So you may be in the market for antique furniture, but there are often good reasons for buying a reproduction. My last post on reproductions prompted a conversation with a friend of mine about whether buying reproductions at all is a good idea when you can just go for antiques, especially since good, handmade reproductions can sometimes be more expensive than the real thing. So I decided to put together a list of the top three reasons for buying a reproduction instead of an antique:

1. You may want something flawless that looks new but is in an antique style. If it is an actual antique, you're probably looking at forking over a lot of dough. If you wanted an actual Georgian version of this walnut linen press, for instance, I would guess you would need at least $15-20k. A reproduction might set you back only $5k.

2. You may need something that is rare or practically impossible to find. Some dealers, like us for instance, can make anything you can dream up.

3. You may need a suite of matching or similar furniture; depending on what it is you need, this can be quite difficult. Most of the time when someone needs a group of items, they're looking to outfit an office. So you can get your desk, credenza, bookcase and filing cabinet in one place, with the same leather and wood types if you want—and have them all look antique.

This is a prime example of a quality reproduction.

I recently came across the following article about antique appraisals while digging around for furniture news, and I was surprised at the price tag put on the furniture discussed in the article.

Now let me lay out some disclaimers: I sell furniture, I don't appraise it (we don't do appraisals, in case you were wondering); the furniture I sell is mostly English (duh), not French; most of what comes into our shop is usually 19^th century, not 18^th; and I am sure that Ms. Durr is an absolutely capable professional.

So, that being said, I would be very surprised if Mrs. Francis gets half of the $64,000 of the estimated value. As the article itself indicates, it is difficult for individuals to sell furniture and even more so to sell it at its "worth," because of the Internet (hello, English Classics?) and the slow economy. Unless Francis gets serious about marketing this set, it probably won't sell, and usually such an effort is long and painstaking. This is why marketing is an entire industry in itself, and why, in fact, I am sitting in front of this monitor slapping away at the keys—not everybody can do it.

Mostly it comes down to time. Francis indicates that she is willing to wait, but even given several years, the odds that she will find a buyer without 1) professional help or 2) serious investment of her own time are pretty slim. These kinds of relatively rare, quality items tend to sell in very selective markets composed of high-end auctions, designers and big-shot retailers (e.g. Miami Circle). Other options include Ebay, consignment and a patient email campaign to retailers—none of which are likely to reap anything close to the $64k that Francis is hoping for. This is partly because the Internet is a market where people expect to pay less, and dealers aren't in the business for free.

In short, the furniture market is generally insulated from individuals seeking to dump their valuable antique furniture. Not that I wouldn't love to be surprised or proven wrong, but if you're looking into selling your own furniture or antiques, just keep in mind that a piece's "value" isn't necessarily its price, and for that matter is often just some abstract number that doesn't really mean much to anyone but insurance companies. Your best bet is to do some research and compare what you've got to what other people are selling. Either way, good luck!

This isn't the type of question I ask very often, but a post about a Thomas Brooks Dresser over at Rare Victorian peaked my interest. John Werry raised the issue of whether the winged male child, shown at the top of this dresser as well as in countless other works of furniture and art, ought to be referred to as a "putti" (singular for "putto") or as a "cherub."

According to Wikipedia's version of the story, "cherub" cannot refer to the artistic representation of toddler angels, a claim for which Wikipedia provides no support in that article but does in another on putto. I use the term "support" loosely, since the reference does not appear to be academic or peer-reviewed; in any case, a forum poster known as Juan Carlos Martinez argues that "cherub" refers exclusively to the Christian theological figures, and that putto are only secularized versions of Cupid—and thus obviously not Christian (see the rest of his argument). Not wanting to leave the question unanswered, I did what I always do in any contest of English diction: I consulted the Oxford English Dictionary (which unfortunately requires a subscription to access).

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When asked to consider their relationship to other dealers in the industry, most antique furniture merchants will respond with one word: competition. Now of course this is a perfectly reasonable answer, and perfectly correct, but competitive rivalry doesn't exactly capture the nature of the business.

Yes, there is a bottom line—everyone wants to sell the best product at the best prices. In other industries, the resulting competition has seen the concentration of capital in a few hands, most notably in multinational corporations (i.e. our toothpaste comes from four companies, our cars from a dozen or so). In our industry, we have managed to reproduce the same model of horizontal integration, if only on a smaller scale. Nevertheless, just mentioning the phrase, "antique furniture," calls to mind the myriad of mom-and-pop jobs, small dealers and down-to-earth trade markets like Atlanta's own antique show.

Why is the antique business so decentralized? Because our industry is one that resists colonization by larger market forces. As Rockefeller once said (and I'm paraphrasing here), the age of the individual is over, having been replaced by globalized corporate identities—and yet, here we are. Perhaps this is because it is in the nature of antiques to resist change—after all, evading or enduring the countless number of catastrophic events that can beset a piece of furniture, only to emerge hundreds of years later as a beautifully patinated work of art is quite a feat. And of course there is the difficulty in reaping profits from said furniture.

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