Artful Levity with Audrey Smaltz

Nigel Freeman and Audrey Smaltz

In the highly coveted setting of the Swann Gallery on East 25th St, some of the most beautiful examples of African American Artists works of the 20th century are on view from the private collection of the Johnson Publishing Company, of Ebony Magazine fame. Filled to overflowing with friends and collectors, those storied art filled walls roared with laughter and delight as the ever vivacious, Audrey Smaltz, dazzled the audience with stories of her global exploits as seekers of high fashion and art along with Eunice Johnson, creator of the Ebony Fashion Fair.

In her inimitable way, Audrey described the arc of her life as a model/commentator turned entrepreneur, and wove in stories of the rarefied lifestyle she enjoyed as a collaborator of one of the greatest collection of haute couture and fine art ever assembled. The talk was as enlightening as it was gratifying, as we vicariously stepped into the world view of two of the greatest purveyors of alternative perspectives of African American life. Audrey maximized those years as a fashionista and later created her own milestone enterprise, The Ground Crew, employing many young people, new to the fashion world, during Fashion Week.

The gallery walls meant for artistic contemplation, reverberated with laughter as we learned of the many experiences Audrey enjoyed with her larger than life personality. Honored to be questioned by the Head of the African American Collections, Nigel Freeman, a fun banter started from the beginning. Smiling from the surrounding walls, the masterful works of Richard Mayhew, Ann Tanksley, Jacob Lawrence, Francis Sprout, Kenneth V. Young, Barbara Johnson Zuber, and Henry O'Tanner (coined HOT's by Audrey) among many others. As Audrey said, "one must have art and music in your home" for it to feel alive. I believe the many works came to life that night. Many friends were there to get an early look at the art and share the moment with Audrey. Incidentally she shared how she and Gail were collectors of my work, while on the podium, which was an honor for me.

The official auction for the Johnson Publishing Company artworks is Thursday, 2:00pm, January 30th, at 104 East 25th St, NYC.

Audrey Smaltz, Barbara Harris and Lu Sierra

Coco Mitchell and Lu Sierra

Glenn and Audrey Smaltz

Glenn and John Treadwell

Last Night on the Vineyard

Last night was like no other night of this past year, celebrating my 18th year of showing my art on the Vineyard. The confluence of positive energy, abounding love and mutual support pervaded the opening at Cousen Rose Gallery.  The initial trickle of friends gave way to a swarm of guests, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Almost instantaneously the gallery filled with smiling faces and warm embraces for one another and for Joe and myself.

Zita Cousens had mounted such a beautiful exhibit that each work was appreciated by all. People liked the more animated approach to the oil landscapes and were equally taken with the watercolors of locals enjoying summer life on Martha's Vineyard. Conversations were brisk and lively among new and old acquaintances, some seeing one another for the first time this season.

I managed to see friends only seen here this time of year.  Just walking in the door I was met with a robust greeting from Roger and Myrna, sitting alongside of Nadia. Two people in our hearts are Preston and Connie, who we have missed seeing for several seasons, brought much joy. Many friends had the pleasure of seeing Lailah Hathaway perform the same evening and made their way to the gallery afterward. Among the supporters were Charles and Reesa, in lovely summer attire, Dennis and Nancy, our gracious hosts from Sarasota, Willie and Lateria, Karl and Kirk,  Jean and her sister Agnes, my WWD colleagues from years ago, Ed and Claudia, Wesley and Judy, our friend Regina was there with great art promoter Valerie, the vivacious Audrey and astounding Gail, alongside Pamela and her sister Charlayne, in from Amsterdam. It was a pleasure to see Hassan, Linda and Christine, being among the earliest supporters of my work on MV.

I could go on highlighting the many supporters that brought well wishes and love last night, however suffice it to say, that everyone had a great time, the work was admired and many took something home to add to their lives.

Photos by: Romney Mueller-Westenhagen

Questions creating Solutions

After feverish brushstrokes hurriedly applied to the canvas begin to accumulate into the promise of a great painting, the inevitable moment of apprehension about the outcome falls over the canvas like mud on a windshield. The mass of brilliant strokes that looked so promising moments or days earlier suddenly reveal new directions that hadn't been considered when the inspiration burned hotly.  Resolving newly created design situations take over from the fun of fluid responses to sparkling inspiration. 

Part of the fun of doing any artwork is the challenges that occur along the way.  The balancing of going left or right, deeper or lighter, warmer or cooler plays itself out in each original stroke, dictating what should come next or what should not have happened at all. As always those decisions will find their solutions in the maelstrom of choices each of us as artists deal with.

A year has passed since my new book, TUNSTULL From Fashion To Fine Art was published, and the elation of having my art career brought into focus has only begun. I am delighted by the recognition of my career by many personally unknown people and the opportunity to display my work in different places. One of those events is coming up in a few weeks beginning on Saturday, October 21st at 7pm for the Detroit Diaspora Exhibition at the Carr Center, 1505 Woodward Ave, Detroit, MI 48226. This group show event will highlight my abstract paintings, which were recently on view on Martha's Vineyard. I would love to see you if you are in the area that evening. I will be there with a few copies of my book if you would like a signed copy.

The Detroit Diaspora Exhibition

Tunstull---From-Fashion-to-Fine-Art

Preoccupation with Don Strong

Silent tears have been leaking from the corners of my eyes throughout the early morning hours as I awaken to the dismal prospect that my best friend may actually succumb to the painful grip of cancer destroying his body. The recognition of that possibility had eluded me as I sought to buoy his and my spirits, when fear arose in both of us. Not wanting to jinx the results with even thinking about a negative outcome I sought to focus on the elimination of the relentless pain that subsumed his consciousness and failed his physical capacities, always hoping for prolonged moments when it ceased, even for seconds.

He just called to let me know how he was doing, reaching out to make contact before leaving for the early morning surgery at the hospital. With a forced smile on my face and tears rolling down my eyes I face the reality that this might be the last time I speak to him. The deadening silence of a loved ones voice is the hardest thing we live with. It amazes me how people who are suffering the most are so quick to relieve you of your pain through humor or gestures of accommodation to soften the impact on you. The valiant soothing of the stress they know you must be going through too is one of the herculean gifts the frail and dying can muster to make it easier for you. Even if that person wasn't generous in their lifetimes somehow this generosity of spirit arises like steam on a wintry day melting away fears and calming the deep waters of loss.

The tragedy of the moment is further heightened by the thousands of miles we are separated by, in land and water and cultures, because I happen to be on the other side of the planet, trying to hold the hand of the voice that wakes me with a start each day. The fact that we have rarely been in one another's presence for years only intensifies the friendship, because it was not predicated on the things that most friends do together. Our memories of actual time together are few relatively but the hours on the phone seemed to fill in those gaps sufficiently for us. However, I promise to change that paradigm and visit with him in DC more often.

Becoming instant friends when meeting at Two Steps Down a popular restaurant and bar in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn in June of 1986, where we were neighbors for several years, we immediately took to making sure we connected each day to share the most useless information about our days. Changes in his career had him move to different states before finally settling in DC. When I said to him upon his move in 1989 that I suspected I would never hear from him again, he boldly retorted, "That's a damn lie!" And he was right.

Intense prayer and waiting will make up most of my day today however, as others note my preoccupation.

The Quality of an Embrace

In the darkness of night, when sight is of little value, I reach over for an embrace that seems to await me...without hesitation or force and am engulfed in loving acceptance. An embrace that is not based on how good I look but how good I feel. Within this embrace the shores of security is reached that seemed a journey away, just a moment ago. It is not the size of the embrace or the heft of it but the sheer fact that it is reciprocal and without expectations.

 The value of an embrace goes by unnoticed in many cases because they are freely given by loved ones and friends as a beginning or closure to a rendezvous. Even then the quality of it can touch us deeply because each is embedded with years of trust. Nothing is more welcomed than a friends arms that says "I'm here for you."

My mother shared such an embrace. One that was spongey in its initial draw, that seemed to absorb me with its acceptance, that washed over me with an abiding love, that singularly said I belonged to her...one that I achingly miss to this day.

 These are among the gifts of life we cherish but place no relative value on in the marketplace of commodities. They are the real physical needs that are eschewed in place of shiny objects that don't give back. We fill our days in pursuit of those things that will not embrace us in the dead of night nor soothe us at the break of day.

 If we made the embrace our goal, rather than riches, maybe we wouldn't have to fear an affront from loved ones, friends, strangers and peoples we don't know. Maybe a wall to separate us would crumble in the space of an embrace, where fear is replaced by love and happiness is truly a pursuit. I am not saying an embrace will bring world peace but it goes a long way toward bringing peace into your world.  Today maybe a good day to give and receive a hug.

TUNSTULL From Fashion to Fine Art 
A new book by Glenn Tunstull and Jelani Bandele

The Final Moments with Kyle

The heaviness of the day was further emphasized by the thick grey ceiling of clouds that snuffed out any ray of sunlight that would lift the sadness in our hearts as we prepared to say our last good bye to our cat, Kyle. Our two cats were our binding pillars that held us together like a family, attached to every movement and utterance a family cat is likely to make, we would talk endlessly of what he and his sister, Keyla, were up to. Ironically, the more weight he loss because of illness, the younger he looked, until he almost reverted to being a kitten in appearance. Now what is holding us together is the impending sense of loss that will finally and forever wash over us as we ring the death knell that will lay him to rest. The entire process of deciding his fate has weighed like Solomon's judgement on us...the power of life and death. We now move forward in the direction of removing him from life's misery and carrying him to the point of finality at his equally saddened vet's office.

Not wanting to believe he is going to be gone forever we hold on to each second, watching each breath hoping for a familiar whimper, a reassuring gesture, a helpless meow. As he lay limply in my arms, we deliver him to his vet who tries to calm our fears with a soft and encouraging explanation of what we can expect in this process. It seems so benign for all it's deadly results. We try to recall moments in his life with one another, that will stay in our hearts, but the sting of tears makes it impossible to complete the sentiment. With nothing left to say, we turn him over to the vet who administers the succession of shots that renders his virtually lifeless body to a body without any life in moments.

Once the lifeless body of Kyle was placed into a biodegradable box, sealed with tape the emotions slowed to a trickle, the flood of tears receded and finality sets in. There is nothing left to do or say and no one left to say it to. Though relief replaced the heavy weight of sadness, a shroud of disbelief now blocked the sun that now fill the skies.

Photo by Joe Steele