Sylvia Waters

Sylvia Waters is the Artistic Director for Ailey II, the junior company of the renown Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, which she has led since its inception in 1974. Waters was hand-picked by Alvin Ailey to lead the new venture and under her direction Ailey II has grown into a powerful company in its own right. Prior to joining the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater as a principal dancer in 1968, Waters lived in Paris and worked with Michel Descombey, then director of the Paris Opera Ballet, as well as Milko Sparembleck. She performed at the Summer Olympics in Mexico City in 1968.

Waters received her Bachelor of Science degree in Dance from Juilliard. In 1997, she was awarded an honorary doctorate from the State University of New York at Oswego and in the spring of 2010, she was a guest lecturer in dance at Harvard University.

Waters has served as a panelist for the National Endowment for the Arts as well as for the New York State Council on the Arts. In 2008, she was awarded the Legacy Award as part of the 20th Annual IABD Festival, Syracuse University’s Women of Distinction Award, and the prestigious Dance Magazine Award.

Were you a child who danced all the time?

I was a child who moved. I was a child with a lot of energy. My mother started me off in piano lessons. So, my physical outlet in addition to piano was sports. Running track was my favorite. Playing basketball. And it was in junior high school that I began to get on the dance track.

How?

In our phys ed classes we had what I called “The General” for a phys ed teacher. We wore these gym suits and we had to get dressed in a minute and a half, then at the end you had to undress….all in a minute and a half! She was all about discipline. The fascinating thing about her was that she never wore a gym suit herself. She was always wearing the most wonderful suits and high heels.

We had these little things called tap bags sewn onto our gym suits. We would put these taps on the bottom of our sneakers and she [the General] would teach us time steps. You know, it took me years to realize how she did that in her high heels. She had obviously danced at one time. She also started an after school modern dance class. It wasn’t called modern dance, it was called interpretive dance.

Then I had a girlfriend, my best friend, who was studying dance at the New Dance Group. She had one of those no-bones bodies. She kept telling me, “You’ve got to come down to the New Dance Group, you really should come.” She’d show me the exercises, the floor work in her little room and I said, “Oh God, this hurts, I can’t do this…”

So all of these signals were coming to me. Even the kids that I baby-sat for, I would take them to dance class on Saturdays and I would watch them do their tap class and their jazz class and their ballet class. So it was all around me, but it wasn’t until my first year of high school, when I saw that there was a choice of gym or dance.

And you chose dance?

Yes. I went right into dance. And it was there that I really began to experience dance movement. I had a teacher who was, I guess, very interested in her students– as you would hope all teachers would be. She would bring in books and wonderful pictures of dancers, modern dancers, all kinds of dance. She finally said to me one day, “You really seem to like this a lot and you seem really good at this, have you ever thought of studying seriously?” The light bulb somehow came on and I went down to the New Dance Group, just as my friend had suggested, and that’s when it started.
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Michael Scammell

Michael Scammell is a distinguished biographer and translator. He is the author of Solzhenitsyn, A Biography (1984) and, most recently, Koestler: The Literary and Political Odyssey of a Twentieth Century Skeptic (2010), which won the PEN/Jacqueline Bograd Weld Award for the best biography in the USA, and the Spears Magazine Award for best biography in the UK. He is also the editor of Russia’s Other Writers (1971), Unofficial Art from the Soviet Union (1977), and The Solzhenitsyn Files (1995). His translations include The Gift and The Defense, by Vladimir Nabokov, Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and Childhood, Boyhood and Youth, by Leo Tolstoy. His work has appeared in the New York Review of Books, AGNI, and Harper’s.

In 1972, Scammell founded Index on Censorship, for which he served as editor until 1981. He received his B.A. from Nottingham University and a Ph.D. from Columbia University, where he now teaches nonfiction writing.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

A soccer player.

Why?

I grew up in working class England, and sport seemed the obvious route to fame and riches. My father was a good amateur soccer player and we kids spent all of our waking hours playing soccer, listening to soccer on the radio, and occasionally getting taken to a professional game on a Saturday. But in high school I realized I was one of the smallest people on the pitch, so that faded.

Once the soccer dream faded, where did you set your sights?

I really had no idea. I got to a good high school through pure chance – one of only two from our village in my year – and found myself in a place where they studied Latin, French, German, math, history, geography – a full range of academic subjects – and it turned out I was good at nearly all of them.

But I paid a price. My school was an hour away, students who went there were considered to be “stuck up snobs” by the boys in the village. I was cut off from my friends and no longer understood by even my father, a plumber, or my mother, a former chambermaid – though they were very proud of me. I guess it was the start of what would now be called alienation.

What did you do after you graduated high school?

The only thing I had to cling to was something my English teacher said to me in exasperation one day. “Scammell you’re too facile with your words. Have you ever thought of trying journalism?” I hadn’t the slightest idea what I would do after leaving school at the age of 16 – which was the norm in those days – so, I thought, why not? I sent out about forty letters to every single newspaper within a radius of sixty miles whose names I found in a press directory and got one offer back: to work as a copy boy, that is, messenger boy, at a daily paper in nearby Southampton. But I was warned I wouldn’t be allowed to write a word for the newspaper, and so it turned out, with the exception of about six brief items in a gossip column.

How long did you do that job?

Two years. Luckily I was befriended by the paper’s theatre critic, who asked me to babysit for his children and invited me to stay over at his apartment because I lived too far away to get home. I had the run of his bookshelves and it was like Aladdin’s cave to me. For my birthday he gave me Candide by Voltaire. He introduced me to the writers known as the “Angry Young Men” – Kingsley Amis, John Osborne, Philip Larkin, and so on. He also lent me books by D.H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf, Forster, Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald, and took me to the theater, so that was the beginning of my real education, I would say.
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Karen Hartman

Karen Hartman is an award-winning playwright and librettist whose work has been supported by the Rockefeller Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, the Helen Merrill Foundation, a Daryl Roth “Creative Spirit” Award, a Hodder Fellowship, a Jerome Fellowship, a Fulbright Scholarship to Jerusalem, a New Dramatists residency, and Core Membership at the Playwrights Center. Her play Goldie, Max, and Milk premiered this season at Florida Stage and the Phoenix Theater, and Wild Kate opened at ACT in San Francisco. Goliath, Donna Wants, Gum, Going Gone, Anatomy 1968, Troy Women, ALICE: Tales of a Curious Girl, Leah’s Train and others have been commissioned and/or staged by dozens of theaters including the Women’s Project, NAATCO (National Asian-American Theater Company), McCarter Theater, ACT in San Francisco, Center Stage, the Magic Theater, and Dallas Theater Center, and are published by TCG, DPS, Backstage Books, NoPassport Press, and Playscripts, Inc.

She holds a B.A. from Yale University and an M.F.A. from the Yale School of Drama. She has taught playwriting in a wide range of settings, including four years at the Yale School of Drama. Karen is a resident alum at New Dramatists and leads an independent writing workshop for New York playwrights.

When did you realize that you wanted to be a writer?

Probably when I was about three. I would narrate what was happening to me and my friends in my head. I took great pride in writing with a pencil. I started writing plays in junior high. My friend Amy and I decided to write an absurdist comedy called Anhedonia Meets The Urban Shaman. We pulled whatever we were studying and put it in the play.

Do you remember the first time you saw your work produced?

It was very formal and official. The first play I wrote myself was for the California Young Playwrights Festival. I acted in this festival when I was fourteen in a play by an 8th grader, which gave me a lovely low standard so that I could have the courage to write my own play. My first two plays were produced there when I was in high school. I had an early and totally false sense that playwriting was a road to success and fame and getting into college. It was a comparatively good and glamorous beginning.
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Bianca Marroquin

Bianca Marroquin is one of the first Latinas to appear in a leading role on Broadway. She began her career in Mexico City, appearing in the Mexican productions of Beauty and the Beast, Rent, Phantom of the Opera, and Chicago, in which she starred as Roxie Hart, a role that garnered five awards from the Mexican Critics Association, including New Revelation and Best Actress. She starred in the U.S. national tour of Chicago, and can currently be seen as Roxie in the Broadway production in New York.

Marroquin has also appeared as Daniela in the Broadway production of In the Heights, and as Carmen in Pajama Game. In 2009, she returned to Mexico to play the role of Maria in The Sound of Music.

In 2004, Marroquin was awarded the Helen Hayes Award for Outstanding Lead Actress, making her the first Mexican to receive this award. She was also the youngest Roxie ever to appear on Broadway.

Were you one of those kids who was always performing and goofing around?

Dancing was my world. When I was little I always wanted to dance. I made my mother take me to ballet when I was three years old.

How did you even know about ballet at three years old?

Well, actually, I remember watching the Olympics. What I really wanted to do was gymnastics— when they danced on the mat, all that. I would tell my mom: I want to do that! When my mom took me to a ballet school, I walked in and said, “Where are the bars?” I remember asking that.

I grew up in a very small town in the Northern part of Mexico, at the border to Texas. A lady had just come to our town to open a ballet school. She came from the capital, she came from Mexico City. So, all of the mothers were taking their little kids to the school.

When you were little, did you want to be a prima ballerina?

For the longest time, that was the goal. That was what the teacher imposed on all of us: ballet, ballet, ballet! And I was so disciplined. Ballet always came first, before, like, going to birthday parties or anything like that. I remember making my mother drive to the birthday parties at night, after my ballet class. I would ring the doorbell and say, “Oh, Señora, I come for my little bag of candy! I couldn’t come to the party but—”

You wanted your goody-bag.

That’s right!
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Woody Jackson

Woody Jackson is an immensely popular American painter, best known for his “cowmania” — paintings of cows in farm landscapes. You may be familiar with his cows from the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream carton and T-shirt images, which he designed for the then new ice cream company in the 1980s. It all started after he graduated from college in 1970, when he lived on a farm with some friends, surrounded by cows. His colorful canvases of cows — set in both rural and urban landscapes — are iconic throughout Vermont and many parts of the United States.

Jackson earned his BA from Middlebury College and his MFA from Yale University. He is the father of five boys and lives in Middlebury, Vermont with his wife Ingrid and their youngest sons, Eben and Silas.

At what point did you realize you wanted to be an artist?

I didn’t know that I wanted to be an artist until I got to college. I think that the era encouraged people to not take the usual routes or go into general business. The time period encouraged the creative type. It was the ’60s, and people were experimenting with a lot of drugs and lifestyles, and everything was up for grabs. Everything was changing.

And printmaking was one of your earliest art forms, correct?

Yes, I did printmaking. I didn’t start until my junior year [in college]. I started making things on my own my freshman and sophomore year. My Junior Fellow had a big influence on me. He was an art major, and he ended up doing special effects art for movies in Hollywood. Because of him, I started playing with lights and designing rock posters. Then, my junior year, I took a design course, and senior year, I took all of the studio art courses available: printmaking, figure drawing, and painting. I didn’t start early on with studio art. I graduated as an Asian and African history major.

Did you ever consider other professions?

No, I never seriously considered other professions. I was lucky in that I had success, enough success, to lull me into thinking that this could work. I was lucky that I didn’t have any student loans to pay, and rent was so cheap it was ridiculous. So I could live for fifteen years on very little money. And I didn’t get married or have children young, which allowed me a lot of freedom.

At the beginning of college, I thought I would go into the Foreign Service or something. But after I graduated, I moved onto a communal farm with like-minded, back-to-the-land people. They were all interested in crafts. Quite a few of them became artists: painters, weavers, and pottery makers. Well, in the short term anyway.
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Donald Margulies

Donald MarguliesDonald Margulies is an award-winning American playwright and professor at Yale University. His most recent work, Time Stands Still, premiered last year and enjoyed a critically-acclaimed run on Broadway with Laura Linney and Eric Bogosian in the starring roles. His 2000 play, Dinner with Friends, went on to win numerous awards (including the 2000 Pulitzer Prize), and received lengthy runs Off-Broadway and in Paris, as well as productions all over the world. It was also turned into an Emmy-nominated film for HBO.

Other plays include Pulitzer Prize finalists Sight Unseen and Collected Stories, as well as Brooklyn Boy, Two Days; God of Vengeance, The Model Apartment (Obie Award winner), The Loman Family Picnic, Found a Peanut, Luna Park, and What’s Wrong with This Picture?, which was produced on Broadway in 1994. Margulies is the recipient of the 2000 Sidney Kingsley Award for outstanding achievement in the theatre by a playwright and is a member of the council of the Dramatists Guild of America. He has received grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, The New York Foundation for the Arts, and the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation. In 2005 he was honored by the American Academy of Arts and Letters with an Award in Literature and by the National Foundation for Jewish Culture with its Award in Literary Arts.

When you were growing up, what did your parents do for a living?

My father sold wallpaper at Pintchik’s on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn for over forty years; my mother was a housewife for the first ten years of my life, before going back to work as a bookkeeper and, later, as an office manager in an advertising agency. Neither were college graduates, nor were they intellectuals, yet they were mavens for popular culture. I have said that my family didn’t go to synagogue but we went to Broadway, and that more or less sums it up. I recall many Sunday mornings when my father played cast albums on the hi-fi. My mother died, suddenly, when she was fifty-one and I was twenty-three, so she missed out on my struggles and successes; my father lived to see my off-Broadway debut, Found a Peanut, at the Public Theatre in 1984, but passed away three years later, well before I had my breakthrough (Sight Unseen, in 1992).

Were they supportive of you pursuing a career in the arts?

My parents [never] undermined my artistic ambitions. By the time of her death in 1978, my mother knew I had shifted my concentration from graphic design to playwriting but had few opportunities to see if I had any talent.  Still, she supported my decision unequivocally. My father never truly understood why or how I did what I did but he never questioned it. (Despite assumptions to the contrary, Manny Weiss, the father in Brooklyn Boy, is not a stand-in for my father.) Both my parents were present at my debut as a playwright, when I was 21, and still an art student at Purchase. It was a seminal event in my life and I am grateful that they were in attendance on the night I decided to be a playwright.
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John D’Agata

John D’Agata is an American writer who, like an unexpected firecracker, continuously makes the established literati hop in surprise. With his debut essay collection, Halls of Fame (2001), D’Agata— and his lyric prose as poem as essay as…— burst onto the scene, questioning the traditional view of essay writing and, with the anthology that soon followed, The Next American Essay (2002), offering an alternative. As Annie Dillard had it, “D’Agata is redefining the modern American essay.” But he also wanted to do some reclaiming, which he did with the sweeping anthology The Lost Origins of the Essay (2009). His most recent work is the book-length essay About a Mountain (2010), an investigation and meditation on the Yucca Mountain Project, the federal government’s plan to store nuclear waste in a range near Las Vegas.

D’Agata was a 2001 finalist for the PEN/Martha Albrand Award for First Nonfiction with Halls of Fame, and was awarded a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts in 2007. Born and raised on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, he received his BA from Hobart College and two MFAs, in nonfiction and poetry, from the University of Iowa, where he now teaches writing. He is also an associate editor of the Seneca Review and founded The Essay Prize in 2006 “in response to literary awards that champion subject matter in nonfiction, rather than art.”

In the words of another great innovator, David Foster Wallace: “John D’Agata is one of the most significant U.S. writers to emerge in the past few years.”

When you were young, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to be Johnny Carson. I used to put on a variety show as a kid every summer during a family reunion that my mom hosted at our home on Cape Cod. Family from all over New England and DC and Florida and even sometimes Northern California would come for the weekend to cook and sail and camp out together, and the finale was always this “show” that I’d put on that featured me sometimes playing the piano horribly, sometimes singing, which I can’t do, telling jokes, doing a puppet show, etc. As I grew older and more aware of the limitations of my talent, I realized the impracticalness of wanting to be Johnny Carson and so I decided to become an actor. In hindsight, however, that was even more preposterous an idea than wanting to be Johnny Carson because I am arguably the world’s most bashful person. And I also happen to really suck at acting. So then at some point in high school I turned to directing, and while the most recent play that I’ve directed remains a children’s production of Peter Pan that featured a nine-year-old gymnast in the title role who hopped around on mini trampolines in lieu of actually flying, I still feel that the influence of my stint in the theater is clearly noticeable in what I’m doing today.

When did you first realize that writing was something you wanted to pursue? Was there some sort of “aha” moment?

At a pretty young age I started seeing a tutor in Latin. Then in high school I picked up Greek, and so my major in college was inevitably Classics. But for various reasons, at the very tail end of my time in school, I kind of dramatically decided that I wanted nothing to do with Classics anymore, and so I started trying to pick up an English major. I took as many courses as I could in English, including some electives like creative writing. However, as it happened, when I went to look for a creative writing class, the fiction workshop was full, and the poetry workshop was full, but the nonfiction workshop was wide open— which is usually how it goes for nonfiction. So I took the nonfiction class, not really knowing what the heck “nonfiction” actually meant, and almost immediately fell in love with the form. I felt at home. I felt a kinship with these texts that we were reading and that I was trying to write myself, and I realized in hindsight, years later, that the majority of what I particularly loved to read in Latin and Greek was prose, and that the majority of prose in Latin and Greek is in fact essay. So I’d actually been reading this stuff for almost a decade before I knew what it was or tried writing it myself. But they’re essays. And they were in my blood. And I think that’s when I knew I had found a home.
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Peter Friedman

Peter Friedman is an American stage and screen actor who made his Broadway debut in The Great God Brown in 1972. Since then he’s worked on countless productions, including a Tony-nominated performance as Tateh in Ragtime and Drama Desk Award nominated performances in The Heidi Chronicles and The Common Pursuit. Other prominent New York stage credits include 12 Angry Men on Broadway, Donald MarguliesThe Loman Family Picnic at Manhattan Theatre Club, and the recent, critically-acclaimed productions of After the Revolution and Circle Mirror Transformation at Playwrights Horizons. He was a series regular on the TV show, Brooklyn Bridge, and has numerous other film and TV credits.

He owns a parrot named Midnight (seen here) and likes to laugh.  New York Magazine said of Friedman, “Few actors working today can evoke the quick fury and cold terror of the middle-aged male with more humor, bite, and pathos.” He is one of New York City’s most highly-regarded stage actors.

Were you always interested in theater?

Some time around 1964 I discovered the New York Times Sunday section. I’d head into the city from Queens every Saturday and go from theatre to theatre and buy tickets for $2.90 and sit in line.  I would see as much as I possibly could.

Were your parents involved in the arts at all?

My dad certainly had a performance streak – there are stories of him performing as a counselor at camp. But there was a war, the Depression, he wasn’t about to go be a full-time actor. My grandmother, actually, on my mom’s side, she always wanted to be on the stage. It meant a lot to her that I was pursuing it. She had a great story about visiting Belle Baker – this woman who made the song “I Don’t Care” famous. Her husband ran the theater that she performed at. And my grandmother went into his office and she played the violin, she sang, she played piano.  And he listened to her sing and then then he asked, “Do you have a good home?” She said, “Yeah.” “Do you have parents who love you?” She said, “Yeah.” And he said, “Go home.” And she went home that night and her father said the Yiddish equivalent of: “May he live long and make a habit of it.”
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Molly Haskell

Molly Haskell is a writer and critic whose work has been integral in shaping the discussion of feminist film criticism. Her seminal book From Reverence to Rape: The Treatment of Women in the Movies, which was published in 1974, was one of the earliest works written about cinema from a feminist perspective. She is also the author of a memoir, Love and Other Infectious Diseases, (1990) a collection of essays and interviews, Holding My Own in No Man’s Land: Women and Men and Films and Feminists, (1997) and, most recently, Frankly, My Dear: Gone with the Wind Revisited (2009). Her work has appeared in countless publications, including The New York Times, The Guardian UK, Esquire, The Nation, Town and Country, The New York Observer and The New York Review of Books.

Haskell has served as Artistic Director of the Sarasota French Film Festival, on the selection committee of the New York Film Festival, as associate Professor of Film at Barnard and as Adjunct Professor of Film at Columbia University. She has been a film critic for the Village Voice, New York Magazine and Vogue, and is a 2010 Guggenheim Fellow.

What makes Ms. Haskell’s work so remarkable, and unusual, is that it combines the rigor of the fierce academic with the cinephile’s plain, unapologetic love of the moving image. She refuses to be an unaffected observer, rejects the stiffness of the jargon-heavy theorist, and rather pushes forth with strong emotion and biting humor. To scrutinize myth without compromising magic, to problematize as well as personalize- these are the skills of a truly sensitive critic.

Tell me what it was like for you growing up in the South.

On the one hand, it was very wholesome and I was very privileged. We weren’t rich but we were comfortable, and I went to an excellent girls’ school in Richmond, VA. I had wonderful friends. I spent part of my childhood on a farm that my parents bought out in the county. My father was in business but he loved the land. It was ten miles to the school so he would drive me back and forth most days. We had a close relationship, and he died young, so that was very precious.

The thing about Richmonders is that they just love Richmond—understandably . . . it’s beautiful, civilized, generous in friendship, but very tribal. It’s still the capital of the Confederacy, which means a fairly rigid social hierarchy and attendant snobbery. There was a time when the natives didn’t even want to travel, unless it was to a place where you could be with other Richmonders. I had a friend who said she couldn’t go to Europe because if you went to Europe you had to go for a week and she’d miss too many parties!

I don’t think I thought of it as being narrow-minded, provincial, or conservative— it was just the medium in which I lived. But then, as I got older and more questioning—it was the time of Jim Crow in the South (blacks, or “colored people” as they were called, rode on the back of the bus)— I felt uncomfortable with a lot that I saw, yet not quite capable of challenging these values overtly. I went to a nearby college because my father was very ill and I wanted to be close to home. But then he died the day after I enrolled, so there I was. It wasn’t such a terrible place, but I had wanted to go to the Northeast, and my mother, whose father was from New York and who was quite cosmopolitan, wanted me to go to Smith or Bryn Mawr.

Where did the idea of leaving the South come from?

Reading, my first love, gave me the sense of a larger world, but in my adolescence, movies were the great siren call from beyond. It was through movies that I first developed an appetite for New York. I saw the New York of Doris Day and Rock Hudson in those films about executives and women working. It was the sense of a cosmopolitan world. New York seemed the epicenter of everything stimulating.

Also, there was an art house in town that showed French movies, and I was taking French— as most of us did at the time—and a budding Francophilia along with my mother’s urgings made me want to go to Europe. My father’s death was the catalyst in some way. Something broke. Some automatic sense of being anchored in a world, a religion, and a social group. My sense of belonging was no longer automatic and once that happens, questions occur.
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Ellen Altfest

Ellen Altfest is a realist painter, New York born and bred. Her disarmingly scrupulous paintings, whether of plants or male nudes, stand out for their technical achievement, yes, but also for the artist’s ability to render precision with a strong accent; an Altfest is distinctly an Altfest. Her work has been exhibited in numerous solo shows, including at White Cube in London (2007) and the Bellwether Gallery in New York (2002 and 2005), as well as in major exhibitions, such as the Saatchi Collection curated show “USA Today” at the Royal Academy in London (2006). In 2006, she curated the show “Men” at I-Beam in New York, which featured ten works by female artists depicting men.

Altfest earned a BFA in Painting and a BA in English from Cornell University and an MFA in Painting from Yale University. She studied at the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in 2002, was awarded a studio at the Marie Walsh Sharpe Art Foundation in 2004-2005, a residency at Yaddo in 2006, and a residency at the Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas, in 2010.

The artist and critic David Humphrey (read his DoY interview here!) writes, “Ellen Altfest asks us to slow down, to crawl, to feel our way across the variegated surfaces of her depicted objects until we experience them as materialized hallucinations. The dense skin of her paintings invites us to travel into nether-spaces of bewildering complexity where we become lost in a thoroughly mapped world right in front of our eyes.”

What did you want to be when you grew up?

There wasn’t something particular I wanted to be, but I was always doing art. I think I had representational inclinations early on. My mom slept on a pink satin pillowcase, and when I was five I made a drawing of it and somehow it looked shiny. I was so proud of it.

Can you recall a specific moment when you realized you wanted to pursue a life of art?

There was this moment in my last semester of high school where I went through the list of regular occupations, and I thought: “Well, I’m not going to be a doctor, I’m not going to be a lawyer…” Art was the only thing at which I really stood out. So it was a process of elimination initially, the direct intention didn’t come until my senior year of college. Looking back, I did every step: I was an art major in high school, I was an art major in college… but then I was also doing summer internships in creative fields to see if I could find something more normal to do, where I could support myself.

What kind of internships?

My first internship was in high school, at P.S. 1., assisting in the office. The mother of one of the curators there lived next door. In college I assisted a designer of children’s clothing and worked in the office at the Henry Street Settlement. None of these jobs really stuck.

Since you were doing these internships to try out more “jobby” jobs, did you have an awareness in college that being an artist would be pursuing a risky/impractical career?

That’s the thing, there was no “career.” If you went to the career office at Cornell, the woman there was, like, “Well, I guess you could be an artist: flip hamburgers and paint on the weekends.” They steered us towards “related fields.” I just had no role model for how to do it. It was confusing to me, like what is the next step? There just wasn’t any job that I could apply for and “be” an artist. I knew I liked painting, but I didn’t know what I could do with it when I was done with school.

My biggest supporter was my high school art teacher, Aaron Kurzen. He had been an assistant for De Chirico, he studied with Hans Hofmann and was all about Matisse, who had been Hoffman’s teacher. It’s funny because I think a lot of the time the kind of teachers you have will help determine what kind of artist you’re going to become. I had a really traditional training: I spent a year drawing plaster casts and then began drawing from the figure at fifteen. That enabled me to be a realist. Aaron told me, “Here is what you’re going to do: you go to a liberal arts school for your undergraduate, and then you go to Yale for graduate school.”
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