A New Yorker's Stories (3 page)

LAND OF OPPORTUNITY, USA

I've said for a long time that the best way to see the world is to spend two weeks in New York. That may sound strange coming from a New Yorker who has spent a lot of his life traveling around the world. As a collector of sorts, mostly of what one calls “tribal arts,” I've combed faraway places for textiles and artifacts. But the most extraordinary finds are at my fingertips, so to speak. Just yesterday I found three scarves from the Central Anti-Atlas Mountains of Morocco, of very fine wool with widely spaced red-brown patches made with henna. At another dealer's outlet, about a thousand feet away, I found three textiles from the Southern Philippines; Mindanao, to be precise. The Moro people there wear sarongs of silk with tapestry-woven bands running vertically and horizontally to divide the surface into panels. The sarong I bought made use of the ikat technique, which is unusual and must derive from neighboring Indonesia. A couple of hours earlier The Museum for African Art on Broadway just below Houston Street sold me a copper bracelet of the type known as Manilla, found in West Africa and used as money. They are horseshoe-shaped, with trumpet-like ends. I had bracelets of this sort but none the size of the museum piece which has a nice speckled-green patina—a sign of age.

Speaking of African currency, a few days ago I had the good fortune (no pun intended) to come across examples of iron money from North Cameroon in the form of a torque, that is, just short of a complete circle, about six inches in diameter. I've been on the lookout for African currency for some time and this type from North Cameroon had never been seen until this week. I felt the thrill of discovery that a paleontologist must feel coming across an entirely new species. Right here in New York.

A friend of mine who travels to Southeast Asia at least twice a year called to tell me she had textiles I might like to buy. I couldn't wait. I ended up with several batik shoulder pieces, or
selendang
, from southern Sumatra. The designs, often taken from Chinese sources, are stamped on fine cotton. These batiks are worn on special occasions such as festivals or religious functions. At about the same time I acquired four textiles from the same part of the world, a dealer was selling at half-price because he was moving to a new location. The four textiles consisted of a large Sumba blanket, which was different from other Sumba blankets by its overall pattern and Borneo-like effects; a sash from Bali worn by a youngster going through the teeth-filing ritual; a shoulder piece from the Minangkabau with gold threads on a deep red ground; and a textile, still under study for the dealer was not clear in his account. It is a waist or shoulder-cloth, long and narrow, dyed indigo blue with a five-inch band at either end, decorated in a discrete pattern with gold thread and edged by small lead weights. I think it must come from northern Sumatra. Part of the fun in collecting is in tracking down precise origins and meanings. Fellow collectors are often helpful in such cases, and sharing finds with like-minded friends is always a pleasure. Another textile I bought did not pose any problem. The Chin blanket from Burma or Myanmar, as the country is now called, is illustrated in Sylvia Fraser-Lu's book,
Handwoven Textiles of Southeast Asia
. It is a sort of open plaid of broad bands of solid lacquer-red alternating with finely detailed patterns.

As though to crown this short period of discovery, I visited the renovated Ancient Greek Galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was there on the day that the space opened to the public and what a delight it was to walk through the galleries flooded with light and view the cleaned and restored statuary disposed along easily navigable paths. Another museum show I reveled in was one of Japanese bamboo basketry at the Asia Society: elegant and infinitely clever configurations place the Japanese artisan at a very high level indeed.

In two weeks, I've skipped around Asia, Africa, and Southeast Europe without leaving New York, or spending more on travel than a subway token. (4/30/99)

YOU NEVER KNOW THE SURPRISES IN STORE

I look forward to the weekends with anticipation and some anxiety because my weekends are the time given to “shopping.” Shopping, not in the ordinary sense of the word. I am out on these days to hunt for antiques, works of art and artifacts that I might deem worthy of acquisition. It's a fishing expedition, a matter of chance. The Saturdays and Sundays may be rewarding or they may be disappointing. In any case, those days are dedicated days. And who knows what you will come up with. New York is actually a great place for finding objects that originate around the world and that are appropriate for collecting.

This weekend has been auspicious. I aim for the familiar places: the flea markets about Sixth Avenue and 25th Street. There are inside and outside markets; I go to the outside markets first of all because they are more accessible and generally less expensive, although price is a very flexible and unpredictable thing. Take for example, the Kuba rattan woven vessel which was offered to me for sixty dollars and ended up being sold for six dollars. Hard to explain how the transition occurred except that it does in the course of banter. The woven vessel was small, about seven inches tall and a little lopsided, but I already have several examples of the same stuff and this new one will fit into the group.

I then made my way down the garage on the other side of Sixth Avenue primarily to deliver a packet of seeds to an African dealer about to return to his farm in Africa. The ambling walk up and down the two aisles led me to a stand where I spotted a totally unexpected object: a sixteenth century Chinese blue and white bowl probably made for export. It had the usual floral spray on the bottom of the inside surface, and similar motifs on the exterior bracketed in loosely painted lappets. It looks really good to me. I asked the price. The vendor said “I'm selling it for one hundred and twenty dollars, but for you I will make it ninety.” When I made a counter offer of fifty dollars, he winced and came down to seventy. At that point I spotted a little African iron bracelet with two small figures standing on the spiral ring. I proposed sixty-five dollars for the two objects and the sale was made. The vendor grumbled a bit but agreed. Now I had purchased two objects from two continents and the afternoon was still young.

Before going to another market specializing in African artifacts I stopped at one of my favorite coffee shops on 23rd Street; just a tiny place with only a narrow shelf and four high stools for customers but the coffee is really good and the croissants are made on the premises. Refreshed, I was ready for the next encounter. This time I was surrounded by wood statues from Gabon, all of which were intriguing. I looked at them; one after the other, turning them upside down, and checking them front to back. If I had my ‘druthers and the means I would have bought them all but, alas, I could only handle one of these treasures. I had to make a hard decision, to choose one that would have all the virtues of the others and something more. I made my choice and we began the pricing at six hundred, a price clearly too pricy for me. We went back and forth, coming down and going up until we reach an agreement which included two small metal pieces: a rattle bracelet (for dancing) in iron from Mali and a brass figurine from Burkina Faso. I went home with six objects that varied in place of origin and in materials from porcelain to iron to brass to wood to raffia. I thought this was a good first day of the weekend and Sunday was still to offer up its surprises. (11/17/07)

YOU CAN'T WIN THEM ALL

Yesterday evening was the setting of a rather unusual meeting. My old friend Abdul, an African dealer, came by around nine p.m., at the end of one of the hottest days of the summer. He carried a backpack with a heavy weight within. He had announced this visit and this object earlier in the day: a terra cotta figure from the Nok culture in Northern Nigeria. Abdul took a long time, so it seemed to me, to remove the figure from the sack and hold it up for my inspection. I must say I was not impressed. The figure had been broken and repaired in several places in a rather clumsy fashion. The face was clearly abraded and reworked to restore some definition that had been lost. Nok figures frequently have surface features in mere outline and are therefore easily lost by abrasion. Besides, the whole lower face appeared to be reconstructed into a rather formless mouth. The best parts of the sculpture were the cloth accoutrements around the body such as shoulder and waistbands, front and back. In my judgment, the figure had been too seriously compromised to be worthy of consideration for purchase. I did not say anything while Abdul went on singing praises about the authenticity of the piece and how wonderful to have a genuine Nok sculpture at hand. He spoke in vague terms about how the piece had been unearthed years ago, kept in seclusion until quite recently, and was exceedingly rare nowadays. He didn't mention price, not even when I asked what the owner was looking for. Abdul wanted me to be the first to announce the amount I would be willing to pay, and I had no intention of naming any price as I was definitely not interested in buying. But I was curious to find out what sort of price might be expected. It was a cat and mouse game. I had the impression that my friend knew the piece was defective and that almost any “reasonable” offer from me would be welcomed. Any price to be liberated from such an unsaleable object. The night was still hot and the room stuffy: definitely not a setting for an agreeable negotiation. Finally, out of desperation, I said the piece was too big and too heavy for my collection. I've learned long ago never to criticize a work of art in the bargaining process. My explanation only drew angry retorts as to the unrewarded efforts of Abdul in lugging such a heavy object on such a torrid day. Abdul was casting me as ungrateful for his efforts and in some way obliged to respond positively to his initiative. For my part I felt put upon for the implication that I was obliged to buy the object not because I liked it but because Abdul went to so much trouble. He left the house without saying “goodbye”; not a very good way to continue a relationship. I think calmer minds will prevail in the long run. (6/10/08)

SHIFTING GEARS IN ONE LONG DAY

This was some day. I had a call yesterday from an African dealer to announce his arrival in New York. We set a meeting for the next day at ten in the morning. His hotel was not far from my home: an easy short trip on the subway. We met a number of times before at this hotel. He wasn't in his room when I arrived but I knew from previous experiences that he was probably in the restaurant two doors away. He was there, in fact, with one of his “brothers” just finishing a coffee. We went up to his room together. He unloaded some things from his luggage, things he thought would interest me. He knows me well enough to make a good judgment about that: a ceremonial knife from Cameroon; a set of seven iron currencies from Chad; and two wood fetishes or “grigris” with iron points to set the figures into the ground, from Chamba, Nigeria. My friend was right, I liked all these objects. I asked the price and the price was exceedingly high. I was ready to get up and leave the room. That was a feint and my friend immediately reduced the price in a serious way. I knew then that the price was negotiable. Now he was quite firm pointing out the importance of the objects and the expense and trouble he had in traveling through difficult terrain to find the pieces and in the actual cost in buying the objects. The exchange thus far made me nervous and hungry as though bargaining was an exhausting process. I suggested that we go back to the next-door restaurant for coffee. In the restaurant, while waiting for my toasted English muffin, I drew the three objects in question on the paper napkin from memory. Well, the recollection was not that old and I have a good visual memory but recreating the objects on paper impresses people. I put a new and higher price next to each object. We lingered a while over this new overture, neither one of us saying anything more. I could see the price was still not right for my friend. Then I made a slightly higher offer which my friend had the good sense to sense was my final offer. He accepted and we retired back to his room. I don't usually carry that much cash on me but I came prepared with seven traveler's checks. I cashed them in at a bank on the corner. My friend had the cash and I carried away the three objects for a final price that was one-fifth the first asking price. It took about an hour and a half of give and take; not at all unusual for such an encounter. I suppose we both felt satisfied.

I took the local bus uptown to my regular senior citizen center for lunch with my loot in hand. When I returned home I thought I would work on the notes for my lecture that afternoon. I started the computer, put the CD in the hard drive, and by golly the image on the screen froze. I couldn't make the computer do anything. I was furious for I tried several strategies without success. I hate to call up for technical help but I felt I had to get unstuck. Calling the service number is such a terrible pain and answering all the questions is nerve-racking. At the end of it all I am told that I must pay a service charge just to speak to a technical aide. I virtually screamed over the phone at the agent in Bangalore at the unfairness of it all. I asked to speak to the supervisor. I heard some clicking sounds and hung up the phone. I thought to myself that I was just wasting my time. In a gesture of defiance I flipped the switch on my circuit breaker and then turned it back on, and voilà, the computer was unfrozen and I could work again. But I was so enervated by the telephone encounter that I decided to forget the lecture notes: I could live without them. I flopped down in bed for the rest I had intended to have before the lecture. The hour was soon upon me for making my appearance at the lecture site. Without fifteen minutes rest, I headed out of the house for the trip down town.

I was a little frazzled but determined to do my stuff. I arrived at the hospital greeted by friends who were waiting with just a pinch of anxiety. There is always a moment of concern before the equipment is set up. I dread the feeling that something may go wrong at the last minute and that emergency measures will be necessary. I have the skill of “making do” under any circumstances to save the situation. Fortunately the set up at the hospital was OK and the lecture went off without a hitch. Afterwards I was invited by my Chinese friends to a dinner in Chinatown. I was wiped out but made an effort to look up to the meal put before us. The restaurant was an elegant one with white tablecloths and pink cloth napkins and the menu was full of special dishes. It was fun to be patronized, to be treated like the elder (that I am) and the scholar in retirement. It was ten-thirty by the time I got home via the subway and I was really ready to flop into bed. What a day! (5/29/08)