Third Annual Writing Contest with an Antiques Twist… Now for Adults Too!

Third Annual Writing Contest with an Antiques Twist… Now For Adults Too!

Posted on June 14, 2013

Child Writing

The Antiques Depot is once again hosting its short story writing competition as a part of the Nantucket Book Festival. We have been encouraging young people and teens to develop their creative and literary talents, all while exploring the world of rare and special antiques. This year, by popular demand, we have expanded the contest to include a section for adults as well.

Contest Now for Adults Too!!!

Contest Now for Adults Too!!!

 

Contestants are invited to come into the Antiques Depot on Nantucket, and explore the wide variety of treasures from our past on display, to find that one piece that sparks their imagination (no purchase necessary). They may be amazed to learn that antiques aren’t just that fragile china dog on their granny’s mantle… they may find harpoons and relics from old ships, tribal pieces made by American Indians or Pacific Islanders, mysterious objects from the Orient or ancient Egypt, or rare artifacts from age of the Pilgrims or the Revolutionary War!

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After asking whatever questions they wish about the object’s identity and history to get started, they can have fun researching and exploring their chosen piece at the library and the many island museums, and then put their new found knowledge and imagination to work by writing a story about their object. The author can write a fictional “biography” that follows their object through the various imagined hands that have owned it over the years since it was made, perhaps exploring some of the ways it had been used. The author may choose to write an exciting story that takes place sometime in the past, where the chosen object plays an important role.

All of the authors are encouraged to think of their object as a real character in their story and address when it was made, where it was from, what was its purpose, what was its life like, what did it witness? The contest is an opportunity to learn about our culture and get a better feel for Nantucket’s past, all while having fun with a creative project. The Antiques Depot is hoping the young authors in particular will discover that exploring antiques will inspire a lasting appreciation of history and heritage.

The story writing contest will launch during the Nantucket Book Festival… stop by and visit our table at the author’s tent in the Atheneum garden on Saturday, June 21 from 10:00 to 4:00. The contest is open to everyone, and the authors will be divided into a groups aged 8 and under, 9 to 12, 13 to 16, and adult. The stories will be judged on the accuracy of information related, creativity and of course writing skill. The stories may be hand-written or printed, may be delivered either in person, by post, or by email, and must be submitted by August 16.

The winners may pick their choice of grand prize from among a Kobo ereader (generously donated by the Nantucket Bookworks), a vintage hand-crafted Ship-in-a-Bottle, a selection of classic Nantucket books (generously donated by the Egan Maritime Foundation), or a gift certificate to the Antiques Depot.

The winning stories will be published in the Antiques Depot Blog, and will also be submitted to the Chamber of Commerce website, the Inquirer & Mirror, Yesterday’s Island, and the Nantucket Chronicle.

Best of luck and we look forward to reading your entries!

The Antiques Depot is located at 14 Easy Street and is open 7 days a week from 10 am to 4 pm. Inquiries are welcome at 508-228-1287, and at info@nantucketantiquesdepot.com. Follow us on facebook and twitter by going to our website at www.nantucketantiquesdepot.com

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Once in a Lifetime Irish Silver Collection… and Opportunity.

The Republic of Ireland is in desperate need of a philanthropic angel to preserve an immensely important part of its history and cultural heritage.

The National Museum of Ireland currently has on exhibit a phenomenal collection of 107 choice pieces of Irish silver spanning the history of sterling craftsmanship on the Emerald Isle. On temporary loan from a private collection in Dublin, the exhibit details the evolution of style in silver wares from the dawn of the craft in the early 17th Century, to the Baroque and Rococo schools of the early 18th Century, through the Georgian period of the 18th to early 19th Centuries, to the Classical and Neo-Classical movements of the Regency, and Revival Periods of the 19th Century. The collection documents the work of Ireland’s most important silversmiths, and illustrates the many uses of silver in their historic social and economic contexts.

Earliest known Cork silver teapot, by Thomas Lilly, 1723. Part of the silver collection on exhibit at the National Museum of Ireland, in desperate need of a sponsor by the end of February.

Earliest known Cork silver teapot, by Thomas Lilly, 1723. Part of the silver collection on exhibit at the National Museum of Ireland, in desperate need of a sponsor by the end of February.

With the benefit of this collection, the Museum of Decorative Arts at the Collins Barracks in Dublin curates the premier collection of Irish Silver in the world, surpassing even that of the venerable Victoria and Albert Museum in London. As it should. But unfortunately, not for much longer.

The loan of this seminal private collection expires at the end of February, at which point it will be broken up and sold. The dispersal of this magnificent assembly will be a terrible loss for the Republic of Ireland, for the preservation and recognition of Irish culture, and for antique silver scholars, curators and collectors. This is a rare and wonderful opportunity for a philanthropist (or consortium of generous Irish Americans) to step forward and purchase the collection intact, and donate it to the National Museum. The lot is valued at approximately $2.4m, and can be viewed on the website of the Dublin and London silver dealers L and W Duvallier at antiqueirishsilver.com. What an amazing act of benevolence… and what an amazing tax deduction!

Pair of Cork silver Rococo salvers by George Hodder, circa 1745.

Pair of Cork silver Rococo salvers by George Hodder, circa 1745.

Antique Irish silver is among the finest in history, at the pinnacle of the silversmith’s art. Irish decorative arts benefited tremendously from the prevailing state of an exceptionally wealthy landed aristocracy, occupying a land with a fortuitously talented (and often very well educated) but impoverished population, thus yielding demand and wherewithal on the one hand, and ability and low wages on the other. Irish craftsmanship in the 18th and 19th Centuries was superb and arguably unsurpassed, as we see in the carved Chippendale furniture and the brilliant glassware and crystal of the period. Silversmiths were fewer in Dublin than in England or America, so their output was much smaller, and consequently today is much rarer and more valuable. The Irish provincial work from Cork, Galway, Limerick or Kinsale is much rarer still, and consequently even more dear.

A Cork silver toasting cup by John Warner, circa 1775.

A Cork silver toasting cup by John Warner, circa 1775.

Identifiable Irish silver dates back to the royal charter of the Company of Goldsmiths of Dublin in 1637. The earliest Irish silver was plain but well-fashioned, characterized by heavy gauge and relatively simple forms. Silver was originally used mostly in church wares (such as chalices, communion cups and plates, etc.), and did not appear in domestic household use until the end of the 17th Century when we begin to see candle sticks and two-handled cups. Huguenot silversmiths fleeing France after 1685 brought new ideas and refinement, preparing Irish silver to flourish in the approaching age of elegance.

Heavy pair of Dublin silver Candlesticks by Isaac Dolier, 1750.

Heavy pair of Dublin silver Candlesticks by Isaac Dolier, 1750.

Irish silversmiths embraced, even led, the exuberant aesthetic of the mid-18th Century Rococo style.  New lifestyles demanded new accoutrements, and domestic silver soon included tea and coffee pots, jugs, spoons and serving utensils, salvers, caddies, tureens, tankards and mugs. As the century passed and empires churned, they became masters of the refined Neo-Classical movement, before coming into their own with the socio-politically important Celtic Revival.

A Dublin silver baluster- shaped tankard by Joseph Jackson, 1775.

A Dublin silver baluster- shaped tankard by Joseph Jackson, 1775.

Irish silver developed outside of the close control of the English guilds, and so explored more freedom in their designs. Their spirit of independence seems to align them closer to American artists in style, than their British contemporaries. Their work is grander, ornate yet symmetrical, bold yet gracious. A connoisseur can, in fact, discern Irish from English silver from its style and design, before examining the hallmarks. Their work attained a quality and elegance which has never been surpassed. Their legacy remains a high point in the realm of antiques.

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All silver items illustrated are part of the collection on exhibit at The National Museum of Ireland, and can be viewed on the website of the Dublin and London silver dealers L and W Duvallier at antiqueirishsilver.com.

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If you enjoyed reading this blog and all things antique, please visit our shop at 14 Easy Street on Nantucket Island (508-228-1287) and our website http://www.nantucketantiquesdepot.com/ ____________________________________________________________

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The Remarkable ‘Time Capsule’ Apartment of Madame de Florian.

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The Remarkable ‘Time Capsule’ Apartment of Madame de Florian.

Every once in an increasingly great while you chance upon a circumstance which puts a smile on your face and warms your very cockles. My day was certainly brightened when this story broke in 2010 about a forgotten pre-war apartment discovered untouched in Paris.

The apartment of Madame Marthe de Florian in the 9th Arondissement of Paris

The apartment of Madame Marthe de Florian in the 9th Arondissement of Paris

Imagine an affluent lady, an actress and demimondaine, living in a Grand Boulevard apartment near the old Opera House in Paris during the early years of the last century. A child of La belle Epoch, her home is a treasure trove, busy with fine furniture, artwork and

The eclectic taste of Madame de Florian: 18th Century furniture, 19th Century taxidermy, 20th Century art, and a pre-war Mickey.

The eclectic taste of Madame de Florian: 18th Century furniture, 19th Century taxidermy, 20th Century art, and a pre-war Mickey.

decorative furnishings. Her many admirers have been generous. She has an eye for quality and the wherewithal to indulge her taste. She lives with exquisite antiques spanning ages of French history, as well as select works informed by the latest artistic movements. Her apartment reflects the full and hectic life of an actress and a socialite during a golden age.

Abruptly, her life was interrupted as France, Europe, the whole world was torn by the madness of World War II. As the Nazi occupation engulfed Paris, Madame de Florian fled to the relative safety of the South of France. She left her apartment as it was, en dishabille, with even a collection of love letters neatly bundled with a blue ribbon. She simply turned the key in her apartment door and escaped to the distant countryside. But unlike all of her peers, when the war ended and the menace was gone, she did not return. Perhaps her sensitive artistic soul could not bear to revisit the scene of earlier horrors. Perhaps she dreaded the ruin and change wrought in her beloved Paris. Whatever her reason, she remained in the South and never returned to her apartment. But she continued to pay the rent for the rest of her life, and so none else ever returned to her apartment either… for over 70 years!

Portrait of Madame Marthe de Florian by Giovanni Boldini, circa 1898.

Portrait of Madame Marthe de Florian by Giovanni Boldini, circa 1898; previously unknown, found in the apartment and subsequently solds for $3.4 million.

When she passed away at the age of 91, her heirs discovered that she owned this lease in Paris.  Can you imagine setting foot in a home where no one has trod for a lifetime? Think of the thrill to experience what has been untouched and undisturbed for generations? The first person to enter after all those years described a ‘smell of old dust’… and then started to notice the treasures. They said they felt as if they had slipped into the private chambers of Sleeping Beauty. Madame de Florian’s home, with the exception of one painting, remains undusted and untouched to this day.

An amazing situation, but not unique. Many people have enjoyed, or at least know of family summer homes that have changed little over the years. I was lucky as a child to spend time in the summers at an Adirondack period cottage on a lake in Maine, still pristine with hand-pumped water from the well, outdoor privy in the woodshed, and minimal electricity just encroaching on the oil lamps. The craftsman’s architectural style was beautiful and comforting, with clean wainscoting, built-in corner cabinets, semi-open staircase, and exposed beams. My grandfather’s room had a pine wash stand with pitcher of water and basin, and the chamber pot in the cubby below. I still love all those kitchen gadgets and ware: the wire baskets, racks and skewers for cooking on wood fires, stoneware, and lovingly dinged enameled tinware. The built-in cabinets held a mystery of toys and games from a much earlier time. We ate, worked and relaxed on the wide screened porch with wicker and rockers, plank tables and benches.

Antique lakefront cottage in Maine.

Antique lakefront cottage in Maine.

I have been very lucky on Nantucket to have been welcomed over the years into many homes that were truly time capsules, barely touched by the passing of time. I am still moved by an historic home in the center of town, where the clock stopped at the turn of the century. The furniture remains in their exact spots, the art original, the knickknacks and personal mementos are those of the former owner, the very books on the bedside shelf are those chosen and placed there nearly a hundred years ago! The house is a home, yet also a shrine. In a different house, with different people and a different history, this could verge on the creepy. In this case however, it is more akin to a brilliant installation, a tableau vivant.

Along upper Main Street on Nantucket: one never knows what waits behind those walls.

Along upper Main Street on Nantucket: one never knows what waits behind those walls.

There is another house, a Main Street dowager, where the furnishings have remained intact through generations of the same family for over 200 years. One sits in the same chair, at the same table on the same hand knotted carpet as did the Captain when he returned from whaling voyages before America won its independence. One looks about at the paintings and porcelains chosen and cherished by the first generation. The closets and attic hold all the family correspondence, hand written copies of letters sent, bills and invoices, complete and intact dating back from the first settlers. A nod to modern change and progress: the cabled bells to summon a particular servant from their attic quarters.

The beauty and thrill of these ‘time capsules’ is not just the great collections of period antiques. It is not just a matter of being amazed at the rare circumstance. It is more the breathless wonder of stepping physically into the past. You are not a spectator viewing antiques in a museum. You are a privileged guest, alive and well in the distant past, able this once to see and feel how life was lived. This rare trick of fate brings you into the reality of the past, rather than just imagining history as one tries through books, films and museums. It is the beauty and magic of antiques.

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The photographs of the de Forian apartment have been published widely on the web: sources include Drouot Auctions, Urban Archeology, Home and Garden, Inspirationsdeco, and the Huffington Post.

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Visit www.nantucketchronicle.com/ , your free online resource for everything Nantucket. By Nantucketers, for Nantucketers.

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Christmas in Ireland: The Christmas Panto!

Christmas in Ireland: The Christmas Panto.

I admit it: I look forward to the annual Christmas Pantomime every year. I had heard about them in old Christmas books, but of course had never been to one. We just don’t have these in the States. When I first came over to Ireland for Christmas , I was thrilled to hear that there were not one, but two different pantomimes held in Cork during December and January. Brilliant! At last!  I was psyched to go, but then was told “No way! The Pantos are for children. An adult can’t go… everyone would think you were a nutter!”  I was crushed.

"Alice in Wonderland" at the Cork Opera House last year.

“Alice in Wonderland” at the Cork Opera House last year.

Determined to see this Christmas tradition, it didn’t take me long to figure out I could invite my young niece and nephew. I could get to see my panto by using little Jack and Orla as camouflage! Twenty years later I still go to the panto every year. We pretend we’re taking the young ones, our Christmas present to our nieces and nephew (now four of them), but we all know they’re really chaperoning me.

The annual Christmas Pantomime is a hugely popular, eagerly attended part of the Christmas season throughout Ireland and the UK.  The Panto is a deliberately campy, over-the-top  stageshow that incorporates ham acting, singing and dancing, corny humor, men in drag, audience participation, topical references, and double entendres…  all aimed for children… but not-so-secretely loved by adults.  Picture a children’s theatre, crossed with a vaudeville music hall, the Rocky Horror Picture Show, MTV, and a touch of Jim Henson. A slice of old fashioned entertainment!

Traditional Harlequin and Columbine.

Traditional Harlequin and Columbine.

What are pantos? How did they begin? The Pantomime (which today  luckily has Nothing to do with Mime) is descended from the Harlequin and Columbina plays of the Commedia dell’arte dating back as far as the 16th Century. Simple sketch plays featuring stock characters depicting typical types of people, with bawdy humor, improvisation, and props: kind of a Punch & Judy Show with live actors.

London theatres in the 18th Century carried on this tradition, first as silent performances with only dancing and gestures (thus “pantomime”). Following nicely in the footsteps laid by the Medieval Mummer’s Plays associated especially with Twelfth Night, the Pantomimes quickly became a popular entertainment during the Christmas season. By the mid 19th Century the shows became more elaborate, with witty and topical dialogue, slapstick, and often spectacular and elaborate theatrical effects. The plots evolved from simple skits to a small repertoire based on nursery rhymes and folk tales. We’re talking twisted fairy tales here, with little resemblance and very little regard for the original tales.

Antique poster for a Christmas Pantomime.

Antique poster for a Christmas Pantomime.

There is usually little or no reference to Christmas; the basic subject is adopted from a children’s story such as from Cinderella, Aladdin, Jack & the Bean Stalk, Snow White or other such chestnut, and freely borrows characters and features from other tales, or invents wholly new bits you’ve never heard of nor dreamt. It is assumed that the audience is so familiar with the original story that there is little effort to develop the plot which is instead adapted for comic or satirical effect.*

Hurry! The curtain rises in five minutes! Cork opera House 2013.

Hurry! The curtain rises in five minutes! Cork opera House 2013.

The curtain rises. Enter the hero: “Hello boys and girls! I said HELLO BOYS AND GIRLS!!!”  and repeated yet again until the audience responds loud enough.

The mad performance follows a stereotyped routine with a love triangle that includes the hero and heroine, a comic lead played by a man in drag (the Panto Dame), an evil menace, a friendly godmother sort, and a lowly servant or other character who befriends the audience, is menaced by the villain and is besotted with the heroine. Every production includes a scary scene of dark menace, and a slapstick grand chase. And then there’s the famous banter with the audience. The Dame “recognizes” people in the audience:

“Is that Mary? Mary dear, you’re looking wonderful! In this light ye can’t tell you had Botox at all!”

And the audience does indeed participate, with the enthusiasm you would expect of children at Christmas. Not just booing and hissing the villain, or sympathizing “Ahhhhh” with the lowly friend. The cast will prompt the audience, but It’s just a formality… everyone knows the score.  The packed theatre will warn the hero (“Look behind you!”), and argue with the villain (“Oh no they don’t!” “Oh yes they do!” Oh no they don’t!”) You get the idea.

The brilliant cast of this year's panto at the Cork Opera House.

The brilliant cast of this year’s panto at the Cork Opera House.

I suspect most of the audience is there for the song and dance (including the dreaded audience participation bit at the end). The best of the panto for me is the topical humor. Beyond the winks and nods at pop culture, hit songs and celebrities, there are plenty of razor barbs aimed at politics and current events, and naughty double entendres galore. Clever and witty, these bits are played for the adults in the house, but still enjoyed by the children on their own level.

After all these years I’d hate to think of celebrating Christmas without this tradition. The first niece we took, Orla, is now an adult close to setting off for college; nephew Jack… well he’s as tall as the beanstalk, and little Amy and Rachel are growing as fast as they can. They all grow up too fast, and soon I fear will probably be too old for this tradition. On the other hand, so far even Orla still loves going to the Panto with us, and we’ve just gained a new nephew less than a year old… I think my Christmas celebrations are safe for years to come!

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A Festival of Christmas Trees.

A Festival of Christmas Trees.

Christmas! That most wonderful time of year! The holidays start early here on Nantucket Island, with our annual Christmas stroll celebrated on the first weekend of December. To get us all in the mood, and start the season off with the right festive bang, we have the Nantucket Historical Association’s magical Festival of Trees. Now in its 20th year, the Festival presents over 90 Christmas trees designed and decorated by a wide variety of people and organizations from our community, nestled and overflowing throughout our historic Whaling Museum. Holiday magic indeed!

The Antiques Depot's "Magic of Christmas", NHA Festival of Trees 2009.

The Antiques Depot’s “Magic of Christmas”, NHA Festival of Trees 2009.

I am completely crazy about Christmas Trees (it’s a German thing), so of course I am a huge fan of this festival … in fact my wife and I Chaired the event for the last two years and remain on the committee. The Antiques Depot has been putting up a tree in the museum for about ten years now, each one telling a specific tale. Of course Christmas trees weren’t always this expansive… not even in my family where we used to put up seven different trees… and more decorated outside!

Christmas trees began rather simply, as far as we can tell, long before Christmas itself. No one appreciates nature and greenery like the pagans: the ancient Romans used evergreen boughs to decorate their temples during the feast of Saturnalia; the druids worshiped under oak trees and favored mistletoe; and the Germanic tribes and Scandinavians brought pine and fir branches and trees into their homes for a little life during the winter solstice.

The Antiques Depot at Christmas Time.

The Antiques Depot at Christmas Time.

During the Middle Ages clergymen, and later traveling bands of minstrels, performed Mystery or Miracle Plays to illustrate simple tales from the Bible: those telling about Adam and Eve, their fall from grace, and the promise of a coming savior became associated with Advent. In Germany and France these plays often employed a Paradise Tree decorated with apples, and perhaps holy wafers. In fact the first documented use of a tree at Christmas and New Year celebrations was around 1510 in the far northern Germanic territory around Riga or Tallinn. This was most likely a Paradise Tree rather than a proper Christmas Tree, and after a ceremony it was burnt (like a forerunner of a Yule Log). By the end of the century Germans were parading a festive tree through the streets, often followed by a man on horseback dressed a bishop… good old St. Nicholas we presume.

Steel engraving of Martin Luther's Christmas Tree, from Sartain's Magazine, circa 1860

Steel engraving of Martin Luther’s Christmas Tree, from Sartain’s Magazine, circa 1860

The first proper Christmas Tree, where a fir was brought inside a house and lit with candles, we attribute to Martin Luther in the mid 16th Century, who was said to have likened the tree to the heavenly sky from whence the Christ Child came down to earth on Christmas Eve. Germans love a party, and Luther’s simple tree soon came to be decorated with gold covered apples, sugared plums, cherries and pears, nuts, dates, pretzels, paper flowers, gingerbread figures and dough fashioned into the likeness of various animals. Atop the early trees were at first a Christ Child, and in time the angel which brought forth good tidings, or the star which led the Wise men. And once the glass makers got involved, we were well and truly off and running!

Woodblock Engraving of "The Christmas Tree" by Winslow Homer, from Harper's Weekly, 1858

Woodblock Engraving of “The Christmas Tree” by Winslow Homer, from Harper’s Weekly, 1858.

Christmas trees (even Christmas in general) had a rough time taking route in America. The Protestant establishment throughout the colonies had a grim view of Christmas, and the Puritans banned the holiday outright in New England. Hessian soldiers are believed to have celebrated with Christmas trees during the American Revolutionary War, and certainly German immigrants brought the custom with them to Pennsylvania, Ohio, and wherever else they settled. But the custom spread slowly. Even by the mid 19th Century America still wasn’t in the Christmas spirit: schools stayed open on Christmas Day, and ministers wouldn’t allow any such “pagan” trappings within their churches.

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert's Christmas Tree

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert’s Christmas Tree.

The Christmas Tree didn’t become popular in Great Britain until Queen Victoria’s German husband Prince Albert decorated a Christmas Tree in Windsor Castle.A drawing of the event published in the Illustrated London News in 1848, and republished in Godey’s Lady’s Book in 1850 (with the Queen’s crown and the Prince’s mustache removed to appear more “American”) went a long way in popularizing Christmas Trees in both the UK and the US. When a generous dash of Dickens was added to the punch… well, Christmas was here to stay.

Christmas Trees are now every-where, even in households that don’t celebrate Christmas.  Artificial trees have come to rival natural trees in popularity and over the last century their ornamentation has continued to evolve, reflecting the times in which they live. And there is perhaps no better place to see this in all its wonder and glory, than in the Festival of Trees on Nantucket.

The Night After Christmas (Festival of Trees 2010)

The Night After Christmas (Festival of Trees 2010)

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Netsuke.

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  • Know Your Netsuke. ivory netsukeEveryone is intrigued by netsuke. Year after year people come through my shop and ask about them… as well they should! Netsuke are endlessly fascinating, beguiling even, and so extremely collectible.What are those clever little carved ivory sculptures? What were they used for? Where are they from? Are they always made of ivory?

First things first: netsuke is pronounced “net-skeh”, perhaps with just a hint of “net-skee”. The Japanese word comes from the characters “root” and “to attach” and is best defined as a toggle,used as a clothing accessory. Japanese kimono and kosode (a shorter and looser fitting kimono for everyday use) have no pockets; any personal objects like money, medicines, pipes and tobacco, had to be carried in sagemono (small containers) which were hung from the obi (sash) on cords that were prevented from sliding out from under the obi by the carved toggle or button-like netsuke fastened at the end.

Illustration of a netsuke in use: the sagemono is suspended from a netsuke which is caught on the top edge of the obi.

Illustration of a netsuke in use: the sagemono is suspended from a netsuke which is caught on the top edge of the obi.


Lacquered Inro

Lacquered Inro – a highly prized type of sagemono with a series of compartments for carrying small objects

History:Netsukes were exclusively Japanese. Their greatest period of production and popularity was during the Edo Period when Japan was unified under the feudal shogun from 1603 to 1868. Like all great folk art from around the world, these utilitarian objects came to imbue great artistry and craftsmanship, and their infinitely varied design reflected every aspect of Japanese culture, history and folklore. The form of netsuke is limited only by the skilled artist’s imagination. All these factors of age, scarcity, quality, particular artist, style or form, cultural significance and reference, add to making netsuke so desirable to collectors. The fact that they are so small (most are only one to two inches across), and available at so many different price levels, make netsuke the perfect collectible antique. We think netsuke are endlessly fascinating, and try to always have a few choice pieces in stock at the Antiques Depot nantucketantiquesdepot.com

Types: Netsukes were made in several broad categories. The most common and popular type is the Katabori or sculptural netsuke depicting three-dimensional figures.

Very old Bone Shishi or Fu Dog netsuke

Very old Bone Shishi or Fu Dog Katabori netsuke

Next in popularity are Men netsuke, miniature carved masks from kabuki and noh theatre. Sashi netsuke are in the form of long and slender sticks, and Anabori are hollowed out objects such as puzzle balls or clam shells with intricate interiors.

Very old ivory Sashi netsuke

Very old ivory Sashi netsuke

Manju are flattened ovoid “stones”, sometimes made in two pieces, and the related Ryusa are carved and pierced like lace (similar to the puzzle balls).

Manju netsuke

Manju netsuke

Ryusa netsuke

Dragonfly Manju Ryusa netsuke

Most clever are the Karakuri or trick netsuke which include moving parts or hidden surprises. The carving is often enhanced with engraving and variously colored pigments, and more rarely inlay with metals or precious materials.

It is the wonderful, clever and evocative subjects that make netsuke so appealing. Japan during the Edo period was adamantly isolated from the outside world, so its culture evolved in a spectacularly unique fashion. As a consequence netsuke provide an intimate reflection upon Japanese life and lore of the time. The artistic expressions give us a glimpse into their domestic life and objects, trades, professions, crafts, food, religion, folklore, and types of people and creatures, both real and imagined. It is fascinating to observe how the chosen subject matter changes from early in the period when Japanese culture was largely influenced by the Chinese, to later in the period when indigenous Japanese motifs prevail.

Materials: The most popular material for crafting netsuke during the Edo and early Meiji periods was elephant ivory. Unfortunately this proclivity continued through the 20th Century, and many modern reproductions were made in the illegal Hong Kong ivory craft shops even while elephants were being poached below endangered levels. This trade in contraband netsuke has been curtailed to a great extent, but still continues and a collector must be very careful. It is best to seek guidance from established and reputable dealers to judge age and authenticity. It is fortunate (in many ways) that the modern tourist and casual collector trade now relies upon legal bone and fossilized ivory.

The second most popular material used for crafting netsuke is boxwood. This evergreen tree, along with other hardwoods with beautiful grain and warm color, remains popular even among contemporary carvers and collectors. Other less common materials included lacquer, earthenware, woven cane, tagua nuts, walnuts, bamboo, antler, amber, walrus tusk, whale teeth, wild boar tusk, hippopotamus teeth, rhinoceros horn, coral, jet, agate and the extremely rare hornbill “ivory”.

Boxwood netsuke

Boxwood Buddha netsuke

Tagua Nut Dragon netsuke

Tagua Nut Dragon netsuke

As netsuke increased in popularity during the Edo period, the level of artistry rose to breathtaking heights, and the work of particular artists became especially appreciated and sought. Many netsuke are signed, which always adds interest and value to a piece. Changing fashions in the mid-19th Century led to the declining use and eventual disappearance of netsuke, just as the West was becoming aware of these fascinating objects. Interest among Orientalists and art collectors increased and scholarship became vigorous by the 1920s, allowing greater connoisseurship among curators and collectors in the West.

Tobacco pouch with netsuke

Tobacco pouch with netsuke

Although netsuke disappeared from Japanese life, a small number of specialist artists continued their work up to the mid-20th Century. Surprisingly these modern artists catered mostly to Western enthusiasts. Collecting interest in the West has continued and even grown in more recent times, leading to ever higher prices for antique netsuke. There has also been a slight revival of serious artistry in Japan (as opposed to the chop shops of Hong Kong). Netsuke curiously remain fairly unknown to most modern Japanese, although awareness and interest is starting to grow.

Very old bone netsuke

Very old Bone Rat netsuke

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Antiques Depot 2013 Writing Contest Winner (Age 6 to 12)

The second annual “Antiques Depot Writing Contest… with an Antiques Twist” was a great success. We are amazed at the many terrific stories that were submitted by our young authors. Here is this year’s winning story in the Under Twelve age group, submitted by Sophie Manning, age eleven, who was inspired by a very unusual Victorian whimsey: A Pair of Lady’s Gloves Compressed inside a Walnut Shell. Incidentally, Sophie wasn’t tempted by modern electronic gadgetry (an ereader), and instead chose the Walnut Shell and gloves for her prize.

The Manning sisters searching the Antiques Depot for their inspiration.

The Manning sisters searching the Antiques Depot for their inspiration.

In a Nutshell

By Sophie Manning

Mrs. Diana Coe

    I shiver as I stand on the deck of the RMS Queen Mary, leaning over the rail. It’s especially cold for March, but the sea spray feels good on my face. Suddenly, I’m aware that I’m completely alone on the rocking deck; no one else had dared to venture outside on such a cold day as this. I wonder where my son is. He’s supposed to be my escort, but so far, I’ve only glimpsed him once or twice, much less actually had him escort me anywhere! It’s not considered proper for a lady to be venturing outside her quarters alone on a ship of this size, but what choice do I have when my husband is home in London, and Thomas is nowhere in  sight. Besides, I get terribly seasick in my room with no cool air circulating. My cousin Victoria had been the one to suggest travelling to France to attend a piano recital performed by Franz Liszt, a popular composer in Europe. She said that I simply must see him in Paris (even though he is coming to perform in England in a short while), because it is supposed to be his best recital yet. So, after much coaxing, I had to agree.

    Originally, it was supposed to be my husband and I voyaging to France together, but, two days before the time of departure, a very important business opportunity came up that he couldn’t ignore. All of my close relatives live nearby each other in London, save my sister, her daughter and her late husband, who died recently of a terrible sickness. They now live on a faraway island called Nantucket to  which they have just moved barely a year before now.   It  would be impossible for me to cancel my voyage without causing uproar among my family, who are all incredibly excited to hear about the performance.

    Sighing, I head back inside, knowing that I have to get ready for the luncheon with the family with the cabin next to ours. We are to meet them in the Grand Dining room in an hours time.  As I walked back to my room, I wonder if the recital will be worth all this.

    It is just after we finish eating when we hear the foghorn signifying that we have arrived at last. Bidding goodbye to the kind family, Thomas brings me back to our cabin to change into my traveling clothes and to pack my trunks. I’m more than anxious to get off the ship, (even though it’s one of the finest in the world), so I hurry  onto the deck to watch it pull in with the others. An automobile is waiting for us just outside the harbor gates, and we soon find our luggage. Before long, we’re driving to our hotel.

    As much as Thomas is trying to make today as enjoyable as possible, so far the word I would use to describe it is: Hectic.  It’s taking us longer than seems necessary to find our seats because the hall is so crowded and noisy, but when Liszt sits down at the elegant, black piano, the silence is complete. Sound seems to almost flow from his fingers as he performs his compositions one after another. He easily keeps the attention on him as he plays with such movement and feeling that clearly nobody could tear their eyes away from. He plays a series of songs that I later find out are called: “Robert le Diable.”

    “Oh cousin Victoria, you were right to make me come,” I silently think. My only worry is that I won’t ever be able to describe it accurately  to my family back home.

    After an hour, the performance ends and the audience rises for a standing ovation, Thomas and I included. But before long the crowd begins to get rowdy, pushing their way up closer towards the stage, and almost trying to pull Liszt off it! And that’s when Thomas decides it’s a good time to leave.

    Back on the streets, it’s only mildly busy, which I’m sure is normal for Paris. I decide that it’s the perfect time to purchase souvenirs for some of my closest relatives. Thomas leads me to a small, and frankly very dusty souvenir shop that he had spotted on the way to the hotel. Almost as soon as we enter the store, Thomas disappears into the back in search of some cigars, while I browse around the entrance.

    It doesn’t take long for me to find a gift for cousin Victoria. She absolutely adores the opera, and really any other recital or show there is, so I buy her a beautiful pair of mother of pearl opera glasses.  For my girls, I get two matching blue silk hair ribbons that are the exact color of their eyes. As for my husband, I’d put Thomas in charge of finding that gift.

    I’m intrigued by all the other merchandise as well, so I decide to just look around before we leave. I walk along rows and rows of brown shelves, my eyes skimming all the objects there. Books, hair bonnets, jewelry boxes, paintings of Paris, walnut shells… Walnut shells? I look closer, my curiosity piqued Something was folded and stuffed into them! I practically jog to the man standing behind his desk, and hold them out in front in front of me. “What are they, sir?” I ask, pushing them towards him. “Ah, yes.” He says, taking off his spectacles. He takes  one from me gently. “They’re white leather lady’s gloves, folded so tiny that they may be stuffed into a walnut shell,” he answers, examining them carefully. “I could’ve taken them out for display, but they were so I interesting that I couldn’t resist keeping them like this.” He looked up at me. “Would you like to buy them?” he asks. Suddenly I remember my poor niece. Living on a remote island with nobody but her mother to keep her company, her father (and my brother in law) dead and the rest of her family in London. I imagine how much joy she would find in taking out the little gloves and marveling over who could possibly fold them so tiny. And I hear myself reply: “Yes, I’ll take them.” I would send them to my tragic little niece.

A Whimsical Victorian Souvenier: A Pair of Lady's Gloves Compressed into a Beribboned Walnut Shell case.

A Whimsical Victorian Souvenier: A Pair of Lady’s Gloves Compressed into a Beribboned Walnut Shell case.

Elizabeth Coe

    I’m in the middle of chopping up a bluefish when my mother steps into in fish shop, holding a letter in her hand. Without speaking, she hands it to me. I haven’t seen a letter so fine since we’d moved to Nantucket. It is on thick, beige paper with elegant cursive writing addressed to me. I stare at the D  engraved on the crimson seal; it is  big with lots of curlicues, Aunt Diana’s seal. “Oh, yes,” my mother says quietly, “this came with the letter.” She hands me a small package. I place it on the clean part of the counter and slide open the envelope with a butter knife. But then I notice my hands. They’re covered in fish blood and scales; my fingernails are caked with dirt. Feeling  ashamed, I move to the sink and rinse my hands. After drying them with a loose dishtowel, I go back to the letter:

My Darling Niece, Elizabeth,

I have recently visited Paris to attend a wonderful performance by Franz Liszt.

In my travels, I couldn’t help but think of you. Nearly all alone in a strange island, your father deceased and your mother devastated. And when I saw these nutshells containing tiny lady’s gloves, I knew how much it would mean to you to have a new pair of leather gloves all the way from France. To remind you that you’ll always be a British young lady at heart.

Your loving Aunt,

Diana Coe

Reading the letter, I feel a sudden pang of sadness deep in my chest, in one way, I don’t  want to open the package, for fear that it would hurt me too much to remember how things used to be. But in another, I am incredibly curious. My curiosity  wins over and I rip off the packaging eagerly, looking up every so often to make sure that the owner of the shop isn’t paying attention. Inside, as promised on the letter, are two  hard halves of a walnut shell tied together with  a piece  of blue ribbon. Each one is stuffed with some kind of white cloth (according to the letter, the gloves) with a piece of tissue paper covering each one. Eagerly, I pry one glove out of a shell and hold it up to the light to examine it. It looks so much like those  I used to wear in London: Same clean white leather, same slight, slim finger slots and even the same seam running from the heel of the hand to the palm. I used to wear gloves to parties and teas, and  I never dreamed that I would be wearing one  like it on in a dirty fish shop in downtown Nantucket.

Everything had seemed to be getting better here, I made a few friends, attended ladies’ meetings, and went shopping  for gowns.  It  was almost like home, and then my father died. It all happened so fast that for a while I thought I had dreamed it all. He went to work in his bank one morning, kissing me on the forehead and promising to be home for luncheon. He never did come back. I remember the butler opening the door for  one of father’s co-workers and frantically  calling mother to greet him. I later found out that the man had been calling about my father.  Father had keeled over dead of a heart attack after he  received the news of an enormous financial crash that had just occurred almost everywhere, including Nantucket.  The possibility of a financial ruin had been a shock to all of the bankers,  but Father  had probably been  the first on the island to hear of  the crash, so therefore it was all the more severe. Mother had always said that he was too worried about his money, and that one day it would be the death of him.  I can hardly bear to think of how right she had been.They brought his body in later that day, the financial forecast for the island still in his grasp.

As soon as she received the tragic news,  Mother had crumpled to a heap at his feet, screaming and sobbing and beating the floor with her fists until she was too exhausted to move any longer. Nobody knew what to do, all the staff just stood there, frozen with the shock of the news until I finally  pulled my mother into a standing position and gently guided her into her bedchamber. Then, unable to hold my grief in any longer,I  ran sobbing into my own room to mourn in peace. My sadness was somehow more reserved and ladylike than my mother’s, although she had always been the lady of the family. I simply had cried until I had no more tears to shed, and then put away every object that was my father’s, every memory that could trigger that pain again.  

     Unlike my mother, I  wanted to continue living, to  at least try to make somethings like they were before. But since then, mother has been living in a trance, flitting from room to room without any real purpose,  seldom talking and softly when she does. I once walked into her room at night to check on her, and she was curled up on the bed, clutching one of my father’s old dress shirts and mumbling “why, why, why” over and over again until morning. It seemed as if our places in the family were reversed. I cared for her and gently prompted her just as she had done when I was younger. And she just lay there and let me feed and cleanse her as if she was a still a small  baby. Life was terrible as it was, and then the money ran out.

    I suppose I should have known even before mother told me. A  window broke and was never fixed.  The  maids left.  But  I’d honestly never thought about it before. After all, I had more things on my mind. One night during  the meager dinner I had managed to prepare, she told me that all the money in our savings had run out and that we were moving into a smaller and cheaper house that we could afford. And even worse, I,  once  a British lady, was going to work in a fish shop.

    I never needed to ask her why we couldn’t just write to our wealthy family and borrow some money or move back to England until we could get back on our feet. I guess that I already knew the answer. In lots of ways, foolish, impractical ways actually, I am much like my mother:  we’re  both very proud. We would rather work for every scrap of food we get and live in a very non-sanitary home than beg off money from our relative We would hate if people thought that now the man of the family is gone, we are unable to support and take care of ourselves.

Putting my gloved hand on the counter to admire it, I marvel at how someone could have fit a glove this size into a shell as small as this. It seems impossible! And then all of a sudden I remember that I need to sell this for the family. It would be far too cruel to allow my mother to work herself ragged to keep the house for us while I had something in the pocket of my apron that would pay for at least several month’s rent. At once, I hurriedly stuff the glove back into it’s shell. And grabbing my worn shawl off the hook, I run out into the street in search of the curiosity shop where I could pawn it.

When I arrive, it’s hard to fight back the memories that spring up. My father and I used to come here, merely for pleasure. To investigate the new treasures that had arrived. But I try to put on a neutral face, and stride purposefully toward the front desk. Then, my heart sinking, I place my gift on the counter, and except the money that is handed to me.

Mrs. Dorothea Coe

I know that Elizabeth doesn’t like me to hover over her, but when I heard my daughter gasp with amazement, I just had to see what had been in that package. I suppose that I should have known Diana would give her something like that. So lavish and impractical. It’s just like her to have expensive taste. Deep down I knew that Elizabeth would never dare keep such a gift in secret. But  I admit that for a moment I almost expected her to slip the package into her pocket and continue with her work as  if nothing had happened. When she left the shop, clearly in search of somewhere to pawn it by the expression on her face, I felt a sense of pride that she was so mature. It is something she’d never have done before my beloved husband died. She was too spoiled then, too silly and frivolous. And then I did something I’d never done  before: I followed her.

    Peering through the window of the curiosity shop, I could see the regret she was feeling at having to give up her gift,  I felt a certain regret myself. Regret that I wasn’t there for her all those months I was depressed. Regret that I hadn’t been there for her grief, but that she had been there for mine. Regret that I had been no more useful than a lifeless corpse after my husband’s heart attack. Guilt floods through me. So as my daughter  leaves the shop, I hide in a nearby alley, I knew one way that  I could make it up to her.

    I wait until she is out of sight to sneak into the curiosity store. Heart thumping, I walk swiftly to the counter. “The shelled gloves, please, the ones the girl just brought in,” I say, laying my month’s wages on the desk before the shop keeper. “Of course, here they are,” he agrees and sweeps the money off the counter, while I reach for the walnut shells. I know that we will suffer for the loss of that money, but we’ll survive, I had to make this right.

    Back in the fish shop, I hurry behind the counter where my daughter stands wiping up the mess on the floor, her face filled with disappointment. I don’t waste any time. Kneeling next to her on the floor, I pull her face up to mine. “I brought you something,” I say softly. She stares at me “What?” she asks eagerly. I pull out the walnut halves. Her face lights up. “But I pawned them!” she says, confused. “We need the money.”  “Not as much as I need you,” I answer. “You took care of me all those weeks,  it’s my turn now.” And for the first time in three months, I pull her to me for a hug.

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Visit www.nantucketchronicle.com/ , your free online resource for everything Nantucket. By Nantucketers, for Nantucketers.

 ______________________________________________________________________________

Please excuse any annoying advertisements that may appear below this. The intrusion is on the part of the hosting site, and is in no way endorsed by the Antiques Depot.

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