Both Sidings Now: Mixed-Media Houses

house with fake brick siding patched with many different types of shingles
The Sistine Chapel of mixed-media DIY home repair. Etna

With apologies to Joni Mitchell,

I’ve looked at life with both sidings now
Fake stone, fake brick, anyhow
Clapboard slats and fish scale tile
Colored vinyl—go on for miles

Call it what you like—brick collage bricolage or asphalt aspirations, vinyl verité or aluminum assemblage. We’re going the refer to the unique phenomena of homes improved in multiple phases with multiple different exterior building materials as mixed-media houses.

side-view of row house exterior made up of many different building materials
Slanted and enchanted. Mixed-media with ghost house. Lawrenceville

However it worked out, there are a lot of Pittsburgh homes—specifically row housesthat ended up with an upstairs/downstairs division in after-market siding. Sometimes, the twofer becomes a fourfer or fivefer when we go around the corner, under the porch, or up to the mansard roof.

The choice of material sometimes seems like a very conscious design decision—let’s do the first floor in blue stucco, she might say, yeah, and we’ll have white aluminum on the second floor, he joins in—but that doesn’t explain everything.

detail of residential wall showing fake brick siding underneath tiled siding
Bustin’ loose / drink the Kool-Aid. Elliott

Way too many of these examples seem like accidents of time, as if one set of homeowners made an initial decision and a subsequent owner came along and flipped the script twenty years later. Some just feel like people went with bargain lots on leftovers that couldn’t cover the entire house. We’ll likely never know why things ended up the way the did.

The photos—hopefully—speak for themselves and we don’t have enough puns on exterior cladding or Joni Mitchell in-jokes to warrant too much jibber-jabber. Enjoy.

back sides of several joined row houses
Once, twice, nine times a lady. Lawrenceville
row house with collection of different types of siding
The grand buffet! Bloomfield
house with many different styles of siding
An even grander buffet! Allentown
older brick house with modern facade additions in many styles
Ain’t that America: brick, wood, steel, and glass. Mt. Washington
house wall showing multiple siding materials
Rocks Bottoms mixer-upper. McKees Rocks
garage wall showing multiple siding materials
Triple layer cake. Bloomfield
set of three row houses in mid-renovation showing many layers of different siding types
Mid-renovation mixed-media. Bloomfield
three-story house with different styles of siding at each level
Three stories for three storeys. Millvale
pair of row houses with different types of siding on first and second floors
Bloofer-Twofer. Bloomfield
house with multiple patterns of siding
Business in the front … a different type of business around the side. West Homestead
small building with multiple siding materials in Donora, PA
Off off-white and stone below. Donora
pair of row houses where wall siding of one matches porch siding of the other
Your porch, my wall. Neighbors sharing siding. Bloomfield
wood fence constructed with many different pieces of scrap wood
“That used to be a crack house,” the neighbor told me. Mixed-media fencing, Beltzhoover
older apartment house with wood siding on the first floor and fish scale shingling on the second and third
Upstairs/downstairs. Polish Hill
newly-constructed row houses with "ghost house" cutting through the aluminum siding
The ghost in you. Mixed-media ghost house. Duryea, PA
large older row house with multiple types of siding
Mansard multi-layer. Bloomfield
small building with multiple siding materials in Pittsburgh, PA
Old school/new school. Hazelwood
large older building using multiple types of siding
Multi-sided multi-sidings. Bloomfield

Maybe It’s a Sign? Considering Mystery Signs

sign nailed to tree reading "Barber School?"
Pretty sure that’s not a barber school, but now we have to question everything. A mystery sign in Kilbuck Township

So many questions! One chunk of wood nailed to another is attached to the outside of a residential garage. Next to the wood hangs a length of braided twine with a sharp nail at the end. The wood is painted with a cryptic message: Its for my bac but by a man’s hand.

Bac may or may not have been cut off—or misspelled. Is it for the back? What is it—the nail on the string? Does this serve a real purpose—that’s hard to imagine—or is it entirely symbolic? Assuming the latter, the message is lost on me. Maybe it’s a Biblical or cultural reference your heathen author just doesn’t get?

It’s the very definition of a mystery sign—a public notice set out for the world to consume but not entirely clear what the message is or who it’s meant for.

small sign on cinderblock wall reading "It's for my bac... but by a man's hand."
“Its for my bac… but by a man’s hand.” The Run
large roadside sign saying "No quid pro quo"
“No quid pro quo.” Duquesne

With some signs the mystery may not be that great but they’re still worth review and inclusion. We may assume the No quid pro quo sign [photo above]—photographed in Duquesne during some of the former guy’s obvious quid pro quo activity—is the work of one of the ex-president’s supporters expressing an opinion … but it still looks way goofy absent any other context.

Anyone who travels Babcock Blvd. in the summer knows the corn guys by Hastings Hardware, but still, seeing a lone day-glow CORN SOON sign [below] just feels like a cruel taunt. Found glasses [below] suggests someone did exactly that … but not any way to return the lost item to its rightful owner.

Handmade sign on utility pole reading "Corn Soon"
But when will there be corn NOW? “CORN SOON.” North Hills
hand-written sign with drawing of eyeglasses and text "Found glasses"
“Found glasses.” Lawrenceville
sign in front yard with spray-painted message "Who is John Galt?"
I don’t know—you tell me! “Who is John Galt?” Stanton Heights

Others aren’t so obvious. Who is John Galt? [above] has an easily Googleable explanation, but it doesn’t explain why a Stanton Heights homeowner feels the need to decorate their front yard with this message.

A chain link fence in a Bloomfield alley hosts an odd specimen. No violins, the sign declares, along with a fine folksy painting of the instrument, no crying, no crying [below]. We like to think violins are purely metaphor here—that crying is the only real objection—but where’s that coming from? Not a creature was stirring when the picture was snapped, but perhaps it rains with teardrops of a thousand tortured toddlers at other times of day.

hand-painted sign with violin and text "No violins, no crying"
Cellos only. “No violins. No crying. No crying.” Bloomfield
hand-written sign in barber shop window reading "See you Tuesday Guess Why""
You don’t want me guessing why. “See you Tuesday Guess ? Why.” Millvale

Every one of these gems has a story and it’s likely we won’t find out the explanations to any of them—and that’s OK. With the number of messages we humans push out to the world every single day, I’ll take mystery over hate, exploitation, cruelty, or narcissism any time. Wondering ain’t such a bad thing. Plus, like the sign says, … And that’s life right?

Sign on utility pole reading "Street continues around corner."
Perhaps the most Pittsburgh sign ever. “Street continues around corner.” Troy Hill
hand-painted sign on utility pole reading "Slow kid playin"
“Slow kid playin.” Millvale
wooden board with cryptic symbols painted on it nailed to utility poles
Runes, Oakland
wooden sign nailed to utility pole with hand-painted message "CJ's Spot"
“CJ’s Spot.” Hill District
cardboard sign in window of home reading "Someone else removed the stop work order."
Sure they did. “Someone else removed the stop work order.” Spring Garden
hand-written sign in Zip-Loc bad stapled to utility pole
“Psalm 91 over this neighborhood.” North Side
mirror in front yard of home with message "Please do turn around here."
Vampires, you’re on your own. “Please do turn around here.” The Run
hand-written sign in barber shop window reading "Closed until Tuesday for court stuff"
“Closed until Tuesday for court stuff.” Millvale
handwritten sign in hot dog shop window reading "We are completely out of chili ... sorry."
If only every restaurant was as up front about their chili status. “We are completely out of chili … sorry.” Frankie’s, Lawrenceville
empty aluminum serving trays in deli display case with Post-It note reading "Not for consumption. Only for religion purpose."
“Not for consumption. Only for religion purpose.” Scranton
Handmade sign reading "JACK"
You don’t know Jack. “JACK.” Lawrenceville
color printout of cat stapled to utility pole
Cat, just a cat. Spring Garden
pair of doors in brick building, one of which has handmade sign reading "ACES"
“ACES.” Vandergrift
hand-painted sign on utility pole reading "NO OUTLET"
“NO OUT LET.” Millvale
white paper taped to cinderblock wall with no text remaining
A mystery [blank/sunbleached] sign among mystery signs! Lawrenceville
hand-written sign left by highway
“Sun Ra / Alice Coltrane. I miss my friends …” Millvale
handmade wooden sign with section missing attached to utility pole
What was here before the middle went missing? Polish Hill/Strip District
plastic butterfly and small sign reading "... and that's life" on cinderblock wall
It sure is. “… and that’s life.” The Run

Rust, White, and Blue: Flag Post 2022

older camper trailer painted in red, white, and blue
Red, white, and blue camper, Dravosburg

If there is a best flag to represent America in 2022, it may well be this one. Fifteen or twenty feet tall, the big metal version of the stars & bars fills a huge section of exterior wall on the Dura-Bond Pipe facility in McKeesport.

The image is all there, but it’s seen better days. The blue field behind the flag’s fifty stars is faded and streaked; red stripes are all but gone entirely. In their void, scratchy, rusty striations seem to be eating Old Glory from the inside out.

large American flag on warehouse wall with red stripes faded
Rust, white, and blue. Warehouse flag, Dura-Bond Pipe, McKeesport

If that’s not a perfect analog for the current state of our American union, I don’t know what is. America is still here, we see its shape and form, still recognize its power and pretense, but it seems to be disappearing—or is actively being destroyed—right in front of our eyes, in ways we never imagined.

We’ll not do any great opining here—you’ve got blow-out mattress sales and sun-soaked cookouts to get to. Maybe, though, in between all those hot dogs and foul balls, consider what you can actively do—and not just on the Internet—to preserve American democracy between now and next Independence Day.

Enjoy the flags (and flag-like things). Happy Independence Day, y’all!

cement stair steps painted red, white, and blue
Flag steps, Hazelwood
brick wall painted with mural of American flag
This is YOUR FLAG. VFW, Tyrone, PA
storefront painted like American flag
Flag building. Kaps & Taps, Duryea, PA
grave marker with large engraved American flag
The flag’s not dead! Flag grave, Richand Cemetery, Dravosburg
building siding painted like the American flag, but with no stars in the blue field
No stars/blank slate. Hancock, MD
decorative garden gnomes painted like the American flag
The land of the free and the home of the gnomes. Flag gnomes, Highland Park
bird house painted red, white, and blue
Free bird(s)! Flag bird house, Polish Hill
box truck painted like American flag
The jokes write themselves. Shred America, the “Paper Shredding Patriots,” Strip District
homemade wooden American flag on front porch of house
Barbed wire stars. Porch flag, Perry Hilltop
front gate with eagle ornament painted like American flag
American eagle. Ambridge
wooden painted cutout of Uncle Sam in front of house
Uncle Sam with bird, butterfly, and electric meter. Glassport
front porch with handmade wooden flag
Porch flag, Stanton Heights
crushed beer can with American flag design
Ain’t that America. Beer can flag, trampled underfoot, South Side

If that ain’t enough flags for you, our sister blog The Portland Orbit has their own flag post out today. Let’s go, America!

Don’t Need No Doctor: A Prescription for Mannequin Fever

mannequins with colorful tuxedo vests in storefront window, DuBois, PA
Dressed to impress. Mannequins all set for prom, heads optional.

If you’re like most, you can’t even remember when or where the fever set in. A trip to the department store with Mom, perhaps—that’s where I caught it—or glanced from the corner of the eye while hustling down a busy sidewalk past downtown shop windows.

Figures, stiff and lifeless with contorted expressions and abstracted features frozen mid-pose, draped in seasonal attire or modeling hats and jewelry. Not people, but also not not people, mannequins are no simple clothes hangers in 3-D. Mannequins lead strange existences like harmless exhibitionist vampires—caught in an eternal state somewhere between alive and dead, real and imagined, naked and clothed, a waking dream and a living nightmare.

purple mannequin torso in green overgrowth
A raspberry mannequin in her natural habitat
mannequin dressed as Statue of Liberty
Lady Liberty, mannequin style

One can be excused for thinking mannequin fever only expresses itself within the world of retail apparel. I’m not going to lie, when your author is jonesing and it’s been a while he’ll take a stroll into a Marshall’s, Gabe’s, or Target’s just to take the edge off. It’s a good idea to have one’s local vintage shops in poking distance during a fallow period.

Sure, that’ll get you through, but the real fever kicks in when you’re well out-of-range of sterile department store fluorescent lights and the ringing of cash registers. We’re talking about the not-quite-beating heart of Mannequin Nation.

wig store window with many mannquin heads and painting of Santa Claus
Forget eight tiny reindeer, Santa’s got dozens of mannequins ready to party!
female mannequin of front deck of wooden house
Nothing creepy here. On the lookout with a vacant stare at Lobo’s Lair.

Dozens of mannequin heads stacked cheek-to-jowl in the front window of a wig store. Headless mannequins dressed in patriotic red, white, and blue finery. Like something out of a cable TV crime drama, a lone female model, dressed for summer sun, on the front deck of a house literally down by the river with a sign reading Lobo’s Lair.

You don’t need a head—or a brain—to love America!
male mannequin wearing black and gold leather underwear
Let’s go Steelers!

Mannequins cheer on the Pittsburgh Steelers—in their own way—and advertise political candidates on crime scene cleanup coveralls. (“Shut up and do your job!”) Mannequins hawk vape store offerings—like we need another reason to try Juul strawberry lemondade e-cigs, am I right? Along with the rest of us, mannequins have their own pandemic concerns to worry about and get left out on the curb for big garbage day.

storefront with two mannequins wearing full-body hazard suits
Send in the clones
sculpture made from mannequin torso with large white wig
Mannequin art!

Bored fashion mannequins—hey, you’d be bored too if you had to sit still for months at a time!—wait to catch the eyes of sidewalk strollers. Arty mannequins with paint-cracked skin, ridiculous wigs, and detached hands look for a whole different type of attention. Mannequins are relegated to the side porch with the cat box and dumped in construction sites like stool pigeons who’ve squawked for the last time.

painted mannequin boy left on curbside
Been there! Mannequin left out for the trash
mannequin dressed in banana costume holding sign for vape shop
Vape shop banana mannequin, a “bananaquin”

One more note for the heads (ha!): no discussion of Pittsburgh-area mannequin fever should leave out Randyland—the city’s grand buffet of mutant mannequins. The central North Side artvironment has a little bit of everything and whole lot of over-the-top. That includes mannequins—available any time you need them—hand painted, accessorized, and ready to party. A must, when you’ve got the fever.

man posing behind painted mannequin heads
Mannequins as far as the eye can see. Randyland, Pittsburgh’s mannequin central.
six mannequin midriffs on shelving
Mannequin midriffs, on sale
mannequin heads with protective face shields in storefront window
That’s not six feet apart! Mannequins get Covid-safe.
pair of mannequin heads with wigs and white lipstick
White lips passing in the night
five mannequin heads, each with a long wig, in storefront window
Bored mannequins with long haircuts floating in space
mannequin torso and cat box on porch of house
Still life with mannequin and cat box
mannequins dressed in vintage formal wear in storefront window
Mannequins all set for their dreamy music video
storefront mannequin dressed with bikini top and carnival mask

mannequin lower torso with golden bikini bottom and yellow sashes
Hey, it’s carnival time!

Lastly, a big shout-out to our sister blog The Portland Orbit whose recent story Whatever Happened to Mannequin Fever? got us up off the thinkin’ chair and digging through the archives for a suitable answer post, many years in the making.

mannequin left in muddy water of construction site
Mannequin hit job

Bin There, Done That: Art, Down in the Dumpster

dumpster painted with television test pattern
Kill Your Television! … or, at least, watch it like it was a dumpster. Test pattern dumpster art, Clement Way, Bloomfield

With apologies to writer/poet Eleanor Farjeon:

Art is anywhere, any street, any stair.
Under tires, hung from wires, in a valley, down the alley.
On lonely walls and made from dolls, cleaning teeth and up in trees.
With the car, in the yard, cut from books, with focused looks.
Anywhere! It doesn’t care! Art is anywhere.

O.R. Bête
painting of man's face on dumpster, Pittsburgh, PA
Portrait of man with mustache and monocle, East Liberty

Consider the dumpster. It’s just a big trash can, hauled in when a house is getting gutted, rented out to construction sites, left out back in semi-permanent residence to contain ongoing retail and restaurant waste.

Like garbage bins of any size, dumpsters live brutally utilitarian lives, out of sight and out of mind. I’m guessing the majority of us rarely engage with industrial-grade waste receptacles. Sometimes—like Boyd Roll-Off Services’ breast cancer awareness dumpsters—the big steel bins get a tiny moment to shine. That’s the exception; not the rule.

dumpster with wheatpaste mask-like face
Mask up! Garfield

But, as we’ve already alluded-to in verse, if an object or environment can hold paint, be glued-upon or used to hang things from, performed in or danced-around someone will find a way to turn it into a venue for artistic expression. Big steel dumpsters are no exception … even if the audience for exhibition thereon is almost certainly random, and limited.

dumpster with irregular lettering spelling Waste / Residual / Municipal
Waste / Residual / Municipal (sic.), Poconos

Let’s call the patrons of these al fresco galleries of chance the real deal, seekers, culture vultures. Not content with a curated-by-the-man experience of a trip to The Carnegie or The Warhol, feeling confined by the lower-expectations, but still-commercial ambitions of a first Friday in Garfield, the connoisseur de carnage digs deep behind buildings and circles sidewalk skips looking for that one elusive scribble, one perfect stencil, one perfectly-dripped spray-paint doodle.

Whether you, dear reader, fall into this exclusive, sneakin’ Sally down the alley, pungently-fragrant coterie, know that The Orbit will be there—poking retail backsides, circling the big bins, and capturing this momentary, transitory artwork … before it all gets thrown away.

commercial dumpster painted with orange dinosaur
Trashasaurus Rex, Downtown
rat sticker on dumpster, Pittsburgh, PA
Dumpster rat, Strip District
graffiti stencil of person's face on pink dumpster, Pittsburgh, PA
Stencil face, Shadyside
detail of blue garbage dumpster with partial ad for spaghetti sauce, Pittsburgh, PA
Rizzo’s Spaghetti Sauce, Strip District
Big Wayne/Public Enemy, Lawrenceville
All hands, Glassport
painted graffiti eye on dumpster in alley
Keep an eye out for this dumpster, Bloomfield
large dumpster painted with colorful text reading "RANKIN"
Triton RANKIN dumpster, Garfield
dumpster with graffiti painting of man's head
Our old friend “The Dude,” Deutschtown
dumpster with graffiti drawing of mustached man's head, Pittsburgh, PA
Our old friend “The Dude,” Lawrenceville
graffiti drawing of human skull on exterior of trash dumpster
Big’Skull, Polish Hill
crude graffiti drawing of a skull on the outside of a dumpster
Skull, Sharpsburg
spray-painted smiling bear head on small dumpster
Happy bear, Strip District
commercial dumpster with sticker of Andre the Giant
This dumpster has a posse. Lawrenceville
graffiti alarmed face on commercial dumpster
Oh no! Bloomfield
commercial dumpster with graffiti "We need more black love"
“We need more black love,” Waterworks Mall
pink elephant wheatpaste on commercial dumpster
Pink elephant, Deutschtown
small dumpster with graffiti drawing of man's head
Rope skippin’ dude, Strip District
graffiti drawing of a raccoon in a trash can on commercial dumpster
Justa Trash Panda I, Strip District
graffiti drawing of a raccoon in a trash can on commercial dumpster
Jussa Big Ole Trash Panda II, Lawrenceville
commercial dumpster with graffiti of raccoon in trash can
Justa (trashed) Trash Panda III, Downtown
graffiti drawing of person with coat-hanger hat on commercial dumpster
Coat-hanger hat, Polish Hill
wheatpaste street art on dumpster of heart-shaped face with Xs over eyes
Sometimes love can get you down in the dumpster. Garfield
dumpster with graffiti of man's head and text "I see $ as the root of all people"
“I see $ as the root of all people,” Deutschtown
dumpster with sticker art and graffiti, Pittsburgh, PA
“[Love]? not [love] feelings or confusion about feelings,” Sticker Face I, Strip District
homemade sticker with simple drawing of face on dumpster, Pittsburgh, PA
Sticker Face II, Strip District

A Bundle of Plastic Flowers, A Tumble of Teddy Bears: Memorial Day, 2022

memorial left on bridge support
Impromptu memorial for Tony, Bette & Sisters, down under the high-level bridge, Homestead

In so many cases, we have next-to-nothing to go on—an overflowing bundle of plastic flowers, maybe, or a tumble of teddy bears. There are memorials with rain-streaked and sun-bleached photographs. Utility poles are strung with flags, photographs, and the personal effects of the departed. Crosses left by the side of the road decorate every highway and bouquets adorn all too many neighborhood telephone poles.

Sometimes we get a name, or names, but that’s it. Who were Tony, Bette & Sisters? (photo above) And how did they come to be memorialized with flowers and a placard on the concrete support of the Homestead High-Level Bridge? Did this fairly anonymous spot have a special significance to their lives? Their passing?

roadside memorial cross attached to utility pole
Chance Borgese, Monongahela

When we see a memorial cross installed in the grass by a highway or lashed to a metal guardrail, it’s a pretty safe guess the person’s death was related to an automobile. The NHTSA estimates nearly 43,000 auto-related deaths in the United States in 2021. The evidence of those kinds of numbers is all around us.

Chance Borgese who lost control of his car and crashed into a guardrail on Rt. 88 near Monongahela in 2020. Borgese has a large wooden cross adorned with a wreath of flowers, a photograph, and decorative pots left for him on the site. He’s not the only one with a roadside cross.

memorial on utility pole with stuffed animals and flowers
unknown, Homewood

When we see similar scenes on residential side streets, it’s had not to worry something more sinister was afoot.

That’s definitely true for Dai’Shawn Grace, whose memorial on a Munhall utility pole includes a photo-adorned cross, flowers, and protective ring of stuffed animals. In 2019, Mr. Grace was murdered, shot multiple times, walking home from the bus stop after working a shift as a prep cook.

memorial for murder victim on utility pole
Dai’Shawn Grace, Munhall
roadside memorial featuring teddy bears taped to utility pole
Dai’Shawn Grace, Munhall

This Memorial Day 2022 there’s no shortage of human losses to mourn. A million American lives to Covid—an enormous number of which could’ve been prevented if people simply believed science. Unimaginable—and likely difficult to even estimate—deaths in Ukraine. Horrific mass murders in Buffalo and Uvalde. No small number of shooting deaths right here in Pittsburgh. The list goes on and on.

So while many of us get to enjoy this sunny, summery day off from work—quite possibly with friends, beers, and the smell of charcoal in the air—let’s not forget that Memorial Day need not be reserved for our fallen soldiers. When any 18-year-old can legally buy an assault rifle, no questions asked, and turn it on a classroom full of fifth-graders—when the freedom to purchase that weapon is considered more important than the freedom for those children to reach their eleventh birthdays—the war is very much right here at home.

large window display memorial heart
Anthony Emil Mueller, Jr., “great brother, devoted and loving husband, and warrior for Christ,” Perry Hilltop
elaborate memorial left by train tracks in snow
unknown, Tarentum
roadside memorial cross planted in grassy hillside
John Thomas, Monongahela
memorial cross left by utility pole
Emily, Penn Hills
memorial cross left by roadside
unknown, Paw Paw, WV
memorial cross left by alley fence
unknown, Bloomfield
memorial cross and flower box in public park
Kent Geyer, North Park
roadside memorial cross in long grass
Terry Duane, Rt. 88
memorial cross left on fence
Angela Martin, Homestead
memorial jug filled with dead flowers
Angela Martin, “killed by train,” Homestead
memorial mural on cement walkway wall
Miss Max, Polish Hill
memorial left by public bench
unknown, Spring Hill
grafitti memorial on brick wall
Daniel Montano, Homewood
graffiti heart with name Paul painted on cinderblock wall
Paul, Lawrenceville
memorial circle of stones in grassy vacant lot
unknown, Larimer
bouquet of plastic flowers taped to utility pole
unknown, Lawrenceville
large mural for deceased street artist on brick wall
Danny Devine, “local artist, graffiti writer, and friend,” Bloomfield
large mural for deceased street artist on brick wall
Danny Devine, Bloomfield
memorial left on utilty pole
unknown, Dravosburg
spray-painted memorial painted on concrete wall
Garret Foster, Jail Trail
memorial left on sidewalk
unknown, Homewood
memorial flowers and marker by public park
unknown, Bloomfield
improvised cross memorial for crushed turtle
Turtle memorial! South Side
memorial with religious message left on chain link fence
“Intrust God we do. He is a just god. Prevaling is on the way.” (sic.) unknown, Larimer

The Bad Old Days: Two Doctors Describe the ‘Illegal’ Years

by Kirsten Ervin

illustration of doctor entering room with woman on examination table
[illustration: Rick Bach for In Pittsburgh, 1992]

I was lucky to be fertile during the time of Roe v. Wade, to have the protection of a law that ensured that I had the right to control my own body. Roe v. Wade meant I could decide if and when I wanted to be a parent, or if I wanted to be a parent at all. If the Supreme Court overturns this ruling, it will have existed for just under 50 years; I am currently 54 years old. The thought that people younger than me—women and non-binary folks—will not have this same right, the same control of their bodies is chilling. As Senator Patty Murray stated this week, if Roe v. Wade is overturned “this will be the first generation of women with fewer rights than their mothers.”

Thirty years ago, when I was just 24, I interviewed two doctors who regularly witnessed what illegal abortions did to women for In Pittsburgh. They regularly saw hospital wards full of people sick with sepsis, bleeding profusely, often with permanently damaged reproductive systems—all due to illegal abortion. Over 5,000 women died this way every year. Both doctors fought to create access to reproductive freedom, and ensure women maintained control over their bodies and lives. May we be inspired by their fight, by their resolve and commitment to freedom of choice in our current struggle. Please vote on Tuesday’s Primary Election and know how your candidates stand on the issue of choice. Our lives depend on it.

Kirsten Ervin, 2022


The Bad Old Days: Two Doctors Describe the ‘Illegal’ Years

Originally published by In Pittsburgh Newsweekly, 1992

Like Mary Litman [see last week’s story The Bad Old Days: One Woman Remembers How It Was] thousands of women were hospitalized due to botched illegal abortions in the years before Roe v. Wade. According to the 1970 Kinsey Report, one out of five pregnancies ended in abortion at that time, with the resulting deaths of about 5,000 women each year. Pittsburgh obstetrician/gynecologist Dr. Robert Kisner, who was an intern at Magee Women’s Hospital from 1969 to 1973, recalls the many women who came to Magee after illegal abortions: “The typical ones I saw and remember were people who were really sick. They had a temperature of 104, 105; they looked like the devil and were really septic. If they had done this in an era where we didn’t have powerful antibiotics, a lot of these women would have died.”

Dr. Tom Allen, now the medical director of Women’s Health Services, was a resident intern at Magee from 1944 to 1945. He remembers that usually about half of the 12 or so beds in the Septic Ward were occupied by victims of illegal abortions. Since World War II was on, “all the penicillin, which was the only antibiotic we really had at that time, was reserved for the military,” Allen says. Quite a few women died, and “if they did get better, they were probably gynecological cripples.”

Kisner says patients often developed sepsis, a poisoning caused by absorption of bacteria into the blood; or peritonitis, an inflammation of the abdominal lining. Both were brought about by the unsterile instruments and harsh chemicals of back-alley abortionists. If aggravated, these infections could result in sterility or the later need for a hysterectomy.

Yet “these women almost always waited until they were sick to come in, because they didn’t want to share with us and they knew we would probably be able to figure out what happened,” Kisner says. “It was so painful to me to ask these poor women, ‘Who did this to you?”, or ‘What did they do to you?’ … You could see the shame on their faces.” Many had remained silent because they feared prosecution: “It was almost as if they were educated by the person who performed this to ‘deny everything, because you don’t know me’,” says Kisner.

A number of factors united to change conditions in the late ’60s and early ’70s. Standards set forth by the Obstetrican-Gynecologist Hospital Services in 1969 broadened the scope of medically necessary, or therapeutic, abortions permitted in hospitals. Around this time Magee established the Therapeutic Abortion and Sterilization Committee, which acted on patients’ requests for abortions and/or tubal ligations.

Allen concedes that the meaning of therapeutic abortion was stretched a little bit. Therapeutic abortions in the ’40s and ’50s were for very severe heart or kidney disease that complicated continuation of the pregnancy because of the extra stress on the organs. But there was a conscious movement on the part of [Magee’s] staff to challenge the abortion law. The chairman required that two psychiatrists say, “The continuation of this woman’s pregnancy will endanger her life.” They got it down so they could say, “damage her mental health.”

Also, two direct court challenges were made to Pennsylvania’s restrictive 1939 abortion law. In 1970, motorcycle mechanic Barry Graham Page—a convicted abortionist from Centre County—attacked the law as being too broad and ambiguous, and won. For a time, Centre County was the only place in Pennsylvania where abortion was permissible.

That same year, Allegheny County District Attorney Robert Duggan subpoenaed the hospital records at Magee for all of 1970. He had filed a criminal complaint charging three Magee physicians with conspiracy to commit illegal abortion. Outraged, three therapeutic abortion patients at Magee filed an equity class action for an injuction against the release of such records, claiming this would violate their privacy. Common Pleas Court Judge Anne Alpern granted the injunction, concurring that the state’s 1939 law was ambiguous and therefore unconstitutional. 

Now technically without any abortion law, Allegheny County officials allowed a more permissive atmosphere. As Allen remembers, “We could interpret it so that we could go ahead with an abortion until we were challenged … It was our hope that we could change the legislation. and get a law similar to New York but that didn’t happen.”

What did happen was that Allen, along with the late Leah Sayles, co founded Women’s Health Services in the fall of 1972 as Pittsburgh’s first free-standing, nonprofit clinic providing abortion services. The U.S. Supreme Court made its landmark Roe v. Wade decision in January 1973, three months before WHS actually opened its doors. But Allen says, “We didn’t really care. We were going to open [WHS] anyway.” 

As the Supreme Court prepares to rule on Pennsylvania’s new Abortion Control Act this July, Allen says “Women should never relinquish a right that is theirs,” and warns that protecting choice “is going to take some hard work politically. The only way is … to elect a pro-choice Congress and a President who will not veto choice legislation.” Kisner agrees on the need for activism, adding that “if [choice] ever came down to a single vote, men should not even participate in the vote. We don’t get pregnant.”

The Bad Old Days: One Woman Remembers How It Was

by Kirsten Ervin

illustration of doctor entering room with woman on examination table
[illustration: Rick Bach for In Pittsburgh, 1992]

Thirty years ago, I had the privilege of interviewing Mary Litman, a woman who had experienced the physical danger and emotional trauma of an illegal abortion in the 1950s. What could have been a safe medical procedure for Mary instead became a months-long nightmare of shame, secrets, and life-threatening internal bleeding—all with far-reaching consequences. 

When I interviewed Mary for the now-defunct In Pittsburgh Newsweekly, I was fresh out of college. While her story greatly impacted me, I don’t know that I ever truly considered that we as a country would ever go back to such a dark place, where anyone with a uterus is denied the basic choices about their own body. As Mary states in the interview, “When you have control over your body, you have control over your life.”

Now, with Roe v. Wade threatened at its very core by a looming Supreme Court decision, Mary’s story takes on heightened significance. The raw truth of this single story gives us a glimpse into a world without access to safe, legal abortions. When reading Mary’s story again, I am struck by the sense that her world is closing in on her; she is ready to face death, jail, or a lack of any viable future. With Roe v. Wade struck down, abortions won’t go away—they will go underground. Anyone facing an unplanned pregnancy will have their own life choices severely constricted. Without control over our bodies, we lose access to social, vocational, and financial freedom. 

Please excuse the fact that the language in this 30-year-old interview is not as gender inclusive as it could be. I know the loss of Roe v. Wade would affect not just women, but also many non-binary folks as well. 

My hope is that those who read Mary’s story, as well as countless others, will be moved—beyond sharing and posting on the Internet—to action, to the streets, and to the ballot box. In Pennsylvania, we have an election primary coming up on May 17. Please vote and know your candidates’ stances on matters affecting reproductive freedom. Our lives depend on it.

Kirsten Ervin, 2022


The Bad Old Days: One Woman Remembers How It Was

Originally published by In Pittsburgh Newsweekly, 1992.

Political issues often remain abstract until they are personalized. Certainly this is true of reproductive choice. How many women too young to know the realities of illegal abortion feel the same visceral attachment to the issue as those who remember? How clearly can today’s women envision life without reproductive freedom, as it was before Roe v. Wade?

Mary Litman, pro-choice activist and education director of Women’s Health Services in downtown Pittsburgh, agreed to share her 1958 illegal abortion experience with In Pittsburgh. Litman first went public with her story at a NARAL (National Abortion Rights Action League) speak-out in July 1989, just prior to the U.S. Supreme Court’s Webster decision. She has been featured, along with the patients and staff of Women’s Health Services, in the HBO documentary Abortion: Desperate Choices.

Kirsten Ervin: Why did you decide to finally speak out?

Mary Litman: I just decided that it was time I shared my story with other people—specifically with other women to remind them of what it was like to not have any place to turn for counseling, or help, or treatment, or even a pregnancy test. I knew there were some restrictions coming down, and wanted to have some impact on people’s consciences. 

KE: How hard was it for you to first speak out publicly, at the NARAL event in 1989? 

Mary: I spent about three or four days pacing my living room—because I had repressed so many of the memories, I didn’t want to think about it—trying to get the words to come out. I would sit on the bus and let the words run through me, and I would walk around my house and let the words run through me. 

KE: Are you glad you spoke out? What changed for you in the process?

Mary: It’s like walking around with weights on your shoulders, and then it felt like they were gone. It was being able to look at the world and think, “It’s out there now, I have nothing to hide from you.” It also made me feel more of a sisterhood with the women who had had legal abortions. The other thing it did was inspire other women to speak about their own experiences, and they felt exactly as I did. [We all] were isolated from each other because nobody ever wanted to stand up and say, “I had an illegal abortion.”

KE: Could you describe the circumstances surrounding your abortion? What was happening in your life at that time?

Mary: I came from a very large, Appalachian family—very loving, but not exactly upwardly mobile. I was the first in my family to formally graduate from high school and I had a job in one of the big corporations in Pittsburgh.

The person who I became pregnant with could not marry me, and I knew I couldn’t continue working at my job as an unwed pregnant woman. I didn’t want to go back home to my mother and be an extra burden on her. I just saw everything in my life I had strived for and worked for, and had attained, slipping away from me.

KE: How old were you?

Mary: Just a little past 20. I had never really heard about abortion. My sisters, when they got pregnant, they got married. My mother admitted to jumping off a couple of tables, and trying to fall down stairs, but she said, “If a pregnancy is good, it’s going to be good.” Abortion wasn’t anything I had ever heard about, except whispers about somebody dying or some awful thing happening to them. I trusted the person [I was involved with] because he was very sophisticated, very wise in the ways of the world. He told me he knew a good, safe place in Youngstown, Ohio. 

KE: Did you consider abortion as an option only after he suggested it?

Mary: Exactly. I didn’t know what I was going to do, and there wasn’t any place like [Women’s Health Services] to come and talk about my options. So, trusting his judgment, and trusting his ability to know what the accepted norms were, I went to Youngstown with him and his friend, the contact person, to this classic scene of a house. I think it may have been the same house in the book Back Rooms, because there’s one story about a woman from Cleveland who goes to Youngstown for an abortion. When I read that, I kept thinking, “I would like to find this woman,” because I don’t remember all that happened to me, and I feel like if I could find her I could fill in the blanks.

[When I went to the house], this doctor was an old man, and there was gambling going on in the front room. There were the three of us, and they left me; I don’t know where they went. I went into this room, which I don’t remember a whole lot about. There was a table. There was a calendar on the wall with the year of my birth, 20 years ago. When I saw the calendar I was sure I was going to die. It was like some prophecy. I was so very frightened, I’m not sure where reality left off, because I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember that man touching me.

KE: Were you anesthetized? 

Mary: I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I remember him telling me, “You’re going to experience a lot of pain. Don’t worry about it, just take some aspirin and stay quiet.” Don’t tell anybody was the message I got.

We drove back to Pittsburgh and I had a roommate. She really stayed with me through this whole thing, through the pain and the hemorrhaging. I remember Leigh coming into my room and saying, “You’ve got to let me call your mother. You’ve got to let me call the doctor. You’ve got to let me take you to the emergency room.” And I remember saying, “I can’t, Leigh. They’ll put me in jail. I’ll be all right.” 

So rather than go to jail and admit I had broken the law, I was ready to die. I was convinced I was going to. But good girls don’t go to jail; good girls don’t get pregnant; good girls certainly don’t go to Youngstown, Ohio and have illegal abortions. So I toughed it out. 

Finally the hemorrhaging stopped and I managed to go back to work for a while. Then I had this terrible infection and I smelled so bad. So I thought, “Well, I can go to a doctor because there’s an infection.” I still wouldn’t tell him I had had an illegal abortion. He tested me for venereal disease and said, “You don’t have venereal disease, but we need to put you in the hospital. You’re very anemic. If you lose any more blood, you’re going to have to be admitted immediately. We’re going to have to give you transfusions.”

[But] I went back to work, and I started to hemorrhage again. [This time] I was admitted to the hospital and had several blood transfusions, had my D&C*, and then I remember my doctor bending over my bed and saying, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I started to cry and said, “I thought you’d lock me in jail.” And he said, “I would have taken care of you. You should have told me.” 

KE:  You had no way of knowing who was going to be hostile and who wasn’t? 

Mary: No, absolutely not. I thought, you break the law, you go to jail, period. So I went on with my life, sort of pushing it back. I never told anyone except my roommate. I got married in 1961 and I tried for a number of years to get pregnant and I never could. But in 1968 I adopted my daughter Tracy, and I don’t feel any lack of having children because I’ve got Tracy.

KE: How long after your abortion did it take you to get you back on your feet, physically and emotionally?

Mary: This whole procedure, from getting pregnant to being in the hospital and the D&C, was a four- or five-month period. Then, like everybody else, I thought, “Oh, I’m never having sex with anybody ever again.” I truly did repress it, the whole idea that it happened to me. I just put it out of my mind.

In 1972 or ’73, I picked up a copy of Ms. Magazine; a number of celebrities who had had illegal abortions were listed. I can still remember crying and reading. It was very important to me that I had tapped into a whole group of people who had had the same experience I did. 

KE: The man you were involved with, was he a support for you?

Mary: No. If he had been, and not been worried about himself, he would have picked me up in his arms and carried me to the emergency room. But he didn’t do that. He came [to my apartment] and looked at me and looked at Leigh and said, “Is she gonna be all right?” and left.

Women are such strong creatures, though. Lots of other women did exactly what I did. We all managed to live through it and we all managed to go back to work, back to school, or whatever. It’s unbelievable how brave women are. 

When people ask me whether the anti-choice people in front of our clinic make any women change their minds, I say, “Absolutely not. Women used to risk their lives to terminate an unplanned pregnancy.” Anybody who is going to change her mind about having an abortion will do it here in the privacy of the counseling session. And that often happens. 

KE: Do you at all regret your decision to have an abortion?

Mary: The decision at that time was entirely appropriate. I wasn’t ready to be a parent and I couldn’t have handled it financially or emotionally. It was a good decision; I just wish it could have been done in the safety of a clinic with proper counseling, and proper care.

KE: How do you think your life would be now if you hadn’t made that decision?

Mary: I know that in 1958, having an illegitimate child was not accepted the way it is now. But how my life would have turned out, I really don’t know. It’s just one of those mysteries. I’m satisfied with the way my life turned out.

KE: Does your experience as a young woman have a lot to do with your working at Women’s Health Services? 

Mary: Absolutely. Walking through that recovery room and seeing somebody have their blood pressure taken, seeing the counseling rooms filled up during counseling sessions, somebody else getting a pat on the cheek—I couldn’t get that kind of care, but other women are getting it now. That makes it all right.

KE: What message would you send to young women about this issue?

Mary: I think young women have got to realize what the broader agenda of the anti-choice movement is. They want to eliminate certain kinds of birth control, like the pill—low-dosage birth control pills act as an abortifacient and they also want to get rid of abortion.

Women have made greater strides since 1973 than in any time in their history. It’s no mistake that the anti-choice forces want to take away reproductive freedom for women, because if you don’t have reproductive freedom, you can’t really think about becoming a lawyer, becoming a doctor. When you have control over your body, you have control over your life. That’s what young women need to understand. It’s not about abortion. It’s about power over women’s lives.


* D&C: A dilation and curettage procedure, also called a D&C, is a surgical procedure in which the cervix (lower, narrow part of the uterus) is dilated (expanded) so that the uterine lining (endometrium) can be scraped with a curette (spoon-shaped instrument) to remove abnormal tissues.

In the Land of Giants: An Orbit Day Trip to The Farnham Colossi

large statue of man carrying grocery bags with animal-friendly messages
The great grocer in the sky. One of many enormous figures at The Farnham Colossi in Unger, WV.

If one is ever to meet a giant in real life, let it be like this. Big John greets every new visitor with a friendly smile. John’s big arms spread out to cradle four old-school brown paper sacks brimming with groceries. If that wasn’t enough, the great grocer is animal lover, to boot—we know this from the pro-pets messages printed on the shopping bags and his apron’s message Never eat anyone who had a mother.

At thirty feet tall (just guessing here) Big John is a fiberglass cast statue/advertisement for a retailer that we’ll assume no longer requires his services. The problem isn’t John—he’s in excellent shape. The large form is remarkably free of cracks or dings and the paint job—including that text on the bags and apron—is crisp and detailed.

"muffler man" painted like a lumberjack
Lumberjack muffler man

Colossus is not a word we generally hear in its plural form. Heck, we don’t even use the noun that much; its adjective gets most of the attention. Encountering a single giant is a rare enough occasion, how often does one experience two? or three?

Keep going. Unger, West Virginia has a tiny human population—I’ll bet it numbers in the hundreds—but when it comes to giants, that’s another story.

Unger, an unincorporated rural community just one mile from (regular) Virginia’s northernmost point, likely has the most per-capita giants in the country. They all live on the grounds of an old farmhouse along Winchester Grade Road. Collectively, they’re known as The Farnham Colossi.

large statues of "muffler man" holding muffer, beach man, and bikini lady
King Midas, muffler man (and friends)

The colossi come in many forms—human and otherwise—that spread around three sides of the property. There’s a giant apple painted with a faded mural of apple-harvesting, a colorful crab poised high in the sky, Yogi Bear’s supporting players, and a soaring pterodactyl that flies above a purple barn.

Mister Fifteen Hamburger Man, a rotund chef proudly hoisting a burger, stands in a large lawn with a circular ring of cast concrete statuary. Behind him is a mini roller coaster with one set of cars containing The Simpsons family, another a set of carnival clown game figures.

large statue of painted apple and smaller dog statue
Big apple / faithful friend

The whole thing’s a gas, but the attraction for many will be the exquisite pair of muffler men at Farnham. One is a legit muffler-holding mechanic with a Midas crown, the other appears in full lumberjack flannel, beard, and toque (but no Paul Bunyan axe).

Uniroyal Gal is the Mr. Pibb to Muffler Man’s more name-brand Dr. Pepper. She’s here too, wearing an electric purple bikini and go-go boots. Uniroyal Gal left the tire on the car, this time.

large statue of woman in purple bikini
Uniroyal Gal [photo: Kirsten Ervin]

Both Atlas Obscura and Roadside America have very fine entries on the history of The Farnham Colossi and the couple who seated them all here together, so we’ll not repeat those basic facts.

What we will say is that this part roadside attraction, part open-air museum of the dying history of the highway is a lovely place to visit when one finds him- or herself in the greater Berkeley Springs/Winchester/Cacapon State Park area of West Virginia’s eastern panhandle. Where else can one so easily walk among giants?

section of painted roller coaster cars with clown heads on them
Clown cars / bobblehead Santa
large statue of chef holding a hamburger
Big burger chef [photo: Kirsten Ervin]
large statue of man in sunglasses and swim trunks holding a can of beer
Beach dude [photo: Kirsten Ervin]
statues of characters from "The Yogi Bear Show" in front yard
Yogi Bear has a posse [photo: Kirsten Ervin]
large statue of crab
Sky crab
statue of pterodactyl on tall pole
The colossi are pterrific! Pterodactyl
large statue of Santa Clause toppled on his back
Santa down! [photo: Kirsten Ervin]

From the Wrinkles of the Face to the Interior of the Mind: Navigating Uncharted Waters with Artist Annie Heisey

oil painting of girl in lake by Annie Heisey
“Fathoms” (2020) by Pittsburgh artist Annie Heisey. The painting appears in Heisey’s current show Uncharted Waters.

Red on red. Firey hot, turbulent, scraped, and streaked—the glowing red of the insides of the eyelids after staring at the sun. The world is a dangerous place and we need only this background riot of warm orange-reds, seen-better-days pale pinks, and muddy maroons to remind us of it.

At the center of the oil painting is a woman’s face in ashen pale blues. Her expression is neutral—one could read anything from bored to sad, sleepy, desperate, or haunted into it. The woman’s eyes, though—enlarged, swirling balls of red—make her look transfixed, hypnotized, zombiefied.

Draped atop the figure is surreal cloak in another raft of deep reds. The head of a hound—looking very much alive, minus its lower jaw—with attached forelimbs morphs into a full body covering.

self-portrait oil painting by Annie Heisey with dog draped around the artist like a cloak
“Protector” (2022)

“I’ve never been accused of making myself look too pretty in a painting,” says Annie Heisey of her self-portraits, “And I’m OK with that.”

I am too. “Protector” and its sister self-portrait “Sacrifice” (below) both draw their power from the vulnerability of their subject—her imperfections and fragility. I’ve written in these very e-pages about carrying a lifetime membership in the Fancy Brain Club. I’d offer up these two paintings as Exhibits A and B in the defense of art as an expression of that which words cannot fully describe. Both are featured in Heisey’s current show Uncharted Waters at Curio Cool.

Looking at these two arresting paintings, I immediately identified with the experience. When you’re in the hole, the world feels like that big wall of discordant reds. In this state, a person is always just one misaligned action away from squeezing that delicate starling just a little too tight.

self-portrait oil painting by Annie Heisey with artist holding a bird
“Sacrifice” (2022)

“Like everyone during the pandemic, I was paying more attention to my mental health,” says Annie Heisey about “Protector” and its faithful-companion-as-emotional-shield metaphor. Heisey has two large boxers, one of whom very much acts as a security guard against any perceived threat. “She’s so brave in a lot of ways I wish I was,” Heisey says, “I like the shamanistic idea of wearing animal skins as a protective layer between me and the world.”

“Sacrifice” was inspired by a stained glass image included in this past winter’s Victorian Radicals show at the Frick Art Museum. In it, a woman clutches a bird to her chest in a way Heisey echoes in her self-portrait. “Sometimes I lash out at people,” Heisey says of her painting and the moods that inspired it, “When that happens, I wonder if I kill the things I love?”

oil painting of young boy by Annie Heisey
“Paloma’s Technicolor Dream” (2021)

If you’re familiar with Annie Heisey’s work, you know the magical children (that’s our term). The artist has four recurring youths—the children of her sister and a friend—who appear in states of blissed-out innocence and spellbound wonder throughout many of Heisey’s paintings in both the current show and past.

Often shirtless and alone, the kids are vulnerable in a way that’s hard to not to see as in-peril by our current awareness of stranger danger. Around these children swirl glowing lights and winsome creatures. It’s a rosy-eyed nostalgia for a childhood that may or may not have ever existed for anyone.

oil painting of young boy by Annie Heisey
“Child of the Light” (2022)

To spend any time with these paintings is to see there’s a real darkness beneath all those twinkling fireflies and carefree days at the lake.

In “Fathoms” (photo at top) a girl in a bathing suit wades in knee-deep water as glowing lights dance in the air above. It’s a lovely painting, but it’s no glamor portrait. The girl’s head is awkwardly cropped out of the frame and the vantage point is of someone standing on the shore—the subject clearly not aware of whoever may be watching. The subtlety of this perspective gives the artwork an off-kilter sensation where the girl is not the focus one might expect. Instead the viewer is left to complete a penciled-in narrative with only the slightest of details available.

oil painting of child hanging by arms from limb of gingko tree by artist Annie Heisey
“The Gingko Tree” (2022)

A youth dressed in black from neck to ankle dangles from a tree limb in full autumn splendor. The image likely comes from a playful real life experience, but in Heisey’s “The Gingko Tree,” (above) the figure is set against a pitch black background with the disturbed rustle of falling leaves. With the child’s face and upper torso obscured by yellow foliage, it’s hard not to worry that something more sinister is afoot.

Heisey describes her own childhood as “idyllic,” but wants the paintings to speak to a cautionary reality for children at this tender age. “I want to say to them, ‘This is how you are now—before you grow up. But bad things are going to happen, just like they do for everyone.'”

oil painting of woman surrounded by butterflies by Annie Heisey
“The Butterflies Will Drink Your Tears” (2022)

Heisey has had her own bad things to deal with. The triple whammy of depression, PTSD, and a recent diagnosis of ADHD all make their way into the artwork. Heisey’s painting “The Butterflies Will Drink Your Tears” (above) is an attempt to render the ping-pong attention leaps of the latter as fluttering creatures, beautiful but uncontrollable.

“All the (magical children) paintings are self-portraits,” Heisey says, “A lot of artists use big ideas or philosophy as the basis for their art. My (reference) folder is my brain. All of my paintings are things that happened in my life.”

It doesn’t take Carl Jung to connect the dots between adult-grade trauma and wanting to revisit the safe innocence of an idealized youth—”Big time,” Heisey says of the relationship. Understanding this informs each painting with a depth way beyond its gorgeous palette and economical just enough composition.

abstract oil painting in blue tones by artist Annie Heisey
“Abstract No. 3” (2021)

Amazingly, being a realist painter in the twenty-first century is to be way out-of-step with the art world. Go to the next Carnegie International and I guarantee you’ll see plenty of broken chairs, paint-splattered mattresses, and grainy photographs of eddying mud pools—all served with academic prose that seems designed to make anyone without an MFA hate the art world. Oil portraits that reach deep into souls of everyday people? Notsomuch.

What Annie Heisey achieves with her artwork is daring and exciting. By taking her immense skill as a realist painter and then abstracting color and composition, removing excess detail, and creating space for the viewer to participate by filling in the blanks, we’re invited on a tantalizing journey that takes us from the mundane to the sublime, from the wrinkles of the face to the interior of the mind. Can’t ask for much more than that.

artist Annie Heisey in front of a wall of small portraits
Annie Heisey in her Lawrenceville studio with many faces from the “Experimental Portrait Project” [photo: Annie Heisey]

Uncharted Waters, Annie Heisey’s current show, is up now through the end of the month at Curio Cool, 113 North Main Street, Zelienople.

You can find more on Annie Heisey at her web site, Instagram, or FaceBook Internet locations.