Think Local
By Chris Hoffman
(Sherburne, NY – Aug. 2014) I’ve been going to the Madison-Bouckville Antique Week for decades, first intermittently when I visited here from San Francisco, and then every year since I moved here in 2000.
Eager to see what new treasures dealers from near and far had brought, this was always a much anticipated happening. While mostly unaffordable to me, nevertheless it was a thrill to see spectacular pieces of furniture from the 19th and often 18th centuries in pristine condition, still functional and beautiful. Equally enticing were the thousands of dishes and glassware, silver, cast iron, bowls and kitchen utensils, farm tools, and myriad household items. The entire experience was an interactive lesson in history and sociology that never failed to impress.
This year, not only was I not impressed, I was disappointed and a tad insulted. The annoyance began at the gate, where we came upon a sign that read, “Weekend Pass $8.” The admission to the big field for a single day was $7. Even though we had checked the website prior to making plans, we saw no information about a weekend pass. So instead of planning to go both Saturday and Sunday (which we assumed would have cost $14), we decided to go on Sunday only.
As we began to wander through the field from one tent to another, we noticed numerous empty spaces and vendors already in the midst of packing up. It was 11 a.m. It seems to me that if you pay an admission fee for a day, you have a right to expect that vendors are committed to staying the entire day.
There were significantly fewer vendors than in years past (I find it hard to believe that there were “over 2000 dealers and vendors,” as the website claimed); the “big field” this year comprised only about half the land mass it did in prior years.
The aisles between the tents were virtually empty; in other years, the crowds were overwhelming. Although it had rained overnight, this was one of very few years when the weather wasn’t a factor, and the place should have been teeming with people.
Much of the merchandise on the field seemed more suitable for a flea market, with a proliferation of “collectibles” – junk that didn’t even come close to being “antique.” Everything was overpriced, often ridiculously overpriced. I collect Depression glass butter dishes, and have purchased many from both local shops and dealers as well as on e-Bay. The average price is around $30. The least expensive butter dish I saw at this show was $60, and many were more than $100. Furniture prices were generally 3 to 4 times what you typically see. The best pieces had been overly refinished, removing any trace of antiquity, while the majority had major flaws that rendered the price tags laughable.
It also seems that many dealers bring the same stuff year after year. I can’t tell you how many times a particular plate or dish or vase or whatever was recognizable from past shows, and I wondered if anyone actually sells any of this stuff ever? Or do they just cart it around from one show to another year after year?
The vendors themselves were, for the most part, disengaged. As potential customers, we were either ignored (some booths were completely unattended), or harangued with variations of “I can do better on that price,” which only made us wonder: why didn’t you tag a “better” price in the first place? Many vendors didn’t even bother to mark their things with prices, so if you were interested in something, you had to ask. I’ve always found this practice suspect, assuming that the price depends on their assessment of what you look like you can afford, so if there’s no price tag, I move on. Many vendors offered clearly erroneous information about a piece we’d pick up to take a closer look at. Either they were less than knowledgeable, or they assumed we didn’t know what we were looking at. Both are equally annoying.
At the end of the day, the four of us were all in agreement that this just wasn’t the same show it used to be. Not only did none of us buy anything, we didn’t even see anything we wanted to buy. I begrudgingly admit that I seem to have reached the age when many of my thoughts begin with “I remember when …,” but like most clichés, it contains an element of truth.
Chris Hoffman lives in the village of Sherburne in her 150+ year-old house where she caters to the demands of her four cats, attempts to grow heirloom tomatoes and herbs and reads voraciously. She passionately pursues various avenues with like-minded friends to preserve and protect a sustainable rural lifestyle for everyone in Central New York.