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Confessions of an auction addict
Time Out art editor Ossian Ward comes clean about the fatal appeal of Alvar Aalto furniture in West Norwood.

Picture the scene. It’s the busiest night of the year at Christie’s, one of London’s top auction houses, but the stylishly packed room suddenly descends to a hushed murmur as the star lot arrives for sale. The audience is in thrall as the price soon escalates past the £10m mark, eventually setting a new record of £14m for the long-dead artist in question, Francis Bacon. The room explodes into spontaneous applause, although nobody is quite sure who they’re clapping for. While most of us can’t conceive of parting with such vast amounts of money for a modest-sized wooden frame covered in roughly painted canvas, there is an undeniable, vicarious excitement to watching a major auction in full swing.

Writing about art has meant that I’ve been to my fair share of auctions over the years in both New York and London, but given my chosen profession I’ve never had the salary to be anything other than a bystander at these glitzy affairs. Still, that hasn’t stopped me. Almost ten years ago I discovered a few items of original 1930s Alvar Aalto furniture at one of the more reasonably priced day sales at Christie’s in South Kensington, but was dismayed when even these soon sailed over my pitifully low cash ceiling. Chancing upon similar lots at a much smaller auction house, Rosebery’s in West Norwood, I first got my taste of the thrill of the chase. Feature continues

Again, picture the scene. My magic number approaches, but I feign an icy demeanour (this works better than sweating and pacing, I find). Once the bidding begins, I hold off to see what kind of interest there is in the room and quickly size up my competitors. There’s often an artificial lull before bidding gets going, to see if the auctioneer might reluctantly lower his opening gambit to get the crowd interested. I know not to lose concentration at these moments, because I was once too busy chatting to notice when renowned auctioneer Simon de Pury was glaring right at me, enquiring whether that last gesticulation was indeed a bid for the current, sky-high work of art.

Some well-known auctioneers, like de Pury or Tobias Meyer at Sotheby’s, go like the clappers, banging down lots without a care in the world. Others eke out each lot as if their life depended on each hammer blow, teasing buyers into just one more wafer-thin bid, like Christopher Burge, an experienced podium star at Christie’s. Luckily, on my lot, there’s no sea of hands shooting up, but it soon descends into all-out war between me and a dealer (in heady £10 increments) up to the £200 mark. Upper-class intimidation tactics learned at Christie’s now come into play, as my seasoned look of weary contempt at each flick of the wrist soon puts off my opponent, who’s looking for a bargain. Dealers won’t pay over the odds at auction because they need the margin to sell on, but regular punters like me can go to the wire – it comes down to who wants it the most, or who has deeper pockets.

Of course, these days you can watch auctions in real-time over the internet and you don’t have to be a high roller any more to do your business over the phone. But there is nothing more soulless than staring at a flickering eBay screen when you can experience the high of clinching the bid at a live auction, because as we all know it’s not just the taking part that counts.