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The Adventure of the Pilgrim’s Chair.
Sometime in the haze of the 1970s, Armand LaMontagne, a wood sculptor from Rhode Island, sought revenge against the museum world. He had been rebuffed by curators when he questioned the authenticity of some antique furniture, so he set out to vividly demonstrate their gullibility.
Armand painstakingly built a close copy of an extremely rare 17th-century medieval-style turned chair, as would have been made in the Massachusetts Bay colony, using green wood and period techniques. He tortured the chair to appear as old as the rocks of New England, place it on the porch of a rural house fronting a road often driven by a well-known antique dealer, and laid in wait.
Sure enough, the mark bought the chair for a song. It passed through a number of other dealer’s hands before being purchased for a hefty sum by the Henry Ford Museum, where it was proudly displayed for four years as a genuine relic of the Pilgrim Century. LaMontagne then pulled his trump card: claiming that he had faked the entire chair (which the curators roundly dismissed), he challenged them to x-ray the holes that receive the spindles.
A 17th century joiner would have used a spoon bit, but these holes had clearly been bored by a modern drill bit. LaMontagne’s skill had fooled the experts.
This story, and many more, are pleasantly recounted in one of my favorite books on the history of furnituremaking: Fake, Fraud, Or Genuine?, Myrna Kay (Little, Brown and Company, 1987). Written for the non-woodworker as a series of detective story who-done-its, Ms. Kay delves quite deep into the arcane world of how furniture was made years ago, and how a few clever artisans have tried to make a buck by trickery and fakery. It’s a very sideways introduction to the rich history of our craft, and an immensely enjoyable read. As in a classic Sherlock Holmes story, the author presents detailed, factual clues and a carefully reasoned analysis to determine whether a supposed antique is what it seems to be or an imposter.
As a young apprentice, I cut my eyeteeth in repairing old American, English and French furniture. I learned how to build-and how not to build-by closely studying these survivors. Whether you’re building period reproductions or the most avant-grade piece, the same enduring principles apply if you want your work to be used and to last. Studying the fate of old pieces can be a real eye-opener. Some succeeded, but many did.
Each day I was brought face to face with an anonymous builder from the past, and each day I grew to respect their talents and recognize their limitations. Fake, Fraud, or Genuine? would have cleared up a lot of mysteries, though. It’s an indispensable guide to anyway who wants to learn from those who have gone before.
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