How was January for you?

It is always the case that January carries with it a contradictory air of both optimism and depression. There is no particular reason to get too obsessed by the end of the year. It is an end but at the same time nothing actually finishes - not really. It is just like Monday, just on a bigger scale. But having made it to the end of the year it is with a big sigh of relief that we recognise and acknowledge that nothing too awful has happened to us and we can still stand up and carry on. I know that does not sound very positive but in the world as we experience right now that is pretty good. 2016 was not a splendid year. As an antique dealer deeply embedded in European art and design I was very depressed by the Brexit vote; less so by the wave of celebrity deaths - though some did make me sad; the American election seemed to be expressive of global lack of good fellowship. To end up at Christmas after all this injury - an insult was added in that I got a beastly cold. I coughed and wheezed and blew my nose so often that the bedroom became bedecked with tissues like a cheap Christmas grotto, my nose would have given Rudolph a run for his money. 

I did five fairs during the year, three in the tent at Battersea and two at Olympia. They passed with a curate's egg-like scale of success. There were no great troughs and as few heights. I am probably bound to do the same again this year. The collapse of the pound does have a positive in that UK art and antiques are now significantly cheaper than they were in June. Each time I set out my stall I was filled with anticipatory optimism leading to partial disappointment followed by modest success. During the year I presented myself directly to people via calls and emails and I sent out a number of modestly entertaining email newsletters. I roll out ideas and images on Instagram and Twitter. All of this adds up to a standard issue antique dealer. I am not a trend setter, I cannot shift the world on or off its axis, I have to follow the vicissitudes that politicians, the economy and my own life throw at me. So when Christmas comes the carousel stops for a pause and an extended feast.

But now in 2017 we have headed off on the epic journey that will end at Christmas again. January brings the first Battersea Decorative fair of the year. Half deja-vu half hopeless optimism. The pad of yellow paper that sits on my desk was set to work arranging furniture on a two dimension plane. At Hatfields, the restorer, my things were buffed and made ready to go. Orlando, Patrick and their team at Oak fine art movers gathered up and deposited. I put everything in place and yet again a rather tiresome five days followed and I ended up doing just enough business to justify coming back. Not really a sensible way to earn a living but it is the only route I feel inclined to take. There is at the fair a real buzz which comes from the fact that the crowds still come, the appetite to buy is palpably there. There is a surprisingly robust and vigorous market - despite everything.

I decided as a new leaf for a new year to sign up to the LAPADA website. It took quite a few days to load around 130 items onto the site and it was quite exciting feeling that a new venture was underway. I like LAPADA, it is down-to-earth and hard-working as an organisation and it is definitely trying to be useful. It is the organisation for the lower end of the market, but in these days of austerity it is no bad thing to be associated with the 'value' end of the market. More than anything it is stimulating to start a new thing.

On the other side of things I have discovered the joy of the chainsaw. It began a year ago with the purchase of a cheap Chinese one in the supermarket in France. It is amazing what you can buy these days in a supermarket. It was very heavy and I kept blunting the chain so this year as a tree has fallen in the field by our Somerset dwelling I decided to invest in a Stihl one. This is one of those very manly brands that professionals use and it is reassuringly expensive. As a neophyte lumber jack I thought it appropriate to acquire a macho chainsaw. The noise and danger of the chainsaw is very invigorating. I have never owned a fast car that roars and now I don't need to. The pure delight of knowing that with a slip of the hand or concentration I could sever a limb or merely do myself a mortal injury is adrenalin inducing enough.  The tree is nearly gone and I have not lost my passion for this lethally efficient tool.

With Brexit starting, Donald Trump being Donald Trump and the possibility of crypto fascists - Populists - being elected across Europe who knows where this year will lead us but as we head into February again let us all cross our fingers and our toes and hope that armageddon will not ensue and we can enjoy Christmas at the end of this journey.

Life in the Arts Lane -week 129 - The anticipation game

Waiting is a fact of life - that does not make it any more bearable. Two weeks ago on a bright Monday morning I rented a van and - gathering up my son Inigo en route - loaded it with some of my least loved items of stock and headed off to Stow on the Wold for the "swap shop". I have only attended this annual event once before and it has stood in my memory as a great experience. I was at Mallett then and the assembled motley crew of dealers looked on in delight and surprise as the Mallett van turned up and disgorged myself, two porters and about 150 items. three hours later, aided and abetted by swap shop maestro Tony Fell I found myself loading about a dozen new pieces onto the van and all 150 items had gone. A nightmare cricket game followed during which I was so humiliated by my incompetence that it has remained a 'laugh' for many of the trade ever since and it was over 10 years ago! Nonetheless loaded up and full of hope and expectation I threaded though the traffic up to Stow. That night 16 dealers gathered to eat curry and reminisce ahead of the morning swap. I felt nervous - like before a fair. I had to wait and see what would happen. The next morning as Inigo and I pulled the stuff out from the back of the van I predicted I would both find nothing I wanted and no one would feel desire for any of my stuff. The wait dragged on for nearly three quarters of an hour and then things kicked off. Admittedly, various folk tried to persuade me - in a nice way - that my treasures were rubbish and theirs were solid gold, but that is to be expected. As before - with a bit of argy bargy and the occasional dramatic pause, I packed up into the van a bunch of new things and left my once loved things behind. It was a good day. Sadly the cricket was no better than before and being bowled by Edward Hurst to a daisy cutter that barely made it to the wicket is a further humiliation I will have both to bear and never hear the end of. Especially as my son has now been inducted into the mocking crew.

The triumph of son over father.

The next stressful wait is for things to arrive from abroad. Last week I went to Belgium with my ex Mallett colleague Nick Wells. He has fashioned a post Mallett career for himself as an internet selling maestro. His website gets a regular avalanche of hits and he sells steadily and well a delightful smorgasbord of items. Nick buys relatively little but he felt like a day or so on the road. The highlight was eating in Brussels at Vismet which is my favourite fish restaurant in the world. Nick took on the 'assiette matelot' which is a delicious but unceremonious bowl of seafood. Oysters, crab, mussels and whelks comes in a heap and you just tuck in.  It is fabulous. I, in an unexpectedly demure fashion, had a carefully crafted plate of cod preceded by a half dozen of their typically bright, fresh and very salty oysters. But we were ostensibly there to buy art and the next day I succumbed in a big way and he more modestly. Sadly the items I bought would not fit into the car and so I now have to bite my nails nervously until they arrive. I am not concerned about damage - I am terrified that I won't like them when they arrive. Sometimes the thrill and drama of driving, eating and shopping abroad casts a rosy hue over all that you survey and bad mistakes can that way tend. So now I am waiting to see whether it will be future swap shop fodder or happiness. Another week to go.

Vismet - Assiette Matelot.

Today I am waiting for the public. The Battersea decorative fair opens tomorrow and I have set out my stall and am hovering expectantly. The Big Bang comes at midday but you have to be alert as for the last two fairs the Beckhams have been allowed early access to shop discreetly. I have to report with sadness that they did not dwell or even linger around the Woodham-Smith Ltd booth. Waiting is now my friend for the next few days. I will stand by for an eager punter to light upon something they hanker after. I will be tolerant of those that want to share with me how similar something of mine is to one they once owned or bought for a fraction of what I am asking - even if on analysis there is little connection between the two. I will enjoy the banter, the dogs, the look of horror when I reveal the price, I will enjoy it all because amid the frustration and the patience there will hopefully be a few sales. I will change around my stand and perhaps a few new things will come on and perhaps I will buy something.  

It is a dog's life - always waiting.

The final and almost the only nice wait is the one before you get paid. It is true that you often wait too long and that can be exasperating, but the soft warm glow that follows a sale and the raising of an invoice is kept as glowing embers by the wait for the money. I have been expecting a payment for a couple of months and when it arrives it will feel as if the item has been sold all over again. Two tastes of honey for the price of one. Waiting is not all bad.

Maybe see you at the fair?

Life in the Arts Lane - week 128 - Push the nose once more against the grindstone -

As I sit on the edge of the bed carelessly pouring sand out of my shoe onto the carpet, I muse that not only am I making a mess but that the summer is drawing to a close. It is always this way - as August shuts down the clouds part and the sun bursts through in an almost mocking way. In my old Mallett days this week began with the tying of a tie and the donning of a sensible dark suit. I would wend my way up to the West End as if it was my first day of school. These days as I inhabit the chaotic world of the self-employed the transition is less physical. I don't get up any earlier and I don't wear work fancy dress as of yore, but there is a palpable sense of the seasonal change.

At the end of July one can sense a kind of exhaustion in the art world as if a long race has been run. The first half of the calendar year is frantic and culminates in a flurry of auctions and fairs leaving the organisers, participants and eager buyers bleary-eyed and blunt to all excitement. Then summer bursts out and for about six weeks people are away. In France it is very obvious as nearly every shop and restaurant actually closes, but here in London there is just the inevitable ‘out of office’ you receive when you send an email, the message service when you call - or even the foreign ring tone followed by a disgruntled voice as you realise you have woken the recipient at about four in the morning. Even the most pushy and energetic dealers have to rein themselves in and take a pause. For this period it is hard to buy and hard to sell but it gives us all time to recharge our batteries.

Even soft toys need some down time.

Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the summer is that it gives you time to sit back and plan. The idea is that careful reflection and analysis of one’s business and its practice should lead to sensible and thought-through development and enhancement. But for many during this period of repose and reflection myriad hair-brained schemes can percolate, ruminate and generally become more interesting than they actually are. In the absence of business a certain loss of confidence and desperation can kick in and consequently the prospect of starting a scrumpy bar in Somerset or pig farming in rural Burgundy can suddenly seem like fantastic ideas. Luckily, occasionally plotting and planning has to give way to the sensible exercise of one’s time-honed skills and sometimes a small purchase or sale will clear the screen of fantasy and allow reality to once more hold sway.

But my friend Andrew - stylish, tall, blonde, killer salesman - is sitting in his picturesque chateau in France pondering how he can entice private and trade buyers over to visit. Should he give a series of dinners or even a masked ball. He considers how he might create a sort of sensation that will put his location on the touring map of european buyers - in a good way. In London the other sales dynamo, the ever-charming Tarquin from Pimlico road reflects on how to drive sales whilst simultaneously spending less time at his shop. Tucked away in his fortress in the drug-dealing epicentre of South London Nick the internet king spends his days scouring the websites for the holy grail of a cheap shop in a good area with passing trade. What am I doing? I pass my idle summer days considering how it is that I became so addicted to buying and what can I do about it.

Luckily for me the end of summer brings with it the prospect of the next outing - the Decorative Antique fair in Battersea Park which kicks off on the 27th September. It is quite a way off but there are forms to fill in and floor plans to be strategised. The fair suffered a shock this summer as its owner and major force David Juran died suddenly whilst on holiday. He was young - early 50s. The fair will go on and his family will continue to manage it through the already appointed officers but it will nonetheless be strange without his larger-than-life presence, booming voice and signature wearing of the shorts he wore in all seasons. Dogs will still roam the hall and the occasional squirrel or pigeon will wreak the usual havoc - life goes on. I will always remember the visit to Mallett of a distinguished decorator from Los Angeles, who asked me about my boss David Nickerson. He had both retired and died since her last visit as I carefully told her. A tear ran down her face and she expressed great sadness and regret as he was beloved by all. She then pulled herself together saying ‘Lets have a look around.’ She asked me if I was now in charge, and whether she could still get her usual huge discount. I confirmed both and off we went. Life goes on.

The kind of creative insanity that too much rest affords.

We need to get back to work.