Seattle Delivery (3)
Leonard’s car was an old Volvo sedan. It was well-maintained, with a clean interior, but the years had inevitably left their marks here and there.
“You ever been to the Portland Toyo Flea Market?”
“No, sir.”
“Sometimes decent stuff turns up.”
Leonard continued as he drove.
“What I’m teaching you today isn’t some professional art appraisal expertise. It’s the know-how for developing a basic ‘discerning eye’.”
“A basic discerning eye?”
“Yeah. Enough so you don’t get treated like a fool at the market… so you don’t get suckered into buying obvious fakes as the real deal.”
Leonard glanced at me as he stopped at a light.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Six hours is all you’re getting.”
“Still, thank you.”
“Hmph. Save the thanks for later.”
About fifteen minutes later, we pulled into a wide parking lot. The weekend flea market was in full swing. Dozens of booths stretched out, with people milling about, browsing the wares.
Leonard got out and said,
“Follow me. And listen close. I’m only explaining once.”
“Yes, sir.”
I followed Leonard into the market. It was packed with all sorts of stuff: old furniture, paintings, ceramics, toys, clothes…
Then he stopped at a booth. Posters and prints hung on the wall.
“See that poster there?”
He was pointing at a vintage movie poster. It read Casablanca.
“Yes.”
“Is that the real thing?”
I looked closely. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman were depicted on it.
“I’m not sure.”
“Of course you’re not.”
Leonard beckoned to the booth owner.
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead.”
The owner took the poster down from the wall and handed it over. Leonard held it up to the light and said,
“First, check the paper. 1940s posters have paper with the characteristics of that era. High pulp content gives it a slight yellowish tint. But this?”
I examined it up close, just as he said. The paper was way too white and clean.
“It looks too clean.”
“Right. This is modern paper. Second, look at the printing method.”
Leonard pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and peered at the surface.
“The ’40s used lithography. Irregular dot patterns. But this? Offset printing, plain as day. Perfectly regular dots. Take a look.”
I took the magnifying glass and peered in. Tiny dots, perfectly aligned.
“See it?”
“Yes.”
“Third, check the price.”
I followed his gesture to the price tag on the poster. $75.
“Ha. An original Casablanca poster starts at five grand minimum. Seventy-five bucks? You think we’re that lucky?”
“No, that doesn’t add up.”
“Right. Put it all together, and it’s a modern reproduction. Not bad, mind you—fine for decoration. But no valuable authentic piece.”
Leonard handed the poster back to the owner.
“Lesson one: Valuable originals don’t come cheap. If the price is ridiculously low, suspect it first.”
We moved to the next booth. A few small oil paintings hung there. Leonard pointed to a landscape.
“Winch, what do you think of that one?”
It was just a landscape on canvas. Hills, trees, sky… nothing standout, totally ordinary.
“Uh… just a landscape, I guess.”
“Just a landscape? Look closer.”
I stepped up to examine the painting.
“Hmm, the canvas looks worn.”
“Yes. So it’s old?”
“…I don’t know.”
Leonard sighed and lifted the painting.
“Of course. Now, check the back. Always check the back first with paintings. Remember that.”
The canvas fabric and wooden frame were visible on the reverse.
“Start with the nails…”
His finger pointed to the small nails securing the canvas to the frame.
“Modern nails. Machine-stamped precision ones. A 19th- or early 20th-century painting would use handmade nails.”
Leonard flipped it back to the front.
“Now the paint craquelure. Those cracks.”
Sure enough, fine cracks covered the surface.
“There are cracks…”
“Yes, but artificial.”
“How do you tell?”
“The pattern’s too shallow and regular. Real craquelure penetrates deep into the paint layers, with natural patterns. This was baked in an oven for a quick fake age.”
Leonard set the painting down.
“Lesson two: Aging something is easy. But the details don’t lie. Always check the back and verify the materials’ true age.”
On to the next booth. Ceramics this time. Leonard picked up a blue-tinted vase.
“What’s it say here?”
I took the vase and checked the label. ‘Chinese Blue-and-White Porcelain – Ming Dynasty.’
“Ming Dynasty blue-and-white porcelain.”
“That’s what it claims. Real deal? What’s your take?”
I examined the vase more closely. White porcelain with blue patterns. Hard to judge by looks alone.
“…I don’t know.”
Leonard flipped the vase to show the bottom.
“With ceramics, first check for hallmarks. Most fakes get ruled out here. See the characters?”
Blue Chinese characters were stamped on the base.
“Yes.”
“It mimics a Ming mark convincingly, but the stroke order’s wrong. No real Ming potter would’ve done it like that.”
“So it’s fake?”
“Looks like 19th-century European imitation of Chinese style. Not bad—it’s old. But no Ming.”
Leonard set the vase down and said,
“Lesson three: Don’t trust labels. Sellers puff up descriptions. Verify with your own eyes and trust only what you confirm.”
We’d been around the market for about an hour. Leonard didn’t let up, showing me items and explaining how to spot fakes.
Sculpture stone textures, silver hallmarks, glass age estimation…
My head felt like it might explode. Too much info at once.
“Damn it, pay attention!”
Leonard’s sharp voice snapped me back.
“Sorry.”
“Hah, you barely get half of it.”
“I’m trying my best. Haha…”
Leonard sighed and stopped walking.
“Break here. I’ll grab coffee. Browse around.”
He pointed to a nearby coffee truck.
“Americano?”
“Yes, please. Thanks.”
While Leonard fetched the coffee, I wandered the nearby booths. In one corner, a few small paintings hung. Mostly landscapes and still lifes.
Then one caught my eye. A simple landscape in a plain frame: a rural farm scene. The brushstrokes were rough, colors muted. Objectively, not well-painted. But something drew me in.
“Mind if I take a look?”
I asked the owner’s permission and touched the frame. Right then…
“Hmm…”
I checked the price tag. $15.
Decided to inspect it properly, following Leonard’s lessons step by step.
First, the canvas back. Worn wooden frame, handmade rough nails, ancient fabric.
Front now. The craquelure felt natural—deep, irregular patterns, different from the fake.
Definite authentic. Amateur work, but a real 1920s oil painting.
Valuable? Who knows. Not a famous artist.
But no fake.
“Winch, whatcha looking at?”
Leonard returned with two coffees.
“This painting. Feels authentic.”
I pointed. He handed me a coffee and examined it.
“Hmm…”
His eyes sharpened. He checked the back, then front, magnifying glass on the surface. Nodded.
“Not bad.”
“What?”
“It’s real. Amateur, but 1920s original.”
Leonard stared at me.
“How’d you spot it?”
“Huh?”
“Dozens of paintings here. How’d you pick this one?”
I hesitated. Couldn’t mention my ability.
“Just… a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“Yeah. Stood out from the others.”
Leonard narrowed his eyes. Silence, then he sipped his coffee.
“Interesting.”
He rehung the painting and added,
“Born eye, or just lucky.”
“I don’t know either.”
“Fine. Let’s keep going.”
Leonard walked on. We toured more. He kept picking up items.
“Winch. This silverware—hallmarks? But it’s plated, not solid. Feel the weight.”
“This wooden doll… check the grain. Machine-carved. Handmade would be irregular.”
“This glass vase. Bubbles? Handblown. Machine glass has none.”
My mind reeled. But a new world was opening.
Leonard checked his watch.
“Time’s up. Head back.”
Back at Leonard’s workshop. Time flew—already 4 p.m. Five hours at the market.
“Good… I think that covers the basics.”
Leonard opened a desk drawer and handed me a thick booklet.
“Take it.”
I took the book.
Fine Art Authentication – A Beginner’s Guide
by Leonard Washington
As I read the cover, Leonard explained,
“I wrote it. Simple guide for beginners like you.”
I flipped through. Pigment timelines, artist style summaries, commonly faked painters, appraisal checklists… Perfect for a total newbie like me.
“Wow… how much?”
“Free.”
“Thank you.”
Leonard crossed his arms.
“Don’t misunderstand. Today’s not everything.”
“Haha, I know. Thanks.”
“Takes years to master. Galleries, museums… see real works, read, study, hustle. That’s how you tell a grand from a hundred-grand piece.”
“Got it.”
Leonard gazed out the window.
“Hmm, and…”
Silence.
“Your Seattle run—when’s it done?”
“Day after tomorrow, maybe.”
“Good. Stop by on the way back.”
“Huh?”
Leonard looked me straight in the eye.
“Got three days free?”
My heart raced.
“Absolutely! No problem.”
“Watching you today…”
He paused.
“Bill didn’t recommend you lightly. You’ve got an eye. Intuition or whatever.”
“Thank you.”
“Too early for thanks. We haven’t started.”
Leonard handed me his card.
“Call after delivery. I’ll teach you properly for three days.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I don’t teach just anyone. Hate wasting time. Appreciate the opportunity.”
He gruffly pointed at the booklet.
“Read that cover to cover by then. Don’t waste my time on basics. Note questions, bring ’em. Straight to practice.”
“…Practice?”
“Auctions, galleries, real appraisals. Buying, selling too.”
My jaw dropped. Even hearing it, I knew it was huge.
“Thank you. Really…”
“Enough.”
Leonard raised a hand.
“One thing: Intuition’s good. But rely on it alone, you’ll get burned big. Habit of verifying with knowledge. Both together makes the expert.”
“Got it.”
“And last:”
He stood.
“Don’t finish the book, I send you packing. I’m no high school teacher. Come prepared.”
“I’ll read it all, Leonard.”
He headed to the door.
“Good. Tell Bill hi. Say I’m square.”
“Will do.”
“Now go. Seattle awaits.”
I stood, offered a handshake. He gripped it.
“Call first next time. No drop-ins.”
“Promise.”
Outside, Portland’s cool breeze hit my face. In hand: the thick guidebook and Leonard’s card.
Lucky break.
Excitement swelled. Even this glimpse sharpened my eye. Three days with Leonard…
Huge opportunity.
I climbed into the truck, set the booklet on the passenger seat. Study every spare minute till the return from Seattle.
Started the engine, headed north on I-5. Distant Seattle drew near. Beyond it, new lessons in Portland awaited.