The so-called Russian Parade Saddle, Part I

 

The story of this silver saddle is so immense, long-drawn out and personal that I've split it into two posts.  It's had such an impact on me!  Let's be clear at the start that it was Not made by a Russian tackmaker.  The search for who did make it was so hard and went on for so long that I began to suspect it might've been made by a Russian artist;  and in the way of suspicions, this name took root and got stuck in.  I later tried to refer to it as Kotinga's, or as the early Nelson, but no go:  The Russian moniker has become deeply set, in my file records and in my mind.  Sometimes you have to surrender gracefully.  We'll see if I can make 'so-called' stick.

Imagine glimpsing a piece of tack which sent me off on a 5-month Who-Dun-It hunt, the longest yet.  During the Colette Robertson tack collection dispersal (affectionately nicknamed 'Smaug's Hoarde'), I tried to buy it -- an attempt which seriously fell through when the saddle vanished and no one could find it!  Months later, when I did find out who had it, there was a road-to-Damascus moment when I determined, with much excitement and intensity, to build my own copy.  Incredibly, my beloved husband offered to pay for it and let me name my own price!  (not the first time this has happened, but surely the greatest.)  Having decided on this very personal solution, nearly a year went by before anything happened.  Now imagine tweaking a tremendous road trip all the way to Arizona so that we could swing by a friend's house in Texas and photograph the darn thing.  It had been 17 months since I'd first seen it, nearly a year and a half, and I still had only one photo to go on.  Here it is:

photo by Christie Partee

 Upon actually meeting the saddle in person and in the midst of obsessively-close shooting, the whole story took a completely different turn, one I did not expect and which truly took my breath away!  Yes, wildest imaginings do come true, and Texas-size generosity does exist.  The piece was given into my hands, and now it is part of my tack collection -- and I'm still pinching my astounded self.  That was my own Great Surprise.  I dare to think that Colette would be pleased.

The story began on June 11, 2024.  Christie Partee was handling the dispersal of the Hoarde.  She often sent me pix asking whether I'd made a piece or knew anything about it.  I could usually add to the sum of hobby knowledge.  In this case it was a logical question to ask:  The saddle really did look like a Timaru Star II silver parade set.

 But I knew it wasn't.

 That one Christie photo -- the third in this post, the one with the wooden stand -- started an obsession the likes of which I've yet to equal.  I posted it on FaceBook and asked for ideas (June 15).  That was a mistake.  Everybody wanted it (!).  With something like terror I stopped asking the public and went to combing through my collection of model silver parade saddle pictures, assembled over decades, clear evidence of my own focus and knowledge of the field.  Ultimately, from June to November 2024 (5 months), I contacted a total of 13 model tackmakers by diverse methods and as far afield as the Netherlands.  I printed out the photo and took it to BreyerFest;  I asked performance showers;  I asked Eleanor, who usually had all the answers.  The Hoarde's dispersal held its main auction during this time (July 11), but no one there could tell me what had happened to it, let alone who made it.

 

My list of possible tackmakers looked like this:  Erin Corbett, Kirsteen Haley, Shannon Granger Peele, Darleen Stoddard, Lindsey Pinkham, Heather Moreton, Vicky Norris, Evelyn Munday, Charlotte Pijnenberg, Kelly Lane, Wendy Ward, Carol Williams.  I stared and stared at that pic:  Somebody knew a lot about model tackmaking, but there were odd notes.  It was like the artist was very gifted but hadn't evolved very far on basic Western saddle construction, such as horns and cantles.  Why was the cantle binding a spiral-wrapped wire stuck in on both ends but separated in the middle?  None of Cary Nelson's other silver saddles did that!! -- no one did that.  The bit didn't look like a Rio Rondo.  The reins weren't ferruled but beaded.  The whole thing looked... painfully handmade,... either from another universe (hence Russian) or from long ago.  Was this a Linda Spiesschaert (who was dead)?  But it wasn't her style...  Kelda Goerte?  I was grasping at straws and rumours,...

As each artist denied responsibility, the list narrowed to those I had trouble contacting, i.e., who weren't on social media (!).  Cary wasn't answering and Kelda had no email, so I turned, with nostalgic pleasure, to handwritten snail mail, a tried-and-true way to contact off-the-grid hobbyists.  I can't explain why I was so blind for so long, but the 5 months finally opened my eyes.  From the very beginning Colette had patronized Cary Nelson above all.  She had tasked this artist with all her wishes and had made Cary's career as a tackmaker, buying nearly everything she made.  No other tack artist was so abundantly represented in the Hoarde,... and no other tackmaker was so diversely and divinely gifted.  In early October Cary responded to my letter and I learned her old email account had died during BFest.  She had a new one.  With this magical information the answers finally came (Oct 7 ).

"Yes, it looks familiar."   "It's one I made a long time ago, not sure of the actual date."

 Cary confirmed to me that this really was the first silver parade set she'd ever made.  She created much of the hardware herself from a sheet of soft metal.  It's my guess that the date would be in the early 1990s, given the hardware (fancy RR buckles).  I have a capture of a [full scale] Bohlin saddle that is hauntingly close, down to the tassel on the cinch:

photo from Old West auctions

It was very typical of the 1990s tack order scene to be given a single magazine clipping for your sole reference.  If this was the ref., it is to Cary's credit that she managed so detailed a miniature from so little.  Even the cinch chafes match.

 For those who know Cary's style with floss and embroidery, the cinch was a giveaway.

 The delicacy of the spots, the tooling, the method of silvering the pommel all spoke of her work.  The large conchos were made from sequin-like rounds.

 Cary's specialty was Arabian costumes and regalia.  Silverwork and leather tooling are entirely different fields from textiles.  Cary told me how she'd made the corona blanket:  by hand with a single beading needle!!

The corona blanket was incredibly thick and padded, with a roll at the withers.  I learned this is how the real ones are made, to help support the saddle's weight in front.  I have found it typical of model tack and of fantastically focused tackmakers that the first few iterations of a new piece can be too big and out of scale;  certainly I am guilty of this myself.  That phenomenon shows in this corona.

 It was November 4, 2024.  I had spent the fall watching piece after piece of Colette's pass under the hammer.  (Part II of this post will cover this time in more detail.)  I'd worked up my courage to ask for something for myself after having managed one of the most difficult yet amazing feats of marketing I'd ever undertaken, selling 8 TSII pieces (including 6 silver parade saddles) from the dispersal during BreyerFest.  The Group Shoot  I emailed Christie and offered to buy the Russian if it could be found.

 It was then that I learned she had it.  It was one of the surprisngly few but very much deserved pieces she'd kept for herself, a prize for handling the massive dispersal sale.  If there was only one emotion I shared with the crowd (but there were many), it was amazement at how much effort Christie had put in to the job.  She should keep whatever she wanted!!  This revelation answered all the mysteries;  and then, almost immediately, gave me a huge flash of inspiration.  Was I not capable of making silver saddles myself?  Could I not manage to build a copy of the desired object?  Wasn't this the time-honored answer to the impossible dilemma??

 Thus my plans were laid.  The obsession that started in June of 2024 would last all the way into February of 2026:  I would create a copy of this saddle for myself.  Only I'd make it better.  I'd make it so it was indubitably my own;  improve what I could improve;  make it to fit my dream palomino, at that time just an idea;  and satisfy the desire to have what could not be had after many months of brooding over it.  I told myself that finding out who had made it was my deepest reward and satisfaction.  The TSII was famous for fabulous silver saddles;  the BreyerFest sales were a clear and present reminder that I should make more.  This approach also salved the many times I'd watched Colette's pieces which I wanted go to others.  Yes, my mind was made up.

It stayed made up for a year, until October 2025.  But that's another story.