Life in the Arts Lane - Week 132 - A perspective on the Autumn Battersea Decorative fair

Antiques enthusiasts are interested in condition, rarity and provenance and that is how it should be. But for me most of the things I sell have a story attached to them concerning how they were acquired. Take, for example, my stand this October at the Battersea Decorative Fair. 

In the middle of the stand on the long wall there is a red tôle clock. I bought that in the south of France. It was a Sunday and I was attending the Beziers antique fair. It was raining so hard that venturing forth I was soaked to my underwear in a trice. All the stands were covered in steamed-up clear plastic sheeting. The wind howled and the rain lashed and I returned to the car to regroup, change my clothes and think what to do next. The fair finishes at about 11.30 and that hour was fast approaching. Esther said to me when I suggested giving up that I should go out ’one more time’. Unhappily I agreed, timidly splashing my way forward I spotted immediately a set of four Venetian gondola lanterns exquisitely painted and in superb - as new - condition, despite being from the 1820s. I paused as they were quite expensive and passed on, regretting my caution immediately. I turned back and they had been sold to another English dealer. Maddening. I shuffled damply forward and on the brink of heading back disconsolately to the car I spotted the clock. Unloved but worthy of love lying in a basket soaking wet. I rescued it with money. And now here it is. 

The polished iron chairs came from a shop in Budapest. I had been working there helping a client furnish his house and I had a day spare. I went round the shops and found nothing, but at the end of the morning I found a shop belonging to Ernst Wastl and his glamorous wife Eleni. He took me under his arm and introduced me to hidden and obscurely located dealers and shops. I ended up buying widely but nothing from my benefactor. Finally he showed me his workshops and up on a shelf rusting away were these chairs. I loved them and I was able to show him some monetary appreciation for his efforts. We celebrated by eating fresh pan fried foie gras with apple sauce, champagne and shots of Palinka (the Hungarian fire water best flavoured with plum). Our late lunch finished at about 1 in the morning. 

The satinwood table came from the swap shop. The annual festival of dealer trading that takes place at Stow on the Wold. For the last two years I have gone with Inigo and he drinks beer for both of us, seven pints is the standard level of consumption. About a dozen of us gather for a questionable curry on the eve, the table buzzes with teasing banter and general mutterings about the trade. The next morning at 9 we (and another twenty or so dealers) corral the gathered vans and swap ’til we drop.  No money can change hands, the masters of this technique can accomplish the so-called ‘long swap’ where six or more dealers and innumerable pieces all trade at once. Max Rollitt and Tony Fell are the big dogs at the ‘long swap’; I am merely an observer at these master classes. But I do swap and this year I traded with the delightful Simon Pugh a pair of carved roundels for this fine desk. He was a fellow parent at my sons primary school and we had not met for more than a decade and a half. The perfect day was rounded off with a game of cricket where my darling son distinguished himself by getting a key wicket - caught and bowled. 

The iron console I have been chasing for 5 years. Rather annoyingly for the dealer I used to ask the price every time I saw it and each time I would fuss around for a bit and then move on. Finally the dealer came up to me and said - are you ever going to buy that table? I folded and here it is. 

The pair of Vesuvius views were bought from my favourite Dutch dealers. Wim has been buying and selling for 60 years. He and his wife live in a picturesque modern block of retirement flats in Den Bosch (Where Hieronymus came from). Each time we go he solicitously offers coffee and later a glass of wine. We look round his main room, followed by the bedroom and finally we glance into a cupboard. He is very gentle and restful and time spent in their company is most restoring - almost like a rest cure. Amazingly he always has something decorative, unusual and affordable to buy and I never leave without gathering one thing or another. These were hanging in the corridor between the main and bed rooms. The quintessentially Neapolitan scenes are therefore suffused with Dutch canal views, the coffee, wine and charming company.

The silver plate Borek Sipek candelabra was bought at the Montpellier antique fair. In the south of France there are three fairs that coincide on consecutive days four times a year. Beziers on Sunday, as above, followed by Avignon and finishing at Montpellier. You have to pay in cash and it is a constant worry not having enough or having too much. I found myself at the end of the day not having bought much and having a certain amount of cash burning a hole in my pocket. I noted this stand and asked about the object, they knew nothing about it. I asked the price and after some discussion we agreed a sum exactly coincident with the amount I had left - save 10 euros which we needed for the traditional end-of-last-fair celebratory glasses of champagne. Only back in London did I discover that it was by the Memphis inspired Czech designer - made in Holland. 

The black standard lamp and the cherry tree table lamp came from my friend Andrew. He first appeared outside Mallett many years ago offering a motley selection of curious and delightful objects. From a slow start he became, from the back of his car, or occasionally a van, one of the most regular suppliers. We became friends and his elegant, bold style of design provided many a beautiful addition. The Mallett catalogues from 2000 onwards are testament to that. Despite having left Mallett our friendship continued and I have enjoyed his company regularly on a Friday as he pops in for a strong espresso at the beginning of his rounds. The coffee is followed by a perusal of his recent acquisitions in the van and I have often succumbed. These pieces being a couple of examples. Our practice is to photograph items on the grass in front of the house. It is a charming setting and I have on occasion sold things to clients on the basis of those pseudo-bucolic snaps. 

Nearly all purchases have a story to tell, of negotiation, of friendship, of serendipity, each one new and somehow familiar. It is not usual for these tales to survive the purchase so here are a few as a taster.

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.

Life in the Arts Lane -week 125 - What next after the Leave vote?

Britain voted to Leave the EU, my car was towed away at a cost of £300 and I broke the original glass over an 18th-century watercolour. It has been a bad couple of days. Having been an antique dealer for 30 years it is my immediate future and those in my business that is my most urgent concern. In the coming years and decades I can reflect at leisure on the effect of the current swing to the right in global politics; I may even reminisce with friends about these times and the turmoil we seem to be embarking on. But right now I am concentrating on next week. It is a week that begins with  the opening of the Olympia Arts and Antiques Fair on Monday 27 June, on Wednesday is the preview of the Masterpiece fair, whilst Thursday sees the finish of Art Antiques London and the viewing of the major summer auction sales at Christie's and Sotheby's. The first week of these is dedicated to the contemporary and modern sales and the second to the decorative arts. Millions - possibly billions - of slightly cheaper pounds' - worth of art are either on show for direct sale or coming under the hammer. London and its position as one of major centres for the trading in art - if not the centre of the global art market - is under threat.

My nearly finished stand - If we build it will they come?

It may be that the current drop in the value of the pound will make our goods more appealing to foreign currency buyers. As I write everything on view is instantly 10% cheaper than it was. But it is the mood, the confidence, that we need to assess. I am exhibiting at Olympia and by the time you read this the first days will probably have passed and we will be getting a bit of a feeling for the way the market will respond. In the old days at Olympia the set-up days were busy with dealers trading with each other - there were 300 of us in those days; I used to vet the fair simply to get access to buy early, before becoming an exhibitor. One year in the 90s, my colleagues - and I - at Mallett spent over £1,000,000 and we weren't nervous - we were thrilled. Over the last few years things have become very different - Mallett has closed all its shops and is trading at fairs only and from the Dreweatt auction house premises near Newbury. There is very little inter-trade dealing and we are now a reduced but still merry band of around 100 exhibitors. Prices have dropped dramatically since 2008 - remember that year? Most dealers now at Olympia sell the majority of what they have below £10,000.

The goods may be fewer and cheaper but the imagination and fantasy is still very much in evidence. That was always the point of Olympia. You can find great things but mainly you go for fun, surprise and affordable quality - everything is authenticated through vetting. Elsewhere, too, there are great things on offer.  - The major salerooms lay on their best decorative arts sales of the year. There the contemporary and modern sales, which are the bedrock of their profitability, are followed at Christie's by Classic week and at Sotheby's by Treasures. So this fortnight is incredibly important. It is a significant barometer but most vitally it is straightforward, bottom-line commerce. If we have a week of flops no one will be very surprised but it may not - it need not -work out that way.

Three mirrors - Could it be Versailles?

I can recall a time - and this shows how old I am - when I used to buy in francs in France. The exchange rate used to flutter around 10 francs to the pound. At one time the franc strengthened to 8 and suddenly everything in France was fiercely expensive. Whilst it lasted it is true that hotels and meals were pricey but I bought very well indeed. It came down to the dealers - they were keen, they had fresh stock, and they were prepared to deal out of their woes. This is the way forward for us now, I believe. Sellers in the auction rooms and dealers on the exhibition floors have to MAKE business happen. We cannot sit around and wait for the market to pick up. We are entering a sink or swim period and those that swim should thrive.

If I sell nothing over the next week or so I will have every excuse. At the same time, it may simply be that no one wants the things I have. However, if enthusiasm and a willingness to compromise and accommodate the times is required I will be there and ready. The EU vote result is for the majority in London not what we wanted; we live through international trade, and the more border-less it is the better. Last week I sped over to Belgium and came back the same day with a car full of art. I may not be able to do that shortly. I am just one of millions of British citizens and other Europeans who have benefitted from freedom of movement. All this does not matter as we are irrevocably in this situation and we have to make the best of it. Head up, chin high and off we go.

week 124 The EU Referendum

With less than a week to go before the EU referendum I wanted to use 'life in the arts lane' to reflect on whether to stay or to go. 

Before I step off the precipice and express my opinion I want to reminisce. In 1971, at the age of 9, I was horrified to find that my large handsome brown pennies had been replaced by measly tiny decimal pennies. Decimalisation had arrived and the sweets in my local shop seemingly doubled in price overnight. My 'd' turned into a 'p', and I felt sad. A half crown in pocket money seemed a substantial and useful sum, and a crown seemed untold wealth and very occasionally I would be given a fortune in the form of a 10-shilling note. I never, ever, got a whole pound. But then 10 shillings turned into 50p and a crown into 25p and my proudly held half crown was a mere 12 1/2p. It was the dawn of the move towards Europeanisation. I was 9 and it seemed a real cheat to me. My horizons were narrow then - what I wanted was sweets at 4 for a penny and to buy my favourite comics. The heavy coins in my small sticky hand were treasures, and the replacements seemed insubstantial and bogus.

A tale of two pennies, and two portraits of our Queen - 1965 and 2015

I am now 54 and we have been in Europe since 1973. My so-called grown-up work life began in 1985 when I joined Mallett but my broadened understanding of Europe had began earlier when I first noted that my parents kept a shelf of jam jars full of small denomination coins from countries all over Europe. In 1990 I started travelling to buy for Mallett and it was a full-time job orchestrating travel, invoicing and shipments for goods coming from one or more European countries at once. I once bought in Belgium a pair of Chinese porcelain figures and too late realised that I had worked out the exchange rate wrong. The exchange rate from Belgian Francs to pounds was 60:1. The Chinese figures cost 10 times more than I thought. Luckily they were very nice and Mallett managed to sell them. Gradually Europe has changed. The progress that has been made has been slow and painful and yet now I can travel and both buy and sell anywhere in Europe as if I was here in England. I know that the system is imperfect. There are places where they still want to be paid in cash or fiddle the figures on the invoice. There are places where people say one thing and do another. There are also countries within the EU where the rules for the movement of goods differ. But everywhere, even though it has been at a snail's pace, things have become easier. Of course, for me, my Euros still feel a bit unreal, but now I pay with a card or via an app on my telephone - cash itself is becoming a rarity.

Good old traditional Danish bacon, the staple of a hearty English breakfast. 

I can remember the 1980s when the UK economy was in real trouble and many went abroad to find work. The television series "Auf Wiedersehen, Pet" chronicled that time. When people complain today about economic migrants coming to the UK from Europe they are forgetting a time when travel in the other direction was to our benefit. To the art trade European business integration brings huge benefits and consequently Leave would set us all back. Times are very tough already in our business, confidence is increasingly hard to find - consequently if I should find myself inhibited once more by issues of currency, travel and the movement of goods it could result in me and others all having to find proper jobs.

Mashed potatoes at Brasserie Lipp in Paris. The potato brought from America in the 16th century and made into a national dish of most of Europe.

In the end, for me, the EU debate is not about money and the ability to do business. I know that there are a raft of strong arguments to be made for why Europe is better for us 'In' rather than 'Out'; a plethora of experts from the world over have expressed their firm opinions that Britain should remain. No one seems to pay any heed to expertise, they even suspect. In any case, in the end I believe it has to be an emotional decision. No one can see into the future, one has to just jump - the archetypal leap of faith. As I drive around the countryside and I see vast signs in fields encouraging us to LEAVE, I find it incredibly depressing. What sort of host would I be to put up a sign saying 'Leave' to welcome all my guests? Britain is an island, separate from Europe anyway, but the principle of 'Leave' is so aggressive and so adamant that it makes the antisocial, xenophobic feelings behind the sign hard to mask. We have a wonderful tunnel now under the channel and it is as easy to get to Paris or Brussels as it is to get to Leeds or Manchester. We are part of Europe now and so we should take the long view and appreciate all the international progress that has been made; rather than throw in the towel we should get deeper into the heart of Brussels and work to make the system better for everyone not just for England. We narrowly avoided breaking the union with Scotland last year, thankfully, and now we need to pray that people will have the vision and the hope for the future to see that in 50 or even 100 years a joined up commercial and social union for Europe has got to be better than being on our own. I hear many arguments from people about ceding control of our sovereignty to Brussels or - for some even worse - to Berlin. But my instinct is to urge everyone to think about how much Europe suffered during the 20th century; the peoples of greater Europe can remember both the world wars and their countries being conquered and overrun. If the primary urge of the EU were to promote international harmony and integration and simultaneously dilute partisan Nationalism, I would say hurrah to that. By working together towards commonality we must be helping to build a better world for future generations, even if on the way we encounter frustrations over sausage regulations or too many unfamiliar faces for a few years. 

Week 123 - Pallant House, Lobster, Party rules.

Pallant house in Chichester is terrific. It has stone ostriches above the gate posts and is a beautiful and restrained example of early 18th century classicism. It is a gallery, a temple to what art dealers call 'Mod Brit', essentially that means British 20th century art but by dead or nearly dead artists - nothing contemporary. These are spread around the house which is also larded with some beautiful 18th century furniture. Next door and joined through is a severe multiple award winning contemporary structure by the British library architect Sir Colin Alexander St John Wilson. ( impressively both a 'Sir' and a 'St', though that bit is pronounced - 'sinjun', but thankfully and simply known as Sandy Wilson - but not to be confused with the composer of the "Boyfriend") and Long and Kentish. The new building opened in 2006, the year before his death. Within these walls are now housed - Wilson's own collection together with that of a local property developer Charles Kearley, but it was founded on the legacy of pioneering collector and the lynchpin of the Chichester arts scene - Walter Hussey - the Dean of the cathedral for 22 years from 1955 to 1977. His contribution to the music and art of the city cannot be understated, for so many creations he was both the catalyst and instrument. The gallery therefore combines architecture from 1720 to 2006 with furniture and - of course - great, but exclusively, 20th century British art in a way that is both sympathetic and challenging. Today we are visiting the show focussing on John Piper's textile designs. They are bold and strong and a real revelation to enjoy. It was also apparent how brave, determined and tolerant of criticism Hussey was to commission the work that he did for the cathedral. One curious aspect of the show was counterpointing work done using the same motifs but carried out decades apart. I was fascinated to see a painting done in the 1930s beside a textile from the 1950s. They were both clearly the same in terms of colours and motifs but managed to be both simultaneously different to each other and representative of their own decade of creation.

John Piper at Pallant House - on the left 1935, on the right 1955.

A John Piper Tapestry, bold, bright and a challenge to weave.

Heading home to Selsey bill and crab for lunch we took a detour to East Beach to greedily buy more to take back to London later, we spotted some freshly boiled lobster and swept them up without hesitation. Julie's Hut has been in situ since my puberty and it was established back then by a pretty red-haired freckle-faced girl of little more than 16. She had an entrepreneurial zeal and set out her stall in a business dominated by both men and adults. I never got to know her personally but I shyly enjoyed being sent there to buy crab and fish. It survives and seems to flourish and though she is no longer to be seen it warms my heart to see it. My stepfather Peter loves lobster and he dresses it with great care and attention. He cracks the shell and gingerly levers out each delicate morsel of succulent red edged white flesh, and creates a still life on the platter. This takes time and we are all ravenous and a little tense by the time he brings it forth but it is a great joy to both behold and consume - soft, a hint of chew and that soft salty taste of the sea that gives it its divinity. The crab is not overlooked but works with the lobster to make the tastes ever more delightful. Talk of lobster takes me back to Mayfair and I remember the Chalet in Maddox St. When I started out in the antiques business at Mallett in 1985, when the caretaker was away I had to go in and unlock the building. On parade at 8 am but then nothing to do until 9.30 when the shop opened. I used to fill the gap and my tummy by eating a hearty cardiac arrest inducing breakfast there. The ladies were jolly and welcoming and I learned to love the higgledy piggledy interior and its panelling. From then until its closure in around 2014 it was my favourite haunt in the area. Once in a while their daily special was Lobster Thermidor. A legendary dish created by one of the greatest chefs - Auguste Escoffier and named after a play written about the Thermidorian Reaction that ended the Terror of Robespierre during the French Revolution. Thermidor - the word - was the name given to the summer month by the revolutionaries. At the Chalet it was both surprisingly reasonably priced and delicious; a throwback food and it seemed transgressive to be given access to this impossible luxury. As a boy of 10 or so my father always used to say whenever we went out to eat - ' have what you like but not the Lobster Thermidor! ' The dish acquired mythic status. Once in a while the Chalet was silent at lunchtime whilst the patrons delighted themselves with the daily special. Eating Peter's carefully prepared lobster I felt nostalgic for the restaurant and the memories from those times.

Lobster Thermidor - in this case made by my mother.

Midweek we discussed whether to drive to Oxford for the opening of Pat Albeck's show of cutout collage still lives. My rule is that the journey to and from an event should not be greater than the time spent at the event. In other words driving for 4 hours for an hour long drinks party breaks the rule. On the other side of the argument is whether the host would appreciate the effort so much that it 'trumps' the rule. We drove to Oxford. The show was all but sold out by the time we arrived - only one left - and that was only 30 minutes after it opened. There had been a feeding frenzy and they were all consumed. Pat was delighted and excited by her success but she was keen to do more and she promised she would make two big ones for me to show at Olympia. Having admired the work and chatted to some of her rapt audience the pictures were all gathered up and carefully tucked away; on came chairs, tables and huge bowls of salad and chilli and the drinks party morphed into a dinner. finally heading home towards midnight we reflected that the rule had actually hardly been broken at all, and the trump card had definitely proved both effective and correct.

Some of the sold items from Pat's show. I could have bought them all.

Week 121 - Pensions, Jesus, Foundation and Collage

It is an almost certain truth that at the age of twenty your work pension seems the most boring thing in the world. As I approach my mid 50s I increasingly find it a subject of fascination and importance. It is a sad fact that for me I have actually found it interesting for some time. During my Mallett years I was often working around Christmas - everyone else lived in the country whilst I lurked in London. During three days when it was pointless being open I did the online pension trustee course. It was both boring and difficult, like VAT! But the holiday for others ended and freshly qualified I joined the pension trustees and have been there ever since - even after leaving Mallett. Following the recent turbulence it has been a great concern that the pension was not being suitably attended to and so we had a trustee meeting. We formed an impressive team - two ex-employees and one on notice. My dog Mosca attended as an impartial witness. Two hours passed and it seemed as if time had stood still, we slipped seemlessly back into our roles as company men, despite the absurdity of the situation.  We cannot escape our trusteeship and the burden of maintaining the pension remains a worry that we can do little to ameliorate.

By way of contrast that evening Esther and I headed to the beautiful wreck of a church known as the Asylum which is more prosaically the Caroline Gardens Chapel. It is in South London and is the centrepiece of a group of early 19th century neo-classical buildings, almshouses; in fact rest homes for retired pub landlords. Sadly it was bombed during the Second World War and though losing its roof and much of the interior - it has survived, but never been restored beyond stabilisation. Our hosts Iain and Richard Abell are the brothers who founded Based Upon. Their work is hard to describe as it is generally a mixture of furniture and wall panels, all mainly of metal and employing modern technology to create unusual finishes, patterns and surfaces. In tandem they integrate in the work biographical details of the commissioning client, both specific and abstract. In something of a departure they have been commissioned to create a completely new technology version of the Last Supper. This they have done through choosing a cast of characters and using 3D photography to record them and then fashion the figures in bronze. All very high tech stuff. We attended the unveiling of the work in the chapel accompanied by biblical style snacks and red wine drunk from terracotta beakers, serenaded by a chap who played and sang unearthly resonant tunes on instruments straight out of the Star Wars bar. It was a very effective and memorable event and the techniques they have learnt and employed will colour and inform their future projects. 

The Last Supper.

To accompany my attendance of the recent Battersea decorative fair I sent out two emails of highlights from the stand. Now because I am a bit of a chump I got my friend Samuel to prepare them and all I had to do was send them out. Cleverly, I got the order wrong and sent the one intended for the eve of the show out first - a week early. Various friends and clients berated me and one poor person turned up at the show venue and was turned away to the amusement of the team there - but unsurprisingly not by her. Anyway, the errant email inspired a purchase and we went to deliver the items and have a drink with the new owner. Luckily they looked good in situ and we passed a delightful evening reminiscing about the past. She is in her 80s and whilst she can look back; her main interest is looking forward and planning her next travel adventure - and helping us plan ours.

My son Inigo has a show celebrating the end of his foundation course at Camberwell. On Saturday we went to see his piece. We began by priming ourselves with breakfast at our local cafe. The Parma Cafe on Kennington road is a beautiful survival from the late 60s with red plastic bucket seats, murals of Greek gods and period condiment dispensers. They even have an old school frothy coffee maker which modern baristas would probably sneer at. It is true that it does make terrible coffee. But that is not the point, a 'Jumbo English' not only comes with plenty of everything but it is arranged on the plate like a careful still life, not one mushroom is dumped down, it is all ..... - perfect; just like you might get in fancy 3 star Michelin places. Slightly too full we cycled off and soon arrived to admire the video piece that has been his last few months work. Needless to say I was shocked. It has a soundtrack replete with smut and groaning and the visuals are a scary close up of his face. I have to admit that he has achieved something in that the work was both technically masterful and left his poor old dad reeling. What more could you ask for from art school?

the author trying to understand modern art!

Back home we headed off to Oxford to meet the artist Pat Rice, known professionally as Pat Albeck. You can listen to her recent desert island discs on the Iplayer. She is an old friend of Esther's and she has been working through the sadness of the death of her beloved Peter - husband of 50 years - by creating - for an exhibition - some fantastic work. These pieces are inspired and brightly colourful still lives all achieved in exquisite and virtuoso collage. She sits at her desk and looks at flowers with utmost intensity and somehow with coloured paper and a pair of nail scissors renders them. The end result is a remarkable fusion of craft and art together with echoes of Italian Pietra Dura and 17th century Spanish still lives. We drank champagne and ate lasagna and she was inspiringly positive and chatty despite the ever present silent shadow of her grief. I am sure her work will sell out but if any are left I hope to show them on my stand at the forthcoming Olympia Art and Antiques show in June. 

A taste of what is to come.