Artist's Statement

In the summer of 1954 between my freshman and sophomore years in college, I had the opportunity to spend 2 months in Europe. The experience was life-changing. For the first time in my life, I found myself overwhelmed by a world of profound beauty and meaning. Here was exhibited a way of life that offered a way to explore both the resources of the self and your relationship to the world. My painting, drawing, ceramics, acting, and poetry each draw from a well of creativity unique to me and my journey.

Editor’s note: As a Providence Village volunteer, I fulfilled several Service Requests for Rael. During those drives, he told me about his life, which became my inspiration for creating Village Voices. He was the first among currently three dozen village members to appear in VV, presenting his poetry. Three years later, I invited him to return to VV. I wanted him to talk about some of the objects on his shelves that had captured my interest each time I brought him home. Rael took turns with me in choosing the seven objects featured below, each of which proved to be a portal to an aspect of his remarkable life.
– John Harkey

Those two photographs, the top two, I took of my son when he was about twelve and my daughter was nine and a half. I took them in the backyard of where we lived at the time, in Foster, Rhode Island. I love them.

Then, about two years ago, for my birthday, they redid it and they put those two sets together. It gives me such pleasure to look at it. They are the loves of my life. It just gives me such joy. My son is named Avram. He was named after my father, whom everybody called Milton, and who died early. His actual birth certificate reads Abraham Milton Gleitsman. Avram is another way of saying Abraham. My daughter is Lia; two biblical names.

This cutout soldier was one of a number of pieces I did mocking war. They were anti-war pieces. There is a general who looked somewhat like Hitler, surrounded by crosses, cemetery crosses. The figures are cartoons; all of them are smiling. They are a mockery of what people think about war. There’s nothing good or brave about war. Destruction is what it is. It’s a terrible waste of young life. What’s the point of it all if nothing changes in the long run?

Another is a soldier carrying a flamethrower with a big flame coming out. That was made from several [hollow core] doors cut out and painted. Altogether it is about 12 to 15 feet long, and he wears sunglasses because of the flame. There is another one of a tree filled with snipers. There’s one of soldiers, shot and stacked up like cord wood. But what happened was I had them in storage, and then they disappeared. I hope they’re out in the world somewhere.

This jug was made by a factory potter in Spain who became a good friend. He had been a master potter from the time he was sixteen years old. He supplied an entire factory. He just cranked out this kind of thing, utilitarian pieces. He made this piece for me. Look how light it is. He’d be sitting at the wheel and throw these to exact measurements. Next to him would be sitting fifty of them that he’d just turned out. They’d grab them, glaze them, fire them, and sell them.

When we met, he was in his fifties. We became good friends, and that is when I first began to do ceramics. Alongside the factory he had a small den where there was a funky little wheel. I would go there and practice — to learn what I could do on my own. He also taught me some things. He was such an inspiration, a wonderful man.

So, whenever I went back to visit, I would always see him. We were good friends. We were pals. He didn’t have much of an education. Wasn’t very creative. They told him what they wanted, and he’d do it. As far as any kind of creativity on his own…he was a technician. Most people took him for granted, not knowing how skillful he was. Even in Spain, they didn’t respect him or that kind of craft. He didn’t care. It was a job; that’s all it was. He really appreciated how much I appreciated what he did. It was such a lovely, caring relationship. Who would have guessed that this workman was so wonderful and so lovely?

My pre-Colombian pieces — I fell in love with their creativity and their beauty. They represent various cultures and periods. They’re Peruvian, but from different cultures in Peru: Huari, Moche, and some others. This one {on the right] is Chancay, the most recent of my pieces, still a thousand years old. Chancay se llama. It’s a drinking vessel. And a whistle. I just loved it, and I bought the things that pleased me.

This one [left] is Huari, a really interesting culture. [He asks Siri, “Describe the Peruvian Huari culture,” which is pronounced Wari. Siri replies, “According to Wikipedia, the Huari were a middle-horizon civilization that flourished in south-central Andes and coastal area of modern-day Peru from about 500 to 1000 AD.” There you have it. Most of the objects I keep are mementos of relationships. The pre-Columbian pots are not that, but of my respect for past cultures.

It's probably hand-thrown and painted. There’s another out there [on his shelves]. I can’t remember where I bought them. Probably a gallery. I bought a bunch of them. I thought they were extraordinary. We assume that we are the pinnacle of civilization. We’re far from it. There were so many wonderful things created in the past — I mean, Leonardo invented the airplane! It’s just astounding how creative and bright people were in the past: their cultures and the ability to conceive entire cosmoses. It’s good to be reminded we’re not necessarily the sharpest tool in the toolbox. You must respect what was created in the past and give credit to those who created the future, in many ways.

This was made in America by a blacksmith. On his back was a blade, a boot scraper. It was given to me as a gift by a friend of the family, a wonderful woman named Cordilla Hamilton, Cordy, who owned an antique shop in Stony Point, New York. I met her because, at one point, my parents bought a house in Stony Point as a summer place. It had been her family home. She was a very loving, caring person. I forget what occasion she gave it to me.

There’s something about it. There’s such strength in it. I have great respect for the maker of that horse. Creativity is very important to me, obviously, since I spent my entire life in one creative endeavor or another — from painting to pottery to writing. Those things gave me so much joy and pleasure. Each of them has its own special quality that feeds you. These are all mementos of that.

My siblings and I took various things from our mother’s home, her apartment. Her apartment was like a showroom, like a museum. She had really beautiful taste. She grew up very poor. Her father, my grandfather, was a jolly, jolly man: an alcoholic. He’d be paid on Friday and then go on a bender. There’d be practically no money left. I remember my mother saying she begged my grandmother to just go take some money out of his pocket — “He won’t even know it’s gone.” — so we’d have some money for food this week. My grandmother refused. It was a tough life.

She met my father in high school in Far Rockaway, Queens. She married well. His family had a factory, Pearlwick, making an object that was in practically every home in the country. They made clothes hampers; it had a pearlized top and a wicker body. My father died early. He was a classic type-A; everything was critical to him. I always had the feeling he was disappointed in me, which was probably true. But I got over it. I said, “Let him see what a wonderful person I am.” [laughs] What’s wrong with him, not me? But I was sad, obviously. My mother remarried, to my father’s first cousin, a very Biblical marriage! He was 44 when they married, a very successful cardiovascular surgeon.

My mother had a hard life, but when she had access to money, she learned what was appropriate to her current lifestyle. It was very important to her that people accepted and admired what she did. This is not one of my favorite pieces! But it is reminiscent of her in some ways. Most of what we’ve talked about are memories induced by objects. It’s a very mixed experience.

When I was ... let’s see ... I think I was ten, I went to a summer camp, Camp Wigwam. It was a disaster. I was an outcast; nobody liked me, and I couldn’t have a friend. I wandered around all day. I begged my parents to let me go home. They said, “No, you’ll stay.” So, the next year I went to a different camp, called Winnaukee on Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire. Here they found out what a good athlete I was, and I was very much accepted. I won “Best All-Around Camper” of my group that year. Went back the next year but I didn’t win. But the next two years I won “Best All-Around” two years in a row. This was one of the trophies from my “Best All-Around Camper.” I think it’s 1950. Look at the plate on it. I won in 1950 and ’51. My father was gone by then. He died in ’48. I did achieve some things…I don’t know what he would have thought. But it didn’t matter anymore. I had put that [his disappointment] behind me. Some people can’t and live with it forever. I managed to get beyond it. There’s a rock somewhere in New Hampshire with my name on it.

There was a huge ... going back to the ‘30s, maybe the ‘20’s ... through the ‘40s, ‘50s, ‘60s ... a whole group of Jewish summer camps. Winnaukee was one of them. It’s recently been sold and is no longer a Jewish camp, which kinda’ made me sad. It’s such a long history that’s been discarded in many ways.