It’s a sheer pleasure being a woman. Some of the best stuff in the world is made – not made, but designed – for us, and we partake of it unabashedly. We are some of the smartest and most beautiful souls in the world – if only folks will allow us to be us. And most of all, we are resilient.
Much of what we have to offer turn up at auction pretty often, and I have happily written about it. During Women’s History Month, I’ve compiled some of my blog posts about women – the stuff we love, the talents we possess and the styles that individually define us.
You can read my other compilation of posts about the old us and the grand melting pot of us. Today, I’m looking at the joy of being female:
Postcards of black women with hats
In the auction catalog, the description of the postcards sounded a lot like “Crowns,” a book of photographs about black women and their love affair with hats: “Group of 275 real photo post cards of African American women, indoors, outdoors, portraits, etc. … Includes a sub-group of seventy-five photos of women in hats.”
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.
Victorian women in delicate lace
What stood in the glass auction case in front of me was apparently someone’s collection. The porcelain figures were clean, and didn’t seem to have a scratch or nick on them. They appeared to be Victorian women of nobility in different poses – standing pointe as a ballerina, sitting on a bench, dancing alone, showing off their voluminous skirts.
A woman, her dowry and needlepoint
There was a time when some girls stitched designs on sheets, pillowcases and tablecloths for their dowries. These could be either simple or intricate designs on household items they’d take with them into their marriage. I see some of those crocheted and needlepoint pieces – not sure if they’re from a dowry but merely from loving hands – at auctions from time to time. Last weekend, I saw some from an actual dowry, bequeathed to a niece by a woman now in her 70s and living in New York.
Women shoes from high-end designers
The rich dark brown and orange wide-strapped wedge shoes were calling my name. I loved them instantly when I saw them on the website of one of my favorite auction houses. But check out the height of those heels! It hurts just to look at them. I wore wedge heels that high some years ago, but can’t do it now. I was tempted to try it again with the brown pair, even though I wasn’t sure if they would even be in my 9 ½ size.
The distinct art of Sarai Sherman
Sarai Sherman was about 26 years old when she exhibited a painting called “Hericane Time” in an art show at Philadelphia’s Pyramid Club back in 1948. I found her name and the piece listed in a catalog that I bought about two years ago at auction. The club was formed as an exclusive enclave for African American men, but it held a pre-eminent art exhibition every year that welcomed African American and white female artists.
At auction recently, a single piece of jewelry forced me to stop and take notice. It was a lovely gold pin of a lady. What really struck me was the beautiful large red-ruby-like stone she was showing off, offering it up like a model trying to make a sale. She was wearing what looked like a tutu encased in small clear rhinestones, which were also on her shoes and in her hair. Unfortunately, a few of the stones were missing. Didn’t matter, though, because the pin was stunning, and it reminded me of Josephine Baker and her banana costume.
The notebook lying on the auction table was about more than just the postcards. I recognized that instantly when I flipped open the cover, which had the label “Ladies Postcards.” Sure, there were postcards inside, lots of them tucked into plastic sleeves like those you’d find in old photo albums. But what was on the postcards was the prize.
I was browsing through the “good stuff” in the glass cases at an auction house this week when I spotted two small pewter-like items with high reliefs on the tops. I stopped, curious about what they were. “They’re coin purses,” J.J., an auctioneer, said from behind the counter as she pulled out the tray for me to take a closer look. Standing near us was an antiques store owner, a regular just like me, who was familiar with the pieces. “Victorian,” she added.
The experience of shopping in a fur store
Walking into the auction house was like walking into animal kingdom. The animals were all missing but their furs had been left behind. I’d been to only one other auction where this many furs were sold, and they appeared to have come from some woman’s closet. These, however, seemed to have been in a fur store that had closed. In fact, I found the name of a local fur store on one of the items.
Vintage clothes – wearing old and looking good!
That cute green flapper dress was speaking to me. It was silk, beaded, with flaps around the bottom that I could imagine easily parting with my every step. And twirling when I turned, the whole dress moving loosely around my body. (I’ve got to stop watching so many classic movies!).
African American natural hair as art
Sonya Clark is a fiber artist who uses her own hair as her medium. She weaves human hair – black women’s natural hair – onto canvases, the backs of chairs, into jewelry and even mixing it up with the red, white and blue of the Stars and Stripes. Who would’ve guessed that our kinky hair could express itself as beautifully off our head as on it.
