Charles Derby 139 TAM: It’s rare to find a collector as diversified as you are. Yet there are some specializations within the whole. Can you define them? Yoruba beadwork, for example. How did you become an expert in that? CD: An overriding theme to my collecting is that often the objects have some spiritual connection to the people who used them. Whether that object is a begging bowl carried by a Chinese monk, a Pomo basket that includes the dau (a portal for escape in case anything happens to the basket), or an “x” mark on a Kongo fetish figure that represents the crossroads where a shaman would perform his ceremony, all of these are examples of otherworldly associations that influence my decision to acquire a piece. My concentration on Yoruba beadwork began when I went to the Brimfield Flea Market in Massachusetts around 1985. This massive, week-long event takes place about forty-five minutes from my home. Back in the 1970s and ‘80s, I’d get up early in the morning to be there at daybreak. If I worked hard I’d usually find something unusual. On one such excursion, I purchased a Yoruba beaded necklace from an African dealer who’d set up there. At that time, there wasn’t much published about this type of beadwork, so it was difficult to find information about it. I had a large collection of Native American beadwork, which included “strike-a-lights” (small bags used to hold firemaking equipment). Usually they were displayed together in groups, which created a dramatic effect and made them quite saleable. Soon their prices soared, which made it difficult for me to obtain any more of them. Yoruba necklaces were a bargain I couldn’t pass up. They were just as beautiful as the strike-a-lights, relatively inexpensive, weren’t sought after, and would look impressive when grouped together. Plus I discovered that the necklaces were used in divination, which made them even more intriguing. I was already familiar with the size and color of beads that were used in Native American beadwork from the pre-1925 period. This knowledge helped me find Yoruba beadwork that was made in the same timeframe as opposed to more modern pieces. The Yoruba necklace that I bought at Brimfield was the catalyst that inspired me to collect more beadwork and I now have about thirty necklaces. Eventually, I added crowns, pairs of yata (beaded dance panels), fans, and other pieces. Another time I was asked to sort through a collection of African weapons because a museum had expressed interest in buying the fifty best ones. I’d never paid attention to African metalwork, but when I had this FIG. 8: Lu bo bie mask. Dan, Liberia or Côte d’Ivoire. Ex Philip Budrose; Paul Rabut; George Harley. This mask came to me in a roundabout way. Even though Paul Rabut had acquired it from his friend George Harley, he never showed it to me (he frequently stored things and waited for just the right moment to bring them out). After Paul died, his family found the mask and consigned it to an auction house. I attended that sale but somehow became distracted when it came up for bid and missed getting it. Years later I met Philip Budrose, a passionate collector who lived north of Boston. He was the one who had bought the mask and he knew its illustrious provenance. After Philip died, I was able to acquire the mask. Not long after I made the purchase, Dan scholar Lou Wells called me to say that he’d found some of Harley’s original ID tags that he’d acquired from the Rabuts and he wanted to know if any of these tags matched up with any of the Harley masks that I had. Ultimately there was one tag that was a perfect match to my mask. Harley had transcribed information from the original owner onto the tag. The inscription was faded and hard to read, but what I could make out was “Lu Bo Bie Dancer— with a manta ? in each hand ... sings ‘Gie Zu Li,’ comes to talk and settle palaver over woman or cow.” So now the mask is in my collection and reunited with Harley’s account of its use.
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