[Art_beyond_sight_learning_tools] two artists

[Lisa Yayla]

Hi,
Two articles about artists.
Best,
Lisa

links

http://64.233.161.104/search?q=cache:9OgzivBAMZwJ:www.sbsun.com/news/ci_3209940+Almond+is+a+legally+blind+artist+who+paints+&hl=en

http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/dekalb/1105/17artist.html

article 1

Legally blind, but not to her own art

Michel Nolan, Staff Writer

Cheyenne Almond peers hard at her painting through thick glasses, a 
difficult task because the 37-year-old Redlands resident is legally blind.

"I can see clearly on the inside, just not on the outside," she says, 
adjusting the new glasses on her nose. "It's hard to focus because my 
eyes bounce back and forth like rubber bands."

Her paintings are on display throughout the living room of her mobile 
home, some propped up on the furniture, others leaning against walls.

Cobalt blues, sea-foam greens, gray and purples, ambers and bronze - 
they line the room like a large mosaic. Most of her work is done in 
acrylic, but there are a few watercolors and pencil drawings as well.

There is a mystical quality about her paintings. The subjects? Orcas, 
cats, fish, portraits, as well as other-worldly fantasy realms that 
could work as illustrations for "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy.

Almond's fantastic imagination is the source of her ideas, she'll tell 
you. "The only way I can get it out of my head is to put it on canvas."

Her favorite color is blue but admits to using lots of red when she does 
abstracts.

"Abstracts just blow me away," she says. Almond has also sculpted with 
clay. "I use my hands and just feel it. I feel my own face for the nose 
and mouth."

Almond, who lives by herself, gets help from Pathway Inc., an agency 
that assists people with developmental disabilities living on their own.

Tracy Whitfield, Pathway manager, is visiting Almond as she shows off 
her paintings.

"Her artwork is awesome," Whitfield says. "When I saw it for the first 
time, I couldn't believe it."

Pathway Inc., based in San Bernardino, has been assisting Almond with 
independent living since 1999.

"We provide Cheyenne with 24 hours of assistance each month. She gets to 
choose from services including shopping, medical appointments, and help 
with accessing


resources," says Whitfield.

"She even takes the bus by herself and is active in the community, going 
to the Redlands Bowl and Market Night. She takes care of her home and 
her two cats in addition to being an outstanding artist."

Almond doesn't like to be labeled as disabled. She feels she's as 
able-bodied as the next person, according to Whitfield.

"It's harder for people with disabilities to market our work, especially 
people with crazy imaginations," Almond says, adding that she just gives 
her work away to family and friends.

"I dream a lot - visions come floating into my mind. For the most part, 
what I had in my mind is what ends up on the canvas," says Almond, who 
estimates that she alternates between painting and sleeping both day and 
night.

"I only work for two hours at a time because my eyes get tired," she 
says. "I do a lot of detail, and it takes a lot of guts and effort to do 
it good," she says. "My body gets tired in one position."

According to Almond, she has created hundreds of paintings since she was 
3 or 4 and living in her native Hawaii.

"I taught myself to paint. I tried to take some classes but wanted to do 
it my own way. You know how stubborn we artists are," she says smiling.

Her favorite subjects? "I have no favorites. I just paint whatever 
inspires me."

Says Almond, "Painting just makes me so happy, and my mom and dad are so 
happy for me when I paint. It's easy for me. I just keep going, going 
and going."

article 2

Artist follows his instincts, even after illness

After his sight was stolen by meningitis, longtime artist still creates

Published on: 11/17/05

Artist Allan Eddy debuts his recent work on Friday at Atlanta's Mason 
Murer Gallery.

Probably the most ambitious piece, called "Proof of Dragons," blends 
intricate paper sculpture with the swirling turbulence of abstract 
expressionist painting.

(text to picture)

Allan Eddy shows off his work. The raised surfaces help him perceive 
different parts of the piece.

(text to picture)

Allan Eddy's art hangs in many collections, including Elton John's, and 
has been seen in numerous galleries.


In every facet, it's an astonishing work — even if one doesn't know that 
Eddy's been legally blind for the past five years.

Eddy, 43, grew up mostly in Forest Park and Jonesboro but has lived for 
the past 10 years near Emory University, sharing a home with Marc 
Sherman, his partner of 24 years.

He has drawn for as long as he can remember: in school textbooks, in his 
mother's scrapbooks, and just about every other blank space in between. 
During his late teenage years, he briefly considered a law degree — "I 
do like to argue," Eddy said — but his enduring distaste for school 
shelved those plans.

He graduated from the Atlanta College of Art in 1987 and had his first 
art show one day later. For years, he's had a loyal core of admirers, 
including Elton John, who bought one of his paintings in the mid-1990s.

But the Mason Murer show consists entirely of work Eddy has completed 
since meningitis took most of his sight in May 2000.

The disease is an infection of the tissues, or meninges, surrounding the 
brain and spinal cord. The subsequent swelling of these tissues 
prevented substantial blood and oxygen from reaching his brain cells.

It's rare, Eddy said, that meningitis affects one's sight.

"I got sick on a Monday," Eddy said, "and spent a week at home, mostly 
with terrible headaches and nausea. Eight days later, on a Tuesday, I 
noticed a gray spot in my vision. On Wednesday, I woke up totally blind."

Though he spent six weeks in the hospital and was told by doctors he'd 
never see again, Eddy never considered that his career was over.

Initially, he decided to reinvent himself as a sculptor. When he finally 
felt good enough to get out of bed, he began experimenting with large 
sheets of map board and dipping them into acrylic paint, which hardens 
into plastic.

His first completed project along these lines was a large (about 4 feet 
high) capsule of entangled, plasticized strips bent and curved, which he 
called "B.C. Shell" because it looked — or at least felt to his touch — 
like a dinosaur egg.

Around this time, unexpectedly, fragments of his eyesight began returning.

"Occasionally, I'd get these flashes, like a camera's flashbulb," Eddy 
said, "and then maybe a week later, I would notice I was seeing a little 
more light. This went on for a few years ? but I haven't had any more 
improvement in about a year and a half."

Eddy's eyesight has acute limitations. He describes it as a "permanent 
thumbprint in the center of my vision, and I can see around this print, 
although I can't see anything below my eye level."

"Colors are strange," he said. "Blues and yellows are like neon — in a 
crowd they really stand out, while everything else recedes. Reds and 
greens go gray. When I see red by itself, often it looks orange."

With this partial restoration, Eddy started painting again. First he 
tried watercolors, then chalk pastel, but both methods proved too 
transparent and insubstantial for his taste and his sight.

So he started using just his hands and fingers, often, though not 
always, eliminating brushwork. In time, his canvases became buoyant with 
thicker textures, brighter colors and three-dimensional elements.

It was only logical that he combine these solid, very tangible painting 
techniques with sculpture. It wasn't only an artistic decision; it was 
also pragmatic.

"I have to really concentrate to actually see the surfaces of my 
paintings," Eddy said. "And with a large work, like ["Proof of 
Dragons"], I can't see the whole thing — I see it in parts. The way in 
which I actually come to know my pieces is through touching the surfaces.

"So you see," he said, smiling, "I am basically working by instinct."

Sprawling over a 48-by-72 inch canvas, "Proof of Dragons" is bursting 
with disjointed bones, cracked bones, decayed bones, and bones 
constituting the fossilized dragon's spine, which nearly frames the 
portrait.

Each spinal segment bulges from the surface, giving the overall effect 
of a coiled mountain chain. Toward the bottom lies the dragon skull, 
three-dimensional like the spine, with horns, spiky teeth and a forlorn 
countenance.

But the piece's most startling feature are two perfectly formed wings 
sprouting from the canvas, on either side of the spine. The background 
colors are mostly dark, excepting an occasional dab of turquoise that 
leaves a nostalgic twinge, it seems, of something not quite remembered.

In some ways, the pre-blindness period seems like eons ago. But if his 
work has changed, in style and materials, much of his world beyond 
painting hasn't. He still lifts weights, boxes and participates in 
full-contact karate — though his feet remain numb from the meningitis.

"Going into the gym," he said, "is an absolute pleasure of mine. I 
expect it's a little surprising to see a guy walk in using a white cane, 
and then put the cane down and put the gloves on."

He laughed, then added a remark, ostensibly about boxing, that also 
summed up his professional life.

"People are surprised by how hard I punch," Eddy said. "I'm not a big 
man, you know. But I'm tougher than I look."