Flea markets are depressing places but I can’t stay away. I’m a sucker for the random still life tableaus that you find when wandering the stalls. The Vienna flea market combines the possibility of still life with the stench of cigars and sweat and history and desperation. If that sounds like I’m being dramatic, then watch a skinny guy in a tattered jacket with the stained mustache trying to sell his pewter topped beer mug to another just as tired looking man behind a table of hinges and old street signs and cigarette tins.
Every now and then you stumble across a piece of Judaica — something “recovered’ from a temple or attic or the barn is some eastern European village where Jews used to live. The guy behind the table, snaggle toothed and with a big belly, a cigarette pinched in his fingers will tell you that “it’s Jewish” and ask you for a lot of money. But if you pay careful attention, you will notice that the same exact artifact shows up over and over and over again, tempting you to turn the object over in your hands until you find the “Made in India” stamp.
The market is full of people on the take. You’ll hear that the vase is Jugendstil from someone you swear could not possibly know Jugendstil from Art Deco from Modern. If they did, would they also be selling a plastic Ronald McDonald doll? I realize this is unfair, perhaps they are all art history students fallen on hard times, left with only the option of collecting the detritus of society and moving it around.
We squeezed up and down the makeshift aisles until I’d had enough. I couldn’t take the feeling of one more pushy lady barreling past me to get at — at what? A pile of tattered lace? A mountain of used shoes? A cardboard box full of magazines from 1972? All over the place there were people holding up objects they did not need. I believe there are random treasures, accidental gems that found there way to the hands of these brokers. There must be, because you see the hunters there, well turned out and almost sniffing out antique books or picture frames or prints.
But in general, you should just put that thing right back down again. It may be novel to turn it over in your hand but honestly, you really don’t need it. You don’t. Trust me. It’s already been rejected and ended up here at the flea market.
More photos from the Vienna Flea Market are here.
I also find the flea market situation kinda sad. The weekend flea market in Freemont filled with Yuppy folk looking for irony? Ick. Have you experienced the flea market situation in Florida? They take flea marketing very serioius, it’s an art form there. The entire east coast is one long flea market with whole strip malls devoted to reselling used personal goods. The huge bonus is that you won’t find better poppy-seed rugelach on the planet.
I’m smiling reading this because J wants us to start spending some weekends selling (golf clubs) at the Roseville flea market (outside Sacramento). I, of course, think: okay, as long as I get to spend most of my time roaming the market in search of kitchy crap I don’t need. 🙂