Posted on | May 22, 2011 | 1 Comment
1. It is my colour (golds and dark reds predominate in my living room).
2. It is my era – circa 1960, so perfect for this here ’50s ranch house we live in.
3. It is a sectional. I have been craving a sectional, but was rather put off by the gigantic ones available new in the shops (and the gigantic prices). They made things smaller 60 years ago, and it would not have dominated my wee living room.
4. The price. $600.
Man oh man, why didn’t I jump at it? For once I was not rash. For once I was sensible. I decided to go home, talk to Hubby about it, persuade him it was too good a deal to pass on, talk to a cleaning firm to find out exactly what it would take to scrub it up a little, and back I went the next day, check book in hand.
This is the gallery of Fine Art Consulting and one Meg Hagyard. I knew by the look on her face – nay, the apology that spilled from her lips before I even set foot in there – that it was sold. And to whom? (This was the killer.) Meg’s husband.
Turns out he was besotted with the item too, ever since a client had given it to them to show (and sell) in the gallery.
To add more pain to the injury, I had to look at the thing for a couple of hours last Thursday night when Meg held one of her fine art sales/drinks receptions (which are well worth a look – there’s one again in the Fall). I tried not to. Tried to tell myself in fact it was not a perfect size and fit and color and price. Tried to imagine very dark red wine stains all over it and tried to drum up images of cats peeing and babies spewing on it. It was difficult though. I was still swooning. And somehow the other, new, sectionals I see don’t even compare, and are of course five times the price.
I’m not bitter, Meg (well, yes I am actually). I just won’t ever come and visit again.
I consoled myself by buying some art (what is it about me and art buying that’s just so soothing? More expensive than chocolate, mind you. ) Then again, in this case not. For $24 I got twelve pieces of advertising copy from a campaign run by the department store Robinson’s May in 1969. Judging by the scribbles on the top – “The Times” – and the list of Los Angeles branches along the bottom, they were ads that ran in the L.A. Times. How they ended up in Tucson is a story I would dearly love to hear.
They’re fab: sketches of buckled shoes, ruffled mini-dresses, stripey flared jumpsuits. I could have bought more as there was a whole drawer ful, but figured twelve was enough to fill a wall of one of my bathrooms. Of course I’ll have to frame them. But I’m happy.
It’s almost enough to make up for that sofa. Almost.