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I was 19 years old when Mr. Oliver Allyn, the Chairman of the Department of Theatre Arts, took me aside and said, “I want to proselytize you to become a theatre major.”
It was 1968, and I was enrolled in the entry-level course, Theatre 145, at Mount Holyoke College (MHC).* I’d been working backstage on a set for the upcoming production and loved all that I was learning: how to correctly wield a hammer, float scenery to the ground, and mix paint to create the illusions that make theatre a magical and enduring experience. I had no idea what ‘proselytize’ meant, but it was the first time an adult I respected and admired took an active interest in my talent and made a request of me. I eventually said yes to his invitation and created a double major of Theatre and Studio Art. Professor James Cavanaugh was hired to teach acting and directing at the start of my senior year. With his additional mentorship, my artistry took off exponentially. He selected Bertolt Brecht’s Caucasian Chalk Circle for his directorial debut at the college. Mr. Cavanaugh appointed me to design the logo (plus program cover and poster) and assigned me the role of property mistress which entailed creating and/or amassing over a hundred props including a bunraku puppet. Oh, and a river.  “You’ll figure it out!” he said confidently. The trust, respect, and authority granted by these two men emboldened me and grounded my future as an artist. It also filled my well emotionally. I graduated in May of 1970 and remained in South Hadley to participate in the newly founded – by Mr. Cavanaugh – Mount Holyoke College Summer Theatre. As of June, he insisted we call him Jim (fewer syllables to get his attention) and we embarked on a rigorous 8-show season. And would I, please, create a logo for this bright and promising operation? At 21 I produced this piece of art, the faces of comedy and tragedy paired with the sun.  Once Jim enthusiastically approved it, he drove me to the printers to establish the layout for reproduction. “What font would you like to use?” the printshop owner inquired. I looked at Jim for his input. He shook his head. “You’re the artist,” he insisted and stepped back from the conversation. “What’s a font?” I asked back. This was 1970. There were an overwhelming number to choose from. Eight. I also learned about point size that day. On-the-job training and empowerment fostered by my professor. This emblem graced every program cover, poster, ad, t-shirt, and assorted memorabilia for several decades. What was intimidating to me in 1970 is joyful today. Afraid I might get it wrong has been replaced with “I can’t wait to try it this way!” Learning the new-to-me craft of Penny Rug pillow-making four years ago, I had to learn what Perle cotton thread is, how felt is made, and how to create color palettes that are visually exciting. Just like I had to figure out what kind of fabric would make a good river. There was something about being recognized in this way that worked miracles for me. Maybe it was being one of four children and having my artistic talent set me apart at an early age. My mother took a painting I made in 4th grade to a frame shop (well before DIY framing existed) and hung it in the upstairs hallway. Elementary school classmates formed a line as they waited for me to draw them a ballerina. As a college freshman, an art color/composition assignment of mine, which was one of many pinned to the wall for a critique, was selected for the cover of the literary magazine. These memories stand out over a lifetime and are the dots that connect my trajectory as an artist. In January I was invited to join a group of MHC Summer Theatre alums planning a reunion visit to see Jim, now 92, and living in Roanoke, VA. One of the organizers got in touch to brainstorm a possible gift for our beloved founder, teacher, and friend. An idea popped immediately into my mind – a gift we artists can dismiss because it feels too easy. I would combine my current passion for felted wool with that original summer sun design painted in gouache over 50 years ago and handcrafted this wall hanging:  …which I had the honor and joy of presenting to Jim (wearing a summer sun logo button on his shirt pocket) on the first night of our reunion. Eighteen of us traveled from as far away as California to express our love and appreciation for this man who taught (me, for sure) us what love and appreciation can look and feel like. As the saying goes, he taught us to fish. That gift is invaluable and lasts a lifetime.    It was quickly given space on a wall of his spacious home alongside other memorabilia and art from our work at MHC.
Looking back at those creations I am filled with pride, gratitude and love. I never thought my work was that good when I made it. I relied on feedback from others and often doubted their praise. “They’re just saying that because that’s what teachers do,” I made up. If you’ve read Barbra Streisand’s extraordinary memoir, you will see that I, too, suffered from the not-good-enough syndrome that critical mothers often engender. Today I look at these pieces and think, damn good! Who and what sets us off on our path to becoming who we become? It’s a privilege to reflect back over five decades and appreciate exactly who impacted me the most and how I blossomed under that care and guidance. Since meeting Jim in 1969, he has been a steady supporter, teacher, and most recently patron (he purchased three pieces last year – one for each of his children and one for himself), of me and my creativity. Who comes to your mind when I ask, Who cares? I would love to hear! Wealth may be correlated to bank balances and material symbols, but when my riches are measured, the love and support Jim Cavanaugh bestowed on me is incalculable. * I was in that class with Wendy Wasserstein who became a Pulitzer Prize winning playwright. |
Today I care.
This popped up on my LinkedIn. Wonderful story. Not many of us have such mentors who we’ve been able to stay in touch with. You are truly blessed.
It’s been nearly 35 years since we met in Westport. Back then it was eggs. We still have some of them.
Our lives have massively changed in the last few years but we’re still together.
I wish you continued success.
Denis
Thank you, Denis. I really was lucky, especially since my parents supported me, but also criticized me severely. Jim was always constructive and caring.
Wow! 35 years!! Yes, I was in my heyday of making eggs back then.
I’d be interested to hear how your lives have changed. I remember your child’s wedding (in Ohio?). I roomed with Fran and Marlene at a nearby hotel, if I recall correctly. Those were good time. xoJane