Unmasked and Unabashed

James Urmston vividly recalls his first Mexican mask, the one that innocently enough started it all. “It had a weird kind of look to it,” he says. “It was unpainted, and it had sort of a goatee. It was just mysterious.”

Fast-forward 35 years; now Urmston and his wife, Jane, own more than 200 masks, which dot the walls of their colorful Santa Monica home. That’s how it is with collections. It always starts with one.

The Urmstons’ masks are part of “Private Passions,” currently on view at the Los Angeles Craft and Folk Art Museum. The show, which continues through June 24, celebrates the singular thrill of amassing stunning treasures through an eclectic mix of eight collections ranging from folk-art toys to ethnic jewelry to contemporary glass, ceramics and fiber, Central Asian robes, antique beaded purses and masks. The exhibition is “based on the fact that L.A. has a number of collectors who are not always recognized for the quality of their collections and their connoisseurship,” says Patrick Ela, museum interim director. “We wanted the Southern California community to know about the richness of the collecting activities that exist here.”

Interest in the art of collecting has intensified in recent years, as disposable income rose. Some collectors say being surrounded by valued objects makes people feel safe in a world of crashing stock markets and energy crises. Perhaps it is just in man’s nature to be a hunter-gatherer. Television shows, newspaper columns and books dedicated to amassing objects have also fueled the desire, as have online auctions and chat rooms. Magazines encourage collectors to display what they hoard, not to be ashamed--despite an occasional raised eyebrow--at spending hundreds or thousands of dollars on antique woodworking tools or outsider art because they are more than just things. To the collector these objects are touchstones, infused with deeper meanings.

For James and Jane Urmston, the masks provided history and culture lessons about a country they were beginning to know. They were on their honeymoon in Mexico in 1965 when they picked up their first one, which led to them to add more on subsequent visits. They knew little at first about what they were buying, intrigued simply by the rustic, haunting beauty of these hand-carved wooden pieces used in local festivals and religious events.

But the more they collected--mostly from dealers who found masks in small villages--the more they learned. As habits go, this one wasn’t breaking the bank, since the masks they were buying averaged about $15 to $25. “In the beginning,” says Jane, an artist who quilts and does faux finishes, “we bought a lot of masks that were carved just for the tourist trade. Some of them are extremely interesting, but it wasn’t long before we realized we wanted to concentrate on authentic masks that had an ethnographic significance, as opposed to being just decorative. The dealers would always tell you about the festivals the masks were used in and the villages they came from. They made the whole idea so much more interesting and significant.”

Collectors like the Urmstons often have to grapple with ethical issues when buying pieces in foreign countries and bringing them home. “We thought we would collect pre-Columbian masks, but we didn’t like the idea of that. You really shouldn’t,” James says. There are legal restrictions on exporting pre-Columbian objects from their native countries.

The joy of collecting has physical aspects as well. In the thick of their fever, when the couple would come upon a huge trove, they’d experience symptoms common among collectors. James, who teaches Mexican art at Santa Monica College, explains: “You’re actually embarrassed, it’s like avarice.” Adds Jane, “When you’re excited, your pupils dilate, you sweat--we’re sure the dealers could read all these things. You try to be really cool, but I’m sure they knew how to tell.”

For the Urmstons, it all came to a halt around 1978, when prices for masks rose as demand increased--today they can go for up to $600. The bargaining, the challenge of the chase, the serendipitous discovery of some fabulous carving had defined their collecting, and now that was gone. Sitting in their relaxed Santa Monica home filled with remembrances of their travels, they don’t seem at all melancholy about being retired from the game. “You reach a point,” says Jane, “where you don’t need to buy anything. You have everything there is. We just collect with our eyes now.”

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Sometimes the connection between collector and collection isn’t as obvious as it was for the art-inclined Urmstons. Dr. David Reisbord is a Santa Monica-based neurologist with a taste for ethnic costumes and textiles, a fascination he discovered in Guatemala 25 years ago.

Struck by the colors and distinctive costumes that distinguished each village, he began to scoop up brilliantly colored blouses and skirts to bring home. It was collecting, he says, “on a very small scale.”

His travels also took him to Indonesia, where he first discovered ikat textiles, fabrics made by a difficult and time-consuming process in which individual yarns are tie-dyed different shades before being woven into abstract designs. Various cultures employed the technique, each adding its unique spin.

Reisbord first glimpsed brilliantly colored Central Asian ikat robes at an exhibition and sale in Los Angeles about 10 years ago and was struck by the vibrant hues and abstract patterns of the robes, made of a simple A-line construction and worn by upper-class men and women. Soon after the discovery, he traveled to Uzbekistanto buy robes that at the time seemed “unbelievably inexpensive”--about $50. Shopping took him from stores into dealers’ homes, providing a glimpse of the country not found on any tour--an added benefit that serious collectors often love. “People would gather around and say, ‘Come to my house.’ Some of these robes had been in these families for generations.”

As resources in Uzbekistan dried up he found more robes in Istanbul, where, Reisbord says, textiles began to pour in when the Soviet Union broke up in 1991. In the last decade, prices have escalated and the best pieces are quite rare. “I think back to what I was offered in Uzbekistan,” Reisbord says, shaking his head. “It’s not the mistakes I buy, it’s the mistakes I don’t buy.” He motions to a computer in his library and logs onto Cloudband.com, a Web site dedicated to carpets, textiles and Asian and tribal art. Clicking on an ikat robe, he estimates its asking price at about $10,000 (the site didn’t give an amount).

As expensive as these antiques have become, Reisbord and his wife, Elizabeth Bloom Reisbord, don’t treat their stash like precious museum pieces. Although some are on display around the house, away from direct sunlight, the majority are kept folded in drawers. The couple have even worn them to parties and other events. A collection of antique cashmere shawls from India is piled in a cedar chest; David pulls them out one by one, each more beautiful than the last. Burmese textiles dating from the mid-1900s and turn-of-the-century Syrian textiles are displayed casually around their library.

As they sit in the cozy room, Elizabeth, an artist who teaches at the University of Judaism, makes plain that “this is mainly David’s passion. I appreciate them, I like looking at them, but I don’t collect them. It’s fortunate that I’m not,” she says with a slight laugh, “because it would be horrible. I tend to discard rather than amass. But I do love the pieces, and it’s great that David loves to do this.”

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Traveling is often the collector’s main method of feeding the habit. Routes are planned to museums, shops, private dealers and auction houses. Special tours for collectors get them from point to point without wasting time on inconsequential sightseeing.

Stella and Fred Krieger recently returned from Turkey, where they and a few friends--also avid collectors--took a custom guided tour of Istanbul and its environs, trolling museums and visiting dealers, picking up great pieces along the way.

Longtime Oriental and Caucasian antique rug collectors, the Kriegers started collecting beaded handbags years ago as something of a lark. While combing the wares at flea markets and antique stores, they’d sometimes see an old beaded purse with an Oriental rug motif and pick it up.

“At that time they were really inexpensive,” recalls Stella, manager of the museum’s gift shop. “They were about $10 or $15. No one was paying attention. By about 1990, we had about 40. I didn’t really mean to make a collection.”

But a collection is what it became, now numbering about 300, dating from 1850 to 1930. Turned out mainly in France and Belgium, the bags were based on Oriental, Persian or Caucasian carpet designs and were made of glittering glass or iridescent steel beads. Some were beaded by women who created original motifs or used published patterns or kits. Those spawned duplications, but subtle differences reveal the signature of the individual creator. Some purses were also made by hand in commercial workshops. All were originally designed as pouches with drawstring tops until changing tastes caused many women to add metal tops and chain handles.

When the purses catch the light, they look like beautiful old jewels, with colors ranging from muted earth tones to bright summery shades. Though most are in excellent condition, fragile fringes that once graced the bottoms of most of the purses have been a casualty of time. The Crafts Museum show isn’t the first time the bags have been out in public; the Kriegers showed them in 1990 as part of an international conference on Oriental carpets in San Francisco. There, each bag was matched with a rug. “That was a really big project,” Stella admits.

Though the days of $15 beaded bags are over (they now sell for several hundred dollars to $2,500), there are still purses to be found at reasonable prices. “We’re still out there looking,” says Fred, a retired physician who curated the show. “It’s the thrill of the hunt.” And that thrill is what keeps this couple traveling the world (as well as local flea markets) to satisfy their appetites. Their finds are displayed and stored around the house. Antique cashmere stoles and other old ethnic textiles are piled in an armoire in the living room of their Santa Monica home. Mexican silver rests in a cupboard in the dining room.

“We have a friend who’s a dealer of very expensive textiles who says you should just buy one really fabulous thing a year,” says Stella. “I said to him, ‘That’s not fun!’ ”

“Private Passions” runs through June 24 at the Craft and Folk Art Museum, 5814 Wilshire Blvd., (323) 937-4230.