Martha's Vineyard Arts & Ideas

James Dale talks to Arthur Brooks about the pursuit of happiness

Nicole Galland on the ephemeral art of Jeremiah Brown

John Battelle in conversation with composer, musician John Forté

Published by The Martha's Vineyard Times

QUANSOO ROAD POND FRONT, CHILMARK

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O U S E N R O S E

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Upper Circuit Ave Fine Art

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Paintings • Abaca • Jewelry • Wooden Figures

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Connie Berry

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Enjoy Music in the Courtyard

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On the Cover

Composer, musician, and Island-lover John Forté contemplates a musical life in Chilmark.

by Robyn Twomey

Photo

Robert Freeman Ekua Holmes

Bricque Garber Rayhart Meg Black

Robin Gottesman Deborah L. Bohren

Joyce Harvey Robert Fitzgerald Holston Tunstull

Robert Freeman Ekua Holmes

Bricque Garber Rayhart Meg Black

Robin Gottesman Deborah L. Bohren

Joyce Harvey Robert Fitzgerald

Robert Freeman Ekua Holmes Bricque

Robert Freeman Ekua Holmes

Bricque Garber Rayhart Meg Black

Robin

This issue of Arts & Ideas, one of our MV Times publications, was a joy to bring to life. Compiling diverse stories — from how do we find happiness to an excerpt from contributing editor Kate Feiffer’s new novel to getting to know gallery owners Valerie Francis and Ralph Groce III (make a note about their definition of FITFO), all of these stories let us into the creative world of their subjects.

We love the way essays let us into people’s lives, and we have some excellent pieces about some of the talented people the Vineyard lost this year — two of them about artists, Rez Williams and Jackie Baer, and another about treasured theater critic and dramatist Bob Brustein. Chef Tina Miller writes about how she views her creativity in the kitchen as its own artform. We have an essay on writing by guru and storyteller Nancy Slonim Aronie, as well as a sweet ode to the creative friendship between photographer

Dena Porter and writer Abby Remer.

Another gifted photographer, Robyn Twomey, brings us her Portraits on Purpose again this issue, highlighting three successful individuals: Felice Belle, Kamilah Forbes, and Bisa Butler.

John Battelle, entrepreneur, author, and journalist known for launching Wired among other endeavors, interviews multitalented musician John Forté (whose photo is on the cover). John’s been in love with the Island since his first visit in the late 1990s, when he came with his friend Ben Taylor, son of Island legends Carly Simon and James Taylor. We also catch up with Tiffany Vanderhoop, artist, weaver, and jewelry maker who brings her family heritage — her father is Aquinnah Wampanoag and her mother is Haida of Gaw Git’ans Masset inlet Eagle Clan, from Old Massett, Haida Gwaii, British Columbia — to her craft. Nicole Galland writes about her friend (and sand artist) Jeremiah Brown in a bittersweet story about how art can manifest in everyday

life. Mathea Morais writes about documentary filmmaker Dawn Porter and her film “Luther Vandross: Never Too Much,” which uncovers parts of a personal story that may be news to her audiences. Art aficionado Monina von Opel interviews fiber artist Mary Beth Parker and we see how her love of animals is a major part of her work. And I was lucky enough to meet artist Stephanie Danforth and introduce readers to her daughter’s special work with the Leo Project. Our last page, The End, is devoted to MV Times publisher Charles Sennott’s piece on the truth — our pursuit of this age-old principle that seems to be eroding day by day.

We feel like this issue of Arts & Ideas brings a healthy combination of information that enlightens, entertains, and engages the reader and we hope above all else that you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed publishing it.

– Connie Berry

6 From every side

By Mathea Morais

Documentary filmmaker Dawn Porter lets us in on the life and times of legendary musician Luther Vandross in her latest documentary. She loves to show her audiences that regardless of how well you think you know someone, there is so much more to their story.

13 Happiness is…

By James Dale

Is it a state of mind, a goal, a myth, or right here on the Island? We asked expert Arthur Brooks — Harvard professor, social scientist, and bestselling author — “Can we learn to be happy?” He said “absolutely.”

24 The ephemeral art of Jeremiah Brown

By Nicole Galland

People have come to tears when Brown sweeps up his sand art after he’s done creating a masterpiece. It’s the process, not the final product, that interests him.

32 Indigenous by design

By Abby Remer

Tiffany Vanderhoop combines the Native traditions from her family into her artistry. Her earrings have become her best-known pieces, combining the Aquinnah Wampanoag heritage of her father, David Vanderhoop, with that of her mother, Evelyn Vanderhoop, who hails from the Haida tribe of the Gaw Git’ans Eagle Clan from Haida Gwaii, British Columbia.

38 The road to Knowhere

By Mathea Morais

At Knowhere Art, founders Ralph Groce III and Valerie Francis are trying to do much more than sell art. They are trying to save the world.

ARTIST PROFILES

9 Mar y Beth Daniels’ Studio Secrets

By

Monina von Opel

She is an animal lover, spiritual doula, Reiki practitioner, and eco artist. Wool and other natural fibers are her idea of paints these days.

16 Sotto Forté

Interviewed by John Battelle Composer, musician, and Island-lover John Forté spends his time writing new music, composing for film and television, and collaborating with a diverse group of musicians. He will be touring with Lauryn Hill and the Fugees later this summer and fall.

22 Motivated masterpieces

By Connie Berry

Artist Stephanie Danforth's work supports her daughter’s Leo Project in Nanyuki, Kenya. In her dining room studio in Chilmark, she creates beautiful oil paintings and so much more.

ESSAYS

28 A dynamic duo

By Abby Remer

Dena Porter and Abby Remer collaborate, commiserate, and celebrate together. After 22 years of friendship, they’re still going strong — one writes, the other photographs the subjects.

31 Reflections on Bob Brustein

By MJ Bruder Munafo

The longtime West Tisbury seasonal resident, dramatist, and theater critic died in October at the age of 96. M.V. Playhouse artistic director MJ Bruder Munafo talks about their friendship and how she found a supporter and ally in Brustein.

35 Remembering Rez Williams

By Hermine Hull

Fellow painter Hermine Hull remembers her friend Island artist Rez Williams as a conservationist who “relished and wanted to protect the messiness of the Island as well as its loveliest views.”

36 Food is her art

By

Tina Miller

Chef Tina Miller explains how food has been the subject of art since biblical paintings of feasts like “The Last Supper” and “The Wedding Feast at Cana.” For Tina, a plate can be a canvas to delight friends and family.

42 In memor y of Jacqueline (Jackie) Baer

By Gretchen Baer

Jackie was an artist who worked in many mediums, and was the matriarch of an extraordinary family of artists and teachers. She died last November leaving her art and her legacy behind. Jackie’s daughter, Gretchen Baer, writes this story about her mother.

BOOKS AND WRITING

30 An excerpt from ‘Morning Pages’

By Kate Feiffer

Elise Hellman, a 48-year-old playwright with a stalled career, gets an unexpected commission from a prestigious theater company. With life poised to get in her way, is she up to the challenge?

44 Finding your own voice

By Nancy Slonim Aronie

Try as she might, this writer has trouble writing a brilliant short story like her beloved favorite authors, but then she realizes what makes every writer unique.

PORTRAITS ON PURPOSE

12 Felice Belle

Storytelling and the appeal of the Island are passions for Felice.

See this image and more in person during the month of August at the West Tisbury library in the exhibit “Take it Personal: Recent Work by Robyn Twomey."

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

21 Bisa Butler

Bisa Butler is an American fiber artist who has lifted quilting up into the fine art category.

See this image and more in person during the month of August at the West Tisbury library in the exhibit “Take it Personal: Recent Work by Robyn Twomey."

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

43 Kamilah Forbes

Executive producer at the Apollo Theater, Kamilah Forbes considers the Island a magical place.

See this image and more in person during the month of August at the West Tisbury library in the exhibit “Take it Personal: Recent Work by Robyn Twomey."

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

GALLERIES & STUDIOS

46 Some of our favorites

By Maddy Alley

Enjoy our list of must-visit art venues on the Island, organized by three words that describe them best.

THE END

48 The End

By Charles M. Sennott

What is considered the truth these days? Answers are as old as time.

From every side

Filmmaker Dawn Porter lets us in on the life and times of legendary musician Luther Vandross in her latest documentary.

By Mathea Morais

One of the best things about growing up in St. Louis, Mo. in the 80s and 90s was that every night, on Magic 108 FM, at 9 pm sharp, the synthesizer whistle and the gentle bassline of Smokey Robinson’s “Quiet Storm” let the city know what time it was.

Like many Black radio stations across the country that adopted Melvin Lindsey’s “Quiet Storm” radio format, Magic 108 sent the sounds of Barry White, Roberta Flack, Teena Marie, Rose Royce, and of course, Luther Vandross, across the airwaves

and into our cars, living rooms, and bedrooms until sunrise.

And, as someone who spent a lot of my life listening to music, talking about music, and writing about music, when I was asked to speak with filmmaker Dawn Porter about her documentary “Luther: Never Too Much,” I immediately said yes. This was a subject matter I knew and loved. I grew up on Luther. I was a fan. I was a superfan. I could even keep up with (almost) all the “say you’re gonna be” lines in “A House is not a Home".

Reader, let me tell you: I was not ready.

Luther Vandross

As a director, Dawn Porter is known for telling the stories of preeminent people — John Lewis, Bobby Kennedy, and Lady Bird Johnson. And she’s known for showing the world how these incredibly famous people became who they became. But more than that, she loves to show her audiences that regardless of how well you think you know someone, there is so much more to their story than that.

I won’t go in for spoilers, but I promise you — if you think you know Luther Vandross, you don’t.

“The most fun thing to do is to watch this film with an audience of people who know his music,” Porter said when we spoke in May as she drove home from a visit to the Vineyard. “Because, for the first half hour of the movie, you get people going: Wait! I didn't know that! And I didn't know that, either!”

According to Porter, she doesn’t always want to tell a story chronologically, but as she learned about Luther’s beginnings it became clear that this was where his story needed to begin. “There's so much that people, even superfans, do not know about where he came from, and hearing his backstory is so significant to how he evolved as an artist and who he was as a person.”

The beauty of telling his story this way, Porter explained, is that, “then the audience is in on the whole thing and you're literally brought along for the rest of the movie. And that is such a gift because you celebrate his highs, you mourn his losses, and you definitely mourn his death.”

Which brings us back to where this article began with the segregated radio of the 80s and 90s. If you weren’t listening to the Magic 108 FM of your town, then you may not have heard Luther singing all his songs, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t listening to Luther. “One of the stories of this film is that at that time, Luther was everywhere. You may not have known it, but he was everywhere. And so it's even more poignant that he wasn't being as recognized because he was so influential.”

much do we demand of those who already give so much?

While there was pain in Luther’s life, his life was never defined by that pain. And Porter makes sure that we see all sides of Luther — the glamorous, the joyful, the inspirational. “Something I'm really proud of and that I love is this is really a celebration of Black music,” said Porter. From very early on in his life, Luther was influenced by the elegance and grace of singers like Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross, and Aretha Franklin. “And that is how he lived his life,” said Porter. “He was not a person who was crass and crude. He lived that glamor and that poise, his songs were about emotion, they were about the internal.”

Porter’s films up to this point have been largely political, so choosing to make a movie about Luther Vandross was a bit of a bend in the road for her. One reason was that she found it crazy that there hadn't been a film made about him. Another reason was that she had the cooperation of Luther’s estate and Sony, giving Porter access to everything from rehearsal footage to the exquisite costumes worn by Luther and his band. “It was very creatively satisfying because of what we had to work with,” said Porter. “But it's also really important to me to look for films that have multiple layers and as we looked through the footage and talked to his lifelong friends, it was clear that there was so much to be revealed here.”

“There's so much that people, even superfans, do not know about where he came from, and hearing his backstory is so significant to how he evolved as an artist and who he was as a person.” –Dawn Porter

Poignant is one way to say it. Painful is another. Because for all that the mainstream wasn’t recognizing Luther for his talent and his impact, he was being recognized for his weight and sexuality. “We could have done half an hour of just talk show questions,” said Porter. “How much do you weigh? Are you over 300 pounds?” Porter lets the audience experience this along with Luther by slowly rolling out the way this happened in his life. “When he's first teased, you're kind of laughing, but then you start to see how painful it was for him, even though he was quote-unquote, playing along. Then the audience quiets down.”

For Porter, it is really important in all her films that the audience gets to see for themselves. “I wanted Luther to be able to tell his story as much as possible,” she said, Luther never married and while many speculated that he was gay, when he was asked outright about his sexuality, he clearly stated that all he owed his fans were his talent and his best efforts. Here, as an audience, we again get quiet and wonder: What do we ask of celebrities? How

Porter couldn’t have predicted that the life of this film would mirror the life of Luther in its struggles to be recognized by the mainstream. After debuting at Sundance in January and becoming a festival favorite, it took until the day Porter and I spoke in May for the film to find a distributor. To some degree, Porter felt that this was due to distributors being worried that films aimed at Black audiences or a certain age demographic would have a harder time finding an audience. And Porter was perplexed as to why it took so long as there was always so much joy and enthusiasm for the film. “Everyone who was involved, everyone who saw it, all looked at it in the same way: like this is the person whose story is going to wow people and this is a special movie.”

Thankfully, on May 15, CNN Films, in partnership with OWN: Oprah Winfrey Network, acquired the film. Porter, who worked with CNN on her film “John Lewis: Good Trouble,” was thrilled to be working with CNN again. “I'm not surprised that the folks at CNN see that there's an audience for this movie,” Porter said. “It's a great home for the film.”

Every film tells a story and there is a story to the making of every film. For filmmaker Porter, the story of “Luther Vandross: Never Too Much” started with the lyrics to songs and the importance of a life she thought she knew. It ended with the unveiling of the legacy, a talent layered with complexity and joy in the face of persecution. And what the audience experiences is an extension and an honoring of that legacy. A film that, like Luther, is centered in truth, talent, and endless love.

Studio Secrets

Mary

Beth Daniels — animal lover, spiritual doula, Reiki practitioner, and artist.

By Monina von Opel

Tucked away off a dirt road in the hills of West Tisbury, I finally find Mary Beth Daniel’s house, having had to brake and wait for one of her 11 Muscovy ducks to finish his pothole bath. Peeking over a fence I see that she is surrounded by more animals: “Fiftyfour alpacas — yes, I know, we’re crazy,” she

sighs. But, there’s more: four mini donkeys, nine goats, five sheep and an ancient Labrador who welcomes me at the door.

I walk into the neatest house I have ever seen. Colorful walls splashed with sunlight, sparsely furnished. “This is my studio,” she says waving at a table by the window with one hand while pulling out a little chest on wheels with the other, wool

Flowers in a Vase. 8" x 10."

Mary Beth finds doing her fiber art to be a peaceful and joyous activity.

PHOTOS:

"Budding Pastels," alpaca wool, mohair, and silk, 8.75 x 8.25 in.

"Field of Blue," alpaca wool, mohair, and silk, 14.25 x 14.25 in.

"Saturated," alpaca wool, mohair, and silk, 11.25 x 14.5 in.

"Cottage by the Sea," alpaca wool, mohair, and silk, 12 x 15 in.

spilling out of its tiny drawers.

But, Daniels is not just an artist, she is an end of life doula, a Reiki practitioner, a spiritual counselor, an ordained interfaith minister who also happens to make nesting balls for birds, gourd motels for wrens and vibrant fiber art; in addition she is a mother, grandmother and wife.

How do you decide who you are going to be or what you are going to do on any given day?

Easy! Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sat urdays I do counseling. I work with the animals and use them for therapy. I do spiritual counseling in the pastures or even the barns, with the animals. Alpacas can’t be certified…but I am!

I was also a hospice chaplain for a while, but prefer to work on my own to help people transition and pass with out fear, surrounded by family. That is important.

Mondays and Fridays are open for art. Art feeds my soul.

How do you keep this house so impeccably tidy?

Oh, we did the Island shuffle for the first time. We rented out the whole house — that’ll clear the clutter!

What gave you the idea to paint with wool?

I was always creative…drawing, sketch ing, writing. I never took any classes. My grandfather urged me to combine writing and drawing to write and illustrate childrens’ books — that directed me. I went to museums, but did not start seriously until after college. I started with oil, went on to acrylics, then crafts and gave everything I made away. A watershed moment came when I met a woman at a craft fair who was working with fiber. That spurred me to investigate the fiber art world. Knitting gets boring.

fur and that is how I started my felt art. I love the tactile part, the colors, the textures. There are no rules in fiber art — it’s freeing. I can create whatever I want. It has also liberated me as a spiritual counselor. Felting is a spiritual practice. You can’t have a sharp needle in your hand and not pay attention — so you focus!

How did you start?

With 3D felting, I made little pumpkins, fairies, and Christmas ornaments, but quickly went on to 2D paintings. This

from my animals — how cool is that?

I have become a bag lady. Once the wool comes out of the drawers, I store it in individual bags: silk, bamboo, soft alpaca, curly haired sheep. I have a very visual memory and can easily find the necessary bag. Some wool I dye myself using tea, coffee, or beach plums, even indigo. Wool is my paint. And then there’s texture. Curls come from Leicester and Border Leicester sheep. Alpaca has crimp, but no curl. Textured mohair comes from Ireland. I am an eco artist. I use nature-based things that I recycle, turning them into something purposeful and different.

Using fine needles, Mary Beth adds birds to the sky using fibers.

We ended up moving from New Jersey to the Vineyard full-time and are now surrounded by animals with fur. I honor them; they hold wisdom and are spiritual guides and teachers. I use them when I work with people and then I honor their

“Wool is my paint. And then there’s texture. Curls come from Leicester and Border Leicester sheep. Alpaca has crimp, but no curl.”

out the fibers that have been carded and then criss-cross them as if being woven. Then you wet the wool with hot water and olive oil soap so that the fibers interlock and you create a background onto which, once dry, you can needle felt any image you want. Needle felting is basically punching fibers into the fiber base with long thin needles — no knots. And, all this comes

What music do you listen to?

I sit in silence or listen to classical or soft rock — depends on my mood. I am totally cool with silence! Besides, I can hear the animals and the wind in the bamboo outside the window.

Which artists have influenced you? Dead or alive?

Van Gogh, Picasso, and Monet — definitely, my work is very Monet-like. My goats are named after these three geniuses. I love impressionism and working with fiber can be very water-coloresque!

Which books have inspired you in your various roles?

I like mysteries, figuring things out. But mostly I like spiritual books — a resource for clients. Tara Brach’s “Radical Acceptance” is really helpful. It invites people to accept themselves and get rid of that “inner judge.” Learn to take a sacred pause — invite yourself to be present in the moment, in the here and now!

Name me three interesting people you would invite to dinner?

Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammad — that would make for interesting conversation!

We’d talk about the big questions: spiritual, but not religious. People seem to be turning away from traditional churches, but we are wired to be together — connected.

Mary Beth intertwines and weaves people together like the fibers that play such a large part in her life.

Felice Belle

Felice is obsessed with the healing properties of storytelling and the concept of narrative identity. In the spirit of Arundhati Roy's quote “There's really no such thing as the 'voiceless.' There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard,” her work explores how we can use art to rewrite prevailing narratives and amplify new ones. "Martha's Vineyard has a special place in my heart as a near-mythical haven for Black arts and culture. I am very much a city girl, but nothing compares to these Island views. To sit and write by the water here is restorative. The legacy of the Island makes me feel like I am living history.” Felice Belle is the author of “Viscera” (Etruscan Press 2023) and Artists Network Director for the global nonprofit Narrative 4. As a poet and playwright, she has performed at the Apollo Theater, Joe’s Pub, and TEDWomen. The flower headpiece worn in this portrait was made by Island artist Elisabeth Sheldon.

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

Happiness is…

Is it a state of mind, a goal, a myth, or right here on this Island? We asked an expert.

By James Dale

We all want happiness — whatever that is — right? Many people come to Martha’s Vineyard to escape the pressures and tensions of life on the mainland in favor of an “island” of simpler life. Many even call it their “happy place.” Can a person search out and find happiness? In a place? Or a state of mind? We went to one of the world’s happiness experts, Arthur Brooks, Harvard professor, social scientist, and bestselling author who “uses the highest levels of science and philosophy to provide people with actionable strategies to live their best lives.” In fact, happiness is in such high demand, and evidently short supply, that it’s hard to get to Brooks, but we did and asked him to help find that elusive state we all want.

Arthur, you teach happiness. And you write books about how to become happy — “Build the Life You Want.” So, can we “learn” to be happy if we’re not currently happy? Absolutely. This is the foundational premise of my work at Harvard and with the wider world. Research shows us that happiness doesn’t exist on a binary spectrum. Folks are not “happy” or “unhappy”; rather, some are happier than others, and all of us have work to do. With the right habits, anyone can become happier.

You distinguish between pleasure and enjoyment this way: “Pleasure happens to you; enjoyment is something that you create through your own effort.” How do we find the discipline to make the right choice?

Pleasure is an emotion we share with most animals, and it has evolutionary uses. For instance, we find pleasure in sweet foods because thousands of years ago, foods that tasted sweet — such as fruit — were highly nutritious and kept us alive. But in modern times, we are very good at hacking the pleasure centers of our brains to ill effects. Drinking, smoking, doing drugs, and gambling bring momentary pleasure, but they’re hard on our health and happiness in the long-run. But enjoyment is a uniquely human phenomenon. It takes pleasure and adds two essential components: people and memory. To pursue enjoyment over pleasure, I recommend a simple rule: Never pursue your sources of pleasure alone. Limit your drinking to social occasions. If you love to shop, do it with a friend. This rule will keep pure

DANIEL BAYER

Arthur Brooks

pleasure at bay. With the most destructive forms of pleasure (such as drugs or smoking), I recommend seeking help to quit.

Does “place” matter? Does it help to escape — say, by ferry — from the pressures of hectic, tech-dominated, crowded places — big cities and suburbs — to quieter, less competitive places where turkeys crossing the road have the right of way? Can people be happier on an island like Martha’s Vineyard than on the mainland, in Boston or New York or LA?

Place does matter, but only to an extent. People will often ask me whether they’ll be happier if they move to California — with more sunshine. The data shows that happiness does increase temporarily... but after about six months, we return to our baseline happiness level. However, research shows that nature has fabulous benefits for our happiness. It helps lower stress, improves our attention, and can lower pervasive symptoms of anxiety. For those in big cities, it is essential that you schedule nature time. (I recommend Martha’s Vineyard!) You could consider moving, if other areas of your life will also benefit…[with] good opportunities for a career, finding friends, and staying in touch with family.

Is quiet better than noisy? Can you get off the treadmill, out of the rat race, and find inner reward or do we have to keep score? Are farmers and artists happier than hedge fund managers?

Generally, quiet is better than noisy. It can be exhilarating to live in a fast-paced environment, but developing “meaning,” one of the key “macronutrients” of happiness, requires mindfulness and introspection. In the rat race, we tend to move very quickly from one thing to the next, never contemplating the arc or purpose of life. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a farmer or a hedge fund manager; what matters is that you schedule time to detach from your busy-ness, or screens, to spend time in journaling, meditation, or prayer…to anchor ourselves in the present…to reflect on our concerns and personal goals.

Does work matter in happiness? You’ve had several careers, from musician to analyst, to military research, to economics professor, to think tank guru, to author and philosopher. Do you recommend that people change their lives in search of happiness? At what point does a search become just wandering? (Many people have come to Martha’s Vineyard seeking a new life. Some find it; some don’t.)

There is no one correct way to build a career. My father was a lifelong mathematics professor at a small college in Washington state, and he really enjoyed his career. [Look for] a career that has two ingredients: (1) earned success and (2) work that serves others. Earned success means that your hard work is rewarded, you have opportunities for advancement, and your achievements are recognized. [And] you should be able to point to ways in which your job improves the lives of others. This doesn’t mean you need to work for a nonprofit that serves the marginalized; my father believed that he served others by teaching young people calculus. [But] if your current career doesn’t fulfill the two pillars above—then it might be time for a switch.

Can money buy happiness? Is there a level of money that helps one become happy? Is there too much? How do you balance ambition with having enough?

A lot of scholars have studied this question. About a decade ago, one paper showed that people didn’t get much happier beyond a salary of $70,000. Other scholars updated this research and contend the real number is closer to $150,000; others say it’s $500,000. In my view, we shouldn’t get hung up on a particular dollar figure because everyone’s circumstances are unique. What we should focus on is that all the research shows that there is a ceiling (usually a relatively modest one) at which money provides no further happiness. This should come as a warning for those who primarily seek happiness via wealth. Accumulating more cash is not immoral or wrong, but if you are pursuing money as your highest-order objective,

you’ll find that no amount is ever enough to satisfy your happiness.

How do we learn to want less? Can living in a place like Martha’s Vineyard — where cars, fashion, and vanity seem to matter less, while growing, creating, learning, reading, hiking, and friendship mean more — teach us to want less? Is there a self-check people can do to keep themselves grounded in what matters, what really contributes to happiness?

Yes, a “reverse bucket list.” One practical way to whittle down our wants is what I do on my birthday, I list my wants and attachments — the stuff of the world such as luxuries or status. I try to be completely honest. I go to my weaknesses, most of which — I’m embarrassed to admit — involve the admiration of others for my work. Then I imagine myself in five years. I am happy and at peace, living a life of purpose and meaning. I make another list of the forces that would bring me this happiness: my faith, my family, my friendships, the work I am doing that is inherently satisfying and meaningful and that serves others. Inevitably, these sources of happiness are “intrinsic” — they come from within and revolve around love, relationships, and deep purpose. They have little to do with the admiration of strangers. I contrast them with the things on the first list, which are generally “extrinsic” — the outside rewards associated with worldly things. When I reflect on the two lists, I learn to want less of the things that don’t truly matter.

Is there such a thing as a simple life? A life without traffic signals or chain stores? Or is it a state of mind more than a state of situation, location, or vocation? What makes simple simple? Mick Jagger sings “you can’t always get what you want… so get what you need…”

A simple life is more a state of mind than a state of situation. Of course, you can radically change your situation to make life simpler: Quitting your job and moving to a cabin in Montana (or maybe

“Accumulating more cash is not immoral or wrong, but if you are pursuing money as your highest-order objective, you’ll find that no amount is ever enough to satisfy your happiness.” —Arthur Brooks

remote parts of Martha’s Vineyard?) would do the trick. But a radical course of action isn’t always practical, and may not bring long-term happiness. Even if you work in a high-stress job and live in a big city, you can make life simpler. Instead of spending your 14th hour in the office, go home to see your spouse and children. Instead of focusing on acquiring extrinsic rewards, go on a getaway with close family or friends. In my own life, I find that daily Mass helps to make life simpler. It makes me realize that I’m small in the grand scheme of things, which is actually quite a comfort.

How do we adjust our happiness as we age? Martha’s Vineyard attracts many who are older, retiring or slowing down. How can we make the process of aging more happily?

People after the age of 70 fall into one of two buckets: their happiness tends to rise or fall — but not stay the same. We all want to be on the upper branch, so how to get there? The Harvard Study of Adult Development, the longest study of human happiness, gives us seven habits of the happiest people with age:

• Don’t smoke (or quit as soon as possible).

• Don’t drink to excess, and quit if you have a family history of addiction.

• Exercise regularly (walking is best, since we can do this into old age).

• Have a balanced diet (no yo-yo diets).

• Continue your education (read, read, read).

• Find a good way to cope with stress (prayer, meditation, journaling, therapy).

• Prioritize loving relationships. The happiest people later in life have rewarding marriages or deep friendships.

How can you be happy when the world is going to hell — politics, poverty, climate, war? You advise, “when you can’t change the world, change your feelings.” How do you do that — change or compartmentalize to be happy but realistic? Can we “escape” to our own Island of Martha’s Vineyard, literally or figuratively, to be happy?

It is important to pay attention to

what is going on in the world and to get involved in making it better. But being miserable doesn’t help anyone except the politicians and media leaders that want to channel your anger and sadness into their power and influence. Remember, when you hate someone because of politics, or can’t sleep because of something you read on social media, you have almost certainly become someone else’s product. Give to a cause you care about, do something locally that helps, enjoy nature, and then focus on the love and happiness in your life and that which you can bring to others.

Arthur, we’re not happiness experts, but perhaps on your next reverse bucket list, you can replace something you want but does not bring you happiness with a trip to the Vineyard — clamming in Tashmoo, kayaking at Chappy, swimming off of Aquinnah, or just breathing the air.

I have been to Martha’s Vineyard once and I thought it was quite beautiful, quite special. A place may not make people happy, but it can be where people find happiness.

DANIEL BAYER

John Forté has made his home on Martha’s Vineyard for nearly a decade, but he’s been in love with the Island since his first visit back in 1998, when he came with a friend who just happened to be Ben Taylor, son of Island legends Carly Simon and James Taylor. Beyond a star turn with the Fugees and releasing four albums of his own, Forté has collaborated with a broad spectrum of musical talent, many of them household names — beyond Simon and Ben Taylor, he’s worked with Herbie Hancock, DMX, and even Michael Jackson.

Fresh from his 1996 success as a producer and contributor to the Fugees’ ground-breaking and runaway hit album “The Score,” Forté began building a promising solo career. His life took a dramatic turn in 2000, when he was arrested on drug charges. He served half of a fourteenyear sentence, and was pardoned by President George Bush at the urging of many of his supporters in the music world, including Simon, the woman he calls his “second mama.” Today, Forté splits his time between writing new music, composing for film and television, and collaborating with a dizzyingly diverse group of musicians, many of whom are also Islanders. He will be touring with Lauryn Hill and the Fugees later this summer and fall.

Before we get into your connection to the Island and your musical legacy, I want to start with what you're working on now. You’ve been in the studio most of the past winter, no?

was kind of a big deal for me — it feels like something that one day my kids will be able to tune into when the time is right.

Scoring a full series like that, was that a new experience?

It was definitely the largest project that I had done — just because of the sheer scope of it, six episodes, six different editorial teams. As soon as I finished up music for one episode, and I think I can take a nap, the director from another episode was looking for their music. It nearly killed me, but that which does not kill you makes you stronger.

I’ve seen you at work in your studio, the amount of technology on hand, all those screens. It’s like you’re in wizard mode. With the rise of AI tools — have you incorporated them into your work?

They are doing a big update. Obviously, they're going to have some AI features. I went down the rabbit hole. They had these virtual players, right? And so the virtual players were largely AI, but in the songcreating process, that represents an initial input. I'm going to lay down, say, a bass guitar, and then I'm gonna lay down an acoustic guitar, and then a drum track. But then they also had AI tools for the mastering — when the song is done, and you're getting ready to play it for others. You need to make sure that it's amplified in the right way, all of the frequencies are working correctly. Mastering has for decades — since the inception of recorded music — it’s been a human art.

Sotto Forté

Composer, musician, and Island-lover John Forté talks about how he got here and why he stays.

Interviewed by John Battelle

Like the final edit on a piece of writing. Exactly. And now, with the mastering tools (in Logic Pro 11)... my goodness. It's the click of a button. It’s analyzing your song and what used to take hours, within seconds now you have a mastered, full, robust-sounding song. Once it does the analysis, then you have all the power in the world, to do it all or a little, postmastering manipulations as you'd like.

How much do you use “real instruments” in your process? Like with the bass line, or drums?

Photography by Robyn Twomey

Yeah, working on something for HBO — “Eyes On the Prize” — an awardwinning series that began on PBS in the 80s. It chronicles the Black experience in America in the wake of the Civil Rights era.

It’s moved to HBO?

Yeah, I spent much of last year working on it. The time frame is 1979 to 2012. I was born in 1975. So it almost seemed autobiographical. It was a real honor to do that. It

Being surrounded by screens all the time, I had every opportunity to opt into AI — whether it was ChatGPT, or all the platforms that are giving us AI. I certainly read about it and I monitored it and I watched it. But I resisted it. What unnerved me was the implicit biases that were baked into the technology, biases we can't get around. So I was resistant for a long time.

But then something changed?

The platform that I work in, where I do the lion’s share of everything, is Logic Pro.

Prior to this update, I recorded all of my instrumentation. So if I wanted to deliver a song idea, the process was, I hear a song in my head, I'm going to develop that song until it’s as close as possible to how I’d like to present it — something that will get us in the neighborhood, but then I'll give it to a player who knows what to do with it. Same thing with my keyboard arrangements, and the drum programming is an art form for me.

That’s how you first got into the music business, right? Making beats in collaboration with others when you were a teenager?

Yeah, that was the beginning for me, making beats on my way to learning how to play

Composer, musician, and Island-lover

John Forté contemplates a musical life in Chilmark.

the guitar and learning how to compose. But my first instrument was the violin, so I had classical theory at the foundation of everything. I wasn't necessarily a player that didn't happen until many many year's later. In fact, it was when I was in prison that I picked up a guitar and learned how to play and accompany myself. Before that, I always needed a DJ. But in the beginning, I made beats, and I was in the studio with DJ Premiere, Gangstar. Premiere is a legend, but I was blessed at 14, 15 years old to just be invited to the studio to just hang out and watch his process.

How does that compare to what you do now, using the virtual instrument players — can you get to a sound, to the thing you hear in your head, faster?

It’s phenomenal. The magic and the beauty for me is that they are tools. It'd be one thing if I just use them on their own, which I'm not tempted to. When I marry the virtual instrumentation with what I do — you know, my unique sound, and how I'm playing something, how I'm strumming something …

Do they respond like musicians would respond?

Not intuitively necessarily. But, you know, where you start, is closer than it's ever been. The ability to get the performance that you want is closer if you know how to use that tool. I mean, the music that I'm making now feels sexier than I've made in decades.

Now it's just got more flow?

That's exactly right. The ability to just optimally, efficiently get in and get out. And then you know, enjoy this thing called life, right? And hang out with my kids, play poker with friends. I feel more capable, I feel more empowered to do my job.

Let's pull back to that larger picture, your life here on the Island. I came to know you because of our mutual friends Dave Sayer and Gogo Ferguson; your studio is in their basement. You were the guy who I saw every so often emerge from that studio.

Coming up the stairs. Yeah, exactly.

I always wondered, how did you end up here? What was your journey to Martha's Vineyard as a place to live and work?

I didn't anticipate living and working here. I was introduced to the Island in the late 90s by Ben Taylor. One weekend he says “Hey, I want you to come home to my place.” I thought he meant the Upper West Side, but he meant the Vineyard. So that resulted in me spending most of that summer up here. I fell in love with the place, I was really feeling that sense of community.

A guitar is part of his bag of tools.

After that, I went away. I went to prison from 2001 to 2008. I was supposed to be there until 2014. But it was largely Carly's activism that garnered me an early release. And so naturally, after I came home and got back on my feet, even though I was living in New York, I would come up to the Vineyard whenever I could. It still had that gravity. And you know, Carly and Ben. They’re family.

How did you meet Ben?

It's a great story. We had a mutual friend in the music industry, Karen Rachtman. It's been misreported that Ben and I met while we were at Exeter. But that wasn't the case. We didn't meet until, you know, years later, through Karen, who was the music supervisor on “Pulp Fiction,” among many other things.

Man, you could die happy if that's the only credit you have, right?

After she did that she could essentially do anything she wanted to. I ended up working with her on the Warren Beatty film “Bulworth.” I ended up doing a song on that soundtrack. One day, she calls me out of the blue, “Oh, I got this guy, singer songwriter, you're going to love him. His name is Ben Taylor, I'm gonna send you his cassette.” I didn't listen to it for months.

When I did, I couldn't get past the first song. I called Karen — “Karen, I'm just listening to the demo and I can't get past the first song. It's incredible.” And she says “Well, you're in luck. Because Ben is in New York right now.” And she connected us. And I remember driving up to this place on the Upper West Side. I was listening to Sara McLachlan, her new album. And I pick up Ben. And he was just listening to Jay Z's new album.

Well there you go.

We had this instant appreciation for the other’s contribution, right? He’s a singer songwriter who's playing guitar, and you know, I'm this guy making beats. And the synergy was instant and lifelong.

How did you end up at Exeter in the first place?

It was academics. You know, I was a kid from Brownsville, Brooklyn. I was commuting from Brownsville to a school for the gifted and talented. One day, my guidance counselor called me in and said, “Hey, have you ever considered boarding school?” And I said, “I don't know who you're talking to — I'm a good kid!”

You thought it was punishment. I thought it was reform school! Then she went into her desk, and she pulled out a brochure. And there was a river, I remember, and a little boat, and it was the most charming scene. What is this? She said, “This is high school.” What? The high schools in my neighborhood were getting metal detectors installed.

It’s a very different world — Exeter, where the elite have gone to school for centuries. You must have stood out there?

It was alienating. But there's also an opportunity there, right? That alienation can become empowering — your ability to stand out and your ability to shine. So that was something that I learned how to navigate. Now I've got lifelong friends, I have godchildren who are now at Exeter. Maybe one day my kids will go there; it’s the type of place that nurtures and fosters lifelong friendships and respect for the other.

you tell that story to the world?

I don't ever have a setlist when I walk into a performance. Because I never know until I know, and I don't want to ever get ahead of myself. I don't ever want to assume that I've got the room figured out. It's always different. But my story — I mean, my story is my story. But there are different aspects of it that are called to be shared at the time. I'm currently working on a film about my life.

Right, I heard that a documentary is in the works.

Yeah, I think it's a story worth telling.

Indeed — the narrative arc, a kid from Brooklyn who ended up at Exeter, got white hot, then ended up in prison, and is now working across film, television, and live performance from the Vineyard. At what point did you decide that you were going to be based here, on the Island? I didn't envision myself living here. It happened very naturally, really, romantically. I met my wife in 2015. And then we had our daughter in 2017 and our son in 2020. And so we began a family here. And then COVID, which also affected and impacted the way that I was used to working. As a musician I was used to leaving the Island, checking into the mainland, being invited to perform and sing songs and play guitar, but that didn't happen for a couple of years during COVID.

And so I had to ask myself, what am I going to do to support this studio here? Is there a scenario where I'm more of an at-home producer and composer instead of the touring singersongwriter? And then one opportunity led to another. For two decades, I've been contributing to

soundtracks. But scoring, scoring really happened for me because of hunkering down here on the Vineyard, being able to have a project that would require going in my studio for three months at a time.

And yet you do continue to get out into the world. You were touring with the Fugees last year, and will continue to do that — the new tour was just announced, right? Yeah.

Compare that moment of glory on stage, where people are losing their minds, with sitting in that studio and working through scoring a scene. Those two experiences couldn't be more different.

It feels a lot like breathing. I really love inhaling, I love exhaling. And it's best for me to just do that dance. I could not imagine a reality where I was solely relegated to being a touring musician. I have friends who tour indefinitely, right? I have friends who live on the road. I don't envy that life, right? There's something really, really beautiful about getting up there and sharing your gift and receiving your flowers. But I know how exhausting that is. It's really nice to be able to do that. But to also be able to go on the other side of that, to have these quieter, more introspective moments that allow me to dig deeper into a side of my artistry that I am convinced pushes me forward. You do anything, you get better at it. I can look back and I appreciate where I've been. But I love, love, love where we might go.

Talk to me a little bit about the Island music scene. Do you feel like you're part of it? I don't think I'd ever seen you perform here in a formal venue. There used to be the Hot Tin Roof, which Carly and many others supported back in the day. But there isn't a place now where artists who might be performing in Boston or Providence might say, “Oh yeah, I’ll swing by and play on the Vineyard too.”

It feels like a topic of discussion every summer. How come we don't have a venue?

John Forté at home in Chillmark.

There are some incredibly talented musicians based on this Island. I've had the honor and the pleasure of sitting in with them over the years. What this Island lacks, fundamentally, is an ability to support the talent that exists here in a meaningful way. I go where the work is; the work is not here for me as a live musician. But what I can do is I can contribute to soundtracks, and I can invite some of those musicians into the projects that I'm working on, which feels like a natural way for me to honor them.

I recall watching some work you did with Harry Belafonte. Can you tell us about that?

Yeah that was not AI, that was Harry! He came into the studio and sat down with us for an afternoon and he was just singing with us. And so I have this session, an unreleased session of Harry singing along.

What are you going to do with that?

I have no idea. It’s somewhat emblematic of a lot of the work in my career. I've got hard drives filled with collaborations and music and people that I've met over the years, and some of it we've released, but a lot of it, we haven't. And that's just part of what we do. For me, they're snapshots, they're photographs in time, and some of those will be shared with friends and family. But I think all of them have a destiny of their own. It's not for me to decide.

In the past, when you’ve made albums you’ve expressed frustration with the music business. Do you think in those terms, like “I have to make an album,” or is that no longer true north in the way you approach your work?

What I found myself doing most recently is honestly just feeling empowered. I've released a bunch of music over the years. But I've only officially released four albums. In between I did a bunch of singles and collaborations. In the past, if I wanted to do an album, it was like a public private partnership with the label —“Hey, I'm looking for a partner to help me land this plane.” Now I'm always writing songs. But there is a moment for me in my process where the songs that I'm

working on are clearly connected. “Oh, I think I think I'm actually in the middle of an album here.” It's funny you asked me that, because you know I'm doing two movies at the moment. And I'm also working on Peter More's new EP, which we're finishing up, which is beautiful.

You played some of that for me this past winter. It blew my mind.

It's only gotten better since you've heard it. It's that good. So, I feel like I have no shortage of opportunities to be creative. Sometimes the creative lens is really about me and the story that I'm telling. But most of the time, it's like, how can I support someone else's storytelling initiative as a producer, as a composer? And I'm fine with that.

"They could be rapped, they could be hummed, they could be strummed. But a story is a story, is a story."

—John Forté

Just just for the readers’ sake though — is there an album in the works — one that perhaps hasn't yet presented itself to you?

I had this epiphany the other day — I was watching some things that I was working on… “Huh, Is this…? Are we…?” So, you never know.

That sounds like a better process than the way it used to be. A lot of albums got made because they were on contract, and had to be forced out of a musician.

Right. Before, the music industry was doing so much for you. But now, technology allows us to do a lot more for ourselves.

I listened to a lot of your music in preparation for this. Your latest stuff is very intimate, spare, and direct. It works in themes of justice, the Black

experience in this country. When people ask you “What's your music about,” do you have a ready answer?

The question I usually get is “What type of music do you play?”

GQ magazine called it almost folk. That's an interesting genre to compare you to. How do you respond to that?

I say, “I make good music.” There are only two types of music, right? There's good music and bad music. Genre is largely geography, like where we are, whether you find yourself proximate to a stringed instrument or a beat machine. But when you really unpack the stories, it's the human experience. They could be rapped, they could be hummed, they could be strummed. But a story is a story, is a story.

What would you point the readers of this piece to if they wanted to understand where you're coming from?

You know, I'd probably just encourage folks to work their way backwards. Start with “Vessels, Angels and Ancestors,” then go to “Riddem Drive.” You won’t find “I, John” because we only released it on CD. That was while I was away. There's been quite a call from the community for us to re-release digitally. We are exploring that. I did that with Herbie Hancock and David Passick.

You’ve collaborated with some incredible people. Do you see that as reflective of who you are?

One hundred percent. Even though I live on an Island, I'm not an island. I could not do what I did, were it not for my community. When I think about it, I get emotional — all of the people that I've had the opportunity to collaborate with over the years — DMX, Michael Jackson. It's mind blowing. It really is. But the music that I think of most recently, its purpose — it feels like a time capsule for my children. I make music now that I really want my kids to like, when they're able to receive it.

John Battelle is an Island-based author, media entrepreneur, and professor. He resides in East Chop with his family.

Bisa Butler

Bisa Butler is an American fiber artist who has created a new genre of quilting that has transformed the medium. Although quilting has long been considered a craft, her interdisciplinary methods — which create quilts that look like paintings — have catapulted quilting into the field of fine art. She is known for her vibrant, quilted portraits celebrating Black life, portraying both everyday people and notable historical figures. She is a frequent Vineyard visitor who has spent many summers here while growing up, and as of late with her husband and daughters.

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

Motivated masterpieces

Artist Stephanie Danforth supports her daughter’s Leo Project in Nanyuki, Kenya.

By Connie Berry

We met at artist Stephanie Danforth’s house in Chilmark, where the sun pours through her dining room windows just the way it should in an art studio. She does have a separate studio, but she prefers to paint in the dining room where dozens and dozens of paintbrushes sit on top of a sideboard and paintings of all shapes and sizes line the walls, some of their frames resting on the hardwood floors. I find out as we talk that It doesn’t matter where she paints, as long as she paints.

“I can’t go too long without painting,” she tells me. “I listen to books on tape while I paint. I just disappear. I get into it and then the day is over. I just love it, love it, love it.”

Before I reached out to Stephanie about her artwork, I googled her because that’s usually my first step when I talk to an artist. I had to see her work — and she creates amazing art — but the bigger picture though, is that sales from her work support the Leo Project, her daughter Jess’ nonprofit based in Nanyuki, Kenya. Jess

founded the Leo Project in 2020 in memory of her best friend, Caitlin O’Hara, a Leo on the astrology wheel who died at age 33 after a lung transplant and after suffering from cystic fibrosis for years. At Caitlin’s funeral, Jess made a promise to do something incredible with her own life, even though she herself was battling breast cancer at the time. Stephanie’s younger daughter, Carly, is hoping to make a transition to living and working in New York City soon, and she helps with marketing materials for the Leo Project. Jess’ work with the Leo Project has grown over the years, and last year they opened the Caitlin O’Hara Community Health Clinic. Their educational programming includes digital literacy, sexual and reproductive health, life skills, climate and health, mental wellness, and creative arts. At the Leo Project’s Resource Center, they also work with adults providing education they need to lead healthy and empowered lives. They offer community outreach clinics and screenings, as well as treatment services to the more vulnerable population groups within their county. It didn’t take

Stephanie Danforth painting in her light-filled dining room.

long before I could imagine Stephanie as the artistic matriarch of this small group of strong women.

Danforth, who will be 70 this fall, was a pediatric nurse and then a pediatric nurse practicitioner before diving full-time into painting. Self-taught, she decided to take a year off work to explore the painting she had enjoyed since taking a college art class.

“I thought, who do I want to grow old with? Pediatricians or artists?” Danforth says.

There are found art objects covering the table tops, paintings of every kind cover the walls of her home, and Danforth has portable art experiences every time she travels, which is often.

“Even when I travel I take these journals with me,” she explains while showing me her collection of travel journals filled with sketches and painted pieces. She throws a set of watercolors in her backpack and takes off for destinations all over the world — Morocco, Kenya, an artists’ residency in France. She’s a firm believer that we’re all

creative, we just don’t always allow ourselves room to create. In one of her Kenya travel journals, there are detailed paintings of a black Converse high top sneaker. In another she has a sketch of a COVID test, an unfortunate part of a trip to Morocco. “I love turning people on to art … we are all artists, but it gets shut down so early.”

Stephanie first traveled to Kenya herself for a safari some years ago, and she was taken with the experience. She saw a two-room schoolhouse built by the efforts of a professor who had tried to make a difference. Stephanie saw how the Samburu people lived in Northern Kenya with nothing and wanted to help, but that world was far away from the art world she lives in. She’s managed somehow to have the best of both worlds hold prominent places in her life. Her first-ever portrait was of a baby in Kenya, and it still holds a place of honor at her house. She couldn’t part with it.

“My first portrait is of a little baby,” Stephanie explained. As she

Continued from page 22

Danforth brings travel journals along to chronicle her trips, this one to Kenya.

Martha’s Vineyard Arts

Danforth's very first portrait.

“Living means…”, oil and gold leaf on panel, 36 in. x 48 in.

"Hope," oil on panel, 24 in. x 30 in.

Sometimes people cry over Jeremiah Brown’s work.

“They watch me to the end. And then I say, ‘It’s time.’ They just can’t understand. They say, ‘What are you doing? You’re not going to save something so beautiful?’ I tell them: ‘It’s impermanent art. It’s about doing, not keeping.” Having completed a sand painting to his satisfaction, he sweeps it up, packs up his portable workstation, gets back in his car, and drives home.

It all started in a little sandbox Jeremiah built four or five years ago when his grandson was a toddler. JB (as friends call him) is a Vineyard native and the landscape foreman for Vineyard Gardens, where he has worked for 32 years. He and his wife, Janice Haynes (full disclosure: Janice is this writer’s oldest friend), have created an extensive garden on their West Tisbury property, complete with a homemade waterfall and koi pond. “I wanted a Zen garden in the space, where you paint with a rake in the sand, so I built one in the back, and I just started messing with it on weekends.” One rainy Saturday, he carried some of the sand inside and shaped it into designs on a circular table-top he’d built for his woodworking. “I thought, ‘Wow, this is kind of cool,’ and from there I just started honing the craft.”

At Janice’s suggestion, he purchased colored sand and decanted it into plastic condiment bottles with the tops snipped off. When asked what his art background is, he smiles and points to his wife. “That’s it,” he says.

Janice attended the School of Visual Arts

in New York, and for several years sold jewelry and painted cutting boards (made by JB) at the Artisans Festival. “I’d go downstairs to see his pictures,” she recalls, “and at some point, the artist in me said, ‘Oh, god, you shouldn’t use that color next to that color’ so I scribbled out a very quick color wheel explaining color concept for him — these are opposite colors, those work together, that combo is a little jarring to the eyes, et cetera. Then I bought him a real color wheel with more nuances.” She also gave him one of her adult coloring books with mandalas, encouraging him to lean less toward depiction and more toward geometric.

Shortly after Jeremiah began experimenting with the colored sand, Janice was diagnosed with colon cancer. “Janice’s cancer has a lot to do with my getting invested in this,” he says, “because there would be nights when she was sick from the chemo and only had the energy to watch TV, and I wanted to keep my mind busy because I’d get bored watching television.”

Gradually, he created a dedicated workspace in his basement for the sand paintings. He built a 4x4 tabletop and painted it black, then developed his own large compass with a point that he could set into the many detent points he’d drilled into the table. “I mapped them out across the table so I could draw even and concise circles and squares. Over time I added marks on the compass stick based on previous work — so for instance, if I use the blue mark, I know I’ll get a certain sized circle. I just kept improvising, making things or using things for the purpose. Something as simple as the edge of a whisk

The ephemeral art of Jeremiah Brown

It’s the process, not the final product, that interests the sand artist.

By Nicole Galland

•

Photography by Robyn Twomey

Sand artist Jeremiah Brown at his home with one of his creations.

“I don’t want to have to do this, I’m doing this because I enjoy it, I’m not trying to do this as a living.”

broom can get weird wavy stuff going on, or you can pull it straight away from the line of sand to get different effects.” He has a straight edge with little nails in it, so it can sit above the table without touching the sand. He uses foam brushes for very precise work when he wants a clean, sharp edge, and inch-wide disposable paint brushes for swirly designs. A dowel about an inch thick that can be secured into the detent holes has a shoelace winding around it, allowing him to make spirals. He also uses a regular brass compass for creating smaller circles.

When Jeremiah first began, “I’d put a bunch of sand in one corner and I’d practice: what does this color look like with this color, and so on, and then I’d swipe it away and try again until I found something that made me think, ‘That’s cool! Alright, let me do that on a grand scale.’ So I’d practice throughout the week, after work, playing with certain ideas, and then usually Saturday nights, it’s my whole evening, that’s my big one. Or, as of last year, I went to town.”

He means this literally, although it actually began at the beach. One day at Lambert’s Cove, he started “painting” with regular sand, freehand; enjoying the experience, he brought some of his colored sand the next time.

“The beachgoers would come over to watch,” he says. “They’d be mesmerized, telling me how cool it was, as if not recognizing that really anybody could do it. But it was fun to have the audience. So I decided to take it to town one night and see what would happen. Especially since Oak Bluffs in the summer, it’s happening, there’s people from all walks of life around. I had an old piece of plywood outside and an old table frame. I put the plywood on the frame that first time.” After a month or so, he built himself a collapsible table, about three feet square, with wheels so he could roll it up the street; it’s devised with side wings to hold a complete set of sand-bottles and a set of tools like those in his basement, ready to go.

He goes into town to paint most Saturday nights when the weather is good. Janice is still in treatment for cancer, and “we go to dinner together once or twice a week, but she can’t handle hours of activity. I like the constant stream of people asking me

questions. I get a lot of neat questions. And sometimes idiotic ones like, ‘What are you doing?’ I’m putting sand on the table, I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Although he still sketches out ideas in miniature during the week, “Ninety-five percent of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says. “I go downstairs, I clean the table from the last design, I get it all fresh, and I think: OK, what? I start with a circle, or a straight line, and then I just…go.”

The end results, as you can see, are all very different. “It depends on my mood,” he says. “It might be entirely geometric, or it might be geometric with some funny trippy shit coming out of the sides, or it might be entirely funny trippy shit.”

“Or it might look like a rock-album from the ‘70’s,” adds Janice, grinning.

Jeremiah’s biggest challenge is revamping things that don’t please him. “It's very hard to backtrack once you’ve laid the sand down. If it’s just a line, you can sweep it up, but once lines are overlapping and intersecting, it’s very hard to fix. Sometimes I’ll lay down a color when I’m well into a painting, and then realize it’s not really what I wanted, it doesn’t look right. So I go in a whole different direction by doing swirls or other blending effects rather than the design I was originally intending, just because I’m trying to erase that color.”

While each sand painting is different, they take an average of about two hours to complete. On some nights in town, he’ll usually do two or even three in an evening. At home, he sticks with a single image, spending more time on it. “Although sometimes I’ll do one and then start messing with it — taking lines and making them into swirls and so on. Some of the better ones I’ve done can take me eight hours. But it’s not usually in one sitting and ergo those are different. Because you work four hours on something when you’re just grooving, and then you work on it a couple of nights later when you’re not in the same mindset, so you do different things with it. I might think after four hours that it’s done, but then I look at it later in the week and I want to embellish or improve something. Every once in a while, if I don’t like one part of it, I’ll sweep just that part away and then do

something new in that corner which compliments the rest of it.”

He takes photos of most of the art so that he can show other people.

But then, always, comes the moment of sweeping it away.

Although ephemerality is an essential part of the process for him, he’s open to the possibility of preserving his paintings. “We’ve tried a few different things to accomplish that,” Janice tells me, “like putting them in a frame and covering them with epoxy, but the epoxy darkens them up, and it shifts the sand a little.” She recently found some adhesive sheets for Jeremiah to experiment with but so far nothing has worked. If that ever changes, Jeremiah would be open to selling some of them.

“I think hobbyists, woodworkers and craftspeople, they like what they do, but they’re sometimes thinking, how could this possibly make me some money? That’s not why they do it, of course, and I’m not saying they’d even try to make money from it. Because that part’s difficult.”

This resonates with Janice’s experience of the Artisan’s Festivals. “I love to paint, but when you have to produce, it takes the joy out of it, for me anyhow. You put a huge amount of time and effort into setting up, and then you don’t necessarily sell enough to make the cost of the booth. It just became too much, and financially we were at a point where I needed to have a regular income.” She now works as the administrative assistant at the West Tisbury Town Hall.

“That’s very much my sentiment on the matter too,” says Jeremiah. “A comment I get out on the street from the public is: This is fantastic, you should go online and market this. And my response is always: I have a job. I’m successful at my job, and this is my hobby. I don’t want to have to do this, I’m doing this because I enjoy it, I’m not trying to do this as a living. If it brought in some side income that’d be great, but that’s not why I do it, that’s not my intention at all. My intention is all about the process.”

In this, he resembles the most famous makers of sand-paintings. “Tibetan monks make huge mandalas out of sand and then sweep them into little bottles,” he says. “They spend far more time on them than I do. It can take them a year, they will move

grains of sand with tweezers, that’s how precise they are. I don’t do that, but their mindset is similar to mine: you’re trying to clear your head. You’re trying to stay out of THAT — television, cancer, worldly distractions, whatever — and instead focus on THIS. I feel good when I’m done.”

Not only does he not want to market online, he doesn’t even care to be seen there.

“I don’t want it to ever become an internet thing. When people suggest that, I say thank you — I like the compliments — but the rest of my response is usually: ‘You don’t have to go online. I’m doing it right here right now, right in front of you. Just look!’”

Editor’s note: Jeremiah’s wife and champion, Janice Haynes, passed away in June.

Sand artist Jeremiah Brown explains how he works his magic.

Brown mixes colors at his home studio.

Precise lines of sand make up the artwork.

Sand art up close.

A dynamic duo

Dena Porter and Abby Remer collaborate, commiserate, and celebrate together.

By Abby Remer

Iwas thrilled when our editor at The Martha’s Vineyard Times asked Dena Porter, who is one of their lead photographers, and me, a consistent article writer, to share about the nature of our frequent collaboration. It gave us both a chance to mull over the many nuances of how that word plays out in our lives. At the heart of our collaboration is friendship. For us, it is a shared love, respect, a passion for creativity…and lots of laughter. In actuality, we have been “collaborating” with one another from a previous chapter in both our lives.

Dena and I met in about 2002, in New York City, where we were both born, raised, and lived before we ended up being fulltime residents on the Island. I was running a workshop for an organization I founded, the Career Internship Network (CIN), about ways to get high school students to reflect deeply on their internship experiences. Dena was working as the Director of Citywide Initiatives for high school students at The Afterschool Corporation (TASC) and helped support CIN through grants. Having seen my work, Dena asked me to collaborate on a project in which I helped high school

students in her summer program reflect on their work experiences. Recognizing a kindred spirit in one another, we had a great time, and a friendship was born.

However, as is often the case in busy professional lives, our paths diverged until one day in about 2017, totally engrossed as usual while I was working out on the elliptical machine at my local gym, I looked up, and standing in front of me was Dena… in her cycling outfit ready to go into her favorite spin class. Reconnecting with her was like finding a lost sister. Dena, who had retired from her education career, feeling she had accomplished everything on her professional wish list, was now pursuing photography full-time — something that was going to bring her joy on a different level. We resonated too with the fact that neither of us had kids, but we had pursued careers that served urban youth, we shared a passion for the arts, and are the same age and stage in life. We also began supporting one another through the ups and downs of being the sole, long-term caregivers for loved ones in the final phase of their lives.

In June of that year, I mentioned to her that, having not been out of New York City for five years, I was taking a quick trip to the Vineyard, where I’d been vacationing since I was six months old. Turns out, Dena and her husband, who has since passed, had a place in Chilmark since the 1990s and were well-ensconced in the up-Island community. Although they weren’t on the Vineyard when I came, it was a momentous trip because on

Dena captures photos of Abby for fun.

Longtime friends, photographer Dena Porter, left, and writer Abby Remer.

MICHAEL JOHNSON

my last day walking Sepiessa Beach I heard a voice that told me to move here. Stunned, I came home and told Dena and an enormous part of the miraculous unfolding that allowed me to relocate was because of them. With their big hearts, they housed me while I checked out a place to live; moved me, box by box, on their weekend trips to and from their Manhattan apartment; and welcomed me into their large social circle.

Determined to reinvent myself as a writer and editor, I was able to swing a successful interview with Connie Berry and Geoff Currier at The Martha’s Vineyard Times showing them the books I had written about arts and culture among other materials. Our meeting went well and when they asked if I, by chance, also took photographs, I immediately told them about Dena who shortly after also joined the freelance team.

Although we aren’t always sent out together, we frequently collaborate on stories. Sometimes we’re assigned one, but we often pitch our own. We chat virtually every morning, filling each other in on a potential upcoming event, an interesting person for a possible profile, or an article we think would pique our editor’s interest. If we get the assignment, we share contact info and I tell Dena my approach. If I finish writing before she goes out to shoot, I’ll send the article to her for further context. As soon as she is done, Dena sends me a Dropbox invite so I can see her take on a story.

When I moved here, Dena had already been well into this new chapter of her life as a thriving fine art photographer. She particularly credits Alison Shaw for her influence and support sharing, “I looked at all the local photographers and immediately gravitated to Alison, who continues to model for me that all things are possible as an older woman in a persistently maledominated industry.” She was selected for juried exhibitions and a global exhibition

with Fujifilm. Three recent pieces of her work are now part of the Martha’s Vineyard Hospital art collection. Dena recalls growing up without access to the arts in her public school education and is currently doing her own deep dive into art history. With this as my background, it’s just another area in which we enrich each other’s knowledge.

For me in addition to the newspaper, I am a freelance editor, working with authors on and off-Island on fiction and nonfiction alike. In my own authoring, I’ve also been able to champion Dena’s art, including having her in my book, “Artistic Visions: The Martha’s Vineyard Museum as Muse,” which features 11 artists who used the dilapidated, pre-renovated 1895 Marine Hospital as inspiration to produce splendid paintings, photographs, video projections, site-specific installations, and performance pieces.

Thinking over our rich lives on the Vineyard today and our collaborations and exchanges in friendship and work, what we know is this: We’ve got plenty of ideas…be on the lookout. We are nowhere near done.

Dena, left, talks about her work with Featherstone patrons.

Abby Remer, right, interviews Featherstone executive director

Ann Smith,

DENA PORTER

JODI BROCKINGTON

MICHAEL JOHNSON

Day 30

An excerpt from ‘Morning Pages’

By Kate Feiffer

The story unfolds as a witty confessional told through Elise Hellman’s morning pages, three pages of streamof-consciousness writing which are done first thing in the morning, as popularized by Julia Cameron in her bestselling book “The Artist’s Way.” Elise, a 48-yearold playwright with a stalled career, has received an unexpected commission from a prestigious theater company. As her deadline draws nearer and nearer, she's caught up with navigating the considerable complications and absurdities of her daily life. Her teenage son smokes a lot of pot and barely speaks to her. Her eccentric mother is losing her memory, but not her profanity. Her feelings for her ex-husband linger. And in an effort to help her over her writer's block, her friend Maya has encouraged her to start doing morning pages and to have sex, or as she puts it, to lose her divorce virginity.

The novel begins 65 days before Elise's play is due. This excerpt is from Day 30. To set up this scene: Maya, Elise’s dear friend, has stopped by for a visit when Elise gets a call from Sammy Ronstein, the executive and artistic direc tor of The Player's Playhouse. (And yes, Nancilla Aronie was named after you know who.)

DAY 30

maple and Christmas tree farm in Vermont, and will what? Be driving to Boston in a beat-up pickup truck? Could this be right? It sounds a little too picture perfect. Or maybe that’s our generation. We’ve set-designed our lives.

I popped into the kitchen to talk to Sammy Ronstein. Yes, part of me wanted Maya to overhear my call with him, to be looking at my face trying to read my expression, to watch me as I scribble down a few notes and stick my index finger in the air and circle it around to indicate that I’m listening to him ramble on. But I also wanted to be the type of person who leaves the room to take an important call. If I could have figured out a way to do both, I would have.

Sammy was calling to tell me that he had gotten Nancilla Aronie to direct the first reading of Deja New, which he’s scheduled for December 12th, and he assured me that if the reading goes well, Nancilla will direct the play. Nancilla Aronie—as he told me and as I already knew—has won six Obies and four Drama Desk awards and been nominated for three Tonys. She has been lauded as a sensitive, intuitive, and brilliant director and is sometimes referred to as the Mike Nichols of her generation and other times as the Julie Taymor of her generation. She is one of the most sought-after directors working today and there’s a chance she will be directing my play. A play I wrote. A play I am writing. A play I am trying to write. A play I need to finish. Today.

Something is going on with Maya. She assured me— three times, maybe four—that she’s perfectly fine and that there’s nothing at all to worry about. Maya has the kind of high-octane energy people often refer to as Energizer Bunny energy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so much as yawn, so naturally I’m concerned about her. She’s not the type to doze off on another person’s couch at 3:00 in the afternoon.

When Sammy Ronstein’s number came up on my phone, Maya was updating me about Stu’s surprise party. She’s invited 150 people and we’re all supposed to arrive at T.T.’s before 7:30. She was telling me about Stu’s bandmates. The lead singer lives in New York and is still in the music business. The bass player is a Silicon Valley dot-com millionaire and is flying in on his private jet from San Francisco, and the guitarist has a

“Nancilla Aronie, are you kidding me?” I said to Sammy.

“Elise, you deserve this,” he replied. “Sammy, you’re amazing. You’re beyond amazing! I can’t believe it!”

“Start believing it. Nancilla and I have been discussing working together for a while. We were just waiting for the right project for her, and I think Deja New might be it. She saw Stealing Obituaries at Williamstown and loved it. She’s a fan of yours.”

“I can’t believe Nancilla Aronie knows my work. This is so exciting, Sammy. Thank you!”

And then, before we hung up, he said, “Elise, if we get Nancilla attached, Deja New is going to have the eyes of the world on it.”

I happy-danced into the living room singing, “I’ve got Nancilla on my mind,” only to find Maya on the couch with her eyes closed and mouth open.

Confusion.

Panic.

I walked over to her and put my hand in front of her face, like I used to do to Marsden when he was a baby, and the warmth of her breath filled the palm of my hand.

Relief.

“Did I fall asleep?” She seemed as surprised by the possibility of this happening as I was.

Reflections on Bob Brustein

By MJ Bruder Munafo

Robert Brustein, a longtime West Tisbury seasonal resident, dramatist, and theater critic died in October at the age of 96. I count myself among the lucky ones who knew and loved Bob — an unexpected and wonderful friendship in my role as artistic director of Martha’s Vineyard Playhouse

Early on, when I first met Bob, around 25 years ago, we were standing on the lawn, really the patch of grass, in front of the Playhouse. In his resounding way, he said, “Sweetheart, you have turned this theater into something, a real theater.” He applauded the new work we embarked on and the risks we took time and again. I often think of that conversation, which admittedly I do not remember word for word. But it meant the world to me, and has propelled me forward for a long while.

Robert Brustein was a giant in the American Theater world. Imposing, elegant, and brilliant, he wrote inspiring tomes, such as “The Theatre of the Revolt,” that influenced

many theater artists. He was not afraid of controversy and his often insightful, rather pointed and outspoken opinions surely created a bit of that along the way. Bob mentored countless students and actors — he got their attention, earned their respect, inspired their work, and remained lifelong friends with so many.

Bob was a frequent playwright and actor in our Monday Night Specials, he loved acting — particularly in Ar t Buchwald’s “Sheep on the Runway” and in Larry Mollin’s “The Screenwriter’s Daughter.” We did readings of his plays and several full productions.

Their beautiful grandchildren came to our Summer Stars camp. We had many opportunities to socialize during Island summers.

Bob and his wife, Doreen, were part of the Playhouse family. Whether in the audience or at special events, their grace and sophistication drew crowds around them.

For Bob’s 90th birthday, MV Playhouse and MV Hebrew Center co-hosted a grand celebration. We crowned him with a laurel wreath. There were heartfelt accolades and scenes performed from his plays. So much joy that day. I can still see his huge smile and the twinkle in his eyes. Such a man! Taking risks, creating community, and collaborating are just some of the lessons I learned from my dear friend, colleague, and mentor. His legacy lives on, but I really miss him and his hugs!

MJ Bruder Munafo is the artistic and executive director of the Martha’s Vineyard Playhouse.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She assured me and reassured me that she was fine. “Just having a bit of insomnia these days.”

“Join the club,” I said. But I don’t believe her. Sure, she might be having insomnia. No one I know sleeps anymore. But Maya wouldn’t let a bit of pedestrian-grade insomnia get to her. When I told her the news about Nancilla Aronie, she jumped up from the couch and wrapped her arms around me.

“This is it, Elise! This is going to be it! I’m on it.”

Within minutes she came up with about ten ideas for how to generate early buzz for the play.

A play I haven’t yet finished writing.

I hardly need to write that I barely slept last night. Lesser days have kept me awake. The Ambien I took made me restless. One of my pillows was stuffed with thoughts of Nancilla and the other one was stuffed with thoughts of Maya. At 2:00 in the morning, I got up and googled Nancilla Aronie. Her Wikipedia page is filled with the acclaim that comes with being young and extraordinary. The youngest female director to direct a play on Broadway. The youngest to get nominated for a Tony Award. She’s been profiled

in The New York Times and interviewed in O Magazine. She said she came from a large working-class family and that she and her sisters and brothers would pretend they were princesses and princes, kings and queens, court jesters and confessors, and that she spent much of her childhood in character as Mary Queen of Scots. After googling Mary Queen of Scots, I now know that Mary became Queen of Scotland when she was just six days old and that her husband died a violent death in a suspicious house explosion. I was not a bit sleepy so I googled Maya. Like a good publicist, Maya gets publicity for others, but keeps a low profile for herself. So I googled Stu, who had an even slimmer online presence. Practically nothing at all. I kept trying different iterations of his name, but he barely existed. I thought about starting a Wikipedia page for him, Stuart Davis, born on the day JFK was assassinated, but I didn’t. Instead I YouTubed the biggest hits from 1963—“Puff the Magic Dragon,” “Be My Baby,” and “It’s My Party.”

“Morning Pages” (Regalo Press) is children’s book author and MV Arts & Ideas contributing editor Kate Feiffer's first novel for adults. This excerpt was printed by permission of Regalo Press.

COURTESY M.V. PLAYHOUSE

Art flows through Tiffany Vanderhoop’s veins. She comes from a long lineage of Haida weavers on her mother’s side who have carried on an artistic tradition since time immemorial. An exquisite sense of color and design course through all her creative endeavors.

Vanderhoop is perhaps best known for her arresting earrings that combine the Aquinnah Wampanoag heritage of her father, David Vanderhoop, with that of her mother, Evelyn Vanderhoop, who hails from the Haida tribe of the Gaw Git’ans Eagle Clan from Haida Gwaii, British Columbia.

Although living in Shrewsberry, Mass., Vanderhoop frequently comes to the Island to visit family and friends and practice Wampanoag traditions. “I feel blessed that I have that unbroken generational connection,” she says.

did well and enjoyed selling her bracelets, necklaces, and earrings at Wayward Wampum, a store owned by Aquinnah Wampanoag jeweler Jason Widdiss.

However, Vanderhoop’s trajectory changed dramatically when she hit upon incorporating her distinct Northwest Coast weaving designs into beaded fringe earrings. She creates striking pieces,

Vanderhoop incorporates her distinct Northwest Coast weaving designs into beaded

fringe earrings.

Japanese Miyuki Delica beads allow her to create crisp images. “It’s really hard to do it with round beads, which often have inconsistencies,” she explains.

Vanderhoop finishes each strand with small brass ornaments, which, by adding just a bit of weight, help the earrings sway and flow like mobiles as they follow the movement of the wearer’s head.

Vanderhoop’s artistic journey began when she was growing up here. She learned a bit of loom beading when she was about eight years old as well as traditional weaving from her sister in her late teens. Later, Vanderhoop continued to study more intensely with her mother, a master weaver and teacher, pursuing it as a profession for some 10 years.

In 2016, Vanderhoop turned to beading. “I felt I had to do something more connected to my father’s tribe and roots on the Island,” she says. At first, her style was eclectic, incorporating different materials, including wampum and quills. She

meticulously beading individual strands that cascade down from large brass frames.

Vanderhoop spends two to twelve hours fashioning each masterwork entirely by hand. Her labor-intensive process begins with inventing the design, transferring it to graph paper, and then selecting the beads. She has discovered that cylindrical

Vanderhoop’s signature art is not only arresting but imbued with her ancient lineage and meaning. She works in two styles with deep cultural roots embedded in indigenous Northwest Coast art. These styles are a tribute to those that were forcibly extinguished during colonization but have been assiduously revitalized thanks to the efforts of Cheryl Samuels, who traveled extensively to study remnants of the 11 remaining historic robes. Samuels reverse-engineered the technique and then gathered and taught several elders from Northwest Coast tribes who went on to teach others. Hundreds of weavers, including Vanderhoop, continue to pass the knowledge on to others.

We see the older Raven's Tail weaving style in her earrings that bear bold, geometric black-andwhite patterns with touches of turquoise or yellow. The Naaxiin [NA heen] designs carry formline images of supernatural beings, bears, eagles, and clan crests seen on Northwest Coast totem poles, robes, blankets, and ceremonial objects.

“A lot of the patterns I use have been passed down from my ancestors,” says Vanderhoop. “They’ve got this history and are conversation pieces.” Starting a

Indigenous by design

Tiffany Vanderhoop weaves Native heritage and knowledge into her earrings — and everything else.

By Abby Remer

•

Photos by Tiffany Vanderhoop

Artist Tiffany Vanderhoop wearing her earring designs.

conversation is actually an essential part of her work. “It’s about spreading knowledge. People interested in investing in somebody’s art want to know what it’s about. It’s art and fun, but you can also delve into the meaning and history of it.”

In 2018, Vanderhoop established her brand and business Huckleberry Woman, an English translation of her Haida name, S’idluujaa. “When I was little, I was one of the only ones with bright red hair. But even pre-contact in the Haida tribe, every so often, there were redheads. Out west, huckleberries are red, and my great Raven auntie called me Huckleberry in Haida, and the name stuck.”

Vanderhoop is part of the wave of increased public awareness of indigenous culture. “When I was starting, issues of appropriation were coming forward about companies that have no affiliation with native people using indigenous designs and making money from that. As people were learning about exploitation, they began supporting native artists and native brands.” Watching her peers gain recognition helped Vanderhoop realize she could make a career of it. “I have many friends who are supporting each other. I feel uplifted and very lucky. And it’s important to reciprocate.”

Vanderhoop credits her acceptance into

Meticulous beading

“People interested in investing in somebody’s art want to know what it’s about. It’s art and fun, but you can also delve into the meaning and history of it.”

a prestigious online art collective, B. Yellowtail, as an early boost to gaining wider exposure. Recognition of her work continues to increase. Vogue magazine published an article last December, and actors from Martin Scorsese’s film, “Killers of the Flower Moon,” wore Vanderhoop’s earrings to press conferences. The Boston Museum of Fine Arts has two pairs in its collection and carries her earrings in its gift shop. She is also working with Eighth Generation to design a blanket for Native Harvard students that were to be distributed at graduation.

Vanderhoop primarily sells her

earrings and takes weaving commissions via her website. Of late though, she is also beginning to work with indigenous brands to create apparel such as hats, scarves, boots, and sweatshirts adorned with her distinctive designs.

Vanderhoop refers to her earring pieces as medicine. “Putting a pair on can really lift your spirits. It brightens your face and makes you feel more confident.”

For more information about Tiffany Vanderhoop, see huckleberrywoman. com orhttps://www.instagram.com/ huckleberrywoman/.

Artist Tiffany Vanderhoop wearing her earring designs, derived from Native traditions.

cascades down large brass frames in Vanderhoop's designs.

Remembering Rez Williams

“There are moments in our lives, There are moments in a day When we seem to see beyond the usual.”

Ibegan an earlier article about Rez Williams with this quotation by Ashcan School artist Robert Henri. It is pinned above the worktable in his studio, as it was in 2018, and it still feels descriptive of how I remember Rez.

After a conversation with his wife, Lucy Mitchell, she walked with me to Rez’s studio. We talked there for a while, then she left me on my own to look at the four large, last landscapes that were on the walls. Ten small self-portraits were there, too, lined up along the floor.

The studio was much as it always was. It felt as though Rez had just stepped out for a moment and would return, that we would pick up where we had left off talking. The floor was spotted with paint. Bright sunshine streamed in the corner window, raking across Rez’s worktable, where clean brushes sat in cans, tubes of paint were neatly arranged by color, and paint in a fabulous array of colors he had mixed had dried in the ubiquitous tuna fish cans that spread across the table. “We don’t have a cat, but we eat a lot of tuna fish,” Rez had told me long ago.

I had really gotten to know Rez one winter when he taught a painting class on Sunday afternoons at the Nathan Mayhew Seminars. I hadn’t painted since art school and wanted desperately to paint again. This seemed a way to begin and it was. One of the paintings I did still hangs in my house, the old Gilbert & Bennett wire mill in Georgetown, Conn., a place I have wonderful memories of that, sadly, no longer exists.

I had a bunch of old photographs of varying quality that I worked from. That was how Rez and I began our conversations about art, making art, our individual processes, artists we admired, life on the Vineyard as it was changing. We both used the

By Hermine Hull

worst photographs, just enough information to remember that a tree lay across a path, or windows went almost as high as a roofline. Of course, all that could be rearranged or changed or left out altogether. That’s the magic of painting.

Rez’s working photographs were pinned to the walls beside the large paintings. No one else would look twice at them. One was overexposed. Another suggested something. A meadow. A woodland. A boat in the water. A dark treeline. Rez made something momentous and memorable out of all of them.

The working boat rose in the distance on an olive and purple sea, an oily, viscous surface cut into with “Rez shapes.” A meadow of acid green and yellow was broken by an orange path that led to a mostly solid treeline defined and punctured by a prominently blue sky and a lone tree, all outlined in an electric shock of lemon yellow. A woodland of bare trees and a rivulet of a stream sat above ground in an ambiguous arrangement that dropped off into a Stygian abyss. In the last painting, a moon of prodigious size and brightness rose above a night-dark line of trees that bisected the composition.

watched him age in color.

Rez was an ardent conservationist. He was a longtime member of the Vineyard Conservation Society, president of Sheriff’s Meadow Foundation, West Tisbury Path Committee, and recipient of the Creative Living Award. He also relished and wanted to protect the messiness of the Island as well as its loveliest views. He loved piles of fishing gear, stacks of cordwood, rusting farm equipment, electric poles and lines, muddy boots — evidence of real life, of how people worked and lived. His paintings left nothing out, except in service to the painting.

He was a fixer, too. He could look at a problem, figure it out, then make something out of nothing, and make it work. He mourned the days when the town dump was an endless source of useful building supplies, tools, machinery, metal scraps, leftovers from other people’s projects. He often spoke about the way things were when he first arrived on the Island.

The self-portraits, Lucy said he painted one most every year, were dated from 1988 to 2012. In them, Rez appeared always in glasses, staring straight at the viewer, his head turned or straight on, painted with hard planes butted against one another, or the softest caresses of brushed edges. I

I asked Lucy about those early days, seeing Rez’s work at an early show at the Field Gallery, meeting Rez for the first time. She recalled asking him about how he had gotten to the Island, a common enough icebreaker into a conversation. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Bus.”

Hermine Hull is a writer and painter who lives in West Tisbury. She writes the weekly West Tisbury column and essays about art for the Martha's Vineyard Times, Arts & Ideas, and BlueDot.

COURTNEY HOWELL

Artist Rez Williams beside his work at A Gallery.

Food is my art

Creating dishes that bring people together and make them happy is true artistry.

By Tina Miller

Iwas always creating art, one way or another. As a kid, I drew animals, primarily horses, doodle books, trees, and eyes. I did watercolors of flowers and the sky. I painted canvas with oil and acrylics and carved linoleum to make block prints.

My favorite was, and still is, photography. I took black-andwhite photos and developed them in the darkroom at the high school. Art became my sanctuary, especially in high school, where success in the art room was not measured by rote learning and pop quizzes but by my creative juices. I felt relief and peace.

My mother was an artist. During my parents' short marriage, she painted, sketched, and made pottery. In 1966, my 24-yearold mother and her friend Cris Jones opened an art gallery called Christiantown Pottery & Gallery. My father built the little gallery in the woods off Christiantown Road in West Tisbury. I like to imagine that my often tortured, untamed mother was content creating her art in that brief moment of her life.

With so many mediums in art, the question becomes: is food art, especially because it is perishable? Food has been the subject of art since the beginning, with biblical paintings of grand feasts like Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” (1498) to “The Wedding Feast at Cana” (1563) by the Italian artist Paolo Veronese. Paintings of excess to prove great economic and social status more than in normal, everyday life. Stunning still-life paintings have glamorized food for centuries, with ripe fruit sitting in beautiful light being the most common. Also, maybe not quite as appetizing, whole dead fish and fowl draped on a table ready to be cleaned and plucked for cooking.

More recently in the last century, hitting the mid-to-late 80s, we have cookbooks with brilliant, colorful photographs of restaurant-quality, chef-inspired dishes stacked high for drama. Mouth-watering desserts created by famous pastry chefs. It seemed like cookbooks were everywhere, but apparently, so was the demand. I was told by a cookbook editor friend from Random House in 2005 that the cookbook market is robust and people could not get enough.

Now jump to today and social media, really Instagram, and that is where the term “food porn” comes alive. Not just food, but people eating food at incredible and iconic destinations. Food experiences shared worldwide immortalizing chefs, restaurants, food trucks, street food, BBQ joints, diners, you name it. iPhones

are in wait for the food to be delivered to the table, with no doubt eyerolls from the servers. Everything stops, and the iPhones snap and snap at the craft cocktail, shrimp tapas, charcuterie, and salt cod croquettes, and you post to your people via Instagram as to say “Don’t you wish you were here, don't you wish you were me?”

Sometime in my preteen years, I discovered a new art and the beauty of food. I spent much of my time at my best friend Beach’s house with her family of six. There was always a lot of food, a full fridge, snacks in the cabinets, an extensive selection of breakfast cereals, and a mom who cooked nightly. I hesitantly but gratefully squeezed in for dinner more nights than I can count. But I wasn't just there for dinner; I was there during the day, and that's when I started fixing sandwiches for Beach, myself, and whoever else was around. This was my first clue that food was more than just filling for the belly. It filled the senses. The fragrant aroma of melted cheddar cheese draped over a sharp-red burst of tomato over tuna fish on a Thomas’ English muffin. I could imagine the applause as I removed this tasty work of art

from the oven. This did not just taste yummy; it looked yummy.

When I turned 17, I spent the summer on a 200-plus acre sheep farm in the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region of France. The farm was surrounded by luscious green fields and forest, hay fields, and gardens. Besides pastry and cheese, almost everything we ate and cooked was grown on the farm. Dinners were prepared by a mixture of visitors like me, who worked on the farm in exchange for room and board. I was the youngest by far, as the others were in their 20s.

I knew then that food was an art, and it was for me. It was an art that made people instantly happy, and as a young person navigating uncertainty, this art felt good.

The farm owner was away the first few weeks I was there, so things were casual, and we all shared in kitchen activities. During the day, we harvested green beans and peas, and I learned to blanch peas to go in the freezer and make fresh, bright-green pea soup. We harvested giant beets known as betteraves, which we did not eat; they were for the cows. I picked currents and learned how to make bright garnet-colored jelly for toast.

Meals on the farm were simple but tasty. Sauteed farm pork sausage, potatoes, and lettuce tossed in vinegar, salt, pepper, mustard, and olive oil, as my grandfather would make. Always bread and cheese for dessert. I packed picnics when we traveled to horse shows. A big straw bag filled with hard boiled eggs, cheese, baguettes, mayonnaise, and ham hung in the kitchen. It tasted gamey but worked with a golden, fresh baguette. There was sparkling lemonade and beer. The s imple food tasted as good as it looked. It was hard not to feel the love and respect for food and meals that permeated French culture.

As a young adult, I began working in restaurants, starting in the front of the house and moving back to the kitchen, where the creative action took place. Grilled local swordfish, fettuccine with fragrant bright green pesto, shucked Island littleneck clams with a bright lemon wedge, seared sea scallops with

caramel brown edges, and watercress piled high with lemon and olive oil were a kaleidoscope of colors, aromas, and tastes. The American Culinary Revolution started when I started working in kitchens in the early 1980s. Alice Waters, chef, owner, and founder of Chez Panisse in Berkley, Calif., which opened in 1971, is often credited with creating the slow burn that led to a food movement with cuisine that focused on fresh, seasonal local ingredients. Jeremiah Tower, an alum from Chez Panisse, spread his wings throughout California, and the movement moved East.

I ate at Chez Panisse several times, the first in 1986. I remember how unique the restaurant looked, warm and welcoming. I had a rocket (arugula) salad with warmed goat cheese on top. Believe it or not, that was the first time I had ever seen rocket — or arugula, as it is called in Europe. The plates were gorgeous and unfussy but intentional. The food was bright and tempting. I wanted to eat it all.

My footing in food became more solid; I knew then that food was an art, and it was for me. It was an art that made people instantly happy, and as a young person navigating uncertainty, this art felt good.

After opening and running the Roadhouse when I was just 24, I went to culinary school in Burgundy, France, to take my skills further. Like my first trip to France 10 years before, it expanded my art even more. This experience gave me structure and discipline, and also convinced me more than ever that eating locally and seasonally was essential in being present, supporting your community, and eating food that is in season. This does not mean being a purist, which is a luxury in food and not inclusive. For me, it means always being aware of where, how, and who sourced the food I was eating. Also, a basic fact is that the fresher the food is, the less handling and travel food has been subjected to, the more vibrant and beautiful it is. Like freshly cut flowers, these foods fade in days.

During Covid, many obsessed over sourdough starter and baking bread or got a rescue dog for fun. For me, I became highly competitive with my art. I would gear up to go Cronig’s, double masked, gloves, and a scarf to shop, usually with one ingredient in mind to build my dinner around. Duck legs! Yes, I will create a feast with slow-cooked duck legs. I would spend focused time prepping and cooking the meal, finally presenting my dish to my family, “Ta-da, fifty-eight dollars for that plate.” With nothing but time and not a huge amount to look forward to, this creative outlet, my art, pacified me and made me and my family happy.

Today, I still create art almost daily, though in the crush of summer I admit that I eat out more with friends or at restaurants or indulge in takeout. I still obsess daily about food. I am not sure there are many forms of art that bring people together, nourish, create happiness, and bond us together more than food. So is food an art? You bet your white clam sauce it is!

According to Ralph Groce III, when he told his wife and business partner, Val Francis, that he wanted to call their brand Knowhere Art, she gave him a look that is seared on his brain forever. “He didn't spell it for me,” Francis explained and laughed. “So basically I'm thinking about the word no and no is not very inviting, not very welcoming.”

But the Know in Knowhere is, like everything else this couple does, intentional around knowledge. In fact, the brand was conceived from their shared belief that knowledge equals enlightenment. With Groce as the brand’s Global Head of Enlightenment and Francis as the Global Head of Knowledge, the two set about bringing their mission to fruition through the opening of two Oak Bluffs art galleries: Knowhere Art Gallery, which opened in 2019, and the Center of Knowhere, which opened in 2020.

Like knowledge, the concept of enlightenment is also firmly rooted in the mission of the brand. According to Groce, “We are using this platform to inform people, to educate people, to invite people into a space where we challenge conventions and offer them the opportunity to see the world and themselves, their values, intentions, and desires, through art. And then walk away from that experience somehow changed and hopefully enlightened.”

While Francis has been the face of the galleries since their opening, Groce is as intrinsically

involved. “The birth of Knowhere really does stem more from Ralph's vision and impetus and he continues to be a guiding force in the platform,” said Francis. “We together, as a pair, vibe off of each other and that helps shape the directions that we're taking today.”

It was their pairing that convinced Groce that opening the galleries and creating the platform was a direction the couple should take. About 20 years ago when Groce tried to start his first business, he was unable to get it off the ground. “There is $82 trillion per year doled out by venture capitalists,” explained Groce, “and less than 1 percent of that goes to businesses founded by women and people of color.” However, he said that though his business suffered catastrophically from this very thing, he would do it again. “If I had the chance to do that over again, ten times out of ten, I would do it, because it was such a valuable experience in terms of shaping my outlook. And one of the things that I walked away from that with, was that I wanted to start something that someone could help me with, as opposed to being a kind of lone wolf, if you will. Valerie's background in art was perfect.”

Even though Groce’s background is in tech and Francis had never run a gallery, art has always been something at the center of their lives. “We now have spent 20-some-odd years collecting art. I love to write and I’m a huge music aficionado, and I've seen how those things can help people see the world differently and challenge

The road to

enlightenment starts at Knowhere

At Knowhere Art, founders Ralph Groce, III and Valerie Francis are trying to do much more than sell art. They are trying to save the world.

By Mathea Morais

ROBYN TWOMEY

Ralph Groce III and Valerie Francis at Center of Knowhere.

conventions and bring people together.”

Again intention has been critical to the success of the Knowhere brand. “Steve Jobs says one of the important things about running a business is to be very clear, not only about the things that you do, but the things that you don't do and won't do. And that is equally, if not more, important than the things that you do,” said Groce. So while there have been many exciting opportunities for the galleries, the couple always makes sure that every opportunity, interesting and exciting or not, aligns with their core values and core mission.

One opportunity that exemplifies the core values and mission of Knowhere is their partnership with the Boston-based Artists for Humanity. This non-profit works “to bridge economic, racial, and social divisions by providing under-resourced urban youth with the keys to self-sufficiency through paid employment in art and design.” According to Francis, “We hired them to design our logo as one step in the direction of trying to get to know them. And when we did that, we decided that our first exhibition in July of 2019 would be focused on Artists for Humanity.”

After discovering the organization, Francis and Groce decided to work with AFH to create the look of their brand. According to Groce, “One of the beautiful things about that organization is that it doesn't matter if the students have any artistic background or any artistic ambitions. There's something for them to do. And in doing something, they discover something about themselves, about the world around them, about their own self-worth and value and where and how they can contribute.” Groce has now hired AFH to create the cover for his forthcoming book “We Have Nothing to Lose: A Dark Optimist’s Call to Action” — a title inspired by a sermon he heard Rev. Otis Moss III deliver at Union Chapel in 2021. Since Knowhere’s first opening in 2019, the two galleries have gone on to host exhibitions every summer that amplify enlightening narratives and elevate both emerging and mid-career artists. In 2021, the gallery took its mission and artists off the Island to Art Basel Miami Beach and the SCOPE International and Contemporary

Art Show with new works by LeRone Wilson and Charly Palmer. Knowhere Art has shown consecutively at Scope since then.

Both Groce and Francis see the Island as an incredible place to showcase art, since there are few places in the world where you have an audience from such a broad range of places. However, this year Knowhere went international as part of the prestigious bi-annual Venice Art Biennial. The 60th bi-annual exhibition was titled Stranieri Ovunque — Foreigners Everywhere and Knowhere Art was invited to participate in the European Cultural Centre’s “Personal Structures Exhibition” that “draws attention to current issues, from a global vision focused on the environment and social realities, compared to more intimate and genuine reflections.”

The Knowhere Art exhibit, “A Common Thread That Binds Us,” is not just the title of the exhibition that Knowhere Art held, it also encompasses the mission of the Knowhere brand. For their exhibition, Knowhere included four African American women artists, Alison Croney Moses, Maria-Lana Queen, Adana Tillman, and D. Lammie Hanson whose work shows us our shared connections through the cycle of life: creation, existence, and transition.

“We together, as a pair, vibe off of each other and that helps shape the directions that we're taking today.” —Val Francis

Moses’s wooden sculptural shells reflect creation and convey the essence of how identity is shaped as life emerges. Queen’s paintings build on this exploration of identity as we explore individuality and reflect on our lineage and ancestors through her use of mosaics and symbols. Tillman continues to investigate the passion of existence through her dynamic quilted panel of hand-dyed fabric and embroidered elements that depict the richness of human characteristics. Finally, Hanson’s work brings us to transition with a methodically created piece of goldpoint that serves as the artist's reinterpretation of metalpoint inspired by Da Vinci's technique. The piece also includes indigo to symbolize evolution and asks us to reflect on the beauty of impermanence.

Francis and the artists traveled to Venice in April and Francis’s excitement is still palpable, especially when she discusses the artists who will be on Island for Knowhere’s “Venice on the Vineyard” show. “Adana Tillman and

Installation photo of the artwork hanging in Venice during the Venice biennale.

2 TESSA ALEXANDER

MATTEO LOSURDO

BRYAN COLLIER

3

4 MARIA-LANA QUEEN

Maria-Lana Queen are artists that we've shown on the Vineyard before,” said Francis, “And D. Lammie Hanson’s work was priceless for the conclusion of the life cycle. And Alison Croney Moses is out of Boston. She's a RISD grad who came as a referral. Alison's work is amazing. She actually creates shells out of wood that's laminated and pieced together. And she allows the natural curves of the shell as well as the forming of the wood to just organically kind of take shape.”

When Groce and Francis embarked on this journey, the fact that Francis’s background was not in curating was never seen as an obstacle. In fact, they saw it as an opportunity to practice another one of their shared beliefs: FITFO – which stands for Figure It The F*#k Out. Groce

1. "Angels with Names"

2. Sea Change, "Divinity Figure, Untitled, 2024."

3. Installation photo of the artwork hanging in Venice during the Venice biennale.

4. Sea Change, "Crossing," 2024.

credits FITFO for the success of everything he and the brand have done. “I remember saying to Val at our first exhibition in 2019 when she was fretting about curating because she’d never curated. I said: ‘FITFO.’ And if you've seen the show in Venice she curated, that is just exactly what she did. To see it in person is jaw-dropping, heart-stopping. It's unbelievable. And to then witness the reaction of others who walk into the space and are completely taken aback by what they see and the impact it has on them, that's FITFO. She has a black belt in FITFO now.”

The success of this partnership is not just built on FITFO. “At the end of the day, respect is always at the center,” said Francis. “It helps us figure it out together. And even if we don't necessarily agree with each other's side, trust and respect allows us to go with the other person's point of view. We know that every argument isn't to be won. Sometimes you just trust and go with it.”

“Trust is a super important thing for me,” Groce echoed. “I trust her judgment. I trust and respect her decisions. She may not do it the way I do it, or the way I would have done it, but that's the power of diversity. I don't want a bunch of little mes running around doing things the exact same way I would have done it. That works up to a point, but it's never going to take you to that super next level. Knowhere, for instance; Val probably wouldn't have come up with that, but I did and she trusted me. In Venice, you saw the very embodiment of exactly what the vision and mission state. And so she trusted me with the vision and mission, and I trust her with the execution.”

It makes sense that Francis and Groce want that trust and respect to be felt by all who come in contact with Knowhere Art. “It’s the same experience that we want our guests who come into the gallery to feel. They are greeted with warmth, respect, and the space to feel comfortable and ask any questions. There is a welcoming and hopefully a trusted feeling to the space. The art world isn't necessarily known for that, but we try very hard to hold on to the principles that have gotten us so far. They are who we are as people.”

DR. IMO NSE IMEH

In memory of Jacqueline Baer

By Gretchen Baer

Jacqueline (Jackie) Baer died on Nov. 25, 2023, at the age of 90. Jackie was an artist who worked in many mediums and the matriarch of an extraordinary Vineyard family of artists and teachers. During the last years of her life, Jackie created dozens of sculptures by applying a tapestry of beads onto mannequins. At her memorial in April, Jackie’s daughter, Gretchen Baer, told the following story about her mother. Gretchen has given MV A&I permission to reprint her eulogy.

''Ithink I’ll name it ‘The Night Bird Calls,’” my mother announced as I wandered into her beading studio. I’m intrigued. She rarely, if ever, titles her work.

“Have you heard it? The night bird?” she asks.

Her focus is on finding the perfect placement of the final beads of her creation. It’s a different shape than her usual beaded mannequins; it's a huge, pod-shaped vase, about four feet tall.

“The night bird calls right outside my window around this time of night. I can hear him right now. Can’t you?” She points toward the open window. The red August sky is glowing through the trees. “I don’t hear it, Mom, but I love the name! I’ll go outside and give a listen.”

I step out the back door and walk down our wooded driveway. I’m curious, I want to hear the night bird, but I hear nothing unusual.

I return to her studio with a broom and the news that I can’t hear her bird. I sweep up the beads that she continuously drops while she works. I sweep a couple times a day to lessen the amount that sticks to her bare feet.

Her studio is like being inside a jewel box. There are bags of beads from floor to ceiling. Beads flow from every surface. It’s organized chaos. Bedazzled mannequins lounge around in magnificent attire.

My mother has always excelled at every artform she choses — ceramics, photography, drawing, painting, jewelry making, and lots more. But her opus is her beaded mannequins. She started around five years ago when my dad got sick. Between the ages of 85 and 90 years old, she created more than 75 hand-beaded mannequins and large beaded creations.

“The Night Bird Calls” was one of the last three pieces she made last summer, the final summer of her life. And oh, what

final night in our village. We all watched the Lawrence Welk Christmas Special, then she said “I’m ready now,” and she went to bed, never to awaken.

The night she died, our house suddenly felt so lonely and empty — so I did what I’ve been taught by my parents to do, to make art. I went out to the Cleopatra lounge and painted. I wanted to find my mother, to know where she went. I discovered her here in the creative flame. A tiny fire that we hold in our hands, that is passed on from

a fabulous summer it was! We made art, we went to the Dumptique constantly, we went to the beach and sat with our feet in the ocean. But September came and I had to go back to Arizona. I promised her that I would come home in November to turn the house into a Christmas village, with all the Christmas things she’s collected over the years. I came back a couple weeks early when I got the call she wasn’t doing well. With the help of my brother Justin, we built my mom a Christmas village. For three days we lived in Christmasland, then we had a real Thanksgiving, then we returned for a

my mother and my father, to me, to you, and to everyone they inspired with art. It lives on through us, with the hope that it will bring light and joy to future generations.

The night my mother died, I painted deep into the night. And in the wee hours, something said to me — go outside now — there is something there for you. I went out into the cold, still, moonlit night and I heard it.

It was in the tree right next to her studio window, just like she said. It was the night bird, and it was singing the most beautiful song.

Jackie Baer at work on the Night Bird.

GRETCHEN BAER

Kamilah Forbes

"I have been able to visit the Vineyard on several occasions, each time has been magical, a celebration of family and love. Timeless. Those are the words I think about when I think of this magical place.”

Kamilah Forbes is an award-winning director and producer for theater and television. She currently serves as the executive producer at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. She is committed to the development of creative works by, for, and about the hiphop generation.

Portrait by Robyn Twomey

Try as I might, I just can’t seem to write a Munro-esque story. Alice and me

By Nancy Slonim Aronie

Ihave been trying to write short stories. Fiction. Forever. With no luck.

Every time I read a short story by one of my all-time favorite authors, Alice Munro, they seem so simple, so seemingly doable, that I immediately sit down and start to write my own Alice Munro-ish short story. That’s what a muse is for, right? I must have about forty-seven Alice Munro-like beginnings.

Munro, who died in May at the age of 92, wrote about ordinary people from small towns in rural Canada. It’s true, I don't have a big relationship with Canadian small towns or rural Canada. But I live in Chilmark. I know small towns and I know rural. How hard could this be? I know how a town can get divided over pickleball and tennis, and can come together over fighting racism. Munro wrote about the complexities

of human relationships and the passage of time. At the age of 83, I also know about the complexities of human relationships and the passage of time.

So what's my problem? Why can't I just write my own version while copying that delicious style she has? (That was a rhetorical question.)

I start and nothing goes anywhere. So I give up. I think, obviously, I don't have that

Nancy relaxing at home in Chilmark.

talent. But today I happened to be reading Raymond Carver’s essay “On Writing.” Carver says that it isn't talent that distinguishes one writer from another. Hmm. Well, if it's not talent that differentiates me from the big boys (or the great Alice Munro, in this case) what is it?

Reading Carver’s essay reminded me that it's your unique and exact way of looking and then expressing that way of looking. It’s the writers’ particular and unmistakable signature on everything he writes that makes him (I’m sure he meant her too) special.

In 1981, an editor who was interested in publishing a story of mine invited me to meet him at a restaurant. After our introductions he took out what he called my “manuscript.” No one had ever called anything I wrote a manuscript, so I already loved him.

He proceeded to take out a pen and circled the top third of the page. “This,” he said, as he poked his pen into my tender paper, “is shit!”

not you trying to impress me with how smart you are.”

He was the first authority (other than great English teachers I had) who gave me permission to sound like myself. That I was enough.

Eventually and miraculously I got a column in the Hartford Courant, my local paper, and in 1987 I wrote a piece about getting an AIDS test. No middle class lilywhite straight woman in suburbia was having, or at least admitting, they had taken an AIDS test. It was still stigmatized and those who were sick were ostracized. The testing place was in a rundown building in a dangerous neighborhood.

In my piece I had made it clear that I

honest, then they're not really friends.”

But I had to consider my mother’s concern. Which I realized really wasn’t about my kids but about her and what her pals would think. Boy, Henny’s daughter has really gotten off the rails this time.

So I called the editor and told him he couldn't use it, but that he could use a pen name, which I reluctantly settled on, but then got excited about.

And this is what he said: “They won’t need your name. They’ll recognize your voice.”

The biggest compliment ever!

So there it is. That it’s not about talent. We all have talent. We just have to trust how we sound and what we think is worth sharing. That our take on life might be interesting, and maybe even enlightening for some.

The brilliant boy took the phone and my hero said, “If my friends can't play with me anymore because my mother was honest, then, they're not really friends.”

I swear, that’s what he said. Remember, I had never met the guy and he’s the one who called me. And then he circled the bottom third of the paper and said, “This? This is garbage!”

Well, now you can imagine what’s going on in my little head and big (about-tobreak) heart.

And then he did this huge circle of the entire center of the piece and he said, “This? This is gold. This!” pointing the pen over and over until it made a hole in the paper, “This,” he repeated, “is your voice.” He said, as he poked the pen into the top third again. “Here you are quoting Shakespeare. Everyone quotes Shakespeare. I don't need that.” And then he dropped to the bottom of the page and he said, “And here you are quoting Woody Allen. I love Woody Allen but everyone quotes Woody Allen. I don't need that.”

I said, using my tiniest vocal chords because at this point I didn't know if I existed anymore, “What’s my voice?”

He said, “It’s authentic. It’s one-of-akind. I believe this person. She is real. It’s

wasn't worried because of a blood transfusion. I hadn't come right out and said I had been having — how did we used to say it — little indiscretions. But it was obvious if you were actually reading, there it was, on the page. My confession. Before submitting it, I had read it to my mom and my husband and my kids for their okays. And everyone gave me the green light.

I sent it in to my editor and a few days later he said he loved it, it was courageous and risk-taking and important and he was putting it in the next Sunday's paper.

And then my mother called. “You can't publish that story,” she said in her serious voice. “Why Mom?” I asked. “Because,” she said, “the kids’ friends won’t be able to play with them once their parents see that article.”

I turned to 11-year-old Dan and said, “Gram is concerned that once the AIDS piece goes into the paper, your friends won't be allowed to play with you anymore.” The brilliant boy took the phone and my hero said, “If my friends can't play with me anymore because my mother was

So maybe my characters in my Alice Munro imitations are not authentic. Maybe I've been trying to make them smart and impress the reader with how much they (I) know. Maybe they haven’t sounded like real people.

Is it possible that this could be a metaphor for our actual relationships? Call the shrink. I think we're onto something.

Who knows? Maybe Alice’s next story will sound a bit like me.

P.S. When I wrote this piece back in May and read it to my writer’s group, instead of the praise I was expecting — because they know I need praise before any criticisms — they said, “Did you know Alice Munro died three hours ago?”

No. I did not know.

Sad to have read more recently something about Alice that tarnishes or affects everything, but I have to learn to separate the talent from the person.

Now Alice, please move over.

Nancy Slonim Aronie is the author of “Writing from the Heart” (Hyperion) and “Memoir as Medicine” (New World Library) and the upcoming “The 7 Steps to Writing the Perfect Personal Essay: Crafting the Story only You Can Write” (New World Library). She will be speaking at Islanders Write in August.

Galleries and studios

We describe some of our favorites in three words, plus a few more. By Maddy Alley

AQUINNAH

Seaweed Art Gallery

Sea you later.

Corinna Majno-Kaufman’s Seaweed Art Gallery will close on July 15 for the 2024 season. seaweedartist.com

CHILMARK

Creekville Art & Antiques

Vintage Vineyard views. Creekville Art and Antiques will not be open in Menemsha this summer, but they will be showing at the Chilmark Flea Market on Wednesdays. Suzie Pacheco will be selling her art, as well as vintage Vineyard maps, period pieces of Vineyard scenes, and work by other local artists. suziepachecoart.com/ creekville-art-and-antiques

Kara Taylor Gallery

Expect the unexpected. The Kara Taylor Gallery, featuring gold leaf paintings, mixedmedia work, and sculptures, located in a Chilmark field backdropped by the Grey Barn’s cows, is a place to pause and spend a moment away from the bustle down Island. Artist Kara Taylor is doing just that this summer, showing a new body of work in her “A Moment in Time” show. karataylorart.com

Ruel Gallery

Serene, welcoming, fun. Five years ago, Colin Ruel opened the Ruel Gallery in his family’s old Menemsha garage, originally built by his great-grandfather. Now the gallery showcases Colin’s paintings and Nettie Kent’s jewelry, as well as hosting pop-up events for other

makers and musicians. The gallery aims to be a supportive space for the community through various summer events including a fundraiser for the Chilmark Preschool. ruelgallery.com

EDGARTOWN

The Cristina Gallery

Nautical, unique, enchanting. The Cristina Gallery will be open all summer showing paintings of marine scenes, landscapes, street views, and still lifes, as well as their collection of antique maps and nautical charts. christina.com

The Edgartown Art Gallery

For 52 years.

The Edgartown Art Gallery has been a permanent resident at the Charlotte Inn. Open to the public, the traditional art gallery showcases pastels, watercolors, and oil paintings from around the world. edgartownartgallery.com

Eisenhauer Gallery

Eclectic, contemporary, joyous. The Eisenhauer Gallery will be a delight to the eyes and ears this summer, with their contemporary art collection on display every day, and their Thursday evening Music in the Square sessions with local musicians. eisenhauergallery.com

North Water Gallery

New, fresh, beautiful. In three more words: North Summer Street. The North Water Gallery has moved! After 35 years, North Water is now open at 31 North Summer Street in Edgartown. This summer the gallery is excited to show off their new

location with upcoming artist receptions on July 26, August 10. northwatergallery.com

Old Sculpin Gallery

Authentic, historic, beautiful. The Martha’s Vineyard Art Association, located at the Old Sculpin Gallery, is honoring its 70th anniversary this summer, including the “From Carpentry to Artistry” exhibit, the annual catboat parade in July, and a post-parade Mad Martha’s ice cream social. The Old Sculpin Gallery will also be hosting art classes for children in July and August, and Ned Reade’s watercolor workshop in August. oldsculpingallery.org

Untamable Gallery

Fun, funny, fabulous.

The Untamable Gallery sells a collection of owner Lucy Dahl’s favorite things, from her photography on the walls to unique knick-knacks around the shop. untameablegallery.com

Winter Street Gallery

Collaborative, dynamic, idiosyncratic.

It is summer in the Winter Street Gallery, and there will be five shows, each with a public opening on their first day, to celebrate. Since 2020, Winter Street Gallery has been a space of contemporary, multigenerational, and multimedia artists, and aims to provoke interesting conversations. winterstreetgallery.com

OAK BLUFFS

Alison Shaw Gallery

Fine art photography. The Alison Shaw Gallery, located in the Oak Bluffs Art District, will

be open all summer exhibiting and selling Shaw’s photography, teaching workshops, and mingling during the Art District Strolls. alisonshaw.com

Cousen Rose Gallery

Local cultural cornerstone. The Cousen Rose Gallery is open for the season showing paintings, abaca, photography, and collages from artists around the world. cousenrose.com

Crossroads Gallery

Meeting, healing, arts. Michael Blanchard will be showing his photography, books, and calendars until October at Crossroads Gallery. Every year Michael sells an inspirational calendar to raise money for an Island charity, and he has raised $50,000 over the past eight years. This year the calendar will support the Red House Peer Recovery Support Center. blanchardphotomv.com

Featherstone Center for The Arts

Inspirational, inclusive, dynamic.

Featherstone Center for the Arts will host the guest-curated show “Sometimes My Blues Change Color” (July 28-Sept. 1) featuring prints by Delita Martin, curated by Galerie Myrtis. In addition to the Francine Kelly Gallery, Featherstone also hosts classes, workshops, demonstrations, talks, book readings, and special events. featherstoneart.org

Galaxy Gallery

Local Island artists.

The Galaxy Gallery is a nonprofit cooperative gallery that supports Island artists and charities by

giving locals a world of their own to show their work and raise money. This year, the gallery will host nine different shows, participate in three Art District Strolls, and fundraise for the Lagoon Pond Association and Habitat for Humanity Martha’s Vineyard. galaxygallerymv.org

Groovy Sue Gallery

Stimulating, inspiring, fun. The Groovy Sue Studio will be open this summer showing Suesan Stovall’s mixed-media artwork, including a new collection of angel sculptures.

Harry Seymour Studio

Painting, poetry, harmony. The Harry Seymour Studio will be open this summer by appointment only, and Harry Seymour’s art will be hanging at the Martha’s Vineyard Playhouse until August 10. hseymour.artspan.com/home

Knowhere Art Gallery

Four extraordinary exhibitions. Knowhere Art Gallery will be open all summer with special events through August, including artwork from four artists currently being featured at the Venice Biennale. knowhereart.com

Moore Studio

Andrew, Hannah, Gordon.

The Moore Family Gallery shows paintings and ceramics made by Andrew Moore, his daughter Hannah Moore, and son Gordon Moore. The gallery’s summer shows will kick off July 13, featuring new watercolor work from Hannah Moore. moorefamilygallery.com

Periwinkle Studio

Wonderful little studio. The Periwinkle Studio will be open during the Oak Bluffs Art District Strolls this summer, where you can find Judith Drew

Schubert’s paintings and textiles. judithdrewschubert.com

Washington Ledesma Studio

Colorful, intriguing, creative. The Was hington Ledesma Gallery will be open every Thursday from 4 to 6 pm for an open studio with refreshments and conversation, as well as for the upcoming show “Washington’s People” on August 9. The gallery is also open by appointment. washingtonledesmamv.com

Vineyard Haven

51ART Gallery

Unique, lively, ever-changing. 51Art Gallery’s red door will be open all summer to show Teresa Kruszewski’s black-and-white photography. 51Art Gallery is also the only custom picture framing studio on-Island, available by appointment. theshoppewiththereddoor.com

Althea Designs

Colorful, inspiring, joyful.

Althea Designs, showcasing Althea Freeman-Miller’s wood cutouts and block prints, as well as artist pop-ups, will be open for summer shopping, First Friday festivities, and weekly workshops. This year, Althea is holding printmaking, Creativi-Tea, and Mind Your Creative Business workshops. altheadesigns.com

Louisa Gould Gallery Maritime, contemporary, inclusive.

The Louisa Gould Gallery will be open this summer showcasing various artists and mediums, including oil paintings, sculpture, glass, jewelry, and furniture. louisagould.com

Michael Johnson

Photo Studio Serene, soulful, sublime.

Tucked away in a garden off Main Street in Vineyard Haven, this year the Michael Johnson Photo Gallery will be open for its 12th season. The gallery shows photos of Martha’s Vineyard and Vineyarders, including Michael’s iconic photo “Joy” of the Polar Bear swimming group at Inkwell Beach. michaeljimage.com

Jess Pisano

Inspired by nature. Jessica Pisano’s studio and gallery will be open all summer for visits by appointment. Jessica is a local artist, specializing in contemporary oil painting, who shows her work around the country, including in her own backyard. backyard. jessicapisano.com

WEST TISBURY

Ashley Medowski Gallery

Historic, enchanting, inspiring. Ashley Medowski will be having her 22nd annual art show, featuring nature paintings and driftwood birds this August at the Ashley Medowski Gallery, an 1869 fishing barn inherited from her great-grandfather Captain Normal Benson. ashleymedowskigallery.com

The Davis House Gallery

Historic, residential, quiet. In a few more words that may appeal to a hot Vineyard summer: air conditioned with ample parking. The Davis House Gallery will be open from 1 to 6 pm on Saturdays and Sundays throughout the summer, showing art by Allen Whiting and his maternal grandfather Percy Cowen. This year, the artwork will be changed throughout the summer making every weekend a new reason to visit. allenwhiting.com

Field Gallery

Dancing in fields.

The Field Gallery is a space for all ages, from their collaboration with Built-On-Stilts, which has children and teens dancing amongst Tom Maley’s iconic sculptures in the field, to their newest artist, 94-year-old Marie-Louise Rouff. This summer the Field Gallery will host five openings with 14 artists through July and August. fieldgallery.com

The

Granary Gallery

The red barn.

The Granary Gallery is hosting five shows with openings almost every other Friday night though July and August. granarygallery.com

Turpentine Gallery

Immersive, multimedia, enriching.

Turpentine Gallery will be hosting two shows this summer. In July, “Beyond the Wrack Line” will feature sculptures made from flotsam and jetsam. In August, “Island in the Sea” will feature immersive oil paintings of the views from a kayak. turpentinegallery.art

Vineyard Glassworks

Handmade glass studio. Vineyard Glassworks is open yearround, blowing and selling glass, as you may have guessed. Every summer, the glassworkers invite an artist to come to the Island, work with the team, then exhibit their art. This July, Claire Kelly, a New York glassworker, is joining the team for a week to showcase her art on July 27. For those less experienced in glasswork, the Hot Glass Sand Casting Experiences give families and individuals a hands-on opportunity to make their own sand molds, into which the Glassworks team will pour hot glass. mvglassworks.com

CELEBRATING 70

YEARS

OF ISLAND ARTISTRY

Motivated masterpieces

Continued from page 23

was preparing to paint, she lifted up a prayer of sorts, saying “Can you use me as a vessel and help me with this?”

“I don’t know how I got there, but I'll never let her go, she's mine,” Stephanie says, as she shows me the small-but-powerful oil painting. “I believe it wasn’t just me painting.” She still loves painting portraits, even if they are exacting in nature.

A lot of her work is the beautiful and delicate subject of flowers, some painted on gold leaf. Stephanie says flowers are very much about the divine , and she says her artist statement explains that she wants to provide a rest for your eyes, almost like a mandala — something peaceful. Danforth says nothing compares to oil painting, which, she says, “spreads like butter.”

Along with travel and painting, Stephanie is a strong proponent of lifelong learning. She wants to try sculpture soon.“I’ll always take classes until I pass from this earth,” she told me. Her first art class was in college.

Stephanie says that she can’t believe how relaxing it is to draw. “If you put something in front of you and start drawing every single day, you will get better,” she says. “If you say you can’t do it, you won’t. I have no training at all.” We’re our own worst critic, she says. “If you try it, you can do it and you’ll have joy from it, but it takes a while. My first painting was horrible but I just kept doing it.”

One of the reasons she enjoys traveling so much, Stephanie explained, is that art is more accessible in some other countries.

“I love anyone in art in any realm,” she says. “I was in Florence last fall and there were artists everywhere. I met painters who invited me into their studios. They were so welcoming and so present. We don’t have that in the U.S. I bought a leather bag there and I saw where she made it.”

She used to exhibit at Island galleries but is just now opening up that extra studio space on her property as a small gallery where guests are welcome to come and browse. Using her talent to support the Leo Project is the most important piece, Danforth says.

“That’s my main thing … and I just love art. I feel so blessed just to be an artist. Could there be a better profession to grow old with?”

To find out more about the Leo Project, visit theleoproject.org. To see more of Stephanie Danforth’s work, visit stephaniedanforth.com. To see her work at the studio, email her at danforth. stephanie@gmail.com.

Danforth recently opened up a gallery on her Chilmark property.

ROBYN

TWOMEY

WWhat is truth?

An ancient question shapes this moment in time.

By Charles M. Sennott

e are living through what has been called a “post-truth” era.

It was in the fall of 2016, the year Donald Trump was elected, that the Oxford Dictionary declared “post-truth” the word of the year, and offered an official definition: “Relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief.”

This idea of post-truth definitely did not begin with the election of Trump, and it won’t end with the wild finale of this election or even after all of the criminal and civil cases against him are resolved in the courts. We have seen the denial of facts around tobacco, climate change, vaccines, and evolution going back generations. When you add in the very human phenomenon of cognitive biases and how those biases are exploited through the algorithms of social media and then combine that with a decline in traditional journalism and the rise of ‘fake news’ and you find yourself in a perfect storm of modern history where truth is indeed battered by what feels like a Category 5 hurricane.

The post-truth era plays out in news headlines every day from as far away as Ukraine, where Putin’s lies fuel the war, and in Washington, where Trump’s spewing of falsehoods goes without factchecking or even questioning by the CNN moderators in the June 27 debate. Biden seems fatigued by this modern existential battle for truth, and was capable of mustering only an anemic response.

These days people throw their hands up in frustration and ask if truth even exists, or if truth is simply a matter of one’s opinion. So this summer and into the fall, as we watch the political battle lines take shape for a fateful presidential election in November, it is worth taking a long walk along the shoreline to reflect on this timeless fact: The history of trying to define ‘what is truth’ is as ancient as the Greek philosopher Aristotle and it is as enduring as the Bible. It has defined chapters of our history from the Enlightenment through to modern metaphysics.

Amid all the noise in our digital world, people seem as confused as ever about where to go to find trusted information in the form of discernible facts which provide the atomic structure of what we call truth. Too often, we resort to retreating to our own echo chambers, where we can read opinions that confirm our own biases. In the process, it feels like truth is undermined and then doubt is weaponized.

This systematic erosion of truth coincides with a crisis in journalism. Mainstream media is witnessing a deep erosion of trust and the decline in local news has accelerated to a point where an estimated 2.5 local newspapers are shutting down every week

in America. What fills the void in the collapse of real journalism seems toxic and dangerous. In communities where local news vanishes, known as news deserts, there is mounting data that establishes two consequences: voter apathy and increased polarization.

It seems the crisis in local journalism has much to do with the national crisis in our democracy. So the task of local journalism, to help us find common ground around accepted facts, is an enterprise that matters now more than ever.

In this issue of Arts & Ideas, we have gathered up some engaging local takes on how to understand truth. We hope you will enjoy them and that they may enlighten and inform:

• Is there no higher level of truth than how artist Tiffany Vanderhoop of Aquinnah brings the history of Native American tradition to her craft?

• There’s truth in the beauty of Gretchen Baer’s personal essay about the last days of her mother Jackie’s life and how she inspired Gretchen to look closer and pay attention to every small thing.

• Valerie Francis and Ralph Groce III tell us their truth in the story of how they founded Oak Bluffs' Knowhere Art Gallery and the Center of Knowhere, two venues that strive to share not only beauty but also to challenge conventions by looking at the world in new ways through art.

• Documentary filmmaker Dawn Porter of West Tisbury uncovers historical truth in telling the stories of John Lewis, Bobby Kennedy, Lady Bird Johnson, and most recently musician Luther Vandross through her films.

• And in the dialogue between author and thinker on the digital age John Battelle and the Grammy-nominated recording artist, producer, and filmmaker John Forté of Chilmark you can hear high-level thinking on the great possibilities of AI in the art of songwriting as an expression of truth.

So world-class truth tellers are all around us here on this Island, and we have an extraordinary opportunity to learn from them. The question is: Are we listening?

Charles M. Sennott is the publisher of The MV Times, the founder of The GroundTruth Project and a Visiting Scholar at Boston College’s Institute for Liberal Arts where for the last three years he has taught a course titled “Truth: A Short History.” At the opening panel for the MV Times’ “Islanders Write” on August 18 at 7:30 pm, Sennott will speak with documentary filmmaker Dawn Porter, founder of the Black Doctors Consortium, memoirist Dr. Ala Stanford, and tech media entrepreneur and author John Battelle on what it means to live in a ‘post-truth’ era.