Caring for antiques feels much like painting the Golden Gate Bridge: by the time you finish one end, the other end has already fallen into disrepair.
Recently I took it upon myself to polish a silver flatware set. I paced the polishing over three days to spare myself too much hard graft. By the third day, nearing midnight, I had realized I should have spread things out over a week. My hands cramped under the repetition of the work.
I polish in four steps: first, a rough polish to remove the majority of stains and imperfections (occasionally using copper “wool” for particularly damaged sections); second, a rigorous buff with a clean cloth to bring the pieces to a brilliant shine; third, a gentle wash in soap and water; fourth, a dry buffing. As I grow older, I have to employ a similar set of steps on myself to maintain a presentable façade.
A moan accompanies me every time I count the times these pieces of cutlery will need to be polished. Some future owner’s problem, I think, before putting them all away into their chest.
Objects often have lives that far exceed that of their owners. Ownership is a misnomer. It is a term we repeat to ourselves to dim the reality that an object will pass through many lives and ours will be just one episode in its story.
Having old things is more stewardship than ownership. It involves care, education, and preservation that is seldom given to just any object. Is it obligatory? No. But I remind myself that this may be the first or only time an object will receive such care and attention. Many of us, who seek to own beautiful things, enjoy that brief period when something we admire is in our care.
I have resorted to potions, pastes, emulsions, soaps, creams, oxides, glues, epoxies, powders, solutions, poultices, rubs, immersions, platings, coatings, washes, and an endless litany of techniques to diminish the signs of aging on these objects. There is trial and error. I am sad to say I have lost a few beautiful baubles through overzealous or ignorant restoration attempts. There are casualties in self-education.
The work is finished — in my mind — when the object sparkles with humanity: the centuries and hands that have created, used, and cared for them brought back to the surface to be savored during the brief moment we can call them our own. That sparkle can be a complete restoration, a minor cleaning, or even letting an object enjoy being old and dusty.