Thursday, September 20, 2018

Girding for a Fight

I live in Minnesota, the home of Minnesota nice, where people shy from confrontation. We tap our car horns gently, slightly embarrassed to disturb the car about to hit us.  While I don’t much like confrontation, I grew up in a family with New York roots where it was assumed that you would speak up if necessary. Passivity was not encouraged. It’s not that I can’t do confrontation, it is more that I resent having to. I just want people to deal with me fairly, share the necessary information and take responsibility for doing their job properly. That doesn’t happen nearly often enough for my taste.

Recently I’ve had a spate of situations where that didn’t happen. They all seemed to cluster, making me realize how much of an energy drain confrontation can be. By the same token when you’re raised to fight for yourself, wimping out can be just as distressing as confrontation. There is a delicate balance point that I have to consider to decide if it’s worth moving forward, confrontation stress versus disgust with myself for wimping out. Usually the latter pushes me forward.

Let me give you a recent example. This year I had two overseas trips (stay tuned for more on our upcoming Russia trip). I realized I needed to find a better phone option while traveling. On occasion I’ve gotten a sim card for my phone, but it was one more step to secure and install it, hence additional hassle. Alternatively, several providers offer international plans, but they can be quite costly and require you to set them up. As I embarked on what was becoming a rather extensive research project, I discovered that there was an attractive and seamless option. I went into the store to talk to them about the plan. As we were moving forward I learned that my existing company would charge the full monthly fee even if I ended the service early in the month. Apparently, this is common --kind of a "don’t let the door hit you on the way out gesture." At that point I suggested to the new provider that we wait on moving forward until shortly before my upcoming trip. The staff, eager to have two new customers, offered to give me a credit to neutralize that difference. 

“Yes,” I said, “but what if you have a special phone offer that comes out in that window?”  

“Oh, you could get it for 14 days after you sign up” they replied, assuring me that a special deal was quite unlikely. And so, we moved forward.

Shortly before my first upcoming trip we prepared to buy a new phone and to transfer my old phone to my husband. I checked the phone company to see if there were any deals and to my surprise the deal they said would never happen had happened. If we bought one of their more recent phones we could get $700 off another phone. I called the young man at the store and reminded him of our discussion. He agreed that I was in the 14 day window and we stopped in the store.

Now the fun began. His assumption that I had 14 days turned out to be just that, an assumption, and a faulty one at that. Now I should confess that I have a bias against young men in service jobs. I add the caveat that I know this is not true of everyone, however in my experience it seems that a disproportionate number of young men talk as if they know what they’re doing and don’t. They are big on bravado and faking what they don’t know and unless they get called out it actually is a useful skill to advance in a career. Women don’t present this bravado, but for that reason I trust what they tell me to be factual. Most of my service providers are female for this reason. 

Only when we entered the store did he call in to headquarters to confirm his assumption and learn otherwise. Apparently, it wasn’t worth checking at the front end until I was standing in front of him. Not a good sign. As I eavesdropped on his conversation, what I heard sounded an awful lot like asking permission rather than advocating for me as the customer. He got off the phone, turned to me and said sorry can’t do it.

Now I am a fast reactor. You know, the kind you have to scrape off the ceiling. It makes my husband nervous when I do this. He’s seen me react before and knows one would not describe me as temperate. I am much more of the WTF school of thought. “Your misinformation will cost me $700,” I sputtered in rage. “You need to fix this!”

He shrugged, obviously not taking this as his responsibility. “You could call customer service,” he offered. “Who did you just talk to?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t know” he replied. I was so furious I could barely dial the number but after some fumbling I had customer service on the line. I could see my husband bracing himself for what he knew was to come. He’s a Minnesota boy. They do get angry, but only in private or in the car where no one but me can hear them. They are much better behaved in public.

A perky woman answered and I apologized in advance. “I’m so furious I can barely speak,” I said, “I’m going to apologize now in case I get carried away. I have been misled to the tune of $700 by the store and I need you to fix this. I am a new customer, and I would think you would want new customers to be happy.”

Imagine my amazement when she replied “We will fix this.” A good starting premise.

I explained the situation. She did some checking and assured me that even if someone in the bowels of the company turned down the rebate, she had the ability to override it. “Get it in writing!” my husband urged. She provided us an email detailing out what she had agreed to and told us to go ahead and pick out the phones. 

Now I am happy to report that she followed through and I am a satisfied customer, albeit skeptical of advice from their store. We worked this through to my satisfaction, but it felt like a lot of work and I’m tired of fighting. I want to work with competent people who don’t try to bravado themselves through life. It is a rarity, so when I get those people I sing their praises. And when I don’t, I guess I’ll just muster my energy and put up a fight. Just don’t make me do it too often. 

Monday, August 20, 2018

Exciting Discoveries Await


After the IAJGS conference in Warsaw, I decided to travel to Radom, my Polish ancestral town, to do research in the archives. Radom is about an hour and a half drive south of Warsaw and is a town of around 215,000.  At the time of the war it was 100,000 of which 25% was Jewish.

My prior visits were in 2010 and 2011 and in the interim I had ordered many records on my own family and for others for whom I was doing research. That works well when you are working with records of a page or two on specific people that are indexed, such as vital records, Books of Residents and identity or forced labor papers. 

On this visit I wanted to do something different. I wanted to explore the community as a whole and perhaps my family’s place within it.  Unfortunately, I don’t speak either Polish or Russian, the language of the records. I can painfully decipher Cyrillic names and Latin-based Polish names are easily readable. Most were in the form of lists, hence somewhat more manageable, but those that are narrative in either language required more extensive language skills. Many of the records were bound in books with other records so knowing what I was looking at also took some deciphering. Often you find a relevant name, take a picture and get translation help later, but this was a lot of material. I needed to target my search. 

So why was I interested in community records? I do the Kehilalink on Radom for Jewishgen. A Kehilalink is a website on a former Jewish community for people who are researching their Jewish roots. I hoped to find information that I could put on-line. I also had begun to get a sense of the broader community through my genealogy work for others and wanted to build on that. When I look at a page of names I recognize a community of researchers descended from many of those names.

The Radom Archive had moved to a different location since I had last been there and it had changed quite a bit in the intervening years. In addition to the old paper records, there were now computers that had the vital records and identity papers, accessible by archive visitors. 

Now you don’t just show up at archives without doing quite a bit of preparation. I had spent a lot of time learning how to mine the online Polish Archives. I had searched the contents of the Radom Archives for “zydow”, one of the Polish words for Jew, and found a number of interesting items with the aid of Google translate. Before arriving at the archives, I had sent them several pages of items that they then pulled in advance of my visit.

On my first morning, Google maps guided me to the archive's new location. It was a sunny pleasant day as I walked through the town, tracing the edge of the beautiful park across from my hotel.  When I arrived, a young man sat in a central area outside of the archives. I had been asked by another researcher to check on some information for him and I didn’t look forward to a discussion in a language I didn’t speak. The young man had limited English and with my non-existent Polish it called for some creativity. Using Google Translate, I pressed conversation. I spoke into my phone in English and it  repeated it in Polish. I then asked him to do likewise. We didn’t prove very proficient with this program as it captured just small segments at a time, but it had given the young archivist an idea. He pulled up Google Translate and typed his response which appeared in English. “You type” he said. I reached for the keyboard and did likewise until we arrived at mutual understanding.

I deposited my belongings in a locker and entered the archives with my computer, phone and notes.  I was delighted to see the welcoming face of the same archivist I had met in 2011 and a large pile of the resources I had requested. She gave me a pair of white cotton gloves and black plastic disposable gloves for handling the archival material and I settled in at a table surrounded by history.

Where to begin? I reached for a white folder from 1940, questionnaires on Jewish teachers collected by the Nazis. Within each was a photograph and a completed form with their birthdate and names and ages of their children. Some listed parents and grandparents. I saw the word for Jew. Each had written out their resume in longhand Polish. Over twenty Jewish teachers, each with the well-modulated handwriting I have come to associate with teachers. I imagined a pride reflected in those resumes filled with hard-earned credentials, perhaps still hopeful at this early stage that their skills would still find them a purposeful existence. 

I had one other piece of 20th century history to peruse, a number of files from 1945 which listed real estate that had been owned by Jews and lay abandoned after their death in the Holocaust. It was gathered by a city department that was looking at tax collections that would now prove fruitless. Unfortunately, it did not list owners which would have been valuable information, but it did list addresses. I envisioned those addresses on a map to visualize the Jewish community and the hole it left with its absence. You can find the map I later created here With the records from the 1940s there was often printed text. I held my phone over them in Google Translate and it translated the words below.

Having cut my teeth on the history of the past century, I stepped back into the 1800s. I had gathered information in the form of lists, lists of Jewish tailors from 1847-1851, Jews living temporarily in the city from 1847-48, Jews who owned real estate 1814-1865, Jews who contributed to the schools from 1872-74, Jews who chose the supervision of the synagogue in 1875/1884, contributions to the fathers of families 1878/1893. The earlier lists, those that preceded the mid 1860s were still in Polish, and names were readable. The later records were in Cyrillic Russian and even when the scribe had good penmanship, which he often didn’t, the pages of names were daunting. The paper was thick, like handmade paper. Not exactly tactile through gloves, but the foreign writing on thick cream paper reminded me of the passage of time it represented.

I attempted to make use of Google Translate with a Polish title by typing in the hand-written title for the document. According to the translation of the archive text, the collection was called the City Name List of Jews Living Temporarily in the City. It translated what I input to this: 

a list of smuggled believers in exchange for gas-fired spectacles 

Then it gently asked me if I might’ve meant something else. What it proposed translated to this: 

name list of the Old Testimonies with testimonies gasily in the children's council 

And yet another iteration got me to this for which the first part is accurate and the last part is puzzling.




Name list of the Orthodox believers in the joy of the children's advice 

The discovery for which I am most excited is what appears to be a Book of Residents dated 1827 which lists my third great-grandfather, his children and their spouses. The title in the archives translates to Radom City Lists Jews of Homeowners and Tenants Together with Families and Service 1823 to 1847. It consists of 30 double pages in Polish. I hope to begin by pulling out the surnames and ultimately posting them on the website. What is interesting about this is that Jews did not take last names until 1823. On prior visits I found a listing of the patronymics that preceded last names (father's name and ending) and the subsequent last names they took. Because of its proximity to 1827 it allows us to expand from the man to his family. 

A lot of work lies ahead and I will need to tap others to assist with translation. For anyone preparing for an archive visit, I would urge preparation with archival online resources and familiarity with the tools that Google offers. Exciting discoveries await.

Friday, August 17, 2018

Phantom Presence: How Past Influences Present



I had always thought of conferences as work perks.  They certainly weren’t a part of what I envisioned post-career, yet now I go to two conferences each year related to personal interests.  What I’ve come to realize is that there are two important parts of reinventing oneself, one is our ability to continue to learn and develop new skills and the other is to deepen our communities. Conferences are designed to do both.

One of the conferences I attend is put on by the International Association of Jewish Genealogical Societies(IAJGS) and focuses on Jewish genealogy. This year it was in Warsaw, Poland. I’ve been to Warsaw several times, but each time I was there it was prior to the creation of the Polin museum that addresses the history of Polish Jews. I remember looking longingly at the building as it went up, wishing my timing had been different so I could explore it. This time I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity.

 It was a somewhat controversial time to go to Poland as a new law had been passed criminalizing speech that associated Poland with Nazi acts in the Holocaust. The Polish sensitivity arose from the conflation of descriptors of place with responsibility. Concentration camps that were housed in Poland were created and operated by the Nazis and a reference to "Polish concentration camps" failed to capture that distinction. The difficulty with the law was that it painted with a broad brush and potentially silenced any talk of Poles who were complicit. An outcry soon resulted in an amendment dropping the criminalization but retaining civil penalties. This became a topic in several sessions raising questions as to how it might suppress accurate Holocaust education reflecting the fact that some people were complicit, many were bystanders and a small group risked their lives to save Jews. 

There are stereotypes that historically have created distance between Jews and Poles. Stereotypes may arise from actual events but get extrapolated more broadly to define an entire people. So what colors these perceptions? While Poland was originally a safe haven for Jews, state antisemitism arose in 1935 after the death of the statesman PiƂsudski and was often fed and condoned through the Catholic Church of that time. The Polish stereotype of Jews was that they were allied with Communism, although pre-1935 only 2-7% of Jews voted for Communist linked parties. 

And after the war?  One need only say Kielce, one of the best known pogroms post-war, to elicit a knowing nod. Many survivors returned from concentration camps to their former communities only to find Poles occupying their homes filled with their belongings. Wanting your property back could be life threatening. In addition to the Kielce pogram which killed 42 Jews, there were reports of Jews being murdered in other Polish cities. These events contributed to Jews seeking to leave Poland.  After the war, some remaining Jews were initially incorporated into visible positions of power within the Soviet government, furthering the stereotype of the Jewish communist, until of course the Soviets turned on them in 1968 with their own brand of antisemitism.

The echos of this history underlie Polish-Jewish relations with property remaining a sensitive issue. At the same time Jews and Poles share a common history across many centuries, something that the Polin museum seeks to capture. We struggled a bit with terminology. Many of the Polish Jews identified strongly as Poles, but the convention in that part of the world is to use the term Jews as a nation, implying one is either Polish or Jewish. Polish Jew is a phrase more consistent with American terminology. Conversely in a Jewish gathering, we found ourselves using terms like non-Jewish Poles.

Three million Polish Jews were killed during the war, a sizable portion of the Polish population. It is a bit like a phantom limb, still exerting influence and a presence even in it’s absence. If there was any overriding theme to the sessions,  it is the idea of phantom presence that takes several forms.

For example, several conference talks were on Polish partitions and explored the various divisions of Poland between Austria, Prussia and Russia. The boundaries kept moving as Poland was gobbled up by its neighbors.Those divisions affect the language and format of documents and the culture. Apparently they even affect the voting patterns today. The division is no longer active and yet it has left its influence. 

A similar phenomenon is found in the former existence of Jews within the country. The Jews represented a significant part of the country in terms of population and in some towns Jews could be as much as 80%. The Jews were often the merchants and entrepreneurs. What happens to the remaining community when you eliminate a significant part of it, and a vital part? 

The past continues to influence the future even in its absence. As new generations come of age without the clouded history of earlier generations, there is a curiosity about this aspect of their history and the opportunity to explore it through fresh eyes. My take away is that there are non-Jewish Poles who feel a deep commitment to the work of re-connection and a growing curiosity about the the former Jewish community. That manifests itself in a sometimes selective interpretation of Jewish culture by non-Jewish Poles. 

While in Poland, I visited a number of museums which added some perspective. The Polin museum does an exceptional job in telling the story of Poland and of the Jews and the Poles in connection. It doesn’t have the story of the Jews in isolation, nor does it focus on the Holocaust to the exclusion of all other Jewish history. That’s a story that interests multiple audiences and is presented in a way that draws the viewer in.

The other museum which I found particularly noteworthy was the Warsaw Rising museum which tells the story of the Warsaw uprising without neglecting contemporaneous events that affected the Jewish population. And it underscores that discussion of this event was suppressed by the Soviets. This museum gave me a greater appreciation of the Polish experience. It is a country that was sliced and diced by its neighbors and despite its efforts fighting in the war against the Nazis, it was handed over to the Soviets. The Soviets then proceeded to persecute those who fought in the Polish army and were active in the Warsaw uprising and ultimately the Jews who stayed to rebuild their country. While I knew pieces of that history, I had never truly knit it together nor fully appreciated the role of the Soviets in suppressing aspects of Polish history. 

And the final takeaway, we need to appreciate the experience of each other if we are to find the common ground that we all share. Museums offer us a gateway through which to do that.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Going Deeper in Decorah - Part II

Go to Part ! to begin our journey 

The following morning, we set out for Effigy Mounds, near the Mississippi. We learned of several hiking routes from the ranger and opted for a two-mile circuit, the first portion a rather steep upward climb. The route was shaded, and a cedar path wound around hills and through forest. Sunlight dappled the ground and fallen limbs created sculptural forms. Small rises in the ground suggested bear-like forms. The mounds in this area are of bears and birds and were created between 850-1400 years ago. Their meaning is a mystery, but the Indians ceased to create new mounds when they moved from hunting and gathering to agriculture. The route reached overlooks at the Mississippi where we watched a train chug through the landscape as boats cut through the water nearby. With perfect weather, we were invigorated by starting our day in this place of beauty.

We had a short lunch stop in the town of McGregor, yet another small town with traces of a colorful history still found in the buildings of its downtown. In the 1870s it was the largest shipping port west of Chicago as rail cars were ferried across the Mississippi. Those boom years came to an end when a bridge was constructed to connect Iowa and Wisconsin and the business of ferrying train cars became obsolete.


Our final stop for the day was Spillville, Iowa, a town settled by Czechs.  A few missed turns and we found ourselves traveling in clouds of dust on country roads, arriving at the museum just 45 minutes before its closing time.

 There we visited the Bily’s Clock Museum where intricate clocks were carved from wood, often figures moved across the front and disappeared into the casing as music played. Our guide told us that they set them for different times, so they don’t all chime at the same time as the cacophony would be deafening. With white gloves and hands gesturing she displayed each clock and its moving mechanism with enthusiasm. Two bachelor farmers, the Bily brothers, created the clocks, one designing them and the other doing most of the carving. At one time Henry Ford sought to purchase one for $1 million and was declined. At that point their entrepreneurial sister began to charge ten cents for visitors who wanted to see that million dollar clock. They had as many as 1000 visitors each day. 

As our 45 minutes ticked by, we moved upstairs to the music of Dvorak where we found an exhibit on his visit during the summer of 1893. It was in this space that he finished composing the New World Symphony finding comfort in this very Czech town where he wrote of his delight in birds singing and the sound of the Czech language. Our visit concluded with a brief stop at St Wenceslaus Church, the oldest Czech Catholic Church in the US dating back to 1860. Dvorak composed several of his pieces at their organ. As we entered the church I too could hear the birds singing.






Our last day! Time to begin our drive back to the Twin Cities, but we had a few last things to do. We parted ways to explore shops and regrouped at the Porter House. Remember the house with the unusual rock fence? We were greeted by a guide who we learned was the director. She served as our guide and storyteller as we explored the house and learned its story, both a love story and an adventure story. Adelbert (Bert) Porter lived across the street from Grace Young. When they married, they lived with Grace’s parents in what became known as the Porter House. From there he could look from the porch over the stone wall to his childhood home. Bert and Grace didn’t have children and were financially independent allowing them to pursue a life of artistic interests and adventure. Bert was a naturalist, a photographer and a collector and that extended to butterflies, stamps and objects from his extensive travels in South America and Asia. Grace, a suffragette, painted china and accompanied Bert on portions of his trips. Pictures illustrated that she shared his adventurous spirit. Bert did more than collect butterflies, he created stunning artwork from their iridescent wings which is found throughout the home. He also had curiosity cabinets of his many collected objects. I felt as if I would have enjoyed knowing this adventurous and creative couple. 

As our trip came to a close, I considered what we had discovered. Traveling with others requires a myriad of decisions and some negotiation, where to go, what to do, who will drive, where to stay? Most of us are accustom to such decisions with a partner where we have well established roles, less so with others. There were also elements of travel that were less familiar. I am a city girl and spend most of my travels in big cities and art museums. This called for an openness to a different kind of travel, going deeper in a more circumscribed area rather than skimming the surface of a large city. My hope was for surprise and delight and this trip cleared that bar easily. Both of my travel companions confessed to being pleasantly surprised by small-town Iowa, coming away charmed with our encounters and the places we visited. 

One of the most delightful parts of our trip were the people that we encountered as they performed the duties of their daily life, Waitresses and museum guides added an unexpected richness to our travels as we engaged them in conversation.  Museum guides projected a very real enthusiasm for their subject and we often peppered our waitresses with questions about the town and what it was like to live in that area. Everyone was friendly and helpful and added to the fondness we felt for the areas we visited.



Monday, July 9, 2018

Going Deeper in Decorah - Part I

One of my annual traditions is a road trip with two friends from the Artists’ Lab. We settle on two to three days and pick a location to explore. It is a small-town trip, quite different than a big-city trip where you can skim the surface of a broad expanse. A small town is narrower in scope and you must go deeper to find the gems. That requires an open mind and a spirit of exploration.

Our more memorable trips have taken us to Jeffers Petroglyphs, then on to the Pipestone National Monument, a pipestone quarry that is a sacred site for Native Americans. On another trip we traveled across Wisconsin viewing outsider (and outside) art, often grottoes and sculptures created by early German immigrants. This time we pointed south towards Iowa.


We began by considering a number of interesting stops, then narrowed them to a smaller circuit. I always want to do more than is realistic and suggest complex trips. Those invariably get trimmed as they are, I admit, overly ambitious. I had visions of singing one of my favorite hobo songs (The Hobo’s Lullaby) on the way to the Hobo Museum in Britt, Iowa or traveling the Grant Wood scenic byway from Cedar Rapids onward. Alas, they fell on the cutting room floor when weighed against the driving.

Still what was left was intriguing. Our plan was to go to Decorah, a charming town in Northeast Iowa and then on to Effigy Mounds Monument, an area of 200 raised mounds of animal forms created by Indian tribes in the first millennium. The best trips include some outdoor component to balance the driving. There are a number of small towns along the Mississippi that we planned to visit along the way. Nearby was Spillville, a Czech town that was the site of a three-month visit from composer Antonin Dvorak in the late 1800s. There he completed his work on the New World Symphony, one of my favorite pieces of classical music. In the building that housed him, there is a small exhibit about his visit and a rather renowned clock museum.

Decorah is a two-and-a-half-hour drive and we began on a day with perfect weather, sunny,
warm, but not uncomfortably so. Harmony, Minnesota is in route. It is a small Amish community and horse drawn buggies are likely to pass you on the road. We stopped at Estelle’s Eatery for what turned into a leisurely and pleasant lunch. Time runs slowly in Amish country, especially at a popular restaurant. 

When we arrived in Decorah we pulled up in front of the Vesterheim, the National Norwegian-American Museum, housed in an attractive old building. It has the most extensive collection of Norwegian-American artifacts in the world. Who knew!



 


by Fred Cogelow, one of my favorite pieces
Now I don't have a Norwegian bone in my body, but one of the rules of road trips is you explore what the area offers, the more unlike your typical explorations the better. When we entered we were greeted with the National Norwegian-American Folk Art exhibit with rosemaling, weaving and woodworking. As I enjoyed the contemporary response to Norwegian traditional arts, it began to arouse a curiosity in me about the genesis of those arts. That was soon to be satisfied by rooms that represented the typical living space decorated by Norwegian home crafts. The museum presented many of the original artifacts that represented the Norwegian artistic tradition. One of my favorite parts was a 
The model on right, carving on left
photography exhibit of Knud Knudsen, one of Norway’s most famous early photographers. He lived from 1832-1915 and began his photography business in the 1860s. While his landscapes are lovely, it was the photographs of people in their daily life that bridged both time and geography.

As we left the building we noticed a number of historic buildings located behind the museum
representing the life of Norwegian immigrants. We found ourselves imagining what life was like for a couple who lived with six children in one room. 

We then went in search of our Airbnb, a home within walking distance of the Main Street and near the historic district. A welcoming front porch greeted us, something we observed throughout the neighborhood. We found the location convenient as we walked to La Rana, a small and satisfying restaurant. On the walk back, we passed an imposing home, but what caught our attention was the intriguing rock wall that surrounded it, set with glittering geodes and colorful forms. We learned that it was known as the Porter House and was now a museum, yet another gem, quite literally, for exploration.

Read Part 2 


Thursday, June 28, 2018

Not an Elevator Speech

The gallery was filled with people when we entered the Jewish Artists' Lab exhibition. The theme is Crossing the Threshold, a topic that resonates deeply with me. I believe much of life is about our journey across new thresholds as we explore new aspects of the world and of ourselves. As I milled around the room, I was posed a question by a fellow artist. “What do you do when you aren’t painting?” 

Most of the time painting takes up a very small segment of my overall time. Even if I count all my time at the studio, I probably spend a big chunk of that time contemplating what and how I am going to paint. Or painting over my first attempts. Often I am working on other projects. Then I paint a bit and study it from across the room as I contemplate the next step. Hmm, not much to talk about in my painting life right now so I switch directions. 

“I am presenting on my book and beginning to work on a new book,” I replied. Much of my time this year has been focused on talks on immigration that relate to my book.

“Oh, what is the new book about,” I was asked. In that moment I realized I had stepped into a quagmire. I had no elevator speech. I am still discovering what it is about. Writing, at least the kind I do, is about discovery, not too unlike painting. That’s why it is hard to talk about at this stage. I need to allow myself the room to find my way and sometimes I need to be patient with my bumbling around in the dark. I've found that is a part of the process of artwork of any form. That's why they call it creating. We start without knowing where we are going. For most of us that is a bit scary and we need to learn to trust that we'll find our way. Sometimes it is a direction we never anticipated and we need to be patient with the process. It is very much about crossing thresholds into the unknown.

The truth is I’m still weeding through my lived experience to discover if there is a book in it or a series of essays. We live, we experience, we distill and we shape it into a form to share with others. I use both artwork and writing to do that. It is a long process. Sometimes someone asks me how long a painting takes. Do I start my count with the experience that underlies it?

I continued to contemplate that original question. What is it about? Later I started to write a series of sentences beginning with what it is or is not about.  I actually found that very useful in considering my topic (s).  Some may form whole chapters while others are sub-points, but all were important parts of the experience.  Here's what I came up with:

It is about my relationship with my sister, a relationship that bloomed late in life around a shared purpose.
It is about working together with her and accommodating our different personalities and skills.
It is about how amazingly different siblings can be, even in the same family.
It is about my love for my mother in all its iterations. 
It is about how different people know different parts of the same person, each with a unique relationship.
It is about the way relationships change and adapt as circumstances change.
It is about being present in the moment.
It is about finding the meaning in an experience.
It is about finding the essence of a person despite the guise.
It is about partnering.
It is about ceding control.
It is about taking control.
It is about stepping up.
It is about living, dying, letting go and cherishing.
It is about living so we don’t have regrets.
It is about finding another person housed within us.
It is about seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.
It is about loving the whole, but also the parts.
It is not about Alzheimer’s, although that is part of the lived experience, but it doesn't overshadow the person.
It may be in part about my father, but I’m not sure yet.
It is about finding and loving the person trapped in the fog.
It is about the human experience.
It is about discovering who you are as you learn about who your parents were. 
It is about understanding the world through story.
It is about a book that I would want to read.


Not exactly an elevator speech, is it? Or perhaps it requires a very long elevator ride.

And if you are in Minneapolis, stop by the Tychman-Shapiro Gallery at the Sabes JCC to see the exhibition. It is up through August 23, 2018.




Tuesday, June 5, 2018

View from the Late Bloomer Seats

Since my book came out in October, I’ve been talking pretty nonstop. Like most people, I once started out petrified to speak publicly, but have come to really enjoy it. I’ve turned into a bit of a performer. I even can fool people into thinking I’m a natural at this. There are people like that, but I most assuredly am not one of them. Put me on the spot without time to prepare and I can still freeze. I am resigned to my lot in life as the one who does her homework.

You know the type. We’ve got skills and talents, but they require a bit of mining and polishing. It’s not surface glitz. We’ve got to find ourselves and are often late bloomers as a result. My bet is that we are often middle children who learn to work hard as we lack the prize positions of eldest or youngest.

Speaking from the late bloomer seats which I’ve finally secured, it is not a bad way to go through life. It is quite satisfying to continue to discover new capabilities, to surprise yourself later in life with new talents. Who knew I could hold a crowd? Who knew I’d enjoy doing it?

Last evening, I had the unusual pleasure of going first before a crowd of 250 people. That doesn’t happen often for those of us with names that begin with W. In fact, I don’t think it has ever happened without me volunteering. The event was a benefit for the arts and I was one of eight artists selected to tell about my work through 18 images with 18 seconds per image. I’ve attended before and often marveled at how skilled the performers were in carrying it off. It is very much a performance. 

I’ve been intrigued with the format and must confess that when I did a project with the organization, it occurred to me that I might be asked to participate. I wondered if I could do it and roughed out 18 vignettes that flowed together to satisfy my own curiosity.   Yes, I do my homework even before it is assigned. When subsequently asked to present, I confidently could agree. It is an odd format, tightly scripted, telling a succinct story with no time for ad libs, but it worked well and I had the unexpected pleasure of getting to relax through the remainder of the event after a reassuring “You nailed it!”

The week before I had been in NY to present to the Jewish Book Council on my book, another tightly scripted event. Authors flew in from around the country to present to an auditorium of Jewish organizations who might bring them in to speak and sell books. For that event we got two minutes to present with about 45 authors in each group, some who I’ve read and admired, others who I hope to read. Somehow that felt a bit more daunting, even navigating the city to get there was part of the journey. And of course, that was alphabetical as I waited patiently through forty authors. When I stood before the mike and surveyed the auditorium, I waited a minute for the introducer to sit down. As the room quieted and they looked at me expectantly, I felt in control of the room. And when I posed a question, It rang out into the silent room with authority and I took that control. A new trick to remember for that next talk.

Now these were unusual formats, and in some ways much harder than scripting an hour-talk where I can relax into myself and bring an audience into my story. For those I’ve worked out a variety of talks because I don’t want to be doing the same thing over and over. In the process, I’ve learned how to bring my book to life. That has been another learning. The book becomes a jumping off point for more in-depth stories and I continue to expand on its contents. It is a living thing and the talking and sharing becomes as important as the writing. Because many of the people I interviewed had an immigration story, I weave their story into talks on immigration history in the US, using their video clips to illuminate the actual experiences across the last century juxtaposed with the laws and the environment that birthed them. I share the stories we often don’t know. Other times I may tell a Holocaust story of those seeking safety juxtaposed with our policies and laws before, during and after WWII.  I find that the public speaking enriches the book and engages me in unexpected ways in a deeper exploration of the material. Sometimes I do an artistic exploration, talking of my process in moving from story to artwork. Along the way I’ve come to think of the book as a vehicle for unfolding stories with my active intervention. What I find most satisfying is that it is a continual learning experience, for  me as well as my audience.