Fake or Fortune?

Tags

Fake or Fortune?, Gainsborough, National Gallery, Philip Mould

I found this little drawing at a fair years ago.  It was

well drawn and in the style of Gainsborough.  Indeed it was

like some sketches he did of his daughters which I subsequently

saw at The National Gallery.

I sent a photo of it to Philip Mould for investigation and he

was convinced enough to send the photo to the international

expert on Gainsborough, who said it wasn’t by the master, but

gave no particular reasons.

For a while I doubted this judgement, as the paper was lined in

the correct way for paper of that time and it was faded. Also, the

dealer who sold it to me had only charged me £50, so wasn’t

trying to deceive anyone.  The frame was very old and was ebonised

and gilded, though distressed.

However, I was disappointed, so sold it, having told the buyer the

whole story.  I sold it for little more than I had paid for it.

Sometimes I regret selling it, but have done a copy for myself this week.  I won’t be signing it ‘T Gainsborough!’

Round Robin 2-Strictly Finals

Tags

Argentinian tango, bugle beads, Come Dine with Me, Dancing With the Stars, Fake or Fortune?, Flavia, Katherine Jenkins, Location Location Location, Louis Smith, monocles, Patrick Moore, Pineau, Pippa Middleton, Pizza Express, pleb, pommel horse, Salvatore Ferragamo, Santa Baby, Strictly Come Dancing, Swarovski, Vincent

Marzipan accomplished.  As I said, ‘to be continued’.

 

Well, Victoria, so many of our friends and neighbours have been

minor celebs this year- Tristram on Come Dine With Me; Sonia on

Fake or Fortune; Clammie and Tristram on Location, Location,

Location.  So, we feel very ordinary- almost pleb-like, I was going to

say, but that isn’t PC now.

Brassie’s party is on Saturday and there has been a trail of bugle

beads up the pavement from A La Mode, down to the Norman

bridge.  Everyone is getting glitzed up for the Strictly final.

Tiger and her friend, Sherry, spent some of their Xmas-in-advance

money on a ‘papp’ experience.  This is the latest craze for St Vitus’

girls, apparently.  They organised an agency to roll out a red carpet

for them when they left A La Mode and then a crowd of fake

papparazi flashed away-?- and a rent-a crowd of autograph

hunters besieged them as they were escorted into their stretch limo,

which took them to Pizza Express. (They could only afford the

economy package, not the platinum one.)

The only trouble was that then Pippa Middleton’s security posse

arrived and shunted the girls’ car off the double yellow lines and then

everyone started to snap Pip instead.  Gyles had said the package

was a complete waste of money and the girls just cheekily replied:

Whatever.  So, he is not speaking to Tiger at the moment.  In a way,

it is a blessing.  Tiger said that Pippa actually went into Mini Moghuls,

probably to buy a Swarovski-encrusted mini-onesie for the

forthcoming one- and I don’t mean the baby Jesus.  The ubiquitous

traffic warden was conspicuous by his absence on this occasion.

Have just managed to find a second-hand pommel horse for Rollo on

E-bay.  He adores Louis Smith and so he went and had his hair cut in

that ridiculous way on the last day of term.  Thank goodness it will

have grown a bit before January, or Mr Milford-Haven, his

pastoral mentor, will be having words with him.

Of course, all my family support the Italians- whether it be Flavia or

Vincent.  I have been trying the Argentinian Tango, but it does my

back in.

Cosmo said he would prefer if the programme were to be called

Dancing With the Stars, as its European equivalent.  At the weekend,

he was drooling over Katherine Jenkins singing Santa Baby, which

really upset Brassie.  And to think that it hadn’t been 24 hours since

he was so moved by the death of Patrick Moore. Brassie said that she

felt like returning the crystal-encrusted monocle she had ordered for

him, in memory of his astronomical hero.

I hope Brassie gates the peeing Border, Andy, on Saturday.  I don’t

want to slip on anything wet on the conservatory floor during our

Gangnam number.  It would ruin my new Salvatore Ferragamos!

Well, at least you don’t have to worry about excessive preparation,

do you?  The Charentaise are so laid back about their Bonnes Fetes

that they don’t even bother to remove their plastic, life-size Pere

Noels from their exterior chimneys, from one year to the next.  I

always think that they look like burglars in July or August!

Have a great time and see you in the New Year.

Thanks for the truffles and Pineau!

Gros Bisous!

Carrie & Gyles.

PS What’s French for Keep Dancing!

The ‘C’ Word

Tags

007 fragrance, C word, Clanger, Dottling Pauline, Fake or Fortune?, FT, Glenelg, Goya, Grayson Perry, Judith Leibner, Life of Riley, Monica Vinader, Philip Mould, Sarah Brightman, Strictly Come Dancing, Theo Fennell, Visnja, www.howtospendit.com, Zanzan Avida Dollars

Suddenly the temperature has plummeted here in Suttonford.  (Yes, it’s Candia.)

Why have you not been regaling us with the antics of your Suttonford friends and neighbours?  I hear you ask.  Why did you publish all that poetry recently?

Well, dear readers, I had OTHER THINGS TO DO and I thought the poetry would keep you amused till I got back on track.  You see, my geraniums- the ones that didn’t even flower this summer, owing to lack of sun- had to be uprooted and brought indoors before the first frost.  Then I searched in vain for seed from my sweet peas, but they hadn’t flowered either, so there were no pods.

Now I am continually hearing the ‘C’ word bandied around town.  Yes, Christmas will be upon us and I, like my female friends, will be found prostrate over the kitchen table, my head being attacked by Goyaesque, bat-like creatures representing the nightmarish oppression of trying to figure out what to purchase for all the individuals on my festal recipient list.  Our spouses, who take little to do with such trivialities, may be found prostate from other causes, but that’s another story…

What to buy for Sonia, our clairvoyant neighbour…?

The vicar solved this one, as when I attended the Curs in Crisis event at the local church hall, I bought an auction promise of a Bell, Book and Kindle exorcism which he had donated and which our medium might like to activate against her cavalier, in every sense of the word, ghost.  A signed copy of a media-friendly London art dealer’s book: Sleuth: The Awesome Quest for Lost Art Works might be appropriate as a souvenir of her having been featured on the BBC programme, Fake or Fortune (see earlier post.)  Sonia would probably prefer the author himself, but you wouldn’t want Mould in your stocking, would you?

Gyles’ mother Ginevra is easy-peasy:

a bottle of Dewlap’s Gin for Discerning Grandmothers always hits the spot.

Unfortunately one of her family will have to invest in their future by supplying her with a Theo Fennell USA Space Shuttle Tequila shot set. £15-18,000 is somewhat out of my league.

The Husband:

likewise no problem.  Vouchers for Pop My Cork!  and a DVD of Great Cricketing Moments fits the bill.  Maybe a Life of Riley bottle trunk if he is good. (No more ogling at Ola Jordan’s hot pants in Strictly Come Dancing.)

Starstruck Cosmo, who sleeps in his observatory-or that’s his story:

James Bond OO7 fragrance and an alibi.  Or maybe a certificate twinning Suttonford with a Martian market town. ( Don’t laugh. It’s already happened in Glenelg.) Cosmo could be registered for a Space Tourist flight with Sarah Brightman and could have a promissory note in a nice envelope. (Come to think of it, SB always sounded a bit like a Clanger.)

But does he wear man perfume?  I think of Tatiana in To Russia with Love: she tried to persuade the spy to dab a little and coaxed, Russian men use scent and James Bond replied tersely: British men bathe.

Gyles:

alligator loafers. Smooth.

Tristram:

a Dottling Pauline safe- no, wait a minute!  That’s £90,000. That’s a couple of years’ school fees. I suppose he could rent out the drawers for B&B in the manner of those mortuary file hotel rooms in Tokyo.  No, he can have a set of Grayson Perry The Vanity of Small Distances table mats instead- only £360.  He likes laying the table. Clammie told me.

Carrie:

a Visnja Power brooch.  Oops- no, that is £48,000.  She’ll have to make do with some Zanzan Avida Dollars sunglasses@ £260.  Wasn’t Avida Dollars an anagram of Salvador Dali, dahling?

Brassica:

Okay, she might have sent a note up her chimney to Santa Baby for a Judith Leibner Starfish clutch bag covered in Swarovski crystals, but at £3,125, she might just have to accept a less expensive Monica Vinader Agate-print scarf.

Clammie: Pippa Middleton’s Celebrate book.  Actually, no.  I’m keeping that for myself.  She can have a tube of anti-cellulite cream to assist her in maintaining a rear formidable like the Duchess’ sister.

And so on… You see, all you have to do is visit the FT howtospendit.com– simples!

Now I can concentrate on Clammie’s Guy Fawkes Party…

 

Fake or Fortune?

Tags

BBC, Chinese Girl, Fake or Fortune?, Fiona Bruce, Hals, Laughing Cavalier, Marlborough cigarettes, McEwan, Philip Mould, Tim Wonnacott, Tretchikoff

Sonia contacted Fiona Bruce and art expert, Philip Mould, after watching the BBC programme Fake or Fortune? There had been an invitation to approach the team with enquiries regarding any unauthenticated artworks which might be by famous artists and which the viewers might own.

There had been a portrait of The Laughing Cavalier over Sonia’s marble mantelpiece at Royalist House, High Street, Suttonford, for a long time.  Had her late husband bought it at auction?  Had it always been there?  She could not remember.  It had seemed a permanent fixture of her life and she was not disconcerted by the way in which the eyes followed her around the room.

Of course, she didn’t think it was the, the one and only portrait of the debonair gentleman, by Hals.  She had been paying attention to the discussions on the programme about sleepers, works after so-and-so, in the manner of, and works from the studio of etc.  She knew that copies were made and sometimes the master would work on-(say) the face of a sitter and then his apprentices would fill in the lace and drapery.  A bit like painting by numbers, she thought. Still, it would be interesting to get an informed opinion and she might get onto the show.

If it turned out to be authentic then she would have to sell it, as it would be uninsurable in a private house.  However, proceeds might help with her gas bills. Osborne and Cameron were sure to strip pensioners of their winter fuel allowance and it was a big house to heat.  So, the moment had come to see if the portrait would more than wipe its face.  (She liked that phrase, much utilised by Tim Wonnacott.)

Sonia would dearly have liked to know if the picture was worth millions or not.  Many of her visitors thought privately, that, since she was a clairvoyant, she should have been able to work it out.  Couldn’t she have looked into her crystal ball and made as worthy a pronouncement as some of the obscure experts in Amsterdam, or Haarlem?

She had looked at her falling shares and asked her friend Clammie to e-mail the London Gallery where Mould worked.  Reading Tarot cards part-time was no longer covering her addiction to Marlboroughs , nor to double espressos from Costamuchamoulah café.

She averted her eyes from the Smoking Kills warning on her ciggie packet.  It was a trifle histrionic, she thought.  After all, she had sat in a veritable pea-souper for twenty or thirty years in her sitting room and she hadn’t smoked out the ghost of the fugitive cavalier who had taken up abode in the attic after his escape from The Battle of Suttonford, 1644.

No, one could still hear him tinkling the keys of her late husband’s harpsichord of an evening.  As for the other cavalier- well, he wasn’t exactly laughing, but then he never had been.  The title was a Victorian invention.  She would say that he had an enigmatic smile and that it wasn’t clouded by the thick layer of brown tar which, an opinion which, a few weeks later, Fiona Bruce reinforced by pronouncing what might have been termed discolouration, a wonderful patina.

Smoke might get in people’s eyes, but she thought that the perpetual ectoplasm streaming from her lips gave her a Madam Arcati-like air.  She therefore approached the analysis with a blithe spirit and what she hoped was an open mind.

Over the mantelpiece there was now an empty rectangular space, which revealed the original colour of the flock wallpaper.  She felt that very soon she would be able to sneer at Froyle’s Auction Rooms, who had snootily estimated the picture to fetch between £20-30.  They mentioned chocolate box lids, McEwan’s Export cans and other humiliating images.

We’ll show them, she inhaled deeply.

She didn’t know how everyone in the town knew when the verdict was to be given on the programme, as she thought that she had kept it a secret.  (This was disturbing for a medium.)   The usual boozers in the town had gathered at The Running Sore, where the publican was dyslexic, to watch the episode on the giant plasma screen.

Philip Mould looked nervous as a restorer chipped off the varnish with a miniature scalpel. Paint flakes were analysed and were disappointingly said to be acrylic.  Then the picture was put inside a medical scanner and a face emerged from beneath the tar- a ghostly doppelganger.  Fiona Bruce was mopping Mould’s brow, when a patch of turquoise became evident.  More scraping took place and then the radiographer exclaimed:

My aunty Doris had this in her dining room in the Sixties.

Fiona Bruce laughed:

My gran had it in her sitting room.

Philip Mould recognised it immediately as the most common portrait that had ever appeared at car boot sales in the country :

The Chinese Girl by Vladimir Tretchikoff

Someone- Sonia’s late husband, perhaps? – had painted it over in a competent, but amateurish way.  The author of Sleuth: The Awesome Quest for Lost Art Works buried his head on Fiona’s shoulder and wept.

Sonia said, I should have known!

 

Of course, the BBC and the Fake or Fortune? team couldn’t return Sonia’s painting, as the acid had done its work on the surface acrylic paint.  She wasn’t too distressed, however.  She went to Froyle’s Auction Rooms and satisfied herself by purchasing a large mirror for £20, plus 20% commission.  She was heartened that the fees for lotting, collection, insurance and catalogue illustration had been met by the vendor.

As she was hanging it- or having it hung by her new friend, Clammie- she was certain that she caught a glimpse of a ghostly face, reflected in the mirror: it was her very own resident phantom-see previous blogs!)  The cavalier was laughing at her and he looked considerably more handsome than the Hals forgery had done.  She thought he looked a little like Philip Mould with moustachios.  Now that was something special that no one could reproduce!

In The Running Sore gastric pub most of the punters said: You didn’t have to be psychic to see that coming!

Old Sonia is no oil painting herself, quipped another.

The dyslexic landlord had the final comment, however:

That Fiona Bruce is a sight for sore eyes, though!

We’ll drink to that! chorused most of the males propping up the bar.