Time on one’s hands
Perhaps, during these restricted times, we should look to Trench Art for inspiration, suggests Roger Field, marvelling at what constitutes ‘art’ in these record-beating days
THE auction world rarely fails to amaze, delight and, on occasion, leave me aghast. Exhibit one, for the prosecution: a pair of used Nike trainers. Not any old trainers, I concede, but in my world view I see trainers as sports shoes made of rubber and leather that, when they wear out and honk badly enough, which they inevitably do if you use them in the manner intended, best belong in the rubbish bin. But not these ones, used though they are. ‘Game worn’ is the inventive term of art used by Sotheby’s, which only added to their value as Michael Jordan (a very tall and, evidently, large-footed American basketball player for those of you who are not ‘up’ on modern US sporting culture) wore them on the professional circuit in 1985. And then signed them before parting with them. They came up for sale in New York on 17 May with a hefty-sounding estimate, at least for a pair of old trainers, of $100,000 to $150,000. After all, what do you do with them if you bought them? For starters, you’d need size 13.5 feet to wear them. And what will they be worth when the current generation of Michael Jordan obsessed fans and ‘sneaker collectors’ have passed – unlike we blunt Brits, Americans no longer die, they ‘pass’ – and Jordan is relegated to being another short paragraph in the history books? Anyway, the virtual gavel – this was an online sale – found the hoop at a jaw-dropping $560,000. I noted that the Condition Report failed to mention whether they had been given a goodly squirt of deodorant on the basis that a pong suppressant might be a good idea but, on reflection, a distant whiff of Jordan’s doubtless sweaty feet would have only added to the provenance, and the price…
More lunacy – although, perhaps, this was someone digging super-deep to keep his significant other sweet during lockdown, thus making it a sound investment? – was achieved by Christie’s New York on 28 July. Step forward the Hermes Diamond Himalaya Birkin 25 handbag. The catalogue gushed about how the silvery colour of the Niloticus (African) crocodile skin reimagines the majesty of the Himalayas. So, scoff not, you’d be buying conceptual art as well as keeping your partner smiling. And then there’s the 18-carat white gold and diamonds-attached ‘hardware’. Meaning, I
suppose, that if it all goes pear shaped and your beloved, fed up with being locked down (locked up?) with you, bids you adios, you can always prise off the valuable bits and take them off to the pawnshop to fund the divorce lawyers. Kerching! £230,000. A record handbag price for New York. But really, jesting apart, £230,000 for a handbag? Just imagine what damage you and I could inflict in/on the auction rooms, moors and riverbanks if we had a buckshee £230,000 burning a hole in our wallets.
Perhaps I might have bid for another world-record-beating item – what is it about this blasted virus and the setting of auction records? Roll of drums. Blast of trumpets. Step forward the 54-bore, South German, breech-loading, wheellock holster pistol that Thomas Del Mar sold for £75,000 on 30 July. Built circa 1562, this magnificent weapon was absolute state of the art at the time; way ahead of its time, in fact. Whilst nearly all other guns were muzzle-loaders, and remained so for hundreds of years, this has a preloaded cartridge and firing section. The owner would have carried a number of these for super high speed, for 1562, reloading, which he simply changed over after firing it. Add to its technological excellence the fact that it is a work of art in its own right and in superlative condition, no wonder it fetched so much.
However, there’s more going on with this eye-catching, world-record headline than meets the untutored eye. I was in the saleroom in 1983 when this pistol, part of the Hever Castle armoury collected by Lord Astor, sold for the then astonishing sum of £50,000 (£55,000 with the then 10% buyer’s premium). But, back then, wheel-locks were in high demand and were fetching very chunky prices, even quite ordinary ones. Fast forward almost 40 years and Del Mar estimated it at £25,000 to £30,000; my expert source reckoned that was a fair estimate, not least as wheel-lock prices have not approached those giddy 1980’s heights since. But not on 30 July. There were a number of pre-registered telephone and internet bidders, so this was not a case of two rival loons making their own market; lots of collectors were desperate to buy this particular beauty. However, and what a party pooper I can be, had you bought a London property for £55,000 back in 1983, which you could easily have done, it would probably be worth around £1m now. So, a truly fabulous item. But a pretty punk investment, at least when compared to property, handbags and old trainers…
Sticking with the theme of lunacy, he also knocked down a good, 20th-century copy of a 17th-century chastity belt at over its £350 top estimate, for £550. The ‘historical’ theory being that the brave, bold knight goes off to war and locks up (literally) his wife and daughters to ensure no unauthorised ingress whilst he is away salami-slicing the ungodly. And, looking at the various holes in the metal – some edged with jagged teeth – one can see exactly why these would make a formidable barrier to unauthorised entrants, as it were. These ‘curios’ never fail to excite interest – I won’t delve further into the psychology of this in a family magazine – amongst certain collectors, although there is considerable doubt whether they were ever ‘used in anger’. General opinion, certainly on the internet, seems to be that it was the smutty-minded, misogynistic Georgians and Victorians who decided that chastity belts were not only probable but desirable and had copies made for their delectation and collections.
Time for a crash of cymbals and I present to you another ‘probably’ genuine 17th-century example, ‘Property of a European Prince’, sold by Del Mar back in 2015. Furthermore, that ancient iron horror was similar in design to another in the Doges’ Palace in Venice. That one was recorded in an 1548 inventory as: ‘Iron panties of the wife of the Prince of Padua.’ Obviously, being a princess was not all it was cracked up to be, even way
back then… That 17th-century one soared over its top £10,000 estimate to sell for £15,000. So, if asked about chastity belts at a pub quiz (or on Mastermind) the ‘approved’ answer is that they are the fetid imaginings of over-protective and deeply insecure men. While you can fully agree with the latter sentiment you can cause outrage by pointing out that, extraordinarily, such things really did exist back in “Days of old, when knights were bold, and toilets weren’t invented…” Although, whether any woman ever consented to put one on I leave to you to answer. And the number of minutes it took after the grim warrior had bid his beloved a fond, but suspicious, adieu for the padlock to be unlocked is again pretty blinking obvious.
Finally, before leaving Del Mar, something I’ve always rather hankered after: a noonday cannon. This one is bronze and, being ‘19/20th century’, it is a late example. It needs to be correctly aligned so that the sun (if it is out) shines through the magnifying glass and onto the touchhole at midday exactly; think burning ants and beetles with a magnifying glass as children (oops, sorry, Buddhists and bugs). Smack on noon: Bang! And back in the late 18th century, when these first made an appearance, and at a time when clocks and watches were often unreliable, everyone who heard the bang knew the time, and everyone with a timepiece could reset it if necessary. A fun and once very useful thing. It sold just under low estimate for £1,100.
‘Trench Art’: things made by soldiers, or prisoners, even, in their spare time,
often from brass shell cases, is not a genre that usually appeals to me. However, I would make a happy exception for the massive (22in long), World War I, brass model of a Vickers machine gun that was sold by Martel Maides on 30 June. Its inscription starts, ‘To the Officers and Men of the Royal Regiment of Artillery…’ and finishes with the names of four hospitals. It would look magnificent on any desk and sold within estimate for £2,600. Or, how about the wonderful ‘Allied Nations’ flag (the stitched together flags of the UK, US, China, USSR and the Cross of Lorraine – symbol of the Free French), which young Able Seaman Peter Tooley – assigned to Motor Torpedo Boat 757 – ‘liberated’, as he put it, from a flag pole in the newly captured port of Le Havre in September 1944. A large 6ft by 3½ft, it would add style to the wall of any man cave. This wonderful memento of difficult and dangerous days was estimated at £300 to £500 at Bishop & Miller on 29 July. It fetched a well-deserved £1,000 on the day.
Finally, and for your delectation, motor porn: a good, basic, working, 1951, Series 1 Landie with only 37,442 on the clock (how many times around, I wonder?) sold under its bottom £15,000 estimate at Bonhams in March for £13,000. Keep an eye on these prices. There may be bargains to be had afore too long…