Collection and renovation

I am not a collector. I have some valuable antique pieces that I paid a fortune for, but I use them in various projects alongside things that I have made or upcycled. Sometimes just one antique object in a room creates the whole atmosphere.

I am glad that I am not a collector, because I know myself well, and if I start collecting seriously, I will get stuck and spend all my money and have no peace of mind until I have collected whatever I am collecting. For instance, I have collected all House of Miniatures kits (except one that is very rare and therefore ridiculously expensive when it turns up on ebay; I have only seen it twice). I now have many duplicates, but I am no longer maniacal about having them all. Besides, if I were a collector, I would keep them in unopened sealed boxes. Instead, I build them and use them in my projects.

With my recent purchase, I am venturing into the dangerous path of collecting. A piece such as a Triang dollhouse is valuable - both in monetary sense and as a cultural artifact - because it is old and shabby and authentic.With many of my previous projects, I gave no thought to possible cultural value of my pieces because there wasn't any. I upcycled my Tudor house, adding both exterior and interior details, replacing a plain wooden fireplace with an intricate inglenook, and more. With my retro house, I saved it from ruins and felt free to do whatever I wanted with it. With Helen Hall, I turned a plastic horror into a lovely house that the former owner wanted back. And of course I have built Womble Hall from scratch, and although I aspire to be period-correct, I am not damaging anything old.

It will be different with Triang. It's tempting to paint it, replace worn-out wallpaper and flooring. But it would be profoundly wrong. I fell for it because it was old and authentic, and it would be a sacrilege to subject it to a makeover. But what about a gentle restoration? They do restore paintings and other objects in museums. They are going to rebuild Notre-Dame! So if my ambition is to restore the house to its original shape (rather than renovate it in a 21st-century style) then I believe it's justifiable. For instance, there are beams missing on the timber-framed gables. I only noticed it when I brought the house home and inspected it (might have been a negotiating point with the shop owner).

 

Now, a collector would probably say: the missing beams add to the authenticity and value of the item. But I am not a collector, and I want my house to look if not new, but well taken care of. It's easy to make timber-frame beams, although it took me some time to match the colour. One day when I am gone and my children get rid of the house, a collector would say: What kind of idiot replaced these beams! But until then, I will look at my house and feel happy.



There are more details to repair and replace, so come back soon.

The true story of a Triang house

 If you have followed my blog you know that I recently had to downsize from a large house to a small rented flat. All my dollhouses and most of my supplies are in storage until I find a new place to live. Until then, a new dollhouse is the last thing I need. And yet this is exactly what I have just purchased.

I was on a walking holiday in Penzance, Cornwall, and in the first afternoon my friend and I were strolling around in pouring rain, looking into antique shops. In one of them, I asked casually: "You don't seem to have any dollhouse stuff..." They said: "No, no stuff, but we have a dollhouse, with stuff". And then I saw it. And fell in love.

I cannot say that I have always wanted a Triang, but they are among my favourites in the Museum of Childhood, because they are both modern and traditional. Some time ago, knowing that I would be leaving the UK soon, I thought that I should consider buying dollhouse stuff that would be hard to get elsewhere. There is of course ebay and other online outlets, but shipping becomes prohibitive. Anyway, it was just a thought, and it wasn't specifically about Triang. Or maybe it was. But I don't think I would have bought a Triang on ebay, although there are plenty. It's different when you have the object of your desire right in front of you.

However, we had two days of walking, and nine hours of return train journey with two changes, so buying a dollhouse to transport from Penzance to Cambridge didn't seem a good idea at all. Yet all the time while I was climbing up and down Cornwall coast path, the Triang was calling to me. I knew it would haunt me until the end of my days. I had no idea what the shop would want for it, and it was total madness, just forget it.

That evening, I went to ebay on my phone and looked what Triangs were sold for. If my friend agreed to go back to that shop, I would inquire about the price, and if it was within reason, I would maybe, mind I said maybe, tentatively consider buying it. During our walk the next day, I said to my friend: "You know, I really want that dollhouse", to which she said, helpfully: "Then I think you should get it". She is not a dollhouse person, but she recognises a passion when she sees it. With two hours before our train home, we went to the shop, and I asked the price, and, satisfied, I asked whether they would be able to pack it so that I could take it on the train. (Yes, I did ask about delivery, but it would probably cost twice the price of the house).

I am sure this kind person will remember me forever. My friend and I went to local Tesco and brought back several cardboard boxes. They weren't large enough, but we cut them and fixed them together with tape, and more tape, and much, much more tape. It wasn't heavy, but bulky. The outdoor equipment store might have luggage wheels, but apparently such a thing isn't in demand any longer, because everyone has wheelie bags. I also thought about a large canvass bag or something, and then the antique dealer said they knew a shop nearby that sold everything, and called and inquired, and yes, they had superlarge laundry bags for two pounds, and we measured the now packed dollhouse, and my friend was an angel and ran to that shop, because our train was leaving soon, and we still had our luggage to collect from our hotel. Luckily, Penzance is not a very large town.

(As a side comment, I have seen people carrying these plastic chequered laundry bags and always tell myself that I would rather die than be seen carrying one). 

We got on the train, and the huge laundry bag fit into the luggage shelf, and then we ran across Paddington station to the underground, and from underground to King's Cross to catch the last train to Cambridge, me carrying this enormous bag and thinking what an utterly crazy thing I had just done, and why didn't my friend stop me. Because if she had said, as she should have, "Don't be silly, you cannot take this dollhouse on the train", I would have agreed. Moreover, I have no space for it in my flat. Although of course I will find space.

Isn't it a beauty?

I did some quick research online, so I now know that it is Triang #62, manufactured in the 1950s. If I had grown up in the UK I would probably have owned one like it. According to the antique dealer, it had only had one owner who will now be my age, if not dead (likely, and her children got rid of it together with other old rubbish from mum's attic). 

It needs some repairs: one window missing, another broken; gable beams missing, and many other small things I discovered on closer inspection. In the coming weeks, or more likely months I will be learning about Triang and about restoring old dollhouses in a gentle way that preserves the original as much as possible. Some furniture came with it, but not all to my liking. I have some perfect objects in storage when I one day can take it back. 

So watch this space - I will report from thoughtful and responsible restoration work and share my new knowledge about this exciting piece. A whole new world is opening in front of me. 

Catching up

I can't believe I haven't blogged for more than a month! Just shows how busy I am, but I haven't been totally lazy. I have built some more Chippendale furniture, and I will show it soon. Moreover, I have been buying Chippendale kits like mad. I am a gambler by nature, which is why I never ever play any games of risk; and I am a bit of a maniac, easily getting obsessed. I have set my mind on collecting all House of Miniature kits. So far I had only been buying bundles of ten or fifteen. They are hardly ever available in Europe, and shipping from the USA is expensive, but if you buy a bundle it isn't that bad. However, when you start getting to less common items they probably won't be part of a bundle. So for the past few weeks I have been hunting and chasing. There are about ninety kits, and I started with about thirty, but now I only need seven more to have a full collection. I also have many duplicates. Some of the rare objects I had luck with and got cheap; some went quite high in bidding, and a couple I missed on. The last bundle is on the way. And you know, I don't feel the least guilty about spending all this money because I have such fun making these objects.

I haven't done a lot on the house. Frankly, haven't done anything, although there is a lot of work left. Somehow, there is no urgency. However, I now have a good reason to go back to the house and possibly do a lot of reconstruction. I was in Stockholm last week and went to my favourite shop, the Golden Angel. It was a bit disappointing because there weren't as many things that I passionately desired as last year, but I picked up a few items, including a lovely Jugend table that doesn't fit into any current project, but was too good to miss. When I had paid and was about to leave, I expressed my regrets that I hadn't found anything nearly as gorgeous as the two chandeliers from last year, to which the lady said: "Wait a minute...", and a minute later I had the most amazing chandelier, even more amazing than my old ones.

Plus a fabulous brass petroleum lamp that was broken so I got it relatively cheap (I will need my son-in-law to solder it), and another ceiling light that for some reason isn't in this picture.

The consequence of this is of course that I will now replace some of the existing chandeliers, which implies removing floors in rooms above... So I am looking forward to a busy summer.

Temptations

I have once again fallen for some antiques, in the same shop in Stockholm as last year. I stood in front of a cabinet that the shop assistant had opened for me, fondling some nice pieces, when a lady next to me said: "If you are interested, I have a whole shop of dollhouse furniture just around the corner". I was surprised because I was sure I didn't know about any dollhouse shop around the corner, or I would have already spent all my money there. I had already made up my mind, and this is what I bought:

I typically buy things I cannot make myself. The dining table is exquisite (and signed, S.R. -97, in case someone can identify the maker), endlessly more elegant than a similar one I have, "made in China". Unfortunately, it has marks after plates that had been glued to it (barbarian!), but I hope I can remove them gently. The white round table is of a kind that always comes handy. I have already put it in my Victorian bedroom. I bought the corner dresser because I once had exacly the same in 1:1 scale. This one is Lundby scale and will probably not go with any of my existing projects, but maybe some time... The rocking chair is sweet, and I may leave it as it is or paint and refurbish. The stove is 1:24 and I may put it in my half-scale kitchen, although what shall I do with the one I made?

The stove created alarm in the airport security check.

Happy with my purchases, I went to the other shop. How could I have missed this shop?

Now, in this magical cave, how can one choose? It's different from shopping from ebay, and it's different from finding one or two nice pieces in a charity shop. I spent at least half an hour there, drooling, to my companion's irritation, and I could have stayed there much longer. I believe the owner of the shop was a bit impressed when I identified some rare (and horrendously expensive) pieces. My companion hadn't a clue.

This is what I bought:

The chair is a genuine, signed Carin Backlund. I have read a lot about her furniture in dollhouse books, but I have never held one in my hand. I couldn't resist it. There were several of them, but one felt extravagant enough. The table is also Carin Backlund. It wasn't as expensive as the chair, but expensive enough. The long-case clock isn't remarkable, but it fits well into my clockmaker's shop. The fancy wardrobe was broken so I got it cheap. But the two mirrors were pricy. My companion wondered whether I would be able to clean the glass. I explained that the whole point was that the glass looked old. I believe both mirrors are old. Really old.

I got a reasonable discount, but I think I must stop buying miniatures for a while. And I should probably increase my home insurance.

Finding the right place, continued

See here for the beginning of this story.

When I had just started playing with miniatures, six years ago, I got terribly excited when I saw all the wonderful things you could buy on ebay. Although I from start was a maker more than a collector, I enthusiastically bought things that I later on would have made myself. Also, I didn't understand then that buying single objects was expensive. Since then I have learned to search for bundles, or mixed lots, or whatever the ebay sellers choose to label them. I guess that, unless selling on ebay is your full-time occupation, it's far too much trouble to set up the auction, administrate the purchases, pack, post, track. Therefore, I believe, people get rid of things they no longer want or things they have inherited, and sometimes they don't know what treasures they are selling and sometimes they do and hope to fetch a good price but have bad luck and have to sell cheap. I check for bundles regularly, and my most recent was this:

Now, in a bundle, there will always be things that you are not particularly interested in and wouldn't buy as a single object, but they almost always come handy. Here are some places where some of the things went:

A row of fake books obviously went into a book case in the Georgian house. They clearly add depth.

The raquets join other sports stuff in a corner of the modern drawing room. You can also see how nicely the dresser I bought in an antique shop last year fits into this interior.

The pair of shoes and the starbucks mug went to the modern bedroom.

 

The flashlight, the Primus and the big brown bags went into the utility room which is just a corner of the modern kitchen. They are joining tools, buckets, wellies and other useful things.

Finally, for this round, the plastic tray with glasses and a sweet little ice-cube form went into the funkis drawing room but it may eventually go somewhere else.

The other things will be useful as well. I am making a wall cabinet for the funkis kitchen, which will of course be filled with stuff. The frying pan can go in, and the kitchen utensils can hang on the wall. Plates are always useful. So do come back soon to see what I have done with the rest of this lot.

Finding the right place

I have several times promised to show what I do with large lots or bundles that I occasionally find on ebay. Such as:

 or:

It's very impressive when you see lots like these, but what happens is that they disperse into various projects, and after a while you don't remember where they come from, and some of them get lost - not literally, but lost among many other small objects. (Sometimes I ask myself how many miniatures I have in my different houses and room boxes: Five thousand? Ten thousand?)

I got a sweet Christmas gift from my daughter: 

I decided that I must take pictures of where these objects found their place. For instance, the tiny Chinese figurine and the sea shell went to the Victorian corridor and the decorative plate to the Victorian drawing room. (This is a good chance to display some details of the house).

I took this opportunity to rebuild the nursery that had become much too crowded to see the details. The new toys are foregrounded, and I am very proud of having made a Ludo board for the tiny dice.

To be continued.

Collecting

I have repeatedly stated that I am a maker, not a collector, but I have recently succumbed to a number of purchases that have taken me off my maker's trajectory. The interesting thing about buying an unusual piece, such as the Marx clock, is that, if you are curious like me, you learn a lot. Sometimes it is something every miniaturist knows, or should know, but I am, as noted, not a collector, and I really don't know much about dollhouse and toy companies.

Last week in Stockholm, a friend took me on an antique shop round, which we usually do when we meet. I was tempted, and I fell. I could have fallen for more, but I showed character. This is what I bought:

I didn't have any particular project in mind, but I couldn't resist it. I think that by now I recognise an interesting piece when I see it.

In fact, the only piece I recognised was the Arne Jacobsen chair, The Egg.

 

I learned about Jacobsen when I was in Copenhagen some years ago, staying in a hotel that had Jacobsen furniture and folders explaining it. They also sold models in 1:6 scale, which I refrained from buying. I had since then been scouting for the Lundby-scale Egg on ebay, and it turns up every now and then, fetching fancy prices. I paid a fancy price for this one, but somehow it is different when you hold it in your hand. It feels authentic in a way you cannot be certain about a picture on ebay. Of course I know that sellers "age" their merchandise, but I am pretty sure that this chair is a genuine Jacobsen from the late '50s. (And if it isn't, I don't care).

Another piece that needed some research was this sofa:

The piece of paper says "Dollhouse furniture, architect J Udd". The person in the shop could not provide any further information. Web search yielded meagre results. "Architect J Udd produced models of dollhouse furniture of good quality in a nice, period-correct '50s design. Produced in the Gothenburg area". Hmmm... helpful. More search. Picture! Just like mine. "Fantastic sofa by architect J Udd. He produced his furniture during the '40s and 50s outside Leksand". Right, slightly contradictory information, but someone in my miniature group confirmed that John Udd made dollhouse furniture and lived in Dalecarlia, not far from Leksand. My miniature-collecting cousin said she had some furniture by Udd, and yet another virtual friend displayed a whole dollhouse of Udd furniture. So now I know that I have a rare piece, but so far I haven't been able to find any further information about the mysterious architect, not on the web, not in the National Encyclopedia or Who Is Who. Investigation continues.

Flea market luck

I usually go a round of charity shops whenever I am in town or go somewhere; they tend to be in the same street. It is very seldom that I actually buy a miniature, mostly I buy something that I can recycle. But I have found some fabulous stuff here and there. I have also bought some things in fancy antique shops. What I hadn't discovered until last week was a flea market, a place where you can buy anything and occasionally find a treasure. I had asked my friends, but apparently I was asking for the wrong thing. More anon.

Last week we went on a spontaneous vacation in Norfolk, and I was sure there must be a flea market on a Saturday in a town described as "market town", so I dragged Staffan there, with no result, except the usual charity shops that yielded nothing of note. However, while driving on small roads, I saw signs saying "Flea market on Sunday" although it wasn't quite clear whether Sunday was referring to the coming Sunday or Sunday three weeks ago. I asked the hotel reception, and they had no idea because who cares about a village three miles away. But they informed me that there was something flea-market-like in a market town five miles away, every Sunday beginning at eleven and therefore called Late Market.

We found the first flea market, that only takes place once a month in summer. I had very low expectations, so I got tremendously excited when the first thing I saw on entering the tent was this:

I told myself to be reasonable, but I think my pulse and blood pressure sky-rocketed. I just hoped I had enough cash since I had not expected such riches, but my noble husband went to the nearest cash machine in the next market town, while I drooled over the table deciding what was imperative, highly desirable or dispensable. I don't buy things that I can make myself, and I like things that are handmade and unusual. As I kept adding to my purchase the seller kept giving me discount, and we chatted about miniatures until I finally was ready to leave. This is what I bought:

Note the pretty cradle. When I came back to the hotel and unwrapped my treasures, I could not find the cradle which I knew was the very first object I had chosen as imperative. I searched and searched and went down to the car and searched again and was very upset. And guess what? - my noble husband drove me back to the village, and the seller was still there. First she denied that she had somehow mislaid the cradle, but eventually she found it so the story has a happy ending.

But before that, we went to the other flea market, and now I know why I never got any sensible answers to my questions: because I didn't ask sensible questions. It's not called flea market, but car boot sale. So now I know how to find them, and there are many dangerously close to Cambridge.

Anyway, we went there, and it was a real flea market, not a tidy tent. The prices were accordingly. This is what I bought, from different sellers, for 20-50p at the most:

Except for the lovely pewter things, it's all horrible plastic that I now know how to improve. In the coming posts I will show and tell where the different things have gone and what I have done with them, so watch this space.