I was walking through my house one day, and looking around, realized that I have a lot of women in here. I didn’t notice them because they were chattering among themselves or bumping into each other. Or, most important, getting in my way.
I just happened to look up and they were there, all over the place. Some came alone, while others brought their man or their children with them. They came from as far away as Canada, Alabama and Arizona, but most were local. They didn’t come unannounced – they have better manners than that. I invited them all into my household.
These women are not my daughters or sisters or aunts or my mother. Not one of them is even related to me, but I feel a deep connection to each of them. When I’m drawn to one of them – by her looks or the message she imparts – I just have to bring her home. She has to be “something special,” though, to share my house.
These women filling my home are not real – not to me, at least, but they likely were to the artists who created them. For they are in the paintings, masks, sculptures and wood carvings that line my walls, and rest on my fireplace mantle and windowsills. They’re the women I’ve collected at auctions or bought outright at galleries or shops. They’ve become the theme of my collecting.
They’re the ones I see when I walk through my house and settle my eyes on just about anything. Through their presence, they tell me what’s important: strength, endurance, beauty, uniqueness, history. Seeing myself reflected in their many faces and postures reminds me of our power and resilience – both now and in the past.
Let me introduce you to a few of the women in my house:
A ceramic blackamoors woman and her mate (above) that I picked up in a shop in Vancouver, Canada. They’re a beautiful pair balancing bowls on their heads. I was attending a recruiting conference in Oregon at the time, and since I had not been to Vancouver before, decided to rent a car and drive up. I came across the sculptures on my last day there and just had to have them. I had them shipped to me in Philadelphia because they were too heavy and delicate to bring back on the plane.
A lady-in-pink bowl, picked up at auction. She’s the stereotypical overweight black memorabilia, which I don’t usually buy, but she appeared to be more complimentary.
Wood carvings of a African woman and her man, in striations of light and dark wood that I got at auction (photo at top).
Artist Melbourne Hardwick’s untitled oil of a woman’s bust (at right). I actually call her the Faceless Lady because she has no facial features. The beige and cream colors of her face looked to be African American to me. I had never heard of Hardwick but found out that he was born in Nova Scotia (in 1857), which was the destination of thousands of slaves seeking freedom via the Underground Railroad. He lived most of his life in Boston and died in 1916. There’s no date on the painting.
Chris Roberts-Antieau’s “Angel,” one of three pieces I got at auction by this fabric artist. Antieau was also new to me but I’ve become very familiar with her work. I was visiting the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore once and came across some colorful pieces by her – a lot bolder than the ones I have. Another time, at Art Basel Miami Beach, I wandered into the booth/showroom where her son had set up some of her stunning fabric art featuring jazz musicians. Take a look at her series of famous blues musicians, including Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson and John Lee Hooker, and other works.
Artist Julius Bloch’s study of two women. I was happy to find and purchase these two pieces by Bloch, a Philadelphia artist, at auction. I’d love to know if they were ever developed into a larger painting.
Two masks of African women, one with reeds for hair and the other with burlap, purchased from a shop.
What images are predominant in your house? And what do they say about who you are?
