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The Olmsted Collection Is a Masterclass in Creative, Complicated Watchmaking
Double-movement pocket watches, a complicated Patek Philippe desk clock and historic English chronometers are just a few of the collection’s highlights.
T he best collections are those greater than the sums of their parts. They bring objects and ideas together in interesting and unexpected ways, revealing things about each piece that couldn’t be uncovered in isolation. The Olmsted Complications Collection is a perfect example of this, showing the parallel histories of precision timekeeping and cutting-edge complications and drawing clear connections between the two.
Robert M. Olmsted collected watches and clocks for more than 60 years, going back to his days as a student at Princeton in the early 1960s. By the start of the next decade, he had already amassed a rigorously curated collection that included around 75 watches from the likes of Audemars Piguet, Abraham Louis Breguet, Patek Philippe, Charles Frodsham and more. He continued to collect, and the more than 80 watches presented across a live and online auction at Sotheby’s represent the very best of his finds.
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“What’s wonderful about this collection is that much of it is completely unknown, outside of a few people,” says Daryn Schnipper, Chairman Emeritus of the Watch Division. “And even the few people didn’t know the extent of the collection. I was fortunate enough about 12 years ago to do the valuation of the collection, so I knew what was there, which was mind blowing.”
“We’re presenting several pieces that no one’s ever heard of before,” she continues, “including two watches with double movements, as well as a desk timepiece – which, coincidentally, is related to Patek Philippe’s announcement at Watches and Wonders last April.”
The two most headline-grabbing watches are a pair of Patek Philippe pocket watches, each of which contains two movements. Both include two sets of timekeeping hands as well as minute repeaters, but one of them also includes a split-seconds chronograph. Both watches were commissioned by John Motley Morehead III (of Union Carbide fame) in the 1920s, and there’s no documented explanation for why he requested such an unusual architecture.
“We have our theories, honed with help from Patek, but what’s so remarkable is that no one had seen this type of complication before,” says Schnipper. “When you open the back of the watch, you’re looking at either a minute repeater or a minute repeater with split-seconds works – nothing tips you off to the fact that there is a whole other movement fastened to the other side!”
These are the only two known watches with this kind of construction, making the situation even more curious. Olmsted acquired the watches in 1965 and they have been out of the public eye ever since.
Also included from that era of horological history is a complicated Patek Philippe desk clock that was previously unknown to history. Two similar clocks currently reside in the Patek Philippe Museum in Geneva, having been made for two of the firm’s top clients of the early 20th century: Henry Graves, Jr. and James Ward Packard.
However, the clock was sold in 1933 and ended up in Olmsted’s hands in 1971. It houses a 10-day perpetual calendar movement with moonphase and is in outstanding condition, especially considering it’s nearly 100 years old now. This is a genuine time capsule and the rare opportunity for something genuinely new to arrive in the market.
Olmsted’s collection extends well beyond the boundaries of Patek Philippe, too. The so-called “Grosse Pièce” from Audemars Piguet has 19 complications, including the only implementation of a sky chart on any pocket watch from the brand. “The watch is certainly the most complicated pocket watch still in a private collection,” reflects Schnipper. “And they didn’t even know where it was until 1993. Olmsted’s watchmaker tipped off one of the authors researching the Audemars Pigeut book. Until then nobody knew of its whereabouts.”
The watch took an incredible amount of collaboration and coordination to achieve, from the agents who ordered it at S. Smith & Son in London to the network of artisans who made specialty components and complications, including the repeater chimes and tourbillon. The watch was given its nickname by the watchmakers who made it, due to its oversized dimensions, and it is tied with one other watch – the “Universelle” – for the most complicated AP ever. (That watch, by the way, is one of the highlight exhibits at the Audemars Piguet Museum in Le Brassus, Switzerland.)
Other experiments with highly complicated watchmaking from the likes of Dent, Charles Frodsham, LS Gallopin & Cie and others are also represented.
In particular, a pair of watches from Frodsham and Gallopin are incredible examples of the differences between Swiss and English watchmaking at the turn of the 20th century. The Gallopin watch has a half-hunting case and a bright white enamel dial with bright red markings and a blue moonphase display, in addition to the inky black numerals. In style and architecture, the movement doesn’t look dissimilar to something you might find in a grand complication wristwatch from the mid-20th century.
The Frodsham, on the other hand, has a large case housing a perpetual calendar shown on a multilayer gold dial with guilloché and hand-engraving, paired with heat-blued hands. The movement shows a large three-quarter plate with fine engraving and a cut-out that reveals just the spartan tourbillon. Each of these two watches is exceptional on its own, but together they paint a picture of global watchmaking.
“There’s no question that this collection highlights the best of English watchmaking, when it comes to both complications and precision timekeeping,” comments Schnipper. “The collection speaks volumes about the capabilities and extraordinary complications of Swiss watchmakers. At the same time, it brings to the fore the importance in horological history of the English watch, certainly in the late 19th and early 20th century.”
In addition to grand complications, Olmsted was also deeply interested in precision timekeeping. “There was a group of watches he would wind every day,” notes Schnipper. “He kept a log of how accurate they were. He took this stuff very seriously.” Sometimes this manifested as tourbillon pocket watches like one 1935 example from Heinz Eberhardt with a spring detent escapement and one-minute flying tourbillon. The dial would look contemporary on a wristwatch today, but the level of detail and finishing in the movement speaks of old-world craftsmanship.
One of the oldest watches in the collection is a scientific pocket watch from Louis Berthoud that dates to 1809. The pocket chronometer still has the original sterling-silver case and a white enamel dial with a regulator layout and very fine blued hands. The movement looks very much like something you’d find in one of the box chronometers made by Louis’ uncle Ferdinand Berthoud, but shrunk down and meant to be more practical.
On their own, each of these watches has an important story to tell about the history of watchmaking. Together, they tell a different story – one about watch collecting. They trace stories of craftsmanship and passion across borders and oceans, guided by mechanical ambitions and the pursuit of precision. And wherever each of these watches goes next, it takes a piece of that story with it, influencing the next collector and collection. And so on.
