By Donna L. Clovis

The powerful will and self-confidence this story reveals is apparent immediately upon meeting Manon Slome, Chief Curator of the Chelsea Art Museum. Tall with dark hair, she gives off an ambiance of determination.

At first, Slome did not want a career in the art world. Her father, an artist, passed away when she was a small child. She decided that she never wanted to get close to something that hurt her so badly like art.
Although she started her education in literature, in which she holds a PhD from Columbia University, she soon became involved in the curatorial aspects of art through the Whitney Independent Study Program, and her family’s artistic heritage emerged anyway. As part of the Curatorial Fellowship, she competed for an exhibition by submitting a proposal called Articulations. Her proposal won, and she curated her first show as part of the Whitney Program.

Slome sits back in her chair, the determined, triumphant note in her voice still echoing in the room. She seems to be catching her breath, for she has been speaking passionately about her experiences and high standards toward the display of art. “It is important for a curator to have an eye about the showing of art,” said Slome, “There is a responsibility to the art, even the wall text must be informative.”

After her fellowship with the Whitney Museum, Slome was hired as curator for the Guggenheim Museum, where she spent seven years curating exhibitions. Slome longed to work in the contemporary art scene and later became the curator for the Chelsea Art Museum, where she has resided for the last five years. With Chelsea Piers across the street from the museum as an international seaport and location for immigration, Slome believed that an international flavor for the museum was very important.

“We don’t produce the same blue chip art,” said Slome.

by Zephora Haddon, as recalled by Salvatore Principe

I was around six or seven when I recognized that my mother was a klutz. It wasn’t that she broke things or dropped things as much as she herself would trip and fall – mostly over seemingly invisible objects. My mother Anita was a classic beauty, always impeccably dressed, yet I recall more than one instance walking with her along Madison, heading to lunch at ‘Eat’ and she would just fall over. Once she even fell out of the passenger side of the car as my father turned the corner; she had inadvertently pulled on the door handle. She lay there in the street unhurt, unembarrassed and unashamed and laughed hysterically with the totality of her tiny frame. This is how she was every time: she would pull herself up, still laughing, and my sisters and I would join in - the bond of love thick between us - and me in wonder at how she wasn’t embarrassed by her public spectacle. As a boy this amazed me, as I knew I would have been mortified. This lesson in resilience with a positive attitude is what has made me the artist I am today.
Deciding to become an artist was exactly that: a decision. It was absolutely the only profession I could think of that fulfilled my two requirements: to bring me enjoyment in decades to come and to be able to be my own boss.
Without ever taking an art class, hell I hadn’t even graduated from high-school, I had little idea of how to begin. Using “the city” as my resource I grabbed up found items, paper mostly, and took great satisfaction in shredding, tearing, painting, and fusing them into shapes that were pleasing to me. In this process I came upon the works of Louise Nevelson, my first hero, who would forever top the list that would later include Rauschenberg, Warhol, Johns, Pollack and de Kooning.

After several months, and my father rightly challenging the soundness of my choice, I had to figure how to do ‘this thing’ that I now loved so much in a way that made me a living. I began by using “the city” as my resource once again, this time as my own gallery. I’d carry pieces of sculpture and later canvas’ through the streets – propping them against trees, the sides of buildings, whatever. I’d make a lot of sales this way, blurting out prices I guessed the client might want to pay. I’d also stand back and watch people viewing my pieces and examine their reactions, feeling out what they gravitated towards. I was quite fortunate in that what I created was mostly well-received, I was never forced to deviate far from what I was drawn to create in order to make a buck.

By Donna L. Clovis

He stands in a small workshop most of the day, painting the souls of faces as masks. Sergio Boldrin, the creator of all masks for the movie, “Eyes Wide Shut,” starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, speaks of his most famous mask masterpieces.

“I love practicing my art in my small shop,” Boldrin said, “This is how I make my masks, one by one with care.” Entering the world of Boldrin is like taking an adventure into the subconscious. We are unable to distinguish the dream from reality. He paints masks that have nothing to do with traditional masks we are used to. His masks are more grotesque, tragic, and desperate. Boldrin projects the emotion that we are unable to express as we struggle to adapt to our stressful society. Perhaps there is the risk we discover when we examine his work. The masks are really us, not just melancholy characters of past memory.

His style has been noted to be expressionistic. One may choose to read his works by watching Boldrin at work in his small shop. The masks seem to move against the backdrop of the bustling city of Venice. A slice of light cuts across his face through the store window as he works.The ceiling bulb sends its full glare upon the characters below. Flashing earth-tones, vivid golds, and yellows are bathed in this magical world. Boldrin becomes a mask along with the stock of characters that strive to maintain the old Venetian art form.