| MANY NEW COLLECTORS ARE INTIMIDATED
BY THE THOUGHT OF bidding on art, but you can often find
fantastic buys at auction; that's where dealers replenish
their own stock. Guglielmino compares it to buying wholesale
versus retail. If a client is interested in a particular
lot, she judges how accurately it has been catalogued. If
she thinks it's undercatalogued—undervalued—for
an estimate of, say, only $8,000 to $12,000, she will show
the client why the work is worth as much as $150,000. On
the day of a sale, she talks to the auction house to see
how many people have asked for condition reports and how
many have set up special telephone bidding. "If 10
people are after this lot, Ups going to exceed its estimate
by masses," she says. Typically, because her clients
are busy or the auction takes place during working hours,
she bids for them. Clients can also bid with her, or she
can arrange for them to bid on the phone, or they can leave
a written bid. "Especially with the evening, black-tie
auctions of the Impressionists, they'll come with us,"
she says, "and we'll be in a box with them so that
they're hidden out of public view." Other clients prefer
to do business anonymously under the Citigroup name.
Guglielmino's Bethlehem client usually
asks her to bid for him so he doesn't get caught up in the
excitement of the auction. Recently, she got him a pair
of 1632 painted panels, The Virgin Annunciate and The Angel
of the Annunciation, by Dutch old master Hendrick Bloemaert,
for $82,250. "The month after we bought the paintings,
Art & Auction magazine said that somebody must have
been sleeping when this pair of paintings came up, because
they went so cheap," he says. "Francesca's best
asset is she tells you what to pay and she won't let you
pay more."
To seduce collectors into doing just
that, dealers and auction houses ply them with the social
events and glamour of the highend art market. Dressed in
the designer clothing she favors, Guglielmino will chaperone
clients to keep it from affecting their judgment. "Clients
should enjoy the parties, if they like that sort of thing,
but should not be misled about what they're buying or how
much they're paying," she says. "We see through
the veil."
She always asks six questions: (1)
Is there sufficient information to corroborate the work's
authenticity? (2) What is its physical condition? (3) Does
it represent the artist's best output, or is it of the best
quality? (4) Is it relevant to the collection? (5) Is the
price justifiable in the current market? and (6) Is the
vendor reputable? A work that has been "exposed"—sold
and resold, diminishing its value-especially in japan, where
art speculation has run rampant, is less appealing than
one that is new on the market. "Has it been over-restored?
Is it relined? Has it been cut down? Is the signature a
later studio stamp? All those factors will affect the price,"
Guglielmino explains. And sometimes art conceals unsuspected
value: Guglielmino recalls buying a 17th-century Neapolitan
picture for a client. When it was conserved, it was discovered
that a 19th-century artist had painted the woman's dress
up to her neck. Underneath was "a rather sexy décolleté
with a bit of breast showing," which only increased
the painting's appeal.
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