My own menagerie of faceless dolls

As I approached the box of ceramic cinnamon-colored dolls, a wave of déjà vu swept over me. It couldn’t be, I thought to myself. But there they were, nearly a dozen of the faceless Dominican Republic Lime dolls I had seen at another auction house more than a week ago.

There, they had been placed individually in a row on a glass shelf, clean and ready to go. Here, they were in two low-cut boxes on a table of disparate box lots. Some were dusty and a few – including a lovely flower vendor – had chips. One bouquet of her white flowers had been clipped off in a clean break, and surprisingly, it was there in the box.

When I had seen the grouping at the first auction, I thought the eight of them looked fabulous together. Having more of them to set up as a group would be transfixing.

All 10 of the Lime dolls had labels on the bottom, except for one that did have a very strong resemblance. Three had paper tags detailing who they were in both English and Spanish, and noting that they were handcrafted:

“‘The Elegant Lady’

This beautiful piece is of a peasant woman who sells in the villages and towns flowers appropriated to the season in the Dominican Republic.” She’s the second from left in the photo below.

“‘Rural Washerwoman’

With a bundle of dirty clothes on her head and the other necessary supplies under her arm the rural washerwoman is on her way to the river in the Dominican Republic.” She’s the fourth from left in the photo above.

“‘Holiday Dress’

This beautiful piece recreates the way of dressing by the peasant women on Sundays and Holidays.” She’s the sixth from the left in the photo above.

The Limes were joined by two other groups of faceless dolls. Five appeared to be dolls from the Dominican Republic that were made to resemble Lime, but they were not labeled and some were not as refined. From my previous research, I had learned that other artisans also produced faceless dolls. In Googling, I found similar dolls that were called Gifina.

Three other dolls were very different. One was named Elisa – who bore a paper tag in Spanish identifying herself, and asking that she be handled carefully and not be washed in water. Another, who appeared to be Victorian, had Gifina written in what looked like gold leaf on the back. The other was unmarked, but her name plate may have been missing. I found another Gifina doll on the web that looked like her.

All of the dolls were faceless, indicating to me that they were deliberately collected. They were likely someone’s ceramic collection or they could have come from a shop. (As I was cleaning them at home later, I had to remove the glue from price stickers.)

Lime dolls were first made in the Dominican Republic in 1981 by an artist named Liliana Mera Lime. She made them faceless to represent the cultural mix of the country’s people. The dolls have been discontinued, but others like them are being made by craftspeople to be sold as souvenirs.

Most of the Lime dolls at auction included the trademark coloring and smooth glaze. Two were different: One was done in the natural color of red clay. Another was in color but her top was smooth and her bottom rough.

At the first auction, I did not hang around to bid on the dolls, although I was impressed with their workmanship. I became even more enamored after finding out more about them in my Google search. So, seeing them at the most recent auction house was like getting a second chance, and I knew I had to take it.

I was not the only interested person, though: Another bidder stuck with me toe-to-toe, once nearly dropping out of the bidding but then getting back into it. I held out, though, and got both boxes for $40. I have no idea what the dolls are worth, but their value to me is in their beauty.

I had considered giving them as Christmas gifts, but the more I see them arranged on a table in my house, the more I’m inclined to leave them there. I’ll just enjoy their presence along with the other women who people my house.