Black-Eyed Susans

     Some things never change...like Black-Eyed Susans edging the roads every summer. The farms here in our predominantly agricultural valley routinely fight these "field pests." Every year before they plant their cornfields, the farmers spray the fields, the levees and the roadsides. I think there must be a lesson here in constancy and determination, for as I drive along, I see field after field of corn, completely encircled by vigorous bushes of Black-Eyed Susans. I can't help but love them as they nod their lithe heads, keeping tune with the breeze. Something about them symbolizes summer so much more eloquently, to me, than all their carefully nurtured garden sisters.

     Constancy is something to which we give much consideration, at Lawtons. Consistent quality is one of the rules to which we are committed. Each of our craftsmen is dedicated, above all else, to creating a beautiful doll. We use stringent quality controls and our standard is admittedly high, resulting in many dolls being rejected during the dollmaking process. But, we believe that the end result is worth the cost. We know that each doll may be treasured for generations to come, possibly long after we are gone.

     That's not to say, of course, that each doll is a carbon copy of the others in the edition. One of the best things about working in porcelain is that no part of the process can be automated. Each doll is made entirely by hand. For instance, there are no masks or stencils used in china painting the faces. Every face is hand-painted by a highly skilled artist, who carefully develops the depth and shadings over many different paint and fire cycles. Although we work toward painting each head to look exactly like its sample, a wonderful thing happens along the way - no two dolls ever turn out exactly alike.

     Just a month ago, one of our dealers returned two dolls with the following comment, "These two dolls do not look alike." We gave no argument. She was right. But I can't help feeling that this is the very reason that collecting dolls is unlike any other collectible - you can find that special doll, out of an entire edition, that seems made just for you. So, even though each doll may be uniquely different, the constant in a Lawtons Doll is the quality.

     Because some things never change, I expect to see Black-Eyed Susans lining the road each summer, for many years to come. And I hope that with the same constancy, Lawtons quality will greet you each time you unbox your newest doll.

A Lifetime of Dolls

     One of the questions I'm most frequently asked is "How did you ever get started making dolls?" It's usually easier to omit all the years of experimentation with different media. I made jointed cloth dolls, tried to carve soap dolls and even used bread dough as a dollmaking medium. My "breakthrough" came when I discovered porcelain dollmaking. I was staying at home, caring for our long-awaited baby, and I had a profound desire to somehow capture Rebecca at that moment in time. I found my teacher and began my journey into dollmaking. Needless to say, that first doll was less than impressive, but it was a start and not a single day has passed since then when I haven't been up to my elbows in dollmaking.

     But that's not the whole story. My dollmaking actually grew out of my lifelong love of dolls. I can't ever recall a time when dolls weren't an important part of my life. My very first dolls were a pair of 2 l/2 inch, hard plastic, Renwal jointed babies, purchased at Woolworths for 5¢ each and carefully sewn into a twin bunting made of soft cotton flannel.

     My mother understood the importance of having a doll scaled to fit in a tiny pocket or a child-sized hand. I can still remember the comforting feel of the soft flannel bunting as I'd suck my thumb while holding the babies in the other four fingers. Those battered little babies are still a treasured part of my doll collection to this day.

     I went through some of my photo albums to see if I could find photographs of some of my first dolls. I realized that it would have been difficult to find a photo of me without a doll!

     Dolls highlight all my childhood memories. My younger sister, Linda, and I played dolls hour after hour for years (from Tiny Tears though Barbie). We sewed for them, cooked for them and curled and styled their hair. We even took our dolls along in strollers when we went shopping downtown. We were blessed with a magical childhood, rich with make-believe and "let's pretend." My parents believed in the importance of creative play. We were provided with the tools of childhood - which for me were dolls - and plenty of time in which to learn to exercise our imaginations. Who would have guessed that all those years of play were actually job training for me.

     Some dollmakers insist they are making "people figures", others are creating "representational art" or "three dimensional portraits", but I must confess that I make dolls; nothing more, nothing less, and to my way of thinking, nothing could be more satisfying.

Sharing with Children

     What a wonderful interest we share. I can't think of a single collectible that is more universally loved than a doll, especially to those of us so steeped in the magic of childhood that we barely qualify as adults. Dolls seem to link us to those halcyon days of tea parties, dress-up and make-believe.

     While I don't think we ever lose sight of that special link between children and dolls, I do think that many times we forget what a wonderful communication tool we possess with our collections. Our workshops here in Turlock are regularly visited by field trips of school children anxious to see how dolls are made.

     It's not unusual to see a school bus or two waiting at the park down the block while an excited queue of school children file into Lawtons. Within each group of children we find those children who are kindred spirits. They squeeze in next to our dollmakers, ask scores of questions, delight in holding eyeballs in the palms of their hands and seem to absorb every piece of information. They tell of their own Barbies/G.I. Joes/Cabbage Patch Kids, and they want to know if they, too, are "collectors." We take this interest very seriously and by the time they leave, each child is armed with information, brochures and their favorite postcard (painstakingly chosen and then traded two or three times

     While this kind of group sharing is a revitalizing experience, nothing compares with sharing one on one. I'll never forget those grown-ups in my own childhood who took the time to share their interests with me. One of those, Mrs. Miller, was the owner of a rare piece of real estate in our very urban San Francisco neighborhood-a garden. Hers was not simply a bed of flowers surrounding a patch of grass, her garden was a lovely pocket of greenery tucked between apartment houses, surrounded by an ornamental wire fence and gate. Mrs. Miller spent many an hour of every day working in her garden. She was always gracious in allowing pesky little neighbors to join her. It was in that very garden that I first became acquainted with Scotch Broom, French Lavender, and Wisteria. That garden, with its iridescent abalone shells set throughout to catch the rain, was a place that could have easily been home to all kinds of fairy folk. Mrs. Miller knew each plant by name and each was cared for according to its own needs. Her garden was a grouping of well loved individuals, so different from our modern "landscape plans." Those days in Mrs. Miller's garden awakened a deep appreciation of gardening for me. Now, as a busy adult, I'm touched that she was willing to give up her gardener's solitude to share her knowledge with a child.

     Another dear mentor, Miss Lowe, lived alone, across the street from us, in a small house that was brimming with treasures from her native England and her travels around the world. She invited me into her home with as much graciousness and ceremony as if I were an old friend. She patiently showed me all her beautiful things, carefully taking each delicate piece off its resting place and placing it in my clumsy little five-year-old fingers. I still vividly remember the feel of those delicate objects long after the visual memory has faded. On four different occasions she gifted me with a piece from her collection; once an exotic snuff/bottle from China with a scene painted on the inside of the glass. Another time I took home a heavy bronze pot that just fit into my hand. A little cloisonne enamel bowl that was perfectly doll sized was given to me on another occasion and for Christmas, the last year of her life, she gave my sister and me our copy of Kate Greenaway's Marigold Garden. I rely on that one book for inspiration more than any other book in my library.

     As you enjoy your dolls or when you decide to "weed out" your collection, think about that little child who can't stay away from your doll case, whose eyes light up every time they see a doll. And if you do decide to gift your young friend with a little treasure from your collection, help them to understand the import of it. Tell them the story behind it. Examine it with them, allowing them time to savor each detail. Make it an occasion. I often suggest to parents or grandparents that rather than simply buying a doll to give to their child/grandchild, they put it into their own collection for a time, carefully enjoying it with the child over many different visits. Children love to "yearn" for something. When the illusive doll is finally presented to the child, it is so imbued with memories of the time spent with the giver that it becomes doubly precious as the years go by. An appreciation of beauty and the time spent together actually rival the gift itself in value.

     So continue to enjoy every minute of our wonderful hobby and keep in mind that it can be made even more enjoyable through its sharing.

Limitations

     This year I keep hearing a recurring lament from our collectors, "There are too many good dolls in the 1991 Lawtons line...how can I choose?" I think there can be no finer compliment to an artist, and I am honored that so many of you love the line. I know that we're on the right track if it's hard for you to choose.

     But, it is a fact of life that most of us must indeed make choices. And I firmly believe that the process of making choices is half the fun. If you could buy every doll on the market, collecting would be no fun - it would be nothing more than a warehousing operation. Your collection would tell no stories nor would it reveal anything about you, as the collector.

     Most of us are limited by some external limitations first and foremost. The two I hear about most often are lack of available space and limited doll money. Those are the type of limitations we collectors can usually do nothing about, so let's think of those as our boundaries. Those boundaries can actually be a blessing in disguise, because without them we may never have to refine our tastes or develop a personal criterion for our collections. Inside of those boundaries we have complete control over what kind of collection we build. That's where the fun begins.

     The necessity of making choices allows us to explore our tastes and develop our own personal style. My dream has always been to own an old house. Fulfilling this dream would have been no problem had we lived on the East Coast or in the Midwest, but California is a relative newcomer when it comes to settlement. Our area didn't come to be settled until after the turn of the century, and when it was settled it was settled by down-to-earth Scandinavian farmers and dairymen, so there are certainly no romantic Queen Anne Victorians or stately Mansards in our valley. But we love our community and wanted to stay put. Those boundaries, coupled with our monetary parameters should have been enough to discourage anyone with an ounce of sense, but that was where our challenge began. We settled our sights on the oldest house in our community - a homely 1902 American Foursquare surrounded by aged gardens and set in a beautiful almond orchard. Since the house had been lived in by three generations of the same family, the house was left, essentially, as built. The fact that it was not for sale didn't daunt us (fools rush in, where angels fear to tread). We visited the owner almost every week for a year before we worked out an agreement. Even now, with two years of restoration behind us and probably eight years still facing us, we're glad we followed our instincts. Our limitations served to help us focus and define exactly what we wanted in a house. Our home is certainly unique and, when it is done, will reveal a great deal about us. In the same way, your doll collection tells a lot about you.

     If you could buy every doll on the market in a given year, what you would have amassed is a broad history of the doll industry for that year. How uninteresting. Or if, instead, you chose to buy every wooden doll made this year, you'd have a pretty good picture of the direction the wooden doll designers have taken this year - a more interesting collection, surely, but still rather impersonal. But if you've set up a certain collecting criteria based on buying only what you love and then subject to your space and monetary limitations; you'll have a collection that reveals a great deal about you.

     Collecting is actually an art form, built like a collage, and art always reveals the artist. If you set up your criteria and accept your limitations, doll collecting becomes a real adventure. The challenge is to spend delicious hours debating, deliberating and deciding. And I believe that the process of selection is almost as much fun as adding the chosen doll to your collection. So next year when I hear the words "How can I ever choose?" I'll know that you're just beginning the process that makes you a discriminating collector.

Beautiful Things

     I love beautiful things. I find myself drawn to the richness of old fabrics, to the play of light on deeply textured surfaces. The interplay of intricate patterns in weaving, or the ageless art of an oriental carpet intrigues me. There is just something about the patina of gently aged silver or antique brass. And, of courses there are dolls...

     I've loved dolls since before I could talk. Perhaps because a doll is a reflection of our human form, it has a powerful appeal Over the years I've collected different dolls at different times. I've always loved Rose O'Neill's little Kewpies. Keith and I have a much-loved collection of Kewpie-ana, especially the bisque action Kewpies from the early decades of this century. I've always been intrigued by the all-woolen. Schoenhut dolls made in this country in the teens and twenties. We have several of them in our collection At the other end of the spectrum; I have quite a nice collection of Barbies, including a #1 Barbie. Those, along with my Ginnys and Alexanders, represent my own era of dolls. I also have doll artist dolls; John Wright, Blythe and Snodgrass, and needless to say, every Lawton edition issued.

     But every once in a while, I look at all my collections and wonder about the desire for beautiful things. Perhaps it is my Puritan heritage that occasionally prompts twinges of guilt. Or maybe it's my growing up and being educated during the "socially- conscious" sixties. Regardless of what prompts it, every now and then I feel a twinge and wonder if I should be striving for a more Spartan simplicity in my life. Am I guilty of crass consumerism?

     But when I spare the time to reflect, I am more convinced than ever that collecting is a good thing. Not only does it enrich my life, but also it is good for all of us, for a number of reasons. There is a solid tradition to collecting. Since earliest recorded history man has created beauty, interpreting the world around him. In the preservation of these objects (which is what collecting is, in its simplest form) we have actually preserved a slice of history. So as collectors, we are the archivists of our society.

     And consumerism, per se, is a positive economic force. Our country is in danger of becoming nothing more than a service-oriented economy. We need to go back to the days when we made things. It seems that all we, as a nation, do is repair things, maintain things, warehouse things and sell things that are mass-produced in other countries. By buying beautiful, handmade things we are putting people to work. When I look at our own staff here at Lawtons, I see more than 30 highly trained artisans working to make the very limited number of dolls we make each year. One of the benchmarks of a collectible is that it is highly complicated to make, and requires intensive labor expenditure. It is gratifying to consider how many actual jobs are represented by our collections especially knowing that work that gives dignity to people.

     And perhaps more than anything, our collections define our own uniqueness. Man has always had a need to express his sense of self through art, whether it he art of his own making or of his personal appreciation. One of my favorite collections of art is the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller collection of folk art. I have enough insight into the person of Ms. Rockefeller-through knowing her collection-to guess that we are probably kindred spirits. 'The same applies to your own collections. Even if you only collect Lawton Dolls, you tell a tale about yourself by the dolls you choose out of the collection. And that's a good thing; it's part of the history of your own existence.

     So upon reflection, I do love beautiful things...no apologies necessary.

Memories of Childhood

     Autumn seems to be crowded with memories. I am now far enough away from my childhood that many of the memories of my growing up in the fifties are unknown to the younger generation. My brother, sister and I were recently needling our mother about our food traditions. Our family, despite a rich tradition of excellent cooks and bakers, readily embraced the food innovations that followed the war. We decided that if we were to define our family's "soul food" it would probably be Wonder Bread, Spam, Velveeta and Bosco.

     But thinking about the consumer products of our childhood led us to talk about the mementos of our childhood. Like my mother's Blue Dress. The Blue Dress was a Christmas gift my father bought for her in a size 4 because he described her to the clerk as petite and delicate - my mother could barely have fit her size 10 thigh into that dress, but she treasured it for all that it represented as a gift from my father who saw her through the eyes of love. My mom would take out that dress every Christmas Eve and spread it out on the bed, as if to wear it and we kids would go into their room to touch it and to oohh and ahhh over it.

     Why is it that the objects of our childhood seem to become the touchstones of our history? I remember the dolls that were so much a part of my life: my delicate little 8" Betsy McCall with the oh, so fragile knees; Ginny, who is as much a part of my life today as she was then; my Patti Playpal doll and ever so many others.

     But even more I remember the dolls I coveted from afar: the black Amosandra that rested untouched in a buggy in my older cousin's bedroom; the Lissy and her trunk filled with wonderful clothes that belonged to my best friend, Diane; the exquisite miniature scene from Great Expectations that I saw in a doll museum. What is it about unfulfilled yearning that is so exquisitely sweet?

     I often think of the dolls we make for collectors all over the world, wondering if each doll is bringing enjoyment and satisfaction to their owners. I also think of the children who may secretly look on those dolls with longing. Will the children of your family someday remember the dolls in your collection as the touchstones of their childhood?

     J. M. Barrie said, "God gave us memories that we might have roses in December". Here's wishing you the kind of autumn of which memories are made.

New Year's Resolutions

     Another year draws to a close. Winter is a good time for reflection since the pace slows and the weather encourages us to ferret out a warm fire and a good book. When I was a child, I'd always buy a new notebook at the end of the year so that I could write my New Year's resolutions. I intended to keep a journal thoughout the year to mark my progress. My life is littered with notebooks that have only three or four pages used in the front.

     I've always had the best intentions, but reality and old habits would soon overcome the loftiest goals. Forever the optimist, when the new year rolled around, I'd buy another notebook and struggle to come up with new resolutions. To this day my friend and partner, Linda, will roll her eyes when I say something like, "Next year I am going to have the new line designed by August."

     A few years ago, I made the most amazing discovery. As Anne of Green Gables was told, "Tomorrow is a fresh day with no mistakes in it." Renewal comes with each morning, not just each January first. I've even found a mini-renewal each evening when dinner dishes are done, the kitchen tidy and the family busily en-
gaged in homework, reading or television viewing. An unredeemed block of three or four pristine hours stretches out before me - another time to start over.

     So as the 1997 is ready to give way to 1998, we revel in a fresh slate, a new opportunity. Will I write New Year's Resolutions? Of course. It is part of who I am. One of my life philosophies comes from Socrates- "The unexamined life is not worth living." Will I be fill defeated when I don't live up to my lofty goals. Of course not. I'm also a realist.

     I will revel in the discovery that each day brings its own renewal. I will try to enjoy the gifts that God sends our way. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, " The days come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party, but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away."

     I'm hoping that a spirit of renewal marks this season for you and that you embrace the gifts of each new day. But for now, I am on my way to buy another notebook to begin the new year.

Christmas

     As soon as the weather begins to cool and the last leaf has been raked, our thoughts turn to the holiday season. When I was young, we were never sorry for Thanksgiving to end because that meant that soon we would take our annual trek to Union Square in downtown San Francisco to see the unveiling of the Christmas windows at the White House and the Emporium. These days, however, Christmas decorations and Halloween pumpkins seem to vie for attention. Is it just commercialism that makes us stretch our holiday seasons or is there something else at work?

     Celebration is woven into the tapestry of our being. There is not a culture on earth who doesn't savor their traditions. Celebration links us to the customs and memories of our collective culture. But...there is more to it than that.

     Memory figures in our love of Christmas. With our busy lives, we rarely take time to think about our childhood, the times when our children were small, or the days when we still had our grandparents. Christmas is that touchstone that helps us mark the seasons of our life. Once each year, we pause and we remember.

     Another reason we stretch the holiday season is that it has become a rich, sensory time for us. As we hurry through our lives, we have too little time to enjoy our homes and our families. During the Christmas season, we gather fragrant greens, brew rich ciders, spend hours baking confections, and plan sumptuous dinners. Those of us who love dolls bring out our favorites, and arrange them in Christmas scenes. We set aside time for our families and time for our friends. It's no wonder we eagerly anticipate the season and hate to let it go.

     Even more than just family and friends, there is that part of us that longs to be connected to something greater. The story of God coming down to earth as a baby is mysterious and wonderful - something to ponder. Of course you may be like the woman that C. S. Lewis told about in a letter:

     My brother heard a woman on a 'bus say, as the 'bus passed a church with a Crib outside it, "Oh Lor'! They bring religion into everything. Look-they're dragging it even into Christmas now!"

     Whatever your cup of Christmas tea... have a memorable season. And don't be afraid to drag a little wonder into the celebration.

Dollmaking: Art or Craft?

     "So, is dollmaking art or craft?"

     No other question has engaged the dollmaking and doll collecting community with vigorous debate over such a long time. Up until the late seventies, doll collectors collected mostly antique dolls. These were appreciated for their beauty and for their cultural significance.

     With the rebirth of dollmaking in the early eighties, collectors began seriously looking at contemporary artist dolls. In the 1992 book, The Art of the Doll, published by the National Institute of American Doll Artists, editor, Krystyna Poray Goddu says, "Dolls have a long and splendid tradition as playthings. Often a child's first toy, a doll can evoke an emotional response and inspire a child/doll relationship that has long been regarded as an important element in a person's emotional and social growth. But in the hands of a talented maker with an artistic vision, dolls are also an art form."

     The American Heritage Dictionary defines vision as "unusual competence in discernment or perception; intelligent foresight." That intelligent foresight with discernment or perception is, simply put, the marriage of head and heart - the intellect and the emotions. So Ms. Goddu makes the same observation as Ruskin. She sees dolls as art when the vision - head and the heart combine with artistic hands.

     In the past, I've argued that it doesn't matter what we call a doll. Whether it is an art form or a plaything, it makes little matter to those of us who love dolls. But as I've continued to create dolls - now many hundreds of original designs - contemplating the process of creation is intriguing.

     Ruskin's three elements - the hand, the head and the heart - are certainly present in each doll. The hand is the skill and craftsmanship. We've been making dolls for almost twenty years and the intricacies of our craft never cease to amaze me. Little things-like the fact that the porcelain shrinks as moisture and impurities are fired out and yet every tiny detail including the fingerprints of the dollmaker remain intact-unbelievable.

     And the head is involved in the concept, the idea behind each doll. Despite having more work than I can ever complete in one lifetime, I'm still a voracious reader. Why? If I don't keep filling the receptacle of my mind, the creative well will run dry.

     But what about the heart? Can a dollmaker be a consummate technician and a brilliant idea person without the heart connection? I don't know the answer, but I suspect not. When I look at the dolls I love, I know that the dollmaker is passionate about his or her work. Without the emotion of the artist, I think it is difficult for a real connection to ever be made between doll and collector. I've seen work that is beautiful in an aloof, distant way, but I wonder if it ever becomes a cherished treasure to the one who buys it.

     So, is dollmaking art or craft? I don't know, but it's sure interesting to consider, isn't it?