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One of the most exciting things about the buying end of this business is finding a piece with great eye appeal (be it form, surface, originality, etc.), only to discover there’s more to it than meets the eye. Something that adds an unexpected dimension and makes it more unique and intriguing than I ever imagined.

The same thing’s true of people. You meet someone you find likable and interesting and then discover something so unexpected about him, it blows your mind.

That’s how it happened with my buddy Kevin Gordon. I was at FolkFest in Atlanta in 2004, happily browsing and shopping, when I wandered into the booth of a pale, kind of studious-looking guy with squarish black-rimmed glasses and a shock of dark hair. (Think Buddy Holly-meets-young-Elvis Costello).

It was Kevin, the unassuming proprietor of an excellent on-line source for self-taught and outsider art. At that particular show, he displayed a number of pieces by Willie Massey, and I flipped over a three-piece set of carved, unpainted miniature furniture. I didn’t buy them, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, a week or so later, I contacted Keven through his website, chatted a while, struck a deal, and made a buddy.

He’s married with kids; I’m married with dogs. He’s got a mom the next town over from mine. He’s quirky; I like quirky. We share a passion for African American quilts. You know how friendships unfold. A year into that friendship I discovered “something more.”

Turns out Kevin’s not only a go-to guy for great folk art, he’s a Nashville-based singer-songwriter-guitarist with four albums tohis credit; a song (Flowers) on Irma Thomas’s 2006 Grammy-winning album; a rapidly growing fan base including other musicians who’ve recorded his songs; and a steady schedule of festival and club dates all over the country.  (I know. I should’ve paid more attention to the Holly-Costello vibe.) When I played his album O, Come Look at the Burning, it was like– Wow! Behind that low-key facade is a heart that rocks.

Now, if the name Kevin Gordon hasn’t yet hit your radar screen, you can google him, of course. Or visit our links page and follow the link to Gordon Gallery. Or, if  you live near Santa Cruz, the Bay area or Portland, Oregon, you can catch him on stage in the next few weeks at one of the following venues. Check him out. And discover, as I did, that incredible “something more.”

Santa Cruz Area
June 19  Brookdale Inn, 9pm, Brookdale, CA
June 23  Crepe Place, 8pm, Santa Cruz

Bay Area
June 21  Ace Ciderhouse, 8pm, Sebastopol
June 26  Tucker Farm Center, 8pm, Calistoga
June 27  The Music Store, 2pm; Plough & Stars, 8pm, San Francisco

Portland Area
July 4  Waterfront Blues Festival, 6pm
July 5  Laurelthirst Public House, 8pm
July 6  Sellerwood Riverfront Park, 6pm

When people see me at antique and folk art shows – and see the display of old rag dolls — they often ask about my personal collection. I’m not sure they believe me when I say I made it all the way to 50 owning just four dolls: a “Tiny Tears,” an Aranbee “Littlest Angel,” and a Madame Alexander “Cissette” – store-bought dolls that Santa Claus brought for Christmas.

The fourth doll I bought for myself. And the way it happened was truly the work of Providence.

My dad was stationed at the Boston Naval Shipyard for several years and during that tour of duty, one of our favorite outings was to the New England States Exposition (now called The Big E) near Springfield, Massachusetts. Imagine five state fairs rolled into one, with parades, exhibits, carnival rides, celebrity appearances, horse shows, car shows, and reenactments of historic New England life. There were incredible things to eat, things to do, things to buy.

One year, as we made our way through a building filled with all manner of New England crafts, I stopped short. On a shelf directly in front of me was a homemade Raggedy Ann doll with her trademark yarn hair and eternally cheerful expression. I wanted THAT DOLL.

But I had a problem. She cost three dollars. And I only had one. Yup. Mom had given me one dollar to spend on a “souvenir.” Eyeing the doll, I asked her if I could have two more dollars, but she shook her head no. I tried to wheedle it out of her as 12-year-olds do. No luck. But I knew she wasn’t being mean or stingy. My folks had already shelled out a fair amount of money for parking, admission, food and rides. And mom knew exactly what we had till payday. And frugal as she was, there was no way we were going to blow the budget.

Still, when we left the building and started towards the Midway, I couldn’t help but feel dejected. I don’t know what it was about the doll – the crisp white apron, polka dotted dress, or brown button eyes – but I wanted her to be mine.

I walked along kicking the dirt of the Midway with my shoes when suddenly, on the ground in front of me, I saw a tightly folded dollar bill. I grabbed it up, and when I unfolded it, I let out an audible gasp: TWO crisp one-dollar bills folded together. Talk about a “sign.” Within minutes Raggedy Ann was in a bag in my arms. She’ll be 50 years old this year, and I still have her as the photos show.

There’s something that happens in the making of a cloth doll — how their nose is shaped, the kind of hair they have, the way their hands are sewn, the clothes they wear – that makes them so alive

At the Dolly Johnson Antique Show this past March, a woman stopped by my booth to admire the dolls. She described a particular doll of mine she’d seen a year or two before and really wanted, but couldn’t afford.

“Do you still have her?”

“I have her right here,” I said, pulling the doll out of a trunk. “And it just so happens she’s on sale.”

Her face lit up. “I’ll take her,” she said excitedly.

Providence!