
Detail of the
Ancient Roman Mosaic Glass Tabletop /Carlton Hobbs
An Imperial Giltwood Gueridon, The Top Veneered With Ancient Mosaic Glass Fragments Attributed to the Workshop of Francesco Sibilio Bearing the Monogram of Nicholas I of Russia. The Top Rome, circa1825; The Giltwood Gueridon Russian, circa 1825. /Carlton Hobbs LLC
An Interesting Set of Four Drawings of Torcheres. English, circa 1790. /Carlton Hobbs LLC
The Tenets of Taste: The Thomas Hope Collection of Philip Hewat-Jaboor at Carlton Hobbs-- Until Feb. 18, 2011 (Final Days!)
by Natalie Fasano
“ It is never an attestation of a value, or even of our imperfect sense of one, it is never a tribute to any truth at all, that we shall represent that value badly. It never makes up, artistically, for an artist's dim feeling about a thing that he shall "do" the thing as ill as possible. There are better ways than that, the best of all of which is to begin with less stupidity.” -- Henry James, 1881.
There are many qualities attributed to “value” when it comes to the industry of art and design, and it is not always the most important piece that commands the highest market price. As of yet, no universal authority on the monetization of artistic style has emerged to definitively answer the age-old question—is it really worth it? Carlton Hobbs, one of the worlds foremost dealers in 17th, 18th and 19th century antiquities and works of art would respond that any thing, even the smallest snuffbox, is always worth having— just as long as it appears to the buyer to be constructed of “layers of excitement,” a source of endless stimulation. Hobbs’ close friend, private art consultant and collector, Philip Hewat-Jaboor, agrees with him. “When it comes to dealing,” he adds, “only buy things that do that to you.”
Recently, Jaboor presented his collection of Thomas Hope furniture, the largest to be sold since 1917, at the Carlton Hobbs Gallery. Hobbs and his Partner cum Gallery Directrice Stephanie Rinza expertly integrated the new pieces into the Gallery’s existing collection—so impressive it’s almost off-putting—giving further credence to their mutual conception of objective value and belief in structural perfection. “Dealers have to allow their personal feelings to come through what they bought,” Hobbs explains of his profession; “it’s why you have a relationship with certain dealers, you just know that everything in their gallery is something they’re excited about. You trust in their eye.”
Of course, the value of a piece is not solely subject to the whims of personal sentiment. A certain consciousness of history and tradition, and of how successfully a designer translates qualities of the past, without gross neglect the present, must come into account when considering stylistic integrity. Thomas Hope was not a stupid man, and his commitment to “doing the thing well;” namely, in rendering elements of classical design intelligible to 19th century taste, was adhered to with academic exactitude. A wealthy Dutch and British banker endowed with the financial means, free time and “eye” for interesting objects—requisites of a successful 19th century cognoszenti—Hope’s success was well apportioned to his abilities.
His book “Household Furniture,” published in 1807, reads like a step-by-step guide to the provenance of the Regency style; this first interior design publication, replete with sketches and notes from Hope himself, is a highly valuable artifact to individuals such as Hobbs and Rinza, who are deeply involved in the research and documentation of design history.
It is no small wonder that the Philip Hewat-Jaboor collection of Thomas Hope designs had an animating effect on the Gallery. Indeed, the volume of visitors since the opening was excitedly remarked upon. It is also unsurprising that the two men, when called to reflect upon the success of the exhibition and the history of its Dutch patron, appeared themselves to be constructed of layers of excitement. “The Hope things here,” Hobbs explains, “are obviously in a different environment. But they work just as well.” That is the attribute of a quality object. Wherever they are placed, they can hold their own. Scale is also important; an object of fantastic design works whether it’s six inches or six feet high.” One can imagine Hobbs’ excitement when Jaboor’s crates arrived, and with what youthful pleasure a place for each piece was found.
Both Hobbs and Rinza did well to scatter Hope’s designs throughout the Gallery, showcasing this ability to “hold their own” beside equally fantastic objects—of varying dimensions and periods of design— acquired by Hobbs and Rinza over the years. Touring the Gallery with Jaboor, my attention was called to a number of objects that, though familiar to him by now, did not cease to amaze and excite. “If you are going to start collecting, or to spend money, there is no reason not to. One deserves the best.”
“Today, there is a certain seriousness, a desire for knowledge [among collectors.] The ante has been raised, and people ought to have the very best,” says Hobbs. Both men throughout our discussion mentioned the idea of the “best,” and more than once. I marveled at the ease with which they used such a loaded, and complex, word. Evidently, the “best” is not only attainable, but there are also those—like Hope, Hobbs, Jaboor and others—capable of seeking it out. To Jaboor, Peter Wilson, former Chairman of Sotheby’s Board, stood out as a man with “the most phenomenal eye and feel for commerce. He could become so focused on one thing, so dismissive of everything else, wanting only the best.” In this case, the “best” was an inches high ebony sculpture residing on a forgotten shelf. An encounter with the “best” “makes your heart beat the fastest.”
Both Hobbs and Jaboor were hopeful of the future of design collection in America. The willingness of Museum directors, curators, dealers and consultants to assist in research efforts has resulted not only in major gifts to Museums and identification of provenance for dealers, but also in a tremendous amount of new information available to collectors. Regarding the current scarcity of “top level objects” over the past ten years, Hobbs remarks: “collectors aren’t all hoarders. There is a slower turnaround because of this remarkable new generation. They have taken to commissioning contemporary art, as well as restoring and rebuilding these very large country houses, and looking after them because they are able to do it.” If anything, it is the scarcity of quality objects that lends excitement to the contemporary moment. “I have a network of people who find great things; I was in South America a long time ago, but it always shocks me how a small, unpublished country home in Northern England can still have a stock of great things.”
Both Jaboor and Hobbs were optimistic of contemporary architecture and design, noting the vast opportunity available to emerging talents in China, where “so much has to be built there. They are lending a carte blanche to architects, letting their imagination really let loose.” One talent stood out in Hobbs’ mind, a young architect whose shellfish and plant inspired designs will be able to be viewed from space. “I thought, ‘Thank God something amazing is going on.’”
Hanging above an enormous white mantelpiece, in an upstairs atria of the Gallery, directly to the right of the marble foyer currently housing Hope’s Duchess Street Settee, designed in 1802, were four pencil drawn sketches of torches. On one, the third from the left was written: “I choose this.” Though not a design of Hope’s, this particular design was the “best” to someone. The genius of longevity for men like Hope lay in the fact that a lot of people agreed with them.
For more information please visit: The Carlton Hobbs Gallery