Clarissa Sligh

Clarissa Sligh, a photographer whose interest in the medium stems from keeping the family album when she was young, stated, “It had always interested me that my voice didn’t seem to be in the arena. I began to create these narratives from my old family photographs, and that’s how I started doing word/text/images.” Of her art in the exhibition, she says, “That work comes out of me trying to think about my father. He was a very macho kind of man, and I was interested in the need to present that facade.” She muses, “Why is it that men are so much harder on men being masculine than women are on women being feminine?”

When asked about the significance of being in Appalachia Now!, each artist had a beautifully thought-provoking response. Sligh, who credits “being part of the earth that you walk on” as her inspiration, says of her home, “It’s a sanctuary area. There is something about being in these mountains. You’re surrounded, and you’re protected.”

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THE ART ACTIVISM EXPO AT UNCA 

My Photo on the cover of Mountain Express   ACTIVISM EXPO AT UNCA. 

Spoke at UNCA about the relationship of my work to activism. Poet, Alli Marshall, wrote an article about my work. We were surprised when the Asheville weekly, “Mountain Express” featured one of my photos on the cover of the newspaper. I got a chance to meet new people from the community.

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More and more people began coming.

On January 21st, I went with Kimberly to the Women’s March here in Asheville. People gathered slowly. I had heard a lot of women say they were not going because they were afraid it might become violent. So  we were really surprised when large crowds seemed to materialize out of thin air.

ASHEVILLE WOMEN MARCH IN JANUARY 2017

The chant to “Make America Great Again” implies returning to the 1970s. Like many women, I can’t believe it either.

YOUNG WOMEN MADE THEIR PRESENCE FELT

They are our future leaders.

BUILDING BRIDGES

Things are better and racism is still a sore point.

HUMOR NEEDED

And it was provided!!!

PREPARING FOR THE EVENT

And Setting up.

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 THE MIRACLE OF TRANSFORMING HATE 

Photograph by Dan R. Talley

Transforming Hate: An Artist’s Book, was completed this year, eight years after it was started. We did not know if it was possible, but in March we pushed to get a few copies ready for an April PHOTO+CRAFT presentation. Entitled “Making and Meaning: Photobooks and the Social Fabric”, this Black Mountain College Museum and Arts Center panel with Alejandro Cartagena, was one of thirteen events organized by Warren Wilson College here in Asheville.

The month before going to press, however, the Transforming Hate book design elements changed to include color and some unusual papers. This gave the book much more depth, but when the printing estimate increased by $10,000.00, my heart sank. Where was that amount of money going to come from? It had taken me a whole year to raise $7,000.00!

When I turned to my supporters and asked for additional money, 5 people donated the extra $10,000.00 needed, to put the book on the press, within 5 days. That was truly a miracle!

Me and Susan Rhew at Blue Ridge Printing

Susan explained the “whys and wherefores” as she proofed each page.

In addition to these angels, 60 people made donations to the project through NYFA’s Fiscal Sponsorship Program in 2013. It was their support and belief in the project that helped me continue working on the book. To you guys, a big “Thank You.” Your names are listed inside the book.

Here is an excerpt from the book:

“Hate is a fence built to signify time and place.

When I was growing up

schools,

churches,

hospitals,

libraries,

restaurants,

and movie theaters

were off limits to me because of my race.”

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Edition numbered signed copies of Transforming Hate: An Artist’s Book may be purchased for $50.00 from:
Vicky & Bill Stewart
Vamp & Tramp, Booksellers, LLC
E-mail : mail@vampandtramp.com 
Telephone : (205) 824-2300

Vamp & Tramp has placed the book in collections across the country.
Also available on Amazon.

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I hate to admit that I am essentially stuck in the 1980s when I saw my first artists’ books at Printed Matter below Canal Street in Manhattan. It was thought that artists’ books might become an inexpensive way to make art more accessible. Although most of my books don’t end up being inexpensive, my intention for my books is that they be produced inexpensively.

Each of my books has had its’ own process to which I have had to conform. As much as I try to control that process, the Transforming Hate book taught me, as no previous book had, that I am the book’s servant not its’ master. I ended up feeling like I had been recruited to come along for the ride.

Below begins sketches of the project’s beginning:

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From my upcoming artist book, “Transforming Hate: The Proposal“:

When I was 23

I was one of over 200,000 people, to witness

Martin Luther King give “I Have a Dream”

at the “March on Washington for Jobs & Freedom.”

I marched for Paul Robeson, Emmett, Rosa and the domestic workers in Montgomery who walked to their jobs on aching feet rather than ride segregated buses; for Medgar Evers, the WWII veteran killed after applying for entrance to university in his home state of Mississippi; for my mom who could not make the walk; and for the unborn child I carried.

Book Text in Progress

WHILE I was 28

Martin Luther King was shot to death in Memphis, Tennessee.

I felt angry, helpless, devastated!

Riots broke out in over 100 cities.

Police barricades surrounded my neighborhood.

Book Text in Progress:

My Wall

1968

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Summer has ended, the garden is not a pretty picture but birds love the sunflower seeds and bees love the holy basil (tulsi) plants, which we dry out for tea. By now though, most of the birds that I listen to during spring and summer mornings have headed south. I will miss their calls and conversations.

One of my favorite things is eating sweet little cherry tomatoes while pulling up nearby weeds. So sorry it’s the end of the season for them too. From now until next summer I will be settling for “the memory of tomatoes” while buying them from the grocer. However, we froze about 30 quarts of tomatoes from our crop of Amish Paste and Homestead tomatoes to use for sauces and soups. Plus we’ll use Ellen’s recipe to make marinara sauce from those now ripening in the kitchen window.

A new experience-Yellow Dog Vomit Fungus, marching around the yard. Really yucky.

This summer was especially good for marigolds, black-eyed susans, zinnias, roses carrots, and tomatoes. They were beautiful. The doves ate all the spinach seed sprouts.

During the spring, we realized that we lost our fig tree, Eleanor, to the harshness of the winter. She’s coming back beautifully after being cut down to the ground. I really miss her figs – not being able to go to the yard and pick some for breakfast or share them with friends. “Fresh” figs from the store don’t taste the same. Since I’ve eaten the sweet purple brown figs from Eleanor, I know the “real deal” and have not been able to bring myself to settle for less. Now walnuts, acorns, and chestnuts are falling on the roof and all over the ground in numbers that we haven’t seen since being here. “The locals” tell me it means to expect another harsh winter. Will prepare protection for Eleanor this time.

This past weekend, I put in seedlings for red leaf lettuce, arugula, kale and collard greens along with maroon mums and purple pansies. A first for me was getting them in the ground on the same day I brought them home from the nursery – in the past, weeks have gone by.

Time to take the hummingbird feeder down.

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Recently, my neighbor decided to go to France and begin a walk along the ancient pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. He is enjoying the simplicity of getting up each morning, putting on his shoes, and putting one foot in front of the other. When he was preparing to leave, I offered to light a candle and recite the short form of the Medicine Buddha mantra one hundred and eight times daily, for each day that he is on his journey. Are we lunatics for thinking healing energy will make a difference? I ask myself, what does reciting the Medicine Buddha mantra have to do with anything? Can it really help?

When I get up in the morning, after writing, I go for a walk in my neighborhood. Afterwards, I work in the garden. In the evenings, I go over to the Biltmore Estate and walk on the grounds with Kim. This simple act of walking and connecting with nature has become a different approach to finding my voice – different from the one I’ve had in the past.

I have to laugh when I say this. After reaching adulthood over 50 years ago, I have enjoyed living in cities. Except for going to the beach, dipping my feet in the surf, and sitting under an umbrella, I have not been the “outdoor, love-to-be-in-nature” type of person. I did love to walk in New York City, but “pounding the pavement” was quite different than walking in this West Asheville neighborhood or over at the Biltmore. For a long time after I moved here, I would say, “There’s nothing to see, there’s nothing happening!”

My relationship with the outdoors was “stay out of the poison ivy.” It’s beautiful looking through the car window! Oh no, not another bug! Is that a snake?

I never paid much attention to it, but walking had become a way of knowing what is in the air, of what is happening around me even if I can’t see it. The same was true for me in New York during the periods when I studied karate. The energy of the mountains, however, is quite different. The trees at the Biltmore, old and plentiful, make the air feel fresh. Despite the crush of tourists visiting in the summer, out on the paths and trails, it is quiet, peaceful, and tranquil – opposite the excitement I craved as a younger person.

Now I ask, is the river high? Do you think this fog will last? What does the surface of the lagoon tell me about the wind? What was planted in that field this time? Can we spot our wild friends – the deer, the turkeys, the geese, the black bears, who unlike the fenced-in horses, sheep, cattle, chickens, and goats – are never in the same place.

Summer is coming to an end, crickets in the morning, cicadas at night. Different shades of green now show patches of yellow, of red. People go down the river on tubes, in kayaks or canoes. Some ride horses on the trails. Some walk their dogs. Others walk or jog or ride bikes. People talk to each other, say hello, ask how I am and wait for an answer.

No vehicles beyond this point, just walking.

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What grabbed my attention was the play of the light on the trees, the feeling of closeness to the mountains, and the movement of the clouds. At one moment they would cover the peaks, at another they’d be nestled in the valleys. It was awesome!
From time to time, I stepped outside to snap a couple of pictures as the light and tone of the mountains changed. The rains came. At one point, as I stood there with my camera aimed, a mountain cyclist, came out of the door and waited until I got the shot. With a tone of love, excitement and pride in his voice, he said, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He sounded like the mountain peaks that we gazed on were the love of his life.

Mountain biking in Western North Carolina is not something that I am interested in, but I have friends who love it. In that moment, however, I connected to his passion and love for these mountains.

When I first considered moving to Asheville– I had little idea of the environment that I was coming into. I had never thought that I would have a relationship with mountains. It all seemed foreign to me. Here I was!

The words of one of my east coast photographer friends come to mind, “Now I know why they are called the Great Smoky Mountains.”

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John Horn, a Master Printer, ran his own print shop for over 50 years. I wanted to know how he handled type and the presses, and how his creative process worked. His poster, “Souls Dwell in Printer’s Type,” speaks to this relationship.

Treating the workshop like a residency, I began a new project which I plan to continue.  Like most of my work, discovering the concept was not a linear process.  It involved writing everyday, looking through my journals and through my photographs I had taken. I tried to connect the writing to past projects but, in the end I began a piece about my Mother.

After finding a direction, I began setting and proofing type, drawing and transferring images to linoleum. I must have looked totally lost when I began setting up the bed of the press because John came over and got me started. Thank goodness he did because I would still be there staring at a blank press bed.

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