Margaret Mead Visits

Selected Stories from A Second Wind: Art Resurrected

Jean Houston Brings Margaret Mead to See Jerry’s art

The first person to call after I destroyed my art was Dr. Jean Houston. I am not sure who told her what I had done, because so few people knew about it at that point. It may have been Deborah Koff-Chapin. Jean’s husband, Dr. Robert Masters, had taken an interest in my art previously. He invited me to the mysterious experimental laboratory he set up in the unusual Henry Varnum Poor house that they rented from actor Burgess Meredith. Robert was interested in having me work with him on the mind research and LSD experiments he was doing at the time.

Jean knew I had been fasting prior to destroying the art, and I believe she was genuinely concerned about my state of mind. However, I found with the urgency in her voice and the questions she asked that she thought I had “gone off the deep end.” She hoped the UN painting, “One,” had survived. It too was gone.

Prior to destroying my art, Jean brought her mentor, Margaret Mead, to my studio. Dr. Mead was excited by what I was doing and asked if she might bring a visiting museum curator from Copenhagen the following week, with the hope he might show my paintings at his museum. However, when the curator saw my art, he compared my paintings to the works of the “Monster Painters” of Chicago – artists like Leon Golub, June Leaf, and Seymour Rosofsky.

Dr. Mead wasn’t happy with his critical assessment of my work. As they were leaving, she turned to me, in defiance of his curatorial assessment of my art, and exclaimed loudly, “It is good to see there is a true religious artist emerging in the world!” I didn’t think of myself as a “religious artist” however, her assessment of my path proved more true than I even imagined.

Page 50 - “A Second Wind: Art Resurrected” by Jerry Wennstrom

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THE SACRED MARRIAGE

I found a large 4 X 8-foot cedar sign at the recycle center here on Whidbey Island. Deeply carved in the face of the sign were the words, "Animal Clinic." With the sign lying face down I drew three six-foot figures, arranging them in the most efficient way to get the most use out of the large slab of cedar. I had cut out 2 of the figures and was cutting the third when the phone rang.

It was Sharon, my first love from 30 years ago! She had discovered and read my book and saw the Parabola documentary made about my art and life and decided to look me up after all of these years. I was amazed that she called, and we had a lovely conversation.

After I hung up the phone, I finished cutting out the last figure and turned it over. Situated perfectly, the full length of the figure was the word "ANIMA." For anyone who doesn't know the meaning of anima, it is a Jungian term. It represents a man's inner feminine -- something he often projects (particularly with first love) onto a woman.

I had just spoken on the phone with my first projected anima! I created an entire art piece out of this small poetic event, incorporating the ANIMA figure and another of the cedar figures I cut out that day.

The Sacred Marriage has three layers. The anima figure is on the first, outer layer. It is 6 feet tall and opens like a door. This figure is that of a woman with her eyes closed and her focus is inward.

There is a carved snake that faces upwards on the lower part of her body. On the back side of this figure, carved deeply into the wood, is the word ANIMA. You can see the large, carved word when the door/figure is swung open.

 The next layer of the piece is a 6-foot animus figure and it is set deep inside the box. This figure has its eyes open and the snake on the lower part of his body faces downward. The animus figure also has a smaller, carved figure ("Third Body") set into a brass oval in the mid-section of its body. The smaller figure has bones, sculls and other symbolic items hanging from its neck.

 The head of the larger figure is hinged just below the neck and folds down to reveal the third layer of the piece. This layer is a life size painting I call The Union of Opposites. It represents the place where the Anima and Animus come together to form The Sacred Marriage.

Page 120 - “A Second Wind: Art Resurrected” by Jerry Wennstrom

Soho Superficial

There was a time in New York (around 1974) when wealthy investors collected artists as much as they collected art. I met Rubin Gorewitz about the time there was this strange mix of interest in art and artist. It was probably the art collector Trudy Regan or collector/lawyer Arthur Penn who introduced me to Rubin. Although I was young and unknown, my art found its way into their collections.

There appeared to be an abundance of art in circulation at that time, for those who could afford it. Arthur boasted an amazing collection of his own, some of which he received as payment for legal work he had done for the artists. He owned an enormous Alvin Loving painting hanging in his beautiful upper East Side brownstone office where he had also arranged an art show for me.

Arthur once handed me a crumpled paper bag containing three small flower paintings by Andy Warhol and asked if I could mount them on stretchers for him. Once rooting around in the basement of his building, looking for something, I saw what looked like rolled up artwork on the floor. I picked it up, unrolled it and saw an original Peter Max drawing. When I showed it to Arthur and asked about it, he said, “Oh… it’s a Peter Max, I don’t know where that came from.”

It was around this time that famed fashion photographer Bill King photographed Rubin, an artist-rights accountant, and it was featured in 1974’s November issue of Esquire. In the picture, Rubin was surrounded by the most famous artists of the day: Wolf Kahn, Marisol, Jackie Winsor, Nancy Graves, Jo Baer, Emily Mason, Cy Twombly, John Chamberlain, John Clem Clarke, Michael Balog, Robert Rauschenberg, Robert Petersen, Robert Indiana, Malcolm Morley, Claes Oldenburg, Richard Serra, Larry Rivers, Joseph Kosuth, James Rosenquist, and Andy Warhol.

The highlight for me as a young artist was meeting Robert Rauchenberg at a party Rubin held at his New York suburban home. Rubin was given a signed print of a painting (with a paper bag glued to it!) by Rauchenberg that he was extremely excited about. When he showed it to me, I did not quite see its significance, as many artists were mass-producing and signing works like this, presumably to sell. It was a strange time on the art scene where artists held the celebrity status of rock stars. Those in Soho’s elite circle could not produce art fast enough to meet the demands of an insatiable public, and they mass-produced signed prints to fill that need.

Often at the peak of any movement the band-wagon effect kicks in, and there is a rush to come on-board while the light is shining its brightest. Perhaps this is done with a deeper knowing that it can go only downhill from there. This was also the beginning of the end of Soho, as substance was getting thin as the untalented masses moved in to be part of the action. I was young, naive, and just a little too self-important; and the portrait I painted of Rubin may have been (perhaps unfairly) the result of what I was seeing and feeling was happening in the art world and to me personally.

Another piece of the story, influencing my trajectory from this time, was working with famed artist Sari Dienes who lived in the prestigious Gate Hill Community known locally as “The Land.” Sari was up in age, and I helped her organize the materials and creative projects she had done and gathered throughout her life. Her house and yard were full of everything, and there was hardly room to move. She had a second level of storage space built, cutting her unusual cinderblock house in half to allow for even more storage.

I loved and respected Sari very much – and was certainly impressed and envious of her accomplishments as an artist – but the sheer volume of stuff collected in one lifetime left me with mixed feelings. Spending nights at her house while organizing things gave me a real sense of what it might be like for me to keep going in the direction I was going. I longed for simplicity. It was a simplicity I did not know or have in my life. I was lost in my idea of myself as an artist and did not know it. Shortly after this period, spending time in the above-mentioned New York art scene, I began feeling personally paralyzed by equal amounts of attraction and repulsion to all I saw.

Artist Deborah Koff-Chapin and I had just gotten together. Deborah held the valuable lease of a Soho loft, where she lived and worked for several years when Soho was at its peak. When deciding where we would live and work, we decided to sell the lease and move to the humbler and more grounded Nyack loft instead. As a result of the illusion that I believed art had become, collectively and personally, I became fiercely determined to face my own illusions in whatever way necessary. Some part of the art scene felt like a big lie to me. Painting day and night, trying to stay true to the false god that art had become, made me feel like the biggest liar of all.

The one thing I knew for sure was that I needed to call this false god’s bluff and find grounding in the deeper spirit of the larger creative journey. I needed to dive into the depths of my own being and find out What Is, separate from the glittering illusions of art and the art market.

Artist, Deborah Koff-Chapin and I had been together for several inspiring years, and our paths had begun to change. Deborah had gone through her own radical shift and seemed to know what she wanted, and I did not. After months of withdrawal and soul searching, I felt that the most alive and creative thing I could do as an artist would be to let it all go and stand terrifyingly alone in the creation of my own Being. This is what I did in 1979 by destroying all my paintings and giving away everything I owned. In the clarity and light of retrospect, 42 years down the road, it remains the most inspired act of my life – as an artist and a human being.

Page 48 - “A Second Wind: Art Resurrected” by Jerry Wennstrom

WHEN ART HEALS

Lindsey was a 22-year-old, suffering from anorexia. Her parents called one day and asked if I might try to help her. After doing everything they could think of, they were at the end of their rope. They had taken Lindsey to several doctors, and all had failed to help her. They then convinced her to go into a treatment center, which was also

A year earlier, she told me how she had been sexually abused as a child by a neighbor, so I knew something of her personal history. I wanted to help; however, not knowing anything about anorexia, I felt a little out of my element.

My intuitive understanding of anorexia is that the conscious allure of mystery and emptiness is lived-out, literally, as the slow and unconscious elimination of the body. In other words, our natural inclination to trust the renewal we know exists in surrender (metaphoric death) becomes an unconscious collusion with one’s physical demise (literal death).

After seeing the hopefulness in her mother’s eyes – and hearing about the suffering Lindsey had endured in recent months – my feelings of compassion over-rode the initial hesitation I felt because of my limited experience with eating disorders.

I knew only that I needed to trust whatever it was her parents trusted in bringing her to me in the first place. Determined to help, I suggested to her mother that she bring Lindsey to see me.

The next day, Lindsey and her mother arrived on schedule. Her mother nervously dropped Lindsey off. She thanked me and quickly drove away. Lindsey was cheerful enough on her arrival – at least on the surface. After a cup of tea and a little conversation, the bottomless pit of her sadness slowly began to emerge.

Lindsey looked very unhealthy – thin, gaunt, dark circles under her eyes. When sharing some of the more intense details of her struggle, she would occasionally switch back into a more cheerful voice and counter what she had said about the pain of her experience.

At one point she countered a detail about the use of laxatives with, “I am really not that bad – I only got six boxes this week – I mean there was a girl in rehab who would buy twenty at a time – you should have seen her!”

Quietly and prayerfully I went inward and asked to be given what I needed to help this sad, young woman.

Making Lindsey’s Mask

“Let’s make a mask!” I suggested. She looked at me quizzically and hesitantly said, “Okay.” I had made masks with individuals and groups before, using a simple procedure where plaster bandage was used to mold the general shape of the face. I happened to have a box of the plaster bandage on hand that a friend had sent me just a week before.

Once we were prepared and ready to begin, I asked Lindsey to lie down on a blanket. We covered her face with Vaseline (to keep the plaster bandage from sticking) and then covered her face with the warm, dampened plaster bandage. After giving the plaster a few minutes to harden, I removed the mask from her face, and we were ready for the next step in the process.

I had plenty of art supplies in my studio, so we set off to paint and decorate the mask. I was still feeling somewhat inadequate in terms of the deeper issue of Lindsey’s anorexia; however she seemed absorbed in the process of making the mask, and I trusted where our creative exploration might take us. Lindsey seemed to get quite involved painting and decorating the mask.

She was pleased with the final result. Having no intuitive insight as to the meaning of her creation in relation to her current issue, I suggested we take a break. Mask in hand, Lindsey followed me upstairs for a cup of tea. As we sat with the mask in front of us, I asked a few questions about her experience of making the mask. I discovered that Lindsey was not someone who was particularly articulate in expressing her feelings; she seemed disinterested in pursuing the deeper or symbolic meaning of her life experiences.

When Lindsey was younger, Marilyn and I had taken her to see a movie we thought she might be interested in. On our drive home after the film, Marilyn and I naturally (natural to us) discussed what we felt the deeper meaning of the film might have been. Eventually I turned to Lindsey and asked what she thought about the film.

To my surprise she looked puzzled and said, “I don’t know – do you always think so much about movies?” I said, “Yes, we usually do – don’t you?” She said, “No, I just watch them.”

The Decisive Touch

As Lindsey and I sat drinking our tea, I didn’t have a clue how making a mask might help her current situation. My confused state of unknowing and a deep desire to help this troubled young woman became a silent, passionate prayer for guidance. At that moment, my deep feelings of concern for her, and the silence we inhabited together created a particular kind of intimacy between us. I felt she trusted me completely; and all of my compassionate attention, at that moment, was focused on concern for her.

Perhaps the space we inhabited together was what the Bible assures is available to all of us, “Where two or more are gathered in my name, there will I (God) be also.” As we sat in our long and diffuse silence with our hands resting closely on the table, I noticed a bit of paint on her hand.

With one finger I reached over to rub the paint off. At once, Lindsey snapped to attention, looked at me wide-eyed, and appeared to go into a completely altered state! As I watched, some part of her seemed to disappear right before my eyes.

Sensing what was going on for her, I picked up the mask, held it in front of her and said, “You look just like your mask.” Seizing the moment, I quickly followed with, “You just left your body, didn’t you? “Perhaps that is why you don’t feed and take care of your body; because of the sexual abuse, you learned to leave your body when you feel violated, and somewhere along the way you made the choice not to value or inhabit your body at all.

When I touched your hand in that quiet moment, you thought I was coming on to you – and you left your body – just as I am sure you did when you were a little girl being sexually abused. That was your way of surviving. When you are afraid or feel betrayed, you leave your body behind and go somewhere safe within yourself.”

I continued relentlessly, suggesting she love and care for her body and never betray it the way others may have done. I told her she must never again abandon or abuse her body by systematically starving it to death. In my insistence I even gave her “homework!” As a counter-measure to the self-abuse, I suggested she occasionally produce beautiful, candlelight dinners for herself and consciously care for and feed her body – to see it as a most precious gift.

Finally, I said, “If ever you feel someone is violating your body, value yourself enough to confront them. You might have more consciously told me to ‘fuck-off,’ if you thought your trust in me was being betrayed! Perhaps, rather than leaving your body, you might have more fully inhabited it like a warrior.”

I went on to tell her something Ramakrishna said: “When you are looking to buy a cow, you first slap it on the ass, and the cow that turns around and is ready to kill you – that’s the good cow.” She looked up knowingly and laughed.

I can’t remember all I said that day, but Lindsey seemed to take in every word. After I had said all that I felt came through for me to say, we sat in a long electric silence.

At about the time we expected her mother to arrive, we heard her mother’s car roll down the driveway. Out of the silence, gratefulness, and urgency of the day’s end, Lindsey finally said, “You are the smartest person I ever met.” It was a simplistic way of interpreting my small part in the magic we both felt happened for us that day.

I must admit, I was left feeling more grateful than “smart” – grateful for the unexpected breakthrough and grateful for the help of unseen hands.

I didn’t see Lindsey again until months later when she sought me out at a large gathering. It was a blessing to see her so plump and happy as she told me how well she was doing. I told her how wonderful she looked in her pretty red dress. She said, “Don’t tell anyone – I got it on sale for ten dollars at Target.” It was a formal occasion, and everyone was well dressed. I said, “Well, you look as beautiful and classy as anyone here.” She beamed a smile and told me she was getting married in a few months.

Page 104 - A Second Wind: Art Resurrected by Jerry Wennstrom