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By guest columnist Paul Paradis, Art Historian, Specialist Consultant in French Furniture and Decorative Arts
The Joseph Commode : Dénouement
By last Saturday, I had exhausted all possible informal
sources but had not found out why the bidder was ignored. Feeling emboldened (and
a tad desperate) I decided to approach those who seem to know everything that
happens at Drouot: the ladies at the catalogue desk in the lobby. The spot is a
central meeting point for virtually everyone, and I reasoned that the women
working there must be privy to spicy conversations and gossip eight hours a day.
I fearlessly approached an
attractive blond woman and asked whether she had been present the day of the”
important” sale. She at first seemed puzzled, but then recognition gleamed in
her eyes as she recalled the auction I referred to. (After all, eight days had gone by since the sale, an
eternity in Drouot time.) She
proceeded to candidly explain that the bidder’s son had notified the
auctioneers in advance of his father’s intention to bid, but that he didn’t
possess the resources to acquire the commode.
Ordinarily, this explanation should have shocked me, but having lived in France for 17 years, I simply nodded in recognition as if it were the most banal and understandable thing in the world. Was there some sort of inheritance battle, or had the bidder simply gone mad? It is hard to know. But at least we have an explanation of the strange behavior of the auctioneer. I have witnessed family bickering preceding auctions, but it usually occurred on the seller’s side, for example, one sibling agreeing to the sale of a major painting or collection, while the other would call back five minutes later to say the contrary. Inheritance law is complex in France and beyond this author’s area of expertise, but it can lead to some messy situations which auction houses must navigate with great skill. The competition is fierce for consignment of major collections and works of art and the ability to appease the family can be the critical winning factor.
On the lighter side: ”I’d like to put you in
a trance”
During my investigation into the commode saga earlier
in the week, I noticed that sale room 9 had a red velvet curtain partly drawn
over the entrance, bearing a scotch-taped paper sign which read “Interdit aux mineurs”
(forbidden for minors). My
curiosity sufficiently piqued, I slipped my head into the room and immediately
noticed a huge wooden phallus at the opposite end of the crowded pre-sale
exhibition. Not surprisingly, the auction was entitled “The Spirit of Erotica”.
I have seen other curtained pre-sale
exhibits, usually involving photography of the Mapplethorpe variety, but this
was the first time I have witnessed such a plethora of objects (almost 300),
many quite beautiful, devoted to one of the most universal of themes.
The catalogue describes the above object as a “Carved
wooden imposing and enormous erect phallus, Laos, ca 1900, 182 cm”. The photo
depicts the sculpture with a standing blond woman hugging it from behind, her
head well below the top, to allow the interested buyer a sense of its real proportions.
The lot sold for €2 700, mid range
between its low and high estimate.
Another notable object was a wax sculpture, Switzerland ca. 1840,
depicting a naked boy in erection facing a young woman lying back on a wheelbarrow. For this “very delicately made Swiss
work” a happy collector paid € 4 800. Not bad for a novelty piece, one of the
highest prices attained in the entire auction. A delicately carved wood and chalk-stone “Surprise Box”
features a strolling couple in a Chinese landscape on the front, and under a
sliding cover, the same couple doing the act in missionary position. This 19th
century Chinese curiosity went for € 2 350.
Photo: Etude Delorme, Collin du Bocage
In its description of the collection, the
Gazette states
“our era is certainly more prudish than the libertine society of the siècle des
Lumières”. Point well taken, but
judging from the popularity of the pre-sale exhibition, the catalogue which sold
out long before the sale date, and the jam-packed room the day of the auction,
some might beg to differ?
A Night at The Puces
Meanwhile,
on another planet in the Paris art market galaxy, last Friday the Puces de
Saint- Ouen
(flea market) organized its annual evening open house, by invitation only. A torrential downpour nearly prevented
me from venturing out to the primarily outdoor venue north of Paris, but friends
were depending on me for invitations and my colleague Alex was hosting a class
reunion for graduates from Christie’s Education Paris at his stand. Although I am not a regular visitor to
the Puces,
it is an extremely impressive site:
20 hectares (50 acres) of land with sixteen different markets featuring
1700 antique dealers, designers, artisans and specialists from every imaginable
style and discipline. The sheer density and volume of merchandise is daunting
and I have always found the place more than a bit intimidating. According to my
friend Andrew, a seasoned antique lover, “it’s an overpriced one-stop-shop for decorators,
and that’s why they like it and are willing to pay for the convenience”. The evening was part of a four day
festivity, the Fourth Annual Mondial de l’Antiquité, a huge marketing blitz
featuring PR and advertising created by world famous fashion designers Marithé et François Girbaud, and a cross theme of gastronomy with new European chefs. From what I could gather, this involved
young chefs preparing gourmet sandwiches in cardboard boxes for sale to
visitors.
Alex’s stand is minimalist yet eclectic, located
in the open air market Paul Bert. It
featured a group of 1970s style orange ball hanging light fixtures, handmade
(by himself) shelving of oak and tubular metal, a set of vintage wrought iron and
wood café chairs and a sculpture of a lounging putto on a stressed metal selette.
Alex was in particularly good spirits as business
had been excellent since the start of the evening. I enquired about a carved gilt-wood armrest in the shape of
a winged lion’s head which had caught my eye. (A small sticker indicating “not
for sale” was discreetly fastened to the underside) A prized possession, Alex is not convinced that it can be
attributed to a French craftsman. The exquisite carving of the feathers on the
lion’s wings, the spiraling volute support and the open mouth bearing teeth are
unusual compared to known designs by Charles Percier and Pierre François Fontaine,
the star architect and design team who worked under Napoleon at the height of
his glory. “It must have been part of quite an important armchair, perhaps even
a settee or a throne. Maybe it could be Italian or Russian?” he beamed.
While chatting with Thierry, lecturer and expert
in the history of French costume, he revealed that he “hardly ever steps foot
in the Puces” because of the distant location. Saint-Ouen is a not-so-chic
neighborhood north of Paris. The most convenient way to get there is by Metro
Line 4 to the glorious terminus Porte de Clignancourt, followed by a ten
minute stroll involving a dodgy freeway underpass where hawkers attempt to sell
you bad gold jewelry, stolen cars and counterfeit designer bags. From the looks of the walkway in front
of Alex’s stand, crowded with smiling passersby sipping from plastic wine
glasses, not everyone feels the same. At the end of the evening, Fabrice (a hip, up-and-coming Paris
interior designer) found his vintage Austin Mini vandalized in the parking lot.
Indeed, Saint-Ouen has its charms
and its consequences.
Coming Next week: A Royal vanity table and a
suspended tea-cup