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MIM GREEN
aka Miriam
Dimondstein
1920-2007
Artist,
Writer, Puppeteer
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edited by Phillis Gershator
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Mimi, as I
called her, when I wasn’t calling her Mom, was born to Russian
immigrant parents in 1920. Her mother, Fanya, was a skilled seamstress,
her father a less than skilled carpenter (though he later established a
successful lumber business). The marriage failed, and Fanya, with
her daughters Miriam and Frieda, moved to the Lower
East Side.
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From left: Fanya,
Frieda, Mimi.
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Leaving sweatshops
and piece work behind, Fanya
worked at home, in her apartment on Second Ave., as a private
dressmaker. She also
shared the apartment with boarders to pay the rent. One of them, a
shoemaker with two daughters, was to become her lifelong partner.
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“Fanya the
Pinsticker,” 1947. Serigraph.
Mimi’s memory of Fanya sewing for a particularly obnoxious client.
This
print appeared in an juried exhibition at the LA County Museum in
1948.
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Mimi first studied art at Washington Irving
High School in NYC, where she hoped to enter the “lucrative” field of
fashion art. It's possible these samples helped fill out her
portfolio when she went job hunting:
In the late Thirties and early
Forties, Mimi took classes in drawing, printmaking, and painting at the
Art Students League and at the American Artists School, studying with
Nahum Tschacbasov, Anton Refregier, and Anthony Velonis. She worked as
an artists model to pay her school fees.
In 2006, when I asked her about her modeling experiences, she sent me
this email:
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The Arts Students
League’s pay at 50 cents
was the lowest rate
allowed by my union, Local 60 of
the United
Professional and Office Workers, C.I.O. I
got a dollar an hour
posing in a studio rented by
three French
sculptors and also from Willian Zorach,
who only copied my
feet, so I asked him why I had to
get naked. He
laughed and said a nude model made him
feel like he was
young, a student and back in art
school.
Several evening
sketch groups in private homes paid 75
cents an hour and
The American Artists’ School gave me
a dollar an hour
credit towards my tuition. What I
learned from Anthony
Velonis, Anton Refregier and
William Gropper was
worth a lot more than that!
An amusing,
touching, autobiographical
short story she wrote in 1957 reflects on her experience:
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Mimi
clipped this photo
for
modesty's sake.
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THE
DISARMED VENUS
Time: July, 1936.
Subject: Me, girl graduate, one of the two hundred odd High School art
Course diploma holders who had spent the last three years singing,
along with some eleven thousand other inmates, “Good morning, Mr.
Za-brisk-eee, a Washington Irving Goil am I, oy, oy, oy!”
Ah! My alma mater. That venerable, cherished, noble, all female
institution was situated catercorner to the somewhat less venerable
Irving Burlesque, wherein whose hallowed halls Miss Gypsy Rose Lee
daily exhibited her talents. But every day as I passed to and from the
stripper’s theater, I suffered enough shame and dishonor to compensate
all womankind for the transgressions of the misled Miss Lee.
Forty blocks further uptown stood another venerable structure, The
American Artists League, far from the social realities of the Lower
East Side, but also stacked with great traditions, and impregnated with
the odors of varnish, linseed oil, turpentine, and thickly coated with
the dust of high grade French pastels.
There was I, unleashed in June upon one of the leading cultural
production centers of the world, armed with a loaded portfolio and
imbued with a strong desire to delve into the deeper mysteries of Fine
Art. (At least until job hunting time in Sepember.)
The problem? Money for tuition, lack of.
Solution? I filed a request for a work scholarship, and then sweated
out the days before the summer session. When the interview was granted,
there was only a cursory glance at my carefully chosen samples. The
questioners were seeking information about my physical properties, and
I suffered some prolonged, pertinent inspection of my person. But--the
board awarded me a scholarship!
Floating on an airship of Da Vinci design, I came to the conclusion
that talent, ability, and sincerity win out over poverty every time.
Alas, the three virtues had nothing to do with it. As the registrar
gave me a slip explaining the nature of my scholarship, I fell from
space with a flop. My simple duties, in exchange for the best available
afternoon art course: ”Pose in the nude, Rofarge figure sketching
class, 9 to 12 A.M. Room 3A.”
There was a serious professional model shortage in the metropolitan
area every July and August. Most artist’s models, Local 60, United
Ofice and Professional Workers of America, C.I.O., had the sense and
resources to escape New York City’s heat and humidity. Since employment
was available elsewhere, off they would go to gainfully disrobe in the
pleasant little summer art colonies of Woodstock and the New England
Coast, leaving New York City without figure models, except for
unsophisticated novices like me.
My first disrobement, before fifteen friends, strangers, and fellow
students, mostly fellows, was a troubled, trembled, never to be
forgotten time of affliction. I blushed, perspired, swallowed, searched
frantically for my hands and feet and a place to put them, when relief
of a temporary sort came with the idea that a Martha Graham type pose
would have such abstract interest, it would surely negate the terribly
naked reality. So I struck it.
The students were very kind. Embarrassed for me. Quiet. They watched me
twist into a grotesque swastika that even Hercules couldn’t have held
for twenty, let alone ten, minutes.
Another scholarship student and friend, Dave, the class monitor, looked
at his watch and lost his voice. A few energetic enthusiasts rustled
their newsprint to a clean page and started fast, convinced I couldn’t
possibly last five minutes. The serious anatomists worried the charcoal
between indecisive fingers when Monsieur Rofrage walked in, stared at
me, and loudly challenged, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR BODY?” Dave
whispered that since this was a first pose, and indeed my first
time as a model, he had not interfered with my choice.
“NONSENSE.” But after considering a moment, Monsieur softened, and the
French lilt of his voice dissolved the heavy air. “Break the pose and
rest! Attention, class. We’ll work for line, pure pen and pencil line.
No charcoal, chalk or shading. Ten minute poses, simple standing poses
for contour and quiet movement, and PLEASE, design the PAGE.”
He came to the model stand and spoke quietly. “Relax your poses. We
want to enjoy the natural grace of the human female form. We may take
on the muscles later, and their varied manipulations, but for now, be
Venus on the the half shell, or any of the Three Graces, just, perhaps,
standing with weight so, lightly, on one leg.” And he assumed a stance.
I broke into giggles, tension released, like a brook suddenly free of
stones. He looked so funny posing on the half shell, and he spoke so
sweetly, and he was, after all, the dearest, finest, best of all
possible artists, teachers, friends. I would cheerfully die for him,
contort myself into knots, half Nelsons, and double hitches, and all he
asked was an easy pose which my restless, miserable, nervous body could
surely hold for FORTY-FIVE minutes, French model style.
Within ten minutes, sweat was trickling down between my arms and sides,
and I WAS dying. My neck was sore, the muscles aching, the nose
itching, the right ear twitching, and one leg about to give way along
with my whole crumbling future. When Oh! Blessed King David signaled
and called out the magic word that releases fair maidens from stone
statue witchery. There is no more beautiful word in the English
language, none with a more poetic, ringing sound, nor half the potency
and meaning. “CHANGE!”
So it went for three long hours, with five minutes off every
twenty-five, and a fast fifteen minute break somewhere in between the
time that didn’t move. But in that agonizing three hours there was a
quiet growing. I think I caught a glimpse of what the Yogi knows, a
satisfaction in the disciplined control of mind and body. A model has
the further satisfaction of knowing how to look at those who look so
piercingly at her, searching, trying to learn from her. It was a good
relationship, and there was nothing immoral about it. How foolish to
have harbored shame! After all, what is a body? A source of education,
certainly, and a source of life. This was a LIFE CLASS. A class in
LIFE.
Dave called the final “REST.” Oh, the sweet deliverance! I donned
street clothes in the undressing room, bounced down three steps at a
time, and strode through Central Park, a free and mobile soul. Having
stretched, run, and breathed deeply, I stopped to sketch a solitary
tree, marveling at the growth pattern of trunk into limbs into
branches, then rejoiced--because the model wasn’t me!
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Mimi joined
the Youth Workshop in the Thirties and traveled with a group of
talented folk in 1939, puppeteering in Wisconsin and Michigan. She told
me about living on Jane Street in the West Village in those pre-war
days, and running a soup kitchen to help pay the rent. Curator Judith
E. Stein describes the times in an article about the artist Jacob
Landau:
In the late thirties and early forties, New York was a crossroads of
leftist culture, bringing together artists who were passionate about
the labor movement and politics in general. Landau was one of the
founders of the Youth Workshop in 1939, which counted as members
puppeteers, musicians, actors, and such graphic artists as Leonard
Baskin and Antonio Frasconi. They were united by the common goal of
bringing art to the "people." Ever short of funds, the Workshop would
host monthly "rent parties," where such talented young people as Zero
Mostel, Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Will Geer, Canada Lee, and
Leadbelly would offer entertainment.”
Zuni Maud and Yosl Cutler’s “incomparable puppets” also influenced
Mimi, with their performances on the Lower East Side and in North
Branch
at a summer place called "Maud’s Summer-Ray."
When I mentioned coming across the familiar names Maud, Cutler, and
Maud's Summer-Ray in a magazine, she
wrote back: |
Dear
Phillis,
You stirred a bunch of memories. Zuni Maud and Yosl Cutler painted
murals in the main and children’s dining rooms that are still vivid in
my imagination. I got to study them breakfast, lunch and dinner. They
were clever, vibrant, satirical, joyous, irreverent and rich in
symbolism. …Until now I didn’t realize how much I was influenced by
their work. Those two guys were multi-talented geniuses in puppetry and
artwork. They wrote plays, poetry, songs and comedy... They put
together costumes. They did opera spoofs way before Sid Caesar’s
T.V. Show of Shows.
The Modicuts [puppets of the Modicut Puppet Theater] included a variety
of puppets and marionettes that
entertained us on summer evenings with hilarious skits and dances. Zuni
Maud taught me to play chess when I was about eight.
[Note from Phillis--he must have been a good teacher because
Mimi was a formidable chess player. Certain men didn’t like playing
chess with her because they couldn’t handle losing to a women!] |
Puppetry became a
passion Mimi returned to when she wrote scripts for the Lou Bunin
Puppets and, many years later, when she used puppetry in Ringwood, NJ,
as a teaching and therapeutic tool.
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Ballerina sock
puppet
or, in a pinch, a Princess.
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Madame Cacciatore
(Chicken of the Opera)
and various other hen-ish
characters.
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Ghostly spirit
manipulated
with sock and strings.
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“Shy persons,”
she wrote in the 1980’s, “can freely express themselves with puppets,
and puppets can delight even a depressed or hostile audience. At the
Passaic County Adult Day Care Center, an embittered gentleman in a
wheelchair refused to participate in afterlunch activities in the craft
room. Fairy Grandmother Pippette fluttered toward him on mesh onion bag
wings guided by an almost invisible discarded guitar string. Claiming
an ability to grant even unexpressed desires, she offered him three
wishes. He looked up but wouldn’t talk to the puppet, so she scolded:
'Shame on you! Why don’t you give me a chance to prove my worth? Take
your time and think hard about what you really want, but don’t be
impulsive. Remember, whatever you wish can come true. Are you ready to
wish? Do you know for sure what you absolutely, really want? OOOPS, too
late! I have to catch my bus. Goodbye!' Flutter, flutter. With a
sideways look, the elderly gent made a half-hearted gesture of
dismissal. 'Get away from here. You make me laugh!'"
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Chopstick bird
puppets
made of REAL, if scraggly,
feathers, thread-spool thighs,
and various other trash treasures.
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Evil Prime Minister
Haman,
from Mimi's retelling of the Purim
story, which included a bevy of
bead bedecked belly dancers.
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In the Forties, Mimi
received a lithography scholarship from Lawrence Barrett at the Fine
Arts Center in Colorado Springs. Later, in California, she worked with
printmaker Lynton Kistler.
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"Scorched earth,"
1943. Lithograph.
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"Sedition," 1947.
Lithograph.
Selected for Library of Congress
National Print Exhibition, 1949.
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In 1942, Mimi
married Morton Dimondstein, fellow artists and activist. She followed
him to Colorado Springs during the war, and to Camp Adair in Oregon
before he was shipped overseas with the 104th Infantry Division. One
art project they collaborated on was a mural for an artillery division
officers’ club in Colorado. It no longer exists, but here's the
design sketch:
Mimi also painted a mural for the USO Kosher Kitchen in Colorado
Springs and murals for the non-com and officer clubs at Camp Adair. I
found one of her sketches for "Three Day Pass," part of a narrative
sequence, which included a brief, less than three day, romance:
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Mimi moved to Los
Angeles to work. She described her job to Suburban Trends, a NJ newspaper
(June 8, 1986): “During the war I worked on airplane recognition films
for the army. We created animated films that showed plane silhouettes
so the artillery would be able to tell whose planes were passing
overhead, so they wouldn’t shoot down our planes....”
She also created war related murals at various sites. “The murals I did
for a school in LA were destroyed,” she wrote in an email in 2006. “The
panels I recall are an African American woman as Liberty leading the
multi-national people and another of an integrated group of men and
women architects and engineers designing the reconstruction of the
world.
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"William Gropper
came to L.A.,
saw me at work and
remembered
me as a
student in the American
Artists’School. He
approved and
beamed
paternally.
"A year later, during the post war
era,
the school
was
converted to an air
force academy and
the walls were
repainted."
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This
lithograph for D-Day, "June 6, 1944" (above), reveals Gropper's
influence on Mimi's work.
So
does the sketch to the right. Warmongers and profiteering types
populate many of her cartoons
and political paintings.
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After the war, Mimi, Morton, and Manny Singer opened a frame shop and
gallery in LA where they sold affordable, original serigraphs
(silkscreen prints). Mimi also worked in advertising and created
greeting cards, in addition to designing and executing post-war public
and private murals.
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"Blues," 1947. Silkscreen print.
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"Hootenany," 1947. Silkscreen print.
Pete Seeger, Brownie McGee, and guitarist.
(If you know her name, let Phillis know too!)
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"I was a member of the screen cartoonists guild for ten years" in the
Forties and early Fifties, Mimi told the Suburban Trends, a NJ newspaper. “In Hollywood, at
the guild, we were trying to get away from violence and sex and get
more into education....” To that end, she apprenticed with
Graphic Films, did
free lance for TV Spots and Fine Arts Products, and assisted Ed Levitt
on limited animation, a technique he used in the first Charlie
Brown/Peanuts TV productions.
Mimi
wrote several autobiographical poems/ballads.
This one, written in 1979, addresses the job situation for woman pre
and post-war:
JOB MARKET
Time
was 1936. Place, a city like New York.
Player
is an art school grad looking everywhere for work.
Every
art school student reaches for the perfect job to be.
And the
teacher tells us each is rich in opportunity.
Then we
go out to the market and the bubble disappears
with
the voice of art directors ringing loudly in our ears:
“Art is
not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She can
sew and wash the dishes
or
perpetuate the species.”
I made
lists of every kind of art work possibility
from
the yellow pages of the telephone directory,
wrote
my hopeful letters to a hundred companies,
clipped
the want-ads and applied to advertising agencies.
“Art is
not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She can
sew and wash the dishes
or
perpetuate the species.”
I
pinned my hair into a bun to up my age and dignity.
I
walked to interviews (a nickle meant a lot to me!).
I
applied, was registered with every placement agency,
displayed
my folio to people who said they’d find some work for me.
Tried
display and greeting card, towel design and children’s toys.
Personnel
was firm and hard: “We only hire boys.
Art is
not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She can
sew and wash the dishes
or
perpetuate the species.”
So I
wrote to Mr. Disney, “California, here I come!”
And he
answered with a letter, “East coast woman, stay at home.
Men are
trained for animation, background art and in-between.
Girls
work here to ink the cells before they go onto the screen.
Art is
not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She can
sew and wash the dishes
or
perpetuate the species.”
Then
the country went to war and the men in animation
were
all drafted to make films that would help defend the nation.
Mary
Blair did Disney stories, and Bernice did backgrounds for
Warner
Brothers cartoon features when the men went off to war.
I did
airplane recognition, storyboards and in-between.
Sterling
Sturtevant was art director for the cartoon screen.
Art
became the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She
could even work for money
drawing
sequels to Bugs Bunny!
When we
helped the world defeat the Fascist and the Nazi hordes,
G.I.’s
came back to work and women lost their storyboards.
We
returned to ink and paint or out to hunt for work again
and
apply for better jobs, just to hear the old refrain:
“Art is
not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
She can
sew and wash the dishes
or
perpetuate the species.”
She can
breed a little soldier or another little breeder
and be
glad she can depend upon a working man to feed her.
Now the
men who run the show tell our children what to be,
tell
them, “Off to war you go to protect democracy!”
And
they build their deadly weapons with the taxes that we pay.
Equal
Rights becomes a slogan for a country far away.
“Peace
is not the way to go
for a
woman, don’t you know?
Be a
soldier-bearing mother
and
exterminate each other!”
Men who
make rules own women who will eagerly assist ‘em,
and
they also own the media that sugar coats the system,
but
with songs and art to teach us, we can help expose the leeches
and
together with our brothers we can liberate the species!
The poor job market, divorce and remarriage, three daughters, a move
back to the east
coast, and another divorce and remarriage slowed
but didn’t stop her
creative output. She continued to create artwork in a variety of genres
and styles. She had a special gift for seascapes and animals, and was
inspired to combine both in several metamorphic "sea" horse paintings
(an example on the right):
And she continued to write stories, novels, plays, poetry,
songs. To develop her skills, she took courses in writing for
television with Walter Hartman at Brooklyn College, musical theater
with Aaron Frankel at the New School for Social Research, and
playwriting with Jan Hartman at the Circle-in-the-Square Theater
School. Her song lyrics reflected a love of language and rhyme. At
times she liked to "improve" on classics, revising them or adding her
own verses. Her addition to "Amazing Grace," for example, can be found
in the Folk Process column of Sing
Out magazine, Volume 64, # 4, pages 54/55.
It was a real privilege having such a creative mom, who could make
personalized paper dolls for us, board games like “Fate” and “Big
Game,” and birthday cards listing, in rhyme, our accomplishments.
She influenced, encouraged, and inspired our own creativity, too. When
I
started writing books for children, Mimi became my sounding board--and
often my collaborator. One of the stories we wrote together, a bedtime
book for preschoolers titled Who’s
Awake in Springtime? (Holt, 2010) is
delightfully illustrated by the talented French artist, Emilie Chollat,
and is a children's book-of-the-month club selection for February 2010.
Another young picture book we collaborated on will be published in
2012, titled Time for a Hug!
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Here's
a photo of Mimi as a gypsy at an event in NJ, reading fortunes for a
good
cause no doubt. A corner of the board game "Fate," which she devised,
is visible.
Actually, she found
she was so accurate at palm reading, it gave her the willies, and she
gave up readings forever. It wasn't the palms so much, although a worn
or even smooth hand can reveal a lot, it was the expression in the
eyes, mouth....
A selection of
game
card designs for "Fate":
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Mimi was observant. As a portrait painter she had to be. She was
exceptionally good at the quick and telling sketch. She did five
minute, ten minute, thirty minute
sketches at fairs. Watching artists plying that skill in a NYC park
recently made me think of the hundreds of sketches she gave away and
sold, not to mention all the sketches of
musicians she did when she went to music festivals and concerts, and of
community activists when she went to meetings. She did sketches (for
publication) of attendees at the historic San Francisco conference in
1945, a series in the 1980's of illustrious women such
as Margaret Sanger, and of course, many sketches of family members
throughout the years. Here, from left to right, are sketches of Mimi's
mother
in 1956, a self portrait in 1947, and Mimi's first born in 1942.
She worked most often in pen and ink, watercolor, oil, and acrylic.
When she visited
Italy in 1984,
she returned to
printmaking, building on her earlier success as a young lithograher.
She produced a number of lithos in Florence, which were drawn on
Bavarian limestone and printed by Tamara and Raffaello Becattini
of Edi Grafica Printers.
In a postcard she wrote, “I am on a roll creatively. After years of
somnolence, the stuff is busting out!” She also worked on stone at
another prestigious studio, in Milan, and was very, very excited about
the
piece, but the stone was completely destroyed (on account
of its
political content she suspected), and though she was offered a
replacement stone, she
lost, for a time, her high spirits and momentum.
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“Coup,”
1984. Lithograph which received
first prize in graphics at the Ringwood Manor
Arts Association 19th Annual Exhibition. |
"Three Musicians,"
1984. Lithograph conceived as a
memorial to her late husband, Sol
Green, with whom she
enjoyed countless concerts.
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She also tried her hand at another graphic technique, etching, but the
themes she approached were so painful, one influenced by Kathe Kollwitz
and others by the news of famine in Africa and the coup in Chile, that
she found she was unconsciously grinding her teeth to bits. |
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After that, as she told her oldest granddaughter, she was ready to turn
to
flowers--
cheerful florals in watercolor.
Mimi was enthusiastically involved in so many things! A passionate
gardener who loved to study seed catalogs and plants, especially herbs
and their healthful properties; a great cook who invented her own
recipes, taking Adele Davis to heart early on; an
environmentalist and recycler who served, for example, on the Borough
Conservation Commission in Ringwood, NJ, and chaired the local League
of Women Voters environmental quality commitee; an active demonstrator,
petition signer, check signer, and letter-to-the-editor writer when it
came to social justice and progressive causes; and a teacher, on both
the east and west coast, from teenagerhood on into her 70’s, of art,
puppetry, and dance in schools, summer camps, and senior centers. Yes,
dance, too, on top of everything else! In her youth, Mimi studied dance
for over a dozen years with such teachers as Alyse Bentley, Pauline
Koner, Nadia Chilkosky, and Gertrude Knight.
I still remember the dance classes she conducted in California--we
children were seeds. We sprouted, we grew, our branches reached up to
the sun.... We were also the wind, rain, snow.... I was reminded by an
old
family friend that, in our post-war San Fernando Valley tract house, we
didn’t have much furniture in the living room, but we did have a ballet
bar.
Mimi’s publications include artwork and articles in the NJ magazine
“Talking Wood,” co-authorship of Who’s
Awake in Springtime? (Holt, NY), illustrations for Honi’s Circle of Trees (Jewish
Publications Society, PA), I See
America Dancing (Aries Acres, IA), Between Day and Night (in Yiddish,
Harlick Press, LA), Elegy for Val
and Bang Bang Lulu (both
X-Press Press, NY), and greeting cards for Brownies Blockprints (NY)
and Fraymart Gallery (CA).
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Silkscreen print
greeting cards
from the mid 1940's.
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She exhibited her work under her mother’s abbreviated maiden name,
Login, and her own married names: Dimondstein, Cohen, and Green,
until she finally signed herself, simply, MIM. Her artwork can be found
in private and public collections and has been exhibited in “one man”
and group shows at, among others, the Library of Congress National
Print Show, Brooklyn Museum National Print Show, Raymond and Raymond
Galleries (CA), Fraymart Gallery (CA), Institute of Modern Art (CA),
Ringwood Manor (NJ), Valley Center for the Arts (CA), Ringwood Public
Library (NJ), Oakland Art Show (NJ), First Unitarian Church (CA), LA
County Museum Print Show, Salem USO (OR), Irving Savings and Loan
Association (NJ), New Jersey “Fall Open” Print Division, and Island
Galleries, St. Thomas (USVI).
Mimi was always a great letter writer, sharing news about her garden,
books she’d been reading, current events, meals and recipes. She always
added a few newspaper clippings and cartoons with her letters, and she
freely and frequently dispensed her philosophy of life, in which JOY
played a big part. In 1943, she wrote to her mother: “In only one way
could my love and respect and pride in you be made any
deeper. And more important, this one way would make you healthier,
happier, and give you a greater joy out of a longer life. It is to stop
worrying needlessly.”
“I want you to enjoy life, so please forgo anxiety,” she wrote me forty
four years later. “Do it to make me happier. I know it will be a wrench
to part with worry, but you must give it a shot. Think of all the
positive, creative things you can put into a mind when you put out the
negatives.”
In one missive, she spelled out her wishes for a memorial, which
her daughters attempted to carry out to the letter when the time came
(including a good approximation of the ample and detailed menu she
suggested): “My wishes in the matter of my departure: get together to
tell funny stories about me and to remember all the good times. Eat
well and play my favorite music. Dance. Do NOT make speeches but you
might read a poem or two. Enjoy each other. Sing. Play guitars.”
In
future, we will add more of Mimi's poetry and prose to these pages,
plus examples from her hundreds of cartoons on love, music, dance,
food, law, war.... We welcome input from friends and family, too.
In Mimi’s memory, we are offering selections from her work: good
quality xerographic copies, spraymounted and matted in white (16x20
inches). More
information.
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