Porcelain

Porcelain, bone china and the ceramics that borrow the name:

look alike on a shelf and behave differently in the hand. Porcelain is fired until the body turns glassy, so a thin cup lets light through and a flicked rim rings. Bone china adds bone ash, which makes it whiter still, while a box marked new bone china usually holds ordinary porcelain with little or none of it. Guatemala’s own traditions sit on the other side of the line: majolica is red clay under a white tin glaze painted in cobalt, green and yellow, and Chinautla pottery is clay right through. A cold porcelain keepsake from a baptism is a craft piece, and the paste itself belongs with the art and craft supplies.

Dinner services, tea sets and figurines:

are what most porcelain listings turn out to be, and each is judged on something different. A dinner service is bought for completeness: whether the platters, the tureen and the sugar bowl survived, and whether the pattern is still made so a broken plate can be replaced. On a tea set the teapot lid is the piece most often missing or chipped. Figurines and vases are bought one at a time, for the maker and the modelling. Lladró and its sister line Nao, Noritake, and German pieces marked Bavaria or Rosenthal are the names worth finding on a base. Cut crystal figures are another material and sit with Swarovski, and a piece valued mainly for its age can go with the antiques. Gold rims cannot go in the microwave and wear away in a dishwasher, so a gilded service suits a household that washes by hand; plain white porcelain takes daily use and is the easiest to match later.

A plain new set against a maker’s stamp:

sets the price of a used piece. A new twelve-piece set in plain or lightly decorated porcelain costs from around Q150, and a secondhand set of the same kind competes with that piece for piece, so one missing cup pushes it below what most buyers will bother with. Figurines run the other way. A new Lladró starts in the thousands of quetzales, yet common retired models resell for a small part of that, because so many were given as gifts and kept in glass cabinets. Limited editions with their box and certificate hold their value far better.

Hairlines, rubbed gilding and borrowed marks:

are where a pre-owned piece hides its faults. Tap each plate and cup gently with a fingernail: sound porcelain rings, and a dull click means a crack you may not see yet. Run a finger round the rims and the teapot spout for chips that have been filled and painted; a repair feels warmer and softer than the glaze beside it and shines differently. Marks are copied more than any other detail. The crossed swords of Meissen, the Vienna beehive and Chinese reign marks all turn up on new pieces made to look old. A decoration that shows a fine dot pattern under a magnifier is a printed transfer, whatever the listing says about hand painting. On porcelain the unglazed ring under the base is white and smooth; a red or buff body showing at a chip means earthenware.

A dinner service counted out by plate and cup:

sells faster than a box described as complete. Give the count for each kind of piece and name every chip and gap; people rebuilding the same pattern will often take the odd plates you were about to throw out. Photograph the backstamp in sharp focus, because the maker and the pattern name decide the offer, and say whether a gilded set was always washed by hand. Whoever drives in from Chiquimula to collect a full service will need a carton and newspaper for every cup, so have the pieces counted and wrapped before they arrive.