studies with Hofmann, who he also persuaded to teach at his Gloucester school in the early 1930's. It was here where Thurn met his future wife, Helen Stein, who was a good friend of Marsden Hartley. But Hartley and Thurn did not see eye to eye. One afternoon the pair were driving around Gloucester when Thurn turned and asked Hartley, "What shall we do now?" Hartley replied, "Little I care what you are going to do, I'm going to see Helen." And that was the best of their relationship. From photographic evidence, it appears that Thurn and Stein divorced some time in 1942, just six years after marrying.

I've searched up the scant few examples of his work online and I have to say that none of them look anything like the French Impressionist painting of pollard trees that bears his signature and the date of 1909.

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But don't just take my word for it, have a look at these works all by Ernest Thurn and choose for yourself.

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The next few decades until Thurn's death in 1971 provide no information on his life. I could find no information regarding a trip to France, Impressionism, landscape painting or anything relating to the style and genre of the painting that bears his name and the date of 1909. It would appear that I have still more questions than answers but I am confident that Ernest Thurn did not paint this landscape. Now I just have to figure out who did. ;-) hkv

Dumpster Diving

Remember when you got that thing out of the trash and sold it for a few grand overseas? Used to be that trash picking was a decent way to add a little fun money to your income. Nowadays everything on the curb is, well, trash. The throwaway society, the transient times, the immediate gratification, the whatever you want to call it has folks buying straight up junk for their homes. As an antique dealer, I’d love to see more of you out there buying real furniture, real art, real stuff for your real home that you’re really going to stay in for a real long time. But we all know that’s not going to happen anytime soon for anyone but the 1%. So what are us antique dealers to do? Relive the good ol’ days and spin yarns till we figure out something else or the tides turn. So here’s a little gem... I was living in Philly and was out antique shopping. Yes. In stores, not the trash. I had just parked my car and was walking around to the passenger side to take something out that I had forgotten. I looked down the street and saw a dumpster. If you know me, then you know I love a good dumpster.

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So I walked down the block to the dumpster and climbed up the side. It looked as if a flop house had been picked up off its foundation and shook over the top of the dumpster so that everything would fall out. Mattresses mostly. FYI, I was in a sketchy neighborhood so you figure out why so many mattresses. But I digress. There on top of the pile was this print. So delicate. On paper that was so fine, so unbelievably delicate that it is a wonder how it was not destroyed. Was it simply thrown on top? Had it been underneath a mattress and when they picked it up to toss it in, they flipped it over? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to spend anymore time perched on the side of the dumpster for fear that whatever was on those mattresses would regroup and find it’s way onto me. And so I grabbed the print and headed back to my car. With it safely on the passenger seat I went about shopping. Yes. In a store. Pickins were slim so I headed back to my car to research the signature. I’ll say this, I’m thankful for a good dumpster and I’ve never been shy to dive right in. ;-) hkv

Tell Me a Story with Your Art

What’s hiding in front of you? And why aren’t you seeing it? I asked myself this. I purchased this painting from a dealer about 2 years ago while set up at Brimfield. He purchased it from a dealer who bought it out of an apartment in NYC. Both of these dealers know how to look for a signature. So when I was told by the seller that he couldn’t figure out who painted it, I took his words at face value and closed the book on any research.

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When I returned home from Brimfield I hung it in my apartment and forgot about it. Forgot to be curious. Forgot to be someone who looks, who sees what is hiding in plain sight. And so last night while my daughters and I were watching TV, I glanced up at the painting and looked. Taking it off the wall and scanning the front for a signature, I saw nothing. And so I flipped it over to check the back.

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There it was. ANNOT 96 5th AVE N.Y. I hung the painting back and grabbed my phone. In about 3 seconds I saw. Annot Jacobi nee Anna Ottillie Krigar-Menzel. Her life was full of passion. She was born in 1894 in Germany to a well to do family of artists, composers, professors and singers. Annot’s studies in art began in Berlin around 1914 and in 1916 she became part of the Berlin Succession, a group that admitted few, if any, women artists.

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At 22 she fought against WWI by producing a series of pacifist articles and was jailed for 30 days. After her release, she moved to Oslo where she continued to work for peace. Four years later she returned to Berlin and joined several pacifist organizations. Her art was receiving attention and acclaim. There were gallery shows and her art was purchased by the National Gallery in Berlin.

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She married and together she and her husband opened an art school. When the Nazis rose to power and demanded that they dismiss the Jewish students, they refused. Her art was confiscated, deemed degenerate and destroyed. They escaped to NYC and opened an art school in Rockefeller Center. More exhibitions. More accolades. She continued to work for peace as WWII raged. Their lives continued as does her story for anyone who cares to look. ;-) hkv

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What If Questions

When I was a kid I was told not to ask ‘what if’ questions because they would only fill me with doubt and fear. I carried this explanation with me for many years until one day, rather than asking someone else, I asked myself, WHAT IF? And instead of being filled with doubt or fear, I was filled with confidence and strength.

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Because it was at that moment when I realized that context mattered. That I would be the one to ask and answer. I was standing in an indoor parking garage in NYC at 5 am with $1800 burning a hole in my pocket. The day before I had flipped a pair of frames and made that tidy profit.

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Rather than pay my rent, I asked myself WHAT IF. I was staring at a painting. A painting of a figure in armor. The flea market vendor told me that he had just bought this painting the day prior in Massachusetts. Fresh to the market. Literally.

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Now the proud owner of something completely out of my wheel house, the research began. WHAT IF questions would fuel my curiosity. When I bought the painting, it was filthy and the details were obscured. Only after a cleaning, did the painting begin to reveal itself.

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What was a portrait of a figure in armor, was now a portrait of St. Michael. But was there more? So I asked... WHAT IF this mid 16th Century Florentine painting was actually a portrait of Ugolino Martelli presented as Saint Michael.

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And WHAT IF he did actually commission it after Catherine de Medici made him Bishop of Glandeves. And WHAT IF the bejeweled armor was an actual suit somewhere in a collection today.

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And WHAT IF I could prove that this painting which sold through the 19th Century Old Master gallery W. Scott and Sons in Montreal actually left a paper trail of ownership.

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As of today, 12 years later, I still have WHAT IF questions. I still have the same curiosity. I still have the confidence and strength. And you know what I also have? The painting. So, WHAT IF I pour myself another glass of wine, settle in on my sofa and dig yet a little deeper into this mystery.

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Because WHAT IF I’m the one who will figure it all out. ;-) hkv

Going Deep, But When Can I Exhale

Is there still a place for the pearl diver? One who risks it all against incredible odds to find that illustrious and elusive treasure. Yes. No.

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Before the 20th Century, the pearl diver was the only one who could turn up such treasures. Treasures borne from an unwanted parasite, not the proverbial grain of sand. But rather something that could destroy the mollusk. So it responds by coating this intruder with layer upon layer of what is to become a pearl. This is not a fast process. But one that takes years. Up to 20 years. Slow and steady work. Layer upon layer. A singular focus to create beauty where there was none.

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Enter the pearl diver. With one breath they descend to the ocean floor. Looking. Searching. Hoping. Which shell will reveal the pearl that could change their life. Which holds the next great pearl surely to be admired by Sultans and royalty the world over. But perhaps that one great pearl will prove to be too much. Too beautiful. Too valuable. Too awe inspiring. Humans by nature are greedy and envious. We often want what we perceive others to have. But we must be careful with our wishes as we may get them.

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For what was once a rate and valuable natural wonder is now created in astonishing quantity. The pearl has become more of a grain of sand. As I continue to reinvent myself and my business I am questioning just what exactly it is that I want. Am I holding on to an antiquated way of doing things that has already been replaced by mass production? Am I searching against the odds for the one great thing that will change my life while passing by the small things? Yes. No. I am waiting to exhale.

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To breathe out what I’ve been holding onto for far too long and to breathe in that next breath. It’s easy to hold on to the past and hold fast to dreams. It is not easy to let go and make those dreams reality. But if it was easy then everybody would do it. Everybody would be the hustler, the entrepreneur, the doer. I recently pulled this painting from my storage unit. A storage unit that I’m emptying out today. Letting go of the past. Breathing out and ready to work for my dream. ;-) hkv

Can You Believe The Hype

Can you believe the hype? According to my last post, you can’t. But hype has another definition. And I believe this one. Because it’s unknown hype. Or, as The Source coined, Unsigned Hype.

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That’s the best kind out there. It’s hungry and ready to make its mark on the world. It’s put in the work and is expecting greatness. This is the hype that moves you irrespective of labels or signatures. I am talking about my own collection of unsigned and unknown paintings.

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Paintings that I’ve bought throughout the years. Paintings that have been in each of my apartments from NYC to CT to Philly to MA and back again. Taking the gamble and shooting from the hip has always felt the most natural to me. Buying solely with my eye, my gut has yielded the strongest connections. These works are perennially NFS (until I figure out the artist) because selling them would feel like giving up. Giving up on a dream. A purpose. Giving up because they were too hard to figure out, to understand.

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I’m not ready to stop listening, feeling, researching. So they hang silently on the walls, on the back burner if you will, simmering. Flavors melding, aromas wafting, creating a heady atmosphere of lust, greed, envy, pride. Hitting on four out of seven is just being honest.

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You see, I’m not holding onto these paintings simply for their intrinsic beauty. I want to figure them out. Ascribe an artist. Prove that they belong on the walls of major museums. Make a mark in the world as a dealer who saw that special something in them. Who saw their true value and made sure others saw it too.

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For generations to come. To show that they are among the A-listers. That they are no longer unknown hype. That they are the ones who will make it, that you’ll be reading about. That they’ll be the hype you can believe. ;-) hkv

Failure Might Be An Option

Failure is not an option. We’ve all heard that. But our understanding lies in our definition of failure. And in respect for timing. When listening to a song, it’s often times the moments between the beats that make the song powerful.

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Those little pieces of silence. Daring us to wait till the beat drops. It’s whether or not we can hold on during those moments that often determine our future. Many of you know my story here in NYC - arrived in 2002 with $600, no job and a six month sublet that I had paid for upfront. Blah, blah, blah. But did you know that after my sublet was up I was living in the Jane Street Hotel. Mind you this was before the renovation in 2009 when the hotel (and I use that term loosely) was a $40 a night flop house with one bathroom per floor. You could say this was one of those moments between the beat. Some folks might call it a failure. And those folks might have been right at that time. But instead of defining myself at that moment, I slept with one eye open and saved my money. Saved enough after a couple of months to rent an apartment on the next block over. An apartment that I would later purchase, but that’s another story for another time. Because after the high, comes the low. The moment when you feel paper thin, that the slightest drop of moisture could weaken your very fiber. Those are the moments of your success, not failure. Because those are the times when you’re building the foundation for your next level. Lately I’ve been doing A LOT of foundation work as my business has slowed to a pace that would make a slug look speedy. But instead of wanting to speed things up, I’m taking the time to listen. To build. To regroup. To redefine. I had been an adopter of FITYMI (fake it till you make it) and of ‘Nobody gets on a sinking ship’. Both have much to do with our perceptions of success. Successful folks are the ones who weather the storm. Who ride it out and breakthrough stronger. They are the ones with battle scars shown proudly. Show your failures for what they are - the foundation of your success! And let me share a few words from Flava Flav, ‘Don’t believe the hype’. ;-) hkv

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Many moons ago I bought a painting. If you’re expecting a story that involves a 5 or 6 digit number, then this isn’t the one. But if you’re looking for a story that involves pettiness, revenge and attitude then keep reading.

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Allow me to set the stage for those of you who have yet to make the mecca to Brimfield. Picture thousands of antique dealers set up in grassy / muddy / dusty fields, under tents (some not) with various wares on tables and on the ground. Fresh finds being pulled from inside trucks and from under tables, shoppers are chomping at the bit to find that needle in the haystack.

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I was more grounded that day and just wanted to buy something good. When I saw this hard edge, shaped canvas, abstract painting I knew that I had found it. Fresh from a NY apartment (yes, I live in NYC and bought this in Massachusetts from a NY dealer and then had to bring it back to NYC) I grabbed it as soon as it came off the truck. After I paid, I saw that it was signed. Illegibly, of course, because artists have horrible penmanship. I brought it back to my space and propped it up against my SUV.

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Then a dealer came by and asked a price. I told him that I would be bringing back to NYC and then to High Point, NC where I used to set up at a big show. Insert sour puss face. The dealer then proceeded to tell me how he knew the artist but wouldn’t tell me. Then he had the audacity to say that I would never be able to figure out the name so I might as well just take his offer of $500 and be happy. Excuse me? Oh yeah, it was on. I was prepared to go all the way with this painting now and if he thought he’d ever wind up with it he was sorely mistaken.

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In a short 30 minutes I had deciphered the signature and placed the work in the back of my SUV. $500 my foot. One month later I was in High Point set up and ready to sell. An interior designer came through and immediately bought the painting after I told her the whole story. Provenance with an attitude. And the dealer? I made sure to tell him what I sold it for the next time I saw him. ;-) hkv

Ride 'Em, Cowgirl

Being an antique dealer is an exercise in security (or insecurity) everyday. Heck, being a person is an exercise in this vulnerability. As a dealer my taste is constantly questioned or praised depending on the situation. I often ask myself if the customer is always right as I was told everyday as a waitress. That’s where I learned the ‘kill them with kindness’ mindset. But sometimes that kindness can be mistaken for weakness by folks.

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I’ve never subscribed to that as I feel that my kindness is my strength and I have to say that more often than not it is rewarded as such. You know, the ‘you get what you give’ philosophy. In that same vein, when I get a good deal, I try to give a good deal. Case in point, this vintage silkscreen poster. I bought it from a favorite vendor down in Philly. His place is deep in a rough neighborhood, but it’s where I’ve scored some pretty nice finds.

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Anyway, if you read my last post about being chased out of City of God favela in Rio by a couple guys with R-15’s, then you know I’ll go deep for good stuff. So, back to the poster that’s now safely in my car and I’m headed home to NYC. As May Brimfield was around the corner, I brought it there.

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And guess what? I couldn’t sell it. I thought this would be one of the first things to go, but as that thinking goes, it’s always what you least expect that sells first - in this instance it was a set of ten religious paintings on masonite from the 1950’s that had been in a fire. Go figure. Feeling somewhat confused by the lack of interest and total lowball offers (less than what I paid) I emailed a local NYC auction with images of the poster. Early in June I dropped it off with them to actual interest. Go figure. They set an estimate and told me the auction would be in October.

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So why in December am I telling you this story? Because I just got paid for it. Here’s another of my favorite sayings, ‘money talks and bullsh!t walks’. Stay strong and go with your gut. It will always lead you where you need to be. ;-) hkv .

Your Television Is Lying To You

Back in 2006 I set up at the Pier Show. And I didn’t sell anything. Not. One. Thing. But when ‘The Bee’ (Antiques and the Arts Weekly) came to interview me, I told them that the show was great. And so were my sales.

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Why did I lie? Because nobody gets on a sinking ship. And really, would you want to hear how I had dropped $3000 to set up at a show and didn’t sell anything? No. Of course you wouldn’t. And neither do the other dealers. Folks love to hear of your successes. Your triumphs. Your scores. So that’s what I’ll tell you about. (Even though the Keno Brothers had declared it trash on local NYC television.)

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Back to the Pier Show. I had a fully stocked booth, no customers and plenty of time. So I walked around the show. As I chatted with a fellow dealer about how great I was doing, he shared a lead with me. A dealer in Tarrytown had recently purchased a huge lot of antique frames and was looking to sell. The Monday after the Pier Show, I boarded a Metro-North train and headed straight to that dealers shop. I negotiated a deal for the entire lot of frames and then looked around to see what else I could buy - a series of nine paintings of the planets, a few sculptures and an incredible double sided brass and oak easel. Smitten with the easel, I brought it back to my West Village apartment on the train and the subway. Don’t judge. I had just spent mad loot after losing $3000. Remember? Fast forward a few months and a producer from a local TV show reached out to me about a segment they were doing with the Keno Brothers and would I want to be on it? Um, YES PLEASE! And so I brought the easel on the show sure that it would receive rave reviews only to be told that it was utterly worthless. Um, WHAT?

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My phone began to ring with colleagues telling me that the Bros didn’t know what they were talking about. And so I did what any dealer worth her salt would do. I sold it at an antique show a couple months later for three times what I had paid. Because, sometimes ya gotta fake it till ya make it. ;-) hkv

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Buy Low, But Don't Be Cheap

This is a new old story that we’ve all heard before. Buy when the market is low and sell when the market is high. But if this is your sole impetus to be in the antique business then you’re missing the point. Well half the point because we still have to eat.

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This pair of Sully frames is the perfect example. They weren’t empty when I bought them. They each housed a portrait. I mean they are portrait frames. So where are the portraits? I’m not sure because I left them at the flea market. You see sales of ‘instant ancestors’ are down. Really down. Maybe you read the Wall Street Journal article recently extolling the benefits of exploiting this low market. The author of the article, Kathryn O’Shea-Evans (who has now blocked me), even bragged that her husband beat the seller down an additional thirty percent on a pair of portraits that she loved, but that is a rant for another day. Back to the frames. Armed with a pair of pliers, I ripped out the cut nails that held the paintings in the frames and told the seller that I only wanted to buy the frames. Even though they are portrait frames and the market is down, remember I mentioned that. The vendor and I struck a deal and I went home with the pair. Of frames. When it came time to sell them, my clients told me that the market for portraits is down and they didn’t want to buy portrait frames. Oops. Had I outsmarted myself? No. Because I just hadn’t shown them to the right client. A couple pics sent by text with a price and he jumped at the pair. Back to the portraits. The seller was more than happy to have the pair because he had a client for them. Win - Win. So, yes. Take advantage of a low market but don’t take advantage of the seller. Be ready to hold something in a low market, but don’t give up hope because your client might only be a text away. ;-) hkv

Stop and Smell the Roses

I think Ferris Bueller said it best, “Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while you could miss it.” We all get caught up in our hustle, our routine, our 9 to 5 (or 5 to 9) to put bread on the table, but often times we are moving at such a breakneck speed that we do not allow ourselves to take stock of that which we have already.

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In our rush to earn we can easily justify time spent far from family and friends because our lifestyle demands constant work. But what are we working for? Living in NYC is a struggle to put it mildly. I’ve often worked a full month simply to pay my bills. It’s times like these when it would be incredibly easy to allow self pity to take over. When it would be easy to pack up and call it quits. When it would be easy to give up on my dreams because I’ve outgrown them. I’ve never been one to take the easy route. Call it idealistic or even unrealistic, but every day before I head out to shop / source / treasure hunt I say to myself, “today’s the day I’m gonna find that Picasso.”

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And why not? I’m a gambler at heart and I’ll always place a bet on me. This entrepreneurial spirit has allowed me the freedom to work days on end without sleep just as it has allowed me a beautiful family and family of friends to work and live for. I often dream of finding that masterpiece and really hitting it big just so that I can share all of the profits. Because I’m not working strictly for money. Before you throw down your phone, let me explain. I’m working to leave a legacy. To be part of something greater than me. To find a great piece of art or sculpture and be part of its journey to the next generation. But most importantly I’m working to teach my daughters that beauty and opportunity is all around us each and every day. We simply have to see it. ;-) hkv

More Than Just Hoopla

Can you tell that I was a big Jody Watley fan? For the younger ones in the crowd I’ll give you a hint: It’s the hoops. Well my hoops may be a bit smaller these days, but I’m still rocking them. Along with that vintage Phillippe Monet leather down vest.

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I’m feeling nostalgic on this Throwback Thursday / Flashback Friday and I wanted to share this pic from about 2003 or so. I had just finished delivering an armful of antique picture frames to a few different gallery clients along Madison Avenue. The burl maple frame in my hand was destined for the last client of the day. As I was walking through the Upper East Side, a journalist stopped me to snap a pic. She was doing a story on layering for Fall and thought that my look was the right one for her article. Those of you who know me know that fashion is certainly not my forte. So my initial reaction was a bit of, ‘who me?’ She said, ‘yes you, now tell me your story’. Beyond excited to share my entrepreneurial venture in the Big Apple (and convinced that the article will lead to more clients) I gave her my best song and dance. I can’t remember my phone ringing off the hook after the story ran, but I gotta say that it sure was nice to see it in print. Oh, and that enormous vintage leather mail bag? Well I sold that to a clothing dealer from Japan. I may not be able to remember what I had for breakfast, but when it comes to antiques, that’s a whole other story! ;-) hkv

Sink, Swim or Tread

I’ve always been one to jump in without testing the water first. Kind of a sink or swim mentality. Even though ‘technically’ I can’t swim, I can keep my head above water.

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So a few years ago I was in Philly and heard about an auction of antique picture frames at a local art gallery. Curious, I went to see if I could buy a couple lots. Turns out, that I bought more than a couple. I bought about 250. Freestyle. Back stroke. Doggy paddle. It was time to swim! Or in my case, tread water. And then I had to figure out just what to do with all those frames. Logistics were the easy part - rent a truck and load it. Then what? More treading water, that’s what. I got all the frames unloaded and into storage so all that was left was to sell them.

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At this point I’m thinking back to an episode of Magnum P.I., you know the one where Magnum falls off his kayak and swims the opposite direction from it and has to tread water for eleven hours or so before Rick and T.C. rescue him? Yeah. I was feeling like Magnum at this point. Strong. Invincible. Water logged. Just without the mustache. I scrolled through my contacts to one dealer. A great friend who I knew could buy the whole lot. And just like that, I was once again loading the frames. But this time into his truck. So what’s the moral of the story? Jump in, baby, the water’s fine! :-) hkv

You Spin Me Round

Everything comes full circle. Sure, we've all heard that before and it's because it's true. We do kind of wind up where we started. Sixteen years ago I had arrived in New York City with $600, a six month sublet that I had paid in full and no job. A perfect trifecta for a winning result.

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I hit the ground running after unloading my rental truck with a dear friend (the same one who found me the sublet) and I headed over to the Chelsea Flea Market. No. I had no idea what I'd be doing there, but I did know that I wanted to be there. I wanted to learn there. I wanted to be an antique dealer. What kind? Who knew... not me. But after a light bulb moment I discovered the picture frame. That object that is at once architectural and artistic, utilitarian and beautiful, furniture and art. It had a purpose and a beauty. I was hooked. So I jumped in and bought an armful. Literally. I had them hanging from my shoulders and from my hands. Splurging on a taxi, I unloaded my new finds into the back seat and we headed off to Alphabet City. Going through the pile in my sublet railroad apartment (where the shower was next to the kitchen sink and the toilet was, well, old - but that's another story) I realized that I had inadvertently bought something good. This little Della Robbia style hand carved and gilt frame. It was wonderful. Dating it to the 1600's gave me that funny feeling in my stomach, you know butterflies. Did I really find a four hundred year old object in a NYC parking lot at 3 am? Turns out I did. And now all those years later I'm back in New York City. Back to dealing in picture frames (and art, furniture, lighting, sculpture, you get it). Back to hustling and having that butterfly feeling over and over again. It's not just about the finds but it's more about the fact that I'm back to doing what I truly love to do. Being in the City that rewards my hustle. X hkv

Traditional Values

If you know me, then you know I'm not really a follower of tradition. It's not that I don't have respect for tradition, it's more that I want to make things my own. So last year when I was speaking with Clintel Steed at his studio in Brooklyn, I thought of a way to make a tradition my own - I asked him if he would paint our portrait.

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The family portrait is an historical document, a moment in time captured for future generations. Painted from life in his studio, my daughters and I were allowed entry into the world of an artist. The method, the mannerism, the mechanics, the movement - we were the observers and the observed. After many sittings, many hours and many movies on his computer, I'm completely honored and totally psyched to share our portrait with you. Some of my friends will recognize the green jungle print jacket that I wear to most 'fancy' engagements. Seemed only fitting that I wore it for our portrait. This portrait is currently on view at the Sweet Lorraine Gallery in Red Hook, Brooklyn in a show called INTO VIEW until the 31st. I hope you'll visit the show to see Clintel's work as well as the work of several other incredibly talented artists. After the 31st, you'll have to come over to our apartment to see the painting. ;-) hkv

The Barter System

If someone offered to pay their bill to you with this painting, would you accept? Of course you would if you're a crazy, art-loving dealer! Let me explain the situation with a joke: "There are two antique dealers on a deserted island. Business is great." Never gets old because it's so true.

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You see, I had sold something to another dealer and he paid me with this painting. When I got it, it was barely hanging on to it's replaced stretcher. It had a super dry surface. It was in serious need of restoration. It was unsigned. It had no original frame to aid in its attribution. It was a mess and a mystery. And I loved it! I jumped at the chance to go back to the barter system. I thought of famous artists who paid their tabs with paintings, drawings, scribbles on napkins. As I saw it I was way ahead of the game. Then came the restoration. With a light touch, my restorer edge lined the painting and built a new stretcher. Now with a fresh coat of varnish, the painting was ready to hang. No longer a mess, but still a mystery. Have you Googled "Dutch+still+life+painting" lately? I have. And let me tell you, they all look alike. I know I'm not supposed to say this, but my eye is not honed to see those subtle differences. Yet. Is this 19th Century? 18th Century? Did I totally luck out and buy, um trade, a 17th Century Dutch still life painting? The short answer is I don't know. But the clues are there. The outdoor setting. The combination of grapes and flowers. The little lizards walking around. The urn itself. Even the types of flowers. It's all there. And for now it's all gonna stay there. Or more to the point, in my hallway. As another work in my favorite unsigned mystery collection category, I'll continue to Google the keywords until I get them just right. It will be then when the artist, their style, their technique becomes so blindingly obvious that I'll wonder how I didn't see it years earlier. ;-) hkv

Diamonds in the Rough

Sometimes you find something amazing in a truly unremarkable place. And sometimes you find fourteen somethings amazing in a truly unremarkable place and you have to carry each one out on your shoulder in the complete darkness and then rent a truck to get them home.

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Such was the case about five years ago or so when I came across fourteen incredible hand painted murals on canvas dating to the 1930s to 1950s in a place where I was buying a whole other category. As soon as I set foot upon them, yes I mean set foot rather than set eyes, I was immediately ready to find something amazing. With the light of my cell phone I realized that each mural was rolled around a lath cylinder spanning over ten feet in width. The length of each #mural was a mystery at this time because the clock was ticking and I had to race to get all of my soon to be purchases out of the building. It wasn't until the next sunny day that I was able to unroll each of the murals across the sidewalk and into the street to see exactly what I had just purchased. In typical fashion, they were a mystery to me at the time of purchase. To this day, even though I sold them all to one person shortly after buying them, their provenance remains a mystery. Each of the murals depicts outdoor scenery with lions, fly fishing and hunting and dogs being the dominant scenes. The murals were all so well painted and in good shape considering the conditions they were in (let's just say less than ideal) that I was immediately invested in their research. But it didn't get far as the soon-to-be buyer spotted them in what was the window of my storefront in Philadelphia. We struck a deal and I rented another truck to deliver them. Today you can find these murals in Philly and New York City and Milan so keep an eye out for them. And always be ready to find something amazing! ;-) hkv

Don't Let Them Tame You

You were wild once. Don't let them tame you. Isadora Duncan is quoted as saying that. Many credit her as the creator of modern dance. Many attended her shows to both cheer and decry her as she was a woman who knew no bounds. Her natural flowing style both in dance and attire were her trademarks. But how did she come to be in this almost life size nude portrait from 1933?

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We would need to ask American artist Maxwell Simpson for he was the one who painted this posthumous portrait of the dancer. I bought this piece many years ago at a Pier Show in New York City from another dealer. The work caught my eye just as it was being unloaded from the dealer's truck. Believing that the early bird gets the worm I jumped on the chance to buy the portrait. Even before I knew the artist. Even before I knew the subject. Simply because it struck a chord. I was moved by the sense of confidence and vulnerability. A portrait is a personal story. Like a biography it is a life told through someone else's eyes. The artist portrayed Isadora Duncan leaning against a fluted column as perhaps a nod to her often classically Greek inspired robes, tunics and dresses that exposed her arms and legs during her performances, something that was considered taboo among many at the time. Her body is taught, yet relaxed. She was no stranger to nudity. Maxwell Simpson told her story through the painting. She told her story through her dance. But when this story reaches deep into the soul, a connection is made. These connections are the reason for the antiques and art business. Folks see the passion in both the subject and the medium. Folks want to be part of the history of a work. You were wild once don't let them tame you. So don't be afraid to be bold, to buy with your eye as you will benefit from the experience. Each piece that I buy is a new opportunity to learn. I was introduced to the work of Maxwell Simpson and to the history of Isadora Duncan. I was shown again how chances taken are always rewarded. Through knowledge gained. Through experiences shared. Through history learned and continued. ;-) hkv

Martha, Martha, Martha

It was the winter of 2004 when I bought this #painting I had been in New York City just shy of two years and had established myself as a dealer in picture frames. As a frame dealer, I really didn't think I had any business buying a painting. But to be fair I didn't buy this painting. I bought the incredible modernist frame that surrounded it.

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I can still picture it. A super wide, stepped molding with a gesso finish. This style remains to this day my all time favorite. Matter of fact I bought three of those profiles yesterday but that's another story. So when the dealer told me how much for the painting, I knew I could pop off the frame and sell it at a profit. So the painting would just be a little extra. Turned out to be a lot extra. This portrait of dancer Martha Graham was painted by American artist Paul Meltsner. Back then I didn't know Meltsner's work nor did I have a means to research anything before I bought it. It was strictly buy with your eye as my mantra. And so I sold the frame to one of my off Madison Avenue gallery clients and the painting was in my West Village apartment. Till one day when I thought I'd better look up the signature. Well you could say I was surprised. I immediately sent an email to Sothebys American paintings department and they put me in touch with the Arcade. How many of you remember Sotheby's Arcade? It was a great auction division for good paintings. And this was a good painting. Gotta say that the Arcade was my go to sales venue for this and more than a few other unintentional painting purchases. Nowadays that middle market has all but disappeared. But let us not lament the past. Simply enjoy the lessons it taught us. I learned a good one that day. ;-) hkv

Never Sell and Tell

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.

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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 One's a Keeper

Here's a little story for you... one day many moons ago I was in Connecticut and looking for picture frames to sell to my Madison Avenue and Upper East Side clients.

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After a long day of buying and with a few armfuls of frames I thought I'd make another stop. Now closed, this place was a favorite of mine for cool decorative objects. Walking through quickly as it was almost closing time a corner of the frame caught my eye. It was hand carved and silver gilt and looked like the frames of Charles Prendergast to my eye. With bold and strongly carved ornament it was an easy sale. Finally I noticed the fauvist style interior painting. Whoa. Those colors. Turquoise. Orange. Pink. It went perfectly with the frame. Now, that was a problem. Because at the time I was strictly a picture frame dealer, not an art dealer or antique dealer as I am today. So this purchase, my last of that day, would be one solely for me. And it has remained that way all these years later. Maybe it has a bit to do with the fact that it's only signed with a monogram which I have yet to attribute to an #artist or maybe it has to do with the sentimentality of the moment. But that is what art can do. Remind you of a moment and let you hold onto it. ;-) hkv

Holding Out for a Hero

Pick your battles. Win the war. The hero is the one who follows their heart... Prince Igor was faced with terrible odds, the invaders were closing in and half of his army had deserted.

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Upon entering the battle his weakened forces suffered many losses at the hands of the Mongols and Prince Igor was captured. After some time his captors organized his escape and Prince Igor returned home. Defeated. But with a second chance... The chance to return home. This painting is one of three which tell the Russian epic poem from the 12th Century of an unlikely hero and his faults, his missteps and his return.

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These oil paintings have also made a return. A return to the family of the artist - they have come full circle. Through diligence and research and sheer good luck, today I made a delivery and brought the art home. I had bought these paintings years ago. They had made their journey and I had come across them. Rolled up.


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Told that all the other dealers had passed on them so they must be of little value. Value. What is valuable? History. Legacy. Stories passed down from one generation to the next through art. I think of myself as a vehicle taking art from the past and bringing it to the future. Generations to come will know the art of their ancestors. I am honored to be part of the history of these paintings and their legacy. ;-) hkv

Extra Information:
Eugene Andrew Agafonoff (Evgeny Andreevich Agafonov) was a Ukrainian painter, graphic artist and scene-designer who was born in 1879. He was born to a family of merchants. He got his first art education in St. Petersburg Academy of Arts in 1899–1907. He studied under the guidance of P. Kovalevsky and F. A. Roubaud. In 1910 Agafonov was awarded gold medal for the painting Draymen at the regional South Russia exhibition in Ekaterinoslav. In 1905–1907 during the Revolution, Agafonov illustrated Kharkov satirical magazines Shtyk (“Bayonet”), Mech (“Sword”), Zloy Dukh (“Malignant Demon”) and others. In March 1906 Agafonov together with A. N. Grot, V. D. and D. D. Burlyuk participated in the 7th exhibition of the Cirlce of Kharkov artists (1900–1908). Since 1908 he exhibited his works at the exhibitions of the Association of Kharkov artists, at the exhibition of the group Zveno (“Link”) in Kiev (1908), in Rostov-on-Don and Kursk. In 1909 Agafonov founded the experimental theatre, Blue Eye, in Kharkov on the basis of the avant-garde studio Blue Lily. He designed a lot of performances for this theatre, including The Stranger by A. Blok. The theatre worked only two seasons and was closed in February 1911. Later Agafonov left the Association of Kharkov artists and organized an avant-garde group Koltso (“The Ring”, 1911–1914). Members of the group were A. N. Grot, A. M. Zagonov, N. R. Savvin, M. S. Fedorov, E. A. Shteinberg and others. In 1913 Agafonov joined the group Bubnovy Valet (“Jack of Diamonds”), took part in the exhibitions of the group in St. Petersburg. Agafonov participated in the First World War; in 1918 he returned to Kharkov. In the same year he designed covers of the Theatre Magazine . Agafonov joined the group Khudozhestvenny Tsekh (“The Art Guild”); in 1918–1919 he together with M. A. Voloshin, Mane-Katz, and E. A. Shteinberg took part in the exhibitions of the group. In 1919 Agafonov lectured as an art critic in the studio of painting and drawing under the ProletCult (Proletarian Culture). He also exhibited his works at the First exhibition of the Art department of Kharkov Soviet of worker’s deputies. Evgeny Agafonov painted a lot of portraits including Lieutenant P. P. Schmidt’s lawyer, A. Alekseev (1906) and portrait of the actress V. F. Komissarzhevskaya (1908). In his paintings Agafonov often used Ukraine national motifs. He also painted landscapes, drew sketches and did drawings. In early 1920s Agafonov immigrated to the USA. He was engaged in easel painting, graphic art and advertising. He exhibited his works at the exhibitions of the Society of Independent Artists (1929); in the French gallery in New York (1931); in the Greenwich public library (1939); and in Derby, Connecticut (1943). Personal exhibitions of the artist were held in the Cas-Delbaut gallery in New York (1931). Works by Evgeny Agafonov, which the artist left in Kharkov, were kept in Kharkov Art Museum. During the Great Patriotic War, the greater part of his works was lost. Only several drawings and theatre designs remained in Kharkov Art Museum." Mr. Agafonov died in 1955. *Info from Art Investment Russia

Is It Jean or Hans

Do you play the lottery sometimes? You know, you're getting a coffee and when you go to pay there's all those scratch offs and the pick 5 machine? Tempted? Throw a couple extra bucks down and hope for the best. I guess you could say that I play the lottery. Every. Single. Day.

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That's the life I've carved out as an antique dealer and art dealer. Am I big time? Hardly. I'm a hustler and a picker. It's the deal that I love. The energy in the hunt. You could say the thrill of the hunt. But for me it's even more. It's the chance to hit it big. To win the lottery if you will. And it's not just the money (don't get me wrong, the money will be great) but it's also the feeling that something important in the eyes of the art world is now in my possession. And here we come to this carved stone abstract sculpture that I bought under the El in Philly five years ago or so. To me it's Jean Arp / Hans Arp all day. Think dada, surrealism, abstraction, bio-morphic sculpture guided by nature. Human Concretion Maybe. Just maybe. Or it's a cool sculpture that I bought one blisteringly hot summer day in Philadelphia when the mercury had hit 95 and the humidity had hit 100. But hey, that's summer Philly style. So maybe the heat got to me. Or maybe I have a masterpiece in my living room. Time will tell. For now it remains $80 bucks well spent. I guess I'd better send out that email to the Fondation Arp. ;-) hkv

The Brute

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.

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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

Keeping Up The Pace

Standing in a New Orleans bus depot, Stephen Pace flipped a coin. Tails would be San Francisco and heads would be New York City. The coin landed on heads and Mr. Pace boarded a bus for NYC.

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He had served his country for four years in World War II and then enrolled in art school. It was in the art school that he met Milton Avery. Years later in New York Pace would reconnect with Avery as well as study under Hans Hofmann and become friends with Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline and Jackson Pollock. You see, the 1950's in New York City was a hot bed for the burgeoning school of abstract expressionism. Mr. Pace was in the thick of it. He painted this incredible oil on canvas abstract painting in 1952. And I bought this painting some fifty five years later also in New York City. I was making the rounds to some of my favorite shopping places when I turned onto 11th Street in Greenwich Village. Walking up to the shop, the door was being propped open by something. That something turned out to be this painting. My eyes popped and and jaw dropped. I recognized the name, but I didn't buy it for that (yeah, the one time something I buy is actually signed). I bought it because it spoke to me. And isn't that why we buy art. Why we have to save art. Why we are art dealers. We are constantly seeing things in and out of context. Surely using a master work by a top abstract expressionist artist as a door stop does not present the proper context. But it is up to us to see in it the potential. And then to be the vehicle to carry the work forward. This painting is now in a private collection and I'm happy to have been part of its journey. ;-) hkv

Extra Information:
Have you ever heard that?  Have you ever said that?  Well, we won't be taking names, so don't worry.  Maybe you've asked yourself, "what is abstract art?".  Here's my take on it.  It is emotional.  It is strong.  It is powerful.  Abstract art is more than splashes of color, squiggly lines and paint splatters.  It is spontaneity.  It is the raw emotion of the artist presented for all who dare to look.  It is the visual representation of a feeling, or mix of feelings.  An artist strives to represent something without external likenesses.  The thing is not represented in realistic terms, but in feelings.  This is a mood.  This is a movement.  This is Abstract Expressionism and it has a lot to do with New York City in the mid 20th Century. The artists of this movement and time were creating spontaneous representations of emotions.  These are strong works.  These are the works of masters of the form.  So where does a Missouri farm boy fit in to all this?
 
Stephen Pace was a small town boy who flipped a coin.  Tails was San Francisco.  Heads was New York City.  That coin came up heads and Mr. Pace's life was about to change.  He served our country in World War II for four years and was then entitled to four years' education.  He chose an art school in Mexico.  It was here that he met Milton Avery.  After his schooling in Mexico, he was on his way home to the farm.  Back to his roots where he had taken up drawing and painting those many years ago before he enlisted in the war.  Back to his family.  He paused.  He reached in to his pocket while he stood in that bus depot in New Orleans and he flipped a coin.  "I knew if I went back to the Midwest they'd put me to work on the farm...".  That thought was all it took.  
 
Arriving in New York City he was immediately thrown into the fast paced art scene.  Studies under Hans Hofmann, friends with Willem DeKooning, Franz Kline, Jackson Pollack, mentoring under Milton Avery, trips to Europe.  He made the most of his time.  He was learning from the best and surrounded by the best.  Stephen Pace thought back to those rural days and his figurative paintings, but he wanted to try his hand at something new.  Perhaps those four years in the war had built up some emotions in Mr. Pace that needed an outlet?  Perhaps he was delving deep to realize an as yet undefined goal?  Perhaps he was an artist coming in to his own...
 
Mr. Pace's abstract works of the 1950's, during the pivotal Abstract Expressionism movement, are among his most provocative and thoughtful pieces.  Explosions of color.  Of feeling.  Of movement.  The canvas seems barely able to contain them.  The brush strokes leap from the rectangle and push their ways to infinite space.  They cannot be contained.  They are bold and boisterous.  They are real and rousing.  They are abstract.
 
Abstract may be defined may ways by many people.  Perhaps your pint sized Picasso has just created his latest fridge worthy work of art. Fantastic.  Get the magnets and place it up there in between the to-do list and photo of Fido.  Sure, by definition there are emotions in that art. There are bold uses of color.  So, maybe your kid could paint that.  But this is where we have to step back and take another look at abstract art. Rather than just saying, "Oh, I don't understand that."  Take a moment and let yourself be drawn in to the piece.  Look for the movement.  Where does it lead your eyes?  Do you gravitate back to a certain color?  Are you looking beyond the canvas?  These are questions that really only the viewer can answer for the viewer.  Generally an artists work is seen in an exhibition or in some context of presenting an overall understanding of a period of time in an artists life.  Viewing one abstract painting and summing up your ideas of abstract art, is like looking at one car and thinking you understand the entire industry.  There are lots of artists out there who have lots to say.
 
Hear their voices in their art.  Abstract art is for everyone!

Do You Think This Will Fit in My Carry On

Sometimes you're on vacation in Miami with your family and you want to buy a souvenir. So like any art dealer on vacation, you head directly for Wynwood to do a little souvenir shopping. Sometimes you pick up a snow globe or maybe a magnet for the refrigerator.

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And then other times you pick up a monumental hard edge painting by abstract artist Dennis Ashbaugh and then you ask yourself if a seven foot painting will fit in your carry on luggage. So that's what happened a few years ago. I was hanging out in the Wynwood Arts District near Miami Beach when I came across this massive shaped canvas from 1976 I knew I had to buy it. My kids knew I had to buy it. The shop owners were curious how I'd get it back to South Beach. So I did what any antique dealer would do. I asked to borrow their pick up truck. And I drove it to a storage unit and then organized with my shipper to pick it up. And I couldn't be happier with my souvenir from our Miami Beach vacation. ;-) hkv

A Sergeant or a Sargent

Does this painting tell a Civil War era ghost story. Or is this work Spanish in origin? Time will tell and hopefully the x-ray photography that I had done last Tuesday will also shed some light on the work.

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I bought this oil painting back in 2009 from a friend and fellow antique dealer. There's an old joke that goes like this, "There are two antiques dealers on a deserted island. Business is great." Ha! That couldn't be more true. We are a bunch of merchants, historians and peddlers who thrive on the hunt and the deal. We search out the rare. The sublime. The unique. And we get each other. It's the story behind the piece. It's the research on the piece. It's being part of the history of something as it passes from one hand to the next. From one generation to the next. We are simply the vehicle to carry it forward. This antique painting from the 19th Century has always had a great appeal to me. I love a mystery. Who is she? Why is she playing the violin for someone. Who is this man? Is he a soldier who is dying? What is their story? Their connection? And why, oh why, didn't the artist sign the painting!?!?! I will soon see what develops from the x-ray photography and I'm hoping that it will reveal some of the secrets and the answers. In the meantime, if you ask me, it has a John Singer Sargent vibe to it. ;-) hkv

Extra Information:
Have I mentioned that I am quite good at buying unsigned paintings?  Yes?  Oh, wonderful then you know already.  For those of you who are new to my blog, here's a little backstory: I am always buying things that I know very little about.  There.  I said it.  It's part challenge and part gamble. It's what makes the antiques business fun.  Reaching out and trying your hand at something new.  This painting is no different.  Actually, it is different.  Very different...

So, I had just given birth to our second child a week earlier.  A dealer friend of mine had called to see how we were all doing (awesome, thank you) and also wanted to show me a few things.  Maybe the paintings were first on his mind, but I like to think it was the other way around.  So, he makes the drive over to our apartment and I met him in the lobby.  The first two paintings were not for me (though I bought them against my better judgement and lost money, but that is a WHOLE other story - P.S. always go with your gut rather than a signature...) and then he showed me the third painting.  Wow.  Strong.  Emotional.  It wasn't my hormones, it was the painting.  It had been re-lined at some time, maybe 70 years ago or so and was an oil on canvas dating to the late 1800's, I thought.  Looked like an American canvas and stretcher.  And now to the interesting part.  The painting.  A woman in a white dress playing the violin sits on the edge of a bed.  A man (who looks like some military type) is lying in the bed propped up on pillows dressed in a white shirt with red around the cuff.  The room is bare.  A brown dresser and blue chair are the only furniture.  There is a crucifix above the bed.  Trust me, it is an emotional piece.  Asking my friend about the piece yielded nothing.  An, "Oh, I'm not sure.  Could be something good.  Maybe an illustrator.  Definitely American,  Sargent?  I had a couple other names in mind..."  You know the story.  So, we reached a price and I brought the paintings back up to our apartment.  The whole deal lasted about ten minutes.  Just long enough for the new baby to fall asleep.  And yes, the door closing did wake her up...

So after some time with the family, I began on my search for an artist.  I tried illustrators.  I tried American painters.  I tried violin players.  I got no answers.  Days turned into weeks and those turned into months.  Zilch.  We were planning a trip to Brazil, so I packed up the paintings and put them into storage.  And there it sat.  About six months later, I was reunited with the paintings and I was happy to be hanging them in our new apartment.  When the time came to unpack this one, I was seeing it with fresh eyes.  Sitting down at the computer I typed in four words: woman violin soldier painting.  Bingo.  Sort of.  Turns out there's a Civil War ghost story about a woman who plays the violin for a dying soldier.  It's a North South romance.  Very touching.  I felt that I had made a huge breakthrough.  Could this painting symbolize the story?  Tell me what you think...

The story goes, during the Civil War the Martha Washington College for ladies was turned into a hospital of sorts to care for wounded soldiers. The college was located very much in the South, but took on patients from either side.  A few of the students enrolled in the college stayed on as nurses and nurses aides.  One day a seriously wounded officer from the North was brought in.  He was brought in and cared for by the doctors and nurses.  One of the students who was assigned to his care, began to fall in love with him.  She was a wonderful violin player, not much of a nurse.  When the wounded officer would need some comfort, he would ask her to play violin for him.  Legend has it, that he called out to her to play something.  She obliged and he peacefully passed away.  She would die a short time later, some say of a broken heart.
The Martha Washington College is now the Martha Washington Inn.  Some say that to this day, the sounds of a violin can still be heard coming from the room where the Northern soldier and Southern student had fallen in love.  And the painting remains a bit of a mystery, but one that is at least a bit closer to an understanding.  Now, if I could just figure out the artist...

It's All About Context

A lot of what I do is seeing things in context. The context in which you find something has a huge effect on how you see it. Or does it? For example, this 1970s abstract shaped canvas painting was in a warehouse garage in Philadelphia leaning up against some old shutters and signs when I came across it in 2014.

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At first sight I knew I had to have it. But getting it home is always another matter. I never let a six foot square, four inch thick issue like that stop me though... I hoisted it up on top of my Ford Expedition, tied it down with some twine and kept my fingers crossed as I kept a firm grip on it with my left hand and drove home. As per usual, the work was unsigned. But you already know that I love a mystery. Plus it's another opportunity to learn about a genre new to me. Such was the case. I googled a few keywords and the first works that appeared were by none other than Frank Stella. You could say that I was pretty psyched with those results. More research and a few phone calls, emails and museum visits revealed this to be the work of American artist Sidney Guberman. Turns out Mr. Stella and Mr. Guberman were roommates at Princeton during their undergrad. Stella even did a print that he titled after Mr. Guberman. Learning all of this, I figured why not reach out and see if I could speak with him. Mr. Guberman was still showing work and living in Atlanta. He was thrilled to learn that I bought his work and that it would grace the design of Patrick Hamilton in his Derby Deconstructed room at the New York City Holiday House Design Shows in 2014. You see there's more context. From a warehouse garage in Philly to the Academy Mansion in New York City. From leaning up against old shutters to being part of a gorgeously designed interior. And where is the painting now you ask? Well it's now in an Upper East Side art gallery just off Madison Avenue. That, my friends, is context. ;-) hkv

An American Hero Comes Home

When I bought this #painting it was a mystery rolled up in a cardboard tube. Little did I know that it would lead me on such a journey of discovery... This is the story of a Yale University student who enlisted to fight in World War I. He gave a year for France and would go on to meet a Russian Baron and have his portrait painted by a Russian Princess.

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This painting tells the story of Henry Howard Houston Woodward. Born in Chestnut Hill in Philly and educated at Yale. Henry was a charismatic young man who gave his life so that others could be free. Serving first in the Ambulance Corps, Henry's superior officers saw his determination and grit. He was allowed to join the aviators and was soon flying missions. It was on one of those missions that Henry lost his life. His story will always be told though the power of art. I discovered Henry's identity through many late nights in front of my laptop. Even though the painting was signed by the artist Marie Eristoff Kazak, the sitter's identity was not mentioned. His World War I French aviators uniform was my first clue. This eventually led me to a book of his letters published by Yale University press called A Year for France. It was in this book that I found an image of the painting. Henry had written home to his parents and asked if they would wire him the money to have it painted - he wanted there to be a record of him should anything happen. His beautiful letters and this painting tell his remarkable story. This work is now in a Philadelphia area museum. ;-) hkv

Extra Information:
When it is a person. Wait. What? Okay, here’s what I mean. Back in the Summer of 2014 I attended an auction at the warehouse of a once prominent gallery. I was there for the picture frames and I bought about 250 of them. One of the last lots of the auction was a heavy cardboard tube that supposedly contained a rolled up painting. So, being the impulsive gambler and dreamer that I am, I simply kept my hand in the air till the lot was mine. Now I had to hope that there actually was a painting in it. I’ll skip over the excitement of loading a rental truck with 250 frames and then unloading all of them and get right to the good stuff... So, back at my showroom, I carefully removed the canvas from the tube and began to unroll it on my eight foot work table. And I unrolled it. And unrolled it. It was massive. A face was staring at me. A young man in uniform holding a cigarette in his hand staring right at me. Quickly I looked for a signature and found it only after the light caught it just the right way. I first saw a monogram of a crown and then the hyphenated last name Eristoff-Kazak. Fantastic. A signature often makes the research that much easier. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Turns out Eristoff-Kazak was actually Russian Princess Marie Eristoff-Kazak (born Etlinger Mariya Vasilevna later using the names Mary Kazak, Maria Eristova and Marie Eristoff Kazak) a painter of the Russian aristocracy. She was born in Saint Petersburg in 1857 and studied art with the Hungarian born court painter Mihaly Zichy. In 1887, Marie Etlinger married Georgian Prince Dmitry Eristavi. Mr. Zichy brought the Princess to Paris for the first time in 1890, she would later move there permanently in the early 1890’s and become a fixture on the Paris art scene. Her reputation grew and she became known for her portraiture of the Russian aristocracy visiting or living in Paris. The Princess had a long career in Paris, while also sending her work for exhibition to London and St. Petersburg. She died there in 1934. So, now that I’ve learned a bit about the artist I can begin the process of discovering the identity of the sitter. I’d like to digress for a moment and share a similar story about a portrait, a discovery and a story...

Earlier in the year, Colin Gleadell who is an art world reporter for the past 27 years and a regular contributor to many publications including writing a weekly column for The Daily Telegraph’s Art Sales page, reported on a portrait that sold at an auction in the countryside of London. While this would not normally merit inclusion into one of Mr. Gleadell’s columns, this was no ordinary portrait. The artist, Ambrose McEvoy - a London society painter who died in 1927, never really achieved high results in the auction world. Yet this portrait of an unknown woman (which carried a presale estimate of just $1067.) would bring $62,846. Whoa. They say, it just takes two to make a record. Boy were they right. But why all the interest you ask? And just who bought this work? I’ll tell you. Actually Mr. Gleadell coaxed the answers from the buyer, none other than Mr. Philip Mould a London gallery owner specializing in portraits. It seems that Mr. Mould has become quite well known for uncovering the identities of the sitters of the portraits he purchases. And this one was no different. The sitter was a Ms. Lois Sturt a British silent movie star who was born to a Baron in 1900 and died in 1937. Described by her biographer William Cross as a “wild child” and “the brightest of the bright young things”. There’s more to this story and if you want to read it, click here for the full article in The Telegraph. Just make sure to come back here and read why I thought it would be important to tell you about this story...

Now back to the painting in my inventory. Where were we? Oh, right. The Russian Princess artist. Seems she was quite the bohemian artist for being a Princess. Always giving of her work and her time. Living the life of an artist in Paris during the early 20th Century. But just how did she come to paint this portrait. And just who is he. I’ll tell you. Because Mr. Mould is not the only one who can uncover the identity of a sitter in a portrait. Turns out he is none other than Henry Howard Houston Woodward, part of the very prominent Houston Woodward family of Philadelphia (by way of Wilkes-Barre, originally from Connecticut). In 1917, Henry was enrolled at Yale University and set to graduate as part of the Class of 1919. It was during February of that year when Henry volunteered for World War I. He was shipped out to France just two months later. The ship carried him along with hundreds of other volunteers, cargo, trucks, supplies and more. The cross Atlantic journey was slow and Henry was chomping at the bit to arrive in France. Shortly after arrival, Henry’s section of drivers - the Ambulance 13 corps were placed on the front lines in some of WWI’s bloodiest battles. Henry’s bravery, intelligence and determination were quickly recognized and rewarded by his superiors. Henry wanted more responsibility and more action. He had begun training to become a pilot for the French and was quickly excelling in his classes. His hard work was rewarded with extra time off and he received additional days to spend in Paris. And this is where our story takes a turn.

It was in Paris where Russian Baron Eugene Fersen was escaping the aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution serving as the head of a Russian Mission. The Baron, born in St. Petersburg in 1873, was the eldest son of a Grand Duchess who was a mistress to (it is reported) Czar Nicholas II (you know, the Bloody Czar...). He was quietly living in Paris and working on his manifesto which would later become the Light Bearers Society and the Science of Being (the Baron and his mother later moved to the United States, bought a gilded age mansion in Seattle owned by an imprisoned con man and used that as the headquarters for their society until his death in 1954). But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to Paris. The Baron was close friends with the Princess and offered a few rooms in his apartment for her to use as a painting studio. It was around this time that the Baron met Henry. The exact details of their first encounter are not known, but we do know that the two shared a very close and personal relationship. The Baron was quick to recognize Henry’s first rate character and Henry was enamored by the tales the Baron would tell of his family, his life in Russia and all that the Baron promised him after the war. The two spent as much time together as the war would allow. And it was on one of those weekends together when Henry met the Princess. She, too, recognized something special in Henry and asked if he’d like to have his portrait painted. She saw in him “an Egyptian face, ancient Egypt, that is, not modern”. The Princess painted Henry with “a classic mouth, long, straight nose, high cheek bones, and long sphinx eyes!”. And Henry knew that the Princess was “really a genius” and was “about the best portrait painter in Europe now, and in France for certain”. You could say that the two really hit it off. Henry had asked his family back home in Philadelphia for the 5000 Francs (about $1000 at the time) to pay for the portrait and said that “it would be a good souvenir in case anything did happen to me.”

Sadly Henry’s words would be prophetic. Just two weeks after having his portrait painted1918, Henry’s plane would be shot down over the small town of Montdidier, France. It was not until 1919 that the plane would be discovered. Henry’s family travelled to Montdidier sometime in 1920 to erect a monument to their son, help to rebuild a cathedral in the town that had been damaged in the war and to collect his personal belongings. This painting was among them. Once the belongings arrived back in the States, the painting was to remain rolled up. Forgotten. If not for that auction, Henry’s story would also have been forgotten. Now it will live on forever thanks to the Power of Art. Oh, and some detective work.

A Love Letter to the NYC Flea Market

Ever since I moved to New York City in 2002, I have been an early morning (well before dawn) shopper at the flea markets along 6th Avenue.  By the time I had arrived on the scene, and I do mean scene, there were a few different parking lots and an indoor parking garage packed with hundreds of dealers set up selling every imaginable treasure, and some trash, you could ever hope to find.  Celebrities and rarities.  Sure, I was told of the good old days in the 80's and 90's, when there were many more lots and even better choices, but this was my time and I made the most of it.  
 
I was the new kid on the block and I had to learn the ropes quickly.  Arriving at 3:30 in the morning with flashlight in hand, I was among the group who would pounce on the cars and vans that pulled into the parking lots.  Shoving and pushing among people who five minutes earlier were seen politely having conversation and drinking coffee together, but there are no friendships here.  This is an all out battle for the next big thing to come out of that vehicle.  This flea market lived up to its reputation.  It was the place to find a real ( fill in the blank ) for $50.  It was the place to see ( fill in celebrity name ) shopping for their favorite obsession.  It was the place to learn.  And that is exactly what I did.  But now, let's back up a bit to that snowy day in February of 2002...
 
I drove my U-Haul packed with whatever belongings I thought were important enough to bring to New York.  Arriving in Alphabet City, Avenue B near 12th Street, I called my dear friend from high school and he came over from his job at a nearby bar (Beauty Bar) and helped me to unpack into the sublet apartment he found for me.  I had the strength of ten thanks to my excitement over being here.  With the truck unpacked and the U-Haul returned, I went back to my new apartment (at least for the next six months) and set my alarm for 3:00am and tried to catch a quick nap. It was pointless.  So I hailed a taxi and headed to the flea market.  The famous corner address of 26th and 6th (the flea market) and my apartment address were the only two I knew.  That was enough for me.
 
Walking up to those lots was like walking into a movie.  The city was alive with people going to and coming from night clubs, dinners, premieres, there were delivery trucks and taxi cabs rumbling up the Avenues, and at the flea market there were people with flashlights running from vendor to vendor in hopes of scoring.  So, I jumped right in.  I was amazed to see the deals being struck.  The boxes unpacked.  The tables set up.  It was a well orchestrated chaos.  It was perfect.  There was arguing over who had the item, then over the price, then offers poured in, then it was over and everyone moved on to the next item.  This was repeated countless times in the early hours of the morning.  This was the start of my education.  Luckily, a few dealers clued me in to how the flea market operates.  There were rules...  
 
There is an unwritten rule book, some of those rules I will share with you now.  Rule #1 - Don't let go!  If you are holding something and you are considering it as a purchase, by no means release your grasp or the next person who is waiting rather impatiently by your elbow will swoop in and scoop it up.  Rule #1a - Don't dilly dally.  Make up your mind quickly.  Rule #2 - Demand 1st Refusal.  If someone is looking at something and you are interested, then you must yell out "I want first refusal".  This will ensure that the other buyer either pulls out his wallet or hands you the item.  This is no time to be shy.  Rule #3 - Be there first.  This one is practically impossible to follow.  What time is early enough?  As I spent more time at the flea market, I realized that some buyers were arriving earlier, much earlier.  So, in order to be there when that great item is brought out, you have to be there early.  
 
And the rules continue, but let's get back to the action.  So the years passed by and during this time I had become known as a serious buyer of antique and period picture frames.  I thought it was best to specialize in one area, then grow from there.  This specialization allowed to me to develop myself as a knowledgeable buyer and create a solid reputation.  Vendors began to hold things for me.  They began to call me the night before to tell me what they were bringing.  I was beginning to support myself from buying and selling at the flea market.  I created a list of clients from the Who's Who of Madison Avenue art galleries.  I would come home from the market some time in the late morning and photograph my purchases.  Then compose emails and send them out to the gallery owners.  I became a reliable source for amazing frames and was honored to be selling them along Madison Avenue.  I would take the subway to my client's galleries loaded with armfuls of frames.  It was definitely a sight to see.  This was the start of a dream come true.  
 
And this brings us to today.  I've grown my business and expanded into furniture, furnishings, lighting and art.  Now with a booth at Center 44 in Manhattan and a presence on 1stdibs, I have a couple great outlets for selling.  Sure, I'll still throw something over my shoulder and bring it to a client, for this is my true essence.  You can take the girl out of the flea market, but you can't take the flea market out of the girl!  The antiques business is my passion.  Gentrification and high rises have eaten up the outdoor parking lots once home to hundreds of vendors each and every weekend.  The flea market is now relegated to two levels of an indoor parking garage and the clock is ticking.  Sure, it is still one of my most favorite things to do on a weekend, but the writing is on the wall and it's a bittersweet ending.  The parking garage was purchased a few years back for over 40 million dollars.  Surely those developers aren't interested in maintaining the flea market just for us.  The deadline has come and gone several times already and now the flea market is on a month to month lease.  Where everyone will wind up is still unclear.    
 
New York City is one of the greatest cities in the world and must have a great flea market.  For me, this was the place where I was able to begin my business.  Where I was encouraged to dream of finding a real score and making it big.  Where I've met some of my best clients.  Where I will always have fond memories.  To this day, I can look around my apartment and see things I purchased there years ago.  Each has its own story and memories.  These I will cherish forever.  

Everyday I'm Hustlin'...

Over the Summer I was invited to share my story in a book about women entrepreneurs in the home furnishings industry. Of course, I was flattered to have been asked. After receiving the questionnaire - the answers would provide the story - I was excited to put pen to paper and write about how I started in the antique and vintage business. Sitting at the kitchen table, I pulled out my notebook and began to answer each of the eleven questions. But simply answering the questions did not truly convey my thoughts and experiences - so, I wrote a story of my beginnings, successes, failures and future - incorporating each question in order. Ultimately, I declined to be part of the book... but I’d like to share my story here with you...

It was a cold and crisp Saturday morning in February when I stepped out of my East Village sublet apartment and onto the streets of Manhattan. The club kids and delivery men shared the same sidewalks as one group made their way home and another group began their day. It was 4am and I was headed to the 26th Street flea market in Chelsea. Two nights prior I had packed up my life into a rental truck and made the ninety mile journey from Philadelphia. A short two hours but surely a world apart. It was while I was living in Philly, working as a waitress, that I had had the realization. The realization that my childhood weekends spent with my family at the local flea markets were truly the moments that were inspiring. The early mornings spent looking at Queen Anne chairs and Queen LP’s, chandeliers and ball gowns, brass side tables and ship’s models - had laid the foundation of what was to be my moment of realization. I wanted to be an antique dealer. So, in February of 2002, I packed myself up and headed to New York City. With a six month sublet that I had paid for in full and six hundred dollars to my name, I was determined to make a place for myself in The Big Apple. That cold and crisp Saturday morning was to be the first day of my new career - only I really didn’t know what to look for or what I’d find. Arriving to the flea market shortly after 4am I found myself in the center of a parking lot near the intersection of 26th Street and 6th Avenue. A parking lot bustling with vendors and dealers, buyers holding flash lights who were pushing their way to the latest vehicle that had pulled in to their assigned space and started to unload. It was when the items were pulled from the vehicle that the excitement would begin. Anticipation and tempers ran high as buyers jockeyed for position to be closest to the fresh merchandise. But this crowd was a fickle one. As each new vehicle pulled in, the crowd of dealers would turn on their heels and dart to the latest vendor. Each seller would command their attention only until the next vendor would arrive. To me it was like watching a dance - or more like a school of fish who would ebb and flow, turn and move - all with one purpose, to find the next treasure. And I too was there for treasure - but what? I stepped in and out of the fray, watching and seeing all that was on display. I was waiting for that next all important realization - what type of antique dealer was I to become?

It was then that it happened. I stumbled across a pile of dusty old picture frames. They were stacked up against the wall like so many glittering relics - gold leafed, accentuated with ornament - they were it! Beautiful and useful, architectural and artistic, practical and decadent - the picture frame was to become my inspiration, my passion, my business. And just like that, Heather Karlie Fine Art was born. But wait a minute! What did I know about picture frames? Not much. But I did know enough to follow my gut. And hold on just a sec - who exactly would be buying all these picture frames from me? Well, I knew that the Upper East Side was home to some of the best art galleries, specializing in everything from Old Masters to Contemporary works. There were sure to be a few among them who needed period picture frames. So I invested some of that six hundred dollars into a few frames that I considered to be the best of the bunch. By now, the sun had risen and all of the days offerings had either been snapped up by the early morning buyers or were being considered by the 'late morning’ arrivals. These were the folks who had strolled in well past nine with a specialty coffee drink in one hand and a French pastry in the other. It was at this time that I headed home to officially open up shop as HKFA. Spending the morning online, I emailed every Upper East Side art gallery and introduced myself as a new source for important antique and modern period picture frames. Then I sat back and waited for the requests to pour in. Hmmm. Something must have happened to my internet connection. Maybe my email server was down? So I turned off my laptop and waited. It was a very long minute. Getting it up and running again, I quickly opened my email. Success! An ‘out of office’ reply. Well at least it was something. Feeling like I needed a break, I left the world headquarters of HKFA and went out for a coffee and bagel. Seemed like a very ‘New York’ thing to do. Back at the office with a full belly and a renewed sense of confidence, I opened up my email. And there it was. An actual response from a New York City Upper East Side gallery, “Please bring a selection of your frames to the gallery at 10am on Monday”. Short, sweet and full of promise. I couldn’t wait to go to sleep just so I could wake up even earlier the next day and go back to the flea market on Sunday to see what other treasures awaited me. I mean, now I was in business.

Being in business in New York City means that things can change in a New York minute - which I can tell you is quite a bit shorter, unless you’re waiting to open your email. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years - but all going by in a flash. I had built a business specializing in sourcing rare and important picture frames and selling these frames to the City’s top galleries. And what did the years of being in business in New York City teach me? That the only constant is change. The City, the art world and the frame business were changing and so was I. I had met my husband and started a family, I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, I had opened my eyes to the connection between frames and art and furniture and lighting and more! I had a new inspiration. My inspiration came from the history of picture frames. During the 1600’s, 1700’s and 1800’s the picture frame was considered as furniture. The frames were not tied to the artwork, but rather to the prevailing style of furniture. As tastes changed and new styles came into vogue, the frames were also changed because they needed to be in the same prevailing taste - the architecture of the frame was tied to the architecture of the room. Aha! It was time to broaden my horizons. I began to buy furniture, lighting, art, accessories and I began to see the design that connected these pieces. The common thread that wove its way through history creating a tapestry that illustrated the beauty of the individual pieces viewed as part of a larger installation. Now when I was set up and selling at top antique shows, I was showing a complete look - furniture, lighting, art and accessories - a room setting in which I could explore the historical basis of the 20th Century designs I was selling. And thus was born 20th Century by HKFA. My years spent specializing in picture frames built the foundation for my business in fine and decorative furnishings. Taking a step back and seeing the whole room, but keeping a concentrated focus and perspective was my natural progression. Remember folks, the only constant is change. And if you want to stay ahead of the curve, you’re going to need a strong base to draw from.

And I feel fortunate to have a strong base - which is a big part of building my business and my brand. You see, I’d like to show folks how contemporary interior furnishings often have a strong foundation in historical design. That the key elements in today’s interiors are oftentimes based on a design from the past century - or even farther back. For each generations contemporary style has a strong base in the previous generations history. A key to the growth of my business is that understanding. And the understanding that each day presents an opportunity - an opportunity to explore more of our history through furniture, lighting, art and accessories. The design of our time is constantly evolving and changing. And sometimes to see the future, it’s best to look to the past. Antiques, by their very definition, are always becoming, evolving and changing. They are often defined as being something that is at least one hundred years old - and as time passes, each year brings new items into that definition. So for me, looking to the past and understanding its importance is another key to remaining relevant in the antiques business. And this is not mine alone and I was certainly not the first to see it. Diana Vreeland is quoted as saying, “There’s only one thing in life, and that’s the continual renewal of inspiration.” A huge source of my inspiration comes from those weekends spent at country flea markets as a child, from looking to the history of the object that was to spark my initial dream, from the only constant which is change. And that key is always close to me - for it is something that keeps me curious. All of those 4am adventures, early morning wake ups (and staying up really late) were another key to my business. Because each of those mornings I’m heading to the flea market I’m never guaranteed to find anything - but I am always guaranteed to have a continual renewal of inspiration. It’s the hunt for a treasure - something grand and significant, something delicate and simple - but having a strong base, an open mind and a curious nature are some of the best tools of my trade and keys to my business.

Starting my business and telling my friends and family of my plan all those years ago in 2002 while living and working as a waitress, I was met with a cool reception. All were concerned as to whether I knew what I’d need to follow my dream and if I had the tools. But treasure hunters are generally not a practical bunch - they are dreamers, idealists and gamblers. To say that their words fell on deaf ears is an understatement. I could hear only my own thoughts - those thoughts of taking a bite out of the Big Apple, of following a path without using a map or compass, of having the chutzpah to go with my gut. And I’m sure that my friends and family saw the determination in me - that coupled with my timing of sharing the news only a week or so before leaving was all that I needed to say. And what happened once I arrived in NYC you ask? Those ‘jaded’ New Yorkers must have considered my small town dream to be the stuff of a made for TV movie. Hardly. For I was welcomed into a group of other dreamers, idealists and gamblers. We were all betting against the house and each of us ready to hit it big. New Yorkers are like no one else. They are the inhabitants of an island, an island of monuments and history, an island of culture and freedom, an island of treasure. My colleagues and I each followed our own paths, criss-crossing the island and looking for the X that marks the spot. And what advice did we have for each other? Well, none really. Not that we played our cards close to the vest, it’s that antique dealers encourage one another through stories and tales. Like a jolly group of pirates on the high seas searching for treasure and regaling one another with fantastical stories of the best painting, suite of chairs or piece of jewelry that they uncovered in the most unlikely of places. And it was all of those stories that inspired me to build a strong base, always keep an open mind and nurture my curiosity. So let the naysayers have their moment for you are listening to your own inspiration.

And that voice must rise above the din, for there will also be people building walls to close you in. To contain you. To stifle you. Breaking through, going around, above or under - the walls must not hold you in. I, too, had my share of obstacles. And those obstacles come in so may forms - whether it was the day to day life in New York City, a run of bad luck or bad timing when searching for merchandise or the self doubt that creeps in and tries to construct another wall - I knew that my dream was bigger than all of it. But the greatest obstacle would always be the learning curve. The becoming while building was and always will be a driving force in the entrepreneurs schooling. Or as I like to call it, trial by fire. For my business education did not include textbooks, online courses or classrooms - it was spent taking chances, searching for treasure and often times coming up with a whole new inspiration. And that in and of itself was at times an obstacle. Learning and a natural curiosity would try to divert me from my focus. Digesting the stories of my colleagues who had made tremendous scores in other areas of the business would cause an ache within me. A pang if you will. Could my gut be leading me down the wrong path? Was a specialization in antique and modern picture frames too narrow a field? The perception of success can be one of the greatest obstacles of all - but I would not let that stop me. Instead, I celebrated their successes and used them to buoy my spirits. I dug deep and planted my feet firmly on the ground. I invested in trips to some of the world’s best museums to see the best examples of frames. I invested in catalogs and books and spent hours pouring over the images and descriptions of frames. But most importantly, I welcomed the obstacles - for they were not walls but would be the building blocks that I would use to fortify my position. To build a strong foundation. To have the courage to specialize in a field. To create a business in the heart of New York City based only on my dream and six hundred dollars. And the obstacles will continue and they have continued. I have encountered the obstacles of growth, of expanding my scope and of building a brand. 20th Century by HKFA is an important selection of well curated 20th Century finds - this leaves the door open to history. To 100 years of design and decor. To learning something new each day while maintaining focus. To becoming while building. So I continue to see obstacles as building blocks - not walls. And I will continue to use them to build my foundation and my base.

Because the challenges are many - and the growing pains will be sharp. Building my business from picture frames to sourcing fine and decorative furnishings for some of the design industry’s top creatives has been an adventure. One that saw me start a family and move from the City that Never Sleeps to Cidade Maravilhosa, Rio de Janeiro. Challenges abounded. Establishing myself and my family in a new city in a new country. Learning another language. Stepping out from my comfort zone and embarking on a whole new adventure. I was ready for the challenges. I was ready to grow my brand. Returning to my roots, I discovered a new source of inspiration through focus. Buying top examples of mid Century designer Brazilian furniture was to be my focus - learning about the line, the form and the backstory became my passion. I embraced the challenges because I knew that the foundation was there. Returning to the States after some time, my brand was beginning to become. But I was still building so there would be more challenges. Creating a strong online presence was the next step. I set about creating an impactful website and developing engaging social media accounts that were to become my calling cards in a burgeoning field of creative types. And it was here where I faced another challenge - how to stand out as a professional antique dealer. How would 20th Century by HKFA face these challenges? By entering the home furnishings industry through one of the top trade shows. By placing my brand, my inventory, my eye and myself in front of 80,000 design industry professionals. By exhibiting and selling at High Point Furniture Market. And by understanding that collaboration is one of the keys to growth. And continue to ride the learning curve.

You know, learning curves are a funny thing. The slow and steady ones allow you to push forward solidly, steadfastly - but slowly. It’s those sharp learning curves, the ones where you’re racing uphill enjoying breakthrough after breakthrough, only to stumble when you’re so close to the next peak. If you can’t hold on you’ll slide backwards down that steep slope and find yourself back where you started. But, if you can hold on, gather yourself up and re-group - you will have learned a valuable lesson. That mistakes and missteps will happen. The proverbial zigging when you should have zagged. My career has had its fair share of mistakes. Take for example an early Saturday morning in 2003 when I was sourcing antique frames in New York City. I had been growing my vocabulary of frames and felt that my knowledge base had grown exponentially in just a short year. Feeling ready to step up to the plate, I bought a near mint example of a period Louis XIII frame dating to the mid Seventeenth Century still retaining its original finish, original size and original hand carved ornament. Worm holes and all. I couldn’t get the $750 out of my pocket fast enough. Beaming with pride I headed directly to my good friend and mentor’s frame gallery in TriBeCa. His eyes widened as he took one look at my recently purchased masterpiece. “It’s a good one”, he said “for a copy.” … What? “Yes, this is a reproduction dating from the early 20th Century. As long as you didn’t pay too much, there’s always a market for these.” Feeling myself starting to slide backwards, knees buckling, stomach lurching I managed to utter, “Ummm.” That was all he needed to hear, for he had also been there. Been in the place where you think you have it all figured out - only to see that you’ve been looking at it all wrong. I took a step back, re-grouped and saw the situation for exactly what it was. A valuable lesson. For even as I was buying the frame, there was a little voice inside me saying to slow down. But I didn’t listen. Because I had been racing uphill along this learning curve, I chalked up this little voice to self doubt. Quickly pushing it away because I couldn’t be bothered - I mean, I had already learned so much about frames in the past year! Luckily this mistake and bravado cockiness was something that didn’t push me backwards. I used it to propel me further, through humility and the understanding that mentors are priceless.

Mentors are invaluable assets for they have trudged the paths, climbed up the learning curves and made the mistakes. They have been there and are willing to share their stories, successes and failures. I’d like to tell you about four different mentors that I had and that each of the four were connected to the Chelsea flea market. The first is a dealer in important American and European Twentieth Century design - a dealer who has been and continues to be a feature in the top New York, Hamptons and Miami high end antique and design shows. This dealer taught me to appreciate the scale, form and line. To believe in the pure beauty of the object. And to buy the best that you can. I think it is Miles Redd who is quoted as saying, “Buy the best, and you only cry once.” Needless to say, I have shed a few tears when shopping through the years and will no doubt continue to do so. But I’ve always had a smile on my face afterwards. The second mentor is a team of specialists in antique and period picture frames. An expert team who devotes their lives and careers to the study, understanding, restoration and appreciation of picture frames. From this husband and wife team of specialists I learned that focus and determination are essential building blocks to creating a strong foundation. And the third mentor is a renowned New York City estate buyer who has bought and sold some of the most iconic antique and decorative furnishings to pass through the five boroughs. He taught me to always look a little deeper and to explore the backstory of each object. He taught me that more often than not, your first offer is your best offer and to always be ready for the next adventure. And the fourth mentor. Ah, the City itself. The City that welcomes so many to test themselves and to dare to dream. This mentor taught me that good things come to those who hustle. And hustle I did. You didn’t think that I simply showed up, opened up shop and sat back while the money rolled in? No. I worked day and night and every weekend. Days spent working for my mentors and seeing clients. Nights spent working at any one of five different night clubs, working till 4am and then heading directly to the flea market. Nights spent waiting on the City’s hottest celebrities and days spent researching and selling the City’s finest treasures. These four mentors gave me the best advice, advice that I’d like to share with you.

Trust your eye. It really sounds simple enough, but it’s some of the most profound advice. Trust is one of the most sought after beliefs. It is the belief in reliability, truth, ability and strength. To trust in yourself is to declare to all that you have confidence and conviction. This trust will shine through in your work, your relationships and in your life. And your eye. The window to your soul, your vision, opinion, attitude. Trusting in your vision, opinion and attitude will illustrate to all that you yourself are ‘one to watch’. That you are someone whose work is to be studied, whose relations are strong and whose future is bright. When you trust your eye, you believe in what you are seeing and the way in which you are seeing it. And this vision will change over time as your opinions and attitudes change. But the thing that will always remain constant is you and the way you see things. Whether you are seeing a product, a project or an entire market - your vision is exclusive to you. And you bring your experiences to that moment of seeing. How I trust my eye has to do with how I see the antiques that I am buying. I am seeing each for their individual beauty in the moment. I am seeing each as a work of art and design whose backgrounds can be traced through history. And I am seeing it as part of a larger whole - as an ingredient in the making of something special. Over the past thirteen years I have bought and sold thousands of objects, many of which I can still see in my mind’s eye. And as I look back at them, I can see how they play off one another, how they are influenced by one another and how there is a natural progression to my vision. Each day I think back to my mentors, remembering their advice, I can see their individual vision. And I can see how they each have changed over the years while becoming and building. To remain steadfast in your confidence and convictions while always having a fresh look at the world around you is a sure fire way to create success. Trust your eye and you will always be fulfilled. The future is yours.

And what about the future? Where do you see yourself physically, mentally, financially? The variables are endless, but the path is clear. Envisioning your future is a powerful tool. By doing so, you’re creating a road map in your head that will guide you as you build and become. When I look back, sometimes I say, “I could never have seen myself here.” - but that’s not really true. For this moment is my truth and it is the culmination of hard work, good luck and great mentors. I am where I want to be. And as I look to the future, I am envisioning 20th Century by HKFA as a brand. A brand whose products celebrate history and embrace the future. A brand that seamlessly blends antique and period furnishings with contemporary designs. Designs which pay homage to the past while serving a true purpose in the present and having longevity to remain into the future. I see 20th Century by HKFA as a curated collection of objects for the home, for the connoisseur and for generations to come. And to achieve these dreams, to build them into becoming my reality will require the constant maintenance of my foundation, the collaboration with creatives from across industries and the belief in myself that I can always trust my eye. I hope you will take part in this journey, that you will build and become your reality and that one day you will look back and see the beauty that you created, whether it was a product, a project or an entire market - you will have made your mark and left the world a more beautiful, more special, more individual place because no one sees things like you do. Thank you for allowing me to share a bit of my story with you. I’m looking forward to writing, creating, envisioning and seeing many more chapters yet to come. The future is ours to see - keep an open mind, a curious nature and always trust your eye!