This weekend I did something totally out of character and I walked into an antique dealer's shop, smack-bang in the centre of town. I have strolled slowly past the windows many times before but never actually taken the step over the threshold. I've always loved the look and feel of antique shops and I've been in so many through my life, but never this one.
Perhaps it's because I wear flowing clothing and tend to not be the most graceful creature when I walk around...and could just imagine some sort of (very) expensive Japanese vase falling off a table and smashing into a million pieces thanks to my scarf or something.
But something colourful caught my eye that didn't look ceramic or particularly breakable and my curiosity got the better of me. I walked straight up to this gorgeous collection of hand painted Russian trinket boxes. I couldn't see the details from outside the window and while I admired the fine details and intricate linework, the antique dealer came over and we started chatting. He was not the kind of man that I would have expected to see in this shop at all. A tall guy, probably a few years older than me, jet black hair that he clearly keeps dyed meticulously. A gentle and friendly face and a nice smile with a silky smooth calm voice.
I was never intending on touching any of these little boxes (or anything for that matter), just admiring them. I admitted to him that I knew absolutely nothing about these little wooden works of art but I loved how different each one was from the next. He proceeded to tell me that they are not wooden, but paper Mache and have been a traditional folk art in many of the villages since the 18th century. Each box being shaped by hand from pulp, then painted before finally being lacquered which gives them the shine. It's also earned them the name lacquer boxes in some circles.
Before he started trying to ramp up a sales pitch, I cut him short and admitted that while I love the craftmanship, there was no intention of buying one, I would however take my sister there sometime in the future to show her, as she also likes this kind of thing. If there was someone that would buy one, it was probably her. He suggested I send her a couple of pictures. It surprised me because some antique shops are very strict on no photography. I honestly wasn't going to complain though, so thanked him and snapped the few in this post. While I was hesitant to send them to her then and there, I did it anyway. She lost her mind a little bit and I think it might be dangerous (for her bank balance) if she ends up in that shop.
I thanked him for being so willing to teach me about them even though they wouldn't be going home with me. He wished me well and welcomed me to come back anytime, told me his name and I said goodbye and left. I sent the same pictures to an artist I know later in the day and we ended up on the phone talking for ages about painting fine lines. Something that I'm still mastering while she could be a blind-folded line art tattoo master by now. She told me she has actually got inspiration from these lacquer boxes in the past.
She burst my bubble saying they aren't as rare as the antique dealer may have tried to make me believe, but in terms of the designs? Almost always unique. So now I have a new item on my flea market treasure hunting list. Who knows, maybe I'll find one of these at some stage along the way. I certainly wouldn't complain considering what Nick had told me they cost at his shop.
My one friend calls me 饾櫒饾櫐饾櫔饾櫈饾櫑饾櫑饾櫄饾櫋 because I get so easily distracted by things. This distraction was a cool one though. I walked in with hesitation and left with a lesson in antique handpainted boxes. I'm calling it a win.
饾懛饾挀饾拹饾挅饾拝饾拲饾挌 饾懆饾懓 饾拠饾挀饾拞饾拞. 饾懆饾拲饾拲 饾拪饾拵饾拏饾拡饾拞饾挃 饾拏饾拸饾拝 饾挊饾挀饾拪饾挄饾拪饾拸饾拡 饾拏饾挀饾拞 饾拵饾挌 饾拹饾挊饾拸.
