Cailey's Back: Wheat and Sunflowers, Changes and Mistakes

After about a year off blogging, ya girl is back! Last year was probably the craziest year ever. I know,  I don't even need to go into all that, it was a crazy year for everyone. But seriously. I'll share more later but let me just give you the cliff notes: 

Nick and me dancing at our
wedding!

In January 2020 I was happily single, living in my parent’s house, working full-time, planning a visit to Kherson, Ukraine, and enjoying my best mental health in years. 

Things were looking good, I was a few months away from paying off student loans, hoping to move into my own place by the end of the year, and working on an October deadline to publish a poetry novel.

By December I was engaged, had a new sister and a new nephew, had spent April and most of May off work for quarantine, I was finally getting ready to move into an apartment, I'd paid off my loans and completed my book, and was still enjoying my best mental health (aside from the stress of planning a wedding during a deadly pandemic!). 

With everything going on last year, adopting a sister and dating during a pandemic and whatnot, something had to give... so this site drew the short straw.

Now I'm happily married, happily vaccinated, and ready to come back to See Cailey Color!

It seems right to begin with a painting that, like this blog, also sat dormant for a year:

Wheat and Sunflowers, May 2021. Acrylic and gold ink on canvas, 14"x18". 

Early in the process...

Like I said, I planned to go to Ukraine for a week at the end of June last year. 

I got my passport, our group purchased plane tickets and started learning about the culture, everything was on track for us to travel... 

Of course you already know that didn’t happen. Covid-19 threw a major wrench in everyone's plans. 

When I began making arrangements for the trip, I did some research on the country, planning to make a painting inspired by what I learned. Wheat and sunflower oil are two of Ukraine's largest exports, and the area we were going to is very agricultural. 

I've always loved sunflowers and the color yellow... Toss in a shameless obsession with Vincent Van Gogh, and this painting just had to happen!

So I spent hours googling images of sunflower fields and wheat fields, considering my composition and colors, and thinking about techniques. 

Check out that empty foreground, waiting for inspiration!

I wanted to use a paint brush as little as possible on this one, so I used a painting knife for the underpainting and and the sky, and a sponge to paint much of the sunflower field. I only used a brush on the sunflower details and the wheat!

Anyway, coronavirus reared its ugly head, the trip was cancelled, plane tickets refunded, and my painting slipped to the sidelines. It was almost finished except for a strip of foreground that I just couldn’t get right.

The painting sat in a stack of unfinished work for a long time. I was seriously stuck on that foreground. I loved what I'd done with it thus far, especially with the sunflower field, but I just couldn't work it out.

Finally, just few weeks ago I decided I wanted to finish the painting. Feeling determined but still not exactly inspired, I made a big mistake by attempting to add a large pine tree to the foreground, with the trunk stretching up the right side and branches arching across the top, neatly framing the sunflower and wheat fields. 

I didn't even want to show you this picture but I felt
obligated to share my shame...

My gut told me not to, but I was stubborn and added that darn tree.

I hated it with the first brushstrokes, but I just kept painting and painting, like a mad woman. 

By the time I finally put down my brush, I was stuck with this very ugly tree marring the whole right side of the canvas. It was awful. I hated it.

I mean, look at it! That's like.... the worst thing I've ever painted. I hate it. 

Finally I put down my brush, but the damage was done and I wanted to cry. I felt like it was ruined. I was so mad at myself. 

I hated the thought of trying to go back over it and fix everything. The sunflowers would never be the same. The big puffy clouds and deep blue sky could never be fixed. I even considered cutting the unmarred rectangle from the middle of the canvas to use in a collage. 

But I didn't do anything drastic (the first thing I did right that night!). The next day, I painted back over the tree. Everything would be fine. 

It strikes me that this painting is a lot like life. Sometimes, you ignore your conscience and do the wrong thing. You know it’s wrong and stupid, you know it’s ruining everything, but you do it anyway, all the while your gut is screaming at you for being so stupid and stubborn. 

I’m thankful for a God who forgives mistakes and works things out for the best! 

Almost done!

That doesn’t mean the mistake never happened; there are always consequences. 

It's true that the sky and the sunflower field will never be the same. And I’ll always know that underneath the yellow and blue paint, there’s an ugly tree that should never have happened. 

Overall, however, the painting is actually more beautiful because it's finally finished!

June 2020 came and went and I still haven’t been to Ukraine. I have no idea if there’s a landscape like this anywhere in the country. There probably isn’t! I just know two of their main industries and enjoy using a paint knife. It’s hardly even about Ukraine anymore, but about mistakes and a hope for redemption.

Vincent van Gogh, Wheatfield with Crows, oil on canvas, 1890.
I've always loved this one. Can you tell it was big inspiration for my painting?

I still want to go to Ukraine someday and see what it actually looks like. But I’ll need to change the last name on my passport!

-Cailey Lazarus

Fear, Unfinished Art, and COVID-19

Work-in-progress collage (untitled)

Hey all! I hope you're staying healthy, safe, and sane during these strange times...

For well over a month I've been working on a large, colorful collage of sunflowers and bunnies. A few weeks ago I wrote up a basic first draft of the blog post I planned to share when it's finished... It's mostly about my mental health and how good this year has been so far, the symbolism of sunflowers and bunnies, good stuff like that.

The problem is, everything changed in the past three weeks. 

A few weeks ago, COVID-19 was a distant concern for much of the world. For those like me, living a quiet life in the midwestern US, it was barely even a headline in the world news. 

For the first two months of this year, my mental health was the best it has been in years!

I was happy, my depression was creeping steadily backward, my anxiety was the lowest since I don't even know when. My few anxious days each had specific causes, easy to address and move on. I refocused my relationship with God, I was spending more time with people I care about, I had a lot of new and exciting things happening, I was happy and healthy and doing so, so well. The happiest I've been in a long time.

Since COVID-19 developed into a full-blown pandemic, anxiety and depression began rearing their ugly heads once again.

I'm not all that concerned about getting sick (although maybe I should be? We can debate that later). My feelings about the illness itself are more of resignation than fear. I'm washing my hands, taking care of myself and my family, staying home. If I get sick, I get sick, there's nothing more I can do about it. All I can do is pray it would be a mild case. If any of my loved ones get sick, my prayer remains the same. My prayer remains the same for everyone across the world.

What's really caused me anxiety is the social upheaval and uncertainty over the future.

In a matter of days and weeks, businesses closed, restaurants closed their dining rooms, people became afraid, and most days social media seems to be more guilt-trips than anything else.

I felt guilty when I wasn't able to work from home, I feel guilty when I go to the grocery store, I feel guilty for cracking coronavirus jokes—but I need to make money, I need to eat, and I need to laugh in order to cope.

Now I'm off work until April 6th at the earliest, so at least I don't have to feel guilty about going to the office. Instead I just get to think about how long my paid time off will last, compared to how long this pandemic could run... fun thoughts, amiright? And as someone whose mental health thrives on routine, these ever-changing, uncertain times are rough. 

On top of everything else, I've had a mild cough lingering for the past month, slowly and steadily improving. I feel guilty every time I have to cough or clear my throat in public, worried that my innocent cough is spreading fear and panic. 

Work-in-progress collage (untitled)

Everything feels strange and surreal. On one hand, we're in the middle of a worldwide emergency, a deadly pandemic. People are sick, dying, or losing their jobs, suffering from deep depression exacerbated by loneliness and fear. Businesses are struggling. My heart breaks for those suffering, and I fear the long-term effects this will have on the economy and society. 

On the other hand, the sun is shining and spring has arrived. My 25th birthday is in ten days! I'm making art, writing, baking cookies, exercising. Life goes on, strange as it may be right now.

However, I'm beyond thankful to say that my mental health is holding strong. The week of the 15th I was filled with anxiety and dread. I couldn't paint most of that week because I was too anxious.

This past week has been a different story! I'm still anxious and I dread the turmoil and loss in the coming weeks and months, but I've felt enough peace to paint, and that is truly a precious gift to me.

I've continued working on this collage I started long before COVID-19 was a pandemic. Today I'm doing something I wouldn't normally do on this site... Today I've shared only work-in-progress photos, because the collage isn't finished yet.

I'm hoping to complete it sometime this week, and then I'll edit and publish my other blog post draft sharing the inspiration behind the piece. That is also when I will reveal the title of this piece. I've chosen a title I think we all will be able to connect with...

For now, I hope you enjoy these progress shots. Just as this bunnies and flowers collage is unfinished, remember that this pandemic is not the new normal, this is not the end. This is temporary, and in time the term "social distancing" will become a memory.

Until then, this collage has become my prayer. I pray you remain healthy, safe, and happy. I pray illness, stress, financial struggle, loneliness, and boredom stay far away from you. I pray these bright sunflowers and blue bunnies can brighten your day a little. I pray you enjoy baking sourdough bread, sewing masks for hospitals, binge-watching Netflix, or whatever you're doing while quarantined. I pray you learn new things about the world, yourself, and your loved ones during this time. I pray that we all learn to value our relationships more, and learn to treat others with an extra dose of kindness... especially those workers who are so often mistreated, but are truly essential to keeping our society going.

I pray you remain healthy and safe.

-Cailey

Fine Art Friday: Robert Colescott

Robert Colescott, Eat Dem Taters, on display at the
Contemporary Art Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Hey there! A while back I shared a really special project I was involved in at work, Arts and Accessibility: Robert Colescott at CAC.

I had the amazing opportunity to write detailed descriptions of ten artworks from "Art and Race Matters: the Career of Robert Colescott," an exhibit which opened in September, kicking off the 2019-2020 exhibition season at the Contemporary Art Center (CAC) in downtown Cincinnati. This exhibit consists of 85 works Colescott created over his 53-year career. 

The descriptions I wrote were narrated and recorded by a couple of coworkers who work in audio. I loved this chance to work closely with these passionate, highly skilled people, who also happen to be a lot of fun to work with!

The resulting audio recordings, along with recordings of all of the exhibit wall-text, was loaded onto mp3-players. These mp3-players and some hard-copy braille booklets were made available for any blind or visually-impaired (BVI) visitors at CAC.

Next month (January 2020) the exhibit and BVI-accessible materials will be traveling to Portland, OR, followed by a few other cities around the US. I love the fact that our hard work will benefit blind people across the country!

Now, as promised, I want to share a little more about Robert Colescott and his art. 

Robert Colescott, 1919. Acrylic on Canvas, 1980. 

191If you haven’t heard of him, rest easy. I hadn’t either. 

I think it's safe to say most people are familiar with just a few of the very most famous artists in history: Leonardo da Vinci, Vincent van Gogh, Michelangelo, Pablo Picasso.

If you go to the occasional art museum, you may also be familiar with Edgar Degas, Georgia O'Keefe, Jackson Pollock, Frida Kahlo, Paul Cezanne, Rembrandt van Rijn, Claude Monet, Salvador Dali, or Andy Warhol.

Compared to these names, Robert Colescott is an unknown. But take a look at the New York City arts scene in the 1970s and '80s, and you might find his name cropping up a bit more. 

Colescott was an African-American artist from California. He passed away in 2009, at the age of 83. His best-known works are Eat Dem Taters and George Washington Carver Cross the Delaware, both of which are new renditions of earlier famous paintings by other artists (Vincent van Gogh and Emanuel Leutze, respectively).

Robert Colescott, Eat Dem Taters. Acrylic on Canvas, 1975. 

Eat Dem Taters was my first solo stab at describing. It is based on The Potato Eaters by van Gogh, but in the place of impoverished Dutch coal miners, Colescott painted stereotypical "happy darkies." This is classic Colescott: taking a familiar image and filling it with imagery that strikes discomfort, pain, and horror over appalling subjects like racism. 

I'll be honest: at first, I was not a fan. I didn't like his style and I didn't like his subject matter. 

I'm still not a major fan of his style, and that's okay. I can appreciate the skill, effort, and care his painting required, without loving the technique. But now that I understand his work better, the common subject matter, and the manner with which he presents it, has grown near and dear to my heart. Colescott's combination of frank humor and gut-wrenching imagery is a one-two punch that has become mesmerizing to me.

Robert Colescott, George Washington Carve Crossing the Delaware. Acrylic
on canvas, 1975. 

No one likes looking at things that make them feel uncomfortable or guilty. And for many people, racist imagery is extremely uncomfortable. As it should be! No one should feel comfortable looking at something that demeans others! 

It’s horrifying that the blackface and "happy darky" imagery he used is from real cartoons, made by people who look like me. 

Even more appalling is seeing these images larger-than-life on ten-foot canvases, in garish colors and exaggerated poses. 

As an African-American man, Colescott made it his mission to create satirical, racially-charged paintings to create discomfort. He painted these things to force people to think about race, sex, inequality, discrimination, systemic racism, and what these things are doing to individuals, communities, and the world at large. He wanted to spark conversations, spark emotions, and most importantly, spark fires under the seats of those untouched by racism.

Cesar Cruz, Mexican poet and human rights activist famously said, “art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” 

Robert Colescott, Colored T.V. Acrylic on canvas, 1977.  

Colescott's work is disturbing for everyone, no matter their race, sex, age; whether they're comfortable or uncomfortable. The comfort of Colescott's art lies in the opportunity for open and heartfelt communication. 

A month or so after the exhibit opened, I toured the exhibit with a group from work. We were a large group, some 15-20 individuals, and a mix of blind, visually impaired, and sighted. 

It was amazing to experience this exhibit with my BVI coworkers, listening to descriptions before discussing how we felt about each work. Several of those in our group were also people of color, and it was truly special to hear these people share how they felt about the art and the painful history behind each piece. 

One painting that struck a major chord is called Listening to Amos and Andy. This painting is based on the old radio show Amos and Andy, a comedy about two black men from Atlanta who move to Chicago for a fresh start in life. It follows their friendship, struggles, and the development of their taxi company. 

Sounds perfectly nice until you learn that the show was created, written, and performed by two white men. 

From there, things go straight down-hill. After looking at (and listening to a description of) Colescott's painting, we listened to a clip from the radio show. Just a few minutes long, the clip was exactly what we all expected: 4 minutes of racist stereotyping, delivered by two white men using "black voices." 

Robert Colescott, Listening to Amos and Andy. Acrylic on Canvas, 1982. 

This painting led to a great discussion about representation and racism in the media. For BVI individuals, the issue of representation hits home because blind actors are few and far between. Most blind characters are played by sighted actors. And for those in our group who were African-American, this painting was especially jarring. 

The first time I heard of Colescott was when I was tasked with describing his art. Being a white woman working in a style of writing entirely new to me, I was suddenly extremely aware of my phrasing in these descriptions. Every time I pulled up one of the curator's hi-res photographs, I found myself battling both white guilt and the fear that I might mishandle any of the subject matter. 

Robert Colescott, Le Demoiselles d'Alamaba: Vestidas. Acrylic on
Canvas, 1985.

Looking at Colescott’s art with my black coworkers was awkward at first, but discussing it together also eased my mind. 

We acknowledged together that the subject matter was disturbing and offensive for all of us, that these paintings brought to mind worldviews, art, and events that we all desperately wish had never happened. We experienced a wide range of emotions together, and some of us even cried together as we looked at these paintings. 

It would be foolish and naïve for me to say that I’ve never made a racially-based judgement or decision. I’m aware that I grew up benefiting, and continue to benefit, from a society filled with systemic racism. 

I fervently wish that weren’t true, but pretending it doesn’t exist is a mistake white people have been making throughout history. Racism is everywhere, from the justice system to the arts, and the only way to make things right is to acknowledge the harm done and then to do better. 

It was good to see these emotionally-charged paintings in person, and to discuss as a group how bad things were in the past, how much society has changed, and how far we still have to go before everyone can truly be equal. It's a long way, but each step is another step away from a long history that must never be repeated.

As both a year and a decade come to an end, it's only natural to take a look at where we are as individuals and as a society. It's a time of examining our values, habits, and growth across the years and decades. What did we look like ten years ago, when Robert Colescott passed away? What did we look like 100 years ago, on the verge of the Roaring '20s? What might we look like ten years from now, in 2029, or 100 years from now? 

The arts demonstrate society's values and habits, and upholding work like Colescott's is necessary for us to continue growing together. 

-Cailey

Does my Degree Still Matter? Thoughts on the Closing of my Alma Mater

A drawing I made of the CCU Worship & Ministry building. Colored pencil
on paper, 2014. 

Two days ago it was announced that my old college, Cincinnati Christian University, would be closing its doors after this semester. 

I have very many mixed feelings about this. 

On the one hand, I believe it's good. The university has been floundering for years. 

It is deeply in debt, it has failed to align its increasing liberal arts bent with its long history of theology and ministry, and has failed to find a good president in years. The revolving door of leadership has brought people who came up with extravagant building projects and costly new programs, while alienating donors, alumni, and students.

The truth is, I've long believed CCU's days were numbered... although I hoped, and dearly wish, that number were a little larger.

Tonight I spoke at length with one of the trustees, in an effort to understand what brought the university to such a sudden end.

A student-led worship campus worship service. The lyrics on the screen
read "you are for us, you are not against us." I truly believe that even right
now, God is not against us.

Hindsight is 20/20, and he agreed that in hindsight, many, many mistakes have been made in the governance of this university. He agreed that communication has never been a strong suit, and that some of the attempts made to save the school, while well-intentioned, were very poor choices. 

He freely admitted that some of these decisions were made, and/or communicated, without enough research and consideration for the potential consequences, direct and indirect.

In my gut, I wanted to throw it all back at him and say his job was to communicate properly, consider every possible implication for every possible decision, and make the wisest choices to keep CCU going. But I didn't say any of that. What's done is done. Humans are human, and they make mistakes, and they can hardly be held accountable for the mistakes made by others. By the end of our conversation, the trustee I spoke with sounded just as defeated as I feel. I trust that he, for one, did everything he could to save CCU. 

Where I was angry and hurt, I now feel mostly sad. Deeply sad for a university that never truly functioned properly, and a strong community that  has loved it despite all of its issues. 

That thought takes me to the other hand. My heart aches for those whose lives just took a drastic turn: current students, staff, and faculty. I have friends who, in a couple of short months, will be job-less and school-less. Some of these woman and men are one more semester away from graduation. Some of these women and men chose CCU for it's highly-respected counseling graduate program, or took the opportunity to be the first college student in their entire family, or were given the priceless chance to play their sport at a college level. Some of these women and men have worked or taught there for years. Decades, even. 

My grandpa, Glen Springer, later known as Poppa.
Wasn't he handsome?

I'm heartbroken for the hundreds of people directly affected by this. 

Naturally, I thought about this all day yesterday and all day today. I thought long and hard, with a heavy heart, a resigned heart, a drenched and aching heart. I thought a lot about the school itself, about my friends there, and my professors. I also spent a lot of time thinking about my personal history with CCU.

CCU opened 95 years ago, in 1924, as Cincinnati Bible Seminary (CBS). My Great-Grandpa Woods attended CBS not long after it was established. 

My dad before he was a dad, dressed for Halloween c. 1986. Any CCU
Gents recognize this hall? He's posing in one of the halls of Restoration!

My grandpa went to CBS. He and grandma lived in a tiny apartment above a diner in East Price Hill when he was a student. He went on to work as a minister, a camp director, and a diesel mechanic.

My parents, aunts, and uncles went to Cincinnati Bible College & Seminary (CBC). As students, my family all went to the original Skyline Chili on Glenway Avenue. And until that location had to close, I went there, too. It was the family meeting place, the family celebration place.

As a child I lived two doors down from everyone’s favorite CBC professor, Dan Dyke. He would give my sister and me little trinkets and gifts. He liked to get Happy Meals at McDonald's just so he could give us the toys.

My sister and me hyped for a CBC basketball game!
I'm the one in front, posing like a starfish. Or maybe like
an eagle, wings outspread? I definitely had more school
spirit then than I had as an actual student... check out
those matching purple cords!

I spent hours playing on the CBC practice field with my sister and our friends. At the time the field was bordered all around with large square blocks of stone, and (oddly) my sister and I found it amusing to walk laps around the field on those rocks.

My babysitters went to CBC, and my cousins went to CBC. Once my cousin took my sister and me to a basketball game, and we both dressed head to toe in purple and yellow... complete with purple and yellow cheer pom-poms!

My church was (and still is) filled with alumni, and staff and faculty both current and former. Older kids from my youth group went to CCU. 

The Associate Minister at my church was also on staff at CCU when I was looking at colleges, and he’s the one who suggested I consider applying to CCU. I did so. Grudgingly, but I did it... and a few months later I moved into room 301 of Alumni Hall.

I met some of my dearest friends there. During Orientation Week, I and one of my new friends were looking at old class pictures and discovered that we knew each other’s grandparents. Our families had known each other for generations, thanks to CCU (and CBC and CBS).

One of my first college classes was History and Literature of the Old Testament, with my old neighbor, Dan Dyke. Taking his classes was a highlight of my time at CCU!

I got my first real (non-babysitting) job at CCU. I learned to make coffee at CCU, and soon after that I learned to love coffee at CCU. 

I had art shows at CCU. I met my first boyfriend at CCU.  I had my first panic attack at CCU.

A drawing I made as an abstract illustration of a campus worship service,
using rock-like shapes to suggest where people were sitting and standing.

I preached a sermon on prayer and God's faithfulness at CCU. I never imagined I'd stand on the stage and preach like that, but I did. When my friend suggested speaking in public, I laughed out loud... and then immediately knew I needed to do it. I waited a few days before signing up for a speaking slot, but I knew I'd regret if I didn't go for it. I will forever be glad I did. 

My life-long best friend started at CCU a year after I did. I had many heart-to-hearts with her and our other friends within the walls of Alumni, Restoration, Worship & Ministry, Crouch, and President’s Hall, Bloc Coffee, and the Skyline Chili on Warsaw Ave.

I got my second real job at CCU. I painted the halls of Restoration and ripped out flooring and built-in furniture that was all at least twice my age... Furniture that had been around when my Dad and uncles lived in that dorm. I counted signatures on old closet doors, collected long-lost memorabilia, and on the last day of my summer job I was allowed to make a collage of all the old photos, movie tickets, event flyers, class notes, student IDs, and everything else we found in those rooms.

I think it's safe now to reveal that I even broke some rules in my time there. Some (anonymous) friends and I sneaked into the condemned Rhine Hall just months before it was torn down. I went to a concert in Columbus with friends from CCU, and we drove back that night and sneaked into our dorms well after curfew. Yes, we had a curfew! I ate a chunk of raw cookie dough whenever I made cookies in Hilltop. I gave away the occasional free coffee, free cookie, free squirt of whipped cream. I broke dress code, I swore, I broke curfew, I skipped classes, I danced. Yes, dancing wasn’t allowed at CCU! I sometimes went barefoot when the weather was nice. Yes, even going barefoot wasn’t allowed.

I cried, laughed, did homework, ate cookies fresh from the oven, drank too much espresso. 

At the coffee shop, there was a drink on the menu called an Undertow. It consisted of vanilla syrup, an ounce of half and half, and a single shot of espresso, served in a tiny glass and knocked back like a shot. I had a few Undertows in my four years!

In April 2017, I handed over my portfolio, a hulking 95 pages of material demonstrating my abilities in the English field, collected from 20 courses in the fields of English and Communication Arts. 

I was working on yet another paper in the CCU library when I got the news that Poppa passed away. 

In May 2017 I graduated from CCU, my proudest achievement yet. I was one of the first three students to receive an English degree there, just two and a half years ago.

This history, these numerous personal connections, are not mine alone. Many students were 2nd-, 3rd-, or 4th-generation Eagles. Students traveled around the globe to attend the school their families, friends, and pastors attended. We are a close community.

My graduation cap, tassel, and magna cum laude cords.

Moving forward, I know that my degree is still valid. I earned a degree from a fully-accredited, fully-functioning university.  No one and nothing can take that away from me. 

I know that, by law, my transcript will always be available at my request. 

I know that I am, unfortunately, far enough removed from graduation that I still have to pay off my loans... 

And I know that the relationships forged there are far more important than the university itself. But this still hurts me personally, because CCU was, and still is, my college. It is a huge part of my life and my history. 

In their advertising, colleges like to use words like “legacy” and “future.” CCU’s legacy is a beautiful one, and one I feel very close to as I look over my family history. When I heard that the Higher Learning Commission was preparing to pull accreditation, I wished I could believe that CCU would still have a future, but I knew the truth. CCU’s leaders finally dug a hole they couldn’t get out of. 

For all that beautiful legacy, the future is suddenly gone.

Ant yet… that’s not true. CCU’s future is not gone. CCU will be only as gone as our memories of it. Yes, it will fade away over time, just as memories fade. Sooner or later, the arrangement with CCCB will end. Sooner or later, the property will be sold and the buildings will be torn down. Eventually, our great-grandparents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and parents will pass away and take their memories with them. Eventually, my generation, the last generation to attend CCU, will be gone as well.

But until then, CCU’s future lies in us, the former students, just as its legacy lies in us. Starting in December, CCU will be freed from the control of trustees acting without honesty or integrity. CCU will no longer thrash from one “money-making idea” to another, announcing mergers and building projects it can never follow through on.

CCU’s future lies in us, the former students. Transfers, drop-outs, and alumni alike.

"An Abundance of Hope." Ballpoint pen on paper. I doodled this during a
slow evening at work in the coffee shop. 

CCU’s future lies in our sermons, in our mission fields, in our teaching, in our counseling sessions. It lies in everyone with whom we share the gospel. It is in the words we share with one another, the knowledge we keep, and the old essays gathering dust, either in our Google Docs or the boxes in our attics. It is in our dresser drawers of t-shirts and the highlights and underlines in our bibles.

CCU’s future lies in our relationships and our reminiscing. It is in the relationships we have with our mentors and our mentees, the wisdoms we share with one another. It is in our wedding anniversaries celebrated every May and June, and our friendiversaries celebrated every August. It is in our social media accounts, email address books, and phone contacts, and the small reunions that can happen at the oddest times and places.

CCU’s future lies in our shared love of Skyline, Chick-fil-A, Bloc Coffee, and the 86; in our love of brinner, bingo, The Price is Right, and chili served in a bread bowl. It lies in our strange love of dodgeball, and in Kentucky Christian University, and in the fact that every time we hear the word “yellow” we silently finish the chant, “is the color of urine!”, because CCU’s future lies not only in our togetherness but in our rivalries with one another and with other colleges.

CCU’s future lies in our job hunts, our diplomas, the transcripts we’re all suddenly anxious about, and in our fresh, perfectly-formatted resumes, reference sheets, and CVs. It lies in the books we write and the films we make.

It is, finally, in the anger we feel, because something we dearly loved was twisted and torn and made ugly before our eyes, and we were powerless to stop any of it. And that anger is good and honest and right and valid and true. And maybe it is the right time for the university to close, but for the current students, faculty, and staff, that does not ease the pain and stress of having to pick up the pieces. 

If you are a member of the CCU community and you need a listening ear, please don't hesitate to contact me. Unfortunately I don't have the knowledge or the authority to explain everything through the decades that led the school to Monday night's devastating announcement. I’m only one shy and sad alumna, but I see your hurt and I wish, I truly wish, that I could give you each the answers, opportunities, and resources you need as you move forward. I can only pray and listen, but I like to think that's better than nothing.

-Cailey

Arts and Accessibility: Robert Colescott at CAC

Wow, so much has happened this summer. Have I got some updates for you!

First I've gotta tell you what I've been up to at work.

You know I’ve always loved both art and writing (hence this blog), but I’ve recently combined the two in a way I truly never expected.

In August 2017, a few months after graduation, I stumbled into what is now my current job at an agency contracted by the Library of Congress and the National Library Service for the Blind and Physically Handicapped (NLS). The place I work is a regional braille and audio-book distribution center, supporting 72 NLS branch libraries throughout the eastern US (and working with our counterpart to the west). We help the NLS branches serve thousands of patrons who are blind, visually impaired, or have other challenges reading traditional books. 

My particular job within this grand scheme is pretty unspectacular, entry-level work. I was lured by good pay, a quiet, introvert-friendly environment, and access (at work) to the entire NLS audio library... but I discovered so much more: a close-knit group of coworkers, a kind boss who supports and advocates for each of us, and work that makes me feel fulfilled.

It feels really good to be part of a program that delivers literature straight to people's hands!

More Than Meets the Eye is a brilliant book about
blindness and art by Georgina Kleege, English
lecturer at UC Berkely and life-long lover of the
arts, unhindered by her visual impairment.

Even with all of that, I was floored when an opportunity came up at work that would perfectly combine my passions: writing descriptions of visual art. 

Much of the arts world (except the obvious, music) is not accessible for those without sight. Touching the artwork is a big no-no in museums! 

Even the performing arts like theatre are heavily dependent on the visual—actions, sets, even playbills are all vision-oriented. 

However, blind and visually impaired (BVI) individuals are by no means uninterested in the arts! A large portion of the BVI population loses their sight later in life, and the thought of losing access to some of the arts can be a painful part of adjusting to a new lifestyle with limited or no vision.

However, arts institutions are trying to help the situation.

Some museums have regularly scheduled touch tours, others offer on-demand audio tours. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, for example, has options for visitors who are blind, deaf, autistic, or even have dementia! Unfortunately, many places don't have the necessary resources to support so many programs. Lack of funds, lack of staff, and lack of awareness are major hurdles for accessibility. 

The parent organization of my job, Clovernook Center for the Blind, started the Arts and Accessibility Initiative in 2016. The Arts Initiative works to help museums, galleries, and other cultural institutions become accessible for BVI patrons.

The Arts Initiative is comprised of blind and sighted braille transcribers and proofreaders, an audio engineer and a narrator, a tactile graphics producer, and writers... that's where I fit in! We come alongside institutions and help them determine ways to better serve BVI patrons, consulting with BVI individuals and focus groups to ensure that our strategies and end-products are truly beneficial. 

I and my work-friend LT got involved earlier this year because the Arts Initiative was looking for writers. With our English degrees and love of writing and the arts, we were excited to join.

The Arts Initiative made this summer a whirlwind of meetings and projects, on top of my regular workload. We spent the early part of the summer preparing for several members of the Initiative to give a presentation at the Kennedy Center Leadership Exchange in Arts and Disability (LEAD), an annual conference with the goal of creating accessible cultural arts programs around the world. 

Earlier this year we received a $25,000 grant to provide free accessible materials to ten institutions. We reached out to a variety of cultural institutions, both local and around the country.

Since LEAD is over, it's time to get working on the grant projects. First up: the Contemporary Art Center (CAC) here in Cincinnati!

Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati.
Photo courtesy of The Cincinnati Region

We worked closely with Shawnee Turner, Associate Educator of School and Docent Programs at CAC, to find out how we could best serve the museum's BVI visitors.

Together we made arrangements for the Arts Initiative to provide accessible materials for their 2019-2020 season-opening exhibition, Art and Race Matters: The Career of Robert Colescott. We would write and record audio descriptions of ten paintings, record all of the wall-text provided by the curators, and produce all of that text in accompanying braille booklets.

This was a daunting project for LT and me. It was our first attempt at this sort of description, the stakes were high, and the art was technically and thematically challenging. But we did it!

The first thing LT and I did was sit down with several sighted and visually impaired people to look at the first painting, a huge piece titled "George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware." Together we wrote down every single thing we could see. Shape, size, texture, composition, color. We wrote it all down and then transformed and arranged these notes into careful, logical descriptions.

George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware: Page From an American History Textbook, Robert Colescott, 1975.
Acrylic on canvas. After George Washington Crossing the Delaware, Emanuel Lueuze, 1851. (Private
collection, Saint Louis, © 2017 Estate of Robert Colescott / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York, photo: Jean Paul Torno).

One challenge I enjoyed was thinking about the logical order in which to arrange information. I had to think about the the prominent features of the painting, plus the overall composition and the pattern in which the eye moves around the canvas, and then write it all in a natural, easy-to-follow manner.  

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I wanted to make sure each word was in the right place. If I misplaced a single word, it would throw off all 999 other proverbial words.

That said, once I got over the prestige of the project and finally started writing, this was a fairly easy project. 

My favorite art teacher’s mantra was “draw what you see, not what you think you see.” It means not to let your expectations or ideas get in the way of what’s actually in front of your eyes. Not to let your mental image of a house obscure the actual house you’re drawing. 

Eat Dem Taters, Robert Colescott, 1975, on display at
CAC. After The Potato Eaters, Vincent van Gogh, 1885. 

This “draw what you see” mantra held true for writing these descriptions. Write what you see, not what you think you see. Write what you see, not what you expect. 

Once the descriptions were complete, our brilliant audio duo, Joey and Chris, took over. They recorded 40 pages of material, both the descriptive text and the CAC wall text.  

Last Friday, I and my artist-friend, Brynnae, went to the CAC Colescott opening. It was a great event! 

I loved getting to see this artwork I’d so carefully described, all hanging together on the broad white walls, alongside 75 other paintings and drawings by Robert Colescott. I loved getting to learn a little bit about the art scene in New York in the 80s, when Colescott’s career was at its peak. I enjoyed getting to be a part of the VIP crowd, as a contributor to the exhibition. Most of all, I really loved getting to see some of my blind coworkers enjoying the art through the efforts of LT, Chris, Joey, and myself.

Next time, I'll share a bit more about the life and art of Robert Colescott... See ya later!

-Cailey

Does This Make Me Look Campy? Notes on the Met Gala

Pop singer Ariana Grande's 2018 Met Gala gown is
literally covered in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel
paintings. She looks like a renaissance dream.

Last year I discovered the Met Gala.

I came into work one day and my news feed was overrun with celebrities dressed as religious icons, Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling, and elaborate stained glass. I had to work, but when I got the chance I spent an embarrassingly long time scrolling through the red carpet best-dressed lists. I didn't want to miss a thing.

I'd heard of the Met Gala before, but I didn't know that it's basically a costume party. Each May the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute throws an extravagant party for the opening of its fashion exhibition. Attendees are expected to dress according to the theme of the exhibition.

The exhibition runs through the summer, but the opening night is one of the most exclusive events and one of the biggest fundraisers in the world. In its 70-year run, the Met Gala has become high fashion's premier red carpet event, attended by everybody who's anybody in the arts, music, fashion, film and society.

Last year's theme was Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination.

Actress and singer Zendaya wasn't the only one
inspired by Joan of Arc, but her ensemble is by
far the most successful of the night. A year later
I'm still infatuated with this look.

A-list celebrities attended the gala dressed in couture clergy robes, wore billowing draped dresses reminiscent of renaissance altarpieces, or accessorized with halos and angel wings. It was spectacular. I hadn't seen anything like it. I'll admit, I only knew who half the celebrities were, but that didn't matter.
I was entranced by these couture clothes inspired by religion and art.

"One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art."
- Phrases & Philosophies for the Use of the Young by Oscar Wilde

Of all the possible Met Gala themes, 2018 was the perfect one to get my attention.

As the 2019 Met Gala approaches, I've wondered how they could possibly top Heavenly Bodies. It seems a lot of others are wondering, as well. I used one of my 10 free New York Times articles to read up on the 2019 theme, Camp: Notes on Fashion.

Camp, you say? Surely not the camp I'm thinking of... Tents, cabins, fishing, campfires... Surely they don't mean for Beyoncé to show up in a fishing hat, or Scarlett Johansson to wear a billowing polyester dress accessorized with collapsible tent-poles. Right?

Right. Not summer camp. Aesthetic camp.

Camp, in terms of style, refers to something which is over-the-top, flamboyant, exaggeration and artifice, "so bad it's good." What the kids might refer to as extra.

In short, this is going to be wildly different from last year's ethereal Heavenly Bodies theme.

Ensemble, Jeremy Scott (American, born 1975) for House of
Moschino (Italian, founded 1983), spring/summer 2018;
courtesy of Moschino. This is one of the 250 pieces in the
Costume Institute exhibition at the Met this summer. Image
courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Photo © Johnny Dufort, 2019.

Camp: Notes on Fashion specifically refers to writer, filmmaker, and activist Susan Sontag's 1964 essay, Notes on Camp. Curious, I read the essay, or rather, series of 58 notes describing what camp is and what it is not.

It's hard to pin down; there's no formula for camp. You might say camp is to the arts as quotation marks are to an ironic statement. Camp is the air-quotes of the arts world.

We often describe bad '90s movies as "campy," but there's more to camp than just cheesiness or poor production. Alessandro Michele, creative director at Gucci, explained, “Camp really means the unique ability of combining high art and pop culture."

"The essence of Camp is its love of the unnatural: of artifice and exaggeration," Sontag writes.

"When something is just bad (rather than Camp), it's often because it is too mediocre in its ambition. The artist hasn't attempted to do anything really outlandish. ('It's too much,' 'It's too fantastic,' 'It's not to be believed,' are standard phrases of Camp enthusiasm.)," Sontag writes.

As for those bad movies... there is an element of failure in camp. True camp often happens when something (or someone) is too ambitious in its flamboyance and is therefore not taken seriously.

Movies and TV shows like Godzilla, the Batman tv show, Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K), Hairspray, Beat the Devil, and Gilligan's Island are all camp. The (im)famous leg lamp of A Christmas Story is camp. Many operas and classical ballets have developed camp leanings over time. Art Nouveau often blends with camp, as does Pop Art, like Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup Cans.

Well-executed camp can be found in RuPaul's drag
personaes. There's absolutely nothing natural or understated
about it, and that's part of what makes it excellent.

The best camp art is genuine, takes itself seriously, believes it is all that (as much as art itself can believe something), but is rejected by society because society isn't ready for it. "Of course," Sontag reminds the reader in point 23, "not all seriousness that fails can be redeemed as Camp. Only that which has the proper mixture of the exaggerated, the fantastic, the passionate, and the naïve."

Sontag is also careful to remind the reader that camp is not always poor in form, technique, or production. The art may be extremely well-executed, wonderful art, but be so exaggerated, ostentatious, or theatrical that it is also camp.

Vogue describes camp as "a kind of winking bad taste." 

Diana Vreeland, former Vogue Editor-in-Chief and special consultant at the MET Costume Institute, passed away in 1989, but she would have loved this 2019 camp theme. "A little bad taste is like a nice splash of paprika. We all need a splash of bad taste - it's hearty, it's healthy, it's physical. I think we could use more of it. No taste is what I'm against."

Balloon Dog (Yellow) by Jeff Koons

Sontag would probably agree. She writes that camp doesn't ascribe to the good/bad binary.  "What it does is to offer for art (and life) a different—a supplementary—set of standards." Camp may require a dash of bad taste, but it does so while bringing a third dimension to the question of taste.

At this point, I better bring in some visual art before someone asks if I'm converting my site into a fashion blog. No, See Cailey Color is and always will be about fine art! The camp theme gives me a reason to look with fresh eyes at some art I don't normally appreciate, like the work of Jeff Koons.

Some of Koons's best known art is his Balloon Dog series, five highly reflective stainless-steel sculptures of balloon dogs, measuring 10 feet tall and 11 feet long, each a different color.

Koons is known for following in the footsteps of Andy Warhol, taking ordinary objects and transforming them into art. When taken seriously, Warhool, Koons, and other camp artists force us to reexamine what we consider art and what we consider ordinary. They force us to consider ourselves and how we relate to art, to each other, and to the "ordinary" world around us.

Koons's work has been called camp and kitsch interchangeably. In some circles, kitsch is an insult, to be treated as other than (and lesser than) camp; considered to be the decorative non-art that fell short of even camp status. To others, it's just a subcategory of camp; "camp" referring to the overall aesthetic, kitsch referring to camp art and music. This difference of opinion can lead to a lot of confusion on a subject that's already a fuzzy and hard to define.

Campy Washington by Scott Donaldson. Cincinnati, Ohio. 

For those who hold the first mindset, the difference between camp and kitsch can be hard to pinpoint. Kitsch is considered camp's ugly, stupid little brother. To those of the latter mindset, distinction between the two is a wasted conversation. Every square is a rhombus, but not every rhombus is a square. All kitsch is camp, but not all camp is kitsch.

Koons and his predecessor Warhol are often criticized as kitschy by those in the first group, but those in the second consider it just another label.

For Koons and artists like him, it doesn't matter whether their work is called camp or kitsch or just plain shit. They make art to challenge the status quo of what art is and what it should be; how society is and how society should be.

I happen to love this mural in Cincinnati, designed by Scott Donaldson of Artworks. Campy Washington combines camp, bad puns, and distinctly-Cincinnatian motifs.

The mural is located in the neighborhood of Camp Washington... hence the pun. It includes important Cincinnati imagery like flying pigs, a nod to our annual marathon, the Flying Pig, and more importantly to the city's history in pork production. It contains imagery referring to nearby businesses, tying it to the Camp Washington community. It is George Washington decked out in whimsical Cincinnati camp glory.

Finally, referring back to the origin of camp, Campy Washington is an image of George Washington in colonial drag.


If her history of red-carpet camp is any indicator,
Lady Gaga must be pretty excited for this theme!

In the early days of the term, camp referred to the flamboyance of gay/LGBTQ culture. Oscar Wilde, who was outed as gay, imprisoned, and sentenced to two years of hard labor for his homosexuality at a time when that was socially taboo, has been acclaimed as an early leader of Camp.

Today the term has obviously taken on a wider meaning, though the flamboyant side of LGBTQ culture is still a strong part of it. RuPaul's Drag Race is an example of camp's passionate, exaggerated artifice extending from the LGBTQ community.

RuPaul, Bette Midler,  Elton John, Madonna, John Waters, Liza Minelli, Elvis Presley, Cher, Prince, and Lady Gaga have pushed camp along in recent decades, embracing over-the-top styles in their clothing, personalities, and arts.

In fact, Lady Gaga is co-chair of the 2019 Met Gala, alongside singer Harry Styles, tennis star Serena Williams, and Alessandro Michelle. They'll join long-time Vogue Editor-in-Chief Anna Wintour, who's basically the queen of the Met Gala (and everything else high fashion, let's be real).

It probably goes without saying, but I'm eager to see how the A-listers and their designers interpret this theme. Will the Gala attendees achieve camp, or be merely campy, or worse? We'll find out soon...

-Cailey

Sources:
https://www.vogue.com/article/costume-institute-2019-exhibition-camp-notes-on-fashion
https://www.vanityfair.com/style/2018/10/harry-styles-and-lady-gaga-will-help-bring-camp-to-the-met-gala
https://www.vogue.com/article/what-is-the-met-gala-everything-we-know
https://www.newsweek.com/met-museum-camp-fashion-1405250?slide=3
https://www.widewalls.ch/campy-art-definition-artworks-culture/