My name is Lisa and I think I'm an auctionaholic.
Stage One: Exposure
It began last October when I met my friends Sherri and Kathy at Bonhams and Butterfields auction house for a preview sale. Walking into the venerated Sunset Boulevard building was exciting, but being surrounded by such gorgeous paintings, rugs, furniture and decorative arts sent my heartrate into overdrive. My whole life I had assumed I shouldn't ever set foot in those places because the prices would be ruinous, but I was dead wrong.
I became so alarmed by my unmufflered giddiness that I consciously refrained from placing any bids. There will be other auctions, I told myself. This is just a "research trip." (What, what, what was I thinking?)
This lovely Old Master-ish portrait called "Lady in Blue" would have looked wonderful in my foyer. Her serene gaze would have calmed me on crazy carpool mornings, I just know it.
(English school, 18th century, oil on canvas.
Sold for $610 inclusive of buyer's premium, 10/25/09.)
This full-lipped fellow would have added some fiery intensity to the upstairs hall. I'm a sucker for disheveled glamour, especially at that price.
(English school, 19th century, oil on canvas.
Sold for $366 inclusive of buyer's premium, 10/25/09.)
On my way out, I spotted this Napoleonic chaise from Hollywood at Home. I had been salivating over it for months in the shop. Why I didn't bid on it will haunt me to my dying day, considering it sold for a fraction of the retail cost.
Stage Two: Intoxication
This past weekend, there was another sale. This time, I went to the auction determined not to repeat my previous mistakes.
After receiving my paddle, I took a seat in the main gallery. The auctioneer took charge like a nobleman in combat, controlling the audience with a fierce elegance. Some items provoked intense paddle battles and sold for large sums, but other hammer prices were insanely -- and reassuringly -- low.
My friend Sherri had fallen in love with this Kathryn Ireland-ish set of antique chairs for her "imaginary house in Santa Barbara." I should have bought them for her as the price was imaginary as well.
(Four painted wood and rush armchairs.
Sold for $122 inclusive of buyer's premium, 1/17/10.)
This stunning 19th century trunk went for a steal...
(English mahogany brass bound campaign trunk.
Sold for $122 inclusive of buyers premium, 1/17/10.)
...as did this tole chandelier with a fabled Hollywood history -- it used to hang at Falconcrest, home of Rudolph Valentino.
(Large Rococo style painted tole chandelier.Sold for $122 inclusive of buyer's premium, 1/17/10.)
These incredible bargains were killing me, but I whispered to myself, "Save your money for what you're here for."
At long last, my tall, curvy George IV style wingback chair on wheels came up for bid.
With a pre-sale estimate of $250-$350, I hoped it wouldn't go for too much more.
Auctioneer:
We've received a few telephone bids on this item, so we're starting the bidding at $350. Do I have $350?
Up went my lone paddle.
Auctioneer (glancing at me):
I have $350.
My Inner Voice:
This chair is so mine.
Auctioneer:
Do I have $400?
There was a pause and then -- I swear to you -- every paddle in the room shot up. Within moments, the bids were flying north of $600, $700, $800 and climbing. It was bedlam. I think my mouth must have fallen open. The hammer finally slammed down at $1600 ($1952 with the buyer's premium).
So here's why I think I'm addicted...
Because not winning the chair didn't even matter.
Just sitting there in the midst of all that auction action was crazy exciting. I loved knowing that at any moment I could thrust my paddle into the air and "be in the game." I knew there would be another chaise, another Old Master painting, another campaign chest. And I knew that victory would be all the sweeter if the price was right for my budget. So I would do my research, I would keep coming back and one day, I would win.
Stage Three: Obsession
There's an auction in San Francisco this weekend and I've done a little poring through the online catalog...
And so it grows....