Anyone who has ever seen my tiny crackerbox of a studio knows that my wind up animals are some of my most prized possessions.
I recently got this rosy-cheeked monkey from a junk box at an antique fair - he is missing his drum, but (as you can see from my #1 favorite toy, the gentleman goose) I have a soft spot for the mussed up misfits of the wind-up world. I always think about this when I watch American Pickers, and Frank says some variation of "This piece isn't perfect, so a serious collector wouldn't be interested, but I think I can sell it too a beginning collector."
I know what he means, but I just don't have the gene (or the pennies) to be the kind of collector obsessed with pristine things. Of course, I love getting to see exquisite toys, perfect, in-box, and have real admiration for collectors who act as archivists and preservationists. But I loved the dinged-up things too, and truly, I love them more...all tarnished and threadbare with age or love or both.
Lucky for me, I'm happy just to see a scrappy monkey with a chunk of metal protruding from his old-man trousers have a conversation with a dingy-feathered goose who is down on his luck.
"Say, can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use one."
"Thanks, pal. Ever since my drum fell off, things haven't been the same. But I did hear there's a girl. They say she gets stars in her eyes over the likes of us."
