Friday, February 26, 2016

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It" - Part Five - "Puss in the Corner"

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It"

Part Five

"Puss in the Corner"

            “Yes, puss in the corner, but not in the way you fancy.  No indeed.  Puss has been sent there to stay until she can be good.”

            Is there ever going to be a fire... that ravishes the ‘it’ all?  Can you be a fire that ravishes ‘it’ all?  “Burned it up.” They’ve said to me.  Quite well managed and sure they’ve said that; “Burned it up.”  That is the commercial market for antiques
            I am speaking of.
            Once the fire is started... pile more upon it?  Celebrate, they do, the anti-knowing of “old things”.  Murmurs of women.  Folkways.  Old stories.  Diaries never kept.  Or WERE they kept only to be burned... too... when found.  Were they too... “Burned it up”.

            “Go stand in the corner... until you are GOOD.”  That is what has happen to the old woman’s things.  “Those there are VALUABLE; that there.  In the corner.  We can’t keep her cat out of there.”
            “Oh.” I said.  “I don’t want her cat.”
            “You can have her.  We don’t want her either.”
            Her old dining table chairs had been pushed against the sideboard.  The top of the sideboard had been covered with her old china that they had removed from the dining room’s two corner cabinets.  Candlestick pairs, glassware, silver plate (?), serving service, ‘covered dishes’ and a mirror behind.  “Broken” one heiress said.
            “The glass?” I said
            “The looking glass?”
            “Oh.  The mirror?  No.  The china.  The pieces in that box”.
            There were two boxes; an old shoe box resting on top of an old shirt box.  Set off to one side
            On the sideboard.
            “I don’t want to do anything today but I’ll come back when your done and buy it all.”
            “The whole house contents; we’ll clean it out”
            “Not just the antiques?”
            “No.  Everything.  Of course the antiques.  Just keep putting what you don’t want in the corners (of the different rooms).  You know what your doing.  Just let me know.  When your done.  Ready.  I’ll come back.”
            Puss in the corner.  They put the antiques in the corners.  It was nine months before I heard from them again.  Of course I heard ABOUT them right along.  Other dealers just cannot shut-up.  At least six of those... ‘had been let in’.
            “Oh.” I’d say to them.

            It should be perfectly obvious that if the heirs know enough about the antiques in their mother’s house... to put the antiques they don’t want in the corners of each room... that they know nothing about antiques at all.  Except but what they’ve been told.  And I told them nothing.  About anything.  In the house.
            It was a rather large house.  Estate.  Lots of rooms... with the unwanted antiques in the corners... excepting the rather large number of rooms where the heirs “didn’t find anything” they’d say.
            “Okay.  Fine.”
            You (the reader) say.
            Now your beginning to ... “see” (understand)?  Do you hear the old woman murmuring?  Oh... it is still just muttering to you?  One of the heirs muttered about the coffee table... to herself.  “Would it FIT.” she... what?
            I don’t care
            I don’t want to know.
            When I came back
            It wasn’t there.

            “She has very good taste. Her house is all just like that too.  Perfect”.  Said Carl.  To me.  Carl is her brother.  He was “taking” the “tools” in the “garage”.  “JUST THE TOOLS I’M GONNA USE.”  He said.  He left everything else... strewn about... after he “DUG THROUGH IT”.  “TWO TRIPS”... in his truck.  The sisters didn’t “want any of that”.  The grandfather’s father was a carpenter’s assistant when he was in his teens.  He helped build the church
            Down the street... about one thousand feet... and on the same side of the street.  His tools (“old tools”) were ‘mixed in’ and not in the ‘old tool chest’ that had been left up just inside the garage door hold sand and salt... for when ‘it’s icy’.  “TOO BAD HUH.  WOULD HAVE BEEN A NICE BOX ONCE”.  I sold it for thirty.  Dollars.  I used the sand myself.  I gave the bags of salt to Raphael.  He works at the church on Sundays... salting the walkways when ‘it’s icy’.  He’s from Brazil.  He speaks Spanish and English.  He smokes cigarettes when he stands on the walkways and surveys his salting job.
            “Want to see if you’d LIKE any of the TOOLS?” I said to him.  He came up to the garage after church was done.  That Sunday.  “IF YOU CAN USE IT BETTER TAKE IT”.
            “I can?” he said.
            “ONLY WHILE I’M IN A GOOD MOOD”.  We both laughed.
            He doesn’t have a truck.  “PUT IT IN MINE and WE’LL DRIVE IT OVER”.
            “That bench?  The tool bench... okay... SURE.”
            I could have sold it.  Pretty easy.  Fuck it.  I did pretty well with it.  By giving it to him.  “It’s an antique.” I told him.  He surveyed it.
            “How old?”
            “World War One”.
            He didn’t say anything more.  Neither did I.  We... the two of us... ‘flipped’ it up into the truck.
            It’s been four years and he uses that bench everyday.  I bet.
            “Puss in the corner” I said to the heirs.
            “What did you say?”
            I think they thought I said ‘piss in the corner’.  We were all standing at the front of the garage... looking in at “the stuff”.  They called it.

            The easy solution would be to re-title all the “antiques” as “stuff”; old stuff.  That would get rid of ‘antiques’ and the... that they being that are... “OLD” and “VALUABLE”.  Since the ‘market’ for antiques has been re-titled as ‘crashed’, removing the antiques title gets rid of that too; the ‘crashed’ antiques ‘market’.  It is all, then, just ‘stuff’ in the corners of the rooms and ‘in the garage’.  Antiques become easier to manage without the title:  “Throw the stuff out”.  “Sell the stuff in a yard sale”.  It is just ‘stuff’.  “Who cares?”
            That is the way it should be.  One never, then, has to consider ‘it’ by ‘eye’ of... your... ‘I’.  No.  Put the stuff in the garage or throw it out.  Put “what I like” in the dining room.  Obviously... if there are two small boxes of old (18th century) broken china found in the dining room... throw that out.  That is what happens... more... and more... and more... these days.  This is because “no one” “knows anything”.  That is what the actual ‘market crash’ of ‘antiques’ is:  No one knows anything.  It is all just “stuff”.  And no one “BUYS” “STUFF” unless it is a... “what I like”.  That is the whole round (circle) of the market (vast percentage of the market).  It is furthered by the ‘what I like’ being supported by a buttress (flying buttress?) of “what sells”.  “Stuff” that “sells” is “what sells”.
            An example?  ...:  “Something to PUT my TV on”.  “Stuff” is searched, an “I like” is found.  The whole world of “I”, “eye” and “it”... is accomplished.  It is... a very... sophisticated process.
            Isn’t it.

            And that is what it looks like... too... in the corners of the rooms:  Just stuff.  Or... NOTHING.  The corner is bare... until Puss... is in that corner.
            How does Puss get sent to the corner?  Puss says “I like antiques”... “I want antiques”... “I want to know about antiques”... “I care about antiques”... “I want things that my great-grandmother had.  They were good, she knew that and knew, too, what ‘good’... was...?  NO:  What good... IS.  I remind... the antiques are STILL HERE.  They are ‘all over the place’ and called, these days... “stuff”.
            Most ‘stuff’ is ‘bad’ (bad design; ‘bad taste’).  It is as if one is peeking through a knot hole in an old wooden fence.  In behind the old fence... that hides the ‘old’ “stuff” are... where the ‘antiques’ have gone after ‘the market crashed’.  No one knows this.  No one cares about this.  No one ever peeks through the hole
            To “see” “the antiques”.  I can stand at the hole and peek... using my antiquarian sophisticated “I” to physically deploy my “eye” to seek the antique “it” and
            No one...
            These days.
            Even if it is Colonial era Old New England tea china that was ‘passed down’. No... all I am shown is “stuff” that is defined as ‘what I like’.  If I suggest ...anything... I am sent to stand in the corner of the room with the ‘antiques’ until I will be
            I actually prefer standing in the corner where the antiques were put.  No one bothers me.  I cannot leave the corner with all the antiques until I will be
            I accept the terms.
            “Puss in the corner”.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It" - Part Four - "Antik"

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It"

Part Four


            “Antik”... be what I’s speaking of.  I speak of antiks, the interest in antiks
            And the history of the interest in antiks.  In old New England.  Be you sure?
            I have presented the folkway in the homes of old New England that murmurs the interest in the antiks in these homes from mouths of
            Old women. 
            Murmured oral utterance combined with ‘show’ and ‘see’.  From old women.
            No one listens to that
            And old women.
            It is not a murmur.  These old women mutter.  They are muttering about something.
            So what:  Ignore them.

            It is much harder to find... then I ever considered or expected... a “something” about what I just wrote of; ‘antiks’ and the ‘old way’ interest in those... in the old New England home... and...
            The peoples of that; the old women murmuring folkways and “men” who are the culprits of disturbance of the antiks in the old women’s homes; ;the ‘pickers... ‘picking’ the antiks and taking them away from the old homes.  Hard to find that... recorded
            Except, of course, from the murmur (mutterings) of the old women who are, remarkably, well versed... in and of... the intercourse with these ‘men’ titled pickers.  And the pickers, too... know the old women... “well versed”.  Yes:  It is a little world.  After all.  But again:  Hard to find recorded as are all folkways murmured by old women and practiced by visiting culprits.
            But I do ‘find things’ “recorded”.

            1881, and continuing in print for nearly two decades, appears a...
            It is not a children’s book.
            It is not a poem.
            It is not... a... but is called, in its title “A Story”
            “Of Old Time Memories”
            The main title is “Grandma’s Attic Treasures”.  The sophistication is subtle (Part Two) and the whole production; a pictorial and gilt nineteenth century decorated publisher’s cloth slips forever away.  I, the self aware “I”... I have denoted the book for, well... a quarter century and a decade longer too and...
            Report that no one ever... has ever... ever denoted this book before me
            In any way.  Yet it is a most splendid articulation of the current subject I treat; old women and their old things (“attic truck”) in the old New England home and how they sense... and come to sense (their ‘I’) this “attic truck” in a deeper way (study it).  Further, and away from the purpose of this essay... but none the less a splendid inclusion, is the accurate portrayal of the New England ‘antiks’ picker doing what they do (a character inclusion that is never titled ‘picker’).  That element is astonishingly accurate... to this day... but I don’t not treat it in detail here today.

            Sticking with the old woman... who wants a little money... and the old house that is full of her old “attic truck” (her title) the reader follows, in sentimental style, her approach by the pickers, the tour of the homestead, the consideration to sell the old truck and the single out of selections within this truck.  No specific detailing of the actual attic antik truck is ever given but the lightly sophisticated antiquarian ‘I’ and ‘eye’ have no problem racing along among the ‘antiks’... as with the pickers intentions and ... the old woman’s growing hesitations.
            ‘Growing hesitations’ are never restricting until after the ‘bargain’ is made and it is not until the “fast” working pickers have their wagon full, are off down the road with the homestead emptied out (sort of) that... this
            Old woman
            Wanders to a “what have I done”... to my family and myself.
            The dark hollow is that ...she... ‘sold it’ (family antiks) for money that is pittance (she buys herself a Sunday bonnet and shawl).  Through out all this is a blistering tears-in-eyes focus on one single table (a Colonial era New England made gate leg drop leaf dining table... It is never actually denoted as that) that came, served and went here and there throughout the old woman’s life to the antik apex of her... selling it off ... as attic truck.  Or no...

            It is NOT the antik apex... though she did sell it off... to the pickers.
            An inner ‘I’ with her ‘eye’ and the memory of ‘it’ (the table) then swoon as words on the page... until...
            UNTIL... all is world right again by the discovery that the very ...very old... old... antik table sold is FOUND TO BE ... collected... as an ‘Antik’... by the old woman’s fashion forward set, city slicker... GRANDDAUGHTER who purchased it (an antik) as an antik for her personal dressing room.  “Oh... oh... WONDERFUL Oh!”  The table, with grandmother’s “I know” verified identification of remembered wear and tear... combined the tears... saves and is saved by... the granddaughter’s want of ‘not new’ but ...
            Within this... story... are all the murmurings (mutterings) of old women I purveyed as the leading characters in the old New England home origins of the ‘antiquarian sophistication of the ‘I’ and the ‘eye’ upon the ‘it’.  In this simple sentimental vignette, the reader, wiping their own tears, too... wish... wishes... that they may too ‘find’ such a table among their own family’s ...
            Attic Truck.

            Since my first encounter and (over and over) cover to cover reading... of this book, I have self ‘I’ applied the sophistication of my ‘I’ and ‘eye’ to this same sort of setting (picker prowls old woman’s attic for ‘truck’) as a routine.  I see it laid bare before me really... ‘always’ by old New England women in their old New England homes.  It is a ...standard of excellence I ...may depend on...  Although little good that does when one must turn attic truck into... antiquarian gold.

            Or does it (this old New England home antik truck saga) turn to gold?
            Now-of-days... with the ‘not coming back’ ‘crashed market’ (Part Three) for old... attic truck “antiks” and the ‘that stuff should be sent back to the attic from where it came’ mixed commercial messaging actually has, for I and ‘I’, opened the door to the antiquarian old New England home and... invited me in like never before.  YOU ‘may to’.

            As the story tells, the old woman does not need to know much about ‘antiks’ to get to where she has a very royal appreciation of them AND their homestead place.  She, the ‘old woman’ follows her ‘I’ from there.  You may to... do just the same.
            I recommend you ... you (‘I’) stumble upon, in a befuddled self way ...a single... of an object of the folkway of the ‘its’ in the old New England home... and rescue it... presuming it is found forlorn... or ‘collect it’... presuming your stumble in is assisted by a ‘one who knows’.  Yes... that is right:  Just find something that is old in an old New England house... and pick it out... for your ‘I’, ‘eye’ and ‘it’... to start with.  It does not need to be a perfect object; a ‘fine antique’ or in ‘fine condition’.  Just get something that murmurs to you ‘antik’.  Bring it into your life and live with it.  I suggest a deeper ‘I’ than just ‘having it around’.  I do not rule out the notion of being obsessed with ‘it’.  That may be ... “nice”, “helpful”, “interesting”, “fun”, “pretty” in addition to opening self portals of art, history, heritage and “sense” that comes from a self sophisticating
            Of course, these days... such a raw step back into old New England... “may not take”.  You will find that out too; the ‘this is not for me’.  Then, dearest, donate your starter antik to thrift and head ‘home’ to the box store and its parking lot.  Get a shopping cart and go isle by isle ‘buying’ until you feel... well again.  When you drive by those stoic old New England “sea captain’s” homes on upper main street, divert your eyes like you used to... ‘get on with it’ (your life).  Never wonder what is ‘inside’ one of those ‘old houses...
            Like I do.

            It is easier and quicker to seek ‘assisted living’ with this old New England antik truck... “thing”.  Yes it is.  Finding a ‘someone who knows’ and ‘going in that way’ has benefits... but costs money.  Simplified, contacting a ‘someone who knows’ using the ‘they seem to be selling what I want’ works... and works very well... if one ‘buys in’.  When you see ‘it’; the ‘an it that speaks to you’, ask only a few stupid questions and
            BUY IT.
            Take the purchase home and live with it... preferably obsessively.  If your obsessive your sophisticating ‘I’ will travel rapidly along the ‘I’, ‘eye’ and ‘it’ pathway and, in most cases, be ready for ‘more’ ‘right along’.  Procuring more may be... now... that you have a ‘target’ done in a double sweep:  One may return to the ‘assisted living’... either the same or another ‘caught my eye’ facility... and ‘buy in’ again... and again.  AND:

            Now that you are ‘in the mix’ with this particular sort of object... one may foray into the wild wood of tag sales, auctions and thrift stores “HUNTING” for “THAT”.  This latter will be forlorn if ‘done alone’ but IF you keep a firm foot with your assisted living ... by continuing to actually regularly BUY SOMETHING... one will find that ‘support’ from that (assisted living) will come right along to you when you ‘need help’ and ‘want to know’ about an ‘it’ your ‘I’ denoted with your ‘eye’ and “BOUGHT” at a “YARD SALE”.  That way you
            “WILL FIND OUT”.
            But again:  Has all this really turned to gold?
            Yes it has.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It" - Part Three - "Corners of the Rooms"

Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It"

Part Three

"Corners of Old Rooms"

            Once it is conveyed that there has been a cultural (culture – ‘the arts’) appreciation decline... that has created a ‘world turned upside down’ house burned flat within the ‘it’ of the antique interest with this... being carried by the antiquarian ‘eye’ no longer knowing what it is looking at and... this surveillance status supported by the ‘I’ who... know nothing... about any of this
            At all.
            AND substitute a ‘their own’ cultural appreciation formula (also using the classic ‘I’, ‘eye’ and ‘it’ ratio) to.... reflect
            “Where they are at” usually with a touch of ‘in your face’ too.  I alluded to examples of this (Part Two) but here actually state that it is ‘really bad’ inclusive of revving side by side Mustang auto engines in suburban driveways (“Breaking Bad”) as a cultural appreciation – [celebration of taste]) with Walt Whitman there too... on the
            Back of the toilet.
            From that setting... in that setting... Whitman does bring ‘all that’ down.  In fact (the ‘plot’ of “Breaking Bad”).  One may want to make more than a ‘note to self’ of that. 

            But that is not where Whitman began or from where he came from.  He began and came from a ‘long time ago’.  That hints that ‘I’ too... must a ‘long time ago’ go too... to open the door of ‘go there’ (Part Two, at the end) to ...get there; to see (‘eye’) the antiquarian ‘it’ and ‘classic good taste’.  Again:  A long time ago.
            Where could that be?

            It be... in old New England.
            It is your grandmother’s... grandmother’s... grandmother’s “Things”.  And in the old days... a long time ago... that was a very simple process.  My grandmother... one day when I was ‘little’, showed me ‘a piece of pewter’.  If your grandmother shows you pewter (a metal), you remember that... unless you’re a hopeless idiot and your grandmother DID know THAT too...  And I (‘I’)... after ‘seeing’ pewter... ‘never forget’.  After a while my grandmother
            “Showed me her pewter”.  Emphasis is on ‘her’ that was short for ‘her collection’ (of pewter).  My grandmother collected old pewter... among other ‘old things’ that she collected after being “shown” these “things”
            By her grandmother... who was shown them by
            Her grandmother.
            That is the way ‘it’ was done; ‘I’ to ‘eye’
            A long time ago.

            And that is how I (‘I’)... learned; my grandmother told me.  Herself.  Slowly.  Overtime.  As she had been ‘told’.  She introduce the ‘it’ by ‘eye’ to ‘I’ and... that I had, too, an ‘I’... just like SHE had an ‘I’ that managed her ‘eye’ to examine (an old New England) world full of ‘it’ (objects).  A long time ago.
            ‘It’ was a very simple process... readily accomplished... by grandmother...
            In the old New England home.
            Grandmothers were in THE home back then.  Now... they are in ‘A home’.
            But that is not a ‘long time ago’... is it.

            Once I was ‘shown’ ‘the old things’ I, too, heard of the ‘old ways’ that created a fondness for these old things.  “MY FATHER’S GRANDFATHER’S BROKEN TANKARD” was a declaration of ...good taste.  “BATTLE” “OF WHITE PLAIN (s)”.  I have spoken of plain white before (Part Two).  They are both ‘from the same date’ (a long time ago).  “He carried it (the broken tankard) back”.  No matter that the actual broken tankard was not made until AFTER the Revolutionary ...War (circa 1810).  “She”... greatest grandmother treasured it for... “I must” for “every generation to come”.  The critical ‘I’ denotes, using ‘eye’, that the tankard is not... creamware but the slightly later ...and brighter (“dental”) white ‘pearlware’... with ‘hand painted’ decoration.  Members from the family “FOUGHT” in the “WAR OF EIGHTEEN TWELVE” too.  The broken tankard could have ‘come home from that’.

            “OH GRANDMOTHER”... your great grandmother did not have a smart phone so could not SEE all of the ‘brushstroke’ decorated pearlware tankards ‘there are’ “on the Internet”.  AND NOW YOU HAVE DIED and left that broken tankard behind TOO.  What am I going to do with it?
            That is easy.  I’ll ‘get rid of it’ (throw it out)
            “I don’t know what it is”.

            The semblance of discord to the ritual of great grandmother’s heritage craft is easily found... among the antiquarian ‘it’ I purloin.  Stickers, notes, mentions, keepsakes, collections, storage, hoarding and messages... from the corners of old rooms.  Documenting ‘it’ has ‘always been done in the home’.  Until recently.  By 1840, ‘old things’ and ‘old ways’ were already gathered as more than curiosities.  The process continued for nearly one hundred fifty years (1825-1975).  And then was erased.  1975 saw the start of the flourish and rash of ‘antiques’ ‘dealers’ who “did this”; commercially appreciate ‘old things’ from ‘a long time ago’ that were, evidently... “IN” “GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE”.  Looting has taken place.  Grandmother’s house is ‘empty’ of ‘antiques’... and all else that ‘can be sold’.

            The ‘can be sold’ reached an object-self-sensitive-saturation point and... “the market” crashed.  Every old footstool and old pairs of old snowshoes are... ‘for sale’ in an ‘antiques shop’.  Right now.  No one is buying them... unless they are ‘cheap’.  That last is relative to the ‘I’ that utters it... about ‘it’ ...after ...surveillance.

            And that is the way it is.  Right now.  In fact the emphatic about this are so emphatic that they say that “it” will “never recover”.  I am... to understood... this is... a commercial delineation; the market for old footstools will never ‘come back”
            WELL WHERE DID IT GO?
            And took the ‘good taste’ with it too.  Did it?  Shutter your antiques shop because the old foot stool ‘will not sell’.  After forty years (1975 – 2016)... finally... ‘it’ “closed”.  The vast closures ‘sell off’ their snowshoes for ‘a loss’.  I do look... sort of... over... sort of... ‘some of them... sometimes’ (closing antiques shops) (many want to ‘sell me’ ‘everything’).  They never have any ‘old’ ‘creamware’ (Part Two).  They never did.  They never even
            “KNOW WHAT THAT IS”.
            My grandmother knew.
            What it.... IS.  It (an ‘it’) is STILL HERE.

            What I have just handed out... is a titled ‘folkways’... of old New England.  When Grandmother tells you... about ‘it’ and the heritage of her ‘its’, her home of its.  Her heart felt home full of its... she shows considerable ‘classic good (old New England) taste’.  Her old mouth full of crocked teeth (not particularly white teeth by YOUR ‘today’) murmur the heritage of whispers of messages from the corners of old rooms that she heard told to her when she heard of... being told that... “these old things” “are”

            You remember... don’t you.  Or is it “no I don’t.”?  Popular today, after the full dismissal of what I just wrote of; an old New England folkway; a ‘way’ of ‘passage’... are the commercial value focus of, for example, television programs and internet web sites suggesting, through commercial foundation... what is... sophistication ... of... good taste... in old New England.  Yes... and a voyeur can hardly remember what the purveyed object was or ‘how valuable’ it was... moments (less than a day) “later”.  With that ‘is too’... is the...“not one in Grandmother’s house”.  “Either”.  No... what was in grandmother’s house is not there anymore?  Was it thrown out?

            Or did the aspect that the sophisticated taste of the antiquarian “what ‘it’ is” become the ‘I’... do not...;
            Is it ‘know’?
            Or is it ‘care’?
            Or both?
            “I”(the folkway) is not in ‘the’ home.
            “I”(the folkway) is in ‘a’ home... and dies ‘in there’.  No one notices a dead or dying folkway?
            I do.
            I straighten my tie...
            And spit in your ‘eye’.
            “You have bad taste; a bad eye, and your great-great grandmother would tell so.”
            It is her last message... from the corners of her old rooms... that you just
            “Cleaned out”.