Art Collecting on a Budget

Stuff, nonsense and the odd treasure from the Sunday morning boot sale.

Woman and Goat. (Illegible signature on this one).

I like the thought of being a collector, a collector of antiques maybe, beautiful pieces from the past admired for their workmanship, their rarity and of course beauty. Or perhaps I could go down the more specific route and choose one particular thing; jugs, mugs, bugs in glass cages with beautifully written little identification labels that need a magnifying glass to read.

The more affluent may spend their time and money collecting horses, Chanel handbags or diamond jewellery, and then there are those whose pleasure, which is just as passionate, comes from finding a new addition to their egg cup collection or tea towels from around the world. A collection of something always conjures up a glass cabinet with vintage tea cups that are lovely, but never hear the tinkle of a teaspoon or feel the soft touch of a pair of lips as they are thought too precious to use. I don’t buy things to hide away, no matter how old or delicate, and I never buy things to sell, they come home with me because there are either needed, like a replacement garden trowel, or because they are beautiful in my eyes, which usually means they are slightly odd. ‘Odd’ should have been my middle name, my socks are always odd, I like odd people (I am sure Michael won’t mind me saying he’s rather odd), odd houses and odd stuff.

Old-fashioned Blue and Gold. Olive V Ruddock

When I was growing up I never wanted to look like anyone else, as a teenager I used to ask my Dad to make my clothes so I had things to wear nobody else could buy. My house is full of mis-matched second hand furniture, in the room I am sitting in now only the light bulbs are shop bought, everything else, the sofa, the curtains, lamps, the rugs, tables and the ornaments, all come from a garage sale, charity shop, eBay, Facebook Marketplace or my favourite haunt, the boot sale.

For over thirty years the Sunday morning boot sale has been my go to place to shop. Our nearest one is a microcosm of English life: rich, poor, young, old, different nationalities, locals with strong Suffolk accents and incomers, from mostly London, but all doing the same thing, looking for a bargain.

I regularly bump into Instagram friends, my GP, teachers from my son’s old schools, faces from the village as well as the people we see regularly every week, just like us, wandering up and down the rows, stopping every now and then when something interesting catches our eye. We nod as we pass each other by, sometimes stopping for a chat to pass the time of day, but mostly hurrying along so as not to miss out on that special something waiting just for us in the next row.

Sisters. P. Nikolov

For the many people who have to juggle their finances in this rural area, boot sales are a much valued source of good quality items such as nearly new children’s clothes, toys and books, certainly cheaper than charity shops these days. People like myself who abandoned high street shopping along ago, pop along just to have a look to see what they can find, not looking for anything in particular but getting a thrill if they find a much loved plant pot or another crocheted blanket. Then there are the dealers, the quick-walking, eagle-eyed who arrive super early and scan the stalls and rifle rudely through people’s cars to scoop up any bargains they can sell on for a profit. They can all be found sitting near the tea stall next to the Porta-Loos, where friends and acquaintances meet up every week after their morning rummage to put the world to rights and compare their purchases of the day.

It would be impossible to list everything I have bought over the years, the majority I wouldn’t even remember now. Many are small items that have cost no more than 20p, some larger like garden tables, chairs and lawnmowers. Various kitchen appliances, Dualit toasters, Nespresso coffee machines, juicers, blenders and countless bread makers. Michael can’t resist a bread maker, he buys them and gives them away to anyone who expresses an interest in making bread, ‘Spread the Bread’ he says. Cupboards and shelves are now chock-a-block with precarious looking piles of cookware, including stone bakeware and various sizes of cast iron pans, one for a single fried egg and others hold enough food to serve an army. The shelves ran out of space long ago so I have to hurry past any cooking equipment now, not stopping to look in case temptation beats me.

Alison. Elvic Steele

There is no end to the list; plants, barbecues, tools, clothes (my wedding outfit came from a bootsale), soft furnishings, computers, camera equipment and once we even bought a car. A old white convertible Suzuki Jeep that came with a new MOT and a full tank of petrol for £250. It was such fun to drive, our son, who was about 10 at the time, called it ‘The Windy Car’. For a couple of summers it was a blast, a car to make memories in before we sold it for the same money to a very happy guy in the next village.

Not everything we have purchased has been a success. While I am looking for bits and bobs for the cottage or the garden, Michael keeps a look out for more techy items, anything with a cable it seems attracts his attention. He has been caught out on more than one occasion by untruthful sellers “Oh, it just needs a new battery” being the usual fib, or “It was working perfectly last time I used it”. I bought a table once with a completely rotten leg, CD boxes with no CD’s inside, games with bits missing, blankets with holes in and cracked vases. But those days are few and far between and the good buys more than make up for the occasional disappointment.

If you follow me on Instagram you may recognise the large painting of the lady milking the goat. Marmite, I always say, I know it’s odd and people either love it or hate it. It hangs in my kitchen in pride of place as it’s one of my favourite things in the house. I remember seeing it propped up on one side as I was leaving the boot sale for the morning, passed by thousands of times and unwanted by anyone else, but I just fell in love with it. The seller was happy he didn't have to take it home again, so after I handed him £5.00 the painting was mine. Pictures have to jostle for space on the cottage walls, now full with a combination of my own art and pictures from boot sales and charity shops that I have spotted by chance, including two little oil paintings we bought before we moved to Suffolk over twenty years ago.

Michael and I went to a boot sale in Ongar one summer Sunday morning. It was a new one for us and found it a little irritating when we arrived to find we had to queue up before the gates were opened and pay to enter. But we had travelled quite a way so we stayed and while we were waiting a seller drove slowly past, her car full to the brim with boxes and sitting on the top of one I could see a pretty little painting of some boats, surrounded by an ugly white high gloss fame. I mentioned it to Michael, paid our 50p to enter then went our separate ways. When I saw Michael again I could see him walking towards me with a painting in each hand. He had found the lady selling the painting, it turned out she had two by the same artist, both in the same thickly painted wooden frames. “She didn’t like them” Michael said “She just wanted to get rid of them so I bought the pair, they were only £3”. “Each?” “No, for the pair” “Oh that’s not bad then” I said, thinking that the frames were awful and were going to need a bit of TLC before I put them up on the wall.

A week later, the paintings were still sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom which doubled as Michael’s office. One morning before work, Michael picked one up and asked what I was going to do with the frames as he kept tripping over them. “Have you looked up the artist?” he asked casually “There’s a name on them”.

No I hadn’t. So he did and was surprised to find the artist popped up on Google. “I’m going to take these to Sotheby’s on the way to work” he said, trying not to sound too excited, while stuffing them unceremoniously into a Tesco’s carrier bag.

Fishing Boats. Léo Fontan

Seascape. Léo Fontan.

Later on in the day Michael phoned me at work with the news. After a rather frosty greeting from the twin-setted receptionist who glanced first at the Tesco carrier bag then winced at Michael’s South London accent, she then raised a stiff sympathetic smile and called for a colleague to take over. A Hugh Grant look-a-like, who was apparently very pleasant, took Michael to one side to listen to his story and have a look at the paintings. He explained the artist was French, 1884-1965, they were worth about £1,000 each but if Michael wanted to sell them it would be better to send them to the Paris office as they would fetch more money in France.

“No, thank you. That’s very kind but we like them and this is the first and only time I am ever going to be able to say I’ve got two French Impressionist paintings on my wall”. Back they went in the carrier back.

And they have been on the wall ever since. I decided in the end to sand the gloss paint down and leave the frames quite rough which I like and they suit the cottage. These two little works of art painted all that time ago in France haven’t made us rich or even paid for a nice holiday but they make a very good story and the best thing is we love them.

They make me smile and that is something I value. It’s not about the money, it’s about what makes your heart sing. £3.00 very well spent and now I think of it, perhaps I do indeed have my own little art collection.

Lots of love,

Lindsey x

P.S. Each of the paintings above cost under £10.00.

Do you have any boot sale tales? I would love to hear your stories of pre-loved treasures and second hand finds.

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