The compassionate jewelry of Mary Ann Scherr. BY SARAH EDWARDS

Wearable Possibilities

Ovals necklace and earrings by Mary Ann Scherr PHOTO BY JASON DOWDLE

When it comes to life-monitoring tech, jewelry titan Mary Ann Scherr was ahead of her time

BY SARAH EDWARDS sedwards@indyweek.com

14 ALL IS POSSIBLE: MARY ANN SCHERR’S LEGACY IN METAL Opening reception: Thursday, Feb. 20, 6 p.m. Exhibit through Saturday, Sep. 6 Gregg Museum of Art & Design, Raleigh

Mary Ann Scherr at work circa 1970 PHOTO COURTESY OF THE SCHERR FAMILY

One night in 1969, Mary Ann Scherr was up late working on a design she’d been commissioned to make for Miss Ohio in the Miss Universe competition. She didn’t find beauty pageants particularly stimulating, but while watching the Ohio-born astronaut Neil Armstrong take his first stuttering steps across the moon as an on-screen monitor displayed his heartbeat, she grew inspired. That year, Miss Ohio would walk across the stage wearing a glammed-out spacesuit with a heart-monitoring belt. Such anecdotes, which distill so neatly into parables about beauty, function, and futurism, are the essence of Mary Ann Scherr, who died in Raleigh in 2016 at the age of 94. All Is Possible: Mary Ann Scherr’s Legacy in Metal, a new exhibit that opens on Thursday at N.C. State’s Gregg Museum, honors her legacy, which looms large in the world of jewelry and industrial design, and even larger in the lives of her students.

Curator Ana Estrades says that the title of the exhibit is a motto that Scherr often repeated and liked to appliqué into her jewelry designs. A pioneer in the use of exotic materials such as pyrite and titanium, she believed in the unlimited possibilities of metal as well as the possibilities of the lives around her.

“It’s not over ‘til it’s over,” jewelry designer Suijin Li remembers her former teacher saying. “Every day over your life, you need to live it fully.”

Scherr taught at Meredith College, Duke, and N.C. State, among other institutions. Upon her death, obituaries noted that she was beloved by “thousands” of students. Meanwhile, her far-reaching designs could be found in the permanent collections of The Met, The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Vatican Museums, and in the private collections of Liz Claiborne and the U.S. Steel Corporation. This exhibit, though, is the first retrospective of her work to be shown in Raleigh, where she lived for the last 27 years of her life.

Scherr was born in 1921 to working-class parents in Akron, Ohio. Her mother was a seamstress, her father a skilled mechanic; at the age of 17, he invented a threading mechanism that would be adopted by every rubber company in the world. (Not that the family profited from it: Unaware of the inventions’ potential, he sold the licensing to Goodrich for $1.)

Scherr took after her parents and began drawing at an early age; she often used her allowance to buy oversize sheets of paper from a local bakery for drawing. After high school, she interviewed to be a clerk at a local store. The interview went well enough, she thought, but afterward, the owner asked to speak with her mother. “I am not hiring your daughter because if I do, she’ll never go on to study art,” he said. “I’m telling you to let her go to art school.” Upon Scherr’s acceptance into the Cleveland Institute of Art, her parents mortgaged the family home to pay for tuition. There, she began experimenting with different mediums; jewelry was not one of them. “I wanted to be a sculptor and a painter and a designer,” Scherr said in an oral history with the Smithsonian Institution. “I was interested in everything but metals.” Then came the war. She dropped out of school and found work as an illustrator and cartographer, detouring from her visual-art ambitions entirely when she went on the road for a year as a dancer. After the war, she married Sam Scherr, a childhood friend, and was hired as an interior and accessory designer at Ford. She was one of the first— most say the first—female designers at the company, and could have carved out a distinctive career in cars. But she grew restless. “My background reads like a telephone book,” Scherr said. “Because once the work became too familiar, I had to move on and on.” In the late 1940s, she moved to Akron, where Sam Scherr opened up an industrial-design firm, and she became pregnant with their first child. Restless again, she enrolled in a night class for jewelry-making.

Much of the jewelry popular today has been designed with an eye toward restraint. In catalogs, pearls, pendants, and thin gold rings disappear into the bodies of models. In the middle-class jewelry market of strip malls and snowy Jared ads, only diamond rings stand out as objects engineered to demand attention. They signify romantic attachment, constancy. Once you have a diamond ring on, you’re not meant to ever take it off.

From left: Electronic oxygen pendant, “No-Nod” sleep detector (top) and a ring from the Scherr family collection (bottom), “worry bracelet” with moving circles, titanium “grapes” necklace PHOTOS BY JASON DOWDLE/COURTESY OF THE GREGG MUSEUM OF ART & DESIGN

Scherr’s designs rebuff tradition. They’re not diminutive, and most pieces on display at The Gregg would be impractical to wear on a daily basis. There is an imposing physicality about the way her signature cuffs take up space on a wrist or neck. They look royal and assertive and a little wild, like jewelry you might find in the wreckage of a Viking ship.

When admiring certain designs, it is easy to find evidence of her past career in the automotive industry. The flash and heft of a hubcap is always close at hand.

By definition, many of these one-of-akind designs are couture, but that category doesn’t feel right for Scherr’s work, which firmly pushed form into function. Jewelry was art, yes, but it was also more than art: It was something that could be essential to living.

Miss Ohio’s belt was only one of Scherr’s forays into wearable and bio-sensing technology; on display at The Gregg are a sleep detector and an electronic oxygen pendant. A 1981 New York Times piece detailed Scherr refashioning hospital-issue medical hardware into necklaces for women who’d had tracheostomies, which she described as “compassionate jewelry.” Prices started at $100.

In 1982, while Scherr was chair of the product-design department at Parsons, she helped create a series of jewelry designs that monitored vital functions. In an interview about the designs later that year, Scherr anticipated the dawn of technology like the Fitbit and the Apple Watch.

“The time will come when life-monitoring jewelry will be as common as wristwatches, and no one will think of leaving home without a heart or air monitor,” she said. “I can already envision a bracelet or ring that would be a time-piece, a body monitor, and a telephone.” By the 1980s, she had earned considerable clout in the New York art world, with a client list that included Vice President Walter Mondale, the Duke of Windsor, and Andy Warhol, who bought one of her cookie jars for his collection. (When it appeared in the background of a prominent picture in the Times, the value of her jars skyrocketed.) She and Sam shared a 5,000-square-foot Soho loft on Broadway Avenue. She was at the height of her career. And then, they packed their belongings and moved to Raleigh.

Famously tiny, draped in black, her wrists webbed with gold-and-silver designs and her feet outfitted in stilettos, Scherr stood out in North Carolina. Moving south from New York in one’s sixties is not a seamless endeavor.

“She came here kicking and screaming,” her daughter Sydney Scherr says.

Sam’s health had deteriorated, though, and all three of the couple’s children lived in Raleigh. Scherr had connections with the state from teaching at the Penland Center for the Arts. It made sense.

And soon, with the distractions of New York behind her, she threw herself into yet another chapter of that immense telephone book of a life. With more time to spend in the studio, her work became more “introspective,” as she put it. In 2002, Sam died, and in her widowhood, Mary Ann continued to pour her life into the Raleigh arts community. She served on the city council’s art commission, joined the Raleigh Fine Arts Society, and cofounded the Roundabout Art Collective. She also continued to teach into her nineties, a vocation that she called a “design in itself.”

“She was very devoted as a mentor and teacher,” says Ana Estrades. “She felt like it was the face of her legacy.”

Years ago, Scherr gave a sterling silver “All Is Possible” cuff to Suijin Li, who will be teaching a metals workshop in conjunction with the exhibit at the N.C. State Crafts Center this spring. The birthday gift is on display at the Gregg.

“She actually made me promise when she was on her deathbed, you need to carry this on, you need to figure out what you want to do,” she says. “She was always pushing people forward in a good way.”

Scherr’s daughter Sydney remembers hiding beneath her mother’s desk as a child, watchfully copying her sketches. Sometimes Sydney would nibble on matches as the two worked.

“My mother was a terrible cook,” she says. “They probably tasted better than her cooking.”

But her mother’s domestic aptitude had no effect on how Sydney saw her. As with many of the people who came into contact with Scherr, Sydney has gone on to a career in jewelry design. And as with many of the people who speak about Scherr, light is the frame of reference. Metal seeks luster; so did Mary Ann Scherr.

“She was the light of my life,” Sydney says. “In literally everything she did, I followed in her footsteps. She was this beacon.” W

Over the River and Through the Woods

In a historic mill where thread was once spun, tie the knot in unpretentious style

BY KELLY HINCHCLIFFE backtalk@indyweek.com

Imagine the soothing sounds of the Haw River welcoming guests to your wedding. A stunning sunset fades into the horizon as you exchange vows inside a three-story rustic ballroom filled with windows and skylights showcasing the coming nightfall and starry sky. Intricate lighting bathes the ballroom in a romantic glow while a local band plays, setting the mood at the reception as guests enjoy a specialized brew created just for the occasion. Flowers picked from a local farm adorn the tables and bouquets.

This is the vision of Heather and Tom LaGarde, founders and co-owners of the Haw River Ballroom in Saxapahaw, an old mill town on the banks of the Haw River in southern Alamance County. The couple opened the ballroom as a live-music venue in 2011 after learning the building might be torn down.

They have since transformed the former Dye House of Saxapahaw’s Historic Cotton Mill into an entertainment hub in the town of nearly 2,000 residents. The ballroom has hosted national and international bands, global conferences, and unique weddings for couples from around the world.

Before the couple restored the building, it was dark and dank. Pigeons had claimed the space as their own. Nobody knew what to do with the rundown structure. Some suggested it could become a restaurant or a large supermarket. The LaGardes weren’t sure what to

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do with it either, but they knew they wanted to save it.

“We’re big lovers of old buildings and history,” Heather LaGarde says. “None of us had any idea what it would turn into, and it’s been a really happy, moving, cool process actually to watch it grow.”

Weddings at the ballroom have been especially meaningful to the LaGardes, who work with local vendors to make couples’ ceremonies unique, with a Saxapahaw flair. Couples can visit local flower farms and create their own bouquets before the ceremony. Nearby restaurants, caterers, and brewers work with couples to create their ideal menu of food and specialty beer. Local designers can draw the menu on chalkboards for an artistic touch. Couples can also plan kayaking adventures down the Haw River for their wedding parties. Saxapahaw history, inspiration, and craftsmanship touch all aspects of the space.

“We have our wedding team work really closely with the people getting married.

PHOTO COURTESY OF CAROLYN SCOTT

And I say ‘people’ getting married because I’m also really proud of the fact that it’s not always brides and grooms,” LaGarde says, noting the same-sex weddings they’ve hosted. “It’s a big mixture of all different kinds [of people] … We’re known for that, and we are happy to be known for that. It’s a really big deal to us, making sure that people understand this is a really ‘welcome to all kinds of people’ space.”

The venue has a standing capacity of 708 people, mostly for live concerts, but weddings typically average around 200 to 250 people. The ballroom has hosted everything from intimate ceremonies with 50 guests to much larger weddings with 350-person guest lists and “giant, crazy, wonderful” dance parties, according to Heather LaGarde. The ballroom includes three levels, a riverside deck, a coffeehouse, a full-service stage, and state-of-the-art sound and lighting systems. An outdoor amphitheater can also be rented separately and incorporated into the wedding plan.

Inside, historic details and vintage furnishings decorate the space, while solar and geothermal power, including climate control and radiant heat floors, keep visitors comfortable any time of the year. The ballroom also features a massive metal-and-concrete tank that houses the main lighting and sound system.

The ballroom averages about 25 to 30 weddings a year—the record is 40 ceremonies in one year. LaGarde advises couples who want to use the space to reserve it at least six months in advance so they can get first selection of dates ahead of bands, which typically schedule tour dates about six months out.

The space is meant to be friendly and welcoming, not pretentious.

“You can tell it pretty fast when people come visit if it’s their style or not, and we really respect if it’s not,” LaGarde says. “Occasionally we get those folks who are just, it’s just probably not what they were picturing. Maybe they were picturing a hotel ballroom. I’m not sure.”

LaGarde’s team encourages wedding parties to be creative in how they decorate and use the space. A team of lighting and sound experts who work with national and international musicians can help couples plan the look and sound of their ceremony and reception. “If there’s a table that's just running through the center of the space, we can just light that table and make it really dark and beautiful and intimate,” she says. “Or if it’s a humongous wedding, you can really go crazy with lighting. It’s pretty flexible.”

The ballroom has hosted some unique weddings, including one couple that tented the entire venue, another that covered the space in antlers, and a celebrity couple that wanted cornhole games everywhere. Others have gone with Southern-themed weddings full of flowers or handmade art covering the space.

“We tried to build it so that people could have their own fun gussying it up,” LaGarde said. “We really love watching how people have done that."

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Wedding GUIDE

Breaking the Mold

The Triangle’s only black-owned bridal shop gets hitched to Durham’s Black Wall Street

BY BROOKLYNN COOPER

“W e only have twos and fours.”

That’s the greeting wedding planner Gineen Cargo received at most bridal stores. Before she could say she wasn’t the bride, consultants would size her up and stop her.

And when Cargo started shopping for her own wedding gown, the same thing happened.

“It’s like, ‘You didn’t even let me in the door,’” she says. “I just didn’t want other people to have that experience.”

These moments inspired Cargo to open Gavin Christianson Bridal, a private boutique in downtown Durham that carries dresses from size zero to 32—and larger, if needed. GC Bridal is by-appoint- ment-only because Cargo personalizes each bride’s visit.

“When I say ‘inclusivity,’ it also means that you’re getting the same experience,” Cargo says. “You treating me differently because I’m black is the same as you treating me differently because I’m fat or because I don’t have legs. It’s not just inclusion in the sense that I have a dress you can try on, it’s also inclusion in the experience.”

GC Bridal is the only black-owned bridal shop in the Triangle, but Cargo doesn’t actively advertise that because she focuses on the brides. Still, she makes a point to maintain relationships with other black bou- tique owners across the country. There aren’t many. An exact number is hard to come by, but Cargo can count the ones she knows on her hands. In the bridal industry, associations and conferences aren’t com- monplace. For black-owned shops, they’re nonexistent. Cargo and her colleagues—who own spaces in Texas, Maryland, Tennessee, Illinois, and the D.C. area—spend a lot of time on the phone in what she describes as a trial-and-error process.

“It’s a lot of, ‘I have a situation, you’ve been in the industry longer than me, what would you do?’” she says.

Cargo doesn’t tell customers that she owns the shop unless someone asks, but she doesn’t mind opening up about it.

“It’s exciting for some of my black brides—or just any bride of color, honestly—because it’s breaking the trend,” she says.

GC Bridal sits on the corner of North Church Street and East Par- rish Street, Durham’s historic Black Wall Street. Cargo fell in love with the location when she found it on Craigslist, and once she realized it was on Parrish Street, she knew that was the spot for her boutique. Cargo imagined her late grandmother—who lived in Braggtown for her entire life—saying how proud she was of her for choosing a street

PHOTOS BY TYSON & LENOX MEDIA, COURTESY OF GAVIN CHRISTIANSON BRIDAL

with so much history. That was the sign she needed. GC Bridal had its offi- cial grand opening last July, but to Cargo, it was on March 8, her grand- mother’s birthday. She originally planned the opening for that date, but the electricity wasn’t turned on in time.

“I remember being crushed,” Cargo says. “I’ll still say March, though, because my grandma’s going to get this honor.”

Just like the location and size inclusivity, Cargo is also intentional about relationships with her customers. Before appointments, Cargo and her consultants look at brides’ Pinterest boards, ask about wed- ding venues, and take note of food allergies and other special accom- modations. These details aid her team in pre-selecting dress styles and preparing refreshments.

Recently, a bride-to-be chose a dress from GC Bridal, and her moth- er asked her how she knew it was the one. The bride listed the things she loved about the dress: the shape, the style, the accents. Her mother argued that she probably liked the dress so much because the consultants discussed possible customizations and alterations. The bride agreed.

“[At other shops] there was a lack of education of what they could do,” Cargo says. “We sat down and took the time with her, so she was like, ‘OK, this is my dress because they have helped me understand how I can have exactly what I want.’”

Cargo believes GC Bridal’s one-on-one approach is what causes brides to enjoy their experience. Many of her former customers still keep in contact with her today. One woman’s daughter attends Empower Dance Studio, which is also on Parrish Street. They stop by GC Bridal regularly just to say hi.

Cargo said those organic relationships are more important to her than receiving wedding invites from her customers.

“When I sell a wedding dress or sell a veil or a tuxedo, it feels like I was part of your big day, and that’s exciting,” Cargo says. “Even if I’m not on the guest list, I’m always on the guest list in some way. The icing on the cake is when they send pictures. It’s like, ‘Yay, I was there.’”

Wedding GUIDE

Moments from Love Party, the LBGT+ Wedding Expo February 16, 2020, held at The Matthews House in Cary

PHOTOS BY JADE WILSON

1 , 0 0 0 W o r d s

Hayti, Scene

WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHY BY JADE WILSON

The 26th annual Hayti Heritage Film Festival ran from February 13–15, screening more than 30 films focused on identity, Afrofuturism, death, and politics.

TOP LEFT AND RIGHT: Hayti Heritage Film Festival. BOTTOM LEFT: Hayti Heritage Center director Angela Lee. BOTTOM RIGHT: Festival director Lana Garland.