You simply cannot take the collector out of collecting. Let me explain. The center of our attention is a Windsor chair, beautiful turnings, original green paint. I have all the books on Windsor chairs. I like the form. My wife and I own several. There is something about them that is pleasing to the eye and one’s bottom; they look and sit well.
What does it mean when I, as a collector, do not like a quintessential piece? A while ago a writing Windsor armchair sold. It had graced books. It was the best of the best. I understood all of that intellectually but do not like it. I am amazed at its price. One could argue I need to refine my tastes to truly appreciate this fine Windsor. I rebut that I am entitled to my preferences although I cannot tell you why the chair is not pleasing to me.
Perhaps as I think about it, that is why a market exists for all sorts of genre, and within each, all sorts of forms, surfaces, styles, sizes, and values. I do not know enough collectors to find one who also does not like this specific Windsor. A lonely feeling. I am rejecting the collective wisdom of the intelligentsia. I am truly marching to my own Windsor drummer.
I have concluded that taste is indeed a curious thing.