Given the difficult times in which we live, the enormous demands placed upon us all, and considering the nearly universal appeal of today's subject, I think I may be forgiven for once if I forego the usual explication of the associative signficance to 1904.  Even setting aside the memorable words of Oscar Wilde (as he was, regrettably, dead by the year in question), I think it safe to say that not only are some things a challenge to live up to, they never get old either. In short, blue-and-white china is always pertinent.   

Therefore, and regardless of what circles you may happen to move in and have your being, as it were, I would be very surprised if you had not already heard about the recent spike in prices realized for Made In Occupied Japan Blue Willow doll's china.  Granted that in the art market generally, it only takes one or two newcomers to make a difference -- the Hunt brothers in the silver market, for instance, or certain Russian oligarchs with Imperial Faberge Eggs. And in the auction business, of course, all you need is one eager soul bidding against the reserve.  But in the unforgiving and ruthless field of doll china collecting, I can tell you I for one met my match.  I am not exaggerating when I say I came up against extremely stiff competition from a few deadly serious collectors with some very deep pockets indeed.  

And I admit, once I caught the fever, I was carried away.  There was no turning back.  Yes, I drove prices to unprecedented heights.  I could not help myself.  My goal had originally been nothing more ambitious than to acquire a little tea set (destined ultimately for my beloved god-daughter when she comes of age) but I quickly discovered that given the ravages of time and the carelessness of  children, a complete and pristine service for four is, not surprisingly, exceedingly rare.  Perfection was elusive.  Also, variations in scale, intensity of color, subtle shifts in design compounded the matter, adding to the complexity of the hunt.  Tiny chips, flaws and missing lids were pitfalls waiting to trip up the unwary and fool the novice.  Not to mention that, once I had tasted the thrill of the chase, I was like a man possessed.  I was an addict looking for my fix.  Blue Willow doll china brought me to my knees.

I will spare you the more sordid details of my crash and burn.  I feel I am probably on the other side of it now, or will be once the rest of the e-bay packages arrive.  I find, however, that I can still occasionally be triggered by small things, and I mean that literally.    I have also realized that if Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein had not had her marriage to Prince Aribert of Anhalt "dissolved" according to the 1904 edition of Whitaker's Almanac, she might never have had the time to come up with the idea for Queen Mary's Dolls' House, which was the "star exhibit at the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley in 1924" (Official Guidebook).  

As Edward the VII said of his niece the princess, "Ach, Louise, she has returned to us as she went -- a virgin."  (See footnote to the Wikipedia entry on the princess, above).  The story that she caught the prince in bed with one of the male servants, however, remains unconfirmed.

Queen Mary's Doll's House "was a product of the period just after the First World War," the Guidebook explains, "when, in reaction to the horrors of the recent past, people wished to escape into a brighter, more frivolous world and enjoy themselves.  The 1920s was the decade of the 'bright young things' and the dolls' house reflects some of that lack of solemnity and lightness of spirit.  It is a peculiarly English conceit, being a national monument in the form of a miniature building."

Indeed.  I also think it is a very human reaction in the face of overwhelming emotion or in times of distress, to go small and to focus on something one can easily grasp and control and, again quite literally, be bigger than. 

But to return for a moment to Blue Willow, for I am certain that those of you familiar with the 1941 Newbery Award-winning book of that name by Doris Gates (1901-1987) will understand precisely why and how I might have been driven to this recent obsession. If not, I would urge you to obtain a copy of the book, for Blue Willow tells the almost unbearably painful tale of a young girl's journey with her migrant family to California during the hard-scrabble days of the Depression and of her joyless life brightened only by one precious treasure, one nice thing, to remind the girl of happier better times until that fateful day comes when her step-mother falls ill and they have no money to pay the rent, and she must decide what matters most -- and what kind of sacrifice she is really willing to make. 

I don't think I need to tell you what sacrifice that child is asked to make.  It may not be the ultimate sacrifice, perhaps, but in my opinion it comes quite close.  Little wonder then, I was driven to collecting and hoarding Blue Willow china for the next generation.  A tiny version, if you will, but no less precious. It's the idea that counts, as I'm sure you'll agree.

And now, instead of a reading from Blue Willow (too sad for a gloomy gray Saturday) or the Guidebook, today's podcast is inspired by the subject of collecting and  is drawn from S.N. Behrman's wonderful book on the famous art dealer, Sir Joseph Duveen which originally appeared as a series of articles in The New Yorker.  (Duveen, by S.N. Behrman, New York: Random House, 1952, llustrated by Saul Steinberg).

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