Monthly Statement:
February 2006

February started with a bomb—as in MAJOR Molotov! I finally got an email from Jeff the Deputy Sheriff from Milwaukee County Jail, who had been uncharacteristically silent for over a month. He broke the catastrophic news to me:

“On a very serious note. The reason we got together in the first place. As of this scribe they have switched to LIQUID. Yes, blue...liquid...soap! Oh the (in)humanity[sic] of it all!!! For the first time in all my years of jailing they have literally run out of bar soap. We now pour liquid soap form a one gallon jug onto a paper cup. I never even saw it coming. Talk about being caught with my pants down. The crisis I hope will be over soon. At which time I will again lather...um..GATHER some up for you.”

I felt pretty gloomy about this for a while. The great influx of soap resulting from the brief Washington Post article (see 12/05) had long since subsided, and I was counting on future shipments from Jeff, the “Ass Soap Deputy”, as he was affectionately known by his charges (see 11/05). After I got over the initial stages of shock, denial, anger, grief, etc., I decided that if life was gonna shower me with liquid soap, then I’d make lemonade out of it—er….whateva. So I vowed to redouble my efforts and explore some untapped reserves.

One such source was the student population of Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), where I work. I got permission from several teachers to give a brief spiel to their classes to encourage them to toss their soap slivers into a basket tacked to the hallway bulletin board. So I told ‘em about the project and then hit ‘em over the head with the tale of Doppelganger Jill (see 1/06). And, for the most part, they hit me right back with glazed stares.

Though these classroom visits didn’t net much, one of the few contributions that appeared was mysteriously worn from the inside out, bearing a large oval hole in the center. It was grey and pumice-y, and looked like an artifact of some stone-age culture. After showing this relic to a few people, I learned that a guy with a shaving brush would wear soap into such a form. Later, someone told me that painters cleaning their brushes wear their soap down in this way, which is the more likely explanation for this bar’s shape, as who would shave with a bar of Lava?

Another outlet I tried was Craigslist. I deliberately chose to post my request in rinky-dink Midwestern towns where aproned housewives make ambrosia Jell-o molds and collect their soap slivers because “…you never know.” But I got no response. I tried Freecycle in Sarasota, Florida, and was inundated with extraneous emails that said things like: “Giving away a cute powder blue hamper with three sections for sorting laundry”, and “Thanks for the sno-cone maker, Jean. The kids love it, and their tongues now change color according to the flavor of their mood.” Disappointing, because I figured Freecyclers would dig having an outlet for soap they couldn’t bear to waste.

I discovered that Yahoo hosts a public art message board, and posted a request there. I got 2 responses: One was from Janet Goldner, an accomplished public artist from NY who sent me soap and a postcard showing one of her outdoor sculptures: www.janetgoldner.com. She continues to be a supporter and has even gotten one of her friends involved. The other responder was Matt Maldre, who bills himself as a “30-year-old Chicago designer, artist, and wise guy”. He commented enthusiastically on my soap accumulation idea and I hoped some slivers would blow in from the Windy City soon.

Mid-month, I met with fellow Accumulation Project participant, Irene Chan (whose object is bar codes) because she live and works in DC/Baltimore, and we wanted to team up to put out a press release locally. My best donations and stories thus far had resulted from media exposure and it was clearly the most efficient way to reach a large audience. We didn’t get the press release written, but we enjoyed a pleasant visit on a 70º day in the middle of February.

Yet another method I employed to increase my donation base was to print up small cards requesting soap slivers, and telling people how to donate. I called them my “Soap Proselytizing Cards,” and I took the opportunity to pass them out and talk soap with people attending a gallery opening. It was awkward to walk up to a group of people conversing and break in with: “Hey, do you use bar soap?” But my cause was righteous so I suffered the discomfort. A few looked at me shiftily, but several folks seemed amused, and said they would “definitely” contribute.

I regarded my invitation to Jim and Ann Burger’s annual open house as another excellent op to preach my “Cleanliness is Next to Godliness Mission,” since pretty much the whole city of Baltimore ends up there. So with a new batch of Proselytizing Cards in my pocket, and a glass of sacrificial gin and tonic from the basement bar in my hand, I set out to spread The Word. Since Jim used to be a photographer for the Baltimore Sun, and Ann still works there, unsurprisingly, many among the flock were newsroom employees. My first sheep was a reporter who had just come from her Sunday shift at the office; I could see the “Off Duty” light flick on in her eyes as she listened to my Message with a cold heart. Externally, I witnessed myself coming off as a shameless self-promoter, but inside I was wailing to no avail: “It’s not about me, Godless Bitch---it’s about the soap!”

I was received more graciously by a couple of my sister’s friends, some of whom were already supporters of The Cause. I always lead in with the parable of the prison soap or the legend of Doppelganger Jill, as they have the most “weird-appeal.” One of the women introduced me to the head of the Fine Arts Department at Johns Hopkins. I did not endear myself to him when my thoughtless first utterance was “Gee, I didn’t even know that Johns Hopkins had a Fine Arts Department.” The professor was kind enough to forgive, and invited me to leave a collection plate in his department, an act of faith that I regret never getting around to.

I staked out a group of friendly 30’s-ish folks camped out in a hallway where the beer was stowed and figured this was the right place to pitch my “Suds and Slivers Keg Revival.” One woman confessed that she had recently forsaken her reporting job at the Sun and converted to being the Features Editor at The Examiner, the new free daily paper. She encouraged me to send a press release.
By far, the most spirited revelers were a married couple, Jen and Thom Smith, who testified to the wonders of caffeinated soap---for real! They said it claims to deliver the showerer with a punch equivalent to 3 cups of coffee---or something like that. They promised to get it to me as soon as they were done with it, but, I warned them that this stimulant soap was the Devil’s drug, that it was Evil, Evil, EVIL, and I implored them relinquish it to my possession before their minds fell victim to its addictive force. They never sent the sliver to me and I fear that Jen and Thom have succumbed to the weakness of the flesh.

So those were the major events of February, and here are some Little February Things of Note:

I found a picture in an art museum pamphlet of a floor piece by Richard Long that seemed like a starting inspiration for my piece for the AP final show.

Donna Savage of Kensington, MD was the first person to contribute slivers by mail more than once. She likes to use soaps that have bits of flower (lavender or rose) embedded in them. Double thanks to you, Donna!

Lavenders and purples seem rare in the soap world, and for this reason I prize them highly. Jan Dyehouse of Cincinnati, OH contributed some lovely lavender and olive green slivers. Muchas Graçias, Jan.

My reliable friend LaShinda Clark of Trainor, PA actually mailed me the sliver remaining from the soaps I gave out as self-serving party favors on my birthday last December. As for my other friends’ party favors….c’mon guys!

And lastly, my old college buddy, Brad Stapleton from Cincinnati, OH sent me a bag of nicely rectangular slivers of what appeared to be yellow Dial with a note that read: “I think of you whenever I wash. xoxox, Brad"

Feel free to email me at jillgreenberg27@hotmail.com if you wish to contribute soap slivers to the project or to send a comment.

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.