Provenance is the evidence of the history of the ownership of an item. Most collectors know that a bookplate, a photograph, a signature, auction or other seller records, a diary, etc. adds legitimacy to claims of age, origin and/or the item’s connection to a famous person. It’s the tangible evidence of the item’s family tree so to speak. This adds value to an item so provenance is a ‘good thing’, as Martha would say.

Of course, there is more to an object’s paper trail than who owned it. Photographs, diaries, and assorted ephemera can help you track time periods, authors, origins etc., can help you identify objects and discover context and history as well.

Following the history of the object is much like genealogy. Not only do you discover this item’s history or immediate family, but find it has relatives. For example, a piece of art which can be traced to a specific time period and location may provide clues to that work or artist inspiring other artists, other works of art. Entire artistic movements may have been impacted or founded upon this work. As the art piece traveled, so did the idea, style and technique. Provenance can also be used to return art to it’s proper owner. For the collector, provenance and the paper trail of history may also mean the expansion of a collection. As you discover new connections or relatives the scope of your collection increases.

Case in point, our recent finding of an old RCA Victor Red Seal recording of Traditional Negro Spirituals.

On just this past Saturday night, hubby and I were going through our stacks of old recordings and listening to most of them. One of them was this Red Seal 78 RPM of Negro songs.

The first song we listened to was “Poor Me” (which I thought was sung by a man). The second song was “Hold On” which quite clearly was a woman — one with very classical training. Struck by the opera sounding voice with the very powerful sound I think of for these spirituals, something tingled in the back of my brain. As soon as the song was over I asked, “Who was that singing?” Hubby read off the credits off red label, “Marian Anderson, Contralto, with Franz Rupp at the Piano.”

That name! I knew that name!

Making him promise not to play any more records until I returned, I ran to the basement where we have our store inventory. I went to the ephemera area, where I quickly found what I was looking for, & dashed back up the stairs.

“I knew it! Here she is and she is black!”

Hubby read the old program from the Avion Musical Club (Milwaukee, Wisconsin), dated Friday, November 8, 1946, which presented Marian Anderson with Franz Rupp at the piano. It also listed the four Negro spirituals used to end her performance. They were not the songs we had on the RCA Victor record, but still most exciting.

How often can folks who don’t seek these spirituals just find they own not only the recording, but the old program from the same time period? Not even packrats like we two can say this very often! (And I do believe I have one of her biographies as well, but I have not searched for it yet.)

We continued listening to more records that evening, but I knew what I would be writing about for today *wink*

Sunday, thanks to the Internet and good-old-Google, I found a few more interesting things about Marian Anderson; a woman worthy of belonging to my “What it means to be female” collection.

This wonderful & talented woman was, because she was black, not allowed to sing at Constitution Hall. While she eventually won the right, she did not consider herself a fighter. She would later say of herself, “There are people who will, if they want something, they fight, fight, fight; they don’t mind–with their feet and their hands and everything–and those people are very, very necessary, but there are some who hope that if they’re doing something worthwhile, that it will speak for them.”
An extraordinary woman, most of her items were donated to the University of Pennsylvania, including correspondence; more than 2, 000 songs in manuscript; her library of printed scores; more than 4, 400 photographs; interviews and lectures; as well as other audio tapes of home studio recordings, rehearsals, vocal coaching, and test pressings of her recordings.

Following Anderson’s life is like a who’s-who of African-American music — especially classical music. The record we have also credits the “Poor Me” with the following: Melody from Work Brothers “Folk Songs of American Negro” — a book I’ll be getting for my “folk song and folk tales” collection.

But I also discovered that the Marian Anderson items I owned could also fit into one of my other seemingly unrelated collections: My Tom Jones collection. This because in my searching I discovered that Marian Anderson also recorded “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child”, which is one of my favorite Tom Jones songs. Elvis had his Gospel, Jones his Spirituals. Can I get an Amen?

So now the paper trail connecting two objects shows a larger family tree, not only identifying other family members, but new objects to seek as well. It’s a good day for this collector. But I’m probably preaching to the choir, aren’t I?

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I remember browsing through an antique jewelry dealer’s shop as a preteen and noticing a large display of Victorian era black jewelry. There were brooches, rings and earrings, all featuring black stones. I remarked that they must have liked black a lot in the “olden days” and the shopkeeper informed me that it was mourning jewelry, worn when a loved one died.

The wearing of mourning, or memorial, jewelry began in England in the 16^th century. Before long it was common for mourning rings to be distributed at a funeral in memory of the deceased. Skulls and skeletons were popular designs for mourning jewelry for many years, and were often worn as a memento mori: a symbol of one’s own mortality. Eventually these designs lost popularity and were rarely seen after the 1760s.

It was about that time that a more sentimental form of mourning jewelry came into fashion. Scenes of urns, tombs, weeping willows and grieving maidens were depicted, usually in paint or enamel. Human hair was often worked into the scene, perhaps as the branches of the weeping willow. These scenes of grief appeared on brooches, rings and pendants. The scene was often set in a frame of engraved gold, gemstones or seed pearls, symbolizing tears. The name of the deceased and date of death were often on the piece, making it easy for the collector to date the jewelry.

As the nineteenth century wore on, jet became fashionable in mourning jewelry. It grew in favor after the death of Britain’s King George IV and was Queen Victoria’s adornment of choice following the death of her husband, Prince Albert. The Queen was in mourning for forty years, and during that time the court wore black with black jewelry. Hence, black mourning jewelry gained popularity among the populace and black jewelry was even worn by people who weren’t mourning.

Jet is fossilized coal and is easily carved. Mid-nineteenth century jet jewelry was often carved into medallions, serpent bracelets, rings, flowers and crosses, while the styles of the late nineteenth century were much more plain. Imitations such as “French Jet” (black glass) were sometimes used and it can be difficult to tell true jet apart from these. Jet was one of the most common materials used in jewelry by the end of the nineteenth century, and onyx was also frequently used.

In recent years, DC Comics has published two collections of a little thing called Batman : Black and White. These short Batman stories were originally published in comic book form under its own masthead, and later, within the back pages of Gotham Knights. The Batman : Black and White stories call upon a vast array of writers and artists to uniquely bring life to snippets of Batman’s exceptional existence.

These stories told entirely in black and white (and sometimes, greys) call upon the aesthetic of newspaper comics and small, independent publishers, and a story told entirely in film noir style evokes a certain narrative theme. With the modern Batman being a character that is usually depicted in solid blacks, the illustrations create some very interesting visuals. While the relative quality of the stories and the art are hit or miss, the idea of harnessing these creative talents into such a unique project is a noble one, and worth reading.

DC Comics didn’t stop there with the exploration of the ‘black and white’ theme, though. These stories were popular enough to warrant an ongoing line of Batman : Black and White statues based on the artwork within the books. I’m a tremendous fan of the many interpretations of Batman that artists have created, and have collected nearly every one of them in action figure form, so this line of statues is heaven for me.

This week saw the release of the sixth statue in the series, based on the artwork of Mike Mignola, who is best known for writing and creating Hellboy. Based on the cover artwork to the second volume of the Black and White trade paperbacks, the 7.5” tall statue is excellently sculpted in Mignola’s signature style. Slumped shoulders, angular shadows painted into jagged greys, and a sense of heavy gravity throughout. A bat grappling hook hangs straight down from Batman’s hand, heavy and immobile, further communicating the feeling of gravity that this statue has. Mignola initially drew this image in solid blacks and whites, so there’s been considerable liberty taken in flushing out the previously-shadowed details of the figure, but it still looks like pure Mignola.

Mignola’s heroes aren’t the dynamic, energetic figures that comics are defined by. These characters are tired and cynical and completely aware of the weight of the world, conserving their energies for a burst of energetic and almost unstoppable rage-driven power.

Preceding this Mignola statue are statues based on the artwork of Simon Bisley, Brian Bolland, Joe Kubert, Tim Sale and Eduardo Risso. They range from stoic to grotesquely muscular, classic to bizarre. It’s an amazing cross-section of ideas about Batman, which will soon be followed by two more statues based on the artwork of Kelley Jones (who presents a distinctly vampiric Batman) and Steve Rude (who heavily references Batman’s first appearances).

Most of these statues are fairly easy to find for around 50 dollars or less, but the Eduardo Risso statue, which was the first one produced, seems to be the only exceptionally coveted one. With a production run of 7000, versus a run of around 5000 on the subsequent statues, it’s certainly not rarer than the others, but it IS an especially powerful statue, and those ‘first-in-a-series’ things usually fetch higher prices anyhow. The Mignola statue was only produced in 3800 pieces, a relatively small number. Each piece is also hand-numbered on the bottom of the base, as well as the box that it comes in.

And with things of this nature, if you ever plan on displaying them and transporting them again, it’s a really good idea to keep the box. They’re delicate, cold-cast porcelain, and there’s nothing better to keep them safe than the styrofoam package that was designed specifically to protect them.

If you’re a Batman fan, or a fan of anything that appreciates in value significantly, the Batman : Black and White series is an excellent investment.