Today’s submission by Ali Riaz

Daily Editor: Ali Riaz

The Daily Edition, a new addition to the Johnsonville Press, will serve two functions. First, it will give readers a new and thought provoking section filled with diverse content to peruse on a daily basis. Second, it will give readers the opportunity to get to know the staff just a little better. The section will be edited and administered by Ali Riaz, and writers will be asked to provide a Daily Edition every few weeks. This specific issue will be placed for a full week, as a pilot for future implementation. Please take this ample opportunity to field any comments or questions you may have regarding this section in the comment section below. Enjoy!

1. Recommendation of the Day: The Cure- Disintegration
The best band ever.  They are always on my quintessential break-up/dance party playlist.  Not that I get broken-up with a lot (I do dance everywhere though).  Disintegration is fantastic; it is tragic, beautiful, smart, romantic, indie, cool, awesome and truthful.  If you haven’t heard it before, give it a chance, you’ll like it.

2. Quote of the Day: “That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write “Fuck you” right under your nose.”
-J. D. Salinger, RIP 1/28/10 (courtesy of thinkexist.com)

3. Random Fact of the Day: The first written mention of ice cream in this country can be found in a letter from the 1700s, which admiringly describes the ice cream and strawberry dessert a Maryland governor served at a dinner party. Initially just a treat for the elite (including George Washington, who is said to have consumed enormous quantities), the first ice cream parlor in this country opened in New York City in 1776. In 1845, the hand-cranked freezer was invented, allowing Americans to make ice cream more easily at home.
- drspock.com

4. Cool Online Stuff – Obama Alien Defense (Not border patrol) – Hilariously dumb premise.

5. Random Discussion Item: In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, has Jay Gatsby attained the American Dream?  If so, how?  If not, how?  Discuss.

6. Photo Series of the Day – More from Berlin…

As I listen over the phone to the sounds of orders being yelled out and cappuccino machines buzzing at extremely loud frequencies, I wish it wasn’t snowing so I could conduct this interview in person. Finally the sounds dissipate just long enough for me to ask Bruno Pascale, owner of Café Z at the Zimmerli Art Museum at Rutgers University, some questions.

Within the first five minutes of talking to Bruno it’s readily apparent how accurately he matches the image of the old-school New Jersey Italian-American— from the classic “how you doin’?” accent portrayed so famously on The Sopranos to the hard working mentality. Bruno’s not the only Pascale in the food business. His brother attended culinary school at around the same time he did, although Bruno, seven years his brother’s junior, was a little more ambitious. While Bruno was born and raised in Newark, New Jersey, his parents came from Salerno, Italy— a small town just off the Amalfi Coast.

Bruno is no mobster though, even if he has spent some time in a few pizzerias. He’s been working in the food business now for close to 30 years, both as a chef and at the managerial level.  Given that, it’s surprising to know that Bruno’s only 45. Most men who have business aspirations usually have to wait until they’re in their 40s before they even dream of opening up their own business. In the current economy owning a business requires more money than the average income of a 40 year old can support. Bruno owned his own pizzeria when he was only 17; most seventeen year olds I know don’t even own the car they drive.

The more I talk with Bruno the more I learn just how well versed he is in how to cook and prepare food. His talent also lies in arranging a menu and laying out a restaurant to give off the proper vibe. Café Z maintains a relaxing environment where you can grab a quick cup of coffee or sandwich amidst the hustle-and-bustle of students running in and out of class. Bruno explains to me how the best way to run a successful business is to listen to the customer and to always be honest with them. “If the cook dropped the steak, just apologize and tell them the cookdropped the steak and you’re making a new one.” Coming from a typical Italian household myself, where cooking is the norm, I expected his mother or even his father to be the influence from which his cooking roots came. Almost bashfully Bruno explained how when he was 13 he saw the Pillsbury Doughboy and from then on always wanted to be a chef. My laughter is luckily muffled by the sound of another cappuccino being made.

The moment I learn from Bruno that he owned his very own business at 17, I immediately think back to only two years ago when I was that age. All of a sudden everything I’ve done in my life to this point seems to be brought into perspective. What really have I done? Sure I’m going to college and have lofty goals for my future, but what have I really done? Certainly nothing on par with owning a business. Sitting here, I’m 19; two years older than Bruno when he ran a pizzeria. I’ve never even held a job for longer than six months. The sort of self-confidence and determination it takes to handle that pressure at that age is nothing short of inspiring to me.

My inspirational zeal is short lived and is quickly replaced with sadness. When I ask Bruno how a seventeen-year-old comes to open and run his own pizzeria, he explains that he came to acquire the business when his father died suddenly. Bruno had enough money in the bank to keep the business afloat in its fledgling months. When speaking of the success of his restaurants and other achievements, Bruno’s voice is deep and filled with pride. While Bruno proudly admits that he’s never had to sell a business under negative circumstances, his voice grows hush and regretful as he lists the demands of owning a business. Success has a price, Bruno admits, and for him it was not seeing his kids grow up.

Bruno’s regrets are swiftly pushed aside as he shifts gears and gets right back to business, calling out the line orders to Javy, his assistant at the café. I wait on hold for a minute or so while Bruno handles some food orders at the café, maybe scheduling an interview at lunch with a café operator wasn’t one of my best ideas; instead of dwelling on the past the conversation now drifts towards the future and Bruno’s plans.

When asked what he would do if he had millions of dollars to spend in the restaurant business, Bruno doesn’t talk about opening up fine dining in New York City. He talks about fast food. “Imagine going to a fast food restaurant and instead of getting a Big Mac at the drive-thru you get an order of spaghetti…It could be healthy too. Instead of getting a soda, you get a carrot juice or something like that.” Original ideas these days seem to be few and far between, but drive-thru spaghetti is definitely an original idea.

While Bruno does want to be an owner of a franchise of hybrid fine dining-fast food restaurants, he doesn’t want to be some heard-of but never seen CEO. Business success matters to him, but at the same time he wants to be able to walk into the restaurant and talk to his customers. He wants to be a man of the people! Think Dave Thomas Wendy’s mixed with a little bit of Emril Lagasse’s flair and charisma.

As I end my conversation with Bruno, I’m torn between two feelings: inspiration and utter fear. To be as young as Bruno is and yet have so much experience in the business world is impressive. However, the sheer amount of sacrifices he’s made is troubling. Walking away from my time with Bruno I’m left asking myself, “Is it possible to truly achieve personal and professional success?”

Two visions of my future suddenly flash in front of my eyes. I’ve got a BMW in the driveway, a wife waiting for me to come home, and two boys in little league— all in some beautiful suburban town. Of course the job that supports this life consumes 80 hours each week and in a year half of my possessions are gone and the only time I see my kids is on the court appointed weekends from the divorce settlement. Then I see the other option. I’, coming home from my job at the local supermarket with the night’s dinner, bologna sandwiches, for my loving wife and daughter. I’m happy as can be, until my family and I are evicted for not being to pay the rent on time. While these visions are extreme, they’re not impossible. The trouble arises in trying to show affection for your family while not letting your professional ambition slip. It’s also difficult to maintain a stable financial income while not neglecting your own personal life or your family. Either way, I know one thing: I’ll be looking for Bruno’s chain of “healthy” fast food restaurants in the future and you should too.

Bingham(Gets up walks toward the window, back turned to Orasmus): What do you think is going to happen?

Orasmus (Looking away from the book): It all depends on if she does anything or not.

Bingham(Turning to face Orasmus): She has nothing to gain.  Nothing at all.

Orasmus: What about the money, you idiot?

Bingham: The money is inconsequential…

Orasmus: Non-Sequential.  That’s what we asked for.

Bingham: No, inconsequential.  Insignificant?  Trivial? Come on now Orasmus you went to Oxford.

Orasmus: I did.

Bingham(Sitting back down): Why would she take it?

Orasmus: There is nothing to say that she took it for sure.

Bingham: Where is it then Orasmus?  Where is the $500,000 payoff?  Did we not work?  Don’t we deserve it?

Orasmus: Maybe you don’t deserve it and that’s why we don’t have it.  (Pause) Maybe you took it.

Bingham: You know all my account numbers, where would I hide $500,000 in non-sequential five and ten dollar bills?

Orasmus: Well you could buy storage space for $100 and the rest of my $499,900 could easily fit (He then went back to his dust-jacket).

Bingham: Well, yes that could work.

Orasmus: Or maybe you gave it to a mutual friend, one who double-crossed me.  I have no doubt that it was young Kerr.  Yes, you and Kerr shared the money after you took it, that’s what happened.

Bingham: Yes, that could easily be a possibility.  Why would I share the money with Kerr and not with you?  We had a prior arrangement.

Orasmus: Yes, picking apart your psyche will prove difficult.  I shall need a microscope, some yarn, test tubes, and a mixing beaker.

Bingham: We have no money.

Orasmus: Ah, yes.  Why don’t you go ask Kerr where it is?  I need to pick apart your psyche.

Bingham: I’ll tell Charles to bring him over.

Orasmus: Good good.  I can’t wait to see some of that money.

Charles walks in with Kerr two steps behind.  He is impeccably dressed, a fine form fitting, dark-pinstripe suit, matched with a black shirt and red tie.  Kerr looked nice as well, he wore a standard striped dress shirt, top two buttons undone (for fashion’s sake) and khaki pants.  Kerr happens to be a fucking pussy.

Charles: Gentlemen, Mr. Henry Kerr.

Orasmus: Charles, Charles! Be a sport and pick apart his psyche for me.

Charles: Sir, I’m not trained in such matters.

Orasmus (infuriated): Do it or may God help you.

Charles (monotonously): Regardless of the consequences, the release of the repressed urges and memories does more good than harm, resulting in a new balance and distribution of psychic energy; wouldn’t you agree Mr. Kerr?

Kerr gives a confused look in the direction of Charles, blatantly ignores him, and begins conversing with his peers.

Kerr: Hello fellows (rhyming makes him giggle), how’s all that money treating you?

Charles exits graciously.

Orasmus: I could ask you the same question dirt-bag.

Kerr (leaning against the mantle): How’s all that money treating you?

Bingham: Not so well, in fact.  We don’t know where it is.

Orasmus: I could ask you the same question.

Kerr: Who has it?

Orasmus: I could ask you the same question.

Bingham: Well, Orasmus thinks that you and I took all the money.

Kerr: Where would I hide $500,000 in non-sequential five and ten dollar bills?

Orasmus: Well you could buy storage space for $100 and the rest of my $499,900 could easily fit.

Kerr: Well, yes I guess that would work.

Orasmus: So cough it up Sultan Sam.

Bingham: I already told you I don’t have it.

Orasmus: Not you, the other Sultan Sam.

Kerr: I don’t have it.  Wasn’t Charlotte helping you retrieve the boxes?

Bingham: Yes.  She’s the one who took the money.

Orasmus: Stupid bitch, when I find her I’ll do things to her.  And if you don’t leave I’ll do things to you too

Exit Kerr, quickly.

Charles enters the room with Charlotte two horse-lengths behind him.  Charles has adorned a diamond encrusted black walking cane and white aristocratic gloves.

Charles (Standing at attention): Miss Charlotte Adams.

Charlotte: Hello Hello!

Orasmus: Charles?

Charles: Yes sir?

Orasmus (eying his new cane and gloves): Bring me my stethoscope and the financial times, immediately.

Charles exits.

Orasmus: I’m going to do things to you, woman!

Bingham: Now, now, Orasmus.

Orasmus: No, I remember, she took the money.

Charlotte: I brought the boxes here; there was nothing in them?

Orasmus: NO, THERE WAS NOTHING IN THEM!

Bingham: We never received any notification on box delivery.

Orasmus: You hid the boxes from me Bingham?

Charlotte: I left them at the rendez-vous point, you know… in the garage?

Bingham: Ah the garage.

Orasmus: Charles! The garage, please.

Charles (Appearing): Will bring it, sir.

Charles returns to the room where Charlotte is staring aimlessly out of the window, Bingham is back on his chair with his hands crossed over his chest and Orasmus sitting, reading the prologue to The Art of War.

Charles: Well, I’m off.

Orasmus (angry because of the undermining of his authority): Where.  Is.  The.  Garage.  Charles?

Charles (proudly): I am sick and tired of working for you tirelessly painful troglodytes.  You do nothing, you just sit there and ask for ridiculous things, wishing and waiting.  Then, miraculously, you get this gift of a transaction from the Mexicans.  A profit of $500,000 if you just order your grand-daughter and man-slave around.

Orasmus: The garage, sir.

Charles: Shut up.  I’m taking the boxes, I’ve loaded them into my Mercedes and I’m leaving.  I think, Barbados.

Charles puts on a new bowler hat and handmade leather boots and heads toward the door.

(Under his breathe) Fuck it.  Charlotte!

Charlotte turns around for the first time through the scene; she wears a pained look on her face.

Come with me.

Charlotte: But you’re 55 years old, balding, but hairy in weird places, boring, uneducated, sexually unpleasing, potbellied and monotonous.  (Excited) Will you buy me that Gypsy I’ve always wanted?

Charles: With the money I have, I can get you as many Gypsies as you want.

Charlotte (emotionally): Darling!

They kiss, and leave arm-in-arm.

Orasmus is still in utter shock from when Charles told him to “Shut up.”  He was just coming out of it.  Bingham’s eyes were closed; they had been for some time.

Orasmus (Infuriated): Who in God’s name do you think you are Charles?  We brought you in from the street when you were 27, from that boring ‘village’ apartment with those marijuana user roommates of yours.  God, the 90’s were such a sadistic blur.

Bingham (awaking): Charles! A bottle of Perrier.

Orasmus: Charles… Always playing tricks.

But there were no tricks.

Sunrises through the yellow bus window.  I hear the high pitched shrieks of children all around me.  I’m so confused, where the hell am I this time? I follow them as they exit the bus, running around with no concern what so ever.  I end up with them in a class room, why did I walk with them, I don’t belong.  I sit down in a worn wooden desk looking on a busted dusty black board.  A woman with wool for hair and a hooked nose starts calling role in the same monotonous voice you would expect from a person without a soul. She wears a pink scarf and a white blouse that shows the sag, it makes me nauseous. I continue to stare at her, wondering why do I have to listen to this decrepit old witch.

I hear something, “John Bart, John Bart, are you not paying attention again?”  The hair on her head bounces up and down as she approaches me.  I guess that is who I am this time.  Not Remus Ditto I am John Bart.  The old hag towers over me with her hooked nose only inches away.  She gives me a devilish grin and snidely states, “Just like your father a hopeless dreamer with no future.  I hope your teacher in the third grade is just as lenient as I am.”

I interrupt her pointless rant and rise up out of my seat. “Excuse me Ma’am, but I am not John Bart.”  She smiles as I say this.  In a sick way she enjoys the game we’re about to play.  She wants to prove her dominance over a second grader.  She can possibly know how this is going to end.

“Oh, really.  If you’re not John Bart then who are you?  Let me guess Mickey Mouse, no Spider Man, or maybe one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”  Her grin widened as she continued to mock me.  I put my foot down on hers, and grabbed her sickly pink scarf.

“Listen you dilapidated old crone.  You think you might be better than the rest of these children, but I’m not like them I won’t let you boss me around like them.  I’m not afraid of some witch who feels the need to belittle seven year olds.  If you must know who I am I’ll tell you.” I pause only to breathe in and scream, “I am Remus Ditto!  Now if you don’t mind I will be taking my leave of absence from this class as I feel that anybody who is as shriveled on the inside as you won’t be able to teach me anything of value let alone help me find my face!”  I begin to leave the room,  cheers and clapping follow me as I exit the old wooden door.  I don’t know if I did the right thing.  I might have made life hell for this kid.  If this happens again I think I might have to be more careful.  I playing with people’s lives.  I continue to walk down the hallway then a light…

~Mick Coughlin

Your wild, Irish curls
Vacillated,
Protruded,
Projected,
Connected,
Intertwined,
[Spoke]
[Conversed]
With my tamed,
Romanced strands—

Then the film strips
Danced
Behind my back,
Behind our backs,
Behind the shadowed movement
Of tongues,
Of hands,
Of long, novice fingers,
Of arched backs,
And of blinded,
Inexperienced eyes.

I see that standard in Best Actor Jeff Bridges, who is smooth, cool and (dare I say) groovy. Down to earth and clever, Bridges brought the character Bad Blake to a level deeper than the script in “Crazy Heart.” He got down to the grit of Bad Blake’s lost life while embracing the character’s buried creativity and sensitivity. Congratulations, Dude.

That skill, however, is lost in the Best Actress category. I liked Sandra Bullock in “Miss Congeniality.” She does the quirky, Julia Roberts thing well. But that is where she should stay. Bullock’s career is not Best Actress worthy and neither was her acting in “The Blind Side.” It was contrived. The problem is that instead of watching a character live on-screen, I see Bullock playing dress up and pretending. There’s no transition into another perspective. Because of this, the character Leigh Anne Tuohy does not meet its full on-screen potential. In an attempt to be genuine and serious, Bullock comes off insincere. Her portrayal of a soccer mom is more like a Real Housewife. I think even the actress recognizes her lack of ability when the first words of her acceptance were: “Did I really earn this or did I just wear you all down?”

At least the title of this year’s Best Picture doesn’t lie. Watching “The Hurt Locker” is like being stuck inside of a metal gym locker and thrown down a two-hour, eleven-minute long flight of steps. It’s painful.

I first saw the movie when it came out in theaters. My best friend had a Tuesday night free movie ticket deal and we figured we’d see the movie that was being proclaimed as “near-perfect.” Thank god the tickets were free. We had no guilt walking out of that theater after twenty minutes. *

At the time I thought this movie would slowly fade into that great abyss filled with other crappy movies. When it didn’t I figured, well some slip through the cracks. But how this movie won Best Picture is mind-blowing and downright irritating.

“The Hurt Locker” is bad acting crammed into melodramatic scenes glossed with pathetic banter all packaged neatly with a yellow bow on top of a contemporary-American perspective of the war in Iraq. I am by no means undermining or belittling the REAL men and women who have fought there. This movie, however, does not do them justice as a cinematic performance. What happened to “Up,” “Inglorious Bastards,” or “Avatar?” Each one of these expanded the realm of the movie-making industry. They offer new characters, new techniques, new humor, and yet: “The Hurt Locker.” I can think of no legacy for or contribution offered by this misappropriated Best Picture. It did not move me. It did not leave me with catharsis. Instead it only left a bad taste in my mouth.

I’d like to not thank the Academy, and give them overall thumbs down.

*For the sake of giving it a second chance, I recently watched “The Hurt Locker” in its entirely,

(Photos courtesy of mirror.co.uk and chinadaily.com.cn)

Willis and Morgan play two detectives who have been partners for nine years. During those nine years, I find it completely inconceivable that Tracey Morgan could arrest anybody, especially after his endeavors in the film. He is hardly able to put an intelligible sentence together (which is why we love him). After doing something stupid they get suspended, without pay, making it impossible for Willis to pay for his daughter’s overly lavish wedding (price tag of $48,000). Now I don’t know much about weddings, but I hope I don’t have a daughter. To afford the bill he would have to sell his most prized possession, a baseball card worth over $80,000. So, everything should work out great until… oh shit. At this point anything resembling plot was thrown out of the window (and anything more and there will be no point in you seeing this).

My other issue with the movie: the cast was completely ridiculous, I don’t mean good ridiculous, I just mean ridiculous ridiculous. Aside from Willis, Morgan and William-Scott it was a bunch of weird misplaced actors: Seth from the O.C. plays a half-gay, half-retarded detective; Scarface, as aforementioned, plays the quintessential Latino gang-banger drug-lord named “Poh Boy,” who is missing something too (perhaps something to trade for the baseball card?) Jason Lee plays an easily forgettable rich second husband to Willis’ former wife, a.k.a. the biggest cock in the world (yang to his yin). Together, their acting loosened the already lacking plot and only made the movie longer.

That said, the movie was like a can of coke; refreshing while you drink it, but leaves you thirsty and without the option of a refill. It needed more, and I never have thought that of a Kevin Smith movie as such (maybe Jersey Girl (shouldn’t have been made)), so it was kind of shocking. It is also amazing to me that Kevin Smith wasn’t mention in the previews, being as prolific as he is among our generation. This is not a Kevin Smith film. If you’re looking for Jason Mewes and Jason Lee (well he’s in there) acting all wack/baked/gross, this is not the film for you. If you are looking for a fun movie, one that doesn’t require thought, nor post analysis, this is the movie for you. I’ve seen it once, and I don’t need to see it again.

Above: Les Femmes du Maroc: #20, Lalla Essaydi, 2008. Lent by the Artist, Courtesy Edwynn Houk Gallery, New York, and Howard Yezerski Gallery, Boston, MA.

The Jane Voorhees Zimmerli Art Museum at Rutgers features the latest body of work by the New York-based, Moroccan-born artist Lalla Essaydi in Les Femmes du Maroc from January 30 to June 6, 2010. Seventeen large-format color photographs will portray Moroccan women in tableaux based on famous examples of 19th-century European and American Orientalist paintings and covered in Arabic calligraphic script. A selection of Orientalist works from the museum’s extensive collections of European graphic art will also be on display to provide a cultural context for Essaydi’s work.

Each photograph is the culmination of careful staging. Essaydi arranged the models, all female friends and acquaintances, in poses based on Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres’s The  Grand Odalisque (1814), Jean-Léon Gérôme’s The Slave Market (1867), Eugene Delacroix’s Women of Algiers (1834) and other well-known paintings.  She removed the male figures and all color and decorative details, draping the women in white. She then painstakingly inscribed every surface (animate and inanimate) with text lifted straight from her diary, rendered in formal Arabic calligraphy and applied with henna. The combination of calligraphy and henna is provocative.  (Until very recently in the Middle East, calligraphy was an art form practiced exclusively by men for the transcription of sacred texts, while henna is traditionally a woman’s art that marks ritual moments in female life.) The resulting chromogenic prints are nearly life-sized, in dimensions as large as 6 by 7.8 feet.

“In my art, I wish to present myself through multiple lenses—as artist, as Moroccan, as Saudi, as traditionalist, as Liberal, as Muslim.  In short, I invite viewers to resist stereotypes,” says Essaydi.

“Lalla Essaydi’s photographs knowingly conflate long-held cultural distinctions between men and women, public and private, and the sacred and mundane,” says Suzanne Delehanty, Director of the Zimmerli. “As a teaching institution, our museum is incredibly fortunate to be able to present this body of work, which invites us to ponder the role of women in the East and the West.

Les Femmes Du Maroc is organized by  Nick Capasso, Senior Curator at the deCordova Sculpture Park  and Museum in Lincoln, Massachusetts, where the exhibition originated.  The exhibition is on view at the deCordova this fall, before traveling to the Zimmerli. At the Zimmerli, the coordinating curator is Donna Gustafson, Liaison for the Mellon Program and Assistant Curator of American Art.

Each photograph in the Les Femmes du Maroc series is evidence of an arduous performative process whereby the artist gathered friends and acquaintances and invited them to talk, minister to each other, and engage in simple domestic acts over many hours at a time.  All the while, without respite, the artist wrote her thoughts, dreams, and fears in henna on their bodies and clothes as well as on the floor, walls, and curtains before photographing the final scene. The hennaed text was loosely applied, obscured by shifts in scale and the overlapping of figures and drapery, at pitched angle, with words applied atop words like a palimpsest. As the artist intended, even readers of Arabic cannot fully make out its meanings.

“Her transformations of the original paintings show her regard for their beauty as images while they also reveal the colonial and gendered perspectives of Orientalism. The photographs are remarkable in their presentation of the way the past lives on in the present,” says Gustafson.

The title of the series is a modification of Delacroix’s Les Femmes d’Algiers, a painting widely thought to exemplify the phenomenon of Orientalism, wherein European colonizing powers sought to interpret and  represent the culture of the East for the purpose of control.

The Zimmerli Museum will host a symposium focusing on the issues that Lalla Essaydi’s photographs raise on March 3, 2010 from 2 to 5 pm. Speakers are Tarek Kahlaoui, Susan Sidlauskas, Andres Zervignon from Rutgers University, and Renata Holod from the University of Pennsylvania.  Following the presentation of papers, a panel discussion with questions posed by the audience will be moderated by Donna Gustafson.  This symposium has been funded by The Andrew T. Mellon Foundation.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

The photographer, painter, and installation artist Lalla Essaydi was raised in Morocco and lived in Saudi Arabia before studying at the L’Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris and completing her MFA at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts/TUFTS University, in Boston, MA (2003).

Her work is represented in private and public collections around the world, including the Louvre Museum, Paris; the British National Museum, London; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; and the Art Institute of Chicago.  Lalla Essaydi is represented by Edwynn Houk Gallery in New York City,  and Howard Yezerski Gallery in Boston.

Zimmerli Art Museum

Jane Voorhees Zimmerli Art Museum, one of the largest and most distinguished university-based museums in the nation, is located on the New Brunswick campus of Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey. Established in 1766, Rutgers is America’s eighth oldest institution of higher learning and one of the nation’s premier public research universities.  Zimmerli Art Museum houses more than 60,000 works, including the Norton and Nancy Dodge Collection of Nonconformist Art from the Soviet Union and rich holdings of 19^th-century French prints and drawings and American art.

The Zimmerli is midway between New York City and Philadelphia and a short walk from the New Jersey Transit station in New Brunswick.

SUPPORT

At the deCordova Sculpture Park and Museum, the exhibition is funded by a generous grant from the Lois and Richard England Family Foundation.

At the Zimmerli Museum, this exhibition and related programs are funded in part by The Andrew W. Mellon Foundation; the Zimmerli receives support from Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey; the New Jersey State Council on the Arts/Department of State, a Partner Agency of the National Endowment for the Arts; and by the donors, members, and friends of the Jane Voorhees Zimmerli Art Museum.

LOCATION AND HOURS

Zimmerli Art Museum is located at 71 Hamilton Street (corner of George Street) on the College Avenue campus of Rutgers University in New Brunswick. Hours are Tuesday through Friday, 10 am to 4:30 pm, and Saturday to Sunday, noon to 5 pm; first Wednesdays of each month September through July, 10 am to 9 pm. Admission is $3.00 for adults and free for museum members, Rutgers students, faculty and staff (with ID), and children under 18. Admission is free on the first Sunday of every month. For more information, call 732.932.7237, ext. 610 or visit the museum’s website: www.zimmerlimuseum.rutgers.edu

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