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Monthly Statement:
January 2006
Prologue: January has been a month of phenomenal activity on
the soap sliver front, thus this month’s statement is
long, and I apologize for my delay posting it. I hope you will
find it intriguing to the end and “stay the course.”
I welcome your donation of soap slivers, and consider all donors
as collaborators. Should you wish to contribute to this project,
please email me at jillgreenberg27@hotmail.com
for further info.
Chapter 1: A Tale of 2 Jill Gs
This process of soap sliver accumulation appears to be a cosmic
magnet for bizarre coincidences. As I reported in December,
the Washington Post article on my accumulation project brought
in a flurry of emails that resulted in soap sliver donations
from Washington DC, Maryland, Virginia, and, because several
other papers picked up the article from the Post’s wire
service, it produced donations from as far away as Bar Harbor,
Maine and Canton and Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. Among the responses,
one email, cryptic in tone, stood apart from the rest:
“Hi, I'm not sure if you want my soap, I've been a pretty
dirty person in the past:
Kristen Conway AKA Kristy Peters
p.s. mail me back if your interested. it could make for an interesting
story.”
So I Googled both the primary name and the AKA (both of which
I have changed to protect the writer’s identity), and
I came up with nothing that made sense. The only thing that
made any impression at all was that her primary name was the
same as the name of a character in a popular soap opera. It
would’ve been fitting if this character had had a sordid
past, and the actress who played her wanted to be a celebrity
donor—a “dirty” soap star contributing to
my soap accumulation—great fodder for publicity—but
the problem was that the soap opera character’s real life
name had nothing to do with either of the emailer’s names,
so no match there.
Between the sleazy tone of the message and the AKA, though,
I theorized that she was probably some has-been porn star desperate
enough to grasp at soap slivers to get some media attention.
But the problem with this notion was that any porn star, even
a has-been, would have brought up something on Google. And neither
of the names bore even the slightest hint of a slut-factor.
It just didn’t jive.
I was clueless, but also aware that this could just be a pre-teen
prankster from Betty Bumblefuck Middle School. So I responded
cautiously, saying that although I have a sense of humor, I
take this work seriously, and if she’s got “an interesting
story,” she should just come to the point.
I got this response a few days later:
“Jill,
I'm trying to put together the letter so please don't think
I’m just blowing it off. This is something I have been
waiting to write for twenty years so it need's to be said just
right. I've told a few people about it and they aren't sure
you know who I am. Do you? Well, I hope so. I'll be finished
with the story real soon. Talk to you later.
Peace, Kristen”
And I’m thinking…who the hell is she that I should
know who the hell she is? But there was something in her tone
that felt sincere, so I responded with uncharacteristic patience,
indicating that she should take all the time she needs, while
my mind reels in a perpetual state of obsessive curiosity.
Another two weeks pass. I figure the has-been porn star found
some other way to revive her comatose career, until the following
email arrived:
“Hello Jill,
I wrote a few weeks ago thinking you were Jill Greenberg the
digital photographer. Then today I realized you don't know who
I am (Kristy Peters AKA Kristen Conway) because you are not
who I thought you were. See the Jill Greenberg I thought you
were was my best friend from sixth grade until her first year
at R.I.S.D. Our friendship ended because, Well, let me write
to you what I was going to send her when I thought she was you.”
What followed was the story of two girls, Kristy Peters and
Jill Greenberg who met in 6th grade, and who, by high school,
had become inseparable friends. With pink hair, or a shaved
head and combat boots, they earned their reputation among schoolmates
as the “freaky art kids.” Increasingly, they were
both drawn to photography. Jill Greenberg took a photo of Kristy
that won a contest and became the first photo Jill got published
in a book.
Jill went off to college at Rhode Island School of Design, while
Kristy ended up at the local community college. Meanwhile, at
age 17 Kristy had naively fallen in “luv” with 28-year-old
man whom she later learned had a drug problem. Soon, Kristy
became addicted herself. She and Jill still maintained their
close friendship over the distance through letters, and Kristy
even trekked to RISD to visit her best friend. In the summer,
Jill returned home while her parents went on a 2-month cruise.
So whad’ya think happened? Of course there was a wild
party and the next day some things were missing from Jill’s
sister’s room. The girls filed a police report, and then
Jill had to go to Ann Arbor for a summer job. Unaware that her
best friend was addicted to drugs at this point, Jill let Kristy
and her junkie boyfriend have the run of the house while she
was gone. Predictably, Lover Boy came up with the bright idea
that if they stole credit cards and jewelry from Jill’s
parents’ room, it would be blamed on whomever stole whatever
from Jill’s sister’s bedroom the night of the party
(Gee, I wonder who that was?). So the couple completed their
mission, and went on a shopping spree with the credit cards,
but in the night of drinking with friends that followed, according
to Kristy, “some how the truth came out.” Later
that night, one of the people who had been privy to the story
of Kristy and Lover Boy’s crime ran into Jill at a Cramps
concert and told her the whole story. Jill told Kristy’s
mother, who called Kristy, who tried to explain the whole thing
to Jill. Kristy called the boyfriend and said she wanted to
give the jewelry back and return all the things she had purchased
with the credit cards, but the boyfriend pretended he didn’t
know what she was talking about. Thus with one Big Ass act of
betrayal, a close friendship suddenly lay dead.
What Kristy Peterson AKA Kristen Conway (an alias she acquired
through marriage, and not through any connection to the porn
industry) didn’t know was that I’ve long been aware
of the existence of this other Jill Greenberg. In 1992 I had
a couple of my photographs on display at a show in a small gallery
in NYC. A couple of the other Jill Greenberg’s friends
came to the show, and somehow, they found out that I was a Jill
Greenberg too, so they told me about her. Thus a Doppelganger
was born. So the two Jill Greenbergs, unknown to each other,
continued in their parallel courses as professional photographers
(I was a photojournalist with the Philadelphia Inquirer at the
time.) At some point I looked up this other Jill Greenberg’s
website and found out that she was younger, blonder, and far
more successful than I, having numerous national magazine and
CD covers to her credit. Of course I was jealous! Every now
and then, people would ask me something like “Did you
shoot the cover for the new ‘Hamil on Trial’ album?”
and I would smile and say “Uh huh,” and let the
ruse play out for a few prime moments before making my confession.
For over 12 years I kept telling myself that one day I’d
email my Doppelganger and confess that I occasionally enjoyed
sharing her hip reputation as a celebrity photographer, but
I never seemed to get around to it.
The last straw came on October 27, 2005, when I was walking
the endless gauntlet of booths at the AAF Contemporary Art Fair
at Pier 92 in NY, where I was showing my mixed media work in
the Center For Emerging Visual Artists’ booth.
[Here I have to pause for a commercial endorsing The Center
For Emerging Visual Artists, www.cfeva.org,
who not only got my work into the AAF Contemporary Art Fair,
but they also sent me the call for entries for the Accumulation
Project, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this story now---So
here’s to Bobbie Tilkens, the astute—no, the kickasstute
Director of CFEVA’s Career Development Program and to
Maida Milone, the dynamo CEO of this phenomenal organization.
If you are an emerging artist living within 100 miles of Philadelphia,
check out the URL listed above. You have everything to gain!
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.]
OK, so I’m strolling the aisles, sizing up the competition,
and my eyes alight on a wall of monkey portraits---as in Total
Simian Extravaganza! I’m a sucker for monkeys: I dream
of having an adorably naughty capuchin as a pet---my own little
Curious George with clammy little palms and an eye for mischief,
who will melt my soul to pink goo when he apologizes for his
daily misdeeds by licking me on the nose with his cute little
monkey tongue. My jaw practically dislocates when I see my own
name on the wall label. And then I realize: Doppelganger Jill
strikes again! But what really clinches this coincidence is
that 2 of the pieces I was showing in the same exhibit featured
monkeys (although the monkeys in my work were the 1 1⁄2
inch plastic ones that cling to the edge of a cocktail glass
by their prehensile tail.)
Lets review the facts:
We have 2 Jill Greenbergs
They are roughly the same age
They both went to art school to study photography
They both became professional photographers
They both have also maintained their identity as fine artists
Doppelganger Jill Greenberg bills herself on her website as
“The Manipulator,” while the Jill Greenberg who
participates in this project refers to herself as an “Accumulator”
Both Jill Greenbergs showed work at the same exhibition in NY
The work of both Jill Greenbergs appearing in said exhibition
featured likenesses of monkeys
If you do a Google search using “Jill Greenberg”
and soap as key words, both Jill Greenbergs will produce entries
(Jill Greenberg has photographed soap opera cast members)
Both Jill Greenbergs use soap
In mid-December, Kristy, the contrite former best friend of
Doppelganger Jill Greenberg gets her online connection restored
after a year of living without Internet access. She chooses
to Google her long lost pal, Doppelganger Jill Greenberg, within
2 days of the online posting of the December 18 Washington Post
article entitled “Lather Up for Art” on this Jill
Greenberg’s participation in The Accumulation Project.
She confuses this Jill Greenberg with her friend, Doppelganger
Jill, and contacts this Jill Greenberg on December 20. Had she
Googled her former best friend, Doppelganger Jill Greenberg
a mere day or two earlier, right before the Washington Post
article on this Jill Greenberg ran, she probably never would
have found any of the Google entries that pertain to this Jill
Greenberg, because they are so old that they would have been
buried beneath the literally 594,000 entries that pertain to
Doppelganger Jill Greenberg’s achievements as a highly
regarded commercial and fine art photographer. And so I ask
you: is timing everything or what?
I’ve remained in occasional email contact with Kristen
Conway since this strange twist of fate precipitated our introduction,
and Kristen has been kind enough to accumulate about 10 soap
slivers from the soap dishes of friends as well as from her
own, which I think is mighty nice of her. I will contact Doppelganger
Jill ASAP at her studio in LA to share the details of this whole
strange story that really began in 1992, when I first learned
of her existence. Perhaps she has gotten wind of it already.
And maybe she uses pretty soap.
In Kristen’s most recent email to me, dated February 11,
she mentioned that she Googled the name “Jill Greenberg”
again last month and discovered a third Jill Greenberg who had
died at age 41 in a tragic car accident in Mexico that also
claimed the lives of her mother and sister. Kristen said she
realized this woman wasn’t either of the Jill Greenbergs
she knew of because this Jill Greenberg had been the mother
of 4 children.
Last night I looked up the entry of her obituary in Google,
and found out that Greenberg was this Jill’s maiden name,
and that her death occurred on December 20 2003. But when I
read in her obituary that Jill Greenberg (married name, Jill
Hope Tuck) graduated from University of Virginia, I was stunned.
I had attended that very school my freshman year, which was
1981-82. On December 20, 2003, the day Jill Tuck lost her life
she was 41, and I was a week shy of my 40th birthday. It stands
to reason that we were both attending U. VA at precisely the
same time. And now I’m racking my brains trying to figure
out if I’ve invented an obscure memory in my suggestible
mind, or if I really do have a vague, but true recollection
of one of my U VA dorm-mates mentioning to me that she had met
another Jill Greenberg living in the older dorms on the other
end of campus. And what is the significance of this coincidence?
Looking at the cheery confident smile on the picture of Jill
Hope Tuck (nee Jill Greenberg) printed beside the obituary,
I feel deep sympathy for her husband and four children. The
shock and grief they surely suffered after such a cruel event
is unimaginable, yet such agonizing things happen daily in this
world. And for a moment I realize the good fortune of just being
among the living Jill Greenbergs. Because Jill Greenberg Tuck’s
tragic story has, by strange coincidence, been linked to the
ongoing narrative that accompanies my soap sliver accumulation
project, I would like to honor her, and any other of my sisters
in name, both living and deceased, with the form of my final
piece in September’s show. I invite any living Jill Greenbergs
who read this statement to email me at jillgreenberg27@hotmail.com
and share with me any facets of their life they choose, and
of course, any soap slivers they wish to offer. Jill Greenbergs
who are no longer living are welcome to make themselves present
to me in spirit in kind and pleasant ways, particularly as I
begin work assembling the piece for September’s show.
I realize that much of what I write in my statements is irreverent,
but this is not. I maintain a sense of respect with regard to
the memorial component of this project, but I still like to
think that people bring the same sense of humor they had in
life to their after-life.
I've already received 2 collections of soap remnants donated
by children of deceased mothers. Oddly, both of these donors
contacted me on the same day, December 30. The first of these
donors, Sheldon Goldthwaite of Bar Harbor, Maine sent 11 lbs.
of half-used bars of soap collected by his mother, Ruth Sanders
Goldthwait. The hefty box of soap had, during the years following
Mrs. Goldthwait’s death in 1996, become the focus of an
odd family tradition that unmasks the Goldthwait family’s
offbeat sense of humor. Please click back on my December statement
to learn the details of the Goldthwaits’ family ritual
involving their mother’s soap. The second email came that
night, and had no real story attached, other than the fact that
the sender’s mother, Eileen Langert, had collected 3 pounds
of gorgeous colored slivers and that the sender, Laury’s
last name was, amusingly, McLean. I’m pleased that this
project can serve as a memorial, and I find it appropriate,
because soap is an object that is so obviously touched by its
users. And this is further evidence that art can create bonds
between strangers, both living and dead.
Chapter 2: January’s Random Slivers of Strangeness
Beyond connecting me to 2 other Jill Greenbergs, the article
in the Washington Post (see link) produced some further results
I never could have predicted. On January 2, I got an email from
a Mr. Goldshlag in Jackson Heights, NY that read:
“Dear Ms. Greenberg,
I saw your article in the newspaper looking for pieces of soap
and thought that you would be interested in the following. I
have angina pectoris and collected 18 - 20 years of medicine
bottles of medications that I took to stay free of chest pains
and angina attacks. These bottles, if put together, would tell
the whole story and make an interesting sculpture, "The
Cure."
If you are interested, please contact…”
I’d be interested in seeing Mr. Goldshlag’s collection,
but I’m afraid to diversify so
much with my materials. Soap slivers are all I can handle right
now. I’m hoping I can encourage Mr. Goldshlag to become
his own artist, or to hang onto his collection awhile longer
until I have the space in my mind to deal with it.
I got another surprise when I Googled my name to check if any
other newspapers had picked up the Washington Post article that
was offered by the Post’s wire service. I found the article
reprinted in a BLOG called “Time I’ll Never Get
Back.” Seems that though tingb (the bloggers handle) supports
community art projects, she was skeeved by the fact that I was
using soap in mine. I posted a comment on her blog introducing
myself, and the next day she responded with this explanation:
“…when I saw the blurb about your project, I knew
I had to post it, because of a long-running joke I have with
my old roommates -- we got into a big blowout once because they
were using my soap in the shower. I said that bar soap was meant
to have one dedicated user; they told me that bar soap was ‘self-cleaning.’
Over time, this turned into an ongoing thing -- they got me,
for example, a 20-pack of Ivory so that I could change bars
when I suspected foul play.”
So whatcha gonna be doin’ with the slivers of those 20
bars, tingb???
I forgot something I should have mentioned in December’s
statement: When I arrived at Lunarbase on 12/14 for the installation
of the initial Accumulation Project show, I found a nicely worn
sliver right there in the gallery bathroom. I thought it most
appropriate that the site of my first act of “soap pilferage”
should occur at the gallery itself, and I promptly incorporated
it into the piece. And I’m pleased that April Walters,
my Superhero Supervisor at work also pulled off a brazen soap
heist, from Dave, her boarder’s soap dish before he played
that contemptible trick, of welding the sliver onto a new bar.
The “goods” were stellar—a uniformly worn,
round-edged rectangle of screaming bright yellow.
And, of course now, when I visit other people’s homes,
I case their soap dishes the way some people snoop in medicine
cabinets. I was at the home of Phyllis, whose husband, Albee
is French with Algerian roots. They live in France several months
out of the year and they had some sweet French gems in their
soap dish. Albee showed me some of the Algerian soap he uses;
it comes in huge blocks and is made of olive oil. He even gave
me a bar. (See photos.)
And I got some other exotic soaps from Cherie Nelson of Arlington,
VA, who sent me her grandparents’ collection of hotel
soaps from around the world. There were several bars of black
soap from Spain that I’m looking forward to “sliverizing.”
Also there was an interesting shell soap embossed in the back
with the signature of Ben Rickert, (what designer is so desperate
that he has to sign a bar of soap?) But some of the soaps were
so vintage looking in their 70s wrappers that I really don’t
want to destroy the package, especially since the soap inside
is probably only going to be white anyway. (See photos.)
Dar Drage of Canton, OH sent me a plastic container of soap
slivers she had been collecting for about 30 years. Some of
them were imported from Scotland, and many were extraordinary
in color, and/or form. I was touched by the care she took cushioning
the fragile relics individually in tissue paper. (See photos.)
When I thanked her for her efforts on my behalf, she responded:
“I found a certain humor in packing it.... here I was,
carefully wrapping and
cushioning old soap slivers…. that most people would pitch
in the trash. Glad to
hear that you can use it.”
And though it sounds like such a cliché, it really makes
me smile inside that somebody would do something as ridiculous
as this for the sake of a stranger’s art. I’m grateful
to all of my donors and regard them as collaborators.
My friend Joy Berenfield, from Arlington MA, was disgusted by
my description of the foreign matter contained in the bags of
soap I got from the Milwaukee County Jail (See description in
December’s monthly statement), and she sent me her collection
of soap with a note touting their virtuous purity—“sans
scent and sans pubes!” (See photo.)
While sometimes, as in the case of my friend Joy’s donation
above, I am happy for what is not included in the package with
the soap, some sliver donors share more of their lives than
I might see from just their soap, and I appreciate such additional
connections. Lorraine Rose of Washington DC, who lives in a
house with a pink exterior and interior that she calls La Villa
Rosa, sent a trio of pink soaps along with a funny post card
for pink hair lotion and a photo of herself wearing a pink fleece
vest and standing in front of a sign for “The Pink Poodle,”
presumably where she gets her hair cut—(just kidding Lorraine.)
(See photo.)
And I’ll end this month’s saga with one of my favorite
stories, coming from Patricia Klein of Cuyahoga Falls, OH. You
know the proverbial tale of how the newspaper article about
you—the one in which you finally get your fifteen minutes
of fame—ends up on the floor of some birdcage. Well I’m
here to tell you that it happens in real life—that is,
assuming you consider my life, as I’ve described it in
this statement, to be real. Yep, Pat was papering her birdcages
with the Cleveland Plain Dealer when she saw the article about
my accumulation project. I’m grateful for whatever cosmic
forces caused her to take notice of the article thus sparing
me the fate of being crapped on, and exchanging it with that
of receiving her soap slivers.
To donate soap slivers please email jillgreenberg27@hotmail.com
Thanks---Jill.
Washington Post article available here.
Process:
I will be accumulating remnants of used bars of soap by soliciting
contributions through networks of friends and acquaintances.
I am also looking into receiving donations through local hotels
and collection boxes set up in various locales.
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Accumulate:
Soap
Accumulator:
Jill Greenberg |
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