Vaucluse Dreamer

When we lived in the UK, I used to love spending a morning at one of the local auctions. It didn’t really matter if I wanted to bid for something or not, as it was always a fascinating way to pass a few hours. There were so many options for us, from the slick auction houses in Exeter to the more characterful small ones in the mid-Devon towns.

On Tuesday mornings, you’d often find us at Hatherleigh where we’d spend a while in the poultry auction, before heading across to the cattle sheds for the general sale. There you’d find a truly eclectic mix of bits and pieces, some of which came home with us, including a beautiful old lead pump, which was so much heavier than it looked, as Andy discovered when he had to try to lift it, then carry it quite a distance back to the car. In fact, the auction was paused for a moment so everyone could witness his efforts.

Then, once a month I’d pop into the old units in Okehampton for their regular sale, where I would sit with cake (which was always delicious), watching the early lots go through, whilst I waited for the silver pieces that I wanted to bid on, for my little up-cycled jewellery business. I’d note all the hammer prices in the catalogue and sometimes bid on unexpected pieces that just needed to come home with me, including this beautiful Raku hare that no-one else was really bidding on. It still has pride of place with us now.

It was always good fun and I used to get such a buzz too. The anticipation of waiting for the items that I wanted to bid on was one thing, but the hard task of sitting on my hands until the early bidding on the pieces had finished, not getting involved until I felt ready, was another. Then knowing when to stop bidding and not getting carried away with the excitement, just added to the experience.

Over the years, my nerves and exuberance settled down, and I just enjoyed going. I spent more time absorbed in people-watching than actually anticipating what I wanted to bid on. But that little bit of excitement always put a smile on my face, especially when I won the pieces that I’d gone for. But even when I didn’t win what I wanted, I still loved the experience.

In so many ways, going to auctions is one of the things I’ve missed. Bidding online just isn’t the same. It’s impersonal and I miss the sheer excitement of being in an auction room, but going to a French auction always felt a bit beyond me. However, this weekend I decided to give it a go, as a couple of paintings at an Auction house in Avignon had caught my attention, and I thought it would be a good time to dip my toe in the water here.

On Thursday afternoon, a friend and I went to the viewing, picked up a catalogue, and spent time looking at the few pieces that had caught my attention, adding a few others to my list too. It was a specialist sale of twentieth-century art & provencal paintings, so it was a good auction to start with, as there was less chance of me getting carried away with the little pieces that I can always visualise a place for, at home.

At the auctions in the UK, I always had to register, getting a bidding number against which all my purchases would be noted. So before we left the viewing, I spoke to the reception to ask what the process was here, to find that it was very different. The woman explained that I had to bring my bank card, and on my first successful bid, someone would take my card from me and give me a bidding number, against which any further purchases would be recorded. It seemed incredibly simple.

I was also given the option to leave a bid (ordre) there, which would be used on the auction day. It’s good to know that’s possible, but not something I wanted to do this time.

So, on Saturday morning, I popped over to Villeneuve Les Avignon for an early amble around the brocante there, taking time to sit with coffee & pain au chocolat to start the day 

Before I made my way back to the Auction House. It had now been set up with rows of seating, a large screen, and computer terminals, all ready for the sale. I took a final look at the pieces I was interested in, before taking a seat and waiting for the auction to begin.

It was lovely to be back in an auction room, feeling that buzz of anticipation, at the same time as trying to get to grips with a different process. I did my best to follow what was happening, delighted that my language skills were up to it!

I wanted to be there from the start, just to watch what happened, noting the winning bids against the estimates, to get a sense of where the prices were sitting. The auctioneer was wonderfully clear, welcoming everyone and expressing his delight in seeing so many ‘bidders’ present, as by the time he began most of the chairs were filled. I imagine that a room without ‘bidders’, with everything being conducted online and by phone can feel very soul-less, so it was going to be a good day for him too.

He explained the process again, checked that all the technology was working, and then started the auction. What I noticed very quickly was that he very carefully explained each item before he started to take bids. He gave information about the artists, going into quite a lot of detail with some, and then did the same for the artwork. He pointed out any damage, highlighted where it had been signed, and went into the provenance of the pieces when he had it. It was a very precise and professional approach to each piece, leaving everyone in no doubt over what they were bidding on.

I have since learned that auctions in France are strictly regulated, with a single framework for the process and training for auctioneers. Here, the auctioneer is trained in art history and law and is responsible, both civilly and professionally for the quality of items sold and their authenticity too. They work to a code of ethics, which includes a duty to be transparent and diligent concerning pieces they sell, which explains the precise information provided about each ‘lot’.

In addition to the considerable number of people in the room, there were others bidding by phone, and more bidding online, through 2 different sites, DROUOT and INTERENCHERES The current bid was displayed on the large screen, as well as being detailed by the auctioneer. He then gave everyone plenty of time to make any final bids before striking the table with his gavel, declaring the lot ‘adjugé’.

It was a calm, professional process, and I quickly settled into my old habits. I watched the bids, noting the hammer prices, getting a real sense of what was capturing people’s attention and equally, which lots were struggling to make the estimate.

Unfortunately, I quickly realised that the pieces I wanted to bid on were similar in style to the ones that were easily reaching, and more often than not, sailing quickly past the top estimate. I knew deep down that the chances of winning them were small, but with auctions, you never really know.

Finally, the first lot I had marked appeared on the screen and I took a deep breath, listening carefully to the description, whilst I waited for the bidding to start. The estimate was 100 to 200 euros, which felt right, but before I could even think about getting involved, it sailed straight past what I had marked as my highest bid and kept going. That painting definitely wasn’t going to be coming home with me, and I hadn’t even had a chance to raise my hand.

Undeterred, I sat back and continued to watch the process, learning more as the hammer fell on each item. Then 3 more paintings that interested me came up in quick succession. The estimates were lower on these, but I had a feeling that their style was in demand among the buyers in the room, so I wasn’t confident that I would win these either.

At least, with these items, I did manage to get involved with the bidding. As the online activity dried up, I raised my hand and placed my first bid, a little hopeful that perhaps my luck may be in. But once again, the interest from the people in the room was high, and the price quickly passed the top estimate and kept going. It wasn’t going to be my day.

But at least I had placed a few bids and had got involved in the process, which was a win in its own little way!.

By the time the last lot I was interested in appeared on the screen, I knew that it too would go for considerably more than the estimate, and I was right, but once again I played my part, knowing when to stop and watching the bidding continue.

I may not have won any of the lots that interested me this time, but that really didn’t matter. I realised very early on that it wasn’t going to be my day, but that almost was a side issue. I had been to a French auction, understood what was happening, settled into my old habits and had loved every minute of it.

It’s something that I’ve really missed, and it took me a while to pluck up the courage to go to one here, but I don’t know why I didn’t do it before. In some ways, it isn’t as fast as the auctions I had been to previously, where there always seemed to be a sense of urgency to move on to the next lot. Here, the auctioneer took his time, making sure everyone had space to think and bid, before tapping his gavel and announcing the lot as ‘adjugé’. There were also amusing little comments that raised a laugh in the room, something I had always enjoyed about the ones in the UK. It had a lovely, welcoming, and relaxed atmosphere, whilst being incredibly professional and smooth.

It may have taken me 8 years to go to my first auction here, but it won’t be that long before I go again. You never know, next time I may even win something I bid on.