Coy - Part Thirty - "Isn't That Pretty" - (C-2) - "Dirty Dishes"

Coy

Part Thirty

"Isn't That Pretty"

(C-2)

"Dirty Dishes"

            “No shortcake?”

            Is a woman’s voice to my rear as I ...reach upward to close the hatchback.  I turn.  It is the... woman’s-friend-who-was-scrutinizing-my-dirty-cat-food-dishes... and I.

            “I know your not using those dishes for the cats.” she says.

            “I... yeah:  Right.”

            “You know what those are.  Those are ANTIQUE plates.  Those are ENGLISH CHINA.  You know that.”

            “Oh yes.”

            “I didn’t want to say anything but I KNEW you aren’t going to use those for CATS.

            “Well I COULD use them for cat food.”

            “Maybe SHE thought you are but I know better than that.”

            “Good.  She does too.”

            “That’s what I’d hope.  I’ve heard a lot about you but I haven’t actually SEEN you until just now.  I’m JANICE:  Janice Stillwater.”

            “Yes.” I said while nodding and... going into defense mode.

            “I know who you are.”

            “Good... I suppose.”

            “Theodore has told me all about you.”

            “Theodore?”

            “Mr. (Dump); our computer man.

            “Ooooh.  He knows me very well.”

            “He’s very jealous of you.  I learned that right away.”

            “Jealous?”

            “Why would he always talk about you if he weren’t so envious?”

            “Of what; this?” I say with a gesture to the banana box... full of ‘antique’ ‘dirty dishes’... resting before us within the open hatchback.

            “Just this morning he said to me that he was surprised you weren’t here.  But then you showed up.  You went right back to that table and I saw you do that.  I said ‘Mickey (her friend); we’re going back there’.  Mickey didn’t care.  You were already inside!”

            “She told me to go in there.”

            “Yes.  Of course she would.  Anyway... that box full looks like quite a TREASURE.”

            “It’s treasure.  But not the way you think it is.”

            “Well that’s a BOX FULL of English china for twenty-five dollars.  I’d say it’s a treasure.”

            “Not at all.  First off, it’s not china.  Do YOU know what it is?” I say turning and lifting the lid of the banana box off.

            “Well...” Janice says bending into the hatchback to overview the box... of dirty dishes.

            “Tell me.” I say.

            Janice looks from the box to me... and then back at the box.

            “Tell me so I know that you know... or don’t know.

            Pause.

            “You don’t know.” I say.

            “Well... now... just a minute.  There are about twenty plates.  And this is a lid.  To something.”

            “Piss pot.  Lid.”

            “Piss... pot?”

            “Commode ...slop jar?”

            “OH.”

            “Right”.

            Pause.

            “Yes.  Continue.” I say.

            “WELL they are all... that I can see... anyway... English STAFFORDSHIRE.  From the eighteen hundreds.”

            “Nineteenth century?”

            “Yes.”

            “Antique... English... Staffordshire... china... plates?”

            “Yes.”

            “How about late nineteenth century English Staffordshire brown transferware earthenware plates... with a commode jar lid... in RED transferware...”

            “Yes; that’s it.”

            “I... said that; not you.”

            “Yes but...”

            “I go further?”

            “I...”

            “Aesthetic movement design... with a rustic movement influence... of the decorative compositions***; the transfers... on flat surface; the surface of the plate.  Late Victorian.  Carrying to Edwardian.  Maker marked.  1880’s to World War I.  All... nothing special.  The piss pot lid is older then many of the plates.  I wonder how that got mixed in.”

            “Mixed in?”

            “In the dining room.  That’s where these come from; a dining room.”

            “Yes I know that.  The Savage family.  The Stillwater’s are RELATED you know.  By MARRIAGE.”

            “I’m related to the Savages by marriage too.”

            “You are not.’

            “But I have the box of dirty dishes.”

            “So?”

            “It’s a wedding gift.”

            “It is NOT.”

            “If it keeps up like this; the Savage estate in banana boxes, the courtship is over.  We’re married.”

            “What do mean by that?”

            “People sell things to me that they shouldn’t and... other people who see this just stand there and do nothing.”

            “Do you mean?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well what am I going to do with a box of dirty dishes?  Theodore told me how CRAFTY you are.”

            “I’m sure he did.  And he would know.  About being crafty.  How come this box isn’t in your trunk?  HIS TRUNK?”

            “I didn’t even get a chance too...”

            “Oh please; you were doing nothing.  You want to buy the box?  I’ll sell it.”

            “Sell it?”

            “Go get Theodore to tell you how much it’s worth and then I sell it to you dirt cheap.  Actually; dirty dishes cheap.”

            “You will not.”

            “Right:  You won’t buy it.  You don’t buy antiques.”

            “Well... I would have once.  But now I have to watch my expenses.  My husband’s dead you know”.

            “Very common in my world.”

            “Yes I suppose.  My mother just died too.  Well... actually three years ago.  I have all her things to contend with now.”

            “You have an estate?”

            “WELL... all of the two houses.  SHE’D MOVED to a smaller house THANK GOD.  And a cottage.”

            “Oh.  There you go.  She collected?”

            “Collected?”

            “Antiques?”

            “Oh no but the house is FULL of ANTIQUES.  It was all her MOTHER’S.  And the cottage too.  That’s on Squirrel Island.  THAT’S FULL too.”

            “Nice.”

            “I took Theodore to the house.”

            “He would love that I’m sure.”

            “He only wanted the (postage) stamp albums.  He always mentions them”.

            “Those he knows about.” I say.

            “Knows about?”

            “Knows what they are.  Any books?  He likes OLD BOOKS too.”

            “He looked at the books but never said anything.”

            “That means they’re no good.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “I have chances to see Mr. (Dump’s) appraisal work so know I can depend on his work with rare books.  Anything else (any other object in front of Mr. Dump)... forget it.”

            “Forget it?”

            “Like these dishes.  He would use one for cat food... and never know the difference.”

            Pause.

            “You wouldn’t know what they are either?  OR what to do with them?” I continued.

            “What are YOU going to do with them!”

            “I’m either going to sell them to you or get them out of here.”

            “I’m not...”

            “Going to buy them.  I know that.  You’d never buy antiques.”

            “Well then; you’ll sell them in your store?”

            “I don’t have a store.”

            “Well... sell them SOMEWHERE.”

            “No store.  If I had a store... someone like you would come to it and... not BUY anything.”

            Pause.

            “You have antique china?” I say.

            Pause.

            “I didn’t think so.” I continue.

            “There are lots of old dishes at my mother’s house.”

            “I’m sure there are.  Any good ones?”

            “I really wouldn’t know.  There’s nothing like those.” Janice said gesturing to the banana box... full of dirty dishes”.

            “Those tell a story.  It’s a great story.  That’s why I own them.  Do your mother’s dishes tell a story?  Tell me a story.”

            Pause.

            “I didn’t think so.”

            “No wait.  MAYBE they do.”

            “You’d better go check then.  Ask Theodore to help you.”

            “You know:  He says that your intuitive with people.  With their antiques.  He’s right about that you know.  He says that about you and he’s right.  You just open the book and keep reading don’t you.”

            “Thank you.”

            “For what?”

            “A discerning compliment.”

            “Well you man-managed those poor women over there.”

            “Go tell on me.  I think who managed who will find debate.  I do concede that the dirty dishes ARE in the back of my car.  And that they didn’t know what they were either.”

            “Either?”

            “You don’t... either.”

            “Oh.  So tell me.  Some of these are actually very pretty.  Even this lid is pretty.

            “Yes; the design is classic.  The decorations are a damnation of their time.  Can’t fake that though.  They’d like to huh (make modern day stylized reproduction ‘china’ ‘patterns’).”

            “The decoration?”

            “Yes.  Victorian.  Aesthetic.  Rustic.  Nice.  Right dead center in the estate.”

            “In the estate?”

            “What I’d expect to be there:  A very real accumulation of the old china that should be there; in an estate like that.  That’s what I like about this (waving my hand toward the banana box).  Something going on.  I have two boxes of it now.  REALLY NEAT to someone like me.”

            “Neat.  The china.  From the estate.  Even dirty like this?”

            No.  Not that.  That; identifying the china is EASY.  I do (find, handle, buy and sell) paste (‘old soft paste’ ...with these dirty dishes being [very] ‘late’ for ‘paste’ so here the word is used as an ‘in-the-trade’ ‘not considered well’ expression) like this all the time.  It’s the HISTORY.  Well... the heritage; BOTH, that gets me.  You know...; that they (the dirty dishes) are IN THERE.  IN the dining room.  Still all there.  And how they got there.  And how they got HERE (gesturing toward the strawberry shortcake line).  And HERE.” (gesturing to the banana box in the back.

            Janice looked down at the box again.  Then at my face.

            “It’s not intuitive.  IT’S reading HISTORY.” I continued. “How did they get there?  To the estate?  THEY BOUGHT THEM; the old china.  HOW?  At the store.  One plate or whatever at a time.  One woman, one plate, one day.  That’s how they sold it.  One at a time.  Oh the store would have a dozen of the same PLATES for sale but a dozen woman would each buy ONE.  The peddlers too.   That Savage estate would have peddler wagon’s at the back door all day long once the peddler’s knew.  They’d buy.”

            “Buy from the peddlers?”

            “Yes.  They’d come to the back and find the housekeeper or hired girl.  She’d fetch the family.  Old Captain Savage was never home.  He went into town all day every day.  The women ran the place.  Everything.  The peddlers knew this.  ‘Bring it to them’ they did.  Always had china for sale.  NOT whole SETS of dishes.  Just pieces.  Here and there.  That piss pot; the lid.  That was peddled.  SHE bought for HER ROOM.  It was pretty.  SHE used it.  The Old Captain didn’t care what he pissed in.  Then the hired girl dropped it.  Down the (outhouse) hole?  Probably.  GONE.  Just the lid left.  A sad day for the piss pot.  But they kept the lid.  In the dining room.  With the other china.  Right?  See how I read that?  That’s good history to me.  Makes that box really come alive huh.  That box is like an archeological DIG to someone like me.  I won’t even wash the dishes.”

            But I did.... wash them.

            After a while.

            No one cared.

---

***             This ‘old china’ found here... is a product of a double intellectual art intrigue in the later Victorian era extending onto Edwardian to WW I.  The first is the titled “aesthetic movement’ that presents the decorative design in the light of flowery ( and Asian esque) ‘suggestion’.  The second is the titled ‘rustic movement’ that thrusts nature in its natural setting upon the aesthetic design premise.  The result is the celebration of, for example, the old tree stump as art of itself AND as a subject for art.  This all, to no surprise, is now noticed to be a resistance and rebellion toward Industrialism destroying (‘displacing’) the natural and the natural realms (a wind in the willows...).

            Today, this that I just wrote is currently well passed over by the fine shoppers who ‘hate nature’ (“I LOVE GOING OUT DOORS” but “don’t”) and ‘love’ (“I HATE THEM”) shopping at ...box stores of choice AND... the phony up-scale-from-that... BUT OF THE SAME tawdry design and construction qualities... “good brands’.  (Making china and... making exclusive ‘good brand’ china... are, today ‘the same production’:  They ...cannot... make ‘china’ the ‘old way’ and ...cannot make it ‘sort of’ the old way so that... ‘people can (afford / will) buy it’.  Old china is old china and is NOT NEW CHINA. Or ‘sort of new’ (post industrial production methods; ‘Look:  No hands’...made... of the old school)  So... all of this ‘old (antique) china’ has been left alone (‘no one cares’).  I am constantly ‘getting it’ for nothing and, of course, when it is shown stand alone, as here right now, it is well received  (“discovered”) as an actual relief to the... box store and/or phony ‘exclusive’ “QUALITY aesthetic”... movements.  I remind that this is English china; English design and inspiration and... of the rural English ...Richard Jefferies, THE GAMEKEEPER AT HOME / THE AMATUER POACHER, London 1889 / 1879 (read this author?) era.  Too.  It is a... totally makes sense thing actually.  Now lost especially as it is, in design, very subtle.  I probably should not be wasting the reader's time with this ‘wind in the willows’.  THAT... old tale; w in the w... IS OF THIS TOO.

Coy - Part Thirty - "Isn't That Pretty" - (C-1) - "Dirty Dishes"

Coy

Part Thirty

"Isn't That Pretty"

(C-1)

"Dirty Dishes"

            I buy the dirty dishes...

At the Holiday Fair...

For a dollar or two...

            Here and there.

            They are wrapped, sort of, in previously-used-several-times-already... including cookie crumbs and festive holiday chromatics... “tissue paper”.  She called it.  I took the banana box to a warehouse (old Maine barn), put the box ‘in’ ‘that’... and forgot about it... all winter.

            In May... “that historical society over there” “is having a spring (Mayday) fair”.  I hear.  I went to that.  I went to the bric-brac table directly.  There were no antiques of any sort for sale on the bric-brac table or anywhere else at the fair.  That was because Helen had not ‘come back’ “FROM FLORIDA” “yet” I was told... by a woman who would know these things.

            “Oh.”

            IN JUNE... “that historical society over there” was preparing for their JULY “Strawberry Festival”.  That comes after... due to the previously explained ...statues... of WASP etiquette (Part Twenty-Nine [A])... the Fourth of July and the local community’s celebrations ‘of that’.  Red, white and blue “bunting” is “up all month” “in the village”.  “THAT” (the bunting) “GOES” in August.  THAT is a WASP statue ...too-too.  Like a Christmas wreath hanging on a front door in February, “NOT” ‘goes’... “is tacky”.  THAT (‘is tacky’) is a WASP statue TOO-too-too (“They don’t KNOW any better”).

It is always a close call on the strawberries (freshness) and... the weather.  Strawberry shortcake by assembly line ladled-over-biscuit “MORE WHIP CREAM?” in the cheapest possible ‘paper bowl’ “ICE CREAM TOO?” ... with a line that winds across the front yard and down the street on the sidewalk... does not “move inside” well.  Clouds, still air and humidity merge with furtive glances from ‘organizers’ skyward. Groupie local crowding ‘dressed’ for this ‘event’ “fan” themselves and “look around”. Usually concealed henpeck bickering is “brought out” by “festival stress” (so titled and told to I as the “why” of any “odd behavior”).

            Who cares:  I went directly to the bric-brac table.  It was “tucked way back there” in the shade of the historical society’s main historic building... by the ‘back door’ of the original homestead now used as the direct in-out route “to the (historical society’s tiny and inadequate) kitchen”.  There were no antiques for sale on the table.  The same woman who managed the three food tables at the Holiday Fair was managing... inclusive of being the gatekeeper “to the kitchen” (“Careful on the steps UP”).  She was still... “actually very proficient, adept, steady and ‘get the job done’ “no eggnog for me thank you” (as I previously noted).  I don’t know what was “the drink” at this ‘festival’ but I did hear the word “daiquiri”.  I also heard a “THE OLD BLENDER; it makes an AWFUL noise”.

The table manager – gatekeeper was not at all perturbed by any of this TOO so WE were eye to eye on the whole package of the festival so she... with discerning courtesy and deferential grace... says to ME before her at her table “YOU ARE THE old DISH man.  There’s a BOX of those we JUST had donated INSIDE the DOORWAY.  WE HAVEN’T had a chance to WASH them.  It’s a BOX of DIRTY DISHES.  Like the ones you bought before”.

“Oh yes?  (Old) dirty DISHES?  You have some more?”.

“Oh, my, MY:  THEY have a whole CAR load of BOXES they say but ONLY JUST YESTERDAY.  THEY haven’t FETCHED THEM OFF yet.  JUST the one BOX.  GO LOOK at it if you WOULD won’t you.  Mr. Carol is GOING UP THIS WEEK to PICK THEM UP”.

(Mr. Carol is an elderly gentleman who always wears 1930’s type ‘knickers’ and doesn’t bring much to the table except old jokes found humorous by men-past-their-prime and... ‘making himself useful’ by doing things like THIS (picking up the BOXES of OLD CHINA and GLASSWARE... from the dining room (?) of the Savage mansion (?).

ARE THEY (the boxes) FROM THERE?

“SHE’S back.  I BELIEVE she is going to STOP BY LATER.”

I went up the back door steps and “TO YOUR LEFT TOWARD THE SHED”.

“Careful on the steps UP”.

“THANK YOU.”

This was the moment of the D-DAY of the Savage Estate contents... distribution... and I ...was on the beachhead of the distribution... and I was the ONLY person on the beachhead of the distribution... and I...

Was TOO STUPID to recognize this and even ‘occur’ the THIS WAS POSSIBLE.  Let alone that THIS was the way it; the distribution of the contents of the Savage mansion, was ...going to be.

Done.

And that this was a  WINDFALL in my lap:

IN MY LAP.

All I was going to have to do was ...buy banana boxes of old ‘cleaning out’ ‘clutter’... for pittance and ‘I’ll get it all’?  It (this process of Savage estate contents distribution) has now been going on for over a decade.  The historical society’s bric-brac table will have more ‘new’ ‘donations’ for sale ...again... ‘in a couple of months’.

AND NO ONE CARES.

            I went up... step... step... step-step......:

            LEFT.

            DOWNWARD visual SCAN.

            BANANA BOX.

            Top on.

            Old dishes visible through top hole.

            BEND over-down and lift-pull lid off.

            SCAN.

            “I ah...”

            LID BACK ON.

            “AH...”

            TAKE THE WHOLE DAMN BOX OUTSIDE RETARD.

            Dirty (“no”) banana box FULL

            “Heavy”

            The old dishes clank together as I

            “UP”.

            Turn.

            Doorway.

            “Careful on the steps.  Oh you shouldn’t have brought it ALL out.”

            “The box out?”

            “Well yes.  It’s HEAVY.”

            “Not bad.”

            “DID YOU SEE anything YOU’D LIKE?”

            “See?  Anything?  Ah... well... the whole BOX.”

            “Box; the WHOLE box?”

            “Of dishes.  I didn’t LOOK very CLOSE”.

            “They are very dirty.”

            “Dishes.  All dirty dishes”.

            “Well a dollar a piece for any you’d want”.

I set the box down, remove the lid, scan, count while wiggling my finger among the dirty dishes.  The table manager tends another woman while that woman’s friend scrutinizes I, the box, the dishes and ...my ever more dirty hand.  Hearing a pause in the tending talk above me I say “TWENTY-TWO.  SOME ARE BROKEN.  TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS for the BOX FULL.”

“Oh TWENTY-five? Oh... let’s SEE.  Oh.  Yes.  Broken.  I see. Yes.  OH FINE.  You are sure on THAT?

“Sure; twenty-two whole ones” I say standing upright.

“No... Twenty-five dollars is TOO much.”

“No, no,” I say while quickly fluffing a twenty and a five from my jacket pocket to ‘before her’.

She looks at the money, then I, then takes the money.  “Thank-you.”

“Thank-YOU.”

“No.  WE thank YOU.”

I am already bent over ...again... putting on the box lid.  A few ‘old dirty dishes’ peek through the top hole on the banana box lid.  The ‘friend’ is still ...scrutinizing... EVERYTHING.  “What do you DO with THOSE?” she says.

“Cat food... at the shelter.”

“Oh.  SOME of those PLATES are OLD.”

“Perfect for the cats.  They’re very discerning.”

“Oh.” says the woman.

The table tending woman smiles at me.  I’m holding the banana box.

I take the box to the car.

I leave?

The strawberry shortcake line is still ‘down the sidewalk’.

Coy - Part Thirty - "Isn't That Pretty" - (B) - "Iconic Objects"

Coy

Part Thirty

"Isn't That Pretty"

(B)

"Iconic Objects"

            A teddy bear in a tote bag?

            “Do not worry

            It does

            Get turbulent (rough and tumble)

            Even though

            It should be

Sweeter

            Than Grandmother’s

            Pie”.

            The reader is warned.

            Iconic objects; objects that are icons, plague the antiquarian interest... and art.  This plague ...of the art eye... is constant harassment to I ...from ‘somebody or something (often passive)’.  Iconic objects effect ALL of my professional social passage as an antiquarian... except the darkest hiding inter-mind art discourse ‘spinning’... alone ‘way in there’ (the mind).  Aside from that dark inner mind-of-art portal, I ... “it is one” (iconic object).  It is not the object that plagues... it is the ‘good people’ ...that plague.

            When Janet held up the teddy bear  (Part Twenty-Nine [B])...at double table distance from I, my eye knew “cold” from my poise.  It (“HE”) (the teddy bear) “is one” I knew; “BUTTON IN THE EAR I SEE IT”.  I didn’t know then that there was a BAG too... until seconds later.  THAT TOO... an iconic object TOO.  TWO... TOO (object icons).

            “HORROR”.

            “How much?”

            “OK I’LL BUY IT (“HIM!”).  And I got Dan, the bear-in-bag... out of there.

            So...:  Someone DID THAT; put the bear in the bag.  NOT JUST ANY BEAR in ANY BAG.  I mean... they monogrammed the bag with Dan’s name too.  “ISN’T THAT CUTE!”.  And just let it go at that?

            I... know better than that .  So... Mrs. Turnbridge (“Cathy TOLL Bridge:  WITH HER... YOU HAVE TO PAY!”) spoke to me with her coat over her arm.  She was leaving too. “I WAS GOING TO BUY THAT BEAR.  I DIDN’T SEE IT WAS DAN AND CAME IN THE BAG.”

            “I didn’t either”.

            “Well you know MRS. FOSTER’S MOTHER had that BEAR in the NURSING HOME.  SEE...:  DAN:  I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS DAN.  SHE DIED.  IN SEPTEMBER.  HER MIND, you know.”

            “As is everyone’s mind”.

            “WELL SHE USED TO BE RAZOR SHARP”.  DAN was HER BABY BEAR:  When she was LITTLE.  BABY BEAR.  JUST LOVED THIS BEAR.  You understand.”

            “Of course”

            “I DIDN’T KNOW that his NAME was on a BAG.  What are you going to DO with HIM.”

            “Show him to my wife.”

            “OH... How interesting... DO YOU... THINK SHE’LL KNOW WHAT HE IS?”

            “Of course”

            “HE HAS THE BUTTON IN THE EAR.”

            “Right.  AND his own BAG.

            “Yes.  That too.  That IS very nice they DID THAT.  But you know that; I know you.”

            Then I got out of there.  Evidently Dan showed up ZIPPED UP in the bag straight from the nursing home to the ... scarf and mittens holiday fair table Janet-of-the-spiked eggnog was managing?  She found the bear?  Unzipped the bag.  I don’t think so.  Those women knew about the bear, the bag, the ‘Dan’ and his nursing home story (heritage).  Did they know about the bear’s design history?  It appears that some women, at the least, did.  Did they know about Dan’s positive art qualities?  What about the bag’s positive art qualities.  WHO EVER PUT the Dan-in-bag PACKAGE together to “GO GIFTED” to the nursing home DID absolutely KNOW.  The bear was carefully chosen.  The bag was carefully chosen.  BOTH are ‘high test’ object icons ‘of impeccable qualities’, maker branding, name branding and universal hands down “You’re ok with that” social “Need a clean hand towel?”... ‘secured site’.  “Nobody needs to UPDATE with THAT:  YOUR FINE.”

            So I knew all of that too... including how these “THAT” slip through the commercial grid of this setting (the holiday fair) for simply ...no other reason... than... “THAT:  YOUR FINE.”... and a glass or two of spiked eggnog amongst friends:  “WE DIDN’T KNOW DAN WAS IN THE BAG because WE WERE IN THE BAG.  Evelyn FOUND HIM.”

            “YOUR SO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO... WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH HIM?”

            “Sell him at auction in New York.”

            “NO REALLY”.

            The dust of I... “a dealer; you know he IS ONE.” purloining Dan-in-bag settled about a half mile down the road.  I did check my rearview mirror to ‘see’ if there was ‘pursuit’.

            “OH ISN’T THAT CUTE” has been the EVER AFTER.  Except for me.  I know better.

            Starting with the tote bag... I do... because that’s easier to ...get through.  The tote bag doesn’t have a face... that my face... looks at its face ...looking at MY face... to... confuse me ...when I’m “I go a-fishing” “Isn’t that pretty.” for ...art.

            Yeah I can spin the damn tote bag ALL OVER the abstract art world and getting real... like... ‘texture’... fabric ‘movement’... hard edge color... soft edged murmurs on ‘flat planes of’.  I can even touch 'suggesting erotica' with ...the zipper.  “OH you BAD BOY: not DAN’S BAG for THAT.”

            The actual issued result ...of mind-spins-looking-for-art... is... ‘pretty cool.  I mean...; “neat”.  I mean... “I think.” (feel?).  Yeah:  Why that?  Because... it isn’t there that way.  It’s ‘the other way’ that... ‘something is going on over ...here.’  Where’s ‘here’ (hear?).  OVER THERE.  From a ‘the safe distance’.  It’s the icon... It’s OVER THERE.  On the floor... under the table.  THAT’S where it’s ‘something going on’... right down to the intertwined handles and fussy scrunch-of-bottom-corners:  “IT’S SO COOL THE WAY IT DOES THAT I JUST LOVE IT”.

            So does the bank behind the store.  There’s a memo on that... somewhere.  There’s also bag history.  Bag heritage.  Bag... “yeah I got one of those” and bag... “IT’S THE ONLY ONE THAT'S THE REAL ONE”.

            Line in sand.

            Never

            Ever

            CROSSED

            Except “mine's getting dirty”.

            Tote bag courtesans

            They are called

            When posing before the door

            Of a summer season’s store.

            That is where art has to get into the lifeboat and row away from the sinking.

            The bear... with the button in the ear tag icon UPON ‘THAT FACE’ icon upon the whole “IT’S JUST LIKE THE ORIGINAL (1903-04) BEAR” icon... upon a

            Table that... gets completely lost from view ‘by that’ (“the damn bear”).  Overwhelming to ALL of the ‘most of them’ who... they’re not even EVER going to bother to think of thinking that one THINKING could ‘get past’ THAT: “I LOVE IT IT’S SO CUTE”.  And I don’t really care anyway because power icons like the bear and bag don’t come up that often:  Not more than, like, a couple dozen times a... day.  That’s where the ‘It is one’ comes from... a couple of dozen times in my average work day.  Icons... are PLAGUE to one’s art eye.  Easy... art... so many stall therein ...the world of them, the ...world of art that ...is them “SEE”.  Falling short; short sighted I KNOW QUALITY orange cones deployed NO RISK (risk? What is risk?) safety “SEE” “OVER THERE:  SHE HAS ONE TOO.”

            A white SUV on my bumper... on the winding cow paths of old New England... art and antiques... now RACE WAYS of ...iconic art ... “I BOUGHT IT... but  I gotta pick up my kids I’M LATE YOUR DRIVING TOO SLOW.  My old one got dirty”.

            If I put the bear; “Dan”, on the table... and the tote bag under the table... the table disappears.  It is pitched and... turned up side down.  It’s ‘too much’ to compete with... even though the table... could well be... ‘better’ ‘art’... in terms of its... heritage, history, antiquarian virtue and positive art qualities.  It can not withstand... the visual attack of the... power icons and the mind ...of THAT mind’s art eye supporting it (the icon).

            Unless one says... ‘that’s a... power icon art... over there... say good bye’.  That is... one chooses by art choice to... get into the lifeboat and row away from the sinking.

            Most do not.  Most ‘do that’ ‘forever’.  It’s easy.  It’s ‘high spots’ art.  “EVERYONE”... ‘knows what THAT is’.  “They have one THERE TOO.  OURS is BETTER”.  Really?

            And I have no problem cashing in on this anyway.  “They’d never know the difference”.

            Two times earlier in this tale the ‘this’ of power iconic object art has been noted.  The first is when I ...purchase... Aunt Winnie’s John Dreves, Steuben Glass “Olive Bowl”.  That; the olive bowl, is an icon.  I didn’t need to say so then?  I don’t need to say so now?  What should I say (query)?  Did Helen know that ...it was an icon.  DID that knowing cause her to sell the olive dish.  HOW did Helen know that?  Was it instinct... and / or Helen’s ACTUAL art experience that told her, her art self, that the olive dish ‘didn’t belong’.  Did it not belong because it IS an icon... so ‘others’ are lost by it overwhelming.  Is THAT IT: A sold because it was, of art of the Savage Mansion, “wrong”... and Helen knew it.

            I mean... what am I gonna do with it?

            SELL IT.

            To a high spot collector who... collects... high spots... an I ‘knows it’.

            Right?

            Number two notice... and we do need a pooper-scoop to... ‘clean that up’... even though it CANNOT be cleaned up by ‘anyone’ except that “YOU” and “YOUR INNER SELF”  of art... is when I am first at Janet’s and Chris (remember Chris? Part Nineteen [A and B]) is there with her... pressed blue jeans, proper socks and ‘perfectly preserved’ boat shoe nodding at me.  Talk about ‘no risk’ in art.  She’d be having “ALL BOOKS” “ABOUT ART” removed from the elementary school library “THEY CAN’T SHOW THAT”.  She, of divine taste in footwear... assures.. ‘her home is that way too’.  That’s the home (with art) BETWEEN THE EARS.  I do not need to go there either; the home with the walls.

            “There’s nothing going on over there:  No (art) risk.”

            I don’t like getting in lifeboats and rowing away from a sinking.

            I don’t have a cliff to jump off of to ‘kill myself’.

            I am a picker’ of antiques.  I do not collect, keep or show ANY... THING.  I do not high spot an icon.  Or show one.  I expect THEM (all who are not pickers) to ...do that.  I GO

            BACK

            TO

            THE ATTIC.

            To get away from the ‘them’.

            Most of what is in old New England estates are not icons.

            Most of what is in old New England estates have wonderful positive art qualities,

            History, heritage and antiquarian intrigue

            That no one cares about.