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07 31st, 2009| 
Anyone who has spent much time looking in junk shops will know that sooner or later a particular decision will have to be made. Is one to insist on buying only the perfect piece, the flawless jewel, which has come down to our time unscathed by time—that enemy of both man and his handiwork? Or is one to be content with something less than perfection, that which is flawed—though not irreparably?
If you take the first course and happen to have a taste for the best in furniture, pictures, pottery, glass, silver, or whatever, you will nowadays need a very long purse indeed. The fine things of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries have soared in price to levels which would not have been thought possible even only five years ago. In the meantime collectors have turned their attention to the once despised nineteenth century; and Victorians is now as eagerly accepted for sale by great auctioneers like Sotheby’s and Christie’s as anything of earlier date.
Personally I have never felt especially impressed by ‘condition’ for its own sake. If a piece is what the trade calls ‘right’—that is to say genuine of its own kind, if whatever imperfections it may have do not seriously detract from enjoyment of it, I do not see why it should not take its place in a collection. After all, for a piece of china or furniture to have survived for two hundred, a hundred, or even fifty years without acquiring some sort of blemish, or show some signs of age, is a quite remarkable thing: it has certainly not happened to me. One suspects too, that those who seek perfection of this kind may be interested not so much in the appreciation of a particular objet d’art, as in appreciation of their investment—and I have always thought that there were many pitfalls in that kind of collecting.
A few years ago there came up for sale a famous collection of teapots, representative of the finest work of all the famous English factories. The reverend gentleman who put it together, however, could not possibly have afforded to do so had he not been content to accept the odd chip, crack or restored part. But these imperfections in no way spoilt the beauty and interest of the collection, which, though unique of its kind, had much instructive value for the general collector.
For me, therefore, if a piece has been skilfully and sympathetically repaired, with awareness of period and of the peculiar nuances of the original work, there would always be a place for it on my shelves or walls. And if you tell me that a repair or a repainting can be detected by ultraviolet radiation, I reply that one does not normally look at works of art through apparatus of that kind.
Before they buy, however, I think that collectors should inform themselves as to what can or cannot be done with anything which has been damaged or broken. Some things are really beyond all hope: they could never be restored in such a way as to give one the same kind of xsthetic appeal as the original, and the place for it—if there is a place for it—may well be in a museum. But there are many things which can be rescued, and ought to be before they deteriorate any further.
This, I think, is the value of a book like this. In showing how repairs can be done it tells one what repairs can be done, whether we do them ourselves with loving care or whether we leave them to the expert. There are not so many fine works of art about that we can afford to let them disappear without an effort of some sort.
What is junk? Something which its last owner discarded as worthless? Any old piece of furniture, china, metalwork, any old picture, print or scrap which has no intrinsic value? These definitions have no meaning today when the trade in ‘junk’ has reached international proportions and when some of the prices paid for hideous bits of bric-a-brac put them far beyond the reach of most amateur collectors. Once, a poke around a second-hand shop produced all kinds of unusual and interesting things for shillings and even for pennies. Pounds didn’t enter into it. Once you could go to auction sales and come away with car loads of discarded ‘rubbish’ which no one else at the sale wanted and for which the dealers, least of all the dealers, never bothered to bid.
Not any more. At every sale, in every junkshop, there lurks the man or woman with that indefinable look, that odd searching expression which proclaims that he or she is
‘in the trade’ and wi buy akinds of unlikely things just to turn them into other unlikely things or to restore them
and sell them as totally genuine survivals from the past, and as always, when the dealers get interested the amateurs have to get up very early in the morning!
The reasons why we have come to value these things are strange, but fairly simple. As we invent new designs for furniture, pots and pans, clothes etc. and enjoy new styles and fashions, yesterday’s style and the day before yesterday’s become hideous to us. How ugly now seems the clothes and furniture, the carpets and curtains, the chairs and the pictures of the thirties. And how ugly, in the thirties, seemed the things we designed in the twenties. Yet now, in the sixties, the things of the twenties become attractive again, some of them, and the Victorian excesses which we hated in the thirties, positively delight us now. Why does this happen? Is it because our modem designs get more and more simple and functional, with fewer curves and fussy bits, more and more straight lines and flat surfaces, more and more synthetic finishes, and less and less craftsmanship or hand work of any kind is done. The horrors of photographic wood veneers, which only need a wipe with a damp cloth, the plastic ‘working surfaces which every knife marks, are preferred to beautiful natural veneers which need a bit of polishing to keep them beautiful, and to scrubbed wood which needs a bit of elbow grease to keep it clean. So I believe some of us are coming to value the things which man has made with his hands out of natural materials as an antidote to our machine-turned, moulded, plastic world. And I don’t believe that the plastic rubbish of today will ever become the treasured junk of tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. We have gone right over the top, and many people are determined to salve what is left of the artifacts of our grandfathers. The very ugliness of some of the things has the appeal of individuality at the least. It may be claimed that a lot of Victorian and Edwardian and even Georgian junk was mass produced in the sense that numbers of copies of the same objects were made, and that any casting or turning or moulding techniques that were available were fully used. Nevertheless the materials themselves ensured that hand finishing was almost always necessary, and the machines were worked by men and not by other macliiiies. Designs were made by the minds of men and not by computers.
Ingenious people go to great lengths to make modem objects out of old junk, sometimes by taking things back to an even more original condition than they ever were before, when they were first made. I’m thinking of the vogue for stripping down wooden objects and oiling or waxing so that the grain alone decorates them; objects that were always stained or painted when they were first produced. It is only quite recently that we have realised that natural pine wood call be just as beautiful as natural walnut, or oak or mahogany. Our immediate forefathers thought that pine in its natural state was very ugly and only fit to be covered up. Anyone who had ever visited all alpine country knew differently, but nevertheless we remained very traditional. Taking the subject a stage further, there was a time when natural oak furniture was looked upon as being purely rural and only used by the yokels in the kitchen, and nothing could be elegant but inlaid mahogany or veneer or ormolu. All kinds of objects get turned into lamps nowadays, and old picture frames make fine mirrors and trays. Pianos turn into cocktail cabinets—there is a use for everything and anything. Is this because the hand craftsmanship, or even the time, that it takes to make these things cannot be found these days except at great expense? Labour was cheap when the junk was being made, and now we are taking advantage, years after the makers are dead and gone, of their sweated labour, their underpaid craftsmanship, which are just not available any more.
Lastly, as I discovered when I became involved in the art of restoring old cottages for modern living, you and I, amateurs in the sense that our jobs probably have nothing whatsoever to do with restoring things, get a great kick, an artistic satisfaction, out of mending something that seemed broken beyond repair, out of recreating something useful or decorative or interesting from something old, ugly and dull. The artist, the creator in all of us, can thus find expression even when we lack original talent. It may be in something as elemental as getting a good polish on a piece of filthy old brass.
Most of us are magpies at heart, and the collecting instinct which stimulates toddlers to collect little piles of stones, shells and sticks and string, the child to collect stamps or dolls and the teenager to collect gramophone records, stimulates the adult to collect whatever he or she can afford and finds pleasing. I know a man whose large Edwardian house (and lie needs one) is full of musical boxes, everything from tiny little singing birds to huge great mahogany things which come to coniplicated life and give out fantastic sounds in response to the necessary stimuli. Another man will collect powder flasks, buttons or little boxes, or flatirons, or porcelain. Most collectors begin by acquiring a piece of junk almost accidentally, perhaps by inheritance, or bought in with an odd lot, or just because it caught the eye, and that is the nucleus of a collection.
People can be divided into two groups; those who will take everything to the ‘expert’ to be restored or cleaned, and those who will go to great lengths to do the work themselves. I think that the true junk collector comes into the second category. The greater part of the fun for him is in the restoring—in being able to say, modestly: ‘yes, I mended that chair—it had three broken legs and six coats of paint, but the waxed natural wood does look rather nice, doesn’t it?’
There are limitations, of course, oil what can be done; limitations imposed by the necessity for expensive tools or materials, or processes which need equipment not usually found in even a well-equipped workshop (electro-plating tanks for instance). The one limitation that never seems to apply is that of knowledge, either of techniques or of materials.
Here another distinction has to be made. Properly speaking, restoration implies the recreating of an object so that it is exactly as it was when it was made. In the wider sense great arguments go on between the people and societies interested in the preservation of ancient things, and those who wish to restore them for actual use. To the purist, for instance, it is wrong when restoring a cottage to make structural alterations which are necessary to make it habitable in modern terms. To the purist it is wrong to restore an old piece of furniture by altering its original purpose, terrible to cut a whatnot in half and make two tables from it, even though it was useless as a whatnot. If a thing has intrinsic beauty then surely it is wrong to alter it out of recognition. There is a safeguard here in the sense that if you pay a lot of money for an antique you are unlikely to chop it about. Oil die other hand you might undervalue some inherited piece and destroy it by altering it.
How far is one justified in building up missing pieces of objectswith modern epoxy resins instead of restoring the missing part as nearly as possible with its original material? Museums do it all the time and are prepared to rebuild and remake shamelessly with modern materials to restore objects, although they make no secret of this. It is of course inipossible to lay down rules for these things. In any case the antique and jtuik trades are so full of fakes, composite objects, and reproductions with never any guarantee of authenticity, that it doesn’t matter a great deal, I suppose, how authentic your restoration work on junk is. The only thing that matters, it seems to me, is that the reproduction or reconstruction or restoration produces something which as nearly resembles the original as one’s capacities and the materials available allow. Never try to pass off any kind of restoration as original.
While in this book I have tried to include as many hints and ideas as possible, I have slued away from `tricks of the trade’. There are too many tricksters about
already.
Of course, with many perishable objects such as prints, preservation and protection against the ravages of the future is as important as restoration, and there seems to me to be no harm in using the most modem methods and materials available.
One or two general points must be made. First, that there is no substitute, really, for elbow grease, and this is in many cases the restorer’s most useful material, substance or technique! It may be easy to slosh acids and solvents around, but the damage they do may well outweigh the time they save. Second, many chemicals used are poisonous or corrosive, and the greatest care must be taken when using them to wear protective clothing, gloves etc. Such materials should be confined to the workshop and never used in the kitchen. All bottles and jars must be carefully labelled, and poisons should be kept under lock and key. A fire extinguisher must be part of every workshop’s equipment and a bucket of sand for extra fire protection isn’t out of place. Plenty of fresh water should be available, and a sink is almost essential. Electrical equipment must be used properly and wall plugs etc. should be professionally installed and maintained. Never use electric tools with two-pin plugs. Use three-pin plugs which include an earth. Never unplug electrical equipment without first switching off the main. Never use electrical equipment with wet or even damp hands.
Lastly, I must point out that although all the recipes and suggestions in this book are tried and tested, the success of each and every one depends to some extent upon the user. It is like cooking. Give two people the same recipe book and materials and ask them to cook the same dish and the results will invariably differ.
Because of the enormous variety of materials involved, and because it is not possible for the writer to know exactly what it is that the reader is intending to treat, there can be no absolute certainty that methods and treatments will work exactly as planned. The contents of this book are meant as a guide, to be intelligently used. I have left out some techniques that call for the use of highly toxic chemicals (with the exception of the bleaching box), and I have left out or only briefly described techniques which do require practical instruction, althoughi the borderline between skills which can be self-taught and developed by practice and those which have to be imparted on the spot by an expert, is impossible to define. It depends so much on the capacity and talent of the individual.
But it is junk you will be handling; it won’t be world-shattering if you do make mistakes. ‘There is so much pleasure in doing a good job that it is always worth a try. If you fail, well, that is too bad. If you succeed, that is wonderful, and oh, so satisfying.
Thanks. To write a book of this kind without picking other people’s brains is impossible, for one cannot bc.ui expert on everything; in fact the junk restorer must be a jack of all trades. Thanks are due, therefore, to all those who let me ask them questions about their working methods, and who gave me so much useful information. Thanks also to Ginette Leach whose help with the making and checking of the book was invaluable.
Using the book. The text is not divided into chapters, but set out with subjects in alphabetical order. I suggest that you look first in the indices for references to any specific subject, or material. There are two indices: the first refers specifically to materials and tools, and includes page references and names of suppliers and sources of the materials, so that in effect it replaces appendices; the second refers to the subject headings and methods, and is intended to lead you directly to the subject itself where you can find full details on cleaning and restoration.
Where various things come into the same general category they have been grouped together in that category rather than scattered through the book in alphabetical order. For instance the section headed Stone includes subsections of various kinds of stone. The sections on China, Furniture, and Metal are also comprehensive. This seems to me to be a more convenient way of arranging things than exact alphabetical order would have been.
