This week the nation honors the thousands of volunteers who selflessly aid the ever-growing number of organizations providing critical services and programs to our citizens. This year’s National Volunteer Week theme is Celebrating People in Action. I can think of no more deserving group of people to celebrate than our very own volunteer corps.

Since the very beginning of the North Carolina Museum of Art, the Museum has relied heavily upon the dedication and generosity of hundreds of volunteers who come together each year with a common passion for our institution. As the Museum has grown, this volunteer corps has enlarged to meet our expanding campus and programs.

Today volunteers and docents number more than 550 strong—significantly more than the Museum’s combined State and Foundation staffs. Last year alone these dedicated groups of people contributed 16,000 hours of service. This year with a burgeoning schedule of programs and a blockbuster exhibition that ushered 150,000 people through the doors, that number will only grow. It is no exaggeration to say the Museum could not operate without this incredible group of dedicated individuals.

It has been a true honor to work closely with this passionate team. I am humbled by the generosity and sheer tenacity of these fabulous professionals. No job is too big or small. Every visitor and member is important. Smiles abound, with little fanfare or appreciation for their tireless efforts. What unsung heroes! And binding us all together is a shared vision for this Museum and its outreach.

So this year as we Celebrate People in Action, let us simply say thank you. Thank you for all that you do and all that you are. You are truly indispensable to us all!

Caterri Woodrum is the chief deputy director and chief financial officer for the North Carolina Museum of Art Foundation.

Image: (left) Volunteers work on weekly membership mailings. (right) Volunteer Sylvia Gill takes tickets at Rembrandt in America.

Now, 22 years later, 15 of my photographs are in the permanent collection of the North Carolina Museum of Art. One of them—Reidsville, North Carolina, June 2003—is included in the exhibition Landscape Sublime: Contemporary Photography, which closes November 13.

I have met some very good souls along the way. One of them is Huston Paschal, a long-time associate curator (now retired) at the Museum. When I began exhibiting my photographs in 1990, Huston, unbeknownst to me, started following my progress. I was exhibiting everywhere I could (photographs I’d made on Ellis Island), including the just-opened Cup A Joe on Hillsborough Street in Raleigh and the Weems Gallery at Meredith College. When I began to photograph around the Tar Heel State, Huston quietly watched as my new work—and I—progressed.

On the eve of my 50th birthday in 2003, I received a fateful phone call: Linda Dougherty (the NCMA’s current curator of contemporary art) was on the line. Would I like to schedule a time to bring a selection of my work? She and Huston wanted to see it, with a purchase in mind. Well, happy birthday to me!

I am grateful to Linda and to the NCMA and, now, to Jen Dasal, assistant curator, for including my work in the current exhibition. But mostly I am grateful to Huston, who saw in my work, and in the work of other North Carolina artists she watched grow and mature over her years as curator, something worth paying attention to.

David Simonton is a photographer living in Raleigh, N.C. See his work in the exhibition Landscape Sublime: Contemporary Photography through November 13.

Image: David Simonton, Reidsville, North Carolina, June 2003, 2003, printed 2004, gelatin-silver print, 9 11/16 x 9 13/16 in., Purchased with funds from the William R. Roberson Jr. and Frances M. Roberson Endowed Fund for North Carolina Art, © 2004 David Simonton

In commemoration of the anniversary, numerous galleries and art centers have come together as part of a citywide event, titled “Remembering 9/11: The 10th Anniversary.” All told, more than 50 institutions are partaking in exhibitions, readings, and performances dedicated to honoring those lost in the terrorist attacks. Now that a decade has passed, it seems that some artists now feel that their wounds—personal, physical or psychic—have healed enough to revisit, leading to a proliferation of works.

The Brooklyn Museum is presenting Ten Years Later: Ground Zero Remembered, an exhibition featuring works by two artists, Michael Richards and Christoph Draeger. The inclusion of Richards is especially notable for NC Museum of Art visitors, who may be familiar with Tar Baby vs. Saint Sebastian, currently located in our Modern and Contemporary Galleries. During his tragically short career, Michael Richards frequently addressed issues of social injustice, creating stunning sculptures that criticize oppression. Tar Baby vs. Saint Sebastian commemorates the Tuskegee Airmen, African American pilots whose heroic contributions to World War II were recognized only in the past few decades. The sculpture itself, cast from the artist’s own body, represents a gold-painted airman penetrated on all sides by small airplanes, reminiscent of the arrows shot at St. Sebastian, an early Christian martyr and saint. The title of the work, with its double reference to the saint and a southern folktale of entrapment, pays tribute to the Tuskegee pilots—and to all who suffer intolerance and unfairness.

The back story of the sculpture, though, is a haunting one, and is quite pertinent to the anniversary of 9/11. The work itself, in effect a self-portrait, now seems an eerie foretelling of the artist’s death. Richards was a victim of the World Trade Center terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001—his studio was on the ninety-second floor of Tower One. Tar Baby vs. Saint Sebastian, too, was feared lost in the wreckage, as it was not found in the remains of the artist’s studio, or at his home. It was only revealed later to be stored in a relative’s garage outside of New York City. Now housed at the NCMA on long-term loan, the work is a commemoration of the artist’s life and talents and a memorial, of sorts, for September 11. Stop by over the weekend and include this as a must-see on your list.

Image: Michael Richards, Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian, 1999, body cast in resin and fiberglass, painted, and supported by steel shaft, with airplanes cast in resin and fiberglass, painted, and attached by steel bolts, On loan from the estate of the artist

Teenagers tend to see the world a little differently—but that’s not a bad thing! A distinct point of view can be an asset to a photographer. The Museum’s recent Digital Photography Workshop encouraged high schoolers to express their creativity in a variety of media.

The workshop combined a photo shoot in the Museum Park with computer manipulation and hands-on art projects. First the teens took a look at our current photography exhibition, Landscape Sublime, and saw how North Carolina artist John Menapace transformed ordinary daily spaces into extraordinary arrangements of light and form. They took their cameras into the Park to capture worm’s-eye views of oaks covered with kudzu and the geometric angles of the amphitheater stage.

Back inside, they got their hands on computer software to manipulate photographs, distorting and enhancing their own photos for a dramatic and sometimes humorous effect. The students experimented with printing on unusual surfaces and combining photos of themselves with works of art for mixed-media projects.

They drew inspiration from Anthony Goicolea’s Sea Wall, a sculptural installation of photos, glass bottles, and glass blocks, to print photographs of each other on acetate for a group installation, which they then photographed. They looked at vanitas paintings in the Dutch collection—still lifes that symbolize the emptiness and transience of earthly things—and then created another three-dimensional installation using still-life objects. Their work graced the Blue Ridge patio for just a short time, but the images live on in students’ photographs.

We invite you to peer behind the lens for a new perspective of the Museum.

I view the 30 Americans exhibition with immense gratification because from my perspective, our culture—and its range of experiences—is rarely put on view and valued as art without a qualifier. Not “black” art or dance or theater, simply creative expressions to be celebrated (or critiqued).

Growing up in New York made me a lover of the arts, and I am passionate about sharing cultural experiences. My parents (and grandparents) were college-educated professionals; I had a comfortable life. The lone searing memory of my childhood is of being on a school bus when I was six years old, headed to first grade (gleeful in my pretty red dress and matching shoes!). As we approached the school, I looked down and saw angry faces, mouths shouting words I didn’t understand. When I arrived home, I asked my mother why the people were so mad at us. Her reply: “It is not you; sometimes people fear what they don’t understand.” (You’re probably wondering how my recollection is so distinct; that’s extraordinarily philosophical for a six-year-old! Well, it was the first, but not the last, time I heard that particular reminder.) I grew up with integration, discrimination, the Black Power Movement, women’s liberation . . . a child of the ‘60s and ‘70s. As a result, race is a fact, not a definition, of my life, yet I am profoundly aware of the struggles that got us to where we are today and the obstacles we still face. It is our reality.

These issues of race, gender, and perception are eloquently addressed by many of the artists in 30 Americans. I am proud of the North Carolina Museum of Art for the decision to mount such an important exhibition. I relish walking through the galleries and seeing work by artists collected and assessed, as Mera Rubell said, “not by their race but by their exceptional talents.”

Last week I had a conversation with one of the security guards, who inquired, “Have you seen our new exhibition?” When I assured her I had, she said, “I wore my Afro puff today because I saw an expression of our beauty in some of those paintings and felt proud!” I do too. As on the day of President Obama’s election, perhaps we are standing a little taller because in these moments, our rightful place in history—and in contemporary society—is indisputable. 30 Americans is filled with everything from breathtakingly beautiful works to hauntingly troubling images, affirming there’s no single way to be African American, or for that matter, American. Whoever you are, however you identify yourself, it is an exhibition that will make you think, make you smile, make you wonder . . . and after all, isn’t that what great art is all about?

This post is one of a series on staff perspectives of 30 Americans. Melanie Davis-Jones is Director of Marketing at the NCMA.

by Mark Richard Leach, Executive Director, SECCA

In 1962 at the age of 8 in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, I was introduced to Norman Rockwell’s universe. My mother’s friend was the artist’s accountant. Rockwell had just been commissioned by the Department of the Army to create an image for a nationwide billboard campaign to promote the Army Reserve. He was looking for a child from the surrounding area with red hair and freckles. My mom’s friend, in whose care I was placed one afternoon, was walking with her two children and me in Stockbridge. It was there that the artist saw me. That afternoon, my parents received a telephone call from the artist, who asked if they would grant him permission to paint me. So the creative journey began.

Strength in Reserve, the caption and narrative underpinning for the billboard, boldly sets the tone for the homespun patriotic picture and leaves no doubt what the outcome of the disagreement between the subjects will be. Outwardly the composition features a standoff between two young males, one of them holding a baseball that seems to belong to the other. But another compositional element is integral to the story. An anonymous adult’s forearm, clad in a black suit with a crisply starched shirt cuff, descends into the composition. The gentleman’s hand clasps the child’s hand in a symbolic show of strength.

The sitters gathered in the artist’s studio. I arrived dressed in khakis, a white button-down oxford shirt, and a mint green V-neck sweater. I also remember wearing my favorite belt with Indian beads and patterns attributed to the Mohawk people. Another child my age was there, too. I don’t remember his name, but I knew that this young man, dressed much differently from the way I was, had a purpose. As Rockwell painted him, he jutted forward in the composition, straight into my personal space, behaving like a defiant bully, determined not to surrender the baseball. The hand is my father’s. Often Rockwell could be the master of understatement. It wasn’t the adult’s literal presence in the composition, but rather only his subtle implication, that sets the viewer’s imagination to work and adds richly to the story.

The artist was warm and attentive, carefully arranging his subjects and, if only so slightly, teasing the precise facial expressions from us. I had never been asked to “hold a pose” before. The session seemed to last an eternity. Because I could not move, my senses became heightened. I remember an immense light-filled room, heavy with the scents of linseed oil and turpentine. The smells were intoxicating and were familiar to me because my father, a tradesman and electrician, regularly used those substances to paint a house, clean brushes, and the like. I also noticed large north-facing windows that made the space seem otherworldly in size, by contrast to the more modest panes and lighting conditions in my childhood home.

I vividly remember a camera and multiple shutter releases. The artist moved with the camera to vantage points I can only surmise would reveal especially important anatomical information. The ambient natural light revealed spatial or other dimensions critical to the artist’s quest for a preternaturally compelling visual conceit. His camera could capture these ephemeral moments, enabling him to make of the resulting snippets the stunning representational portrayal he sought.

Several months after the initial session, the artist invited us to pose again. My guess is that he took this step to confirm from life what he had captured using photography and sketching in the initial pose. I have no recollection of the conversation except that, as before, the artist took care in staging, lighting, and such other compositional necessities. Before my parents and I left Rockwell’s studio for the last time, the artist presented me with a check for $20 as a token of his appreciation.

One afternoon while I was playing in the yard, my mother beckoned to me from the kitchen window. She told me she had an errand to run and asked if I wanted to go for a ride with her in the car. We headed to uptown Pittsfield, to the corner of Fenn and First streets. Conveniently, there was a red light at the intersection! She pointed upward and said, “Mark, there you are on the billboard just ahead—and so big!” I’ll never forget the rush of excitement and pride.

Over the years, I’ve thought often about Norman Rockwell’s painting, the billboard’s story line and its subtext, and the three magical characters with whom the artist conspired to evoke in all of us a deep sense of patriotism, a feeling of self-determination, and an abiding acknowledgement that together we can tackle even the greatest of challenges. These things and so many more are the remarkable characteristics of a great American artist and the art that flows from a talent such as his.

American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell is on view at the NCMA until January 30, 2011. For more on Rockwell’s use of photography, see Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera, on view at the Brooklyn Museum until April 10, 2011.

Through tireless volunteerism, generous and wise philanthropy, and the warmth of his personality, this respected physician, scholar, and educator made a singular contribution to Raleigh’s cultural landscape and to interfaith understanding throughout the state through the establishment of the Judaic Art Gallery at the North Carolina Museum of Art.

All very true, but too short by a thousand words. Ten thousand words. After all, the man lived 95 years. He witnessed and participated in the whole of the twentieth century. He deserves a biographer. However, until one arrives I offer the following remarks written several years ago and only slightly edited:

This morning I was making a final check of the Judaic Art Gallery. I halted in front of the Chinese Torah Case, its surface embellished with delicately wrought flowers—an allusion to the beauty of life and perhaps also to the first Garden when all was yet right with the world. And I thought of Abe Kanof and how he would have delighted in seeing this case here in Raleigh, half a world from its origin.

First-time visitors to the North Carolina Museum of Art are invariably surprised to find a gallery devoted to Jewish ceremonial art. How it came about is directly attributable to the vision and bullish tenacity of Abe Kanof.

Like the Chinese Torah Case, Abram Kanof’s life began far from Raleigh in a backwater town of the Tsar’s empire. He was born in 1903 in the same month as the Wright brothers’ flight at Kitty Hawk. Rampaging cossacks forced his family to flee to America, where they settled in New York and began to climb rung-by-rung the immigrant’s ladder.

Fast forward 60 years.

In the late 1960s, Dr. Kanof retired from a successful medical and teaching career in New York and moved to Raleigh. Thirty more years lay ahead of him. Retirement freed Abe to pursue his bliss, including the scholarly study of Jewish art and symbolism. He wrote books. He traveled. He involved himself in the affairs of the Triangle’s small Jewish community. And he joined the North Carolina Museum of Art. In 1974 he convinced Director Moussa Domit to let him organize an exhibition of “Ceremonial Art in the Judaic Tradition.” The unexpected success of that show inspired Abe with the grander dream of a permanent collection of Judaica at the Museum. Domit and the Museum didn’t say no, but it was made clear that Abe would have to raise the funds and assemble the collection himself. Abe welcomed the challenge. (“It was my crusade,” he told me, laughing when I winced at the joke.) For years he traveled the state, lecturing to civic and religious groups, all the while wheedling, coaxing, and cajoling potential donors. Abe and his wife also donated many objects from their own collection. By 1983 when the Museum opened on Blue Ridge Road, one of the most remarkable galleries featured not Old Master paintings but glittering Torah crowns, Hanukkah lamps, and Sabbath candlesticks.

From the beginning the Judaic Art Gallery expressed Abe Kanof’s ecumenical vision. He knew that his audience was predominantly not Jewish. What he hoped to create was a place accessible to all where the spiritual and cultural life of the Jewish people could be both celebrated and shared through memorable works of art. Believing that the vitality of Judaism was best reflected in ceremonial art of contemporary design, he also insisted that equal attention be given to objects in modernist styles.

Until his death in 1999, Abe Kanof was the Judaic Art Gallery. He never tired of giving tours to visitors and was always in demand. He once confessed to me that Baptists were his favorite group: they knew their Bible! A natural teacher with a driven need to share his life, he enjoyed performing before a group, whether five or 50. I see him in his well-worn jacket of green corduroy, his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a young boy as the two of them count the number of lights on a Hanukkah lamp. I see him at the center of a visiting church group holding forth on the heroism of the Maccabees or the symbolism of the foods served at Passover Seder. His gestures were slow and professorial, the pauses between thoughts like deep breaths. When he was past 90 he and I led a small museum tour to Israel. We were visiting the archaeological site at Kfar Nahum (Capernaum) on the Sea of Galilee. Abe had been sleeping on the bus but sprang to life as we arrived. Walking behind, I watched as he entered the precinct of the ruined synagogue, the square of sun-white sand enclosed within broken walls and columns. He’d been there before but was still moved to silence. After a few moments he walked over to a toppled stone from the sanctuary doors. His finger slowly traced the eroded image of the Menorah. Then, turning toward us, he commenced to teach.

From the NCMA video archives, here’s a 1992 video of Dr. Kanof guiding us through the Judaic collection:

From the NCMA video archives, here’s a 1992 video of Dr. Kanof guiding us through the Judaic collection:

A Tour of the Judaic Gallery with Dr. Abram Kanof from The North Carolina Museum of Art on Vimeo.

Guest post by Francesca Rappa

I was a docent at the NCMA for nearly a decade when I started to write the first of five novels in my children’s series, The Adventurous Melody West. People often ask me what first inspired me to write, and I must say it was the children I toured who inspired me. Every Friday I would take a group of third or fourth or fifth graders around the Museum to see the wonderful works of art in the collection, and I was amazed to see how transforming the experience was for them. Children connect emotionally to works of art. They are quick to bring their experiences into play when viewing and have a keen eye for all the details. They also have many questions and listen carefully to their classmates. A visit to the NCMA is an experience a child will remember for the rest of his or her life.

It was from my work as a docent that I set out to write stories for tweens about the intersection of art and nature and culture. I imagined a thoughtful and intelligent girl named Melody West, who is 11 years old and lives in a vibrant southern town not unlike Raleigh. With the help of her friends, Melody solves mysteries, looks for hidden treasures, and travels to exotic destinations, including an ancient forest in Canada and a bustling city in Japan. She also travels closer to home. In the course of her adventures, Melody learns about nature and culture as well as the art children enjoy on my tours, including John James Audubon’s Trumpeter Swan and a piece of sculpture by Alexander Archipenko called the Blue Dancer, to name just two. Melody also learns about art young children make with their own hands; namely, pottery. I enjoy writing about Melody. Not only do her adventures entertain young readers, but they also educate them about the mysterious and beautiful world around them.

Hundreds of photos poured in to Flickr, and a 10-foot-by-10-foot cube was born. Open at the top and tied around the middle with an oversize bow, the installation became the centerpiece for the ribbon-cutting ceremony at the opening of the Museum’s new West Building on April 23.

Wayne Henderson of Chapel Hill, a graphic artist and blacksmith, crafted the project and managed its installation on the Museum lawn. He worked with a team of students at N.C. State’s College of Design to create the bow. Under the leadership of professor Vita Plume, the students–Jessica Odom, Veronica Tibbitts, and Jenna Bost–designed and fabricated the large cloth bow and added it to the gift.

After the ceremony, Linda Carlisle, secretary of the Department of Cultural Resources, asked what would be done with the cube. Upon hearing it would go into storage, she said, “Oh, no, this is much too wonderful to put into storage. It should be in the lobby at DCR.”  Thus began another art movement project for the Museum’s art handlers.

The piece has been installed in the State Archives and History Building at 109 E. Jones St. in Raleigh, in numerous locations. A very pleased Wayne Henderson says, “While I had designed the panels for some flexibility, your creative triangular towers in the lobby were not something I had even considered. Great job! It’s wonderful that the faces and places of this great state will live on for a while.”

As staff members of the NCMA, we have seen West Building go from a mass of red piedmont clay to a concrete slab to golden oak floors and luminous glass walls. We stood witness to cart after cart rolling by with precious cargo as the collection moved to her new home. And with all hands on deck the walls were touched up, floors scrubbed, cases polished, and plans finalized for the Grand Opening celebration.

And what a remarkable celebration it was. Over the three day weekend, members and visitors by the thousands strolled through the new galleries, enjoyed the Museum campus, and basked in the glow of returning to their beloved museum.

But visitors have the opportunity to experience one thing that the NCMA staff will never know–walking into the new gallery building for the first time, seeing the completed space filled with art all at once, and having that overwhelming moment of wonder and excitement over the glorious light, the stunning expanse, the sheer beauty of it all.

We know it happens because we’ve been watching you take it in for a few weeks now and we are just as happy that you have returned to the galleries as you are to be here.

By the numbers:

22,006 Visitors toured the new building during the opening weekend

690 artists, dancers, vocalists, and musicians participated in the Opening Festival

1,014 NCMA branded items sold over opening weekend

14,479 NCMA membership as of opening weekend

Visitors came from all over North Carolina, the US, and even from around the world including California, Alaska, Colorado, South Dakota, Vermont, Venezuela, Norway, Australia, India, and China.