John Covert

Water Babies, 1919

Oil on paperboard

American, 1882 – 1960

 Her pale bisque cheeks and cherub lips were lovingly painted with the most delicate shade of Alizarin Crimson. The doll’s golden locks were swept to one side with a blue satin ribbon and blue satin shoes to match her sapphire eyes. Her torso and limbs were held together with long wire hat pins and attached with a master’s stitch to a beautifully tailored dress. The intricate lace framed the impossibly low-cut neckline and formed the letters of her name, Charlotte. She had been special made for the little socialite and had been adored and flaunted about under the noses of all the girl’s friends. That was long ago, when children took good care of their dolls and craftsmanship was appreciated.

After the early years and for a very long time, no one looked at her as they once had, with a combination of adoration and jealousy. During that period, she was referred to as “old”, “the spooky doll”, or “creepy”, and with other not so endearing terms. Her sad twist of fate came after her original owner had passed away. Charlotte was put into a box and sold with all of the little girl’s treasures. A well-dressed woman and her young daughter bought the box of toys.  When they unpacked the box and found Charlotte, they were both very pleased. “Oh mommy,” the child beamed with delight. “I want to play with her!” “I don’t know sweetie,” Mother replied. “I think she may be worth something. She’s very old. You have all of your pretty Barbie dolls to play with.” But I want her mommy!” “I’m sorry, not yet. Someday, I promise.” And with that, Mother turned and sat Charlotte on the shelf. She sat on the shelf in the bright sun for months; every once in a while someone would glance her way and comment. “What an interesting old doll, she must have been very beautiful when she was new.” “Yes,” Mother would reply, “I think she may be worth something.” Charlotte’s rosy cheeks were now brown smudges and the sapphire blue of her eyes were a shade of faded black.  Mother kept her dusted off most of the time and sweetie always seemed to want to pick her up. Mother wouldn’t let her. But, as fate would have it, the little girl would get her wish.

On a particularly bright day, Charlotte was suddenly knocked off of the shelf. A large black cat had decided that the doll’s spot looked like the perfect perch. She crashed to the ground and the startled cat disappeared. Mother and sweetie came running. Charlotte’s nose was chipped and cracked when Mother picked her up. “Well, no one is going to want you now, are they?” Mother sighed. “I do mommy,” chimed an angelic voice from below. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Please be careful with her, she’s very old and I think she may be worth saving.” Mother was hesitant, but felt there was no harm since the doll had already lost some of her charm.

Unbeknownst to Mother, her little “sweetie” couldn’t care less about Charlotte. She simply wanted Charlotte’s hand- made dress for her newest Barbie doll. The child ran off to her secret place, thrilled to have the doll at last. She sat with the two dolls on her lap. “Look Barbie! This old lady is going to give you her beautiful ball gown! Aren’t you lucky?” The girl chirped. She sat Barbie down gently and turned to Charlotte.  There was a row of little pearl beads that looked as if they were pushed through button holes, lining the front of the doll’s dress. Sweetie tried to unbutton them. That didn’t work. The small pearls and loops gave the appearance of buttons, but were really only adornments. Frustrated by her failed attempts, the child held onto the doll’s hair while tugging on a sleeve of the dress. The now brittle locks came out in the girl’s hand. She tossed the remnants of the doll’s hair onto the floor without a second glance. The girl didn’t know that Charlotte’s dress was partly holding her body together. She stood up and tugged furiously on the dress, until the whole contraption ripped apart. Sweetie threw herself and Charlotte to the ground in frustration, and burst into tears. Then she spun around and gave the doll a little kick. “Stupid old doll, who wants a doll like you, can’t even change your stupid old clothes!”

When Mother found Charlotte and the distraught child, she scooped them both up. She opened a drawer filled with junk and tossed Charlotte inside. Mother closed the drawer and all was black. Time passed, as time does and then a light filled the void. Countless hours of darkness were gone in an instant. ”It’s about time we get rid of all this junk.” A voice broke the silence. Whoa, look at this creepy doll!” “Yes, that was my mother’s prized possession. I ruined it and she didn’t even get mad!” Charlotte was unceremoniously tossed into the trash and carried to the curb to meet her destiny.

The bag of garbage was thrown in the back of a large truck. The trash truck bounced through the city streets, stopping many times along the way. A huge broken dresser drawer landed on the doll. Ripping her dress from her mangled torso, it knocked Charlotte out of the truck and into the alley way, far from her home. Few people passed by. Most didn’t notice her. Once someone almost picked her up, but decided not to. She was muddy and broken. Very little was left of the once treasured doll. Once again, fate played its hand.

It just so happened, that Charlotte had fallen into the alley way behind a Painter’s studio. This creative man prided himself on finding beauty in the world where no one was looking. He believed that every object had a story to tell and if one were willing to look deep enough, a unique story would unfold. The alley was a great adventure to explore from time to time. There were always interesting objects: bits of old books, discarded clocks and sometimes photographs. He came searching through the alley, early one morning, and found his Madonna. He picked Charlotte up and gazed at her in the same way the children had so long ago. The life the doll showed in the chip of her nose and the now dark blush in her cheeks. This filled him with adoration. She represented a life lived, and set his heart on fire. The artist returned to his studio with his prize. A new chapter in the life of the doll had begun. 

The Painter discovered that Charlotte had been handcrafted in the year 1901. She was now one hundred and ten years old. The date was etched on the heel of her right foot. He couldn’t make out the craftsmen’s signature and had no way of knowing her given name. Her name had been stripped from her along with her dress. “Don’t worry my love, I will take care of you and everyone will know how truly special you are.” He prepared the first of many canvases especially for the doll.  She became the subject of the painter’s work. Charlotte was gone, transformed into Muse. She was never ignored. He painted her many times, using her untold story to a tell story about life. Her reflection in a glass of water became a metaphor for change. Her twisted limbs told a story of struggle and the never ending circle of time.  She was reborn in the artist’s hands and spent many years as his companion.

The years with the Painter had been good to the Muse. Her popularity rose and people would come from miles away to see her and the Artist working in the studio. After he passed, there was much discussion about her worth. Influential people regularly bought and sold her. She was protected in a glass case. She had become so important to people that her worth was not something they could estimate. She was nearing her two hundredth birthday and becoming very fragile. In the end, it was decided, to keep her on display in the museum. Her story drew people from all over the world. But they never knew about the secret life of Charlotte, the doll.