THE ARTFUL MIND
PHACE ARTIST AND PERFORMER
BY BOBBY MILLER
HAPI
PHOTOGRAPH
MARCH 2025
the ARTFUL MIND
IN PRINT SINCE 1994
The wheels on the bus go round and round All through the town-o. Crank up that engine!
In Other Words Poetry by Elizabeth Cassidy 11
Hapi Phace Artist / Performer
Interview by Harryet Candee Cover by Bobby Miller 14
Jane Craker Visual Artist
Interview by Harryet Candee... 30
Richard Britell | FICTION
Something for Over the Couch PART 25 “Uncle Firp” 47
Mining My Life Diaries of Jane Gennaro Hip Story. Chapter One 48
Publisher Harryet Candee
Copy Editor Marguerite Bride
Contributing Photographers
Edward Acker Tasja Keetman Bobby Miller
Contributing Writers
Richard Britell Jane Gennaro
Third Eye Jeff Bynack
Distribution Ruby Aver
Advertising / Editorial inquiries and Subscriptions by mail: 413-645-4114
artfulmind@yahoo.com
Read the online version. Go to ISSUU.COM Type in -The Artful Mind
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Great Barrington, MA 01230 FYI—
JOANE CORNELL FINE JEWELRY
Collection of 18kt gold/silver hand forged cuffs. Adorned with diamonds, Aquamarine and Tourmaline stones.
ROYAL STACK
GHETTA HIRSCH
“Soundless” 24” x 30” Oil on canvas
MA
DEBORAH H. CARTER
Deborah H. Carter is a multi-media artist from Lenox, MA, who creates upcycled sustainable wearable art. Her couture pieces are constructed from post-consumer waste such as food packaging, wine corks, cardboard, books, wire, plastic, and other discarded items and thrifted wares. She manipulates the color, shape, and texture of her materials to compel us to question our assumptions of beauty and worth and ultimately reconsider our habits and attitudes about waste and consumerism.
A sewing enthusiast since the age of 8, Deborah first learned her craft by creating clothing with her mother and grandmothers. Her passion took hold as she began to design and sew apparel and accessories. After graduating with a degree in fashion design from Parsons School of Design in New York City, she worked as a women’s sportswear designer on Seventh Avenue.
Deborah’s art has been exhibited in galleries and art spaces around the US. She was one of 30 designers selected to showcase her work at the FS2020 Fashion Show annually at the University of Saint Andrews, Scotland. She has featured in the Spring 2023 What Women Create magazine.
Deborah H. Carter has been featured in The Artful Mind, Berkshire magazine, What Women Create magazine and was a finalist in the World of WearableArt competition in Wellington, New Zealand 2023.
Deborah H Carter413-441-3220, Clock Tower Artists
75 S. Church St., Studio 315, 3rd floor Pittsfield, Massachusetts
Instagram: @deborah_h_carter Debhcarter@yahoo.com
DRAFTING AND MECHANICAL DRAWING TOOL
I’m Leonardo Sideri: artist, interior industrial designer, inventor. I’m the creator and maker of ‘drawall.net’, a product devised in the 1980s. At the time, I was drawing, drafting my own design projects using a Mayline straight edge on a traditional horizontal drafting surface. There were times as a designer when I wanted to draw something full size, large format.
I don’t recall when the idea to adapt the Mayline concept to a wall application occurred but at the time, I had a project involving pulleys and belt drives, so I had an assortment of pulleys lying around my studio. The process involved assembling the odd parts to create this new drawing device: pulleys, sash cord, counterweights, a straight edge. Surprisingly, it worked quite well. Who knew 40 years later I would offer it to the art world.
Due to changing life circumstances, Drawall went into storage. Until one day, at age 75, I viewed a room size ‘Sol Lewitt’ pencil drawn installation at the DIA Museum. It was all I needed for inspiration lasting the next 11 years. I started drawing using what’s now known as Drawall and referring to myself as an artist. I’ve produced what I consider a small modest body of work based on my mystical X theme.
I’m offering Drawall to the ‘art world’ as a new tool to explore, to hopefully resurrect drafting and mechanical drawing to a new ‘art genre’. It’s not every day a new analogue tool is introduced to the art world.
Leonardo Siderileonardosideri.com
BRUCE PANOCK
I am a visual artist using photography as the platform to begin a journey of exploration. My journey began in earnest almost 14 years ago when I retired due to health issues and began devoting myself to the informal study of art, artists and particularly photography. Before retiring I had begun studying photography as a hobby. After my retirement, the effort took on a greater intensity.
My world had changed for reasons outside of my control and I looked for something different in my work. I wanted to do more than document what was around me. I wanted to create something that the viewers might join with me and experience. Due to my health issues, I found myself confined with my activities generally restricted. For the first time I began looking inward, to the world that I experienced, though not always through physical interaction. It is a world where I spend more time trying to understand what I previously took for granted and did not think about enough. The ideas ranged from pleasure and beauty to pain and loss; from isolation to abandonment; to walking past what is uncomfortable to see. During this period of isolation, I began thinking about what is isolation, how it can transition to abandonment and then into being forgotten. The simplest display of this idea is abandoned buildings. They were once beautiful, then allowed to run down and abandoned, soon to be forgotten. After a while they disappear. Either mankind knocks down these forgotten once beautiful structures, or remediates them, or Nature reclaims the space. Doesn’t mankind do the same with its own?
My work employs references to other photographers, painters, as well as sculptors. The brushwork of Chinese and Japanese artists is appealing for both its simplicity and beauty. Abstract art has its own ways of sharing ideas which are jarring and beautiful at the same time. Black and white and color works each add their own dynamic. My work is influenced by these art forms, often using many of them in a single composited image.
Bruce PanockPanockphotography.com bruce@panockphotography.com Instagram @brucepanock
TREE AND SHRUBS
PHOTO: KORENMAN COM MODELS: EDEN HOOD AND JORDAN ALIYAH REPRESENTED BY THE WIT GALLERY CLOCK TOWER ARTISTS, PITTSFIELD,
43” X 57” FRAMED / PENCIL ON PAPER DRAWING SAMPLE USING DRAWALL
36” X 36” FRAMED / SPRAY PAINT & PENCIL / PASTEL
BRUCE LAIRD
Clock Tower Artists
Business Center Studio #307
75 South Church Street, Pittsfield, MA Instagram- ecurbart
Berkshire Boogie Woogie Too Acrylic on Arches watercolor paper 22 inches w x 30 inches h
RICHARD TALBERT
In 1985, after receiving the Michael Karolyi Foundation Fellowship with a stipend for One Year in Vence, France. I had the opportunity to live and work as a full time professional artist. I also showcased my artwork in the Cote d’Azur and the historic villages of Saint-Paulde-Vence and Vence, France. The village's breathtaking beauty and rich cultural heritage have long been a source of inspiration for me. My solo exhibition at the Hotel Le Maison in Vence was a highlight of my career, with its stunning setting and warm reception by the local community. I'm also deeply humbled to have paid homage to the iconic Chapelle du Rosaire de Vence, often referred to as the Matisse Chapel, a masterpiece of modern art that continues to inspire generations of artists. Reflecting on my journey as an artist, I'm grateful for the experiences and encounters that have shaped my vision and fueled my creativity.
Email: Richtalbert1@gmail.com
My Lenox Studio is open by appointment. 413.347.3888
richtalbert1@gmail.com | website: richardtalbertdesign.com
Richard Talbert c, Self Portrait - Beijing China, 1985 Oil on Linen, Museum Michael Karoli Foundation, Vence, France.
Richard Talbert c, Buddhist Temples in China, 1985 Oil on Linen, Private Collection
MARY ANN YARMOSKY
maryannyarmosky.com | maryannyarmoskyart.shop
“What If?”
A Poem by elizabeth cassidy
What if it was all a nightmare
And we woke up feeling light of heart and hopeful. And not wrapped up in their hate and hate and ignorance. Ignorance is just another word for fear.
Why do we frighten you?
What if I have to tell you that They may come after you for just being you.
It does my heart no good
To know that you are not here anymore
But I can handle it for both of us.
So, you can go for that walk by the shore
And dip your soul into the sun’s rays.
It is just like how I envisioned it.
You are safe.
What if we wake up and throw
The blankets of apathy off our bodies
And we dance barefooted knowing that we can Put evil on notice.
What if the weeks or months or years I have left become the best times.
Because sitting on the sidelines is not an option. We can hold hands and fly above the fires
And land on a new adventure
Where love is what’s for dinner.
What if we make our shadows long and strong And surrender to the notion that all we are saying Is that we come from a place of peace.
You should try it sometime.
What if we do this together. Go ahead. You can lead.
I will follow behind you.
I got a pocket full of rose petals that I would like to place on your shoulders
So, I can lighten your load.
Sally Tiska Rice Circle of Serenity, Watercolor
www.janetcooperdesigns.com
“Back to the Future” 1976—2024
510 WARREN STREET GALLERY, Hudson NY now offering Vintage Delevingne silver prints for these times
https://www.instagram.com/Lioneldelevingne http://www.lioneldelevingne.com/ http://www.510WarrenStreetGallery.com
Ruby Aver
rdaver2@gmail.com | Instagram: rdaver2. Housatonic Studio open by appointment: 413-854-7007
Wall Tapestry
Valencia Acrylic on canvas 24”x 24”
LESLEE CARSEWELL - ARTIST
A place filled with intrigue. Intense history and subtle color.
Deep in the French countryside, an abandoned manor house. Magical stories and mysterious events.
From My Series: From Another Time
As seen in the New York Times
Hapi Phace
ARTIST | PERFORMER
“As Voltaire states in Candide, ‘One must cultivate one’s own garden.’ Some people’s gardens are purposely cultivated, manicured, and tidy, attracting accolades and envy. Mine, unkempt and weedy, attracts bees who make honey.” —Hapi Phace
Harryet Candee: I recently came across a fascinating video from 1987 of you strolling through the streets of New York City on your way to the opera. Watching it felt as if I were walking alongside you, observing you in your element— youthful, confident, and exuding a certain carefree elegance, almost princely. How would you describe life during that time? What captured your interest, and what fueled your excitement back then?
Hapi Phace: It’s funny—I knew, on some level, that video would come to define me to people from the future, those I might never meet. But first, it was me defining myself to myself, while simultaneously shaping how others would discover me long after I was gone. And yet, here I am, 30 or 40 years later, still here, grateful for the chance to continue fine-tuning that self-definition, both personally and publicly.
Life back then? Hmm. It was another century, a different time, and a different age—for New York, for this country, for society, and for me. It’s difficult to recall the early steps of one’s journey when nearing its end. Rather than attempt a single encapsulation, I’ll try to offer glimpses of my life, my interests, and what excited me then, as those memories aren’t immediately top of mind in response to your questions.
From what I’ve seen of you and from our conversations, almost everything you do seems connected to things that keep you young. Your creative pursuits are age-defying—playful and imaginative. Are you aware of that? We’ve discussed how the process in art-making is often more important than the final product. How do you consider this idea in relation to your own work?
It’s a wonderful feeling to know that you’ve recognized, in me, a sense of age-defiance. Haha, I love that—especially now that I’m closer to 70 than 60 and starting to experience some of the bodily decomposition that comes with the never-ending life cycle. In fact, I just took an exercise course designed to help seniors stay physically limber. Keeping my mind limber has been easier, though. As a child of eight or nine, when adults began warning me that I needed to start acting like a grown-up, I promised myself I’d never forget what it felt like to wholeheartedly believe in the imaginary. That became my guilty secret—no matter what outer guise I might need to wear as an adult, I would always privately maintain my powers of imagination. It’s in that space, where everything is possible despite practical impossibilities, where imagination reigns, that I go to create, to make art, to dream up shows. It hasn’t necessarily proven to be the most
Interview by Harryet Candee
Photography by Bobby Miller and courtesy of the artist
Photo: Bobby Miller
efficient or profitable way of making art or performance, but it’s what works for me, Hapi Phace. You know I’m not an expert at anything except being me, and I can honestly say no one else could do being me as well as I do. Of course, that applies to everyone, but I’ve noticed that most unhappy people try to be someone other than themselves.
I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing several of your close friends, including Jorge Clar and Scooter LaForge. Bobby Miller, who initially connected us, brought us all together through his portrait photography. He captured images of each of you at different times and locations, revealing the vibrant, artistic lives you lead. I’m forever grateful to him for introducing us. I’m particularly interested in hearing the story of how you all met one another.
I’ve known Bobby Miller the longest of them all, dating back to the early days of the Pyramid club in NYC and some theater work I did at La MaMa. He did hair and makeup for performers and was always willing to help anyone with their wig or makeup touch-ups. He was always joyful, fun, and a bit dishy, too—haha, he knows all the gossip. He’s still the same.
Oddly, or perhaps not, I also know him from having gone to see a psychic-spiritual channel named Hilda Charlton. An artist friend I loved and deeply admired, Brian Damage, brought me to one of Hilda’s gatherings at Saint John the Divine in NYC. I’d often confided my early childhood psychic and
out-of-body experiences to Brian, unsure of what he thought about them. On that occasion, I found out exactly what he thought. The cathedral was filled with people who had had similar experiences and who had gathered to hear Hilda speak about our connection to the spirit world and, by extension, our interconnectedness. Her assistant and mentee on the dais that day was Bobby Miller. So, for me, our connection has an added mystical dimension. I met Scooter LaForge through a mutual friend, Keith Schaffer, who lived in my building. I think Scooter was still in art school, and Keith showed me some photos of Scooter’s paintings. There was one in particular with Snow White and bluebirds in it. It was so magical and mythical that I fell in love with it. I expressed an interest in buying it when Keith introduced me to Scooter. I don’t know if he didn’t believe me, if it wasn’t for sale, or if he just thought I was nuts, but either way, Scooter and his paintings impressed me greatly. Years later, I became reacquainted with and got to know Scooter through Jorge Clar. I had seen Scooter a few times with Jorge and some of our other mutual friends, but Scooter seemed a bit reticent towards me. It wasn’t until I reminded him of our mutual friendship with Keith and we shared memories of him that something sparked—a sort of intimacy, I suppose, that comes out of shared loss. But as tricksters, we turn and reverse the world, ourselves. But one of or magic tricks is turning grief into joy, and one of the joys we share is Jorge Clar.
How’s that for a segue? Hahaha… Remember those personal vehicles called Segways™? And the guy who accidentally rolled off a cliff? Wow! I just bunged up my segue and am riding this interview over the proverbial cliff! Okay, okay, back to Jorge. I initially became aware of Jorge from his online persona. Now, when we first met—well, that’s like Roman origin mythology; I have more than one version. It can’t be helped. You know when you meet someone and you feel like you’ve always known them? And you even think you’ve probably known them in another life, if you’re a reincarnationalist like I am? But my favored version of our meeting was in Provincetown during a typhoon that had stalled out to sea, causing a lethally thick fog. It was like those scenes in The Iliad when Athena comes down under an aegis of fog to manipulate events and decide fates.
We were both in a themed art exhibit curated by artist Rafael Sánchez at AMP Gallery. I had a number of papier-mâché pieces in the show, primarily a large amount of papier-mâché rocks and stones. Jorge and his good friend, the artist Dietmar Busse, whose work was also in the exhibit, were coming up from NYC for the opening, where Jorge was scheduled to do a poetry reading.
The train from NYC to Boston takes four or five hours. Then there’s a hydrofoil ferry from Boston to Provincetown, which takes about an hour. But with the weather, there were no ferries. So Plan B was to take the bus to Hyannis, and then a bus
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Hapi Phace in a still from a video by Nelson Sullivan. Astor Place, NYC, 1987.
through many small towns, with the last stop being Provincetown at the tip of the Cape. It’s a torturously long trip in the best of weather, but this was pea-soup fog, so it took forever. It seemed like they were going to miss the opening, but with only about five minutes left, they materialized from the fog. Now, had that been me, arriving after a trip that was supposed to take five or six hours but ended up taking 18 or 19, with no time to prepare before going on? I’d be a frantic, discombobulated hot mess on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But Debbie Nadolney, the gallerist, asked Jorge if he was willing to go on, and he calmly replied, “I just need a minute or two to change ponchos.” Which he did, with calm and purpose.
I had no idea what to expect, but when I hear the words “poetry reading,” I shudder a bit. They can be excruciating. Without much ado, Jorge was introduced. He took a sketchbook with his line drawings, and after invoking the gods, he began to deliver a short and eloquent tone poem in harmony with the drawings and all the forces inhabiting that moment in time. I turned to the friend who had accompanied me and helped me hang my work, Tony Stinkmetal, and said, “I want him to be in my Karload of Klowns.” You see, I was still developing it and casting for Karload. His calm centeredness was a great foil for my more kinetic and all-over-theplace zaniness.
Did you know the word “zany” comes from the Italian name “Zanni,” a stock Commedia dell’Arte character—namely, the trickster or jester. From that point on, Jorge and I began a chain of synchronistic
creative explorations and projects.
I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the next day, I sat for the portraits by Bobby Miller that you are using with this interview. Synchronicity upon synchronicity.
What do you all share in common, and what sets you apart from one another?
Well, that’s a good question, but I’m not sure I have a definite answer. Some of the things we share in common, as well as the things that make us different, come from our intimate friendships and shared experiences, which are private. I’m always discovering what we have in common and where we differ, and those things can—and do—change. None of us are carved out of stone. We are all constantly creating, developing, succeeding, and failing as artists and as people. So, in saying that, I’ve sort of answered the first part of the question about our commonality, haven’t I? But then, as I imagine, if you asked any of them the same question, their opinion could very well differ from mine. Oops! I did it again, answering the second part of the question about differences, without fully addressing it… Like I said, Harryet, it’s a good question—so much so that I’ll be asking myself this for days and toiling over a better answer. More than a question, it’s a koan! A riddle!
A koan! Okay, let’s take a step back in time— what was your childhood like, Hapi? I remember being terrified of turning 18 and being drafted. I spent a large portion of my childhood try-
ing to imagine myself becoming an inanimate object, particularly a chair, of all things. I did not want to go to war. It was an all-pervading, looming reality for male teens. It’s wonderful that kids no longer grow up with that possibility in their future. I hope it stays like that, but I’m losing faith in that, I am sad to say. But, going back to then, it was a big part of my personal psychology and my defense mechanism of holding onto the magic of imagination despite the inescapable march of time and maturity. Realizing that I would probably not be able to transform myself into a chair, I was constantly thinking of a more practical Plan B—I am a big believer in having a Plan B at all times—how I would escape the draft by emigrating to Canada. Funny, but I’m once again thinking about emigration. Though, due to my dislike of cold weather, I’ve added a Plan C—Mexico. I would be happy in either. I think one should always find a way to be happy no matter where one lives, but it’s a different challenge in this country these days.
You mentioned Joel as a mentor, with the intriguing connection of his friendship with Abby Hoffman adding depth to his background. Could you share more about your relationship with Joel? Who is he, exactly, and what specific lessons or influences did he impart to you as an artist?
Actually, it’s Joel’s husband, Jim Fouratt, who knew Abby Hoffman through the Youth International Party, or Yippies. Jim and I crossed paths in the seventies. He booked bands for clubs in NYC
Joel Handorff (L) and Scooter LaForge (R) playing cribbage at Chez Phace. Cambridge, MA, 2023–2024. Photos courtesy of Hapi Phace.
and would come down to Athens, Georgia, to scout bands. Our spheres began to overlap in NYC through our involvement in nightclubs, AIDS activism, and a large shared circle of friends, though we hadn’t formed the intimate friendship we enjoy today. That came through his marriage to Joel. They became an item soon after I met Joel. Though Joel and I lived around the block from one another in NYC for decades, I only got to meet him a few years ago through Jorge Clar. Joel came to anything and everything I would come down to NYC to do—by that time, Jorge was always on stage with me. Joel would always come up to me afterward and offer encouraging words. Mind you, I am completely stone-deaf in one ear, and Joel, who doesn’t have a stentorian voice like mine, would speak into my deaf ear. I didn’t always know exactly what he was saying, but through his body language and aura, his encouragement was clear. From that, we ventured forth as friends—especially when we discovered we both play cribbage. Joel's large, centrally located apartment is the natural gathering place for our group of friends. It’s chock-a-block with years of his artwork, paintings, drawings, sculptures, Frankie the cat, and more. I got to know Joel through his art and hearing him talk about it—and about his life; the two are intertwined. Sometimes, we would all sketch one another in sketchbooks that live at Joel’s apartment. I was only an intermittent visitor, so I only participated a couple of times, but it was something they did often enough that there was an evolution of portraits from previous sessions. I got the impression
they have a name for this practice, “The Magic Mirror,” though I may have misheard due to my hearing loss. That used to upset me, but one time Joel said, “Hapi, you just hear differently than others.” That opened one or two chakras for me— like meeting my guru on the road, as we used to say in the seventies.
Often now, when I visit NYC, I stay with Joel and Jim. Besides getting in some much-needed hands of cribbage—cribbage is one of those “if-youknow-you-know” things, sort of Masonic; you have to be initiated into its mysteries. But I digress. Have you noticed that about me? I’m a tangential thinker and often go off in other directions. Many people— “tidy gardeners”—find that irritating. But Joel, Jim, and other friends we’ve discussed can flow and follow along with me. I invite you to insert your own jazz-riff metaphor here. I forget which author said it, but metaphors exist to fill the voids where words don’t.
I live a mostly isolated, private existence, keeping silent, so when I’m around people, I tend to—pressure-cooker metaphor—explode with things I’ve wanted to voice: ideas or thoughts I want to bounce off others. It’s a rather intimate experience for me, presenting thoughts for critique and collaboration. I feel I’m veering off into the abstract here, so let me illustrate with a story: Joel was hospitalized for a long duration—due to HIPAA reasons, I won’t go into detail—but what was supposed to be a few weeks turned into months. When I was a teenager, I had been hospitalized for over three months and knew the hell Joel and his
loved ones—Jim and their friends—were enduring. I came down to NYC for an appearance, though I don’t remember in what. That isn’t important. During the trip, I visited Joel at a rehab hospital. Scooter and Jorge came along. We brought Karload of Klowns costumes, makeup, art supplies, and Chinese takeout, just kind of klowning around in Karload of Klowns fashion. Perhaps I should explain that I spell klown with a “k” rather than a “c” to differentiate us from the Ringling Brothers Clown College, child-safe clowns. Our niche is more trickster, Reynard the Fox, ritualistic, primal klowns. Of course, I brought a cribbage board and cards, so Joel and I could get in a few hands. We all sketched one another in Joel’s Magic Mirror sketchbooks. It became an impromptu healing ceremony—a starfish ceremony, as I call it. You know how starfish can regrow a lost appendage? That regenerative metaphor has been a construct I’ve called upon for myself and others. Infusing color and joviality into the monochrome ennui of an extended hospital stay was a bonding experience for all of us. I’m happy to say Joel is doing far better today.
When Joel and Jim came up last autumn for Scooter’s mid-career retrospective at Lesley University, it was wonderful to repay their hospitality and have many of our friends gathered here. At once, for once. The word once pronounced in Spanish is the word for eleven, so “at once, for once” becomes an encoded eleven-eleven! Synchronicity abounds…
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Sel
fie of Hapi at home under a 2019 portrait by Scooter LaForge.
Sketch by Hapi of Joel Handorff and Frankie the Cat. East Village, NYC, 2023.
Among the artistic venues you’re passionate about, performing and being on stage stand out. Could you share some of your experiences in this area? How have they enriched your life and served as a valuable tool in supporting your pursuits and navigating challenges?
Most of the venues where I performed are now part of history or have transformed into other iterations. Since I no longer live there, perhaps it’s a case of “out of sight, out of mind.” Occasionally, Howl! invites me to make an appearance or perform to commemorate someone or something, and I almost always say yes without thinking. In my opinion, it’s one of perhaps three places that still maintain an ember of the magic fire that was East Village performance art in the 1980s. Another venue like that is Participant, and the third is the Gene Frankel Theatre, where my current performance-art iteration, Karload of Klowns, is centered. Looking back, the Pyramid on Avenue A was the omphalos—that’s Greek for navel—of my performance work, whether it was art or not. I was in countless shows there, from throwaway nightclub performances to more serious theatrical endeavors, often presented earlier in the evening on Mondays. Along with many others, I cut my performance teeth there.
A book published in 2024 thoroughly describes much of what happened there. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the golden era of East Village performance art. Jorge edited it, by the way.
It’s called “We Started a Nightclub”: The Birth of the Pyramid Cocktail Lounge as Told by Those Who Lived It.
I also have a brief history working backstage at The Ridiculous Theatrical Company for a few productions and performing onstage, including playing Quasimodo in their version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Hirschfeld, the “Nina” caricaturist, even sketched me and Cheryl Reeves as Esmeralda!
I have a history with other stalwarts of East Village off- and off-off-Broadway venues, such as La MaMa, Dixon Place, 8BC, Chandelier, St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery, and Performance Space 122. Sometimes I performed my own shows or collaborated on productions, but more often, I was part of someone else’s work. All those opportunities stemmed from my stint at the Pyramid, where I was the emcee for the Sunday night shows, known as Whispers. The evenings were packed with artists of all stripes. I never auditioned for a part—hosting those nights essentially served as my audition. As a result, I was often invited to be part of other people’s work, and I usually said yes. That’s also where I met Ethyl Eichelberger, a theatrical legend who greatly influenced me and opened doors to other performance and theater venues. Through Ethyl’s troupe, I met and worked with a whole crew of older theater artists and what we affectionately called “characters.” At the makeup mirror, they shared stories from their generation
and the histories of those who preceded them— tales of the long tradition of female impersonators stretching back to the turn of the last century. I heard stories about Julian Eltinge, who was so famous and beloved for playing women’s roles that a theater critic once described him as “ambisextrous.” I love that term—I’m fond of neologisms, even if this one is over 100 years old. The point is, we often think we’re being original or at the forefront of something new when, in reality, we’re part of a continuum, purposefully or unknowingly picking up threads from the tapestry of time.
I agree with you, Hapi. So, Karload of Klowns is your relatively new theater production, a manifestation of your creativity. When did the idea for this project first come to you, and how did it develop? What inspired its concept? Every aspect of the production reflects your personality, with even the other characters embodying different facets of who you are.
Ah, yes—what’s old is new again. The first iteration of Karload was in 1994. One of the performance troupes I enjoyed working with the most was Dancenoise, founded by Lucy Sexton and Anne Iobst. The most concise way to describe their work is “dance theater.” I’m not a trained dancer—but then again, hahaha, I’m not a trained actor either. Anne heard about me from her brother Edgar, who regularly attended my night at the Pyramid and suggested they cast me in one of their pieces. That
(L) Jorge Clar and Hapi Phace as Palimpsesto and Puddlez in Karload of Klowns at the Gene Frankel Theatre, circa 2016. Photo by Rafael Sánchez.
(R) A page from the script of the 1994 production of Carload of Clowns, the protogenesis of today’s Karload of Klowns
sparked a chain of synchronistic collaborations and creations that continues to this day—even this weekend. In fact, I’m headed down to NYC in a couple of days to appear with them at a series La MaMa presents called Coffeehouse Chronicles, which highlights artists who have presented their original works at La MaMa over the decades. What’s fun about these presentations is that the audience is primarily made up of artists and performers, so I get to reconnect with many old friends and acquaintances in a non-funerary setting—a rare treat as time marches forward. These days, me and my contemporaries seem to do more panel discussions and career retrospectives than new work. One foot on the stage and the other in the grave—such is the march of time.
Now, retracing my steps back to 1994. Lucy and Anne, through their connections, would sometimes have access to theater spaces with dark nights, and they’d invite artists who had performed with them to create short pieces with minimal effort—perfect for my style. These nights weren’t Dancenoise
shows; they were presented under the banner Summer of Bad Plays.
It was during Summer of Bad Plays III: Advil and Mistletoe in December ’94 at the Blue Angel Cabaret, the basement of Soho Rep, that I wrote my first Carload—still with a “c”—show. We all “made a show,” as we called it, and performed in each other’s shows. Many of the people from that first edition will be at Coffeehouse Chronicles this weekend. Talk about coming full circle—but I digress.
The cast included Laurie Weeks, Mike Iveson, Charlie Atlas, Joe Westmoreland, Ishmael Houston-Jones, Tony Stinkmetal, Lucy, Anne, and me. Staying true to the “bad play” concept, I set out to write the worst play possible. I had just reread Heinrich Böll’s novel The Clown, which influenced me deeply. I first read it in the seventies because I liked the cover—yes, I judge books by their covers, no matter the adage.
The novel follows a German clown processing his past in the aftermath of the Nazi regime. That mood
lingered as I imagined a clown car on the BQE headed to JFK. I have no idea if that’s actually how you get to JFK, but the beauty of a bad play is that nothing needs to make sense. That concept has stayed with me throughout all the Karload of Klowns shows.
Why are these clowns headed to the airport? To pick up the body of one of their colleagues, Tomas, the German Expressionist Clown. On the way, they delve into their personal depression, recounting memories of Tomas. Think of the funeral scene in Fellini’s The Clowns, but with a Waiting for Godot twist: we never have the funeral because the car breaks down. Instead, the clowns keep getting out, as clowns are wont to do, giving voice to their existential malaise. It was so bad it was good.
Charlie Atlas’s performance was a standout—he mummified himself in plastic wrap, which was hilarious when he had to move and speak. Charlie is an incredible video artist. His 50-year retrospective is currently at the ICA in Boston, I should mention. Continued on next page...
Father Debbie Harry (L) and Sister Hapi Phace (R) backstage at Jackie60. Photo courtesy of Hapi Phace.
(L to R) Glen Meadmore, Vaginal Creme Davis, Ru Paul, and Hapi Phace in the dressing room of the Pyramid Cocktail Lounge, NYC, 1980s. Photo courtesy of Hapi Phace.
Hapi Phace making up onstage in front of a film of Hapi by Anthony Chase during Huck Snyder’s Circus (1987). La MaMa E.T.C., NYC. Photo courtesy of Hapi Phace.
Hapi Phace as Morris Katz on the set of Linda Simpson’s Manhattan Cable Access talk show, Party Talk. 1987. Photo courtesy of Hapi Phace.
He was Merce Cunningham’s official videographer and shot my funeral piece, I Told You These Heels Were Killing Me.
Am I veering off again? Let’s get back on track— linear narrative doesn’t come naturally to me, hahaha.
Fast forward to around 2013 or ’14, when the new downtown Whitney Museum hosted a Dancenoise retrospective with props, photos, videos, costumes, and a live performance. The girls asked me to be in the show, and I was reunited with so many old collaborators. While I enjoyed being part of retrospective pieces, I still felt like I had new work to create. Living at a distance, though, I didn’t have many opportunities.
Like the old NY Lottery slogan says: “You gotta be in it to win it.” I wanted back in, so I asked my costars if they’d team up for a new show. Most were wrapped up in their projects, but Tony Stinkmetal showed interest.
We had worked together in Dancenoise and Summer of Bad Plays shows but never hung out outside of work. At the time, he was writing a script—maybe for a film, maybe for the stage— and seeking a sweet spot between the two. A friendship quickly blossomed. He visited my place as a retreat to write, and I stayed with him while reacquainting myself with Downtown.
Howl! Happening, Participant Gallery, and the Gene Frankel Theatre became part of that journey. Meanwhile, Rafael Sánchez curated a group show at AMP Gallery and invited me to showcase my papier-mâché sculptures. Rafael is a good friend of
Gail Thacker, which is probably how I first came into Gail’s orbit.
The first friends I made at the Pyramid, some of whom I created shows with, were members of “The Boston School,” though the term hadn’t been coined yet. They all knew Gail and spoke of her legendary reputation—whether deserved or not. I shied away from her at first, afraid of exaggerated stories. Friendship, however, happens when it’s ready—and ours took 30 years to incubate. Stinkmetal also brought Gail back into my orbit. There were many synchronistic circles coming together. Stinkmetal had done work at the Gene Frankel Theatre, where Thomas R. Gordon offered to do tech for him in exchange for a benefit performance for Thomas’s theater company, Onomatopoeia.
As the benefit approached, Stinkmetal was leaning more toward film. He suggested I revive the 1994 Carload of Clowns. It had apparently made a lasting impression on him, though I’d totally forgotten about it.
At first, I thought I’d remount it as-is, but since I couldn’t find the original script—and wanted to do something new anyway—I wrote a fresh version. I typically write parts with specific actors in mind and wanted to add social commentary on the absurdity surrounding us during election season. With twenty-something right-wing nutcases entering the race, the term “carload of clowns” was being thrown around on television...
What thoughts and ideas motivate you as you
prepare for future performances?
My creative process, in a nutshell, is rather assbackwards, I know, but it works for me. I come up with a clever title and a broad concept for a show, then I sell it to whomever has a stage and an opening in their booking dates. And that’s when the magic of my process begins. Though by “magic,” I mean a crazy-making, deadline-defying flurry of prop and costume making. So much so that sometimes I don’t get around to actually writing the show.
However, I carry on an inner monologue of all the things I want to say in the performance and try to repeat as much as I can remember once the show is on. Of course, this can be problematic with the cast, but I’m lucky to have a core group of performers who grasp the broad concept and general outline of what I want to portray. I’m very fortunate that they are comfortable with my style of showmaking.
It also doesn’t hurt that a couple of them, namely Gail Thacker and Nora Burns, are non-verbal characters, which allows them to have their own subjective creative expression within the broader outline I’m presenting. In a sense, it’s a free-form, collaborative process, though I never completely relinquish my starring and dictatorial role.
In that regard, I’m presenting my full-frontal tragic flaw as a performer—and probably as a person— and I rely on the non-verbal characters to mock me and my egotism, creating an inside joke with the audience.
And then, I wouldn’t do Karload without Jorge
Self‐portrait after dress rehearsal for Huck Snyder’s Circus (1987). NYC.
Self‐published zine The Hapi Phace New’z (sic), Jan. 1, 1989.
Clar as Palimpsesto, a verbal character and my amanuensis. He has a remarkable talent for absorbing and retaining all the thoughts, ideas, concepts, and lines I throw at him, even up until the last minute, and helping me to convey all that on stage. In a sense, he’s the Sancho Panza to my Don Quixote.
You mentioned staging your own funeral. Could you tell us more about that experience?
That show was called I Told You These Heels Were Killing Me. I pretty much came up with the title as my epitaph and got it booked at Performance Space 122, but I hadn’t actually written it first. More of my ass-backwards creative process, hahaha. Like much of my earlier work, it was much more scripted, rehearsed, and funded. I even had a producer—my only time. It was the first piece that theatrical legend Lori E. Seid ever produced. The show opened with my friends gathered around my coffin, dishing about me. Then one of them opens the coffin, and it’s empty. A leather-clad gogo guy carries me in over his shoulder and dumps me into the coffin, at which point one of them says, “I always said that queen would be late for her own funeral.” Hahaha. And the hilarity ensued as I went through the afterlife of a couple of religions… There was nun drag involved—I’ve always loved flat-shoe drag, nuns, and nurses! Because those heels, they’re killing me! Haha.
The show ends with me on the Sally Jesse Raphael Show—remember that? It was a big thing at the time—where a right-wing homophobe pulls out a gun and shoots me. I declare that it’s not me that’s messed up, it’s society. I die, black out. Applause,
lights up, and I do a balloon-sitting/popping dance to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” It got a very favorable review in TheaterWeek
Come to think of it, the moral of the story is still valid. And come to think of it a little more, there’s lots of balloon popping in Karload of Klowns. Some things never change.
I’m curious about how you came to embrace both your feminine and masculine sides. You mentioned that your feminine side particularly flourished when you performed in Psykho III: The Musical alongside actors like John Kelly aka Dagmar Onassis, Larry Maxwell, Miss Loretta Nicks, Mark Phredd, Tabboo!, and others. Could you share more about this experience and its impact on you?
Well, I wouldn’t directly credit Psykho III with that. I played male characters in that piece and performed as Mark Phredd, as mentioned in the credits. It was my first performance, and that’s when the show-business bug bit me. I was encouraged by its creator, Mark Oates, to play the detective and the psychiatrist. He believed I was a natural on stage and encouraged me, despite my total lack of self-confidence in that area. All it took was getting my first laugh on stage, and I realized my life path had taken an entirely new direction. Before that, I was a successful macrobiotic restaurant professional and thought that was my place in the universe. There is a video version of Psykho III that lives on, but originally, it was a stage production we did at the Pyramid. It was through performing and hanging out with those Pyramid performers that I embraced my more feminine outward per-
sona, “Miss Hapi Phace.” Initially, before adopting that name and persona, my drag name was “Charlene.” I don’t remember why I chose that name at the time. Later, I dropped the “Miss” from my name, but funny enough, I don’t remember why I insisted on it in the first place.
The Pyramid was a legendary venue in New York City that offered a space for exploring gender, the underground scene, and groundbreaking artists. It was the place to be in the 1980s. How did you interact with others and find ways to express yourself during that time? Are there any particular moments or experiences that stand out in your memory?
As I was saying, it was through my friendships with some of the Pyramid performers that I began—at first, go-go dancing, in drag, on the bar—and later, performing. Much of our performance involved exploring and experimenting with gender, though our gender vocabulary was a bit different from today’s. But language is a living organism, and I endorse the expansion of gender-jargon. I wish I could summon an encapsulated quotation by Bertrand Russell or Ludwig Wittgenstein on language from the top of my head to sum up this topic and impress you with my knowledge of the philosophy of language and semiotics, but I am drawing a blank. All I have at the moment is a Tom Tom Club “Wordy Rappinghood” earworm eating my brain. [Sings] “What are words worth? What are words worth? Words.” Remember that song? From 1981, and 44 years later, it’s still a good song!
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Hapi Phace with an apron in his papier‐mâché studio. Cambridge, MA, 2020s.
Papier‐mâché sculpture in process, displaying the archetypal newspaper, wheat paste, and balloon technique. Cambridge, MA, 2020s.
The Tom Tom Club’s music still lives on. What was the Hapi and Hattie performance about? Ah, Hattie! My show-business comedic partner, Brian Butterick. We were a New Vaudeville duo act of sorts. It took some time, but we developed a comedic timing between us, and that’s the secret to comedy—timing. Actually, it’s not a secret, and there are other things comedy relies on, but we had a certain chemistry together on stage. It’s something inscrutable, really. I know that’s not an answer an interviewer wants to hear, but it’s slightly better than “You just had to be there.” Hattie passed away a few years ago now, but it’s still hard for me to delve that far into our show-business style. It wasn’t something we analyzed and workshopped to perfect. We just found our way to it organically. We wrote a number of actual theater pieces, as well as a few of our nightclub shows. For the club gigs, we mostly just winged it. Besides being good at playing off one another—something that took some time to hone—we had a very supportive audience, whom we would bring into the joke when we were bombing on stage, and they loved it. It didn’t hurt that our audience was drinking; in fact, that helped. But for the theater pieces, those were a horse of a different color. They were scripted. We sat in my tiny bedsit room with me transcribing at the computer as we filled in the dialogue together to plots that I had outlined. Often, I played the villain and Hattie, the hero.
We performed them in East Village theater spaces. Sara Lee Entenmann was one of them. Hattie played the eponymous hero. That was at The Club at La MaMa. Meryl Vladimir, who was running that space at the time, co-produced a few of our other pieces, and Ellen Stewart, La MaMa herself, came backstage after our show Lincoln and declared that we were now “her babies,” which was equivalent to a full endorsement and validation from one of the pioneers of off-Broadway theater. That was an incredible achievement for a couple of kooky queens from Avenue A, and a pinnacle for us—one of our proudest moments.
But we did a lot of stinkers too. Hahaha, after every show, good or bad, we’d say, “That’s another show under our show-biz belts.” Goddess, I miss Hattie.
Howl! Arts in NYC has been a crucial supporter and promoter of the artist community. What has their mission been, both historically and currently? Additionally, how have you been involved with the organization over the years, considering their strong commitment to diversity?
I don’t specifically know what their mission is or what their commitment to diversity is. I would never presume to speak on their history or current direction. That said, and as I affirmed before, I will always say “Yes!” when they ask me to do something. Primarily, my association with them is through my friendship and admiration for their director, Jane Friedman, and I think she would be the person to ask about all that they do and encompass. It’s her baby.
What I can say is that Howl! has had a few exhibitions based on the Pyramid, which I have been lucky enough to participate in, and Howl! is the repository of the archives of two of my dearest and
closest creative partners and friends—Hattie Hathaway, who I’ve already told you a bit about, and Philly Abe, another amazing person, performer, and artist that I did multiple shows with in the early years. So, Howl! is very close to my heart and to my art.
In 2020, you created papier-mâché panda bears and made linocut prints for T-shirts and other items using reused brown paper bags. I see the panda project as a way to spread kindness and promote healing during the pandemic. The papier-mâché pandas genuinely capture my interest, and I’m curious—why did you choose to work with papier-mâché?
Papier-mâché has been a constant in my life, going back to my childhood in Latin America. And then one of my first boyfriends was a papier-mâché artist. I only started doing papier-mâché myself as an inexpensive way to make props and jewelry for my shows. One of the first things I made was a giant papier-mâché goose head for a show that I wrote called The Hans Christian Andersen Story. I made the jewelry and some props for Ethyl Eichelberger’s production Hamlette, starring Black-Eyed Susan as Hamlet. I made 1,001 papier-mâché potatoes for a show by Lawrence Goldhuber that was at La MaMa. I made props for shows I don’t remember now. Sometimes, I make props for shows that do not exist. I made a number of props for a production of Don Quixote that never existed. You have to understand that my process to bring a creative idea into being requires manifesting it. Prop making for nonexistent shows is a sort of ritual, a physical prayer. By creating a physical object, a totem, I am taking a step toward bringing an idea into physical being. For practical purposes, papiermâché is great because it is light, so it’s easy to transport, made from materials found in the recycling bin, and inexpensive and earth-friendly to boot. Because it does require time to dry and I have limited time, I developed Tapier-Mâché™—a method of using corrugated cardboard and duct tape to make props quickly.
Please share your connection to Vincent van Gogh? I know he’s on your top ten list of things you love. (By the way, what don’t you love?) Oh, there is plenty that I do not love. I try not to hate; the strongest I go in that direction is to detest or despise, haha. But Vincent—let’s get back to him. I love Vincent van Gogh. He is just amazing. His paintings are stunning, though his life was a mess, and he was never successful in his lifetime. Down the road from me, at the Harvard Art Museum, there is the self-portrait he painted for Gauguin. I visit it often. You can see the love—if I can use that word here—that he felt for Gauguin. At least, I see that. I can feel that love; I see it embodied in the paint, in the brushstrokes. I have an affinity for Vincent because his relationships with other people could be caustic and problematic, even with the people he relied on to keep him alive, the ones he needed the most. A lot of people didn’t get him—or his art—during his time, but Gauguin did. And Vincent, given a chance to freely express himself, was just too much for Gauguin, so he fled and
abandoned the portrait too. Now, it lives down the road from me, and I visit it often, as if I’m visiting Vincent himself. It’s all in my imagination, of course, but for me—well, that is a reality. Not the shared, everyday reality of Harvard Square, but an alternative reality where imagination allows all sorts of experiences.
How do the whimsical figures of folk art, such as fairies, elves, gnomes, and trolls, spark your imagination and inspire make-believe characters? Do they offer deeper insights into who you are, what you aspire to do, and the purpose that drives you?
Remember when I said that I promised myself never to lose my childhood imagination? Fairies, elves, gnomes, trolls, and other folkloric creatures and beings are the inhabitants of our collective imagination. I loved to immerse myself in books, legends, stories, and cartoons that had to do with them. I started reading mythology when I was around 10. I may have started with juvenile abridged versions but quickly moved to the full adult versions. I first read The Iliad and The Odyssey completely through without fully understanding them. I reread them until I did understand them. I still read them—though mostly now I listen to them as audiobooks while I work with my hands or even read something else—and I’m still absorbing things I missed or forgot before.
The American Repertory Theater in Harvard Square is putting on a version of The Odyssey this spring, which means someone is thinking of bringing it to Broadway next season. The story is, what, 5,000 years old and still being told! It’s a good story, but it is also a malleable story. That is the magic of myth, of storytelling. Every age adds their take on it, and by staying familiar with it through reading and rereading—or alternatively hearing and rehearing—it, one (namely me), can perform comparative analysis of the various versions. What I mean is that every generation tells the age-old stories through a lens of their own time. For example, the Alexander Pope or Samuel Butler versions are very different from the 1960s version that I first read by either Robert Fitzgerald or Richard Lattimore. A generation later, Robert Fagles did a nineties version. And after another generation, the most recent translation by Emily Wilson is the first version translated into English by a woman. Folktales and legends inhabited by elves, fairies, gnomes, and other mythical beings traditionally had a dark side along with their beneficent aspects. All Greek heroes, no matter their admirable qualities, had at least one tragic flaw. Disney changed all that. His sterilization and sanitizing of folklore, legend, and myth—told for thousands or hundreds of years in their full complexity—was, then and remains today, a crime against world culture and the human psyche. I despise and detest him.
You currently reside in Boston, but I know you travel back and forth to visit friends and perform in NYC. Have you considered which city might be better for you to live in? Which one offers more opportunities for self-expression? New York City. No question. It’s the cultural capital
of the world. I’m lucky that I still have some friends, some access, and some opportunity to be there and express myself creatively in front of an audience from time to time. When I first relocated here, I had the seed of an idea of facilitating a NYC-Boston conduit for art and performance. Some idea seeds take longer than others to germinate. Gail has been in a couple of group art shows, exhibiting work she did when she went to school here. And now Scooter has begun a relationship with the Art Department at Lesley University. When he came up to hang his show and give workshops to the students, and on his off time, we visit and have a vegan meal, and I am happy to say a hand or two of cribbage. Cribbage—If-You-KnowYou-Know! Hahaha. He asked me to teach him. He is a quick learner and a formidable opponent. There was a formal artist’s reception, and a few of our friends came up for that. I’m hoping that continues. I had the thought that maybe the idea seed I had 15 years ago and had been lying dormant may finally have found fertile ground to germinate and grow. Scooter has another exhibit coming up this spring, and we are all making plans, without making plans. I find some things are best with minimal planning. Jorge and I came up with the metaphor of “The Sausage Grinder of Fate.” You mention all the conditions, the people, the dates, the probabilities, the aspirations, and the intentions that we would like
to happen. It all goes into the hopper, and it gets ground up to come together as a sausage. You won’t know exactly what it will taste like until all the flavors have combined and merged with one another.
I know you have a deep love for animals and nature. Have you ever created a performance or visual art project that reflects that passion? Yes! I wrote a theater piece in the nineties called Katz at Performance Space 122 on First Avenue. At the time, while promoting it, I went out in cat drag. I claimed to be trans species. This was decades before the lunatic fringe started ranting on social media and propaganda television about litter boxes in classrooms. It was one of my biggest productions and had the longest run. Richard Move, my friend from Jackie60 and Dancenoise, choreographed it for me. He’s done choreography for Baryshnikov. Yes, there was singing and dancing, neither of which I am good at, but that’s rarely stopped me, and if done badly, correctly, it can get a good laugh. I also cast others who could sing and dance for the purists in the audience.
The story took place at Katz’s Deli on Houston Street. Have you heard of it? It’s iconic. Morris Katz, the deli owner, is also a landlord. It was a fable about gentrification and “catibolism.” Morris, the villain—portrayed by me—was renting out
apartments to young cats at cheap rents and then sending his tenants down a chute into the sausage grinder that supplied the hot dogs—or “hot cats,” in this instance—which I sold at my deli. I employed a Deus Ex Machina in the form of Space Pussy, a cat from outer space, who comes down to resolve everything with a big production number.
Have you received any formal training in art? I remember you went to college for literature— what led you to choose that path?
I’ve taken some art history courses and a few drawing classes at university before I dropped out to immerse myself in art and art-makers by moving to NYC. That was easy to do in 1980s NYC when it was literally and figuratively burnt-out and bankrupt. It wasn’t just affordable; it was cheap. It was far easier to establish yourself there, and creative spaces and opportunities seemed to be far more accessible then. Maybe that’s just because I was in my early twenties? I don’t know, but it seems more of a closed circuit today.
Oh, but you asked about my degree in literature. Well, that was my second attempt at university, when I was an adult and began doubting myself because it seemed that everyone I knew, besides myself, had a degree. I decided on literature because I loved reading, especially the classics. Continued on next page...
Puppets in process at Hapi’s papier‐mâché studio. Cambridge, MA, 2020s.
I had a professor who said that I was stuck in the 19th century, and as a literature student, I owned that, even though I’ve thoroughly read most of the works of Virginia Woolf and James Joyce. That’s about my cut-off point for literature—oh, wait, I told a lie. I love and have read most all of the works from The Golden Age of Detective Fiction: Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, John Dixon Carr, to name a few.
Otherwise, I don’t read much contemporary literature, as I continually return to my old favorites— big stories, like Moby-Dick and Don Quixote de la Mancha, for instance. But my all-time favorites, and the basis of Western literature, are Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey. In the past few years, I’ve branched out to the canon of Non-Western classics, like China’s Journey to the West and India’s Mahabharata. I’m reading the graphic novel version of Mahabharata because it is such a complicated story, especially for an outsider. It’s mind-expanding, learning other cultures’ languages and myths. Doing so opens avenues of thought that are not possible in our language, in our symbols, or in our cultural constructs. The same can be said about traveling.
I think the world and society would be better off if more people traveled. Not to resorts, or on cruises, or with luxurious vacation packages, or to Disney World—Goddess forbid!—but simply spending time living in another country, another culture. For those who cannot afford or manage traveling, lit-
erature is a form of travel. For me, it allows for a similar effect.
I enjoyed our conversations, especially when it came to 11:11. I always thought I was the only one who kept noticing it on the clock until I realized I wasn’t alone. There’s even a perfume I love called 11:11. I’m curious—how did you first come to know 11:11? I know your fascination with numerology runs deep! Everything connects, doesn’t it?
First of all, you are not alone! There are lots and lots of us. I didn’t know about the perfume. I became aware of 11:11 in the seventies when I was first introduced to Carl Jung’s Man and His Symbols. I’m not sure if it was in that book, but he did coin the term “synchronicity” to describe the phenomenon of seemingly coincidental events, like noticing the clock at 11:11, that have an unexplained relationship. Did that make sense? It’s odd how some concepts I’ve carried in my psyche for, what, fifty years are now more difficult to put into words rather than easier. Since the New Age movement, the 11:11 synchronicity phenomenon has taken on new meaning beyond Jung’s definition. I suppose that is only natural, as mysticism, like mythology, is always evolving to serve the needs of the human psyche.
Some languages, like slang, are best understood through immersion. I find the language you
mentioned—Esperanto—really interesting. Do you think learning and speaking Esperanto could improve the world today? What is your connection to this language?
I agree that the best way to learn a language is by immersion. And yes, it is also true for slang, as well as jargon and argot, which are cousins of slang. I love thinking about language and how it works, how it signifies, and I do try to weave some of that into my shows, primarily in the form of puns, but also through the use of homophones. I enjoy studying other languages, and I know a little bit of a lot of languages, including American Sign Language, which I studied for a number of years. But without the immersive element, I am not fluent in any except English—the American variety, that is. I love English because it is a very absorbent and changeable language. I am constantly looking up the etymology of words. It’s fascinating to see how words traveled through the world and reveal so much history about the movement and trade between peoples and nations. Words like “banjo” and “okra” came into English from Africa through the slave trade. Words like “indigo,” “pajamas,” and “alcohol” came from trade routes with India, Persia, and Arabia.
There is a saying that goes something like, “A language is just the dialect of the nation with the largest army.” It is no coincidence that one of the first actions of an opposing and invading force is to outlaw and destroy their victims’ language. It’s
Puppets (L) and Pandas (R) in process at the papier‐mâché studio. Cambridge, MA, 2020.
happened throughout history. It was used by the Normans in 11th-century England. It was used in this country in the 19th and 20th centuries to oppress the indigenous population. More recently, in the Russian occupation of parts of Ukraine. Esperanto was born in the 19th century out of language oppression imposed on parts of Poland during the Russian occupation. Esperanto is what is termed a constructed language. Some others predated it, but their creators copyrighted them to control and prevent changes. However, Doctor Esperanto purposely did not copyright the language he created, allowing it to grow and morph as people learned and used it.
I say Doctor Esperanto because that was the alias of L.L. Zamenhof. In Bialystok, Poland, where he lived, it was a dangerous crime to use anything but the oppressor's language. His original name for it was La Lingvo Internacia, or “The International Language.” It soon took on his pen name, Esperanto.
In the early 20th century, it was put to a vote to adopt it as the official language of the United Nations. It needed unanimous approval by the 10 voting members of the Security Council. It received nine. France voted against it, not wanting to cede their dominance as the lingua franca. Of course, they ended up losing that to English. It’s interesting to note the threat that free communication between peoples has toward fascist governments. Hitler imprisoned and exterminated Esperantists, as did Lenin. Esperantists were persecuted in this country as well, especially during the Red Scare of the 1950s.
In the past few years, it has had a resurgence, primarily because of the online language-learning program Duolingo. It is a beautifully logical language
with a minimum of grammatical rules. One of the most intriguing things about Esperanto culture is the Pasporta Servo, a worldwide hospitality exchange where Esperantists offer free home stays to other speakers of Esperanto. It is a gift economy platform that has been in existence since the 1960s, which started as a printed directory and continues today online. Did you know there is even an Esperanto version of Wikipedia?
No, but I plan on looking into Esperanto, Hapi, when this issue goes to press, then we can talk more about it. So...how did you get the name Hapi Phace?
Hapi is the Egyptian god of the annual inundation of The Nile. I didn’t know that at the time I chose the name nor that it was indeed the spelling. It was one of those synchronistic things. And serves to remind me that sometimes my future-self guides my present-self in making decisions, creative or otherwise. Anyway, that is the short answer. I’m not sure we have enough time left to go into the long answer and the most interesting part of the long version is the short version.
Through the years, you’ve been introduced to many famous artists in various venues. I understand you hung out with Debbie Harry at one of your favorite stomping grounds.
I did some performances with Debbie at the nightclub Jackie60 in the Meatpacking District when they were still packing meat there. We were also in a couple of Jackie60 shows at La MaMa. We shared a dressing room makeup mirror, but it wouldn’t be accurate to say that we hung out. One of the most fun things I ever did was sign language interpretation while she sang “Maria.” She was in drag as a
priest, and I was a nun—in flats, of course. Debbie Harry is a really nice person, easy and interesting to talk to, but sometimes I had to pinch myself sitting next to her at the makeup mirror. Blessed she!
If you could meet and get to know one person, dead or alive, who would it be and why? My guess is that it would be Vincent van Gogh. Good guess, Harryet, good guess. He is in my top five. In fact, he is my number one dead person I'd like to meet. But since you said dead or alive, my first person is Jorge Clar, followed by Scooter LaForge, Joel Handorff, and Gail Thacker. I am living my dream in that way. I am so glad to have met them and to continue building those connections. I love creating with them and for them, and I get the impression the feeling is mutual.
I would say you go with the flow. I would say— may your locomotive train never lose its momentum, and may your metronome never stop swinging to the sound of your heartbeat. AND, may you never stop filling your sausage... I hope that doesn’t sound too strange. Strange or not, I know and appreciate what you are saying! Though no one else knows what we are talking about concerning the locomotive and the metronome, we did cover the sausage grinder. The rest remains our own private Harryet-Hapi argot! I love that, and I loved doing this interview with you! Thank you.
Thank you, me too, Hapi. F Instagram: @hapi_phace
Bluesky: @hapi-phace.bsky.social
Copy edited by Jorge Clar.
Amar Chitra Katha graphic edition of Mahabharata from the artist's library.
Hapi with Self‐Portrait Dedicated to Paul Gaughin (1888). Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, MA, 2020. Photo courtesy of Hapi Phace.
@jenniferpazienza | www.jenniferpazienza | jennpazienza@gmail.com
LESLEE CARSEWELL
My artwork, be it photography, painting or collage embraces a very simple notion: how best to break up space to achieve more serendipity and greater intuition on the page. Though simple in theory, this is not so easy to achieve. I work to make use of both positive and negative space to create interest, lyricism, elegance, and ambiguity. Each element informs the whole. This whole, with luck, is filled with an air of intrigue. Breaking up space to me has a direct correlation to music. Rhythm, texture, points of emphasis and silence all play their parts. Music that inspires me includes solo piano work by Debussy, Ravel, Mompou and of course, Schubert and Beethoven. Working with limited and unadorned materials, I enhance the initial compositions with color, subtle but emphatic line work and texture. For me, painting abstractly removes restraints. I find the simplicity of line and subsequent forming of shapes quietly liberating.
Lastly, I want my work to feel crafted, the artist’s hand in every endeavor.
Leslee CarsewellPrints available, please inquire. 413-229-0155 / 413-854-5757 lcarsewellart@icloud.com www.lcarsewellart.com
MARY ANN YARMOSKY
My work is a collection of a variety of people, a collection of experiences and expressions. It’s about understanding their history, understanding the power of their history, the power of their power, the power of their vulnerability, the power of transformation, and the power of purpose.
My works are abstract in nature, but aren’t we all pieces put together by our life experiences? Who is to say what is real when we look at a person. Don’t we always project onto them some characteristic we think we see, some fleeting feeling that crosses their face, or some mannerism that indicates their comfort or discomfort?
I work mainly with acrylic on canvas, paper or wood and often add fabric, thread or other artifacts that seem to belong. My process unfolds unintentionally since my characters dictate what needs to be said. I invite you to weave your own story into my works. You can decide what is held in an expression, a certain posture or the clothes they wear. I hope you enjoy the adventure as much as I do. Mary Ann Yarmoskymarymaryannyarmosky.com maryannyarmoskyart.shop
JOHN LIPKOWITZ
510 WARREN ST. GALLERY
February 28, 2025 marks the opening of John Lipkowitz’ new exhibition of aluminum photographic prints from his recent trip to Kenya.
On this, the seventh African safari he and his wife Nina have experienced, their goal was elephants, for Nina a visit to one of the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust facilities where young orphans are reintroduced to the wild. For John, it was the opportunity to visit a part of Tsavo East National Park where there are still some surviving Super Tuskers, elephants with one or both tusks weighing at least 100 pounds. Perhaps as few as 50 are still alive today, their numbers having been decimated by natural deaths, occasional poaching and, if you can believe it, by legal trophy hunters if these magnificent animals wander across the unfenced border into Tanzania.
Fortunately, the super tusker genes survive in Tsavo and Amboselli parks and there is also a population of emergents, younger bulls who just might qualify as Super Tuskers given another ten or fifteen years. During a three-week safari many other animals were encountered, and some are represented in this show as well.
“But above all things was it a return to Nature - that formula which seems to suit so many and such diverse movements: they would draw and paint nothing but what they saw, they would try and imagine things as they really happened.”
-Oscar Wilde
Come see them all at 510 Warren St. Gallery. The exhibit begins February 28, with an artist’s reception on Saturday, March 1 from 3-6 PM. The show will continue until March 30, 2025. 518-822–0510. Friday 12-6, Saturday 12-6, Sunday 12-5; 510warrenstgallery@gmail.com
JANE GENNARO
This month’s Mining My Life kicks off the hip story; the adventure of my quest to get my hip bone back after the hip-replacement surgery I opted for ten years ago. Why NOW? What’s compelling me to lay bare the ordeal of losing the head of my femur?
Hm. The femur is the biggest, strongest bone in my body. The femur is that stalwart and powerful bone that’s easy to take for granted, until it breaks. My femurs supported and stabilized me my whole life; guaranteed my freedom to walk, run, hop, jump and skip! Inspired me to stand proud and tall, until arthritis reared its yellow-orange head, threatening to make me feel powerless and angry, so I vowed to reclaim what was mine!
Dig it! That’s it! My brain is connecting what happened to my body ten years ago to the coup happening in the larger body my body is part of today as I eyeball a radical replacement surgery 2025 style; the installation of an old tool devoid of human attributes. Crazy Man!
Jane Gennaro is an artist, writer, and performer based in New York City and Claverack. Solo exhibitions include the Fashion Institute of Technology, World Monuments Fund Gallery, The Claverack Free Library, and Time and Space Ltd.
Gennaro’s solo plays have been produced by The American Place Theatre, Culture Project's Impact Festival, and The Toyota Comedy Festival. Her work has been reviewed in the New York Times, her commentaries have aired on NPR’s All Things Considered, and her illustrated column "Mining My Life, Diaries of Jane Gennaro" is published monthly in The Artful Mind magazine. Jane Gennarojanegennaro.com
SUSAN GILBERT
I am a visual storyteller. The subjects for my work are culled from American culture and my own life experiences. I don’t tend to do social commentary, but choose iconic activities, events, behaviors or customs that are distinctly American, some of which are pride parades, baseball, 1950’s vacation trailer parks and roller-skating competitions. Then I create what I hope to be an amusing scenario.
One of the pieces I did was a depiction of my father as a baseball player. He always wished to play, so I had him hit the ball out of the park and called it FENWAY FRED. Fred being his name.
Color, pattern and a cartoony figurative style are three other elements I use to recreate the theme according to my own observations and sensibilities. Some of the artists who have influenced me are Red Grooms, Chicago’s Hairy Who, Roger Brown, Frida Kahlo, Florine Stettheimer and many outsider artists. These, I believe, recreate the world around them according to their own style and vision.
At present I work either on paper with gouache or construct pieces using plywood, masonite and roofing aluminum that hang on the wall. The constructions are my primary focus due to my love of three dimensionality inspired by my childhood toys, dollhouses, mini gas stations, toy kitchens and western forts. I have used Barbie and Ken as my main characters and will be using the 1950s paper doll, Betsy McCall in future works.
My work is my playtime. I have no grandiose concepts or observations that I’m trying to impart through my art. Just having a lot of fun telling my tales based on my crazy culture and life.
Gilbert’s paintings will be on display at the Knox Gallery in the Monterey Library May 2 –June 7, 2025. All are welcome to join Susan at her reception, May 2, 5:30 - 7pm.
Susan Gilbert781-444-1335
7 Art School Rd., PO Box 722, Monterey, MA sgflexart1@gmail.com
DURING THE STORM, MID PANEL
STEPHAN MARC KLEIN
I have been sketching and making art for all my adult life, since my undergraduate education as an architect in the late 1950’s. What interests me most at present about creating art, besides the shear visceral pleasure of making things, of putting pencil or pen or brush or all of them to paper, and of manipulating images on the computer, is the aesthetic tension or energy generated in the metaphoric spaces between the abstract and the representational, between individual work and reproduction, and between analog and digital processes. I enjoy creating images that result from working back and forth between the computer and the handmade.
My wife, artist Anna Oliver, and I have made our home in the Berkshires for the past three years and I am still entranced with its beauty. I think much of my work is in part a kind of visual rhapsody to the area. The idea for Snowstorm, Alford Village, came from an interest I have had in exploring the dimension of time in the plastic arts. Also, I love snowy winters.
Stephan Marc Kleinstephanmarcklein.com smk8378@gmail.com
Member 510 Warren Street Gallery, Hudson, NY
There are painters who transform the sun into a yellow spot, but there are others who, thanks to theirart and intelligence, transform a yellow spot into the sun.”
— Pablo Picasso
MY CIRCUS ACT: THIS IS A DIPTYCH ABOUT A BAKERY MAKING A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR THE POPE PLUS CELEBRATING WITH HIM AND FEEDING HIM HIS PIECE
FROM SNOWSTORM, ALFORD VILLAGE, TRIPTYCK
JANE CRAKER VISUAL ARTIST
Interview
by Harryet Candee Photographs courtesy of the artist
“Chairs, interviews and people make me uncomfortable.” —JC
Harryet Candee: I admire your paintings and the ways you use color in your portraits, landscapes, and still-lifes. I’m curious to know when your journey as an artist began.
Jane Craker: My journey began as an artist trying to find myself in a world I didn’t understand. “What is going on?” “How do I find beauty and feel fulfilled and connected?” “Why do I feel off, so disconnected?” Some things I saw were cool and beautiful, filling me with wonder such as looking at ants carrying huge leaves; the sound of the wind blowing, and the sun’s warmth. Nature! Unbelievable! I wanted to get closer to feeling and experiencing all these things at a deeper level, and art was the answer.
When you mentioned that you experimented in art during high school, could you elaborate on what you meant and how it contributed to developing your artistic identity?
High school opened me up to experimentation and exploration, and my art teacher, at this point, was a big contributor to my sense of freedom. He was inspiring. I experimented with different paints and collages. It was really fun! My paintings at this point were dark and tortured, but I was expressing
my truth. It was interesting for these images to be revealed to me. Throughout my life, this has been my process. I’m guided by the painting and going along for the ride as it keeps me energized and always wanting me to experiment.
During your college years at Rhode Island School of Design, you mentioned feeling boxedin. What did you mean by that? How did it affect your artistic temperament?
During college, art became more like work. I felt lost and disconnected a lot of the time. Working with the right teacher always made a huge difference.
Constructive criticism and encouragement are the keys to growth. I found within my work, that I couldn’t grow artistically. It was a hard time for me. So, after college, I moved to New York City, joined a music band with friends from RISD, and just about stopped painting. The music was exciting, and it made me feel alive again. The painting dropped by the wayside.
Jane, have you studied in the Berkshires with any art teachers, privately or in a group setting? Have you ever taught art?
I taught a couple of shoe design classes to high school students. I’ve been in the Berkshires for about seven years and since I’ve been here I’ve taken a cold wax class through the Guild of Berkshire Artists with Carolyn Abrams and really enjoyed it! I love learning new techniques, and it has been the key to creating my recent portrait paintings. Sometimes, when I’m feeling stuck or uninspired, the best thing to do is take a class or get out and do something different like go to a movie, see a show, or do anything other than standing in front of my easel trying to make something work!
You have mentioned that art should be a playful exploration of thought and feeling. However, doesn’t this perspective require a more serious approach and a higher skill level when creating a portrait, particularly a commissioned one? And, would you elaborate, please, on the process you use for creating a portrait?
Yes, I take a more calculated approach in my portrait work to get the subject’s expression and feel just right. Gridding the photo and then meticulously doing the line work with delicate ease and intention are key to creating the lines with feeling and presence. When the line work is complete, I use cold
wax to add color. Adding color is a more intuitive, light-handed approach that suggests the subject’s feel. Portraits are an opportunity to connect to the subject and convey the essence of their expression.
I love the portrait of a baby in blue; it looks like you honed in on the child’s innocence through the eyes, and the skin is very soft and baby-like. Tell us more about this portrait, Jane. I also love the little girl in golden yellow with a yellow crown.
Portrait of a Child in Blue. I aimed to create a sense of translucency in her skin, giving her an ethereal presence that transcends the bounds of the page. Portrait of Claire, wearing a crown and holding a scepter. The medium is a 9B Lyra pencil, which is a thick pencil, but you can get thin lines. I wanted to step into her world of make-believe; in the photo, she is really inhabiting this world, and I wanted to capture her expression and the moment. There is a warm and playful feel to the use of yellow, red, and orange, and she looks back for a moment to let us in. This is the most exciting thing about portrait painting. Capturing the essence of a moment or an individual. Both paintings use cold wax to create translucency.
Is there a difference in your approach when painting a portrait of an adult in contrast to a portrait of a child? Do you handle the backgrounds differently?
I handle the background differently in each portrait. If it’s a commission, I will listen to what is requested. Otherwise, I will take a direction that works with the subject, regardless of whether it is a child or adult portrait.
I understand that you are a member of the Berkshire Guild. Can you share what this experience has been like? How has it enriched your perspective on artistic ideas you’ve integrated into your work?
Over the years living in the Berkshires I started to get very involved in the Guild of Berkshire Artists. My husband and I live in a pretty remote area, so I mostly hang out at home and paint without much human connection, just my husband and my four dogs, which is great, but I started to feel a little stircrazy—I needed to get out and meet my tribe! Berkshire Guild has been it for me. I have become very involved on the shows committee and on the board, participated in shows, and taken classes. I’m really enjoying it, doing a lot of stuff. Sometimes,
I ask myself why I signed up for this responsibility, but I ultimately enjoy it. Just like doing this interview! I don’t like talking about myself, doing interviews, or writing! But I challenge myself even if I feel it’s something I don’t want to do. The Guild has enriched my life in a lot of ways. It’s helped me to open up. I can be a hermit, and that’s not too healthy. I have been able to connect with a lot of other artists and talk about their work. The whole experience has given my life more vitality and purpose.
Your partner in crime, so to speak, is also an artist. What is it like working with your husband and how would you describe the chemistry that you share? In what ways over time have you learned from this experience? Do you share studio space?
Ya, so I’m the criminal, and he’s the victim! Just kidding, I like to joke! He’s a watercolorist and woodworker. He’s not as good as I am, but I try to encourage him. I’m being bratty! I can be a bit competitive, ha! We are both very supportive of each other. I’ll often ask him for his opinion, and he’s really got a good eye, so it’s very useful.
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Portrait of Claire Cold wax and oils on Arches oil paper, 22” x 30”
Portrait of Sally Cold wax and oils on Arches oil paper, 22” x 30”
Sometimes I listen to him, and sometimes not. We do really well as a team; we are in each other’s pockets, working in the same space as both artists, and it is harmonious. Our work is very different, and seeing what we both come up with is fun.
By now you have realized that your artmaking practice is based on principles you have brought to the easel that have accumulated over the years. If an emerging artist comes along, loves one of your paintings, and asks, how do you create this, and what can you share with me so I can learn the secrets to making great art, what would you tell them? (and not: go away) What principles would you be willing to share with this bright-eyed amorous person?
I’ll answer their questions and tell them about my journey, the hits and misses. First, I suggest experimenting with whatever they have around and start doodling to see what they come up with.
The most important aspect of making art initially is to stay open and not restrain your creativity; you might be surprised.
Once you have an idea of what you are interested in, taking a class is always good, or I would suggest they join the Guild because there is so much support for artists. I would tell them about my process and how I do what I do, but I also encourage them
to find their voice and have fun.
The important principles I would tell them are: Try not to judge what you’re doing. Have fun. Stay open and teachable. Don’t compare yourself to others. Stay connected to other artists.
The cold wax method is an intense and challenging medium to work with but is also freeing and gratifying in its process and nature. I would like to know how the cold wax method works and the ways in which you have connected working with oils/acrylics to the cold wax method. Cold wax is a very cool medium; I knew nothing about it until taking a class. I love the approach. It’s very intuitive, and you can get a lot of different textures, patterns, and translucencies, very pliable and workable. I still have a lot of experimenting to do with cold wax to uncover its varied applications. I took the cold wax class at a point in my painting when I was blocked and uninspired using oils. I took Carolyn Abrams’s class through the Guild with other artists to introduce myself to the medium.
I enjoyed Carolyn as a teacher; she was fun to learn with and always willing to help. Also, she does beautiful cold wax paintings of her own. So again, once I connect with others and try something different, things will happen!
Do you like using cold wax enough to continue working with it? What are some pros and cons you have come across with this medium?
Yes, I do like it very much. The positive side is that there’s so much you can do with it, which makes it really fun. I am unsure what the cons are; I would say, like any other medium, it can get overworked.
I notice in your painting of a autumn landscape a similar translucent quality. (The Pond in Autumn) Do you enjoy the challenge of working with reflections and textures?
Honestly, I haven’t worked much with the translucent nature of ponds; only recently have I started experimenting, and yes, it is challenging. We have a pond on our land, so I decided to see what I could do. I used a few colors to keep it simple. I was happy with the outcome. Even though initially, the idea of creating the feel of trees reflected in a pond was daunting, I did want the challenge.
Artists love the challenge to create and express their intuitive feelings through what they see in front of them or their imagination. Have you done work that involves relying on your imagination?
I love to be challenged and try new things. That’s true for me when drawing from a subject or my
The Pond in Autumn Oils on gessoed board, 9” x 12”
JANE
imagination, one feeds the other. If I’m working on a landscape, I may be inspired by a specific object in the landscape that leads me to recreate it imaginatively. I like to see where paintings take me.
What impact does creating art have on your life?
Art keeps me sane! I wouldn’t know what to do without it. It fills me with wonder and keeps me available to learn, experience, and connect with everything.
You have been involved with the Becket Art Center. Please share your experiences.
I love Becket Arts Center; I live close to Middlefield (a tiny town). I’ve gotten involved in many ways, taking classes and showing work. Currently, I’m taking an improv class with two professional actors! Fantastic! Also, I am taking a writing workshop with an accomplished teacher/writer. Both are great classes and give me inspiration for my painting. It’s another community of artists I’ve connected to, and it’s integrated into my life with all that is creative.
I really like the still life of a kitchen with blue chairs and beautiful chrysanthemums on the table. The style in this painting is characterized
by bold, black outlines around each object, very distinctive. Tell us about this style and how it reflects your artistic development.
Oh, thanks; I really like this one, too; it’s one of the older ones, maybe three to four years old. There was a series of paintings in this style with bold dark lines, simple shapes, and bright colors. I was getting back into painting at this point. I started with these simple shapes, not trying to get the vantage point correct or the technical aspects, mostly painting from my gut, letting the objects find their place in space through color and experimentation, and doing thumbnail sketches before embarking on a painting. These paintings were the beginning of my road back into painting, and I have taken a lot of turns since then.
Many artists have one particular style and stick to it. Sometimes, it’s less confusing for people, but I am not there yet, or that’s just not me. We’ll see!
Earlier in your life, you were a designer, yes? Tell us about your line of T-shirts, the design aspects, and how and why you later went into fine art.
Before I got back to painting, which was pretty recent, I worked in different fields in an artistic capacity, sometimes for companies and sometimes for myself. One of my companies was a t-shirt
company called Red Collar Creatives, referring to a dog’s red collar. I made drawings that I then applied to T-shirts. I started my own company selling T-shirts on the streets of SoHo in NYC. I met store owners who bought my shirts and made them forUrban Outfitters and Barney’s. It was a one-woman operation and could not sustain the business, but it was quite empowering to go from selling on the street to being in some of the top stores in the city. My shirts have also appeared in TV series and worn by celebrities.
What did you like about working for those big brand-name companies?
I designed sneakers for Reebok, Fila, and Candies; I was working for big companies, but working as a shoe designer, we were a pretty close-knit bunch. We had our studio, so it didn’t feel like a huge company. It was a very creative environment, and we were given a wide berth as designers, so it wasn’t stifling. I traveled to Taiwan where my shoes were made. Some of those designs appeared in magazines. At one point, I had the opportunity to meet Derek Jeter. At the time, Fila was sponsoring him and my boss brought him to my office where I was personally introduced.
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Chrysanthemum with Blue Chair Acrylic on canvas, 34” x 38”
The Mirror of Nature’s Soul Oils on Arches oil paper, 22” x 30”
And, it was crazy to see a friend and co-worker making a size 26 sneaker for Shaquille O’Neal! It was the size of a small boat.
You mentioned you were a member of a music band. How did this fit into your life when you think about it?
Ok! What a chunk of my life that was! I spent ten years or so as an aspiring, successful singer in an original rock band, hoping to get a record deal and make a living out of it!
We, the band, got close, but it didn’t happen. I was a starving artist; although I wasn’t starving, I worked at CBGB as a bartender and lighting designer back then. The owner also managed my band and we got to open for the band Spinal Tap and The Ramones.
When I left RISD, I got into music. I mentioned this before, so I consider this just another part of my journey. It was something I wanted to do since I was young and is a part of what made me who I am today.
The generation of people who spent time at clubs like the Ritz, CBGB, and the Mudd Club in Manhattan were vibrant and eager for artis-
tic stimulation. Can you describe what it was like for you back then?
It was the coolest! From the tattoo conventions to the hard-core matinees when people were thrown over the bar —while I was bartending! All the wellknown bands that made their fame there, CBGBs was IT—the place, the hole in the wall that was dark and dingy. Where bathroom walls were covered in graffiti inscribed by band members, performers, rockers and patrons. CB was my hangout. My band played at other venues, too, but CB’s was my home away from home, and sometimes, I slept there when I had no place to go.
Have you been at all inspired to make a series of paintings documenting this time period? I would say no; some images, thoughts, feelings, and expressions have come out in my paintings, but that would be a very cool group of paintings to focus on!
I am curious about the painting All My Hats. Ok, I believe you can be accurate in any color. Animals don’t see us the way we see ourselves. Each person considers another in their way. There’s a lot out there that we look at, but we don’t see. It has
been labeled and named, sometimes minimizing our experience. But I can paint it from my imagination.
I started this painting thinking about my love of hats and how people have an affinity for particular objects to adorn themselves or have with them, letting others get an idea of who they are or who they think they are.
You can wear a hat and transport yourself to another time and place. All the different hats in the painting represent different personas. Also, the purple skin lets the subject inhabit another world. It’s like reinventing oneself.
If you could go back in time, when would that be, and why? What imagery do you remember never fading from your mind, and can you define what you see? Describe its color, texture, feel, and all else possible.
No, I wouldn’t go back. I am happiest now. Things that don’t fade in my memory are recent memories—the good times with family and friends. I recently went on a sailing trip with my family to the Bahamas. My brother was the captain; it was a 44foot catamaran with nine of us. I have thoughts of pure bliss and excitement from that trip.
All My Hats, Acrylic on canvas, 30” x 36”
My Sweet Kurt, Cold wax and oils on Arches paper, 22” x 30”
From the first night, with the wind howling and trying to get the anchor to stick so that we didn’t float off the rocks, one of our friends decided to go on a short snorkel dive while we were cleaning lobster, and the sharks started congregating! I was laughing and freaking out and excited all at once! Hoping that our friend didn’t get eaten! Which he didn’t! I loved the whole experience. All senses awake! The sun, the crystal blue water, the joy of being with loved ones and being alive! Literally! There is a whole other part of my life that I won’t get into now, but I’m lucky to be alive.
I love the painting My Sweet Kurt, the sketchy watercolor piece—the one of the dark beige dog wrapped in a purple leafy blanket. What significance do animals hold for you, especially in a world where people often take center stage? I can’t even eat chicken anymore, and the thought of baby lamb chops or bacon is out of the question. How about you?
I have four dogs, and I love them; they’re all adopted and have different personalities. They give me great joy and are fond of me, too, or at least the treats, walks, and cuddles. Please don’t get me into the whole meat-eating dis-
cussion. Ugh! I was vegan for a little while; at this point, there are things I won’t eat, like baby animals. I stay away from dairy as much as possible; if I eat meat, it’s from small local farms. It’s super weird because last night, I had a dream that I was given a chicken, and immediately, I was in love with her. I felt an immediate connection and love for this chicken!
Why did you choose the opening quote: “Chairs, interviews and people make me uncomfortable.” and what does it mean?
There are lots of famous quotes I love and identify with, but I wanted to keep it simple and not mindbending, so this is it; with all my fears and difficulties I’ve experienced throughout life, fear of people, chairs, representing having to be in a specific place, tied down, like a chair in school, I still have this desire to sit in the same chair at the dinner table or to always sit on an aisle seat in a plane, it becomes an unhealthy habit, and to me symbolizes the inability to change or adapt. Same with people, I really enjoy being with people now, but sometimes I still have that moment when the sparkle wears off and I must escape. It’s nothing like it used to be.
I find it hard to talk about myself for whatever reason. I guess the best reason I can come up with is it makes me feel vulnerable. So that is why I chose this statement. The line “Chairs Make Me Uncomfortable” came up in my acting class when I was doing an improv. The setup was a parent-teacher meeting, and I was the parent. We had to use the last word of the other person’s sentence to start our sentence, and, in my scene, the last word was chair; I immediately sat down and said chairs make me uncomfortable, so I still have that discomfort wired into me. But I cannot fall into those old traps of completely clamming up and being afraid of others— and that’s good!
Thank you, Jane.
Jane Craker can be followed on Instagram
We All Live Together Oils, 30” x 36”
As a young artist, Monet's color palette and subject matter always inspired me. I researched his methods and found them to be intriguing and intricate. In this painting, I wanted to recreate his style and colors using a more abstract expression of it. I had no subject matter in mind. So I gathered my colors and began my quest to pay homage to him in my own style of painting. ‐Don Longo
Susan Flex Gilbert
Monet’s Hillside, 24” x 36” Acrylics on canvas
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH MUSIC
“Rite of Spring’ - Rachmaninoff/ Stravinsky, March 23, 4-6pm. Two monumental works, two Russian ex-pats of the same aristocratic background – and two divergent extremes. One a master of nostalgia and a formidable pianist, follows in the footsteps of Chopin. The other, a trailblazer, scandalizer and collaborator of Picasso delights in breaking old molds – though harking back to traditional Russian folk material – and ushers in a new age in music, conceptually aligned with Cubism. Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring shocked tout-Paris and sparked riots (scenes from the film Coco Chanel will be shown). Rachmaninoff’s Sonata in G minor for Cello and Piano was written after a course of hypnotherapy for “composers block,” out of which emerged a work of virtuosity and grandeur, with his characteristic flourishes and a Russian Belle Époque sensibility. “Terrifyingly difficult” for the piano, it is a virtual piano concerto – not to downplay the soulful melodic role of the cello. Michael Chertock, piano; Yehuda Hanani, cello; Enes Pektas, baritone
Join us for an Afterglow Reception on the Mahaiwe stage following the concert! You are invited to meet the artists and enjoy bites and beverages by Authentic Eats by Oleg.
Close Encounters with Music800-843-0778 / 413-528-0100
Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center, 14 Castle St., Great Barrington, MA
“There are painters who transform the sun into ayellow spot, but there are others who, thanks to theirart and intelligence, transform a yellow spot into the sun.”
—Pablo Picasso
OIL
PAMELA BERKELEY
RECOLLECTIONS 2025
Blue Mountain Gallery is presenting Pamela Berkeley’s solo exhibition Recollections 2025 in New York City this February 25 to – March 22. Pamela Berkeley makes paintings from close and direct observation of nature, and combining still life objects, some arranged as magical altars, landscape, portraiture of people and animals. She doesn’t have backgrounds in her work. Her main preoccupation in painting is the tension between the still objects close to the picture plane and the distant imagery that is farthest away. Foreground and what is behind are of equal importance, painted at the same time, side by side, locked into each other. In fact, in a work of lace curtains, sometimes only the holes are made of paint, not the threads. As tightly drawn as her work is, there is an underlying influence of her love of abstract painting, all shown in the love of color, paint and brushwork. She has painted so many things! Berkeley’s works are done in oil on canvas or linen, and range in size from 8 in. x 8 in. to 6 ft. by 8 ft. Besides landscape and interiors of Maine, Massachusetts and New York City. She has a series of portraits of actor and artist friends arranged in odd environments.
“To be an artist you have to know who you are. If you are an artist, you know it without a doubt. The same is true for magicians.” - Pamela Berkeley
Pamela Berkeley has been a professional artist for over 55 years, exhibiting with G.W. Einstein gallery in SoHo for 20 years, and has been a member of Blue Mountain Gallery for 10 years. She has shown nationally in many venues, including 12 major museums. She lived and worked in New York City and in Montville, Maine from 1975 to 2002, then moved to Sheffield, Massachusetts.
For more information about Pamela Berkeley’s solo exhibition at Blue Mountain GalleryBlue Mountain Gallery - 547 West 27th Street, Suite 200, New York, NY 10001; G.W. Einstein Gallery; 646-486-4730, bluemountaingallery@verizon.net
Or contact the artisttherealpamelaberkeley@gmail.com
SALLY TISKA RICE BERKSHIRE ROLLING HILLS
Born and raised in the captivating Berkshires, Sally Tiska Rice possesses artistic prowess that breathes life into her canvases. As a versatile multimedia artist, Sally seamlessly employs a tapestry of techniques, working in acrylics, watercolors, oil paints, pastels, collages containing botanicals and mixed media elements. Her creative spirit draws inspiration from the idyllic surroundings of her rural hometown, where she resides with her husband Mark and cherished pets.
Sally's artistic process is a dance of spontaneity and intention. With each stroke of her brush, she composes artwork that reflects her unique perspective. Beyond her personal creations, Sally also welcomes commissioned projects, turning heartfelt visions into tangible realities. Whether it's capturing the essence of individuals, beloved pets, cherished homes, or sacred churches, she pours her soul into each personalized masterpiece.
Sally's talent has garnered recognition both nationally and internationally. Her career includes a remarkable 25-year tenure at Crane Co., where she lent her hand-painted finesse to crafting exquisite stationery. Sally is a member of the Clock Tower Artists of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, the Guild of Berkshire Artists, the Berkshire Art Association, and the Becket Arts Center. Follow on YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram.
Sally’s work is on the gallery walls of the Clock Tower, Open Monday-Friday 9:00-5:00 pm for self-guided tours.
SallyTiskaRice@gmail.com www.sallytiskarice.com https://www.facebook.com/artistsallytiskarice Fine Art Prints (Pixels), Twitter, LinkedIn Instagram, YouTube, TikTok
BIRCH FAMILY
ACRYLIC ON A 24"X24" GALLERY STRETCHED CANVAS
FLUTTERING JEWELS GOLDEN ACRYLIC METALLIC PAINT
MISTY MARCH MORNING
ON CANVAS,12” X 16”, 2023
MICHAEL CHERTOCK, PIANO
JAYE ALISON MOSCARIELLO
Jaye Alison Moscariello harnesses water-based mediums like acrylic and watercolor, influenced by a creative upbringing and artistic journey. Through abstraction and intuitive color selection, she captures the interplay between forms, with lines that articulate deep-seated emotions. Her art resonates with joy and upliftment, transforming personal and worldly complexities into visual harmony.
The artist is passionate about creating art, painting on flat, smooth surfaces, and using materials that are environmentally friendly.
Moscariello’s work has been exhibited both nationally and internationally, and has appeared in print, film, television, the web and Off Off Broadway.
Transforming personal and worldly complexities into visual harmony. In celebration of her new studio, enjoy 10% off large paintings and 30% off small paintings.
Abstract Memories, Knox Gallery, January 31March 8, 2025. 452 Main st, Monterey, MA. Jaye Alison Moscariello310-970-4517
Studio visits by appointment only: Pond Shed (behind the Buggy Whip Factory), 208 Norfolk Road, Southfield, Massachusetts jayealison.com jaye.alison.art@gmail.com
THESE THREE BRACELETS ARE ALL TOURMALINEGREEN, STEELY BLUE, AND HOT PINK MATERIAL- 18KT GOLD/ARGENTIUM SILVER COMPLETELY HAND
FORGED
JOANE CORNELL FINE JEWELRY, WILDLY WROUGHT
I am a hand-forging jeweler, a metal alchemist, a conjurer of gold and silver—shaping raw elements into exquisite, wearable art. With years spent hammering, sculpting, and refining fine artisan jewelry in the Hudson Valley and the Berkshires, my hands have memorized the weight of precious metals, the way light bends through a perfect gemstone, the raw pulse of design in motion.
I work in gold and silver, from 24kt casting grain to the finest alloys, pulling elegance from fire and pressure, forging heirlooms with purpose and precision. Luxury should not come at the cost of conscience. I work with ethically sourced gemstones, cut at the origin to minimize environmental impact. My metals are nearly 100% recycled or reclaimed, ensuring that every design leaves behind beauty, not waste. I honor the Kimberley Process, using only conflict-free diamonds, whether they are modern brilliants or antique rose cuts with stories of their own.
“As a South American and half Moroccan, jewelry has always been a part of my everyday life and wardrobe. Joane Cornell’s craftsmanship is brilliant, and her designs are unique, beautiful, elegant, and versatile. I wear all of my Joane’s pieces on every occasion, and I receive no shortage of compliments wherever I go.”
—Anita Sibony de Adelsberg Jewelry is an intimate form of storytelling, and my custom pieces are written in metal and stone. I collaborate closely with my clients, transforming whispers of ideas into bespoke designs that don’t just meet expectations—they eclipse them. My work is for those who crave more than ornamentation—for those who understand that true beauty carries both weight and wildness.
Joane Cornell Fine Jewelryjoanecornellfinejewelry@gmail.com
GHETTA HIRSCH
Here is a small painting I do not show too often. it has the simplicity I am looking for when I describe my work as Abstract Realism. Yet it is clearly a bit of our Berkshires Landscape as birches often fill our views with gentle whites. I love how in a snowy forest floor you can raise your eyes and still find some of the white color on the birch tree. Since they are often mixed with bare denuded oak trunks or protective evergreens, they provide a restful view of the scene.
We should not say that they are completely white as the birches’ trunks have all the neutral colors in the beige and grey as well. They are my favorite trees and yet they are many lying on the forest floor as they break under the weight of the ice or snow. To make matter worse they are trying to survive wood-boring insect larvae in our region. There is also this new bug from Asia called “spotted lanternfly” that we should not hesitate to kill as it attacks other trees as well.
However birches like our snow as they prefer a wet soil, so we are lucky to have them around our hills and mountains. This painting tries to give you a sense of the variety in the white of their trunks. Enjoy!
My work is still exhibited in North Adams, MA at Gallery North, 9 Eagle Street, or you can visit my studio in Williamstown, MA.
Call or text 413-597-1716
Website collection: ghetta-hirsch.squarespace.com @ghettahirschpaintings
Human subtlety…will never devise an invention more beautiful, more simple, or more direct than does nature because, in her inventions, nothing is lacking, and nothing is superfluous.
—Leonardo da Vinci
PATAGONIA
ACRYLIC, LATEX, GRAPHITE ON CRESCENT BOARD, 40”X30”
BETWEEN THE LINES 2023, ACRYLIC ON CANVAS, 36.5” X31.5”
BIRCH WALL, OIL ON BOARD, 5”X7”
COLLAGE, 2022
BRUCE LAIRD
I am an abstract artist whose two- and three-dimensional works in mixed media reveal a fascination with geometry, color and juxtapositions. For me it is all about the work which provides surprising results, both playful and thought provoking. From BCC to UMASS and later to Vermont College to earn my MFA Degree. I have taken many workshops through Art New England, at Bennington College, Hamilton College and an experimental workshop on cyanotypes recently at MCLA. Two international workshops in France and Italy also.I am pleased to have a studio space with an exciting group of artists at the Clocktower Building in Pittsfield.
Bruce LairdStudio #307, Clock Tower Business Center, 75 South Church Street, Pittsfield, MA Instagram: @ecurbart
RUBY AVER STREET ZEN
Growing up on the Southside of Chicago in the 60s was a history rich and troubled time. As a youth, playing in the streets demanded grit.
Teaching Tai chi for the last 30 years requires a Zen state of mind. My paintings come from this quiet place that exhibit the rich grit of my youth . Movement, shape and color dominate, spontaneously combining raw as well as delicate impulses. My recent series, Strike a Pose, is inspired by the dance genre Voguing. Colorful feminine images with amplified characters grace the canvas with their mystery.
Ruby Aver -
Housatonic Studio open by appointment: 413-854-7007 / rdaver2@gmail.com Instagram: rdaver2
FRONT STREET GALLERY
Painting classes on Monday and Wednesday Mornings 10-1pm at the studio in Housatonic and Thursday mornings 10am - 1pm out in the field. Also available for private critiques. Open to all. Please come paint with us!
Gallery hours: Open by chance and by appointment anytime 413. 274. 6607 (gallery) 413. 429. 7141 (cell) 413. 528. 9546 (home) www.kateknappartist.com Front Street, Housatonic, MA
RICHARD TALBERT
My "Red Period" is a significant phase in my artistic career from 1984 to 1987. During this time, my paintings were dominated by a predominantly red color palette, which symbolized my emotional state and creative expression. My art studios were in Hoboken, NJ, 301 Adams Street Loft # 1-A, and Vence, France, at 22 Blvd. De Lattre. This period was marked by melancholy and introspection, as evident in my somber and contemplative works
My Red Period is considered a pivotal moment in my development as an artist, showcasing the innovative use of color and exploring themes related to poverty, suffering, and social inequality in Hoboken, New Jersey from 1980 through 1984 and extreme wealth and privilege in Vence, France, from 1984 through 1985.
Richard Talbert413-347-3888 / richardtalbertdesign.com
“I don’t need your acceptance, I don’t need your tolerance, I need your respect for my humanity.” -Billy Porter
William Ellis Porter II is an Emmy-winning actor, singer, dancer, writer, producer, director, and LGBTQ+ icon
artist, illustrator, writer, poet, peace lover elizabeth cassidy studio works elizabethcassidystudioworks.com
Kate Knapp, Red Barn Sunny Day, Oil on canvas, 24” x 30”
EVE’S PARTY DRESS, ACRYLIC ON CANVAS, 10” X 10”
SELF PORTRAIT AND BUDDHA, OIL ON LINEN. 1985
MATT BERNSON
Matt Bernson is a figurative artist who intuitively uses bold lines and bright color to expressively portray the human figure in playful and provocative ways. Matt graduated from MassArt with a BFA in Animation & Painting and has worked as a caricaturist and tattoo artist. His style could be described as a flavor of illustrative expressionism: a combination of strong lines and graphic composition paired with vivid color and loose brush strokes to hint at a narrative for the viewer to feel through. Matt Bernson brings attention to the human body with unique methodologies to help the viewer find new levels of appreciation for the figure.
Matt BernsonArtByMattBernson.com / matthew.bernson@gmail.com Instagram @MattBernson.Art
JANET COOPER
THE ART OF FIGURING OUT WHAT KIND OF ARTIST I AM
Fabrics, anatomy, stitches, colors and bricologue are words, imbued with intense emotionality for me, a maker, collector and lover of objects and places.
My first love was clay, so basic, earthy and obsessively compelling, I adored making pottery shapes and objects, resembling torsos. A period of fascination with vintage tin cans, bottle caps and junky metal discards followed. Metal was sheared, punched, riveted and assembled into figurative shapes. I began to use fabrics with these works and eventually abandoned metal for hand stitching doll sculptures, totems and collages, all with second hand or recycled fabrics.
Lately I have introduced paint and waxes into my work. I also am using animal bones, those armatures of mammal form. I am recycling old works into the new, a kind of synthesis of who I have been with whom I am now.
I am also returning to jewelry or ornament making. as well as fashioning a collection of garden and street wear art aprons.
Janet Cooperjanetcoop@gmail.com www.janetcooperdesigns.com
RICHARD NELSON (RICK NELSON ON FB) MY MUSIC
Winter is difficult for me, and I'm reaching a point where it becomes difficult for me just to fix myself a bite to eat or basic household cleaning. The artistic epiphany is harder to find in myself, if that makes sense. If the art feels forced, it frustrates me. It's been a problem.
I am currently more involved in music. I am no musician; I have no real sense of rhythm or any sort of natural ability. So now I am in the same situation as I was at the beginning of this whole thing. Teaching myself how to play the guitar is something I've been attempting since I was twelve, but I never put the time in, I didn't have the discipline. As I got older, entering the real world I tried harder, experimenting with four track recording and such, but, being the owner and night shift cook at a diner cut into my creative life, eventually squashing it out altogether.
I saw the angel and carved until I set him free.
—Michelangelo
So, now I am retired and have nothing to do, lots of time to practice and relearn. Obviously, there is a marked improvement to my skill set. Where it leads, one can only speculate. I do have about 270 improvised compositions on my iPad via GarageBand. Hopefully a cd in the future.
I guess I should move into this century, if I was twenty years younger and healthier.....
Richard Nelsonnojrevned@hotmail.com
PHOTO: RICHARD NELSON
ASSEMBLAGE ART
“WAITING ON THAT SHIFT IN THE PARADIGM.” FB POST, FEB. 7, 3:24 PM. RICK NELSON
Some of the ways to use
AND
DRAWALL … ‘Invention as art’ … a new drawing medium, a tool, new age mechanical drawing, pencil drawing on a vertical surface, clean drawing surfaces, large format, reviving the art of the ‘draftsman’ … The ‘built world’ has always relied on drawings by draftsmen, I’d like to reclaim that art form to create a new ... art genre. If I’ve been using Drawall to make art, I’m sure other talented types can also use Drawall. I’m offering Drawall to the ‘art world’ as a new tool to explore, to hopefully resurrect drafting and mechanical drawing to a new ‘art genre’. It’s not everyday a new analogue tool is introduced to the art world.
—Leonardo Sideri
For more information on this invention for drawing please go
LIONEL DELEVINGNE
Lionel Delevingne is a French born photographer and author whose work has taken him all over the world for publications such as the New York Times, Mother Jones, Figaro magazine among many others. His work has been collected and exhibited widely in Europe and the US.
His two most recent books “To The Village Square, from Montague to Fukushima 1975 to 2014” and “X-ING …My Adventures at the Carwash 2022” are emblematic of his commitment to environmental concerns as well as the uncovering the absurdity of today’s reality.
Lionel Delevingne917-496-1863
lioneldelevingne@gmail.com https://www.lioneldelevingne.com https://www.instagram.com/Lioneldelevingne
FRONT ST. GALLERY
Pastels, oils, acrylics and watercolors, abstract and representational, landscapes, still lifes and portraits, a unique variety of painting technique and styles you will be transported to another world and see things in a way you never have before join us and experience something different.
Painting classes continue on Monday and Wednesday mornings 10-1:30pm at the studio and Thursday mornings out in the field. These classes are open to all...come to one or come again if it works for you. All levels and materials welcome. Private critiques available. Classes at Front Street are for those wishing to learn, those who just want to be involved in the pure enjoyment of art, and/or those who have some experience under their belt. Kate Knapp413-528-9546 at home or 413-429-7141 (cell) Front Street, Housatonic, MA. Gallery open by appointment or chance anytime. www.kateknappartist.com
Matt Bernson
MARGUERITE BRIDE BERKSHIRES IN WATERCOLOR
If local scenes in watercolor interest you, I have a number of originals available. I recently pulled in most of my paintings from galleries. In the near future (sometime in April) I will hold my final Berkshires art sale in my home. Please check my website or Facebook page for more information.
In May, I will be moving from the Berkshires to another beautiful New England area….the Lakes Region of New Hampshire. After 30 years in paradise, another adventure is calling me. Lets face it, its just not cold enough for me here in the Berkshires.
Soon I have been “disassembling” my studio and I have a lot of equipment, studio furniture, art materials/supplies, tables, flat files, print storage shelves, chairs, and racks looking for new homes. Please check my website, my watercolor Facebook page, or text/email me directly for more details about dates/times of scheduled sales events. I can also set up an appointment for you to visit privately.
Moving is great fun, isn’t it!
Marguerite Bride –413-841-1659; margebride-paintings.com margebride@aol.com; Facebook: Marguerite Bride Watercolors. Instagram: margebride
You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes. —Pooh, "Pooh's Little Instruction Book"
©VINTAGE DELEVINGNE SILVER PRINTS FOR IN THESE TIMES
KATE KNAPP, A VIEW OF THE PATIO, OIL ON CANVAS, 30” X 40”
RAILROAD STREET ALLEY, GT BARRINGTON, WC
Something For Over The Couch PART 25
“Uncle Firp”
Uncle Firp! It just so happened that I also had an Uncle Firp. He was not an actual relative of mine but he was a person everyone called Uncle Firp. It was an odd name, and he was an odd man. He was one of my father’s insurance customers, and so I had been to his house more than once. Actually, it was not his house, but just a small room in an apartment house in the Italian section.
He was always wearing an old brown suit, as if he had been born in a brown suit. Like my grandfather he smelled very strongly of stogie smoke.
Driving down Parkway Boulevard we went by a large beautiful house Firp owned, a house with a pool and its own tennis court. My father was very aggravated by the house, its tennis court, and the relationship between Firp and his son. He told me about their pathetic family, as I sat in the back seat of the car absentmindedly eating bread and olives from one of those white paper deli containers. I was only twelve at the time, and I remember wondering, “Do people really treat members of their own families in such terrible ways, or is it like a folktale in which people do impossibly outrageous things but nobody is supposed to really believe it. Could it be possible that there are sons who beat their fathers, threaten them, and drive them out of the house?”
When I was twelve I truly believed that people were essentially good, and even if some person got into a situation where he killed another person, it would probably turn out in the end to have been completely justified and understandable, and even a really good thing, if only you knew all the attendant circumstances.
That the son beat the father, my Dad explained, was because the father had beaten the boy's mother, and later the mother, unfortunately, died. The mother died of some form of cancer, and not of her beatings, but it all happened at the same time, and so the son jumbled it all up in his head.
Old Firp was a very religious man, and when his wife became sick he began going to mass every day, but even though he went to mass every day, still his wife got no better. Then old Firp began going to his church twice a day in the morning and again in the evening, sitting alone in a pew way in the back in the shadows. Because of the depth of the old man’s faith, I should say depth and breadth, and the childlike completeness of his faith, he was certain that his wife, the wife he was known to beat, would certainly get better.
When Firp was told his wife was getting worse he came to the conclusion that the doctors were lying to him. Why the doctors would lie to him he didn’t know, but it had to be so. His confidence in God, and
his suspicion that the doctors were deceiving him overpowered his reason to such an extent that he went to his lawyer to consult about the advisability of a lawsuit against the hospital and its doctors. His lawyer refused to take up the case saying that, God forbid, it might get into the papers and then he would become an object of ridicule.
The lawyer tried to be gentle and understanding with old Firp, seeing as how he was in such despair over his wife’s condition. The day Firp went to the lawyer with his request to sue the hospital was the afternoon of the very day when a doctor, taking him into a small conference room with comfortable chairs and a picture of lambs in a meadow on the wall, told him that his dear wife had only six more months to live. Old Firp cursed his lawyer and vowed to never seek his counsel ever again, and so he went to other lawyers and in his mind he saw images of a great success in court, and of new laws enacted to protect devout people from the treachery of the medical profession. He imagined in his fevered state, how his old lawyer would read about it and regret the day he refused the case. But in the real world old Firp was treated to silence and disbelief.
Firp’s struggle over his wife’s condition was not without a personal secret despair. It was not that he felt to blame for what was happening, even though he was. It was because he harbored guilt in his heart about his obvious hypocrisy.
My father explained to me that Firp lived entirely on the small social security check he received in the mail each month. This small amount was almost sufficient to pay his monthly expenses, so long as there was not any unexpected drain on his limited resources. Once he had to delay his monthly premium payment to my father for his life insurance policy, and for several weeks was in a state of despair lest the insurance be canceled for non payment. I remember at this point in my Dad’s narration of the story of Firp, that we were stopped at a light, and he turned to me, sitting in the back seat, and said emphatically, “I would have had to make the payment for him out of my own pocket.” He said this with such aggravation that I never forgot it, and wondered to myself why old Firp was able to command such consideration.
Old Firp’s economies were unable to sustain a new recurring weekly expense; he had started buying masses to be said for his wife’s recovery. This weekly expense exhausted his limited spending money so that during this time he was often seen eating in the soup kitchen down on Lafayette Street. Even though he suffered what he felt was the shameful indignity of eating in the soup kitchen, nevertheless he continued to dine there out of the necessity of giving small amounts to the church each day for the sake of Mabel, (his wife, by the way, was named Mabel.)
All throughout this painful time that Firp was eating his dinner in the soup kitchen, not for one instant was he forgetful of this simple fact, he had over a hundred thousand dollars in cash and gold coins in a safe deposit box in the Gold Dome Bank on Genesee Street, not to mention the deed for his own wonderful house that his son was living in.
Everyone assumed that old Firp was rich, and you could not have found a single person in the Italian section, who did not assume that he was rich. They actually assumed that he was much richer than he really was, but the poor old man could not enjoy his wealth in his old age because he lived in fear of the
anger and violence of his son. If the son had known about the money he would surely have abused the old man to such a degree that Uncle Firp’s life would have been unendurable.
But now he had to face the fact that he was unwilling to part with his fortune to save his wife’s life. Obviously the transaction with the church could be done in secret. The priest he dealt with in his contributions could be trusted not to mention it to anyone and everything would obviously be done anonymously. But how much should he give, that was the question that tormented him. Was it to be just fifty thousand, or was he going to have to give his entire hundred thousand dollars. Somehow fifty thousand seemed to be the aesthetically correct amount to give. He could even imagine a conversation between God and Saint Jude, the saint of hopeless cases. In his imagination he could see Saint Jude, with an earnest and serious look in his eyes, saying, “Fifty thousand Lord, just imagine, and he is eating his meals in a soup kitchen.” But the Lord is not moved and replies, “But Jude, there is another fifty thousand that the old man could give Me, and you know very well that I do not concern myself with the totaling up of accounts, but it’s just that if old Firp holds out half of his fortune, doesn't it imply that he is somehow not as devout as he could actually be. He is clearly not like Job, and does not aspire to be anything like Job. He could, for example, give everything in the safe deposit box, sell his property, go to the loan sharks and borrow another hundred thousand. On top of that, he could also give the entire amount of his next social security check, and then he might look and see if there is any loose change under his couch cushions!”
With such absurd imaginings old Firp reassured himself that the fifty thousand would be more than an acceptable amount to purchase the continuance of his wife’s earthly existence. Firp simply could not imagine that God would be such a merciless, greedy cut throat.
So in the end old Firp decided on fifty thousand as the amount he was going to pay for prayers and masses to be said for his wife’s recovery. The priest who accepted the bank check made out to the parish tried in vain to impress upon the old man that the payment was specifically to assure the repose of Mabel’s soul after death, and was not going to purchase the restoration of her health, but old Firp turned a blind eye, and a deaf ear to the priest, knowing in his heart that he was not actually dealing with the church, the parrish, or even the priest who said the masses, but he was in negotiations with God himself. Arming himself with these confidences, he looked forward to the next six fateful months with optimistic expectations.
But the old woman died right on schedule six months later. What happened to Old Firp after his wife died I can't say because I do not know. Perhaps the blow turned him into an atheist, but more likely he became even more devout.
There are those who insist that after Mable’s death he went to the priest and insisted on a refund, but I don’t believe that story.
—RICHARD BRITELL, FEBRUARY, 2025 PARTS, 1 THROUGH 24
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