As the inundation of artificial imaging finalizes the mass production of industrial influence on design, there are those who yearn for the individual, the bespoke, the rare. Given the beleaguered economic circumstances of many, that desire might be as modest as a want of a bit of cheer, something to brighten the soul-deafening and ubiquitous Greige that speaks not of neutrality, but oppression. While some cultural sensitives might look to the runways, to the pantone color choices, to the design awards for their aesthetic inspirations, there’s an ouroboros aspect to these products that reflects an almost morbid sense of disassociation, a dreariness that might have luxury retailers posting despair. Obviously, if big box shoppers want plastic handbags that imitate a historic, heirloom design—that, in original, costs as much as a used car—then many people feel the hunger to own something nice.
Collections of nice things are the bread and butter of museums and auction houses, and of estate sales. Of these, a prosaic errand trip is more likely to stop at the estate sale, or its cousin, the sidewalk sale; though there are craftspeople who will set up at empty corner lots, local sales events and various outdoor markets. Any vista of such a gathering will yield a sharp view into that region’s economy—as if the colonization of dollar stores weren’t clue enough. Nonetheless, someone in perpetual sticker shock at the grocers isn’t exempt for also wanting a bit of cheer, but how that is accomplished requires an awareness of how each of us relates to a concept of home. Yet some people do cherish where they live. Whether or not they have elaborate or modest residencies, whether or not they host guests, there are those for whom their home is a cherished retreat. What bit of cheer feathers such nests?
In a series of telephone interviews, casual and conducted during the first week of February this calendar year, I made some inquiries into what people like to have about themselves, what they chose for their personal environments. Seeing a dedicated personal collection in a private residence is a profoundly intimate viewing. In the case of Marcus, the work had a room of its own (then) and was also fair enough visible throughout an ordinary apartment. Of his collection, Marcus says that he started collecting in earnest “at about 28” when he was working “mostly as a limousine chauffeur”, a reality that ought to dispel any notion of a dedicated collector being an economic elite. He says his collection was:
…quite specific: folk art, tramp art, Mexican ceremonial masks [with an active collection] for 15 years. Most of the tramp art has been sold, with maybe 4-5 pieces remaining, but there are still the masks, about 200 masks. There were two exhibitions of the collections, one at Carl Hammer gallery, and the other at Courtland Leyton of tramp art and voodoo art that sold pieces and educated people…Tramp Art started as a folk art. During the Civil War, wood carvers from Germany picked up discarded cigar boxes and discarded materials to carve and trade for room and board. It’s not well recorded, as they were itinerant workers, but there were clubs in the Great Depression. It’s one of the longest periods of artwork in history.
Although Marcus says that he “hasn’t purchased, I am looking to move pieces out”, he still describes his relationship with the pieces as being “fascinated by it”. Having lived with art in his personal surroundings his adult life, he says that he “felt that it [the art] gave him a sense of connection to people I wouldn’t necessarily meet, but to see the beauty they created. Art gives you a sense that there’s more to life than eating hamburgers and going to work”.
The term collector itself may be a bit fraught for some people. Robert, known only as a cyber buddy, posts about estate sale visits and agreed to a first-contact telephone conversation. He says of the objects he acquires: “It chooses me,” and that his selection process involves “finding things where they shouldn’t be”. Robert also spoke of growing up with art: “My dad was an artist…Art is stuff your parents’ friends make. Then I got into literature…books became what friends wrote.” However, of the objects he acquires, he says:
I am protective of the past. I have a sense of saving these artifacts. As some people rescue dogs, I rescue old books…there are artists who are really good, who no one cares about…my impulse is these beautiful things that need appreciation, preservation.
However, Robert doesn’t consider himself a collector. After our conversation, Robert posted his further thoughts about collecting:
Collecting is a more deliberate, more rational form of insanity than is mine…Me, I’m an accumulator, not a collector—I go by intuitive feel and by keeping my eyes open for things that aren’t where they’re supposed to be. It feels like the things I love…cry out to me like rescue animals in need of an appreciative home…I’m no kind of collector at all: I’m just here to marvel at the gifts of the gods. I like to keep them close.
Following this post were two about recently acquired bronzes, one being a Hindu votive figure of a riderless equid, and while Robert might not see himself as a collector semantically, his have been the only posts in recent memory about acquired bronzes, 19th century pencil drawings and other, much welcomed views of aesthetically sensual delights.
While private collections may stay relatively intimate in view, Sean turned his collecting motivation into a small business as well; anyone who even cyber-meets Sean will soon discover that he loves Christmas. Sean spends some three months every year staging the elaborate, exterior and interior, folk-art displays that are culturally known as Decorating For Christmas. His clients often have multiple interior trees, and a discretely hidden array of extension cords for display lights. He cites his collection as having begun when he was “in my 20s, when I got my own place”, cites his mother, who “was into ornaments” as inspiration, and says “Christmas never stopped, in 36 years.” Sean does more than collect Christmas decorations, although his collection “has grown from one tree to six trees”, he also “likes to buy nice pictures”. Stating that he began buying art “about 30 years ago” after he “settled down”, he says that he has “a love of art in general. I like to have pieces that make a statement of some sort, that are unique”. While both Sean and Robert can trace their interest in collecting to formative experiences, to having “the paintings of my mother’s”, as Sean says, his is not the investment interest specifically that Robert attributes to serious collectors; both gentlemen seem motivated far more for the bit of cheer at home.
However, as estate sales and even Sotheby’s can attest, collections eventually require dispersal. Terri is Michael’s widow, and Michael collected “Books, art, shells he bought…when he was traveling, from artist friends…20 years of family stuff.” Michael has an:
…archive in special collections because he wrote, collaborated with other poets…there are cassettes and videos of readings, his own artwork and books…Some of these are valuable things, signed and numbered, beautiful things.
But it is Terri who must decide “what do I do” with this extensive, private archive; and in most cases, it is the survivors of the collector who must make such choices—the family heirlooms that “may mean nothing to them”. In the case of an artist who has yet to find academic or cultural appreciation, such decisions can have effects on any later recognition, of “the work being out there, being seen and enjoyed” as Terri tried to do with her husband’s extensive, alternative scene collection.
As we face shifting economic and social realities, many people are finding comfort in a more private life, and a sense of despair at the mechanized bromides of décor most prosaically offered. Of course, this aesthetic despair is utterly unnecessary, and any resale shop might have some hidden antique that’s personally resonant. Of course, your mysterious garage sale or craft corner has the potential to offer an artifact of personal resonance, and there’s the boon of small and local economics. And of course, there are artists and makers of all sorts awaiting cyber-discovery, offering the beautiful and unique, the odd and handmade, the historic heirloom that is now yours.
* * *
If you enjoyed this analysis of folk art collecting, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Recent episodes include a discussion of Benjamin Studebaker’s book on legitimation in liberal democracies, an analysis of Kamala Harris’s 2024 predicament, and a comprehensive look at art theory with critic Erik Hill.
More from Su Zi: In Consideration of Color: the Paintings of Sara Carter, Ultimate Marginalization: “Pills and Jacksonvilles” by Jillian Weise, A Deaf Girl Listens To Snoop Dogg’s “Missionary” (2024)