Articles

Collectable beads

I am passionate about beads – simple primary coloured Trade beads, delicate Venetians, ornate lamp glass trail beads, shimmering foils, Czechoslovakian and many more. I am captivated by their originality and alluring beauty. I became a collector by chance rather than design after a friend sent me some trade beads from Sarawak. He had been travelling down river staying overnight in long houses. He became fascinated by the prestige and wealth that was attributed to the beads, as their primary use was that of currency. They were used as ornamentation but were basically today’s version of the credit card as they were portable and readily traded. No embarrassing gold card, transaction declined, for them – what you saw was what you got. Beads have been recorded in Europe as early as 30,000B.C. But the early lapis lazuli, gold, carnelian and agate beads from Mesopotamia, the exquisite colourful faience moulded heads from Phoenicia and the polychrome faience beads and amulets from Amana are the ones that I lust after. However I console myself with the fact that they would be too fragile and rare to wear, and that is why I collect 19th and 20th century beads. Every year I go to England to buy. I am always full of childlike optimism that I am going to discover rare and beautiful treasure. It is just as well I indulge in this fantasy other wise nothing would get me out of bed at 4.30am, on a freezing February morning, to go up to the London markets. Beads became accessible and popular in the Western world at the end of the nineteenth century. Moses Lewin Levin was an importer exporter of beads from 1830 to 1913. His business operated from London and he imported Venetian, Bohemian and German beads, and these are the beads that that I search for in London, Paris and Prague. The easiest to find are the 1950’s strings of pearls made famous by Jacqueline Kennedy and the triple strings of mottled Venetian and Czechoslovakian so popular with our aunts and grandmother’s in the 1950’s and 60’s. No outfit was complete without the matching gloves and toning shades of pastel beads. These are not the stuff of dreams, these are not my passion. I am seeking long strings of beautifully crafted brass filigree beads interspersed with fragile richly coloured hand blown beads. My favourites have a core of solid glass, and then a layer of silver or gold foil was inserted, which was then unevenly coated with another coloured glass. For example you might have a golden glass core covered with a purple glass. As the depth of the glass varies, so do the colours. As you move from one angle of light to the next, the beads send out multi flashes of lilac, gold and deep purple. They are wonderful, and because all of the beads are hand crafted, no two strings of beads are ever the same. My other quarry is strings of Bohemian beads, and finely worked, intricate necklaces. The necklaces are usually more formal and ornate in design, and a typical piece might start with a stamped out gilded brass design, to which has been added handset coloured glass stones. Contrasting coloured enamel is then applied, and possibly additional pieces of gilded metal. These beautiful bracelets, pendants and necklaces are built up in layers. They were often assembled at home in the evenings, with whole families being involved in a type of piecework or outwork. They were labour intensive, and will never be repeated because of lost skills and labour costs. The glass stones were remarkably good, and at a superficial glance it was hard to tell that they weren’t citrine, jade, amethyst and lapis lazuli. Designers copied the styles of the gold and precious stone pieces of the Belle Epoch and Edwardian era’s. After the war the newfound affluence of the public enabled middleclass women to buy affordable and beautiful styled jewellery that had once only been the domain of the privileged few. Recently, I was given the opportunity to visit Prague, and whilst wandering around that beautiful historic city, I decided to try and track down examples of costume jewellery. The Old Town of Prague consisted of ancient 16 the century buildings, richly ornamented with figural carvings, juxtaposed with flamboyant Art nouveau edifices covered with sinuous whiplash designs and female figures. The narrow streets twisted tortuously back on themselves, and I had soon lost all sense of direction. Because the streets were so narrow the buildings were high, and close. It was relatively flat so you couldn’t get a vantage point from which to get a landmark, and I must confess that one richly ornamented and turreted church looked the same as the next one. They all seemed to have magnificent spires, and massive, heavily carved doors. I eventually stumbled upon the slow majestic river, and crossed over via the magnificent Charles Bridge. I puffed and panted up the steep hill towards the Prague castle, it was incredibly cold, and snowing hard. My glasses kept misting over, and somehow melting snow had penetrated beneath my scarf muffled neck, and cold trickles of water were adding to my general discomfort. I gratefully entered the first tourist shop that I encountered. Anywhere, to gain some respite from the biting cold. The shop was interesting in that it sold the beautifully hand painted, stacking Russian dolls and other traditional crafts. I noticed some ornate scent bottles covered in metal filigree, and set with glass stones. These modern versions used the same earlier techniques of decoration that are to be found on the collectable scent bottles and more importantly for me, the necklaces from the 1930’s. I wandered on and was rewarded by an antique shop stacked with Art Deco figures, Art glass and several counters of jewellery. Reluctantly I decided against purchasing any of the superbly crafted Bauhaus glass, as apart from the weight of the crystal I also had to negotiate the slippery slopes of the castle road, and New Zealand seemed an impossibly long way away. If you are passionate about beautiful old pieces, there is no greater sin than damaging or worse still destroying apiece whilst you are its temporary guardian. On the rare occasion that I have been careless enough to damage a delicate piece of porcelain I have felt physically sick with the realisation that I have deprived not only myself of an item of interest or beauty, but also future generations of collectors. For, after all, we are only ever the transient curator of an artefact. Fortunately jewellery is far more robust than glass or china, it is also small, light and easy to transport. I don’t have to struggle with uncomprehending shipping agents, as I try to organise the cartage of heavy pieces of Teutonic furniture half way across the World. I had struck it lucky with my newly discovered shop. They had several affordable pieces of delicately enamelled jewellery. The designs were naturalistic, and were finely drawn portraits of birds and flowers, worked originally in powdered glass. They are then fired at high temperatures until they liquefy into glass. This is why you should always take particular care of enamelled pieces, storing them wrapped in fabric, as they chip and scratch easily, and can never be satisfactorily colour matched and repaired. The softer colours and designs placed them in the earlier period of the Art Nouveau era. Shapes became geometric, and colours bold, with the advent of Art Deco and its celebration of the machine age. I purchased a charming enamelled necklace in contrasting colours of purple and lime green, several delicate enamel brooches, and some glorious multi-stoned butterflies. These gilded filigree butterflies were set with small jewel like stones, and were so realistic that you almost expected them to flutter away. On another tray, amongst the gold jewellery I also espied an exquisite fly brooch. It was a delicate piece made out of gold, with a large fiery opal for a body, two diamond encrusted pave set wings, a cornflower blue sapphire head, and two flashing red ruby eyes. As the wave of naturalism swept Victorian England the collecting of insect jewellery came into vogue, There was a craze for all things natural including Scottish pebble stone jewellery, cameos made from ancient lava from Vesivius, and jewel encrusted winged insects These included enamelled bees, sparkling diamond butterflies, watery opal dragonflies and even the lowly fly. These delicate pieces perched on shoulders, or were pinned into delicate pieces of ethereal lace, catching a fold in the blouse, or pinning a wisp of silk to a waist Several insects might be clustered over one garment, or could gaze in solitary splendour with glittering eyes, from an ornate hair piece. Whenever I travel it is always my intention to add to my collection by buying myself an item of beauty. I don’t set out with a predetermined idea but I always instantly recognise it when I glimpse it amongst a crowed antique stall or shop. This time, my small collection was going to be enhanced by this exquisite fly. This would be the memory that would transport me back to Prague and its glorious architecture, long after the discomforts of the snow and biting cold, were forgotten. I was enchanted with my fly, and after purchasing him, pinned him to the lapel of my black velvet jacket. I returned happily and with a lighter step, to my temporary accommodation, with my new treasures tightly clasped to my chest. I was not trying to keep out the wind; I was hugging myself with glee. My earliest experience of buying trade beads nearly ended in disaster. I had been having the first of my many mid life crisis, and had embarked on a three- month adventure around the world. I abandoned both my husband and my two teenage children, in a quite unmotherly fashion, and with a round the World ticket, little money but heaps of optimism, I set off. After various mishaps, which included managing to get myself temporarily locked up in Iran, I arrived in Kenya. There I managed to buy some beautiful strings of mixed amber and glass trade beads. The trade beads originated in Venice, and are usually made of wound glass with polychrome decorated stripes and are roughly cut, but they are charming in their simplicity and colour. By this time I was near the end of my trip and had run out of both time and money. I had booked my ticket through a travel agent who had advised me on the necessary vaccinations for my trip. I had met up with a friend, Penny, in Kenya and we had been staying on her father’s remote farm in Kit ale. Telephone communications were at best unreliable, but the expatriate community sticks together, so through the British Consulate we had heard that Air Kenya was having financial problems. We tried to confirm our tickets and were assured that all would be fine. Penny also felt that I should have had a yellow fever certificate. As it was only a couple of days to my departure and because I am a pathetic wimp about needles, I decided that it was unnecessary. The day of departure arrived and I was by this stage travelling light having jettisoned most of my luggage enrooted. Penny on the other hand was laden down with carvings, pictures and various family gifts, so I gave her room in my suitcase. Somehow I ended up with an African basket, 3 strings of ethnic beads, and a camera wrapped in a pair of orange shorts as hand luggage. My suitcase ended up on Penny’s ticket in the airport chaos, our plane had been cancelled and we were allocated space on another carrier after a hefty bribe had been paid by one of the First Class Australian passengers. It was once we reached Mauritius that my problems started. Although the officials weren’t admitting it the flight was overbooked. Scapegoats had to be found and although Australia as a whole did not require Yellow Fever certificates, Perth did. As luck would have it Perth was our first port of call in Australia. Ironically the Australian couple who’s enforced generosity had allowed us all to leave Nairobi were the first off, followed by a black African man and myself. We all argued furiously out on the airport tarmac. My demands to be put in touch with the British Consulate were summarily dismissed. I then argued that as I had no money, I had to continue my journey. Bad mistake. I was immediately informed that they were going to forcibly put me back on a plane to Kenya, as I could not stay in affluent Mauritius in my penniless state. Fortunately for me, although total strangers, both the Australian couple and the black African guaranteed my costs of accommodation and food. Although all flights by South African airlines were fully booked for the next 6 weeks, I did finally manage with the help of my newfound friends, to leave a week later. As I had no clothes, spongebag or money, and as no one wanted to take official responsibility for me, I had an intesting and lightly clad week. I couldn’t help but ruefully reflect that s, although once my beautiful trade beads would have been worth a piece of land, a wife or a cow they were really of little intrinsic value to me when stranded on a desert island.