Old Things Considered

First, the answers: Yes, you bet! Well, no, not exactly. Two weeks ago, BOGO.

Now for the questions: are we still collecting paint-by-numbers pictures? Absolutely. If you have followed “Old Things Considered” from its inception, you might remember that Ken and I were bitten by the mid-century art bug when we visited the Smithsonian Institution’s PBN exhibit back in 2001.

We were so inspired that we spent our summer vacation that year seeking out the beginnings of what we thought might be a neat collecting field. Bear in mind that a collection is defined by three of anything: we now have over 500 of these gems, most of which are in our basement, stashed in cabinets and boxes, stacked in precarious mounds. (Note to self: get those things organized, for pity’s sake.)

Anyway, in the ensuing years, we have gotten some pretty amazing examples of what we think is arguably a form of folk art. And the most incredible “find” has a permanent place of honor in our dining room, which, except for this one illustration of spaceships, has a colonial revival look about it.

We found this neglected, folded canvas incorrectly labeled “silkscreen” last fall at the Baltimore Big Flea, and we knew immediately that we had hit pay dirt. Not only is the subject matter rare and collectible, but it’s actually three pictures on one piece of window shade (that’s what the “artist canvas” really was in the early years of PBNs).

It would seem that the talented artist who painted this “Journey Through Space,” dated 1952 (a very fine year, I might add, and right at the inception of the craze), never bothered to cut the triptych, much less frame and display it. Too bad for him. We find it to be very swank indeed.

Second question: are our living room walls still covered in a floor-to-ceiling manner, sort of like the old Haussner’s restaurant? No, not exactly. Instead, the collection is currently displayed in a rather cool manner. Gone are the 167 pictures that hung on the walls at one time. Visitors to our home would come into the room and not even notice the riot of ships-at-sea and kitty cats, snow-capped mountains and horses. Weird as it sounds, the pictures were almost like some sort of wallpaper-gone-wild. Anyway, we got tired of all of the pictures and their demands for constant dusting and straightening up. Plus, we had so many pictures that were never being seen and enjoyed. 

A couple of years ago, we had the walls patched (167 pictures means 167 holes, give or take a few) and installed picture rail, just like in art galleries. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, we secured the appropriate hardware and set about devising rotating exhibits in our own home. Currently on the walls are examples of the artwork of Grayce Ethel Miller Beem, my grandmother-in-law, who I must say had a steady hand. Other favorite showings have included “Old Masters,” “April in Paris and Poodles,” and “The Last Supper,” the most painted PBN theme, of which we have but eight examples.

Finally, when did we get our last paint-by-number? About two weeks ago. A mediocre picture of flowers, it had been reduced from $2 to 10 cents, and we couldn’t bear to see it hit the dumpster (its next stop, for sure). When I saw the sign that said anything from the “dime bin” was free with purchase, I sussed out an attractive roll of gift wrap for 50 cents (those who know me know I have a little problem resisting ribbon and paper, but that’s another story). And where did we do all of this high-powered wheeling and dealing, I hear you wondering. At the RAG Shop (Recycled American Goods), located in beautiful downtown Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, just 99.76 miles from the Catonsville Post Office.

Oh yes, one other thing, you can be sure that Ken and I will be on the hunt for some amazing PBNs at the upcoming Historic National Road Yard Sale, here in Catonsville along Frederick Road, from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Saturday, June 4. If you’re setting up, we’d like another “Last Supper.” It’s probably too much to hope that you have a spare “Mona Lisa” in the attic. . . .