On Saturday I went to a party at a house that Horace Gifford (master of Pines modernism) expanded in the 1970s. It’s situated behind a locked gate at the end of a long walk, composed of satisfyingly clean rectangular volumes. Apparently there was, from the outset, conflict between Gifford’s modernist austerity and his clients’ baroque 70s sensibility. At the party, more dissonance: someone was playing Chappell Roan from a freestanding speaker outside while inside a twink with a taste for cruelty (long story) played a better, harder set. The interior was expensive but bad: matching Vladimir Kagan sofas in matte silver leather and Adrian Pearsall coffee tables, all dominated by an enormous painting of a bird rendered in thick, black acrylic strokes—the Exxon Valdez by way of Franz Kline (or the other way around). My friend Hannah who works at a psychiatric hospital described it in terms she uses for her patients and the experience of being with them: disorganized and disorganizing. Fabulous hot tub though, on an expansive deck cantilevered out over the bay.
Earlier on Saturday we went to the Doll Invasion at Reflections, which is usually a sordid rental house (top notes of bleach and poppers, finish of Hawaiian gold tanning oil, “heart notes of Descovy™️” as a friend added). And yet, grim as the house is, it also has an integrity I respect. Sometimes you just want a house that can take a good mopping. I don’t mean to be such a LGB (little gay bitch) like, trashing people’s houses (thank you to all of my hosts—I actually had a great time). I know this post may serve as evidence to the contrary, but I really don’t judge. Your house is for you, and I mean that genuinely. I only offer notes when a house feels like it’s asking for them, if that makes sense—like it has some imagined public.
On to business: I am organizing another auction for the fall. Date TBD. If you want to consign something, let me know. Mike, I swear to God if you try to get me to sell your dookie bedframe . . . Everyone else, let me know <3
For my cherished new subscribers: Landed cost (the final cost you pay) = the hammer price (the highest bid) + the premium (a set percentage added to the hammer price that the auction house takes) + shipping (you’re almost always on the hook for this) + sales tax
Also, now worth repeating: I don’t get a commission on any of these sales/am not involved in any way with these auctions.
To the listings!
Jerry Cooke, photojournalist (1921-2005). This photo is wild, almost too on the nose. But very good.
French, 1930-40s. Insane detail and 71” tall.
Horrifying.
I don’t know what the use case for this would be, but for someone this could be game changing. I think I’d use it kind of like a wall. I could also see it in a studio apartment where you might want to partition the space sometimes.
Yes, Marco, it’s like Albini but it’s also cheaper. Very nice design if you have the space.
Jacques Sicard (1865-1953) was a French designer whose work was manufactured by S.A. Weller pottery in Ohio. These are nice, and 15.5” which is a good height. No idea if the attribution is right.
More Oldenburg, you know I’m a fan. Kind of funnier now because no one knows what a typewriter eraser looks like anymore. This was purchased in 1976 and it looks like he finally got his massive sculpture fabricated in 1999.
Again, no idea if the attribution is right but the onyx is beautiful. There are two matching demilune tables in the auction, also nice.
This is cool.
Kitsch but fun. I know I haven’t been doing a good job with my UK and EU listings, will work on that. But this one is fun and in Essex.
May the hammer fall ever in your favor!
Feel like I have a pretty good handle on obsolete 20th-century technology, but I had no idea typewriter erasers were a thing. Very cool.