By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
So he did.
And the quest began.
Kline was born in Maryland and raised in San Antonio, where his father had a real-estate company and his mother was a homemaker. If he inherited his artistic eye from anyone, it was probably from his grandfather, who collected such things as a medieval suit of armor and a Rubens painting. Kline remembers the old gentleman guiding him through the collection, telling stories and firing his imagination.
By the time Kline hit the fifth grade, he had assembled his own collection of strange and beautiful objects--butterflies and autographs of baseball players prominent among them. In high school he moved on to poetry, and in college he pursued creative writing. After attending universities in Texas and Mexico City, Kline wound up in San Francisco, where he fell headlong into the Haight-Ashbury scene and attended peace marches, poetry readings by Allen Ginsberg and concerts by Janis Joplin. He also scoured the secondhand boutique at the Spreckels Mansion and collected fine used furniture, first-edition books and rare prints.
After teaching English and creative writing, getting married and having kids, publishing several books of poetry and working as a speechwriter for the president of Cornell University, Kline was hired by National Geographic and dispatched to the Arctic, where he met the "Michelangelo of Eskimos." After that, he moved to Santa Fe and settled down as an art dealer.
From the beginning of this career, Kline has been lucky. One of his first discoveries was in an interior designer's shop: a sunset landscape featuring a barge chugging down a canal and the signature "G. Inness, 1869." The painting was torn, dirty and worth $1,000, the decorator said. Kline had a feeling. He bought the painting anyway.
Kline then dived into his personal library, which would eventually grow to include 2,000 books. He had the painting restored to museum condition and tracked down an art expert who took ten seconds to authenticate it. "Sunset, Canal Scene" sold for $35,000 and now hangs in a private collection in the Midwest.
"First you see quality," Kline says. "That is something you train for. And I study a lot. All kinds of art. I'm a generalist. Experts tend to know too much about one thing, and if it's out of their specialty, they tend to draw back. You have to be open. Anything can be anywhere. If I've proved anything, it's the truth of that."
Another time, Kline walked into a Santa Fe antique store and asked the proprietor to bring him the shop's most valuable object. He produced a tintype photograph of a man with long hair and a handlebar mustache dressed in a checkered suit. On the back of the photo's case was a poem written in pencil: "Do I love thee/ go ask the flowers/if they love/sweet refreshing showers" and the signature, "James B. Hickok, Springfield, Mo."
Kline asked the proprietor if he could verify that the tintype was indeed Wild Bill Hickok. The man said no and explained that that was why he had not been able to sell it for twenty years. But Kline had a feeling. He bought the photo for $1,200.
Once again, he returned to his office, read everything he could and found the expert on Hickok, who said that not only were the photo and poem authentic, but they were the only items of their kind. Kline sold them for $18,700.
"It's an instinct," he says. "A knack. A gift. Call it fate, chance, intuition. I find it mystical. I like the idea that there's magic involved and that I'm a part of it."
Whatever it is, Kline's wife, Jann, seems to have it, too. About fourteen years ago, Jann attended an estate sale offering up furniture, antiques and some "old pictures." She returned home with a sepia-ink drawing of the Holy Family on old handmade paper, which she had bought for $100. Kline looked it over and said, "This is Raphael."
They spent the next month with their noses in art history books, examining thousands of drawings. Raphael was close, but not quite right. Then Jann found an inscription on the bottom of the drawing that said, "Baldassare da Siena." After more research, they discovered that Baldassare da Siena was Baldassare Peruzzi.
"I'm an art explorer," Kline says. "This is what I do. So many people are ready to say no. But finally, you can only trust your own eye. We have been fortunate enough to make money, but I really do it for the love of art. It really is a quest. The metaphor I like to use is the Holy Grail. That's how I feel. Every time I go out, I feel I'm looking for the Holy Grail, that hidden object of art. I love the mystery of it."
The moment had come. Constantino Reyes-Valerio turned the stone statue in his hands and examined it closely. What he said would determine whether Fred Kline had found another priceless artifact or an interesting curio.