Voice

All of my sisters and I suffered from extreme shyness and for the first twenty years of my life I was nearly mute in public. Making art was my favored language and I spent hours alone making drawings. I loved learning and going to school, but dreaded being called on in class. I didn't start to get beyond my shyness until I was a junior in college when I took a class on art and aesthetics. That course is where I found the nerve to raise my hand and voice my ideas and opinions. My act of bravery was precipitated by the over inflated egos of my male classmates and their often sexist commentaries. It was deeply liberating to finally be able to speak!

It took many years for me to overcome my self-consciousness in social situations. Teaching has helped me to resolve some of my distress as I become more confident and strong in my voice through guiding my students to their own footing. I still lack the ability to "work a room" and I'll never be an extrovert, but I am articulate and have a distinct voice that I want to share with the world.

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Grow

I've been teaching art for over ten years now and I always encourage my students to have new experiences; to keep growing. I've learned from my own practice that art can't happen in a void. I look at the work of other artists, but I'm also deeply inspired by feminist theory, literary criticism, film, and fashion. 

While I am a big proponent of personal growth, I often neglect to give myself time to take in new things.  In an effort to refuel my creative juices, I spent the day watching movies (it's something I've always wanted to do!) I watched The Silence by Ingmar Bergman, Lucebert: Time and Farewell by Jihan van der Keuken, Juliet of the Spirits by Frederico Fellini, and Werckmeister Harmonies by Bela Tarr. I don't know when I'll have another chance to devote an entire day to movies, but I'm going to make a concerted effort to watch at least one film a week in the future.

image from Grow

Madly

2001 was a pretty big year in my life. I bought my house on Greenmount and vowed to get rid of old baggage that blocked my happiness. I met Bill in the fall when we both began working for the Baltimore arts journal Link. We had met a few times, but I didn't have a strong impression of him until we spent the day dismantling the Link office and moving it into a storage unit. We lugged boxes of the journal and talked nonstop about art, music, and movies. I got a crush on him and was excited when we made plans to see David Lynch's Mulholland Drive. I wasn't sure if it was a "real" date, but he brought me a small Howard Finster painting!! We talked for hours after the movie and I was smitten by his sweet charm and deep intellect (he also wore the best floral vintage shirts!) Soon after we began dating and we have been together since. It hasn't always been easy, but I love him madly and I'm happy that I have such a fabulous husband!

For the past three years, Bill and I endured a long-distance relationship between Baltimore and Murfreesboro, Tennessee. I decided to give up the commute and this fall we're packing up the pets, icons, and lots of books to relocate to Los Angeles. It's my first adventure with a partner and I'm excited to see how our future may unfold on the sunny coast!

images from Madly

Family

There are six people in my immediate family, my father Delmar, my mother Maryellen and my three younger sisters, Pam, Angie, and Lisa. Growing up, we didn't have scheduled family time, but every so often we'd play Parcheesi or put a puzzle together. My sisters and I would become obsessed by working the puzzle and stayed up late to finish, often fighting over who got to put in the last piece. My sisters and I also loved to play the Catalog Game. We created the game which centered on the cherished Sears catalog. At the start of the game, each person had a cabin in the woods and nothing else. One would close their eyes, flip through the pages and slap their hand down on a random page, where one's hand landed would dictate their lot. We were always laughing riotously at the absurd twists of fate. I remember  getting pantyhose and a vacuum cleaner, when I really wanted a Barbie Styling Head (not practical, but we were always aiming for toys over appliances.) 

On Monday evening I did a puzzle with Pam and Lisa (we also had a some help from my Dad's cat Jaggers.) As could be predicted, Pam and I became obsessed by completing the puzzle and finished it before we went to bed.

images from Family

Vice

I eat too much sugar, curse often and sometimes drink more than I can reasonably handle. Even so, my worst vice is the NICOTINE! I am horrified to admit that I've smoked for nearly twenty years. I call myself a closet smoker, though many have witnessed my indulgence. I'm not one of those people who can say "I love smoking" though I do think it looks cool (see Marc Jacob's taking a drag.) Growing up I despised smoking. My father is a chain smoker and like many kids growing up in the 60s and 70s, I experienced my lot of smoke filled car rides with the windows shut tight. As a young person I was adamant in my distaste for the habit and I still hate the brown smell of my parents house.

Though I had resisted peer pressure throughout my college years, I fell into the nicotine pit in my mid-twenties. I was at a cross-roads in my life and lit up a cigarette on a pensive walk home from work one chilly Autumn night. At first I smoked a pack a month, relishing the quiet introspective moments of smoking. As time wore on, my intake increased and the habit became a way to "relax." While science shows that smoking is a stimulant, it always gave me the sense of a break from my focused mania.

I've tried to quit smoking on several occasions, and have failed. In the past year I was able to quit for seven months with the aid of Chantix.  Despite the nausea and wild flying dreams, it worked much better than anything I've tired in the past, but a stressful period in the fall derailed my plan. I quit smoking three weeks ago, once again with Chantix. I've slipped once, but I'm hopeful that I can finally break my nicotine addiction.

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Summertime

In honor of the first day of summer, my friend Karen and I played hopscotch on the sidewalk on Greenmount Avenue. I have deep fondness for summertime, inspired by memories of my Mama and Papa's house in Dillsburg, PA. My three sisters and I nearly lived there over the summer vacation. We spent our days barefoot, playing kickball, hopscotch and jacks, or jumping rope on the black-topped driveway. We shelled peas and snipped beans, all freshly harvested from my grandparent's lush garden. In the evenings, we chased lightning bugs and sipped my Mama's Pink Lassies (a yummy milkshake of ice cream orange and cranberry juices.) Those days are filled with good memories I will always cherish!

images from Summertime

Wallflower

I didn't go to my prom, in fact I never went to a high school dance. I was extremely shy and could barely speak to boys. My senior year I developed a huge crush on Doug, a sweet football player and fellow art student. I felt queasy and lightheaded every time I saw him! I wanted him to ask me to prom. He was in bowling club, so I joined to get closer to him. I was on a girls team, but I could watch him across the lanes. Doug knew that I liked him, and evidently my Art and Trigonometry teachers prodded him to ask me to prom. I thought it was only a matter of time until my dream would come true.

One afternoon during bowling club, my teammate Missy came into the lane squealing with delight and announced that Doug had just asked her to the prom! I was devastated. I could barely breath as Owner of a Lonely Heart played on the video monitors. I spent prom night alone on my Mama's couch watching The Blob. I felt pathetic!

Despite the tragic tale of the prom, this story does have a happy ending. After graduation, Doug and I ended up at the same party. I don't know how it happened, but we started talking. A week later he asked me to the movies. He was my first boyfriend and we dated for three years.

images from Wallflower

Wallflower by Joanie Biller

Lucky

I don't consider myself to be especially lucky, but I've always had a knack for finding four leaf clovers. One summer afternoon, I found over forty of them in my grandmother's backyard. I was around ten years old and easily prone to obsessive acts. I was in the yard for hours compelled by desire to find just one more. Since then I often find four leaf clovers by accident, just by glancing as I walk along.

Yesterday, I looked for four leaf clovers in the big patches at Robert E. Lee Park. It was an especially hot day, so I only looked for forty-five minutes. I found three lucky charms.

images from Lucky

Lucky by Erin Piper

Lucky by Louis and Peter Walsh

Hugs

My family was not very affectionate. My sisters and I were often instructed to give goodbye or goodnight kisses to family members; it was always a rote action without reciprocation. We didn't hug.

My first dose of the hug came while I was attending school at Antonelli in York, Pa (the program was weak, but the people were great!) It's where I met Janeen (Neen). She was the most social person I ever met! She didn't have my inhibitions, she could talk to anyone and hugged at whim. She was positive and hopeful and giving. As an adolescent, I always made friends with girls who were cruel and domineering. I was convinced that people didn't like me. When Neen and I became pals, I thought that others only liked me because of her. As time wore on, I realized that I could make friends and that hugs felt so good. Soon after, I started hugging my mother and that practice has persisted since.

I'm still sometimes awkward in social situations, but I love a good hug!! Tonight I had hugs with some amazing people I've met during my time in TN.  I am grateful to be forever imprinted with their energy.

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Hugs by Pam Rehm

Books

Reading has been an important activity in my life. Growing up, we didn't have many books in the house. My Mom read romance novels and we had a set of Funk and Wagnall encyclopedias, but my family didn't buy books. Thankfully, we went to the New Cumberland Public Library every week. It was a magical place, I loved the smell of books and delighted in pulling random selections from the shelves. I was also fascinated by all the names on the check-out card and the knowledge that we had all held and read the same book. It was a community of strangers bound by a singular object and it made me feel like I was part of something bigger than myself. Books nourished my soul and fed my desire to know the world outside my sleepy little town.

As a young person I loved fiction, the Nancy Drew series, Misty of Chincoteague, and the Narnia books were my favorites. Later there was a Stephen King phase and lots of books about teenage girl witches. I still remember some advice from a Christie Brinkley beauty guide I checked out of the library; to stay slim, eat jello and cotton balls (it fills you up and keeps you from cheating on your diet!) I soaked up all the books we had to read for school and especially loved To Kill a Mockingbird and The Scarlet Letter.

As an adult, I read books for creative inspiration as much as pleasure. I have a growing collection and a husband with an extensive library (I often joke that I married him for his books.) It was difficult to choose just five, but all the books on my list have had a significant influence on my life and work.

The Stream of Life by Clarice Lispector

The Stream of Life is a living text. Reading this book is an experience built out of words. I can't really talk about this book, because it only exists while one is inside of it. It is brilliant and astounding!

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers

I read The Heart is A Lonely Hunter when I was in graduate school and I was deeply affected by McCullers exploration of human suffering. I identified with Mick, the teenage girl who felt the sadness in the world around her. Her introspective monologues, expressed her longing for connection; a desire to be part of something or someone else. All of the characters enact a painful inability to communicate and illuminate the gaps that exist in every relationship.

Technicians of the Sacred, A Range of Poetries from Africa, America, Europe and Oceania 

by Jerome Rothenberg

Technicians of the Sacred is my bible! I found a copy my sister had left behind at my parent's house. She was an English major and it was required reading for one of her classes. Rothenberg collected poems from around the globe and organized them under the categories; Origins & Namings, Visions & Spells, Death & Defeat and Book of Events I and II. I have read this book countless times, but find something new and amazing every time I open it. Many of the writings are raw and erotic, and speak of human rituals which have been suppressed by modern culture. When I am feeling hopeless about where to go next with my work, this book always helps me find my way. 

On Longing by Susan Stewart

In this book,  literary critic Susan Stewart discusses nostalgia. She sees nostalgia not as a sentimental fancy, but rather as a desire for a history which never really existed. Stewart explores the fabrication of  meaning  and memory through eighteenth-century novels, souvenirs, collections, and miniature and gigantic objects.  This book sent me down so many paths in my work and I'm sure I will return to it again and again.

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

This is the most terrifying and tragic book I've ever read. It is the story of Antoinette Cosway (later renamed Bertha Mason), who was the mad woman in the attic in Jane Eyre. On reading Jane Eyre, I was struck by her haunting presence; she is so pivotal, yet so hidden in the narrative. Rhys gives Bertha her own story, though it is one that the reader knows will end in utter devastation. 

images from Books

Books by Pam Rehm

Books by Cora Rehm-Daly

Together

This instruction is dedicated to my dear friend Lea Feinstein. I met Lea in my first performance class at TU. I whispered that I liked her lucite doll hand earrings, and in the next moment, she took them from her ears and put them in mine. When my family didn't materialize for my graduate thesis exhibit, Lea stepped in and hosted an impromptu graduation celebration for me. I was touched by her generosity and support. The year after grad school was rough, but I was eased by the weekly dinners at Lea's home. Every Wednesday, Jessica, Jennie and I met to share dinner and conversation in her cozy home. Those evenings were safe and nurturing and provided a sense of community I had never previously experienced. Lea taught me so much about growing and she has been an important mentor in my life as an artist and teacher. 

Tonight I hosted a dinner for Erin, Jacqueline and Sarah. All three were formerly my students at MTSU. We ate chili and talked about art and life. I will miss them when I leave TN, but know

we will always be close friends. 

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Freedom

When I lived in Lancaster, my pals and I went dancing nearly every night. On Mondays we went to The Village, Tuesday to Tally Ho, Thursday it was Chameleon and on Saturday night we drove up to Harrisburg to hit The Vault. When we weren't out, we were hosting dance parties in our living rooms. Those memories of all night dancing are some of the fondest of my life!

Last weekend, my friend Leslie and I hosted a dance party in her studio. It's the first time I've danced in years and it was a blast. There is something really amazing about being in a group of dancing bodies all sweating and grinning; it's a kind of utopia. 

I dedicate Freedom to Adam, Stacey, Andrea, Peri, Lou and all the other friends I've ever had the pleasure to sweat with on a dimly lit dance floor.

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Sticks + Stones

Growing up, my sisters and I had the weekend chore of picking up sticks and stones from the yard before my father mowed the lawn. Frequently, my dad's request for yardwork came right in the middle of American Bandstand, which was my lifeline to music and culture. My attempts to delay chores sent my dad into a rage. On the weekends, he started off the day with a can of Schaefer beer, so by mid-day he was unreasonable and often verbally abusive. It was hard to predict what might set him off, our fights were painful, and left me with a deep resentment towards him. 

I still remember the day I vowed to stop hating my father. We were visiting my grandparents when I had a realization about my father's life. He was the youngest of eleven children, so my grandparents were in their 70s when I was a teenager. My grandfather had suffered a stroke and wasn't able to communicate. He was grizzled and a bit frightening, but I also felt sorry for him. I began to notice that none of his children ever spoke to him, it was like he didn't exist. Over the years, my cousin and I had found countless liquor bottles wedged into the walls of my grandparent's barn and I realized that my grandfather may have been an alcoholic. Maybe that could explain why his own children would ignore him in his old age. It broke my heart and I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning my own father.

It took many years and some therapy for me to fully forgive my father for his emotionally abusive outbursts. It's still challenging to have deep conversations with him, but we have mended the pain in our relationship. While I don't always see eye-to-eye with my father (especially on politics) I love him and I'm proud that over the past few years he's given up drinking. 

images from Sticks + Stones

Stick + Stones by Joanie Biller

Failure

When I was in first grade, I had my first dramatic failure as an artist. We were making cage-like construction paper jack-o-lanterns and I made the wrong cut. Instead of a 3D pumpkin, I ended up with a pile of paper strips on my desk. I was a very meek kid and I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of criticism from my art teacher. She yelled and bemoaned my stupidity. I shrank in utter embarrassment and hated art class for most of my early education. Luckily, I had supportive art teachers in middle and high school and I found my way back to art making.

Failure is built into the creative process. If one takes risks, it's also possible that one may fail. Sometimes the things which fall apart or refuse to be resolved offer the greatest opportunity to grow and change as an artist. The collapse within the process is much easier for me to handle that the rejection from the outside! Every week I open my mailbox to find a letter declining my work for exhibition. It's a blow to be turned down and it always triggers my painful memory of applying to graduate schools.

I had worked for a few years after undergrad and waited until my late twenties to apply to graduate school. I was totally ready and excited to enter into a rigorous art program. It was my complete focus at the time and I applied to six schools around the country. I was nervous as I waited for the response letters. I had a dream that I walked down a long country road with a mailbox at the end; I opened the box to find I had been rejected from all the schools. It was a disturbing dream which proved to be a prophecy. I didn't get into school that year and it may be one of the most disappointing times in my life! 

For this instruction, I used children's scissors to cut apart failed drawings and a stack of rejection letters for teaching positions, exhibitions, and screenings.