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I S S U E S I X
Cheryl Ann LipstreuCelebrating Women, Beauty, and
the Representation of Women's Body Art
I S S U E S I X
Cheryl Ann LipstreuCheryl Ann LipstreuCelebrating Women, Beauty, and Celebrating Women, Beauty, and
the Representation of Women's the Representation of Women's Body ArtBody Art
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WS ARTS MAGAZINEPAGE 4
Monticello Park Publishing380-H Knollwood St. • Suite 191winSton-Salem • nC • 27103w w w . w s a r t s m a g . c o m
Publisher & eXecutiVe eDitored hanes
VP-business DeVeloPMent& aDVertising Director
David a. [email protected]
associate eDitorsherry Johnson
staFF PhotograPherWendy hanes
WS Arts Magazine is published monthly by Monitcello Park Publishing. Any reproduction or duplication of any part thereof must be done with the written permission of the Publisher. All information included herein is correct to the best of our knowledge as of the publication date. Corrections should be forwarded to the Publisher at the address above.
Disclaimer: The paid advertisements contained within WS Arts Magazine are not endorsed or recommended by the Publisher. Therefore, neither party may be held liable for the business practices of these companies.
Contributors:
Chad Nance - EditorialEd Bumgardner - Editorial
Please “LIKE” us on
facebook.com/wsartsmag
GET IN “THE LOOP”! - BECOME A FAN OF WS ARTS MAGAZINE
20Ed Bumgardner is Back!
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 5
CONTENTS
06 | Letter from the Publisher07 | Cover Story - Cheryl Ann Lipstreu -
Celebrating Women, Beauty, and the Representation of Women's Body Art
14 | River Run Movie Replay - Far Marfa - Generation X, the Wild, Wild West and Lowered Expectations
18 | Short Story - The Weeping Wishing Well20 | Feature Story - Low Wages, Free Beer, and
the Search for Soul Salvation...Part 3 The Fever
26 | UNC-SA News - UNCSA ALUMNI WORKING ON FILM IN CHARLOTTE - Five Film graduates and one high school Drama graduate are on location of CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
27 | UNC-SA News - Nancy and Paul Gwyn Recieve UNCSA'S Giannini Society Award
28 | Cigar & Spirits - Tatuaje Black: The Champ is Here
30 | Art Scene - Artworks Gallery Presents a Two-person Exhibit of Book Sculptures by Mary Blackwell-Chapman, and Mixed Media Maintings by Betti Pettinati-Longinotti
PAGE 6 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
W hat a first 8 months we’ve had at
WSArts Magazine. Two Opera
features, a 35,000 viewer day on
our facebook feed, 4,000 readers
last month online, and new partners
joining on weekly. We couldn’t be
happier and we owe it all to you. It’s been such a short time for
us but we’ve learned so many lessons as a start-up business
in the art and publishing industries. WS Arts Magazine is
here to chronicle the ever exploding interest in local art. As
the definition of “Winston Art” itself gradually evolves, we will
be there to guide thousands of faithful readers to the best
Winston has to offer. Above all else, quality artwork and
lifestyle always has been—and always will be—our strongest
guiding principle.
What better way to lead off this issue then by featuring a
local artist who I didn’t even know that I knew….until I knew her
again. Cheryl Ann Lipstreu, like the publisher of this magazine,
is a Carver High School Yellowjacket. We made the connection
one evening with a mutual friend at 6th and Vine during the
obligatory “where are you from, what high school did you go
to” conversation that inevitably pops up in our generation.
When she told me she was from Belews Creek and went to
high school in Winston-Salem, I had to ask her: You’re not a
Carver Kid, are you? Not only was it so, but we found that
we were in school at the same time. I was a senior when she
was a freshmen. She immediately remembered that we had
a fantastic basketball team her freshman year (in my opinion,
one of the best in the recent history of the City. There are four
players from that team who by all rights should end up in the
Winston-Salem Sports Hall of Fame). She thought I was a
pretty good player. Instant cover story for my new friend.
Besides having great high school pedigree, Cheryl Ann is
brilliant in her work and one of Winston’s true arts stars. Study
her work in the next few pages. Witness a home grown talent
on the rise.
All in the arts,
Ed
Publisher’s Letter
Cheryl AnnLipstreu
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PAGE 8 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
Cheryl Ann LipstreuCelebrating Women, Beauty, and
the Representation of Women's Body Art
By Staff
Cover Story
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 9
What does it take to be an artist? drive,
passion, determination? What does it take
for an artist to be personally satisfied With
their career, success, opportunities and
business? for cheryl ann lipstreu it took an
ultimate belief in her talents, abilities, and
the sheer determination to continue to
create against all odds.
PAGE 10 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
t a very young age Cheryl Ann began
drawing. When she was introduced
to oil paint at age ten she fell in love
with painting and the creation of art.
She has since continued painting as both a lifelong
passion and a professional career. After graduating
from Carver High School she earned art degrees from
Guilford Technical Community College, Pennsylvania
College of Art and Design, and the Fine Arts League
of the Carolinas in Asheville, NC. She has completed
private apprenticeships with master painters both
domestically and abroad: Senor Javier Pamplona in
Madrid, Spain. Master Fresco painters Mr. Ben Long
IV and Mr. Roger Nelson of the Fine Arts League of
the Carolinas. Workshops and private lessons from
professional artists Mr. John Cosby, Mr. Nick Bragg,
and Mr. Tony Griffin.
Her lessons didn’t end in apprenticeship studios.
“I've traveled to many parts of the world in pursuit of
my art dreams, training, and painting challenges,”
commented Cheryl. “I've painted on the cliffs of
Hawaii facing the Pacific Ocean with winds so fierce
they literally blew the paint off my palette. I’ve painted
in a serene palace setting in the heart of Seoul,
Korea. Our own United States has offered equally
wonderful opportunities to create from California to
North Carolina, and everywhere in between.” To be
a traveling artist was always a dream of Cheryl’s. She
sought to embrace not only the art world around her,
but the amazing art worlds and adventures to be found
globally. Not too bad for a girl from Belews Creek.
Having lived that dream, she now feels it’s time for a
new focus: expanding and exploring representations
of the female body and helping working artists survive
and thrive in a supportive arts district.
Cheryl Ann has decided to locate her art career and
focus her efforts in the City of the Arts. “City of the
A
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 11
Arts is such an appropriate name for Winston-Salem.
It makes perfect sense to embrace the next stage of
my arts vision here.” While looking in the downtown
area for a working studio space, she discovered that it
was extremely difficult to find appropriate areas where
there was proper ventilation, flooring, and lighting in
which to create. Finding such a venue with optimal
gallery space in which to showcase her art was equally
daunting.
During her hunt she discovered that most area
artists where having the same issue. “Through my
own personal need and my life-long passion and
commitment to art, I decided to build a thriving Artist
Collective Community to further enhance the cultural
and artistic diversity of my city,” commented Lipstreu.
“Utilizing my creative abilities, I founded and developed
the Winston-Salem Artists Collective (WSAC). This
is a group of eclectic artists coming together in the
community to work, display, discuss, promote, market,
and feature their art with other artists and their patrons.”
The WSAC is for individual artists who need
adequate work spaces combined with a gallery to
display and market their art all in the same setting. The
Collective offers artists a unique chance to have working
studios, gallery and community in one dynamic location
featured in the heart of the downtown Winston Arts
District. “Since there will be many artists concentrated
in one area, the opportunities for learning, working,
and growing to expand their talents and feature their
products will be limitless,” noted Cheryl Ann.
A center for events, classes, workshops, and private
instruction can be taught with quest professionals. The
center will welcome traveling artists. “Winston-Salem
can only be deserving of the title “City of Arts” if we
embrace the talents and careers of our local artists”.
Lipstreu continued, “We must provide them with
appropriate working spaces to create their work which,
PAGE 12 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
in turn, assists in the enhancement of their careers and the
enhancement of the entire City.”
It is true: working artists sell their works and in turn become
contributing members of the community creating a sustainable
economic development. Ms. Lipstreu is under no delusion
as to the enormity of this task and the private partnerships
that will need to be created. “We will naturally join with many
downtown business owners in the creation of this dynamic
and sustainable economic development. The downtown Arts
district boasts many bars, restaurants and shops. While this
is very exciting,” she continued, “if the district continues on this
path it will not be a true Arts District at all. The rents and fees
in the area will push many hardworking local artists out.”
Her fear is not unsubstantiated. This trend is already
happening in places like Richmond, Asheville, and other
midsize to small cities that once boasted of their love and
appreciation of the Arts. “It is simply not feasible for an artist
of any caliber to compete with the rent prices of a restaurant.
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 13
We must facilitate a dialogue and proactive cooperation with
the City, building owners, developers and contractors to make
sure that Winston's Arts District is a vibrant and functioning
area for the actual Artists. We want this area to be more than
a name with a few shops that sell "crafts" and a few galleries
who, in the long run, cannot keep up with the always climbing
and threatening rents.”
Cheryl Ann’s vision is to help redefine a new era of Art
appreciation not only in our community but, possibly, throughout
the modern art world. “A true renaissance and revival of the
culture of the arts is happening right now in the hearts and
minds of the great artists who live here, “commented Ms.
Lipstreu. “We must embrace it if we are to be true to our roots
in arts and innovation.”
Do you own or have you ever wished to own a piece of
Original Art in your home? You may see Ms. Lipstreu’s work on
Friday June 7th at the Ember Gallery during the monthly gallery
hop in downtown Winston-Salem. n
PAGE 14 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
River Run Movie Replay
Far Marfa ~ Generation X, the Wild, Wild West and Lowered ExpectationsBy Chad Nance
In Cory Van Dyke’s new film, Far Marfa, the writer/director
takes audiences on an amiable stroll through the angst
and demished expectations of Generation X nearing
mid-life while he introduces us to a cast of characters
likely recognizable to fans of the early work of the Cohen
Brothers and Harold Ramis. Far Marfa is essentially a slob
comedy in the vein of The Big Lebowski or Fletch, minus the
sometimes cruel aggression of Chevy Chase and the dim-
witted squalor of The Dude. Shot with a painter’s eye and
existing in an isolated Texas community that somewhere along
the way made a hard turn from the Wild west into the Wild
Weird, Far Marfa is a small treasure of a film that entertains,
amuses, and in the end offers up a measured spoonful of
hope to go along with the rather grim realities of the early 21st
Century.
The star of the film, actor Johnny Sneed, inhabits the
character of erstwhile music producer Carter Fraizer with
a hangdog expression and sometimes twitchy physicality
that suggest a man who struggles mightily just to keep
his it together…and often can’t. Much of Sneed’s soulful
performance is in his eyes. Carter Fraizer’s eyes seem to look
out at the world with the casual doom of a born loser and the
desperation of a secret optimist. While facing his seeming
systematic misfortune with Charlie Brown-like self-pity, Frazier
also keeps an eye out for the dimmest sliver of opportunity. At
the beginning of Carter’s story he looks to hot young blondes
as the “anchor” on which he will build a “successful” life and
by the end of the film he has come to realize that “success”
is not about chicks or money. In fact, the destination may be
pointless – it is the journey and the struggle that hold value and
meaning.
Far Marfa’s narrative is deceptively laconic. Van Dyke has
done a delicate balancing act of tone and story-telling in a
film that is edited so tightly that I imagine there is a hard-drive
somewhere in Texas that holds many of Van Dyke’s babies
whom he sacrificed for the good of a story that never gets in the
way of its characters or twists them up in knots in an attempt
to make some deep statement about the state of modern life.
Those points, however, are made with subtly and grace. The
search for a piece of a rare, misplaced art is simply the bones
on which Van Dyke builds flesh and blood human beings that
amuse, frighten, and anger audiences in equal measure. The
pay-off with the painting at the end of the film comes in a single
shot that shares resonance with the last shot of Mike Nichol’s
The Graduate, by way of Citizen Kane. Another moment in
the film echoes The Graduate as well, when two momentary
lovers take time to look away and let the audience in on their
apprehensions about how and why human beings tend to cling
to one another in ways that often cause as much pain as they
johnny sneed
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 15
River Run Movie Replay
do pleasure.
Marfa, itself, is a character in the film. The vast scrub land
will be familiar to film audiences who are fans of No Country for
Old Men, There Will be Blood, and George Steven’s legendary
Giant. Not satisfied to merely trot the camera out at magic hour
and score some easy production value, Van Dyke also shows
us a shabby, re-purposed community where Americans are
hard at work building a new future on the crumbling bricks,
sheet metal, and Formica of the past. Far Marfa’s production
design does not have the same studied preciousness of David
Lynch or Harmonie Korine, though. Marfa feels real, lived in,
and not overly designed or thought about. If you have spent
any time traveling in the American Southwest, Marfa will remind
you of small towns turned artist communities like Bisbee,
Arizona and Madrid, New Mexico. Marfa is a real, breathing,
and pulsing community full of characters that not only feel
like human beings, but also stand in for some 21st Century
American archetypes.
Among these characters are two Baby Boomers. One looks
back on his past artistic passions with regret and existential
angst and a second who has not only turned from true art
to fully embrace mammon, but also holds onto his financial/
social position with the greedy petulance of a man afraid that
everyone around him will figure out that he is really full of sheep
dip. It is these characters that Van Dyke uses to both entertain
and amiably make his points as a story-teller.
Carter Fraizer is a character who continues to live off of an
album he produced years ago. Like many in Generation X he
also has to have help from his parents. He exists in a world of
lowered expectations where past glories are fleeting and so
far away that their light has grown dim
and almost ceased to exist all together.
There are hints at Carter’s former life in
the tattered posters on his wall and the
occasional drum stick that the filmmakers
occasionally placed into the background
of the frame as a subtle reminder.
Douglas, as the heavy, is a former
rebel, an artist who ran in the social
circle of a legendary but now dead artist
who burned bright then burned out.
Douglas is the Baby Boomer survivor
who somehow managed to find a way to
exist in the Clinton/Bush Era, but lost his
soul in the process. Forgetting that he
once honored and revered true artistic
passion, Douglas now only honors and
reveres aggressive avarice. The good die young and the bad
just keep on existing by feeding off of the creativity and intellect
around them while producing little of their own.
In the end Van Dyke’s wonderful gem of a movie comes
down to one idea… work, specifically working with your hands
to make or create something tangible. Several characters
make references to physical labor being a way to tap the soul
back into life by becoming an active participant rather than an
observer. It is a rebooted American Dream from a generation
who had many of their opportunities squandered by the
generation before. The end of this new journey may not be the
glories of financial riches, but the satisfaction of a job well done
and the knowledge that even if you never sell much, that is still
better than selling out. n
the long arm of the law
marfa resident
PAGE 16 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
Short Story
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 17
The Weeping Wishing WellBy: Sherry Brown-Lawless
as millie sloWly turned doWn the long gravel
driveWay that lead to her parent’s beach house,
her mind raced With memories from her youth. she
had alWays loved spending her summers here in the
outer banks. oak island had managed to remain free
of all of the usual tourist traps that stretched up
and doWn north and south carolina’s coasts. the
salty brisk smell of the ocean Was intoXicating.
millie took a deep breath before stepping out of
the car.
PAGE 18 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
T he house was amazing. It was a perfectly restored Victorian home built in 1897 and faced the ocean. A smaller enclosed area next to it contained a beautiful garden of fragrant herbs and stunning flowers. Millie’s favorite had always been the koi reflecting pond. She referred to it as her “Weeping
Wishing Pond”. The boards creaked as she walked up the stairs to the
porch. Not all that unusual for such an old house. The house had a magnificent wrap around porch, complete with a porch swing and walkway down to the beach. The front door stood over nine feet with colorful stained glass and dark mahogany wood. The house itself was white with touches of the dark Mahogany on it’s trim. Millie opened the door and stepped inside. It was exactly
the way she had remembered it. Except for now, every piece of furniture had white sheets draped over them. Millie knew her parent’s estate lawyers probably had covered everything right after their death. She clenched her fist then closed her eyes when she thought about it. She missed them so much. They both had died in a horrible automobile accident when another driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. They were hit head on and killed instantly. The house had been left to her as part of her parent’s estate. She wiped the tears away and started pulling the sheets
off the furniture. Immediately, she felt like she was being watched, but she knew no one was there. After she brought the first floor of the house “back to life”, she opened a bottle of white wine to celebrate. Even though it was late March,
there still was a chill in the air. Millie fidgeted with the gas logs trying to get them turned on, but she had no luck. She was expecting her husband Jason to call at any minute to tell her when he would be there with their two daughters. Just as she had walked out of the living room, the gas
logs roared on. Millie froze. She rationalized to herself that she must have forgotten to turn the gas off. The ringing of the phone brought her attention back. It was Jason. He was only about 30 minutes away. He had stopped to get their daughters something to eat. He said, “I love you and I will see you shortly”.Millie raced up the winding wood staircase. She had just
enough time to get the bedrooms ready for her daughters. Both bedrooms faced the ocean and had a bathroom that connected them to each other. Millie loved these two rooms not only for the view, but because of the light airy feeling they gave off. Soft pastels colors decorated the rooms, and fluffy pillows accented the window seats. It was every little girls dream bedroom. All of sudden, Millie heard the huge wind chimes
downstairs blowing. She looked out the window to see there was a bad thunder storm brewing out over the ocean. She did not have time to worry about the storm because just then the voices of her daughter echoed through the house. “Mommy”, they both shouted in unison. Millie smiled, then turned to go downstairs. Just as she was about to take her first step, she saw a
shadow out of the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, nothing was there. “That is weird”, she thought. She was so glad to have Jason and her girls finally here. She
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 19
threw her arms around Emma and Brynn and kissed them all over. Eventually, the kisses turned into tickles as she let the girls go explore the house. Her attention then turned to her handsome husband
standing in the doorway. Jason was tall and muscular with soft blonde hair. He was her college sweetheart and she still fell more in love with him every time she saw him. He scooped her up and kissed her sweetly on the lips. “Nice job babe”, he said as he smiled coyly at her. Millie went to pour him a glass of wine as he brought in the rest of their bags. Jason knew Millie was still in a very fragile state since her
parent’s death. Millie was an only child. Her parents had been everything to her. However, he knew they had been through worse. Early on in their marriage, they had traumatically lost their first child to SIDS. Their daughter had died at 3 months old. Millie was inconsolable. He wondered if she would ever make it back to him. In the long run, it had brought them closer together. Three years later, their next daughter Emma was born,
then two years after that came little Brynn. Deep down he knew Millie still was hurting, but ever since having Emma and Brynn, she had slowly bounced back to her old goofy self. He sighed, “Now this…”. Jason was worried about Millie slipping away from him again if the grief of losing her parents consumed her. So far, she seemed to be processing it well. She even had taken his advice and was seeing a therapist twice a week to work through any issues she was having. Jason was convinced moving to the Outer Banks was just what the entire family needed.Lightening was streaming into the house from every
window. Nature was definitely putting on it’s finest lightshow. Millie could see Jason sitting on the couch downstairs using his Ipad in front of the fireplace. The soft murmur from the television was a welcome distraction from the storm. Millie decided to go ahead and make the master bedroom feel more like home. As she was unpacking her clothes, she saw the shadow again out of the corner of her eye and heard little girls giggling. “Girls, get back in the bed”, she said without turning her head. Then, she heard the giggling again. She quickly went to check on Emma and Brynn. They
both were already fast asleep. Millie was starting to think she was losing her mind. She went downstairs and joined Jason on the couch. He looked up and smiled at her. She started telling him about all of the weird things that had been happening since she arrived at the house. Jason listened with curiosity. Millie loved that about Jason. Nothing she could say would surprise him. Jason reminded her that it was an old House and she had just suffered a tremendous loss. It was only natural to feel jumpy in the house. Millie instantly felt better. She melted into his strong arms
and pulled a blanket up around her. He was right, she probably was just on edge because she was grieving her parents. The thunderstorm was like a lullaby, and she soon felt her eyelids too heavy to keep open. She vaguely remembered Jason scooping her up to carry her to bed. Millie wrapped her legs through Jason’s as she layed her head on his chest. Jason always smelled so good. Jason kissed her softly on the head and put his arms around her. They both slipped into a deep sleep as the thunderstorm crackled outside.To be continued… n
WS ARTS MAGAZINEPAGE 20
He was fed up with the smart-ass, bad-attitude kid that I
had become; I was no longer who and what he wanted me
to be.
The apple of his eye had started to go bad.
I was hanging out with the wrong kids. I had quit all the
sporting activities I had been forced to embrace. I was not,
according to teacher after teacher, working up to my potential.
In the gladiatorial arena of my life, the required acquiescence
had been replaced by a steady barrage of insurrection.
He demanded that I continue to sport the crew-cut that had
been mandatory my whole life. I wanted to grow my hair long.
It often seemed that the only thing we agreed on was that
we disagreed on everything.
Our daily father-and-son jousting was escalating in intensity.
Low Wages, Free Beer, and the
Search for Soul Salvation...
Part 3 The FeverBy Ed Bumgardner
I was bugged at my old man, and he was bugged at me. our
source of mutual dIsenchantment was easy to dIscern:
I was a rebellIous 12-year-old and, accordIngly, raIled
agaInst everythIng my father stood for, up to and
IncludIng the ground he walked on.
Hail, Hail
Feature Story
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 21
Mr. Bumgardner
Push was hurtling toward shove. It ended the night of March 6,
1968. That was when I killed him.
No act of violence was needed. No weapon was
brandished. No hand was lifted, no charges filed. I killed him
with five one-syllable words: “I hope you drop dead.”
I was sent to bed for this shouted act of vitriol; slammed
doors punctuated the finality of the sentiment. I can't remember
what started the argument; then again, we really didn't need
a reason beyond coexistence. It ended, however, with the
usual promise of deportation to military school and the new
assurance that calls had already been made. That was the last
straw. “I hope you drop dead.”
I can still see his face, red with anger, sparking eyes… hurt.
I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth;
for all our bickering, I loved him – but I could never let him know
that.
I awoke at around 9:30 p.m. and looked out my window. A
man was in the front yard. I walked downstairs to investigate.
My father was stretched out on the couch. My mom was
perched on a footstool. She looked up and calmly said, “Go
back to bed. Everything is fine.” I went back upstairs and
turned on the radio in my room. “Get Off Of My Cloud” by the
Rolling Stones was playing. Downstairs, my father's broken
heart had literally exploded.
Years later, my mother told me he had died moments
before I walked into the room.
I asked her about the man in the front yard. He was with
the Rescue Squad, she said. She was shocked that I had
not seen, when looking out the window, the two ambulances
and police car parked on the street and in the driveway, lights
flashing.
What? So where were all the paramedics when I walked
downstairs? They weren't in the room.Her reply left me stunned:
“They were in the room, five of them, plus a supervisor, all
working on your father.” Neighbors were also in the room. Four
of them. The room was crammed with extraneous people,
medical equipment, and a gurney. I saw none of it.
All I remember about the room was my father, my mother
and the almost electrically charged feeling in the room, which
was bathed in a weird light.
That evening changed the course of my life beyond the
obvious. Most of the memories of life with my father were
erased, something often associated with traumatic events. I
was transformed overnight into a withdrawn, depressed teen
PAGE 22 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
with no self-esteem. I was the only kid I knew without a father,
much less the only one who had killed one. Shame and guilt
were always whispering in my ear.
It took more than 30 years, and some intensive therapy, for
me to shake the belief that I had killed my father with that one
blurted epithet.
But in a weird way, his death was also a liberating event. It
opened an avenue for me to explore a healing force that had
been pushing me for as long as I could remember. Music.
Music had always held an almost alchemical hold on me.
I can't remember a time when I wasn't aware of it, hypnotized
by the inexplicable lure and power of melody and rhythm.
My earliest memory is of my first birthday. My grandfather
gave me a toy drum, which I remember, and a toy horn,
which I don't recall. My mother said I drove everyone crazy
swacking that drum – everyone except my father, who I was
told encouraged it with a proud smile. He understood.
My father had been a pretty good drummer – something I
did not know until days after his death, when a friend of his – a
man who had played in a band with him, as it turned out –
came to the house and regaled me with tales of their musical
mischief. He and Dad had formed a jazz combo in high school,
and had played through college – where Dad began to mix
his love of music with a newfound passion for acting and a
natural affinity for photography. Years later, after the death of
my father's stepmother, I was given a table made out of a
bass drum from the 1930s. It was from my father's drum set.
Under the wood backing, the drum boasted a calfskin drum
head outfitted with a Vargas-style drawing of a scantily attired
curvaceous woman in full come-hither coil.
My father had done the drawing, much to the displeasure
of HIS father. I had to smile.
Ten years after his death, I began to know the man I had
never really known.
It turns out we were a whole lot alike. He was the rebellious
son. His father, E.E. Bumgardner – his namesake, and, in turn,
mine as well – was a very powerful man who cast an imposing
shadow over Winston-Salem. He was head of personnel at
RJ Reynolds Tobacco Company and a member of the board
of directors for Piedmont Federal Savings and Loan. That he
was of serious demeanor was understatement. I never saw
the man smile. He scared me to death.
My father and his four brothers went to work at RJR by the
time they were in their teens. They didn't want to. They didn't
have a choice. Three of the four worked there for decades;
only Jim, the youngest and a visual artist, escaped.
My father wanted to be a musician, as did my Uncle John.
They were told that was not an honorable profession. My
father didn't care. He wanted to play drums.
That dream ended after my father was drafted into the
Army/Air Force during World War II, and was stationed in
England, a place that he loved. He was a tail gunner in a slow-
moving B-24 bomber – an assignment with one of the highest
mortality rates of the war.
He came home a changed and profoundly damaged man,
deaf in one ear from the close-quarters sound of gunfire,
mentally damaged by the demands and horrors of war. He
could not tolerate loud noise – tough when you have two
rambunctious kids. And he rarely slept; my mother told me that
weekly throughout their marriage he would wake up screaming
and crying.
Mr. Bumgardner during WWII
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 23
He no longer had the spirit to challenge his father's
demands that he return to work at Reynolds. He gave up his
dreams for a job he hated.
It made an impression that has stayed with me throughout
my life.
Still, he never stopped loving music – a trait that we
shared. It was in our DNA, and he saw it emerging in me from
a very early age. My grade school report cards all make note
of the fact that I was constantly drumming on my desk; as
my second-grade teacher noted in the section reserved for
comments, “Eddie must really enjoy the tunes that only he can
hear; for the rest of us, it is a disturbance.”
I cannot remember a time when music was not ricocheting
off the walls of my world. My father loved jazz from the Big-
Band Era, particularly New Orleans jazz; my mother told tales
of my father knocking back an Old Fashioned or four while
visiting jazz clubs in New Orleans and New York, then sitting
in with various bands to the approval of the accommodating
musicians and audiences.
I knew nothing of this growing up. I knew that he loved
music only because he would often come home from work,
clearly beat, go to his den, adult beverage in hand, and relax
by turning on his stereo and playing favored selections from
his large collection of jazz and big-band records.
That stereo was crazy magic to me. He would load a stack
of discs on the spindle, then hit a switch. I would almost gasp
with pleasure as the record would drop and this gizmo, this
mysterious mechanical arm, would crank to life, moving up
and sidewise to a mechanized soundtrack of chugging clicks
and whirs before lowering onto the album.
I can still see the smile on the Old Man's face as the music
blared.
It was…GREAT! There was protocol for the Young Observer
to follow. I was not to touch the stereo or his records. Never.
Ever.
Nor was I to disturb Dad while he was listening to music.
If I was quiet, I could listen to the music and sit and watch the
disc spin around – which I loved (and still do). My usual running
commentary was not tolerated. A sample …
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Is this sound magic?”
“No … well … yes … now be quiet and let Daddy listen.”
“Daddy?
”What did I just tell you …”
“But, is this machine a robot?”
“Be … quiet ….”
“But where does the music come from ….”
“Son, HUSH. You know the rules …”
“But why doesn't that record spin so fast it flies away like a
spaceship?”
“SSSHHHH.”
“But…”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM.”
At which point I would run off down the hall crying. Mom
would come in to read everyone involved the latest abridged
version of her Riot Act…The whole ritual, a tempest born of
curiosity, frustration and cheap theatrics, would repeat anew
the next day.
Seems like ONE of us would have learned. Years later, I
understood my dad's pain. All he wanted was to forget the
dulling horrors of his rigid work day. He was stressed. All he
wanted was to come home, drink a beer, sink into his favorite
chair and let Duke Ellington or Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman
or Louis Armstrong carry him away for just a little bit.
Louis Armstrong
PAGE 24 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
Yes, the Old Man loved his music. It was his source of
refuge, a balm for his soul. He was happy, really happy, when
he was listening to music. That left a big impression on me –
but not big enough for the dedicated household pest to leave
him alone.
I couldn't wait to be old enough to play a record. So,
naturally, I didn't. I began to sneak into Dad's den during the
day, and, when Mom was out of sight, turn the stereo on and
off. I would put a toy car or plastic soldier on the turntable
and watch it revolve. Then I would take out my favorite of his
records – Louis Armstrong's “Jonah and The Whale” – and
stare at it.
For those keeping score, I was now flagrantly violating two
cardinal rules – touching the stereo, touching the records –
on a daily basis. Sometimes several times a day. I knew the
consequences would be dire if I was caught. But I wasn't
going to get caught.
Of course, the day soon came where thinking about playing
a record was no longer enough. I moved on to the bigger
thrill, the ultimate crime – I decided to play the cherished Louis
Armstrong record. How hard could it be? What could possibly
go wrong? I dragged a chair up so I could reach the shelf
where the stereo beckoned. I flicked the switch. The
stereo came alive. It was like a shot of adrenaline.
I was now all but jumping up and down in
spastic anticipation. I took the 78 r.p.m.
disc out of its paper sleeve and, hands
shaking, placed it on the spindle. So I
thought.
To my horror, the shellac disc, which
was leaning up against the spindle on
the revolving turntable, began to teeter
and wobble. Then, as if captured in a
series of stopmotion photographs, it
tipped, fell, bounced off the desk and,
with the grace of a drunk chicken falling
off a barn roof, plummeted to the floor
with an ominous crack. Time stopped. My
pounding heart sank. Elation was replaced by
panic, then a smothering sense of dread. One
half of the disc sat at my feet. Another chunk was
under the chair.
I quickly and willfully disturbed the crime scene. I scooped
up the pieces of evidence and, casting glances to make sure
the coast was clear of parental authority, dashed into my room,
slamming the door – making plenty of noise (no time for subtlety
when you are 5 and on the lam). It would later be noted later in
the kangaroo court that convicted me that I left the stereo on
and the disc's abandoned paper sleeve out in the open.
I had moved the corpse but left the weapon and the box it
came in.
Tucked away in my room, crazed and delusional, I decided
that I could fix the disc, as it was only broken in half. I had tape.
I had glue. And I used them all. Yeah, yeah. Heh-heh-heh.
Good as new. Dad will never notice. What a Boy Genius am I.
Years later, whenever my Mom recounted this pitiful tale –
which was often – I could swear that she would shudder, just
a bit, before erupting into laughter.
Yes, my Dad came home, swizzled up his stress-reduction
beverage and went straight to the frantically revolving stereo,
the aforementioned paper sleeve on the floor and, criminal
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 25
450 North Spring Street, Winston-Salem | (336)[email protected] | www. SpringHouseNC.com
ProgressiveProgressivesouthernsoutherninsinsPPiredireddestinationdestination
aa
diningdininghoshosPPitality &itality &ssPPecial eventsecial events
for
mastermind that I was, his favored disc, laying next to the
record player where I had returned it to dry, clearly broken, but
fitted back together with caked layers of glue and a dispenser's
worth of tape.
He noticed. Oh yes. He noticed.
“EDDDDDDDDDDIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE! GET IN HERE.
NOW.”
I would love to think that Dad got no satisfaction from the
spanking he gave me, but I can assure you that it did not hurt
him more than it hurt me, nor did he pretend that it did.
And yet ….
One week later, he came home from work with a box,
which he handed to me. Inside the box, a child's record player,
and a 45 r.p.m. single, which, more than 50 years later, now
occupies a place of pride in the jukebox that sits in my music
room.
It was a Disney record by Professor Ludwig Von Drake. The
song was “Green With Envy Blues” – a New Orleans styled
song, replete with serious Dixieland arrangement, scatted by
the scatterbrained hipster duck. He smiled at me and assured
me that he would not play MY record player if I would not play
his.
He understood. I was successfully bribed. My lifelong
obsession with music was launched.
The boy had met his muse. n
PAGE 26 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
UNC-SA News
Jennifer Haire
loves making
movies in North
Carolina. As
a student in
the School of
Filmmaking at the University of
North Carolina School of the
Arts (UNCSA), she worked
on TWO SOLDIERS, filmed in
Winston-Salem (which went
on to win the 2004 Academy
Award for narrative short film), and
DIVINE SECRETS OF THE YAYA
SISTERHOOD, filmed in Wilmington.
Now, she is one of five UNCSA Film
alumni working in Charlotte on the feature
film CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.
"I've been trying to get back to North Carolina on
a show since I graduated," said Haire. "I really feel at home,
being a hop, skip and jump from UNCSA."
Filmmaking Interim Dean Susan Ruskin said she hears
similar sentiments from many alumni. "We have graduates
working in the industry all over the world, but they love coming
back to North Carolina," she said. "It feels like home to them,
and we are proud to see them come back."
Ruskin said UNCSA film graduates and current students
are working on several projects around the state, including
television productions of Eastbound and Down in Wilmington
and the pilot for Sleepy Hollow in Charlotte, as well as the film
THE WORLD MADE STRAIGHT in western North Carolina.
According to the state Commerce Department, North Carolina
is one of the top 10 location destinations in the U.S. for film and
television productions. The North Carolina Film Commission
website lists 10 film and television productions currently under
way in North Carolina, and 26
projects that wrapped up in the
past year.
As production coordinator
for CAREFUL WHAT YOU
WISH FOR, Haire manages the
production office, or "control
tower" of the project, acting
as liaison among employees
at various levels, vendors
and insurance carriers. Since
graduating in 2002, she has
worked on location in Montana,
New York, Tennessee, Hawaii,
California, the country of Jordan, and
on cruise ships. Haire said that out of-
state vendors are eager to work in North
Carolina. "I've gotten many calls from my usual
Los Angeles vendors who heard I was on a show here
and wanted to bring their business to me," she said. "Plus,
many vendors are seeing the demand for resources in the state
and are bringing company branches closer."
Vendors on a film project include suppliers of grip, lighting
and camera equipment, rental vehicles, hotels, office and
production supplies, as well as utilities such as phone and
internet service. Beth Petty, who has two degrees from UNCSA
and is director of the Charlotte Regional Film Commission,
agrees. "We've worked with a lot of people who are thinking of
coming here, and we will do everything under the sun to help
them," Petty said.
Petty, who has hired two UNCSA graduates to work in her
office, said the school is an important partner in the state's
flourishing film industry. "The taxpayers invest a lot in training
people in this state to work in the film industry," she said.
CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR is a thriller starring Dermot
UNCSA ALUMNI WORKING ON FILM IN CHARLOTTE
FIvE FILM GRAdUATES ANd ONE HIGH SCHOOL dRAMA GRAdUATE ARE ON LOCATION OF CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 27
Mulroney, Paul Sorvino, Nick Jonas, and
Isabel Lucas. Alexandria ter Avest, a
2011 high school graduate of the UNCSA
School of Drama, appears in the film.
Additional UNCSA Film alumni working
on the film include Mariangelica Velasquez
(2012), office production assistant; Clint
Buckner (2009), 2nd assistant director;
Glenn Peison, Jr. (2008), on-set dresser;
and Andrea Crampe Braswell (2004), first
assistant accountant.
"It's great to see UNCSA alumni
involved throughout the project," Petty
said. "An alumna (Petty) recruited the
film. You have an alumna as production
coordinator, another on the accounting
staff, and still others in various important
roles. And a high school graduate
appears in the film. That's very cool."
CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
centers on Doug (Jonas), who gets
more than he bargained for when he
starts having an affair with Lena (Lucas),
the young wife of an investment banker
(Mulroney) renting the lake house next
door for the summer. The husband's
suspicious death reveals a substantial
life insurance policy and everyone is a
suspect. Sorvino plays the sheriff. n
Dermot Mulroney
UNC-SA News
NaNcy aNd Paul GwyN Recieve uNcSa'S GiaNNiNi Society awaRd
The University of North Carolina School of the Arts (UNCSA) has named Nancy and Paul Gwyn of Winston-Salem as the recipients of the 2013 Giannini Society Award, one of the school's most prestigious honors. The Gwyns were recognized at the School of the Arts University commencement at the Stevens Center on May 4. They were cited for years of steadfast service to UNCSA and passionate support of its student productions. In 1999, the Gwyns established an endowed scholarship in the School of Music. They have been members of the UNCSA Associates, and Nancy served as president of the volunteer group. For many years they have been Giannini Society-level donors. The Gwyns are past co-chairs of the Giannini Advisory Committee. They recently were appointed to the UNCSA Board of Visitors.The Giannini Society was established in 1989 and was named in honor of Vittorio Giannini, a founder and the first president of the School of the Arts. It is a group of dedicated ambassadors who seek to provide support for the training of UNCSA student-artists. Previous recipients include founders, board members, alumni, volunteers and former chancellors.
About the Gwyns
In 1962, Nancy Hooper, from Elizabeth City, N.C., met Paul Gwyn, from Elkin, N.C., at Duke University Hospital. Nancy was a nursing student and Paul, a surgical resident. Paul had already received an A.B. degree in Chemistry (Magna Cum Laude) from Princeton University and an M.D. degree from The College of Physicians and Surgeons at Columbia University. Nancy received her
B.S.N. degree from Duke University in the spring of 1963. They married in the fall of 1963 while Paul was serving in the U.S. Air Force Medical Corps. Following his service time he resumed his surgical training first at N.C. Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem and then at Norfolk General Hospital in Virginia.In 1970, the Gwyns returned to Winston-Salem, where Paul started his practice as the first "in town" plastic surgeon. During his 37-plus years of practice, he was a member of numerous local, regional and national medical and surgical associations. He is a founding member and a past president of The North Carolina Plastic Surgery Society.Once their three children were established in school, Nancy returned to school and received her Bachelor of Music in Organ Performance from Salem College in 1988. Many of her classes were at the then-North Carolina School of the Arts. She worked for approximately 20 years as a church organist.The Gwyns are long-time supporters of the arts in Winston-Salem, and specifically, the University of North Carolina School of the Arts.Additionally, Paul and Nancy have each served as board members of Piedmont Opera. Nancy serves as a board member of the Friends of Music of Salem College, and Paul has served on the board of the Southeastern Center for Contemporary Art. Paul is a member of the Music and Arts Ministry at Centenary United Methodist Church, where they both volunteer for the DAYBreak Respite Care. Nancy also volunteers in the NICU at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center.In their spare time, they enjoy their six grandchildren, traveling, and their beach house on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. n
WS ARTS MAGAZINE
Cigars & Spirits
PAGE 28
Tatuaje Black:
ThE Champ is Here
By:Ed Hanes
W e’re going to get right
to the point on this one:
The Tatuaje Black is one
fantastic cigar. This full-
bodied corona gorda
more than stands its
ground within the ever growing hype of the Tatuaje brand.
From the packaging (ceramic) to the unique nature of an
unclipped foot, this cigar is made to be noticed.
There is even more to why this cigar stands out. As a limited
production this corona already holds a special place in the
humidors of your local cigar shop. Its status as creator Pete
Johnson’s “personal cigar” puts the Black in rare air. Only other
highly thought of brands such as the Opus X and Ashton’s VSG
enjoy the public knowledge that the masterminds behind their
brands choose a particular stick as their favorite. The Black has
another distinct advantage: its price tag. Entering the game at
around $13, this Nicaraguan masterstroke is far more attainable
than either of the aforementioned. Its value status among the
elite, however, does nothing to taint its inherent excellence.
Like a predawn stroll down Reynolds Drive, I found no surprises Tatuaje Black Cigar creator Pete Johnson
WSARTSMAG.COM PAGE 29
WS Arts Magazine has designed and implemented a ratings system where cigars receive an E.D.S (really...I didn't name the rating system after myself) of 1-5.
Each review explains, in easy to understand terms, why we chose that particular rating for a given cigar. Our ratings system is described as follows:
1 E.D.S - These are cigars of last resort. They are questionable even if only mowing the yard or planting a garden.2 E.D.S - These cigars make tolerable companions while you wash your car. They aren't looking for attention, nor should they!3 E.D.S - These are pretty respectable cigars but may still fall short. We recommend them for the golf course, the back porch with one of your uninitiated friends, or for the after wedding party (for the husband of your best girlfriend who thinks he knows everything about cigars).4 E.D.S - Now we’re talking. Enjoy these fine cigars after a delicious meal or with your favorite cocktail. Again, I prefer Fridays at Single Brothers (or my Cigar Room). Join me!5 E.D.S - Respect your elders! These complex treats are true works of art. They deserve Coltrane, good friends, and your favorite adult tasty treat. Only the best! n
in the pre-light aroma of the wrapper: consistent…classic….
predictable…there were no surprises around the corner.
The cocoa colored wrapper was smooth to the touch.
There were no large veins obstructing the feel of the soft but
confident stick.
With a sure slice from my v-cut style guillotine and a touch
from my triple flame torch (overkill for sure), once lit the cigar
rushed the palate with pepper and leather. Robust, zestful,
and interesting, the taste would titillate and tease throughout
the cigars 40 minutes of life. Among the complex and often
shifting flavors I encountered, leather, cocoa, and even
ginger where the most prevalent. When woven together in a
tapestry of blending that can only be called brilliant, the flavor
palate became simply remarkable.
This 46 ring gauge stick had a remarkably perfect draw
from torch to rest. The burn was as straight and stately as an
Avalon oak and required no attention. The ash was needle
firm, requiring a quite deliberate tap to loosen it in the ashtray.
The finish was a walk in the park: long and satisfying.
Smoke the Black today. For its full body, firm ash, and
brilliant blend I would put it up among the best cigars in the
world. Powerful to the end, the Black is for those special
moments when ordinary just won’t do. I cannot fathom
one reason the Tatuaje Black deserves anything less than
5 E.D.S n
PAGE 30 WS ARTS MAGAZINE
Art Scene
Artworks GAllery Presents A two-Person exhibit of book sculPtures by MAry blAckwell-chAPMAn, And Mixed MediA MAintinGs by betti PettinAti-lonGinotti
Artworks Gallery, Mary Blackwell-Chapman and
Betti Pettinati-LonginottiJune 4 - 29, 2013Meet the Artists: Friday, June 7
at the Gallery Hop, 7 - 10 pm
Public Reception: Sunday, June 9,
2 - 4 pm
This exhibit is free and open to the public
www.maryblackwellchapman.comwww.plstudioartglass.com
www.Artworks-Gallery.orgArtworks Gallery
564 North Trade StreetWinston-Salem, NC 27101. Gal-
lery phone: 723-5890Gallery hours are: Tue.- Sat. 11-5.
Mary Blackwell-Chapman is showing a variety of sculptures involving hand made book forms. She says, "As I began this
body of work, an homage to Trees, I was thinking simply of my love for trees, their beauty, majesty, variety, their strong presence. As I worked I thought more about the convergence of trees or forests with humanity and civilization, how our relationship with trees has reflected our history, our changing definition of our Self. An old proverb says something like "I want to be part of a society where a man can plant a tree and his grandchildren will find shade under its branches." Can this be said of our society? Even with these thoughts, I always returned in my work to the beauty and joy and peace that trees bring me. "Blackwell-Chapman is a sculptural artist from Forsyth County, North Carolina. She earned a BA in English Literature from Goucher College, and an MA in Motion Picture from Northwestern University in Chicago. She has studied sculpture,
both ceramics and book arts, at Penland, UNC-G, Arrowmont, Shakerag, and the Sawtooth Center for Visual Design. Her works are in collections in Virginia, West Virginia, Washington, DC, North Carolina, Georgia, and France. She has exhibited annually since 1993 in juried and non-juried shows in North Carolina, and has been a member of the artists’ collective, Artworks Gallery in Winston-Salem, NC since 1992. Betti Pettinati-Longinotti is showing "28 Prayers for 26 Victims", a group of mixed media paintings that are a requiem or homage for the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary School, in Newtown, Conn., and the massacre that took place there on December 14, 2012. She states: "At the crossroads of a controversial intersection of prayer and the political, this work makes a statement about the horrific culture of death our nation and world encounter in this generation. It confronts me, as to many, with profound grieving. My grieving asks questions of our society, that allows this kind of unspeakable horror as reality, and my questions unanswered become visual prayers. I state 28 prayers because I believe the young killer and his mother were also victims. The aesthetic and conceptual content of my work connects to inspiration by the abstract expressionist paintings of Richard Pousette-Dart. In a 2010 exhibition of Pousette-Dart, "Predominantly White Paintings", at the Phillips Collection, Washington D.C., the artist remarks that his paintings are visual prayers. As a contemplative artist, I appreciate the connection of prayer to the creative process, and a vehicle for both to co-exist, as well as an instrument for the Spirit to groan through my visual expression." Pettinati-Longinotti received a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art, and her MA from the University of the Arts, Philadelphia, in Art Education
with a studio major in Glass. Recently she graduated with an MFA in Visual Arts through the Art Institute of Boston at Lesley University. Her work has been shown internationally and she has done commissions and collaborations in architectural glass for site specific or public art installations. n
Mary Blackwell-Chapman, "Books On The Wing", contorted filbert, crepe myrtle, paper, feathers
Betti Pettinati-Longinotti, "Prayer for Sandy Hook", mixed media painting
Join Us for Two Great Events
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Ride begins at 8AM sharp. Registration and Packet pickup begins at 6:45 am. Early Packet Pickup is
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