Assignment was two 6 x 9 linocuts based on classic fables. Linocuts were to 4 — 5 colors, scanned and edited with Adobe Photoshop. Color was added with Photoshop. Final version was printed on glossy photo paper. (I cheated with the red detail by Sharpie Marker.)
SHOW TITLE: DOG IS MY CO-PILOT
QUESTION: HOW MUCH IS THAT LITTLE DOGGIE IN THE WINDOW?
(A paper written for Art History class. Instructions were to “interview” fictional characters about your ideas, theme, connections to history, and motivation for staging a museum-type show. It should include the mention of at least THREE artists who will be in your show and some thoughts about the installation and presentation style.)
Lassie is the stage name of “Pal”, a male collie dog trained by Rudd Weatherwax. He performed in six MGM feature films through 1951 and a long-running, Emmy winning television series. Pal’s descendants continue to play Lassie today.
Wishbone: is the stage name of “Soccer”, a Jack Russell Terrier who played a dog who sees parallels between classic literature and the dilemmas he and his human friends face every day. The Emmy-Award winning PBS show ran from 1995 – 1998.
Annie Alpert is a collector of dog art and a student at Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design.
(Key: L = “Lassie”; W = “Wishbone”; AA = “Annie Alpert”
AA: Hi guys. Thanks for coming. I’d like to discuss dog imagery in Twentieth-Century Modernism.
W: You mean like art and stuff?
AA: Well, yes. The dog has always been a favorite subject for artists, but in the 20th Century, artists appeared to reject traditional techniques and subject matter—yet, dogs have remained a favorite muse for many otherwise non-traditional artists. Do you have any thoughts on why this may be?
L: Er, wuff? (pant pant)
W: Well, we’re really cute and all. Also we work for scraps.
L: Arf Arf Woof.
AA: Ah, what did he say?
W: He said, “We’re true blue and loyal, and a dog will never let you down, even if you fall into a well or something.”
AA: Oh, I see. Right. Um. . .
W: the point is, we always stick around and if an artist needs something to paint, we’re there. Plus, we’re really cute and all.
AA: “Man’s best friend”, right?
L: Arfety arf arf!!!
W: Ha! Ha! Good one, Lassie. He said, “As Groucho Marx once remarked, ‘Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read!”
L: (snurf snuffle smirk).
AA: Do you have any favorite artists who used dogs as inspiration?
W: I don’t think Timmy was an artist, dude.
W: Just sayin’, man. Now David Hockney really got into painting his Dachshunds, Stanley and Boodgie. Of course, all the paintings look alike to me, but he did get a book out of it.
AA: You mean “David Hockney’s Dog Days”? Charming little book.
AA: Greyhounds? Like Edwin Megargee’s iconic interpretation of the greyhound logo for Greyhound bus lines in 1927?
AA: That was a very modernist interpretation, and it’s still in use today!
W: And what about William Wegman’s Weimaraner photos of Fay Wray and Man Ray? He was on Sesame Street while my show was running. Remember my show? “Wishbone”? I was on it. We won four Emmies”
AA: Yep, my kids and I used to watch it a lot.
W: A lot? Not all the time?
L: Woof (pant pant) Snoof. Arf. Snuffle.
W: He says he likes Jeff Koons’ Balloon Dog series. He says he saw one in the plaza next to where the World Trade Center used to be. He did “Good Morning America” in NYC.
AA: Ooh, oh, right! My favorite was Jeff Koons’ “Puppy”, the topiary steel sculpture of a West Highland white terrier puppy, covered with flowers!
W: (Heh heh) Good times. Good times.
AA: Well, thanks guys. Best wishes with your future endeavors.
W: Goodnight, dude.
We were just one of thousands of families affected—not the ones featured in the paper or on TV—just regular people
Stu Alpert at work in the American Stock Exchange.
This is a rewrite of my original 2001 story of the September 11, 2001 New York City World Trade Center Attack. Our hardships are minor compared to many who were hurt far worse than we were. This document is to testify that we were innocent bystanders hurt by the actions of a few.
I nearly lost my husband on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, the day of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center.
He’s a Floor Broker at the American Stock Exchange on Trinity Place in NYC, one block from the WTC. He was outside having a cigarette when the first plane hit. He thought it was a sonic boom — until pieces of burning debris started raining down. He’s an Exchange Floor Official, and started herding people back into the building, where it was decided that people should stay, because there was no place to go and oily smoke and debris was raining down. He called me at home to say he was ok for the moment.
Later, when the second plane hit, many people were evacuated to the basement, or others left the building. He was helping conduct a floor-by-floor sweep of the Amex when the first tower collapsed. The windows blew out and smoke, ahs and burning debris began to flood inside. He and others put wet paper towels over their faces and ran for their lives through the black smoke. He made it south to the Battery and saw that tug boats were volunteering to load people to get them off Manhattan. While he got on the tugboat, he saw the second tower go down and a wall of smoke began moving south towards them. The boat set off and took the people to Hoboken NJ where the Red Cross put blankets and wet towels on the people.
He had no way to call and I thought for a while that we had lost him. When I saw the second tower fall, I began to prepare myself for the worst. No one could live through the devastation, I thought. My 12 year old daughter kept repeating the mantra “He’ll be all right he’ll be all right he’ll be all right”. Who could tell her that her Daddy may be gone?
At Hoboken he was met by Red Cross workers. He was in shock, but, typically, refused help. He was obsessed with the idea that he had to get home to our small town about 20 miles southwest of NYC. His car was parked in the Journal Square parking garage in Jersey City. “How do I get to Jersey City?” he asked. “Hold on, buddy. Sit down and relax” he was told. They wrapped a blanket around him and put wet towels on his head. “No, give these to someone who really needs them — just tell me how to get to Jersey City” he responded.
He couldn’t make out why the Red Cross workers looked bemused when they directed him to the bus stop in Hoboken. From there, he got on a crowded bus and made it to Journal Square in Jersey City. No fares were charged.
Journal Square was closed. The cops tried to tell him, he couldn’t get to his car and he became frantic and upset. “Don’t tell me I can’t get to my car! I’ve just been in a bombing!”
“Okay, Buddy. Calm down. We’ll get you in there,” said the cops, and escorted him to his car.
“Oh, Jeez — I left my car keys in my briefcase back at the Amex”.
He had a valet key in his wallet, but it only opened the car and wouldn’t start it. He was able to get his cell phone out of the car to call home. This was the first contact we’d had from him in 2 hours. My 12 year old daughter and I were frantic, watching the destruction on TV and crying.
The highways were blockaded, and I wasn’t allowed to drive the 10 miles to Journal Square to pick him up. He was able to crowd onto a bus to Newark Penn Station and from there boarded a NJ Transit commuter train.
We met him at the train. He was a little wobbly, and covered from head to toe with white soot. I was so relieved to see him, and we held each other for a long time. He cried later, when we were home and alone. He described it as “Armageddon”.
Ready to trade: Workers install conduit for power lines along Wall Street in preparation for September 16, 2001 opening of the stock markets. In the longest shutdown since
The week before, we had a big fight, and I was so mad at him. Today, I almost lost him forever, and right now, he looks very, very good to me!
Four of his work pals were found to have been attending a business breakfast at Windows on the World Restaurant on the top of the WTC. They, along with a hundred other brokers, traders and customers and 50 members of the restaurant staff are gone. Only one of his friend’s bodies has been identified so far, and we’ve attended one funeral and a memorial service so far. Six men from our small town are presumed dead, including the father of one of my daughter’s school mates. The next town over lost 8. Another, lost 11 people.
Two weeks later, he’s still not back to work. The Amex building is structurally sound, although filthy. There is limited phone, electric, and water service.. Trading will not resume there for at least another week. Specialists and brokers are being sent to the NYSE or Philadelphia Options exchange — but for a self-employed small businessmen like my husband and his partner, there will be no business transacted for a while. This means, also, no money coming in for our family or the small cadre of employees they support.
A telephone network of friends, associates, and Amex employees has developed to talk, reassure and worry together. My husband is holding up well, although I found him crying again the other day. One fellow was very close to the edge for a few days, but seems to have calmed down now, and is getting therapy.
Of course we’ll get through this, but I’m looking over my shoulder a lot. Thousands of our construction workers, firemen, police officers, friends and neighbors have dropped whatever they were doing to help in the rescue/clean-up effort in NYC. The rest of us pick up the slack for them. Last week (Friday) there was a spontaneous candlelight vigil, as people in our neighborhood gathered on street corners to light candles and talk.
Our daughter (right) and two pals raising money for the Red Cross at a local street fair. They made the ribbons and signs themselves.
We all hurt here in New Jersey. Knowing we’re all in the same condition around here, helps a bit — and hinders. We’re all very nice to each other in our daily business dealings, and offering huge amounts of labor, money and supplies to charity — but it’s hard to talk to anyone about our feelings, because the next guy has as much — if not more — to tell US in return. And we are looking over our shoulders all the time.
I was holding up pretty well for a while, but it started to get to me while I was reading the Sunday paper last week. Suddenly I was very overwhelmed by everything. A plane flying overhead makes me jump. When a newscaster “interrupts this program for a late-breaking news report” I get a gnawing feeling in my stomach. There could very will be more — or worse — attacks to come, and no one knows WHY.
Addendum October 1, 2001
The New York Stock Exchange building reopened on September 30, 2001. My husband returned to work for the first time since the attacks. He said everything within a 20 block radius is covered with a gritty gray ash, and that he had to take a very round-about way to get to the building because of police barricades. The wreckage is visible through the window in the DK room, and seeing it in person is nothing like seeing it on TV. It is staggering in size, towering 15 stories high.
Most people in the area seem to be very subdued and many people report that they are depressed by having to come in to work in that area.
The New York Daily News Said this in the 10/02/01 issue (“Bodies of 16 Bravest Found” MICHELE McPHEE and CORKY SIEMASZKO Daily News Staff Writers):
Candlelight vigil in one of our neighboring towns.
“A few blocks away from the wreckage, the American Stock Exchange’s 2,400 traders and clerks returned to their trading floor at 86 Trinity Place for the first time since the attacks.
Mixed Feelings Among Workers
Workers had to present identification at the police checkpoint at Trinity Place and Rector St. and pass through metal detectors at the building. Some had their bags inspected. Others were patted down by security guards.
“I’m scared to be here,” said 19-year-old Daniel Chipaio, a trader’s assistant from Bensonhurst. “If it was easy for [the terrorists] to do it the first time, why couldn’t they do it again?”
Elizabeth Fogerty of Manhattan, an Amex public relations worker, covered her face with her rabbit-fur shawl to avoid the pungent stench of burned metal and ash lingering in the air. “It can’t be good for you,” she said.
But as Gov. Pataki presided over the ringing of the opening bell, many employees said they were just happy to be back at work.
“A bell ringing is a good symbol that everything is beginning again,” said John Riccardi, 37, of Manalapan, N.J., who works in research. “I’m sure some people are nervous, but it’s nice to be back.”"
Some of us want to forget
We lived in a small commuter town 10 miles from the WTC, so we were there, or nearby. I watched it unfold on a TV screen with my young daughter, wondering how to tell her that Daddy was probably dead, because nobody a block away could possibly be alive after those buildings went down. He didn’t die, but we know dozens who did die—and we had to deal with the consequences.
My husband was smoking a cigarette outside the American Stock Exchange, a half-block away, when the first plane hit. He was a Floor Governor and had to stay to sweep the building of people. They were told to stay in the building, but when the second tower collapsed they were sent into the streets, running for their lives. He never was quite the same again. Curiously, he developed kidney cancer soon afterwards. He’s currently pushing 60, on unemployment with no prospects—and no medical insurance.
We lost our businesses, our home, our marriage and our family. We don’t want to be reminded by fresh-faced “Proud Americans” who use “Never Forget” as a “Me Too” rallying cry. We have to forget to move forward.
And, as long as I’m on the subject, where were all these breast-beaters when we needed help? I made many calls to the dozens of “Survivors of 9/11″ charities that sprung up afterwards. Every one offered me a list of referrals to other ‘services’ that offered me referrals to—well, you get the point.
|An armed guard poses beside pallets of $100 bills in Baghdad.|
Money to bomb Iraq and Afghanistan? Yep. $12 billion to ship on pallets to Iraq to ‘fund’ Iraqi ministries and US contractors? Yep yep. Money for a parade to haul a hunk of steel from NYC to Milwuakee, Wisconsin (where no one died in 9/11) ? Yeppers.
Money for the living who involuntarily paid the ultimate price? Um, not so much.
Current pictures of the WTC site rebuilding from my June trip to NYC here.