Leni Wiener

The last of the creative writing inspired by Stories in Stitches at the New Rochelle Library is also by Sharon Latimer-Mosley and was inspired by the quilt “Market Day, Hong Kong.”  If you are close enough to New Rochelle, the show will be at the library until January 28, please visit and let me know what you think.  I would love to see your quilts and/or the stories that go with them.  Please email them to me at Leni@leniwiener.com and if you are willing,  I will share them with other readers of this blog.  Of course, if you don’t want me to share, I won’t! (But I would still love to see them.)

Here is Sharon’s story:

My son has asked that I join them in the United States. My husband is too ill to travel. My temple is here. My home is here. I shop here.  All things I need are right here. Dr. says my feet swell from too much water. Too much salt.  I tell him, I am 82 years old, because of me, he is a doctor. They can swell.

It is a son’s duty to care for his parents. It is a grandparent’s duty to care for grandchildren. Tell them about their ancestors. Help them grow. Children of today have lost sight of this. My son and daughter in law moved to the United States 7 months ago. Business. They will live there for two years. My precious granddaughter was born in the United States. I have not yet held her. They send me pictures of her by computer. Pictures by computer.  My neighbor’s son is a good son. He cares for his parents. Shops for them. Keeps his children nearby.  He makes sure I get the pictures of my granddaughter. She is so beautiful…reminds me of my mother.

Today’s writing comes from Sharon Latimer-Mosley and was inspired by the quilt “Outstretched Hand.”

Ahhh..…Peter…hadn’t seen him in at least 12 years.  He needed a wife at a time when something rose up and shook me- I wanted a child.  We met at one of those Museum Garden parties. He was the Assistant Curator of some exhibit. I was a sustained member. We became fast friends, best friends.  At 35, I had spent most of my young adulthood searching East Africa for a new skin graft agent. When I finally got it to market, we discovered it removed wrinkles too…Cash Cow.  Peter and I agreed to separate lives upfront.  I would donate to the museum, insure his directorship, smile, shake hands, pretended to care and he would give me Dolly.

Lives were private then. If there were whispers, we never heard them, didn’t really care.

At some point it all changed.  The business needed me more. So, Peter assumed the role as, what do they call it these days? Oh, stay-at-home Dad before anybody knew what that was. He changed diapers, wiped chocolate éclair from Dolly’s chin. He even taught her a mean lay-up.  Yes Peter was a Great dad…. Great dad. At Dolly’s graduation, he pulled me aside, said he’d found the love of his life.
Wanted a divorce. Don’t know why, but just couldn’t let him go. Wouldn’t let him go.

“So Mother will you come?” Dolly asked again her voice flat, reminiscent of so many arguments. She had been the first to extend a hand by calling. I’d be a fool now not to take it.

“All right. Where is this place?”

“It’s called the Empty Hand Zen center a few blocks from where we used to live in New Rochelle”

“New Rochelle?!” My back Dolly. I’m due for a steroid shot soon, the nurse is not on today and Joe is off too, I have no one to drive me there.

“Please mother. Please.”

“That’s 25 minutes on the train. I don’t know if I can sit…. “

“Just this once…don’t be difficult. It starts at 3:00pm”

I arrived in New Rochelle on the 2:08 train, remarkably my back still intact. It was a balmy 38 degrees in Manhattan. I had forgotten how much cooler New Rochelle could be, my bones ached a little.  The city was not how I remembered it. High rises poking the skyline. The K building was still there. Found that a bit reassuring.

The Empty Hand center was a small unassuming brick building, tucked behind a small neighborhood restaurant. If memory serves me, it’s the old Trolley Turn-around-strange place for a house of worship. A young bearded man with black wire glasses and in a black bib greeted me with  a bow at the door, I reached out my hand….”I’m Dolly Livingston’s mother.”

The following story was written by Glenn Slaby, inspired by the quilt “private world.” Here is Glenn reading his story in front of the quilt at last Sunday’s opening of Stories in Stitches at the New Rochelle Library:

Come be inspired to write your own story!  The show will be opened during library hours through January 28.

Here is Glenn’s story:

The stranger watches as the woman somewhat absent-mindedly steps in the snow and continuous to walk on the unshoveled path even though the sidewalk was cleared just a foot or so to her right.

She continues her walk, oblivious to the slight beauty offered up by the minor snow fall from the nigh before for the city has yet to fully awaken and ungainly mark the streets. Her senses fail to pick up the city sounds muffled by the blanket of white cotton, or the smell of air freshly filtered by nature’s condensation of moisture. Even the odor of fresh bagels from Steins Bakery does not seem to distract her from her quest.

Heads turn as someone slips on some small patch of ice near the corner light. Here the sidewalk changes from cement to steel marking the sewer. As this is the first snowfall of the winter, pedestrians have not yet garnered up the wisdom and experience of walking in winter’s not always small challenges. Two strangers come to assist the fallen, elderly gentleman who was somehow able to keep the morning edition of Sunday’s Post from getting wet. The coffee, however, added its ugly tint to the snow. The stranger watches as many heads turn, to confirm the fallen’s status as he gingerly and slightly embarrassed continues his journey. The snow has also brought with it the compassion of neighbors. These few early walkers nod affectionately to themselves upon the elderly man’s renewal of his journey – all that is expect for the young lady. Lost in thoughts known only to her or perhaps a lover.

What caused this internal solitude - was it this unknown lover or perhaps a sick child in need of some over the counter remedy. Or maybe she was on her to work, but would she have been more aware of the path to take snow, and not end up wet feet in the office

A dog, some mutt of various ancestries, tries to garner her scent, but is pulled back by his elderly owner who tries to make an apologetic glance but the women avoids all eye contact and continues on her journey in fog thicker than that of her breath. The mutt, male, showing some signs of grey protruding through his black and brown mange making him only slightly younger than his owner. He sniffs, finds a familiar scent - a dog he has known for some time, but never had the opportunity to meet. A female, he concludes, a few years younger than himself. How he knows this he cannot comprehend or explain if ever given the chance to, but that is likely, for no one ever asks. He is thankful that his pampered life has not dulled an instinct horned and sharpened by earlier generations of powerful hunting dogs of Europe’s Royalty, or so he wants to believe. It’s better than the truth which is generations of bitches and bastards making a living in the back alleys of the Village.

Slowly the mom and pop stores are waking up. The giant metal grates open with a clanking sound. Like eyelids of some giant monster featured in Chaplin’s Modern Times or Metropolis or some other Industrial Age gone haywire movie, the world stumbles to life. McDonalds has been open for some time now for a few hours. The smell of manufactured plastic food begins to dominate the street. Diesel fumes from some van heading for Chinatown tries to compete with that of Mickie Dees. Where else in the world can one get such an abhorrent mixture? Well probably throughout most of world. So much for globalization.

She heads toward the intersection and what seems like the last moment notices the ‘Don’t Walk’ sign turning to red. With her determined path, interrupted, she heads around the corner bypassing the Pakistani shoveling the sidewalk of his small establishment. In an instant she disappears.

Thanks to so many of you who came to the opening of my exhibit Stories in Stitches at the New Rochelle Library yesterday afternoon.  It is good to know that so many people like my work, sometimes working alone all the time I wonder if there is any point.  Obviously, there is.

There was a nice turnout, I got a certificate of merit from George Latimer (our NYS Assemblyman, pictured above in the beige jacket), and there was a lovely spread of wine and food.

My family was there to support me; shown here my husband, Fred; sons Jordan and Jared; and Jared’s girlfriend, Channon:

Barbara Davis, the community relations director of the library, organized the show and had a terrific idea for a tie-in with the exhibit.

She organized two creative writing workshops last week, and the quilts were the inspiration for the creative writing.  Three people shared what they had written standing in front of the quilt which inspired them.  I will post them one at a time for the next few days.  I always find it interesting the stories that others derive from my work.  I know the story that started the piece for me, but no one else does (I purposely keep the titles of my pieces somewhat ambiguous for exactly that reason).

Today, Ken Valen, who ran the workshop and what he wrote about this piece, Jordan;

Ken wrote:

There are lots of things to think about when hanging a show, the most important is how to actually hang the pieces.

Today I hung a solo show at the Lumen Gallery at the New Rochelle Library with the assistance of my son, Jordan (who was thrilled beyond belief to be there!).  Having already checked all the rod pockets, cut rods to fit each quilt, and put eye hooks in the ends of each rod, and sewn the rods into the rod pockets, I figured I was good to go.

Here is what the space looked like when we arrived.  The hanging rods shown here are called the Walker system, and it works just fine, sort of.  We had to use additional hanging hooks because the eyehooks on the ends of the quilts did not fit over the receiving pieces in the walker system.  We tried to wire the backs, but the quilts didn’t hang straight.  Bottom line, always be prepared for an on-the-fly solution to a problem you don’t anticipate.  And a tall helper isn’t bad, either!

Because I had a series of “walls” that each contained three panels the same size, I decided to begin with putting my largest pieces in the centers of each wall, being careful to put quilts that related to each other opposite each other (the walls are in rows, so each wall has one facing wall.)

Here, Jordan attaches the large center piece to the wall.

Once the central pieces are hung on each wall, it is important to evaluate what will hang with it.  The pieces can either relate thematically or by color.  Since balancing color is so important to me when I create my art quilts, that was the prevailing consideration when combining quilts on each wall.  I feel that most of my work relates thematically, anyway.

Just because I love a quilt, doesn’t mean it works anywhere.  Here, I like the way each of the two quilts on either side relate to the one in the center, but not the way the wall looks as a whole.  Plus the sizes are too different.  Just like creating your artwork when hanging a show, everything has to flow and the balance needs to work together.  So Museum Steps (the one Jordan is hanging) doesn’t get to stay here.

I like this combination much better.  The two pieces on either side are both equally strong in their color saturation, the colors are similar, and they both relate nicely to the center quilt.  Definitely better.

Here, the red color in the first quilt leads into the large piece in the center, which in turn, leads into the green tones on the other side.

The walls here could have handled much larger work than most of my quilts, but I don’t mind breathing space around an artwork.  Personally, I prefer to see too much space around an artwork than too little.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t balance the pieces so much–small, large, small–but since each wall is only three panels, I felt it gave the exhibition visual continuity.  Here, all three of these pieces relate in their “Asian” theme, and orange is the unifying color.

People were exploring the quilts even before they were properly hung.  That is a good sign, in terms of the kind of traffic the exhibit will get.

Jordan was terrific, couldn’t have done it without him.

Once the pieces are up, the identifying signs are added.  The gallery coordinator said that usually the artist hangs the work, then reevaluates and moves things around.  Frankly, I don’t think that is necessary if you think about how things relate to each other before you hang them.  A little organization up front meant that we only changed that one piece and everything else went up once and stayed there.

The final step is the walk-through to make sure everything is straight and at the right height.

So, now Stories in Stitches is ready to receive the viewing public!  The New Rochelle Library is featuring creative writing workshops to coordinate with my art quilts, and some of the stories will be read at the exhibition opening in front of the piece that inspired it.  Neat.

The library newsletter contains the information about the workshops and the exhibit.  If you live near New Rochelle, and would like to join one of the creative writing workshops, please call 632-7878 x 33.

Please join me for the opening on Sunday January 10 at 4 PM in the library.

The Gallery is in the lobby of the New Rochelle Library, located at 1 Library Plaza in downtown New Rochelle.  Meter parking across the street.  The show will hang until January 28, 2010.