More photos to add to our 4/21/18 post. The Public Address Think Tank activists included Debby and Larry Kline, Robin Brailsford, Wick Alexander, Nicki Sucec Grenier, Luis Ituarte, Gerda Govine Ituarte, and Petar Perisic. We miss Petar’s brilliance and humanity, R.I.P. He is shown here with his wife Suzanne.

​Gerda Govine reports, "In their on-line post dated 3/9/2017 entitled “Daring Artists Who Created Memorable and Controversial Art at the U.S.-Mexico Border,” written by Kinsee Morlan, dated March 9, 2017, on page eight under the title “Friendship Park as a Canvas," lists the Public Address Collective and mentions Debby and Larry Kline, Robin Brailsford, Wick Alexander, Nicki Sucec Grenier, Petar  Perisic, and Luis Ituarte and I, are mentioned  regarding the tank sculptures that we took to Friendship Park. (p. 8.)  Kinsee  notes  'there are 20 instances of gutsy, often controversial art that has explored the border. (p. 2).'  And PA made the list.  Yes! This is an important part of PA’s and the border’s history."

​The link is: 
https://www.kcet.org/shows/artbound/protest-art-at-the-us-mexico-border

​"Why not a Pilot?"
     Doris Bittar and I (Melissa Smedley) traveled to the Santa Cruz home of Helen and Newton Harrison to celebrate the life/passing of Helen Harrison.  During the early nineties, Doris and I intersected at UCSD and each had our experiences, our imprinting from this art making couple.
     On Sunday morning, we traversed the salad bowl of Salinas Valley all the way to the mouth of the river at the sea edge. After leaving one car near a slough, together we made our way up route 1 toward Santa Cruz. We encounter some traffic molasses, due to the coolness of Santa Cruz, and accidently allow navigation-lady to lead us to a slightly dystopic hilly stucco area. It was noticeably very un-Helen like and too quiet, where people may be trapped in their cul de sacs. Because we are fortunate to have studied with these exemplary forward-thinking humans, Helen and Newton Harrison, they have also listed themselves deliberately in the various locator search engines, because they’ve been running a business.
     When we arrived at the real place, of course the gathering had oozed out the door and into the street with conversations, squirrely children’s noises and food smells, all a- buzz with thoughtful humans, chairs and such on the street: this was the undead gathering we were imagining. The oldest son out front wearing an apron cooking tri tips on one of those portable crank-up-and-down grills. All ages of folk, woven in and through their lives through many channels and chapters.  While Joseph Albers prints hung humbly and dustily on a wall.
     Newton was dressed in a nice suit, with sandals and black socks made to not ever be shoes, reclining on a chair, one made for that, next to a matching recliner that was not empty, yet it was not exactly her there, yet it was. His handshake was warmed doubly as two large tanned paddles cupped my scrawny arm; a great hospitality was extended though I personally have been a lousy near-neighbor, never visiting ‘til now.
     When it was time to make a toast, to say a few words, there were considerable twinklings in Newton’s and others eyes. Some great little snippets were uttered. Including the daughter who, after an exciting international trip at age 10 or so, was enamored of the stewardesses and given a set of wings. “I know what I want to be when I grow up” she says to her mom, “a stewardess” …. ..  “Why not a pilot?” said Helen.
     A woman standing in the kitchen with lovely unruly grey hair and artistic glasses sang a song about Soulmates, “Hiye diddle lye diddle eye Lye .. (or something) she sang for us in Yidddish what her rabbi had sung to her over the phone, (which I remembered as “hey diddle diddle”) yes the cat and the fiddle. The song was roughly about how you can’t say good bye to a soulmate, because this one is part of your puzzle, always there because you two made you together.
Newton recounted that last week Helen had come directly into his ear speaking – she told him to switch the TV channel, “You know I don’t like “Westerns”.  “So, I changed the channel” he said.
Another woman sang a song in Croation, acapella, standing there by his bookshelf, she offered a song about being very very sad, so that through singing it, you can let some of the sadness out, so that you can then be more free to carry on.”  La LA La la la la she closed her eyes and let it flow and pause and breathe in sad sad song, with the shared intent in her cradle, wearing a simple dress in the afternoon.
     Where this here story-delivery person broke the water out of her eyeballs was when the caregiver spoke, telling us what a privilege it was to get to know Helen and what a whole new lease on life she had as an independent woman after having been part of the family. “A part of the family”, was a theme here, as persons from many chapters of their lives coalesced in one space. Various academics, authors, neighbors, children, colleagues, former students, curators, etc., etc., had in different ways, been made to feel like part of the family. 
Former students expressed awe of her work, at the same time as the nurturing, which does not always happen.
     As we were exiting, I was drawn to a big pure smile saying goodbye and “thank you for coming”: this turned out to be a neighbor who had been coming over twice a week for two years to sing with Helen. “You are my sunshine.. my only sunshine ….” being the last song she sang.
     My own memory having to do with Helen was that she always carried a big big purse that seemed at times at odds with her prodigious thought orbit.  But what did I know?  Now, I think the purse was a form of insulation from the institutional concrete grind. 
     I’m very glad to have attended, besides interface with the legacy, this included several interesting conversations with strangers, as well as a re-bonding with classmates Doris Bittar, Stephane Heyl, now Violet Harlo, from “the institution”, as well as conversation with daughter, Joy. 

Doris adds, "I feel compelled, at the end of Melissa’s lovely recollections, to interject about the big purse. I think Helen wore a big purse, because essentially these maverick artist team were/are a product of their circumstances. Helen had a lot of things in her purse like all middle class moms. There was aspirin, band-aids, the latest book she was reading as she was a voracious reader, a small package of tissues, probably Newton’s medications, a notepad or small sketchbook. She was often in that bag looking with some consternation. The nurturing, we grad students received was in that bag. I was a new student and also a new mom while at UCSD. I was in a disarray over coinciding mom and art duties. I was sometimes quite frustrated and sad because if it. Being a new mom interfered with my art. I stumbled over my new role, and it felt quite awkward. Helen took me aside and pointedly said, “It is better to express anger than be sad. Anger motivates.” I was reluctant to accept this for years, but I never forgot it. Having long vowed not to become one of those kind of tough women, I had to learn to be angry and constructive somehow. I worked on that for fifteen years, being angry, motivated and constructive about all kinds of issues. Finally, in my mid-forties I wore my Bitch medal with honor, and always remember Helen’s words, which decidedly got me out of my hole of sadness."

It’s with great sadness that Public Address has lost our friend and colleague, Joyce Cutler-Shaw, who passed on March 19, 2018. There will be a celebration of her life in 4 to 6 weeks. Following are remembrances of Joyce by two of our members.

Ruth Wallen writes, “It is with great sadness that I share with all of you that Joyce passed away yesterday. Joyce was one of the initial members of the ecoart dialogue, having been on the panel from which the dialogue was formed. Joyce was a very active public artist in San Diego. Her early work included an alphabet of bird bones and many works with pigeons as messengers. She almost always wore a bone on a necklace around her neck. Among her big public projects her large sculptures of sycamores and grasses for a new branch library along the San Diego River, and Orbital Loops at the Count building.

She was a vital member of the local San Diego community. This fall she was recognized for her philanthropy for the UCSD library. For many years she sponsored a series of lectures on art and architecture at the local Athenaeum music and art library, in which some of us from this list participated. In fact I think she’s donated money for this series to continue. She generally hosted dinners at her La Jolla home, with a wonderful view of the ocean, afterwards. Every year she sent out a holiday card with wonderful drawings and updates about her and her husband’s activities. “Work, work” was a constant theme, even in the last year of her life.


Much of her work centered around the human body. For many years she was artist in residence at the UCSD medical school, where she also taught drawing to med students. She was also a member of Public Address, a local group of public artists that is planning a big exhibit this fall.


Her most recent work concerned her illness that began to manifest about two and a half years ago. I’m sorry that I can’t recall the name of the disease. It is somewhat similar to Parkison’s but more severe. Early symptoms were that it effected her speech and her hands, so that she could no longer draw. Gradually it also effected her balance and ability to walk. Joyce was very tenacious and courageous. Slowly she would carefully pronounce the name of her illness, and in very straightforward terms describe the symptoms. Always working on a new project, she was determined to keep making artwork documenting the disease’s progress. When she was first diagnosed, she was told that typically people live for about four years after diagnosis. I never expected she would pass so soon. She will be missed.
​
Life is precious.” http://www.joycecutlershaw.com/home/

Larry Kline writes, “The arts lost a visionary this week. As I worked on a new set of drawings, I found myself listening to “She is Fierce,” a wonderful video by Becky Cohen. In this documentary, Joyce Cutler Shaw is, as always, hard at work, creating in the studio and planning for new exhibitions. This could be a portrait of any artist at work, or at least any artist with ambition, drive and determination, but one quickly becomes engrossed in her story as she strove to create remain a creative force despite her struggle with Corticobasal syndrome. She was rarely at a loss for words, though the disease slowed her once frenetic speech patterns to one more deliberate and concentrated. This neurological disorder also profoundly affected her motor skills though even in her later years it was hard to keep up with her once on the move. She took her struggle with balance in stride, resolute to the fact that she would continue to move forward though her body may occasionally disagree. The result was that she fell frequently, and Debby and I both witnessed falls that would have brought a “healthy“ person to tears (and perhaps an emergency room.) With a helping hand she would simply shrug it off as an inconvenience of life, regain her composure and push ahead. We were with her at her last exhibition at the Athenaeum. When she found the crowds overwhelming, she was escorted into the glass walled conference room, where she held court for well over an hour as friends, well-wishers and fans lined up to share a few words with her and show her their love and respect. When she signed our catalog, though she struggled to make the marks so familiar to to her, she persevered. Her signature showed a gradual transformation which bore an eerie resemblance to the Alphabet of Bones typeface that she had developed some years back. One of the exercises that she regularly assigned to medical students was to have them sign their names repeatedly on a piece of paper until it was completely filled. These became insightful self-portraits as her own showed that she was indomitable. The changes in her signature followed the dominant themes of her work throughout the years; survival, evolution and transformation.

In concert with her career as an artist, Joyce was a force for change in the community and she and Jerry gave generously to countless institutions in San Diego and beyond. We ourselves are direct beneficiaries of these gifts. We were privileged to be able to work with her directly over the last few years as she trained us to take over her course Drawing as a Way of Seeing, which she developed for UCSD School of Medicine. One of our proudest accomplishments was to have been named the Joyce Cutler Shaw Artists-in-Residence at the medical school where we will do our best to continue her legacy. Her presence will be greatly missed.”