American Folk Sculpture

Collectors covet original paint. This scupture of Puck, the mischevious imp of British folklore, is remarkable in its condition.

(Courtesy Allan Katz Americana, Woodbridge, CT)

When Rob Wyles isn’t overseeing his fruit farms at the foot of the Cascade Mountains in eastern Washington state, he’s thinking about old wood. But not the timber his state is so famous for. Wyles’ passion is for American folk sculpture: vibrant early trade signs, weathervanes, whirligigs, carousel figures and the like. Along the way, he’s picked up some painted furniture, a few important folk paintings, hooked rugs, an old toy or two. But he lights up most when talking about the sculptural figures he has amassed over the last 20 years. Working closely with a few trusted East Coast dealers, the modest 53-year-old farmer has quietly and patiently put together a museum-quality collection that includes nearly 100 of the rarest and most iconic examples of their genre. Taking a break from farming one recent morning, Wyles talked to me about his treasures.

As a child I was captivated by a tobacco store figure I saw on the street in Yakima, a nearby town. I thought it would be terrific to own one some day. Years later, when I was about 30, I inquired about them with a local antique guy named Nasty Jack in La Conner, Wash. Jack responded that they’re very rare and that he couldn’t get me one. But he gave me the phone numbers of two collectors, both of whom I eventually called and visited. They were both very excited about their collections, and it sparked something in me. One, Al Katz, was a total gentleman, full of energy and knowledge. He really introduced me to the folk art world.

Al, who is a dealer in addition to being a collector, found me a terrific one: an Indian princess. She was carved c. 1880 by Samuel Robb, a well-known New York carver.

To the market, a known name will definitely bump up the value. If there is an eagle by John Bellamy or Wilhelm Schimmel, they are known carvers, and their work will command a premium. The majority of folk art sculptures are by anonymous makers and if the piece is strong enough, lack of a name won’t hurt its value. One of my most iconic pieces is an anonymously made angel Gabriel weathervane.

She’s got a very dignified, yet dynamic form: she’s in a forward pose, like she’s in motion, with one arm holding her wrap, the other holding up a bundle of cigars. Her form isn’t rare, but it’s very coveted—particularly because this example has pristine early paint, which is very difficult to find. These things stood outside on the sidewalk all day in the elements.

That’s the bulk of what I have. Most of them tend to be wood with polychrome paint: a barber pole, cigar store figures, eyeglasses, apothecary and dental signs, a farmer’s hotel sign from the 1820s, a shotgun trade sign and a blacksmith sign, among others. I love how the forms are so varied in their expression. Some are romanticized and idealized, like the princess, who is wonderfully refined in her detail and proportions. Others are more realistic. Others were designed as a visual caricature, with exaggerated elements to help attract the attention of passersby on the street.

I have to be honest: when I bought that princess 20 years ago, I got total sticker shock. But I stepped up to the plate. I don’t want 500 pieces. I want a smaller collection that encompasses the best pieces I can find in each category. So I tried from the start to buy the cornerstones and then fill in the little gems.

My eye is for sculpture. I love the simplicity and power of form, the honest wear of a weathered surface. So first and foremost, whether it was a commissioned advertisement fashioned by a professional carver or pure sculpture made by a naïve artist just for himself, it must be a piece of art that stands on its own, in any environment. Otherwise, it’s just not interesting to me.

And then it has to be “folky,” which is hard to define, but I know it when I see it. Often a piece just exudes an expressiveness and naïve charm, like this very early carved stone lion from c. 1820 that’s in our bedroom. He’s sitting on all fours with his tail tucked under, with a face that looks like the lion from The Wizard of Oz—part man, part lion. Very folky.

I also like to acquire rare examples. While thousands of wooden trade signs were made from the late 19th century into the early teens, they began disappearing around the time of World War I, as city ordinances dealing with sidewalk congestion started to ban them. Most were destroyed. I have one sculpture, a theatrical lady, probably a tobacco shop figure. It’s likely that she’s one of a kind. She’s standing with her arms crossed, her legs apart, her feet turned out at about 45 degrees, wearing high-button boots. She has three feathers on her derby hat and terrific ringlets of hair that flow over her back. Nobody has seen anything like her. She’s in first surface.

It’s another important aspect of what I look for: great surface. A perfect surface should be first paint, untouched. It can have wear, but it should be totally honest. I have a cast-zinc statue of Puck, the mischievous imp of British folklore, made by a sculptor named Caspar Buberl top). He’s a little nude cherub wearing a top hat, holding a book titled What Fools These Mortals Be. I believe there are only one or two others known. Mine is in first surface, which is rare because zinc is a metal that paint doesn’t stick to and most of the surfaces don’t last.

A few weathervanes, a couple of whirligigs and carousel figures—not horses, though. I have a goat that came off of a Coney Island carousel and an ostrich carousel figure that is unbelievable. He looks so pissed, like he’s going to beat your brains out. I only own three weathervanes. I like them, but I’ve shied away from them. They’re difficult for me to tell ifthey’ve been messed with. As I mentioned before, Ido own a trumpeting little angel Gabriel figure. She’sby an anonymous maker, c.1850, with polychromepaint—a real folk art masterpiece. She’s featured onthe cover of the book A Gallery of American Weathervanes and Whirligigs by Robert Bishop. I have another piece featured in that book: a polychromewood whirligig of a Zouave soldier, c. 1865. TheZouave were members of the French infantry known for their colorful uniforms and precise drills.

With many potential clients either illiterate or non-English speaking immigrants, most early American signs had to advertise their wares without words. This one hedged its bets.

(Courtesy Allan Katz Americana, Woodbridge, CT. )

A whirligig figure called Bicycle Man: the only piece I ever found on my own. He stood on top of a well house on a homestead nearby, built in the 1920s or ’30s, situated at a crossroads. I drove by him all the time and he always brought a smile to my face. His body and head are carved of wood and his hat is made out of metal. The body and face were painted at one time, but he’s extremely weathered. When the wind blows, his legs pump as if he’s on a bicycle. I got to know the lady who owned the farm and made her an offer, which she initially turned down. She came back ten years later and asked if the offer was still good. She wanted to buy a new Ford Taurus. So I went down to the well house and got up on a ladder to take it down, and she came by and said “Goodbye, bicycle man.” It made me feel like a total scoundrel.

I’m always walking through my collection and asking myself, would I buy this again? That’s a tough question you have to ask. Collectors need a fix. Many like to horde. It’s hard to be patient for the really good stuff. And your eye changes the more you’re around the material. For example, I didn’t think much of pop art five or six years ago. Now I’m interested. I’ve seen shooting gallery targets from the 1920s and ’30s, that I think are great, so folky and visually powerful. I just bought a pair of eyeglasses (below) that are lit with little bulbs all the way around the frame. It’s a double-sided advertising sign, that you can see coming or going. It’s more industrial art than folk art, but it has these fun lights and bulging glass eyes.

Mostly through a handful of trusted dealers. I very rarely buy at auction—and only with a second opinion. I’m not badmouthing Sotheby’s, Christie’s and Northeast, but I think they’re dangerous places for me to buy. I feel like I know enough to be dangerous. I trust my eye, but I prefer to always bounce potential purchases off of someone. You have to have a mentor.

Al Katz spent a lot of time with me. We’d talk once a week, he’d send me a lot of photos. Then he introduced me to another Connecticut-based dealer, Fred Giampietro, who has a great eye and carries many of the top pieces. I’ve bought most of my pieces through Al and Fred. They don’t have a lot of inventory, but they have some of the best. And they know where my eye is at. I like the art, the folky look, the right surface. They don’t show me anything that’s less than that.

Wyles describes this optician’s trade sign, c. 1915, as more industrial art than folk art, per se. But as an example of American vernacular sculpture, he found it so compelling that he chased it for nearly 10 years. There is only one other known example.

(Courtesy the collection of Rob Wyles)

I love to walk by my turn-of-the-century Lady Liberty (below). She has this scornful, scolding face. That look of hers just makes you gaze into your soul.

And I have a turn-of-the-century windup toy that I love, a mule pulling an open buggy. It had been deaccessioned from the Atlanta Toy Museum. I call it “the original backseat driver.” He’s got huge ears, and when you wind it up, she’s flapping her mouth at him and the mule bucks as it goes along. It’s just hilarious.

Condition is crucial. I personally won’t buy anything that has undergone significant restoration. It should have original paint, and only honest repairs. I have a piece or two where the base was tightened so the piece didn’t fall apart. That’s okay with me. And there are forms where the arms are missing. If the piece stands alone, without its arm or a foot, then it’s art. But if the piece is restored, you need to know.

The best material is so rare and scarce, prices accelerate rapidly. I paid low six figures for some of my cornerstone pieces and people have offered me four, five and six times what I paid.

Read and study as much as you can. The mistake is when people read a few books and think they’re good to go. It takes patience. You really need a mentor, someone with an experienced eye who can help you see and understand all the little subtleties.

Folk art can get under your skin: Wyles says his Lady Liberty never fails to scorn him as he walks by.

(Courtesy Allan Katz Americana, Woodbridge, CT)

I keep a pretty good catalog of photographs of things I’ve been offered or that I’ve seen. I go through them four or five times a year. And yeah, there are things I wish I’d bought. But I’ve been lucky and had some second chances, like with the W. Dodge Dental Tooth sign (see above). It’s a three-dimensional carving of a molar almost a foot long, with a big frame around it, made up of blue smalt (ground-up glass). It’s a great piece; I don’t know what I was thinking when I passed on it. I could have bought that in 1999 for $35,000. It came back to me in 2004, but I ended up paying more than triple for it. It was a good lesson. The best pieces will only appreciate.

— Missy Sullivan

Shelburne Museum, Shelburne, VT
www.shelburnemuseum.org

American Folk Art Museum, New York
www.follkartmuseum.org

Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum, Colonial Williamsburg, VA www.history.org/history/museums/ab by_art.cfm

Allan Katz Americana, Woodbridge,CT (203) 393-9356 Fred Giampietro, New Haven, CT
www.fredgiampietro.com

David Wheatcroft Antiques, Westborough, MA
www.davidwheatcroft.com

David Schorsch, Woodbury, CT (203) 263-3131

Hill Gallery, Birmingham, MI (248) 540-9288

Northeast Auctions, Portsmouth, N.H.
www.northeastauctions.com