I'm a little tired today.
It's a happy kind of tired, borne out of doing what I love and appreciating the detail oriented process of individuals who care about the quality of what they produce.
I've been a part of a singing aggregation formed by African-American composer Richard Smallwood, for a little over 15 years now. How ironic that it is named "Vision".
I've been a part of a singing aggregation formed by African-American composer Richard Smallwood, for a little over 15 years now. How ironic that it is named "Vision".
That I would be on stage, and not a happy ticket holder seated in a audience is still amazing to me. The last place I ever wanted to be was in front of people. I always thought my life would be spent drawing and painting. My work could be on display and speak and sing for me, I thought. It's easier and safer that way, right? God sure has a weird sense of humor.
Being a part of what God chose Richard to build is a constant, reassuring reminder that "ordered steps" aren't just poetic words.
Being a part of what God chose Richard to build is a constant, reassuring reminder that "ordered steps" aren't just poetic words.
Our lives are connected in the most fascinating ways, and the knowledge of just how intricately our lives weave into the lives of others, makes you just shake your head sometimes--and smile.
So often it seems that people become great overnight; are distant, lofty, and untouchable, and you'll never so much as get a remote chance to see them up close-- let alone talk to them for any meaningful length of time. You don't get to see the path they took, just the end results. You enjoy their labor without ever knowing what it cost in tears, sacrifice, or effort. It's a privilege, however, to hear the stories of those who so inspire and motivate you, and know that they too have been inspired and motivated by others.
In the years that "Vision" has traveled all over the world, I've talked with Richard many times, but last night on the drive home from Steve Ford's studio in Delaware, was the first time that I recall Richard ever talking about his Art teacher, Miss Jessup. He was so animated as he recalled the ceramic piece he made in class. He talked about how Miss Jessup helped him fire it in the kiln, and how pleased they both were with the results. I asked him if he still had it, and he said he was mad at himself about some of the things he's discarded over the years, including long playing LP's,and photos, but he's not sure about the whereabouts of the piece he made so many years ago.
"Have you ever heard of Georgia Jessup?", he asked. "Georgia MILLS Jessup? Yes!" I replied. She used to be at the "Anacostia Neighborhood Museum in South East. The Lois Mailou Jones exhibition is at the Women In The Arts Museum until next year. I'm pretty sure Miss Jessup has work displayed there, too."
Richard recalled how nice and encouraging she was, but had no idea of her prominence at the time. To him, she was just that nice Miss Jessup who gave him an "A". I thought about how delighted she would be of her student now. We talked about his late mother's fine artistic ability, Roberta Flack, Quincy Jones, Aretha, Howard University, the Howard Theater, his autobiography, and a few other things as we traveled along the highway. I was in the company of a long-time friend, and yet, feeling honored by the opportunity at the same time. I wondered if he is even remotely aware that he is held in just as high esteem (by those he has mentored, befriended, and shared his incredible life's work) as HE holds those to whom he gives credit for inspiring him to perform it.
I thought about the conversation when I woke up today. I decided that I wanted to find a sculptural piece by Georgia Mills Jessup--or at least a print. As I searched for internet info on the artist whose name I heard so often in "Blacks In The Arts" (the mandatory class I took as a freshman at Howard U in 1978), and Professors Benjamin, Dobard, and Donaldson's Art survey/history classes, I realized once again just how small the world really is--and what never came to mind as Richard and I talked. Georgia Mills Jessup, Richard's beloved Art teacher, is the mother of artist/educator/curator Rose Powhatan. I'd often run into her at departmental meetings when I was employed as an Art teacher for DC Public Schools. Rose Powhatan is the wife of MY beloved H.U. Design instructor, Albert Michael Auld. I didn't know how well-known Rose and "Mike" were when I was a student, much in the way Richard never considered Miss Jessup's notoriety. Mike was just one of my favorite teachers, and Rose was his gracious wife, who didn't seem to mind the times he piled students in his van and brought them home to look at art, books, hear wise words and fascinating stories, or sample delicious food. He was "Mike". He always had encouraging words to say about my penmanship, he showed us how to use the opaque projector and other graphics equipment; encouraged us to enter contests, took us to The Islander Restaurant for "real food", and introduced us to the roti and cola champagne. ("Blimpie's. Church's. Ahhhh. You all don't know how to eat. Come with me.") He was among the first persons who revealed to me that I could actually make a living in Art, and not be considered a sell-out.
I so enjoyed chatting with Richard as we rode along foggy, rainy MD-301. It was awfully late when we left Delaware, and I was determined not to fall asleep on him as he drove. It had been cold, but sunny and clear when we left Maryland. My singing buddies, Andrea, Stephanie, Darlene, Charrisse, Byron and I had spent the whole day inside recording and didn't know the weather was quite so dreary until we emerged from the studio. Talking with Richard eased my anxiety about going back across the Bay Bridge-- when all we could see were the lines in the road and the intermittent green lights above us. The ride reminded me how nice it is when you have more than one thing in common with your friends. You don't always have to limit your discourse. It also reminded me how nice it is to have praying friends, too. If he was worried, it didn't show...: )
I want to find a Jessup piece for him. Richard is a consummate art lover, and something made by one of his teachers, I think, would be perfect. It's been several years since I've seen Rose and Mike. I've reconnected with many of my college professors via Facebook. (It seems like I'm catching up with them in age.) I was happy to find yet another professor there today, AND here on blogger.
In the years that "Vision" has traveled all over the world, I've talked with Richard many times, but last night on the drive home from Steve Ford's studio in Delaware, was the first time that I recall Richard ever talking about his Art teacher, Miss Jessup. He was so animated as he recalled the ceramic piece he made in class. He talked about how Miss Jessup helped him fire it in the kiln, and how pleased they both were with the results. I asked him if he still had it, and he said he was mad at himself about some of the things he's discarded over the years, including long playing LP's,and photos, but he's not sure about the whereabouts of the piece he made so many years ago.
"Have you ever heard of Georgia Jessup?", he asked. "Georgia MILLS Jessup? Yes!" I replied. She used to be at the "Anacostia Neighborhood Museum in South East. The Lois Mailou Jones exhibition is at the Women In The Arts Museum until next year. I'm pretty sure Miss Jessup has work displayed there, too."
Richard recalled how nice and encouraging she was, but had no idea of her prominence at the time. To him, she was just that nice Miss Jessup who gave him an "A". I thought about how delighted she would be of her student now. We talked about his late mother's fine artistic ability, Roberta Flack, Quincy Jones, Aretha, Howard University, the Howard Theater, his autobiography, and a few other things as we traveled along the highway. I was in the company of a long-time friend, and yet, feeling honored by the opportunity at the same time. I wondered if he is even remotely aware that he is held in just as high esteem (by those he has mentored, befriended, and shared his incredible life's work) as HE holds those to whom he gives credit for inspiring him to perform it.
I thought about the conversation when I woke up today. I decided that I wanted to find a sculptural piece by Georgia Mills Jessup--or at least a print. As I searched for internet info on the artist whose name I heard so often in "Blacks In The Arts" (the mandatory class I took as a freshman at Howard U in 1978), and Professors Benjamin, Dobard, and Donaldson's Art survey/history classes, I realized once again just how small the world really is--and what never came to mind as Richard and I talked. Georgia Mills Jessup, Richard's beloved Art teacher, is the mother of artist/educator/curator Rose Powhatan. I'd often run into her at departmental meetings when I was employed as an Art teacher for DC Public Schools. Rose Powhatan is the wife of MY beloved H.U. Design instructor, Albert Michael Auld. I didn't know how well-known Rose and "Mike" were when I was a student, much in the way Richard never considered Miss Jessup's notoriety. Mike was just one of my favorite teachers, and Rose was his gracious wife, who didn't seem to mind the times he piled students in his van and brought them home to look at art, books, hear wise words and fascinating stories, or sample delicious food. He was "Mike". He always had encouraging words to say about my penmanship, he showed us how to use the opaque projector and other graphics equipment; encouraged us to enter contests, took us to The Islander Restaurant for "real food", and introduced us to the roti and cola champagne. ("Blimpie's. Church's. Ahhhh. You all don't know how to eat. Come with me.") He was among the first persons who revealed to me that I could actually make a living in Art, and not be considered a sell-out.
I so enjoyed chatting with Richard as we rode along foggy, rainy MD-301. It was awfully late when we left Delaware, and I was determined not to fall asleep on him as he drove. It had been cold, but sunny and clear when we left Maryland. My singing buddies, Andrea, Stephanie, Darlene, Charrisse, Byron and I had spent the whole day inside recording and didn't know the weather was quite so dreary until we emerged from the studio. Talking with Richard eased my anxiety about going back across the Bay Bridge-- when all we could see were the lines in the road and the intermittent green lights above us. The ride reminded me how nice it is when you have more than one thing in common with your friends. You don't always have to limit your discourse. It also reminded me how nice it is to have praying friends, too. If he was worried, it didn't show...: )
I want to find a Jessup piece for him. Richard is a consummate art lover, and something made by one of his teachers, I think, would be perfect. It's been several years since I've seen Rose and Mike. I've reconnected with many of my college professors via Facebook. (It seems like I'm catching up with them in age.) I was happy to find yet another professor there today, AND here on blogger.
Yep. It's my teacher, "Mike".
I also found that The Powhatan Museum is still right here in DC.
Maybe my search for a piece by Georgia Mills Jessup is about to come to a happy end.
I also found that The Powhatan Museum is still right here in DC.
Maybe my search for a piece by Georgia Mills Jessup is about to come to a happy end.
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Great post...Enjoyed the reading, as always.
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