I'm looking at an early watercolor in which a small Black boy is sitting on the front steps of a log cabin. The watercolor is resting on a dramatic old piece-work quilt draped across a cowhide-seat chair. I found both the quilt and the watercolor while on a trip to Houston last Monday. The watercolor came from an estate auction in Prairie View, a historic part of Waller County, Texas. Ironically, I heard about the auction, which had occurred the day before, when I stopped at the Navasota, Texas shop owned by the auctioneer and his wife.
After a short visit, I went on down the main street, eager to discover if any other shops might be open on a Monday. On my last stop, I spotted the quilt, which caught my eye because of the intense yellow and red fabrics used in its composition. These are set off by soft brown and mossy green compliments. In the mind’s eye these colors don’t really work, but the reality differs. My delight increased when I discovered the quilt’s subtle watermelon-striped cotton flannel backing. Only later did I realize I was responding to what I feel is the work of a Black woman, and someone with an incredible eye for graphic impact. The owner of the shop where I found the quilt could tell me nothing about it, but my instinct told me it was local. Pleased with the find, I continued my drive, planning a stop in Waller, Texas to see my friend Donna who also deals in the things I like to buy.
The quilt had an odd feature, a fabric cap over one end, approximately 14 inches wide and made out of a garish sherbert-green cotton-poly, sprinkled with primitive roses. Donna suggested that the cap would have been added at some point to protect the quilt from being soiled by oils from the face and hands. I knew the addition had to come off, but I dreaded the damage to the quilt that we might find underneath. We began snipping away threads. To our delight we found the entire quilt intact, in “mint” condition. As we speculated about the possible Black origin of the quilt, she mentioned a watercolor of a Black boy that she had bought the previous day at an auction in Prairie View. Click.
For many years this watercolor has been dressed in a frame whose finish is alligatored from heat. The backing is tattered cardboard, and the wire used for hanging the piece has been reinforced with cotton string, darkened now with age. In a fashion that surprises and delights the eye, the screws that attach the wire to the frame come all the way through the front of the frame. It is called making do. More than anything, what I like about the watercolor and quilt as I sit looking at them is how they look juxtaposed to one another, how they get along together. They are meant for each other, at least for this moment. They satisfy me visually and emotionally. They encourage me to consider their origins, to smell the smoke from the chimneys at either end of the log house on whose steps this young Black child sits and to see in my mind's eye the old woman who found comfort in pulling that quilt under her chin on winter nights, until she no longer needed to be comforted. Click.
Connections
Saturday, August 11, 2001
Harold Hollis—Normangee, Texas
After a short visit, I went on down the main street, eager to discover if any other shops might be open on a Monday. On my last stop, I spotted the quilt, which caught my eye because of the intense yellow and red fabrics used in its composition. These are set off by soft brown and mossy green compliments. In the mind’s eye these colors don’t really work, but the reality differs. My delight increased when I discovered the quilt’s subtle watermelon-striped cotton flannel backing. Only later did I realize I was responding to what I feel is the work of a Black woman, and someone with an incredible eye for graphic impact. The owner of the shop where I found the quilt could tell me nothing about it, but my instinct told me it was local. Pleased with the find, I continued my drive, planning a stop in Waller, Texas to see my friend Donna who also deals in the things I like to buy.
The quilt had an odd feature, a fabric cap over one end, approximately 14 inches wide and made out of a garish sherbert-green cotton-poly, sprinkled with primitive roses. Donna suggested that the cap would have been added at some point to protect the quilt from being soiled by oils from the face and hands. I knew the addition had to come off, but I dreaded the damage to the quilt that we might find underneath. We began snipping away threads. To our delight we found the entire quilt intact, in “mint” condition. As we speculated about the possible Black origin of the quilt, she mentioned a watercolor of a Black boy that she had bought the previous day at an auction in Prairie View. Click.
For many years this watercolor has been dressed in a frame whose finish is alligatored from heat. The backing is tattered cardboard, and the wire used for hanging the piece has been reinforced with cotton string, darkened now with age. In a fashion that surprises and delights the eye, the screws that attach the wire to the frame come all the way through the front of the frame. It is called making do. More than anything, what I like about the watercolor and quilt as I sit looking at them is how they look juxtaposed to one another, how they get along together. They are meant for each other, at least for this moment. They satisfy me visually and emotionally. They encourage me to consider their origins, to smell the smoke from the chimneys at either end of the log house on whose steps this young Black child sits and to see in my mind's eye the old woman who found comfort in pulling that quilt under her chin on winter nights, until she no longer needed to be comforted. Click.
Connections
Saturday, August 11, 2001
Harold Hollis—Normangee, Texas
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