I’ve been out and about again, despite the Summer sun and the incredible heat. And here are three more potential treasures I spotted. Two of them I didn’t buy, and one I did. And here’s why…
A Japanese Vase
I’m not an expert on Asian or Oriental antiques, particularly ceramics which I tend to avoid nearly entirely. For me, it’s a world locked with seven seals that’s fraught with mystery, uncertainty and difficulty that I leave to the experts. But at first sight I rather admired this vase spotted inside a cabinet in a shop.
The enamel glaze colours are bright and vivid, and I like the way the swimming turtles and stream of moving water were depicted almost as if in a Japanese print, with an almost comic-like style. There’s some sense of depth and perspective to the decoration, and the glossiness of the slightly raised glazes (a technique known as moriage) contrasted against the brown mottled textured ground which appears like shark skin or ray skin. Everything about it, from the form to the decoration to the style said Japanese, rather than Chinese, to me.
Holding it in my hands brought another sense, tactility. The different textures and the form itself felt pleasing as I turned it in my hand. The pattern also went all around the body of the piece, offering different views. These are things I’ve commonly found in Japanese works of art.
The pattern depicts nami ni kame, or ‘turtles amongst waves’. Turtles in this manner represent longevity, perseverance and good fortune, so it’s an auspicious design. The textured ground can be described as ishime-yaki, or ‘sharkskin’, a technique developed by the important Nagoya-based enameller Takeuchi Chūbei in the late 1880s. Others have described this technique as being called same-hada.
Looking at it in my hands for a little longer, I realised I wasn’t so keen on the very simply painted iron red weeds and bubbles, and the vase form was actually rather lumpen. The turtles were definitely the best bit! And the decoration was hardly finely painted, but it wasn’t the very worst either. Some care had been taken, and skill exercised. In summation, I think that it was made in a good factory for export, and would guesstimate it to date from around 1900 to the 1920s or so.
But what I really didn’t like the fact the owner said the price was £300. When my brow immediately furrowed, he said that he had had it for a very long time, so he could do £120, to “leave us with a small profit”. Grateful as I was, that still felt a little too much for me, as I’d put it at around £40-60 at auction. Much as it made me smile at first, after looking longer and finding out the price, it wouldn’t be joining my collection and it went back into the cabinet.
DIDN’T BUY
A Half Doll
I’ve written about half dolls once before for this series. I almost certainly pay far too much attention to them when I see them, especially as I don’t collect them. And won’t collect them, indeed. Not that I’m throwing shade at people that do.
But this one really is a good one. I couldn’t help but stop and look. Her arms are outstretched in slightly different poses, and her fingers are not just individually modelled, but posed naturally to match. Look at the hand on the right, with its bent fingers and palm, and then move up to her lower and upper arms which are proportionate and realistic. Her body is beautifully modelled, with a slim waist and a wide torso with holes allowing her to be sewn onto a skirt, pincushion or whatever.
Now move up to her face, which is both nicely modelled and painted, and has a genuine expression. Perhaps she’s listening, or calmly curious? And the bonnet on her head is detailed with its folds, contrasting pink ribbon and muted, shaded colours. The skin tones are very well graduated and realistic, and the top glaze has a gentle, satin like appearance. She looks every bit the Victorian or Edwardian lady who has leapt off a period poster.
And the condition is perfect, with no cracks. Yes, she could do with a gentle clean, but even all her eight fingertips and two thumbs are intact, and they’re the bits that are most often broken. And if you spotted the yellow bands around her lower arms, I wondered if they were signs of breakage too. But there were no cracks, so I presume that she was once dressed, and that’s where the fabric of her sleeves was stuck to the body.
I was very surprised not to find marks for one of the major makers, like Goebel, Heubach, Dressel & Kister, on the conical back of the lower body. If I had to guess one maker, it’d be Heubach, as the glaze colours remind me of their sweet ‘piano babies’. As I put her back down, I asked the price - €95 (about £80). If you compare her to the last one I wrote about (above) which was priced at £20, I think she’s more than four times better. She’d have been expensive in her day, and fewer would have sold, making her at least four times scarcer. She’s also about twice the size! Could I have bought her and made a profit? Probably, with a bit of negotiating to help. But, she’s not for me. She will definitely be for someone, however, so I shall leave her to them!
DIDN’T BUY
A Strange Morbid Etching
If you’ve read my Substack Journal before, you’ll know I’m a huge fan of etchings. It’s often just a personal rather than a business thing as, unless they are by a famous modern or Old Master artist, etchings are by and large undesirable and out of fashion. I know plenty of dealers who won’t even touch them, but that’s good for me…
The skulls made this leap out at me. There’s a huge following for the macabre and for memento mori, or the ‘reminder of death’. Okay, the man looks a little grumpy and is hardly ‘an oil painting’ but there’s something about him. And as for what’s going on in front of him, wow. One hand plunges down onto piano keys, the other holds a quill as if writing. And as for the ‘explosion’ of whatever is going on in front of him, it’s atmospherically detailed and suggests musical notes and, indeed, music itself. Interesting - music and the macabre combined make this all the more desirable…let’s look further.
Like so many, the etching is titled and signed on the bottom in pencil, but it’s not numbered from an edition - both good and not so good there. A quick check to make sure it’s original by looking closely at the plate mark for a proper impression (there was one), and we’re nearly good to go.
Finally the condition. The frame is intact, and I’d put it at the 1980s-90s, even though I think the print is earlier. The mount is a little yellowed and eeeew, so is the print, with a graduated line of ambering around it, caused by the acids in the mount.
The print is by Ferdinand Albert Burger (1879-1961), and it’s titled ‘Die Toten Ohren Beethovens’ (The Deaf Ears of Beethoven). I knew I recognised that grumpy face! It of course refers to Beethoven’s famous yet tragic progressive deafness, which took over 30 years to leave him profoundly deaf by the 1820s. That explains the musical feel to the composition and details. You can feel the power of his music in the way his hand hits the piano keys, and the creativity as he composes. Interestingly, Burger himself was deaf, so there’s a personal connection between the artist and subject here.
The etching was published in 1922, and examples seem hard to find. I can only find a few ever having appeared at auction over the past decade or so, so maybe only a very limited number were printed. This is born out by this impression, as the printing is varied in depth of tone from darkest to lightest, indicating it’s a good early impression. Copper etching plates wear down very slightly each time they are used to make an impression, limiting the number of good ones that can be made.
Burger is far from a well known artist, and his paintings generally fall in at a couple of hundred pounds, or less. But, this has three themes that make it highly desirable in my mind - the macabre, music, and Beethoven. That cross market interest added to a high quality image by a nonetheless listed artist makes this a brilliant buy. Which art-loving Beethoven fan wouldn’t like this on their wall? Plus, find me another.
DID BUY (and will sell!)