I assumed she was Native American by the look of her clothes with the little red trimmed-in-white designs that gave the impression of tiny beads. The needlepoint seemed different – for me at least, since I do not know needlepoint – because it looked like it was raised above the background, not flat against it. As I looked closer, I realized that I was mistaken.

The colorations on her face were variations of light and dark brown, seeming to reflect light against her skin. She looked so real. I went back to the needlepoint several times to examine it closely. And each time, I was convinced more and more that I’d love to have it hanging on my wall at home. I turned to the back and saw that the paper protecting it – which looked to be vintage – had torn. Inside, the framer had used cardboard against the piece, which is a no-no. You should never use cardboard in framing, so I”ll have it reframed.

The piece was not large. It only measured 8 ½” x 9″ in the frame, which was in good shape. The image itself was 3 ½” x 2″.

This needlepoint got me to thinking about whether Native American designs were common. In Googling, I found that several companies produce them, mostly of chiefs, men, women, buffaloes, wolves, dream catchers, along with ones with messages.

One of the things I found that was most intriguing was needlepoint and petit point jewelry made by the Zunis, a Pueblo tribe that lives in western New Mexico. According to one website, the Zunis are considered the premier jewelry makers of all the  tribes. Their needlepoint stones have pointed ends that are set in straight or curved lines, according to the website, and the petit point stones are shaped like tear drops. Another website said petit points were round, and needlepoint were needle-shaped. (The pieces above are petit points from the Zuni Connection website.)

In some cases, the two terms were used interchangeably. Whatever, they are just gorgeous (click here to see pieces by contemporary Zuni jewelry makers). Just like my little girl, which I got for $5. Fortunately, there were no other bidders. (The necklace below is a needlepoint from the Zuni Connection website.)

It was in remarkably good condition, its brown leather cover a little darkened by age and handling, a slight fraying at the left edge. Inside, he had neatly written in ink his name and address, and the names of his wife and son. The Bible was the New Testament, Roman Catholic Version and offered prescribed daily readings for this new soldier and other privates.

I was a bit surprised to see the man’s military papers, photos and even his voter registration card among this ephemera. I don’t often find such documents from black families. But I was especially surprised to see the Bible – so intimate an item – among the “stuff” in this box lot I had bought at auction.  

I’m not a very religious person – I’m count myself more as spiritual – but I always think of Bibles and other personal religious items as sacred. The type of memento that a family member – a son or a daughter – would want to keep as a reminder of their loved one. Not something tossed into a box lot.

Why do family members give away something so personal?

We are a people consumed by religion, but aren’t sure yet how to live and die with it. We fill churches on Sunday and prayer meetings during the week. We buy Bibles by the millions – it’s one of the best-selling books each year – and build new churches the size of convention centers. We argue about religion and we fight over it. We use it to enslave a whole race of people and brand another based on the fanatical actions of a few.

Yet, we treat a loved one’s Bible as a discard. The serviceman’s Bible was not the first I’ve seen. At one auction a few weeks ago, a thick family Bible with names, birthdays and marriages of descendants from way back sat on a table against a back wall. It must have weighed a ton and had enough recorded history to make any genealogist very  happy.  Some buyer knew its worth: Even before the auctioneer got around to it, someone had already left a bid. It’s the type of memorabilia that auction-buyers readily snap up.

A couple months ago, I found a Bible in another box lot. This one had gilded edges, and an inscription on an inside page: “Presented to Edw T. Byles by Officers & Teachers of Logan Baptist Church School. May 19, 1935.” It had been signed by the Sunday School superintendent, teacher and pastor. It’s a nice Bible, the pages are still intact (with color plates of pictures), but the edges of the cover are frayed and peeling.

Crucifixes are just as common, likely because they can be easily dropped into a box for auction or charity. I have several small ones, two made in France, ready to be worn on a chain. Crucifixes are dear to many of us. In Italy, they are beyond sacred. I was in the country some years ago and brought back a crucifix blessed by holy water for a friend. And I was reading recently of a controversy in the country over the removal of crucifixes from Italian classrooms. A no-no in a country where the Pope lives.

Instead of tossing these items, we could just bury them with the dead. The soldier apparently loved his Bible or he wouldn’t have written the names in them for posterity. Why not bury the Bible with him? If you’ve ever been to a King Tut exhibit, you know that his burial tomb contained the finest that his world had to offer – “grave goods,” as they are apparently called.

I attended a storytelling class last week where a group of women were learning how to tell stories. Not big fables, just bits and pieces of their experiences. One woman told of a ritual that her family started when her mother died. Each family member tied a white ribbon around his or her wrist from the time Mom died until the day of the funeral. At the service, each adult child placed the ribbon in the casket, followed by their own children. “A piece of you is in the ribbon,” the storyteller said.

I thought it was a powerful farewell message to the departed. A much better way for the family to honor them than tossing their precious momento in a box lot for a stranger to take home.  

Be sure to read Soul Rhythms, where writer Yvonne Shinhoster Lamb blogs about faith and spirituality.

When she showed me the jewelry and I held it up against the daylight and the white snow outside my porch, the stones on the jewelry began to flicker.

Just lovely, I thought, as I fingered the two- and three-strand necklaces, earrings and two bracelets.

Her new discovery was a type of costume jewelry called aurora borealis or AB. Since I’m not a jewelry person, it was a new name to me. They were faceted beads that resembled rhinestones – which I knew about and loved for their shape and beautiful colors.

Naturally, I researched the jewelry. I found that the beads have an iridescent AB coating that reflected light and color. The coating caused them to shimmer, their brilliance radiating like the colors of the rainbow. They are said to not only reflect the external light but any (colorful) outfit you are wearing.

In Googling, I also found that aurora borealis jewelry – the name just rolls rhythmically off the tongue, doesn’t it? – was very popular in the 1950s (the most collectible is from this period), but fell out of favor in the 1960s. Now, however, interest in it as vintage collectible and wearable jewelry has apparently re-emerged.

Swarovski first experimented with aurora borealis coating on crystals in the 1950s, with a nudge from Christian Dior in the design of some of its jewelry. The jewelry was first purchased primarily by the wealthy, according to the website Vintage Jewelry Lane. It became cheaper and more affordable for everybody else when plastic beads were used and other manufacturers began making it.  

The stones – both rhinestones and glass – were fashioned into necklaces, brooches, bracelets, earrings, rings and pins. The pieces I found on the web ranged in prices from a few dollars to hundreds of dollars, but  most were affordable. Take a look at these pieces on the Vintage Jewelry site.

The name of one maker kept turning up in my research: Juliana jewelry, which made AB and other costume jewelry for a number of companies. Many of its pieces were not marked, but some were sent with hang tags with the name “Juliana.” This jewelry came from the design house of DeLizza & Elster, which was in business from the 1940s to the 1980s.

DeLizza & Elster has a website that offered a history of the company, and most importantly, a committe that will verify and identify your Juliana jewelry. It’s also a good place to see some of their pieces. Another AB jewelry-maker I came across was B. David. Here are some samples from the blog Rhinestones Past.

The AB stones were meant to capture the colors of a Northern Lights display much like this photo of one I found in Wikipedia over Bear Lake at Eielson Air Force Base in Alaska.

We sat in dumb amazement at one point when the bidding skyrocketed on a 3-carat diamond ring set in a 14-karat yellow gold Florentine band. Bidding started at $3,000. Then it gradually increased as the auctioneer waited patiently for bids via the phone. $4,750. $5,500. $5,750. $6,500. $7,000. $7,250. $7,500. The bidding ended, and the auctioneer moved on.

 
A little later, the owner of the auction house hurried to the auction floor. The buyer of the diamond ring, an absentee phone bidder, had bid on the wrong piece of jewelry. He thought he was bidding on the David Webb 18-karat fur clip with diamonds, coral and onyx. The bidder was very very angry, said the owner. The winning bid was rescinded.

The David Webb clip - total weight of diamonds= about 1-carat, 54.6 pennyweight, with its original suede pouch - had been sold a few minute before. “David Webb, need I say more,” the auctioneer had announced just before the bidding started at $3,000. The clip went for $4,000. The poor phone bidder could have had it for less than the $7,500 he paid for something he didn’t want.

I had never heard of David Webb, which wasn’t unusual since I learned later that his jewelry sells in the high thousands of dollars. I felt sorry for the phone bidder. The fur clip, which looked like an early piece, was a bargain compared to some of the prices for Webb’s jewelry that I found through Google.

David Webb was one of the foremost American jewelry designers of the 20^th century, and is best known for his enameled animal themes. His elegant jewelry is and has been worn by the rich and famous, including Elizabeth Taylor, Lana Turner, Princess Grace, Jackie Kennedy, the Duchess of Windsor and Doris Duke.

Actor Morgan Freeman wore Webb’s diamond and crystal shirt stubs and cufflinks when he accepted his Oscar for Supporting Actor in “Million Dollar Baby” in 2005.

Webb, who was born in North Carolina, died in 1975 of cancer. The company he founded in the late 1940s with Nina Silberstein filed for bankruptcy this year. David Webb Inc. has stores in New York and Beverly Hills.

Webb’s jewelry is highly collectible. Carol Elkins, senior vice president for jewelry at Sotheby, said in Washington Life Magazine earlier this year:

“Savvy U.S. collectors are looking at mid-20th century jewels ‘on trend’ with current tastes for fashions from the 1950’s through the 1970’s. David Webb’s signature enameled animal bangles and textured gold jewelry have re-emerged as the ‘look’ for a new generation of collectors, for example, a coral and diamond elephant bangle bracelet by Webb brought $95,500.”

Sotheby had a sale last week of what it called “important jewels” that included designs by Webb. Here’s a sampling.

Abalone pearl, cultured pearl, diamond and emerald brooch, $41,250.

Ruby, diamond and green enamel frog bangle-bracelet, $23,750.

Pair of gold and diamond earclips, 6,250.

White enamel, emerald and diamond leopard bangle-bracelet, $32,500.

18 karat gold and coral pendant-necklace, $31,250.

Cabochon ruby and diamond ring, $33,750.

18 karat gold platinum and diamond ring, $4,375.

What I found most interesting about the Sotheby auction and the one at my auction house is that the bad economy is not hurting everyone. As I whispered to my auction buddy, “Somebody has money.” Those who do still invest in their collectibles, perhaps knowing that paying a recession price now may bring a big profit in the end. Or maybe the Webb jewelry was purchased to be worn: Some of the pieces are magnificent.

As for my auction buddy and I getting lucky, we didn’t. She had her eye on a set of four 19^th century miniature bronze figures, no more than ½” to 1” tall. They were a Black Americana black boy, a Black Americana dancing couple, a hen on a nest and a devil on a pig. They went for $160. At our regular sales, she probably could have gotten them for $20.

For me, I wanted the 18k Wedgwood abolitionist pin, which sold for $325.

But it’s always interesting to see what tony items will be up for sale and how much people are willing to pay for them. As I perused the photos in the flyer, my eyes stopped on an item to be auctioned on the second day:

 An 18k Wedgwood abolitionist pin in a lovely blue velvet case.

I recognized that pin. It was a white Wedgwood cameo with a black male slave kneeling in supplication, his hands outstretched, pleading to be free. Around the edge was inscribed: “Am I Not a Man and a Brother?”

I had first seen the symbol in the movie “Amazing Grace” about two years ago during a screening at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia. The movie, released in theaters in 2007, told the life of abolitionist William Wilberforce, who led a campaign in the 18th century to force Parliament to end the slave trade in the British Empire.  

The movie was as amazing as its title, and one of the things that stayed in my head was that symbol. The piece at the auction was a reproduction, and the auctioneer guessed that it was produced in the early 1900s. It was inscribed with the word Wedgwood on the back, along with a few other details.

The sole bid on the pin was from an absentee bidder, and it sold for $325.  The starting price was too high for me. Hopefully, another one will come around or I’ll find one hidden away in some junk item I get at auction.

The original Wedgwood piece was a black and white Jasper medallion, created around 1787 by renowned potter Josiah Wedgwood. An abolitionist, he created it to serve as a symbol for abolitionists fighting the slave trade and to garner support for the anti-slavery movement, according to my Google research. The medallions were used in various ways as political statements: Men had them inlaid in snuff boxes, women wore them as hatpins, brooches and neckaces. They could be found on milk jugs, sugar bowls and tobacco boxes.  

Some medallions were sent to Benjamin Franklin, who was then head of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society. The kneeling figure was modeled after the seal of the Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade, formed in 1787 in London.

Interestingly, in 1830, another abolitionist, writer and poet Elizabeth Margaret Chandler, adopted a female version: a kneeling female slave woman (“Am I not a Woman and a Sister”). Years later, Sojourner Truth would make famous her speech in 1854 at the Ohio Woman’s Rights Convention with the same inquiry: “Ain’t I A Woman.”

I love auctions because they are the place to get in touch with history. This one small pin, which measured only 1 ½” x 1 ¾”, opened up a past for me just by being here at this auction. You can find some of the most valuable artifacts in museums, but auctions are among the non-museum sites where you come face-to-face with the day-to-day pieces from people’s personal lives.

After an auction, when I’m going through boxes at home, I wonder about the person who owned these items, who touched them and who used them. And I ask myself: Did they ever wonder if  these fragments from their lives would be held years later by someone else? And by whom?

Within a week, a confluence of events stamped the name Art Smith in my brain.  

Googling him, I learned that the Brooklyn Museum was holding an exhibit of his work called “From the Village to Vogue: The Modernist Jewelry of Art Smith.” Next, I was at an auction later that same week when the auctioneer announced that Smith’s jewelry would be available at their special sale next month. I was flabbergasted.

Three times in one week? No way. I think I then understood what serendipity meant.

Smith was a leading modernist jewelry designer during the mid-20^th century, opening his first shop in Greenwich Village in 1946. He is said to be the first African American jewelry designer. His works were a fusion of art and jazz, and his pieces have a kind of rhythm to them. In fact, he made cufflinks for Duke Ellington with notes from the musician’s “Mood Indigo.” Smith died in 1982.

The 21 pieces of gold and silver jewelry at the Brooklyn Museum were a gift from his companion and heir, Charles Russell, according to the museum’s website. The exhibit was in a small gallery on the fourth floor. On the walls were large black and white period photos of models wearing Smith’s jewelry, along with photos of the artist himself. The jewelry – from the 1940s to 1970s – was in glass cases about the room, along with Smith’s original sketches, tools and his shop sign. The exhibit runs until March 14, 2010.

Smith made gold, silver and copper necklaces, earrings, bracelets and rings with stones. His pieces were not for the faint-of-heart. Some were oddly shaped, but elegant in their own way. They were more art than jewelry, more display than wearable. My favorite was one called “Autumn Leaves.”

At the auction a month later, seven items were up for sale, some similar to the pieces worn by models in the photos. Here’s how they were described by the auction house, along with the final auction sale prices:

Silver Modern cuff bracelet. 2 ¼” x 2 ½”. Signed, 1948. $5,000.

Silver “Undulation” ring, 1 abalone & 2 agate stones. Size 7 ½ (15.5 dwt). DWT is an abbreviation for pennyweight, used to calculate the weight of gold and other precious metals. Signed. $1,800.

Silver “Biomorphic” ring, grooved Saturn style ring construction supports carnelian & small chrysophrase stones. Size 6 ½ (8.5 dwt). Signed. $675.

Silver Biomorphic” ring w/ ovoid shaped black onyx. Size 6 ¾ (6.5 dwt). Signed. $625.

Silver “Biomorphic” ring w/ carnelian & orange/green agate stones. Size 7 ¼ (7.5 dwt). Signed. $575.

“Patina” earrings, screwback, overall length 2 ¼”. Unsigned. $550.

Art Smith business card, 140 W. Fourth St., NY, NY. $50.

After the auction, I watched as one man hopelessly tried to question the buyer of the $5,000 bracelet. It was obvious that the first man was just being nosy. The buyer deflected his questions and the man soon left him alone.

After a few minutes, I struck up a conversation. I told the buyer that I had just learned about Smith, had seen the exhibit at the museum and was intrigued. He opened up to me, I believe, because I was genuinely interested in Smith rather than the amount of money the buyer had just spent.

He was from New York, and remembered passing Smith’s shop as a child. He had been collecting and buying the artist’s jewelry for the last 20 years, he said, adding that he had bought pieces from this same auction house about two years ago. The current pieces, he said, came from one estate. I asked if he’d seen the exhibit in NY. He had.

He urged me to try to get a copy of the catalog of Smith’s show at the Jamaica Arts Center in Queens, NY, from about 15 to 20 years ago. I checked it out, and found that the exhibit was held in 1990, guest-curated by artist Camille Billops. Sounds good to me, since art catalogs are both collectible and practical.

I also found this 2005 episode of Antiques Roadshow about a woman showing up with an Art Smith necklace that her mother had purchased from the artist in the 1960s.  It was appraised (the original appraisal was actually in 2000) at $5,000 to $10,000.

I couldn’t afford any of Smith’s pieces at my auction, but I was just happy to have found him. Thank you, Cheryl, for introducing him to me. And thank you, Art Smith, for helping me to always remember your name.

Too bad she didn’t wear a hatpin with a serpent head. Both the head and the long 10-inch stem would’ve sent double messages.

I don’t subscribe to hatpins as weapons, but they do make a statement. I love hatpins and I buy them as often as I can at auction. But I find that I’m always outbidded by someone else – usually another woman – who loves them just as much as I do. I did manage to snag a group of about 10 hatpins once – with heads of onyx beads to rhinestones to brass. Some with long stems and others with short stems (these were likely stick pins). They were not as fancy as some of the ones I’ve seen on the web, including at The American Hatpin Society site.

A group of hatpins with heads of colored stones, brass or silver atop long stems protruding out of a holder is as beautiful as a bouquet of flowers. In fact, they remind you of a bouquet. I don’t wear hats, so I have to find other ways to enjoy them. With hatpins, you can be as creative as you want, using them as accents in your home or on your clothing or to actually dress up a hat. 

Like just about everything else, hatpins have their share of collectors, their own organization and a long history. Hatpins originated in the 1850s as a way for women to secure their straw hats, according to The Collectors Weekly. They became very popular between the 1890s and 1920s, when such actresses as Lillian Russell and Lillian Langtray wore them on large fancy hats, the weekly said.

The Collectors Weekly also has a 2008 interview with hatpin collector Jodi Lenocker, an expert on the subject. She talks about the history of hatpins, what she collects and how long she’s been collecting, noted hatpin manufacturers, marked and unmarked hatpins and what’s the best ones to collect.  

Vintage and antique hatpins are eagerly sought by collectors, but buyers are warned to look for fakes. The hatpin society site offers tips on what to look for if you want to start collecting.

I believe the hatpins I bought at auction were vintage. I doubt if they were antiques. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m not a collector. I’m someone who simply enjoys the artistry.   

By the way, more than 200 of Albright’s pins are on exhibit at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York through Jan. 31.