Smiling insipidly, this small porcelain doll has reflected tiny spots of light from its smooth surface without any change in expression for all the years in my possession. But what are those years? I have absolutely no recollection of when or how this shiny monster came into my life, nor from whom or in what circumstances. I know where it sits on the fireplace mantel near a black and white etching made by my sister when she was in art school half a century ago. Her print depicts our nuclear family in fantastic caricature, each of us drawn with terrifying surrealistic exaggeration. One of these, near which the bobble-head is perched, has a round head and eyes that resemble those of the doll, hence the choice of proximity. But in spite of this visual echo, the doll’s lineage remains obscure.
I sure hope you never run out of these curiously valuable artifacts of days long gone...💙