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By columnist Paul Paradis, Art
Historian, Specialist Consultant in French Furniture and Decorative Arts
Note from Beth Arnold: Paul Paradis will be a regular columnist for BethArnold.com, where he will continue to tantalize us with his weekly editions of Paris Art Market Buzz. Please welcome him to your regular reading pleasures and with your comments!
Joseph Commode Act III: An Illustrious Bidder
Revealed
The Journal des Arts finally revealed the
identity of the unhappy bidder, as well as the reasons for the situation in
their last edition of 16 October. As the paper is bi-weekly, the news just
broke last Friday. He just happens to be one of the most important collectors
of 18th century French furniture for the past decades, the Iranian
businessman living in Paris, Djahanguir Riahi. The paper explains that both
Christie’s and Sotheby’s have run into trouble with the “ninetyish” late payer. Christie’s New York organized the now
mythical sale of a part of his exquisite collection in November 2000 as a way
to collect on debts from other unpaid lots.
More recently, he won the bid on an extremely
rare transitional commode console by Jean-Henri Reisener for € 3.9 million at
Sotheby’s Paris in October 2007, but was forced to forfeit the lot to the under
bidder when he could not come up with the funds.
The much smaller auction house decided not to
risk a similar scenario and hence ignored his bid of € 1 700 000 for the Joseph Commode. They were within their rights according to a spokesperson of
the company, who clarified that the bidder had not provided the required
documentation (more precisely, two types of identity) in order for the auction house
to be protected by insurance. He said that although the bidder had acquired a
few other lots in the same sale (presumably more modest) he had not provided a
deposit check. That makes sense, I
guess? Somehow, I have the feeling
that we have not heard the last of Mr. and Mrs. Riahi.
A Royal Coiffeuse
Back at Drouot, the auction
house Oger & Camper offered a fascinating piece
last week: a coiffeuse (vanity table)
attributed to the famed ébéniste, Jean-Henri Riesener (1734-1806). More sober than the flowery
“Marie-Antoinette” style for which he is best known, it is veneered in
tulipwood parquetry framed by kingwood bands and solid mahogany moldings. This
elegant type of furniture first appeared around 1740 and bears witness to the
evolution of French furniture towards smaller more practical formats, and in this
case, specifically for ladies. The
trend corresponded to a change in architecture and interiors during the 18th
century, away from larger official reception rooms towards a preference for smaller
more intimate spaces.
The toilette (as it was referred to
in 18th century inventories) was very similar to the bureau de
dame
which emerged around the same period. The presence of a mirror on the underside
of the pivoting central flap distinguishes the coiffeuse from the latter. The two covered compartments flanking
the central mirror would have contained the accoutrements necessary for the
lady in question: a powder box, hair pins, combs, mouches (little black dots
applied to the face as a beauty mark), snuff bottles, perfumes, etc. The ritual of dressing and grooming has
throughout the ages been an important symbolic social occasion for ladies of
rank, and the 18th century coiffeuse is a direct descendant
of the simpler wooden plank on portable legs, usually covered with sumptuous
fabric and skirt.
This particular coiffeuse bears an inventory number stenciled in black ink on its underside, a crowned capital letter “F” followed by “N° 603”. Thanks to the pioneering work of the revered French art historian Pierre Verlet (1908-1987) first published in 1945, the meaning of markings like these is no longer a mystery. They are inventory marks from the Journal du Garde-Meuble de la Couronne (official log book of Royal furniture).
A Brief History
French King Henry IV (r. 1589-1610) created the
first specific administration to manage the Royal furniture collections in 1604
(Garde-Meuble de la Couronne), but the institution and its Surintendant became increasingly
more powerful under Louis XIV and Colbert who implemented a more consistent
method of inventorying and numbering almost every piece delivered to Royal
residences from the 1660s onward in the Journal du Gard-Meuble de la
Couronne.
Although some historians had
written about French Royal Furniture before Verlet, their methods were not
scientific and attributions often were based on tradition and hearsay. His
important archival work allows us a better understanding of the entire process
of production of Royal furniture, and more importantly, the attribution of
pieces bearing inventory numbers using the documents conserved in the French Archives
Nationales. Furniture in several important museums
and collections in the US and the UK bearing similar markings were hence
identified by Verlet as having belonged to the French Crown. Many of these pieces
were sold at auctions held during the Revolution when they were easily exported.
The markings on our coiffeuse correspond to an entry
in the Journal du Garde-Meuble from 1787, which states that the piece was
located in the apartments of the Duchesse de Polignac in the château de
Fontainebleau. The Duchess was a
close friend and confident of Queen Marie-Antoinette, rising to the rank of
Governess to the Royal children in 1782.
She was a free-spirited yet controversial figure, partly because her
fortune was supplied entirely by the Crown. She was able to emigrate in July 1789 to escape a violent
end in the Revolution, but maintained correspondence with Marie-Antoinette
until the Queen’s execution in October 1793.
The day of the auction, I arrived quite late to
room 4 fearing that I had missed the coiffeuse (lot 153). To my relief, the pace was slow and the
auctioneer had barely reached lot 90. The small room was crowded, but the energy decidedly low. The
left-hand wall was covered in Aubusson verdure tapestries with scenes of large
cranes in a lush forest, the right with a monumental gilt-wood frame and a
fragment of a 16th century tapestry with a classical scene. The walls
covered in red carpet, despite their dinginess, provide the illusion of a rich
backdrop to the tapestries as well as to the items tightly stacked all along a narrow
ledge surrounding the room. The concentration of the objets d’art, gilt-bronze firedogs,
candlesticks and Louis XVI style wall lights makes this onlooker feel as if he
has fallen into a hidden treasure trove.
The content of the sale rooms are cluttered to the side in this manner
the day of auctions to allow space for seating. Due to the snail’s pace of the auction, I decided to slip
into neighboring rooms 5 and 6 which had been adjoined to accommodate a large collection.
In the more spacious double room, I slid into my usual spot in the standing area and immediately noticed, lined up on the far wall, five large bush-like wall lights composed of pale green and pink strips of resin and paper, resembling something between a sea anemone and a colored cotton ball. Stacked directly next to me were four large multicolored sofa chairs each with a huge bright red Santa’s hat sagging forward on the back rest. This was obviously an auction of Design furniture by Camard & Associés a house known for its prestigious art deco and other twentieth century sales. All of these items described are by Gaetano Pesce ( b. 1939). The rapid pace of the young auctioneer and immediate responses from the participants created a rhythm and excitement in vivid contrast to the other room.
A “wicker chair” by Marc Newson (b. 1963)
seemingly composed of one large wicker sheet bent into an organically curved hourglass
shape resting on its own under edges, was up for grabs at that moment. The last
of a set of five, it rapidly fetched € 1700. Another chair by Newson of similar shape, but this time in
leather, sold for € 2200. From a
set of eight, this chair is called “ Embryo”, an edition from 1988. Design is not my area of expertise but
I find the sensual shapes and vivid colors irresistible. I would have gone back to the other sale
to check on the coiffeuse had an unusual item not generated so much
excitement.
An object composed of a white porcelain saucer
suspended by steel wires from a chrome frame, hovering over a tea-cup like
vessel, itself resting an oval waved base, created an energetic exchange
between a telephone bidder and someone in the room. The piece (which I later realized was a lamp by Andrea
Branzi, b. 1938), attained € 9600, almost ten times its high estimate of € 1000.
I had to tear myself away to check
on the progress of the Royal coiffeuse. Honestly, the fun and success of this
auction make me wonder whether I’ve chosen the wrong period of expertise?
Back in Room 4, I found an excellent writing surface
for my notebook on an empty glass display case turned on its side. When the auctioneer finally reached anticipated
lot 153, the expert explained that the coiffeuse was no longer only
attributed to Jean-Henri Riesener as indicated in the catalogue, but was most certainly
made by him based on archival evidence recently provided by another expert. The
auctioneer opened bidding at € 15 000, holding the hammer by its head while sweeping
the room with the handle to scan for bidders. The silence was deafening, no one budged. The coiffeuse was unsold. The Royal pedigree had not been enough
to raise interest in the piece. It
is an ironic twist particular to auctions: whereas the lack of provenance
didn’t prevent the Joseph commode from fetching seven figures, the Royal
history of the coiffeuse seemed to have done nothing to boost its attractiveness.
Perhaps there is a dark secret in its seemingly illustrious past? Some more detective work is in the making.