In general, a collector needs what I may be pardoned for calling the Collector’s Eye. To illustrate my meaning: How many of my readers have not at some time missed an heirloom, or other treasured object that has simply disappeared? We all have these losses. The missing object has, most probably (as we say), just been “thrown out.” The true Collector’s Eye is ever busy in those places or receptacles where things are “thrown out.” Of course, most of one’s discoveries made in this manner consist of portions, rather than of entire objects of vertu; nevertheless, I have thus picked up many of my best things.
But the true Collector’s Eye is never at rest. Take an old gate in a fence, or a dilapidated building of any sort: the ordinary gaze may pass over these surfaces with mere ennui, but many of my best old hinges, latches, etc., have been wrenched from such environments, merely in passing, as it were. The Collector’s Eye will note the very fall of a fine old bit of blacksmithing from some careless horse. No doubt the uninitiated critic will cry “Fie!” upon this. “What? Are there collectors who collect horseshoes?” And may I ask: “Why not, indeed?” Aside from the intrinsic value latent in any fine old bit of iron, no true quoit-player would miss an opportunity to make a contribution to the beautifying and decoration of his home club. And let me whisper in the ear of the Philistine skeptic for his better information: Is he aware that in the finest Louis XV vitrine in the palace of Prince Oscar Schofield, at Zorn, under glass and reposing upon delicate shagreen velours, is the gilded shoe of the steed of Balaam? If no collector had picked it up, would it be there?
But I would impress upon the beginner: he must not be content with merely picking up things. He must, indeed, pick up what he can, wherever there is a fair opportunity; but I should not stand where I do to-day among collectors, had I stopped with merely “picking up” things. True, I have picked up many and many’s the good thing; but my BEST things were not obtained in this way.
I was quite a young man when I began collecting, taking with me a sack, and sometimes a wheelbarrow also, for this purpose, on my daily rambles. One day it struck me that a splendid old Colonial house, which I had often passed, must contain many lovely, quaint old things that would be charming for a person of taste to number among his curios. There was a “To Let” sign upon the house, and I confess that the thought of the difficulties in my way dismayed me. To seek out the agent, to obtain from him the name and location of the owner of the house, who might prove to be, perhaps, a resident of some distant city difficult of access—to do all this and then bargain and bicker with the owner (in case I reached him), to chaffer over prices, and in the end, very likely, to find him obdurately avaricious: what was the use? Seldom have I been more discouraged; but I think I may have mentioned that I am a collector. To the real collector, discouragement is never despair.
After thinking the matter over, I decided to go about it in the straightforward, manly way, instead of adopting the roundabout and involved means I have just sketched. There was the house; the frank thing was simply to go in and see whether or not it contained the treasures that the noble old classic façade seemed to suggest. And this was the course I sensibly determined to follow.
Owing to certain technical difficulties, I was obliged to make my visit after dusk had fallen, and then only by the inadequate illumination of a small, patented electric lamp; nevertheless, even so hasty and umbrous (if I may use the word) an examination of the contents of the place as I was able to make proved disappointing. The house had been fitted up for tenancy, not for the owner to live in, and the collecting of scarce an object in the whole interior paid for the expense of removing it in a small hired vehicle.
However, all houses are not alike; not even all unoccupied ones, and it should be emphasized that in this first experience of mine I overlooked something of importance. Many a time, afterward, in examining rental properties and residences offered for sale, I have recalled with a mournful smile that first omission; and seldom indeed has my patient search gone unrewarded by beautifully patined sections of brass or copper, perhaps, and some fine old bit of plumbing.
Let me say again, the Collector’s Eye overlooks nothing, and the great point is, not to follow the fad, but to anticipate it. There is not a single class of antiques that I did not collect long before the amateurs began to “pay prices” for such things, and I am now principally engaged in collecting the antiques of the future. I know better than anybody else what the priceless old things of the future will be, because I have formed the habit of picking them up at the time when they are thrown out.
Now, let me add just one word upon a bit of old textile now in my possession. I have hanging upon my wall a superb bit of old Kuppenheimer weaving. People say to me: “How in the world did you ever find a piece of that color? We have specimens of Kuppenheimer, but ours are not like THAT! How DID you obtain it?”