Across the huge arena that normally hosted college basketball games, a sea of faces that seemed to stretch to the sky looked back at him. I was with a group of people sitting up in the balcony, and I’m sure in his mind’s eye Perry could see us, too.

He talked unabashedly about his faith and his thankfulness at how far he had come – and even more for the people who had brought him there. He had arrived on their backs and he knew it. And they gave it back to him, with their cheering and their shout-outs and their applause. There was a mutuality of spirit all over the place.

A ad for Tyler Perry's new play "Medea Gets a Job."

Despite Spike Lee’s criticism, Tyler Perry has done good when all odds were against him. He shouldn’t be where he is, and he’s a testament to anyone who believes that they can’t catch a break. You can’t give up, Tyler said, because he never did.

And thank goodness he didn’t, because I would never have been introduced to Medea – a foul-mouthed no-nonsense woman who speaks her mind, puts you in your place and, like the grandmothers on the corners where Perry grew up,  “didn’t take no crap.” A little of what we all would like to be – without the Smith and Wesson, however. I knew the character from Perry’s movies. She was someone who deep down inside had a good heart for good people. I consider her my guilty pleasure.

This was my first Medea play (there was so much singing that it could have been called a musical). I recalled years ago popping a rented videotape into my VCR to settle back to watch one of the early ones. I couldn’t get past the first five minutes. It was awful – character, plot, timing. But most of all, it wasn’t funny. Then Medea hit the movie screens and I tried her out again. This time, she was laugh-out-loud funny, rambunctious and as big as a a football field, and I’ve seen every one of her movies.

Medea first spread her wings in a series of Perry plays, the first “I Can Do Bad All By Myself” in 2000 (it later became a movie with Taraji P. Henson in 2009) . Perry had produced his first play, without the Medea character, in 1998 in a church that had been converted into a theater, and it had a limited run. His plays morphed into movies in the 2000s that led to the construction of his own studio in Atlanta.

There were also TV shows, which I consider among his most stereotypical offerings and I don’t watch them. I see too much of that stuff on the auction tables, reminders of what others thought we looked like and how we acted.

I never went to see Shelly Garrett’s plays for the same reason. His were a couple years before Perry’s, and were the church-basement-type shows tinged with religion and a lot of tomfoolery. They were very popular, though, as they made their way from town to town with performances aimed at black audiences. His “Beauty Shop,” which began making its rounds in 1989, was “the” black play for years.

Until Tyler Perry, who parlayed Medea into a franchise. On Sunday, he provided us with a preview of her next movie, “Madea’s Witness Protection,” which is headed into the theaters on June 29. A shameless plug, but a wise one.

The many faces of Medea.

During the play, I wanted to see more of Medea because when she was on the stage, she zinged. Except in the second act when the irreverent lady got preachy.

She preached when she was talking to a woman whose “good” daughter had dumped her at a retirement home. She preached to the woman who made wrong-headed choices in men. She preached to the non-responsive woman who allowed her daughter to spend hours away from her children and family just to read to her.

When did Medea get religion? I wondered. But it wasn’t Medea philosophizing; it was Perry himself. He had co-opted his character, because the Medea from the movies isn’t much into religion. She’s the one who mistakes Bible verses for Shakespeare.

To top off the evening, Perry rewarded the audience with a 20-minute concert by cast members performing the songs of Aretha, Frankie Beverly, Earth Wind and Fire, and more. Medea wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but I’m sure she would’ve been pleased.

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I had written it before or seen it before but I wasn’t sure where. Then it came to me. David Stone Martin had been associated with the name Dorie Miller, a painting of whom was auctioned off for $17,000 in March at Swann Auction Galleries in New York.

A David Stone Martin pen-and-ink drawing was up for sale at auction.

Martin had captured the Pearl Harbor hero in all his grandness in the 1943 painting “Above and Beyond the Call of Duty,” which was developed into a government recruiting poster. Miller was an African American Navy cook who showed bravery aboard his ship during the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

The pen-and-ink drawing at auction was pure Martin. It prominently showed a drummer in the throes of a performance, with another musician watching him and enjoying the show-off just as much. It was a sparse image, but powerful enough for me, too, to feel the music.

I had not heard of Martin before I saw the Dorie Miller poster. But I learned by Googling that he was well-known in jazz circles as the creator of some of the finest album covers for some of the country’s major performers going back to Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker and Oscar Peterson. The covers were black lines and a single bold color that were apparently his trademark. They were works of art that I could’ve hung on my wall.

Album covers for Billie Holiday, 1955; James P. Johnson, 1950, and Charlie Parker, 1950.

Martin, who died in 1992, drew more than 400 album covers - many during the 1940s and 1950s – as well as illustrated magazine covers, posters, books, billboards, and ads for movies, TV and theater. He was also a fine-arts painter, as in the Dorie Miller piece and this 1930s untitled oil of a logger.

His love for the music and its figures were said to have grown out of his friendship and personal relationship with the pianist Mary Lou Williams. She was said to have gotten him started in illustrating album covers, including some of hers. Martin was influenced artistically by the line drawings of artist Ben Shahn, whom he worked for as an assistant.

David Stone Martin, with an album cover for pianist Mary Lou Williams, 1944.

The covers also seemed to have grown from his love of the music itself.

Martin was born in Chicago and studied at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. He was a supervisor for the mural program of the Federal Arts Project during World War II, and painted some murals himself. His works are in major museums, including the Art Institute of Chicago, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Smithsonian.

In 1943, he was among the artists featured in an exhibit on Navy medicine by Abbott Laboratories that toured the country, according to the Naval History and Heritage Command website. The company hired them as correspondents, sending them – with the cooperation of the military – to installations throughout the country and abroad to paint what they experienced. They lived as medical workers aboard hospital ships, in hospitals on land, and even embedded with medical battalions in the field.

I’ve never come across any of Martin’s jazz covers, but I will surely be on the lookout for them.

Navy medical officers practice surgery on a patient in an underground operating room in a 1943 painting that was part of an exhibit sponsored by Abbott Laboratories to help the war effort.

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I always go to browse because this auction house usually has some very arresting pieces for both this sale and its Decorative Arts sales. And each of them pulls in the big bucks – especially from bidders on the phone or the internet.

I was also there to see if I might just snare a small Feliciano Bejar steel and glass Magiscopes sculpture at a price I could live with. No such luck on his, but I did see one of the strangest sculptures I had seen before.

A close-up of the teapot lamp with its disparate found objects.

I watched as an auction assistant sat on a table a lamp made of found objects. The auctioneer called it a teapot lamp, giving it the name of one of the objects. I’ve seen art made with items picked up from the trash or other unusual places, and have marbled at how an artist can create beauty from ordinary discards. These  artists can take a piece of scrap metal and make it into a sculpture that is as riveting as a painting on canvas with more familiar objects.

This lamp, though, was different because its structure was incongruous. None of the pieces seemed to fix together harmoniously. It was a hodgepodge of found items – a ribbed glass gold globe, two candle holders (one missing a glass cover), a teapot with its top opened, a colander and what looked like the top of an etched crystal bowl.

This lamp had an identity complex. It didn’t seem to know what it was or what it wanted to be. It wasn’t a small lamp, either; it measured more than 3 feet tall and almost a foot and a half wide. So, it was not one that could be easily missed.

A full view of the teapot lamp.

One auctioneer told us a secret about the lamp that we would never have seen otherwise: Hidden inside the opaque globe was a Diet Coke can. How did he know that? Because the artist had written this inscription in ink on the base: With hidden diet Coke.

The inscription also included a signature that was illegible and the date 1998.

Maybe it’s just me and I don’t appreciate fine art that’s different. Maybe this lamp was made by a creative genius who likes to bend our notion of what art should be. Maybe the artist was trying not to create the sameness that he/she saw in most such lamps, like this one here and here that used Coke cans and found objects. I’d love to know how the lamp came about.

At auction, I was so stricken by the lamp that I’m not even sure if it sold – and if so, for how much.

An inscription on the base of the lamp alerts us to the Diet Coke can inside the globe.

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You know the one – you hit a red rubber ball against the paddle and try to keep it from falling off. The chickens on top and the wooden ball underneath differentiated this game from the more familiar one. And the string on the ball appeared to be in knots. I tried paddling it, but that didn’t work. I was struggling with it when a woman approached me, remembering the game from her own childhood and offering to show me how it worked.

Red handle in hand, she twirled the toy in a circular motion. I watched in awe and then laughter as the chickens started pecking the board, pulled by the strings on the ball. How neat! What’s it called, I asked. She had long forgotten the name but had kept the memories.

The chicken paddle toy was a new find for me but a memory for another auction-goer.

With my new knowledge, I conquered the game and could imagine the fun the woman as child must have had with it. I figured that such a simple but delightful game like this had decades ago lost its allure for children. Just how long can you watch chickens peck?

I was surprised to learn, though, that they were still being made, and apparently are popular in some locales. A very colorful one was selling on amazon.com for $9.99. The description stated that paddle toys were popular in Poland and that they were “entertaining” for children. “Sometimes the simplest toys can be the most fascinating,” a reviewer and buyer wrote.

Prices on eBay were closer to Amazon’s, but a New Jersey auction house last year sold what it described as a folk art chicken paddle for $1,100. The chickens, which had articulated or movable heads, were set in motion by pulling down on a wooden block attached to the strings.

A fuller view of the top of the chicken paddle toy.

The toy itself was described as a pecking chicken paddle or pecking head chicken paddle. I found other colorful examples with thick-bodied chickens unlike the flat ones on the toy at auction. Some were made in Japan, others in Russia, and someone posted a video of a toy made in Mexico. YouTube had several videos demonstrating how they worked, while another site showed you how to make your own.

The toy is not only for fun and games. Glenn Kotche, a percussionist with the Chicago band Wilco uses his own version and other accompaniments – back massagers and hand fans, vintage teapots and clappers, ceramic tiles and hubcaps – in songs. A 2011 Los Angeles Times story told of him interrupting a rehearsal when he realized he didn’t have his chicken paddle and that it had to be fetched.

In a recent interview in Modern Drummer, Kotche said that he used Scandinavian chicken paddles in the band’s song “Sunloathe.” “I screwed a finger cymbal to the middle of them, so the wooden chickens peck it when I move the paddle in a circle,” he said in the interview. “The guys made fun of me when I recorded that part; they said it sounded like a bunch of elves in a workshop.”

Here are the pecking chicken in action - or perhaps not.

At auction, I was so taken with the toy that I had to demonstrate it for my auction buddy Janet. She usually recalls playing with any game we come across at auction, but didn’t recognize this one. An older man sitting close by was just as fascinated as me, so much so that when his wife joined him later, he recounted in detail how the toy worked. He hadn’t seen anything like it, either.

I wasn’t around when the pecking chickens sold. I’m sure that whoever bought it would get as much a chuckle out of it as the older gentleman and me.

Do you remember the chicken paddle game? I’d love to hear your recollections.

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It was named Weber’s Candy Store, but I had never heard of it or, unfortunately, been in it. Weber’s sounded like a nifty place that had been a popular spot in Bridgeton for nearly 120 years before closing last year. The company was founded in the 1880s by William Frederick Weber when he was fresh out of his teens.

A box of melted chocolate in a box among other Weber's Candy Store items.

His descendants had kept it going, but lately they couldn’t make a go of it anymore in the sweets industry – likely because of so much prepackaged candy in big stores and little shops – and realized it was time to turn off the heaters and shut the doors. The company also sold specialty items that were not made on the premises.

Based on what I read, the store sold great candy that folks dropped in to buy but it also shipped packages across the country, especially to people who came to the shop as children and had moved away.

A candy case from Weber's, now dusty from disuse.

I recognized the familiar items you’d see in the front of a candy store, but this auction contained the back-of-the-shop items that were used in the candy-making itself. Rows and rows of supposedly less-expensive stuff had been placed on the ground in back of the auction house, while inside the good stuff was on tables and inside cases. Many of the fixtures and equipment, according to the auction-house website, were vintage.

I stood among a woman and her companions as she bidded on a lot of about 100 metal candy molds – with the top bidder taking as many as he/she wanted. The bidding kept going higher and higher and higher until the woman won it at $110 per mold, knocking out a young man in a hat whom someone recognized as a candy-store owner.

How many? the auctioneer’s assistant asked. 50, she said.

These red and white tins once contained mints, chocolate straws and peanut crunch.

That just about flummoxed her companions. They watched incredulously as the woman carefully picked out her 50 from the lot of two-sided small but heavy molds held together with rubber bands. Does she have a shop, I asked a woman next to me. No, she woman, “she has a dream.”

A chorus of questioning voices arose around me as her companions wondered aloud what the heck she’d do with them. This was not her first purchase at the sale. On the floor near her were other store items, and I overheard someone remind her that she had even more in another aisle.

There were other molds – in white plaster, some with figurative shapes - but they did not sell as high.

Items from the candy store ready for auction.

Standing next to me was a woman who was recording the prices of the candy items on a piece of paper – straining from time to time to hear what the mumbling auctioneer was saying. At one point, she reached over to remove some handwritten price labels on a candy display case – Mint 2.25, Weber box lemon drops, 2.25, Sugar free chunk chocolate $7.50 lb.

Stop, someone scolded her. Leave them there. They authenticate the case. She re-stuck the mint label she had torn away. She must have been connected to the candy-store family in some way.

On top of the case was one of several Weber advertising signs. Earlier, I had walked up as auction-goers were handing a large Weber sign to a woman who had just purchased it. I had seen it earlier and wanted to photograph, it but it had been partially hidden.

A buyer paid $650 for this Weber advertising sign. The "16" refers to the address.

Can I get a picture of the sign, I asked. She agreed, posing. “My $650 sign?,” she said in a tone of disbelief that she had paid so much for it. I understood, because at auction you can get caught up in the bidding and go way over what you’d planned to spend.

I suspect that she was not the only one. Prices for the candy-store items were exceedingly high, especially for some of the stuff sold inside. Copper chocolate pots went from $90 for the smallest to more than $230 for the largest (it came with a huge round heater). I wasn’t around when most things sold, so I’m sure many other items went much higher.

Outside, the prices were a little better but still more than the 5 bucks I was willing. I spied some large white circular tins with red writing that once held candies. They were sold in pairs and went for $20 to $30 per pair.

The equipment from the candy store included confection trays, barrels and chocolate melting pots.

The auction included practically anything you’d need to start your own candy store – if you wanted to make it yourself:

Flat wood confection trays with white substances that looked like flour but was probably sugar; cooking equipment, including chocolate melting pots, circa 1920; wood and glass candy cases; scales; advertising tins and metal baking pans; glass candy jars with lids; metal scoops; 2 National cash registers that looked to weigh a ton; barrels, barrels and more barrels; empty Weber candy boxes; brown labeled jars of wintergreen, peppermint and other flavors; large round sifters; peanut roasters.

On the ground outside, I even found a box of melted chocolate wafers in plastic bags in a box.

Opened jars of vintage flavorings from the candy store, along with chocolate boxes.

The company apparently sold greeting cards, too, because a huge display case stretched along a long row inside the auction house. The case was still flush with greeting cards, and three pails on the floor held even more.

You’ll never need another greeting card in your life, the auctioneer joked. It wasn’t enough, though, because once the bidding got started, no one seemed to be interested.

Finally, a man took the bite and paid $25 for all the cards. It was an inexpensive buy that was worth much more than he paid for it – especially if he sells the cards individually at a flea market.

A full greeting card case from Weber's Candy Store. It sold for $25.

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Everyone seemed to be tossing out these vintage pieces all at the same time – maybe because there were no more babies in the house and there was no need for the gear or because it was out-dated. Today, parents push their babies and toddlers in fancy strollers – some costing up to a thousand dollars or more – and lay them down to sleep in bassinets made comfortable with layers of soft fabric and warm pastel colors.

A potty chair that was described as musical.

Looking at the ones at auction, it seemed that they were more functional than appealing and were a vehicle for showing off baby. Today, the gear is as much a show-off as the child it’s supporting.

A few of the auction items, though, were rather interesting: The sky blue potty with a note pointing out that it played music. I wasn’t sure how it worked and the note didn’t offer a clue.

Or this inscription on the bottom of a bright red rocking chair with yellow striping:

1947

Ye Dutch Haven

Soudersburg, PA

Route 30

7 miles east of Lancaster

Given to Donn Marie Rhan

By Frank Di Joseph 1947

Red and brown rockers that appeared to be from two different eras. The red chair had an inscription dating it to 1947.

One site noted that the old strollers aren’t safe, and that some people now use them to hold vintage dolls. At one auction recently, I saw a lovely wicker carriage with a vintage Gerber baby doll in it. New strollers have to adhere to safety standards.

These mother-propelled vehicles, I learned, were also called prams and the earliest ones were made of wicker. Strollers have been around since the 1700s, but were markedly changed in the late 1880s. They were affixed with two wheels to make them more manuervable and a cover that could be moved from front to back. Here are photos of baby carriages through the years. By the 21st century, they had gotten funky, like the bassinet I saw on one retail site that converted into a stroller as the child grew.

Here’s a photographic sampling of the vintage baby and toddler items I observed at auction:

Strollers have certainly come a long way.

New safety standards have made these old strollers obsolete.

A reminder of a tough job that hasn’t gotten any easier.

A bright potty chair with a comforting Scottie dog.

Cradles with rockers looked so uncomfortable.

A variety of styles but the shape remained standard.

Rocking horses never seem to lose their appeal.

Horses old and modern.

High chairs don’t seem to change much.

High chairs of wood and woven straw, and dashed with color.

More high chairs.

A little leather among the wood.

Rocking chairs and more.

Chairs for small bottoms.

Vintage accessories included a wooden chest, rattlers and other playthings.

Vintage baby toys.

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My imagination tamed, I followed her to the spot where she’d seen the animal. It was mounted inside a glass case, its wings stretched out tautly like a butterfly, its feet tippy-toed on the base and its under body exposed. Look closely and you could almost see its skeleton through the thin dried skin. Its mouth was pried open, revealing a row of fangs or teeth.

The camera's light exposed the skeleton of the mounted bat.

Seeing it there, I felt a little sorry for the creature. It looked to be in so much pain.

I’ve seen my share of mounted animals at auction – from the exotic to the ordinary to stuffed birds from a dentist’s office to Taiwan butterflies – and I’ve written about them. This was my first bat, though, and I would put it in my “strange-items-sold-at-auction” category.

I’ve never had the displeasure of experiencing a bat in real life. All of the ones I’ve seen have been on TV or in the movies – hence my imagination going wild when Janet first mentioned bats. In those instances, they were creatures of terror. This one, though, had lost any terrifying moments it had ever been able to induce.

Despite that image, bats generally are good creatures that are instrumental in helping to preserve nature. The majority live on insects, especially pests, and they pollinate flowers and disperse fruit seeds. Still others eat small animals such as birds, lizards, frogs and fish. But the ones that strike terror are the blood-sucking vampire bats native to South America. They normally feed on farm animals but will feast on humans when that supply is inaccessible.

A mounted bat ready for auction.

Who mounts a bat and why? Bats are not the type of animals I would normally associate with taxidermy, but I suppose people stuff what moves them. I decided to Google to find out if such a thing was popular.

I found several sites selling mounted bats, including two that were offering them as science specimens for students. “Makes a unique home or classroom display,” noted one of those sites. I even found a bat skeleton for sale ($57.95) and a bat head mounted on a circular wood frame that sold. Another site was selling the specimens for $20 to $245 on eBay, and the prices on several sites were in the $100 range.

Back in 2004, an Austin, TX, organization urged people to protest the sale of mounted bats on eBay. It contended that most were from Southeast Asia and not properly identified, adding that most bats in the world were threatened and endangered.

I wasn’t around when the bat was sold at auction, but I’m certain that it was picked up by someone. Practically everything sells at auction - even a poor bat in a glass case.

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My most recent find were several masks that were of the street-artist variety – with metal hooks and holes on the back for hanging on walls. None were authentic masks that had been worn in African cultural rituals. I have picked up a few masks lately, but it’s always hard to tell if they were actually used in ceremonies. No matter, because they were lovely pieces.

This carved mask by Haitian artist Roger Francois bore his signature on the back.

I assumed that these masks had perhaps been picked up by a tourist either on a trip to Africa or bought by someone in the States from one of the many ethnic shops that sell African-style carvings.

One of the masks had the name of the maker carved in the wood along the back rim: Roger Francois. Obviously, I was curious about the man who had made this crudely hewed mask with raised eyes, lips, eyebrows and nose. The mouth was opened as if the mask were about to make a statement. Something resembling white chalk had dusted the face in some spots.

I wondered how old the mask was, but there was no way to tell because the artist didn’t carve a year beside his name.

Three female sculptures by Roger Francois, including "Temptation (1978)" in the center.

Roger Francois, I learned, was a Haitian artist who was born in Petite Riviere de l’Artibonite around 1928. He began as a wood sculptor and added painting to his repertoire decades later. He paints Haitian women both nude and clothed, along with market scenes and animals. He also creates voodoo paintings. His works are bold and colorful, and some of his images appear larger than life.

He has exhibited in Belgium (he’s said to be in the collection of a museum in Brussels), Germany, France, the United States, Mexico and the Caribbean.

Here are other examples of his masks, carvings and paintings.

"Yellow Beads," an oil on canvas painting by Roger Francois.

Francois was only one of several veteran Haitian artists whom I’d bumped into recently. At another auction, I managed to snare a group of paintings by several of his contemporaries.

While paintings are normally signed, I hadn’t come across any carvings that were. So, I was delighted to discover one with an artist’s signature.

This wood cat sculpture (circa 1970s) by Roger Francois was sold for $170 at auction in Cleveland, OH, in 2010.

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Except for two tables of guitars – several of them Fenders – that I wasn’t likely to buy but that piqued a memory. A week ago, I had heard on the radio that a guitarist named Skip Pitts had died.

A table of guitars at auction - a reminder of the brilliance of Charles "Skip" Pitts.

I had never heard of Pitts before, but the announcer indicated that he was someone I should’ve known. Soon after, the announcer mentioned his music and played excerpts. That’s when I realized that I knew Pitts – not through his name but his amazing music. His were the sounds that “made” Isaac Hayes’ “Theme from Shaft.” His was the ear-catching bom-da-bom-da-bom-da-bom intro to the Isley Brothers “It’s Your Thing,” one of my favorite 1960s tunes.

Charles “Skip” Pitts had died and I was just discovering his name. Among many of us he would be considered a sideman, but in the right music circles, he appeared to be a giant.

He died on May 1 of lung cancer at the age of 65 in Memphis, TN. He had played with some of the best of Stax Records’ soul singers - most of the time with Isaac Hayes, with whom he collaborated for nearly 40 years. Pitts was known for his wah wah sound, according to several articles, that he executed superbly on the Shaft theme.

Charles "Skip" Pitts, who created the familiar guitar sound in "Theme from Shaft."

A native of Washington, DC, Pitts learned at the knee of his neighbor Bo Diddley, and worked with names whose soul music I knew and loved: Gene Chandler’s “Rainbow 65 (at age 15),” Wilson Pickett, Al Green, Sam & Dave and Rufus Thomas.

Pitts and his group the Midnight Movers backed the Isley Brothers after they left Motown in the late 1960s to form their own label. His familiar guitar sound in “It’s Your Thing” took root and got him the long association with Hayes.

He joined Hayes band in 1970 and was still working with the singer when Hayes died in 2008. The Shaft theme,  which became his trademark sound, was created by accident.

“I had a Maestro Boomerang wah that I was using on the road,” he said in an interview with Guitar Player. “The ‘Shaft’ part was created because Isaac needed something driving for the beginning of the movie, when Richard Roundtree is coming out of the subway and walking through Times Square. … Isaac was searching on the piano for something to put with it.

“I was checking my pedals. I tested my overdrive, my reverb, the Maestro box, and then I started in with the wah. Isaac stopped everything and said, ‘Skip, what is that you are playing?’ I said, ‘I am just tuning up.’ He said, ‘Keep playing that G octave.’ … It was getting repetitious to me. So when he went to the next part I tried to do the rhythm with him. He says, ‘No. Stay with what you are playing. I don’t give a damn what I play.’ He told me how to play it and put it in perspective, but it was my creation.”

Pitts was a session musician at Memphis’ Stax Records for years. He also contributed to the soundtracks of several movies, including “Hustle & Flow” starring Terrence Howard in 2005 and the strange “Black Snake Moan” starring Samuel L. Jackson in 2007.

Glad (and sad) to meet you, Mr. Pitts.

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The two men were on a framed poster hanging on a wall at the auction house. The artist seemed to have made them larger than life, their bodies as full and natural as the song they were singing. They were standing in front of a barber shop whose glass window bore a poster for a boxing match and a partially hidden red sign for Coca-Cola. The items set the scene in a long-ago past, and the men seemed to represent an era when street performers set up impromptu concerts to share their music.

The poster also had a small-town feel to it – of honky tonks and Friday night juke joints. Maybe that’s what the artist was trying to convey. Maybe musicians and singers in his town still block the street with their instruments, their music helping them and their listeners to wipe away a hard week of work and toil.

An up-close view of the singing musicians on the 1999 Charleston Blues Bash poster.

“Lowcountry Blues Bash. January 5-14, 1999. Charleston” was printed across the bottom of the poster. Now it had a place that fit the image. I wasn’t familiar with the lowcountry – an area along the coast of South Carolina – but I knew the city of Charleston, its hub.

The title of the image in the poster was “Sidewalk Boogie,” from a 1997 original painting by John Carroll Doyle, who had signed it.

The poster obviously had been made for a blues bash in Charleston more than 13 years ago. It was one of the earliest ones, because in Googling, I found that the festival got its start 22 years ago. The most recent of this annual event just ended around the same time in February. “14 days, 25 venues, 59 acts, 100 shows … blues day and night,” noted the Blues Bash website. Blues was not the only music served up; there were also gospel, soul music, jazz and more.

I checked out this year’s lineup but did not recognize any of the names. Many appeared to be well-known around the blues circles: Daddy Mack Blues Band from Memphis. Paul Geremia from Rhode Island. Wanda Johnson out of South Carolina. Drink Small (I love that name) of South Carolina (“our state’s blues legend, in biz since the 1950s and about to turn 79,” according to the program). The performers came from all over: Mississippi, Florida, Texas, Canada, Sweden, St. Louis, New York and Detroit. It seemed to be a festival to honky tonk the heart, and trouble and ease the soul at the same time. Wish I could’ve been there.

A full view of the Charleston Blues Bash poster for 1999.

Several performers were from Chicago, including John Primer and Eddie Shaw and the Wolf Gang. Interestingly, another poster at the auction house was a drawing of a Chicago musician.

The poster’s designer, John Carroll Doyle, was described as the bash’s artist-in-residence. He had allowed the organizers to use his paintings as posters for the bash in 1999 and several other years.

Doyle is a Charleston artist whose works are very eclectic – from blues musicians to sport fishing to flowers. He started out by painting for sport-fishing magazines in the 1970s and 1980s. He was described as an impressionist painter whose subjects encompassed Charleston, the lowcountry, its people and its habitat and culture.

At auction, I was hoping to pay 5 bucks for the poster because I wanted to donate it to a silent auction. I was sure that someone at the silent auction would be as struck by it as I was – just as someone wanted it as much as me at the current auction. Another bidder went tit-for-tat with me but finally gave up. So I brought home the street blues singers.

Related posts:

1. Coolin’ it with the Blues Brothers
2. Poster for a Negro Leagues baseball game
3. A blues harp, Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee