Strolling through Philadelphia's hip Fishtown after delving into a sweet Halloween ice cream treat at Weckerly's Ice Cream last Saturday, we wandered into Jinxed, an antique shop with three other locations in Philadelphia.
(I'll pause here to let you know I fawned over a beautiful early twentieth-century wicker porch rocker at our more local and slightly less overtly affluent West Philly location a few months ago and that when I went back to get it after sleeping on it, it was gone.)
Looking for nothing in particular, we picked through flatware, came face-to-face with a 1970s-era, desiccated diorama warning us that the earth was in danger, and cooed over a larger-than-life, 1971 print of a tuxedo cat that reminded us of our own little Bertie. As we started retreating toward the front door with some loot, a colorful painting at my feet caught my eye. I stopped abruptly, knelt down, and took a closer look.
I did not recognize the scene, but I wanted to walk down the street. It is empty, after all.
"I like that," Tyler said as he picked it up and cradled it in his hands.
Signed by a Hugh Pruitt and framed in Wilmington, Delaware, we couldn't seem to find its maker on the web. (Hugh, are you out there?)
"All the more reason to think this isn't a forgery," Tyler noted.
We marched to the cashier and paid for a few CDVs and our painting. Tyler also picked up a topless thimble at the last minute, explaining to the confused guy at the front how such a thing could be useful. Tyler, who does hand sewing, explained that it's called a tailor's thimble and that the missing top helps the sewer maintain contact with the fabric.
The anonymous houses?
Free, for teaching someone something.
We'll be back.