DCCM Food Pantry Combats Hunger
Christy Cunningham, Executive Director of Downtown Cooperative Church Ministries Food Pantry (or DCCM), and her all-volunteer staff spend every weekday working tirelessly toward the goal of eliminating hunger in the CSRA one bag or cardboard box at a time. Monday through Friday, people line up along the front of the organization’s building at 430 8th St. in Augusta well before the doors open at 10 a.m. for their chance to know, at least for a time, where their next meal will come from.
According to The Georgia Food Bank Association, 18.7 percent of Georgians –one out of every five people– live in a state of food insecurity, not always knowing where their next meal will be found. For about 75 people or families each day, those meals will be found at the DCCM Food Pantry.
Since 1978, the DCCM, through its partnership with The Golden Harvest Food Bank, local churches and other charitable organizations, has been providing food to elderly people, low-income and at-risk families and the homeless of the CSRA, including but not limited to residents of Richmond, Columbia, Burke, Greene and Taliaferro Counties. The food pantry is currently providing food for approximately 1,500 people each month.
Ann Willbrand, a weekly volunteer who also holds a position on the organization’s board of directors, credits Golden Harvest Food Bank as the backing organization that makes available the bulk of the food the DCCM distributes.
“Last year we bought over a quarter of a million pounds of food from Golden Harvest, almost 260 thousand pounds,” says Willbrand. She says the DCCM Food Pantry purchases the food in bulk from the food bank at about 19 cents per pound.
Willbrand says that about another 20 thousand pounds of food were donated to the DCCM food pantry last year by the Kroger on 15th Street in Augusta, adding that those resources will be lost when that grocery store’s location closes its doors for good in the coming months.
“That’s going to hurt us in that we’re not going to have as much food to deliver. And we’re also probably going to have an increase in our clientele because that’s going to make Downtown Augusta a food desert,” Willbrand says.
According to the 2016 financial report for the organization, which was distributed to board members on Monday, the DCCM Food Pantry ended the year in the red. The budget for the year had been set at about $75,500. But while the organization only spent $66,600, its actual income was only about $58,000.
“But when you think about this,” says Willbrand, “all of this food we’re distributing –a quarter million pounds plus– for all of those people, we’re doing it on only $66,600 dollars a year.”
The donation deal and with Kroger was one that Executive Director Cunningham had brokered, but she isn’t allowing the store’s closing or a budgetary shortage to create an unfilled hole in the pantry’s coffers.
“This is how worried I was,” said Cunningham, “I had a meeting this week with the Juvenile Justice Department. They gave me a list of five other grocery stores to pick up from all on the same day Whole Foods is closing. It’s a lot of work. But with Kroger also closing, I’ll take what they’ve got at Whole Foods and the other five. We’ve got capacity to store the stuff in freezers.”
Cunningham, Willbrand, and the DCCM Food Pantry’s 45 other volunteers are in the business of doing good for the community. So, for them, a lot of hard work is just business as usual.
According to The Georgia Food Bank Association, 18.7 percent of Georgians –one out of every five people– live in a state of food insecurity, not always knowing where their next meal will be found. For about 75 people or families each day, those meals will be found at the DCCM Food Pantry.
Since 1978, the DCCM, through its partnership with The Golden Harvest Food Bank, local churches and other charitable organizations, has been providing food to elderly people, low-income and at-risk families and the homeless of the CSRA, including but not limited to residents of Richmond, Columbia, Burke, Greene and Taliaferro Counties. The food pantry is currently providing food for approximately 1,500 people each month.
Ann Willbrand, a weekly volunteer who also holds a position on the organization’s board of directors, credits Golden Harvest Food Bank as the backing organization that makes available the bulk of the food the DCCM distributes.
“Last year we bought over a quarter of a million pounds of food from Golden Harvest, almost 260 thousand pounds,” says Willbrand. She says the DCCM Food Pantry purchases the food in bulk from the food bank at about 19 cents per pound.
Willbrand says that about another 20 thousand pounds of food were donated to the DCCM food pantry last year by the Kroger on 15th Street in Augusta, adding that those resources will be lost when that grocery store’s location closes its doors for good in the coming months.
“That’s going to hurt us in that we’re not going to have as much food to deliver. And we’re also probably going to have an increase in our clientele because that’s going to make Downtown Augusta a food desert,” Willbrand says.
According to the 2016 financial report for the organization, which was distributed to board members on Monday, the DCCM Food Pantry ended the year in the red. The budget for the year had been set at about $75,500. But while the organization only spent $66,600, its actual income was only about $58,000.
“But when you think about this,” says Willbrand, “all of this food we’re distributing –a quarter million pounds plus– for all of those people, we’re doing it on only $66,600 dollars a year.”
The donation deal and with Kroger was one that Executive Director Cunningham had brokered, but she isn’t allowing the store’s closing or a budgetary shortage to create an unfilled hole in the pantry’s coffers.
“This is how worried I was,” said Cunningham, “I had a meeting this week with the Juvenile Justice Department. They gave me a list of five other grocery stores to pick up from all on the same day Whole Foods is closing. It’s a lot of work. But with Kroger also closing, I’ll take what they’ve got at Whole Foods and the other five. We’ve got capacity to store the stuff in freezers.”
Cunningham, Willbrand, and the DCCM Food Pantry’s 45 other volunteers are in the business of doing good for the community. So, for them, a lot of hard work is just business as usual.
Paupers' Cemetery
Situated just across Division Street from West View Cemetery in the Harrisburg neighborhood of Augusta is a plot of land that it would be easy to drive past without ever noticing. Flanked by West View, a BMX bike park and a row of mill houses, it’s an unremarkable triangular lot covered in grass and surrounded by a chain-link fence. Like so many lawns this time of year, the land is dotted with dandelions that quiver in the late spring breeze.
But grass and flowering weeds are all the life you’ll find on this plot of earth. It’s not that the plants are the only things on the lot. It’s just that the small green triangle serves a specific population that is no longer living. Like the much grander historic memorial park across the street, this slightly sloping field is a cemetery. It is the Augusta-Richmond County Paupers’ Cemetery.
The paupers’ cemetery is where a person’s remains are interred if, at the end of his life, he doesn’t have the financial means to cover his own burial. Chief Deputy Coroner Kenneth Boose says that while this is not necessarily how such a situation is handled elsewhere, this is the process for dealing with the remains of indigent people in Augusta-Richmond County.
“Here in Richmond County it’s probably going to be a little different from every other coroner’s office in the state,” says Boose. “In Jefferson County, for instance, they might get a call from the hospital saying this guy died. He has no assets. He has no family, so the coroner will send the funeral home of his choosing, more than likely, over there to pick up the body and bury him. And they’ll bill the county for the burial.”
Boose goes on to detail the procedure for dealing with such a death in Richmond County by discussing a case he handled in late April. A homeless man from Sandersville had died after having been brought to Augusta University Medical Center.
“He has no family,” says Boose. “He has no money, no assets, no nothing. So we start a case on him.”
A case such as this involves verifying the person’s identity, searching databases to find potential next of kin, and finding out whether the deceased individual has any assets that could be used to pay for his burial. And in this particular case, Boose was able to turn up someone who knew the man.
“I did find a next of kin,” he says. “It was his ex-wife. She verified that he had no assets and that he has no other relatives. She has no means to bury him and doesn’t want to. She has no legal obligation to.”
So he sent for the body to be delivered to the coroner’s office to be processed. Boose then called in the Augusta-Richmond County Sheriff’s Department’s Criminal Investigation Division to collect fingerprints and photos that would be used to verify the deceased person’s identity.
Once it has been established that a person has died without the funds necessary for a proper interment, the body is taken to the pauper’s cemetery, that unremarkable triangular field only a few hundred yards from Lake Olmstead Stadium and the Augusta Canal.
How does a person wind up in the pauper’s cemetery? Boose says that winter weather has been the cause of some deaths among the homeless population, and that some have even become intoxicated enough to fall into the canal and drown. But these are only a couple of the issues facing the homeless that could end in death.
Clarke Speese, Associate General Counsel and Director of Risk Management for Augusta University Medical Center, says that any ailments suffered by the general population could be experienced by homeless individuals, as well. He adds, however, that something that may be easily treated in many cases could be life-threatening to a more vulnerable person.
“As a patient population, they are beset with everything that affects the general population plus more,” says Speese. “They are particularly vulnerable to the sort of cyclical types of ailments that affect the population like, for example, pulmonary issues during the harsher climate days in the winter when there are pneumonias going around all over the place.”
Speese lists exposure to the elements, untreated cancers and other diseases, addiction issues and a lack of a regular health maintenance program as particular risk factors that could lead to the deaths of homeless people in the community. While the same illnesses that strike homeless individuals affect everyone else, Speese says some life situations can make health issues more difficult to manage.
“Unfortunately, because some of our patient population do not have the wherewithal or even the inclination in many cases to get regular healthcare, things that are relatively minor for you or me if they are caught early, become major issues for them,” says Speese. “You could fairly say that they suffer a disproportional percentage of ailments versus the general population, and the consequences of those ailments are more severe because of their unique vulnerabilities.”
And when the unique vulnerabilities among homeless individuals lead to death, the staff of the AU Medical Center Risk Coordinator Cherrie Alexander has to call for the coroner’s office to take possession of the body.
“If a patient has been in the morgue for more than 48 hours, and they can’t find the next of kin or any family member for this person, they contact me,” says Alexander. “I’ll call the coroner’s office and get them involved. They have the ability to do a deeper search for family members with a person’s Social Security number, and sometimes, even if the person is homeless, the coroner’s office is able to find a family member to pull in and get assistance from. If not, then they take possession of the deceased.”
Once the coroner’s office takes possession of the body, the agency then works with a vault contractor to acquire an appropriate vessel to contain the remains for burial and a monument company to create markers for the graves. The total cost for each interment is about $1,000, Boose says.
“We contract out to the lowest bidder for a vault company,” says Boose. “They’ll come pick him up. They’ll put him in a vault, take him to West View, and bury him. Then about two to three weeks later they’ll have a headstone made up and the headstone will go up. The county supplies the burial and the headstone so that they will have some dignity.”
Currently, the remains of about 150 people rest eternally under modest, dignified headstones in the paupers’ cemetery on Division Street, and Boose says there is room on the unassuming triangular lot for about 700 more.
Theatre Review of Smokefall
As soon as the house lights of the Maxwell went down and the stage lights came up on the Friday-night performance of Augusta University's production of Noah Haidle's Smokefall, I knew that I was going to enjoy myself even if the writing, sound and performances had turned out to be terrible. They weren't terrible, thank goodness. And I'll get to that. But it was the set that stole the show of this smart production of a thought-provoking play.
There was neon. Bright, white neon. Impossibly-long glass tubes of the illuminated noble gas sketched out the forms of doorways and eves in cold light. Their brightness made for a sharp contrast to the darkness of the overall set, but the temperature of their glow was cold and harsh and cutting like the melancholy tone of the play itself.
The members of the lighting team for this production were as important as the on-stage players, and they hit bulls-eye on every cue. Aspiring set designers, take note: if you need it to feel like the last time anyone will ever see a character, put a suitcase in his hand and back-light him in a neon doorway. We'll all know. He's not coming back.
The exciting technical feat of a neon rope swing added an element of nostalgia, despite its modern-art chill, and the players made excellent use of it as a stage prop. Sure, there was swinging --and there had better be swinging if you're going to hang such a thing over the stage. But the moments when the actors delivered lines face-to-face, each gripping ropes of light that at once formed a frame and a barrier, were some of the most touching of the production.
Some of the performances shone as brightly as the impressive, glowing set, when moments of contrasting warmth or dark weirdness made it through to humanness. As The Colonel, Rick Davis pushed past the play's chill, soliciting warm empathy as a grandfather caught in an Alzheimer's-induced memory loop.
Even in complete silence, as she was for about half of her performance, Allison Berres drew my attention whenever she was on stage as Beauty, the overly-obliging daughter whose strange eating habits and other neuroses underscored the dysfunction of the entire family. Berres' subtle, quirky treatment of one of the two most sympathetic characters in the play (the other being the forgetful Colonel) balanced the work's iciness with a much-needed sense of humanity and heart.
And all the while, a tree was growing through the house, represented, once again, through the use of light. I’ll admit that it wasn’t until after the play had ended that I recognized that the photo of fruit-laden limbs projected onto the set were a metaphor for the neglectful nature in which the members of the family dealt with one another’s emotions. A tree grows through the wall as everyone pretends this is just a normal, everyday occurrence rather than an issue that requires attention. But when I did realize it, I exclaimed aloud, “Oh, of course!”
Augusta University’s production of Smokefall was successful in imbuing the cold harshness and attempts at warmth that family life can so frequently carry, and its audience exited the theater with a complex set of emotions swirling around in its heads. The players may have made us feel. The costumes may have made the characters more real. But in this particular staging of Haidle’s melancholic work it was the achievement of the stage and lighting technicians that shined the brightest.
There was neon. Bright, white neon. Impossibly-long glass tubes of the illuminated noble gas sketched out the forms of doorways and eves in cold light. Their brightness made for a sharp contrast to the darkness of the overall set, but the temperature of their glow was cold and harsh and cutting like the melancholy tone of the play itself.
The members of the lighting team for this production were as important as the on-stage players, and they hit bulls-eye on every cue. Aspiring set designers, take note: if you need it to feel like the last time anyone will ever see a character, put a suitcase in his hand and back-light him in a neon doorway. We'll all know. He's not coming back.
The exciting technical feat of a neon rope swing added an element of nostalgia, despite its modern-art chill, and the players made excellent use of it as a stage prop. Sure, there was swinging --and there had better be swinging if you're going to hang such a thing over the stage. But the moments when the actors delivered lines face-to-face, each gripping ropes of light that at once formed a frame and a barrier, were some of the most touching of the production.
Some of the performances shone as brightly as the impressive, glowing set, when moments of contrasting warmth or dark weirdness made it through to humanness. As The Colonel, Rick Davis pushed past the play's chill, soliciting warm empathy as a grandfather caught in an Alzheimer's-induced memory loop.
Even in complete silence, as she was for about half of her performance, Allison Berres drew my attention whenever she was on stage as Beauty, the overly-obliging daughter whose strange eating habits and other neuroses underscored the dysfunction of the entire family. Berres' subtle, quirky treatment of one of the two most sympathetic characters in the play (the other being the forgetful Colonel) balanced the work's iciness with a much-needed sense of humanity and heart.
And all the while, a tree was growing through the house, represented, once again, through the use of light. I’ll admit that it wasn’t until after the play had ended that I recognized that the photo of fruit-laden limbs projected onto the set were a metaphor for the neglectful nature in which the members of the family dealt with one another’s emotions. A tree grows through the wall as everyone pretends this is just a normal, everyday occurrence rather than an issue that requires attention. But when I did realize it, I exclaimed aloud, “Oh, of course!”
Augusta University’s production of Smokefall was successful in imbuing the cold harshness and attempts at warmth that family life can so frequently carry, and its audience exited the theater with a complex set of emotions swirling around in its heads. The players may have made us feel. The costumes may have made the characters more real. But in this particular staging of Haidle’s melancholic work it was the achievement of the stage and lighting technicians that shined the brightest.
3D&D
If it seems that research and roleplaying games have little in common, you’ve probably never played Dungeons and Dragons in the Ceramics and Sculpture Studio with students from Augusta University’s Department of Art and Design. This summer, senior art majors Brooke Farmer, Ellen Griffin, and TaiKyong “TK” Lee joined forces to embark on a semester-long journey that would require a bag of tricks that included the development of problem-solving and team-building skills, the honing of individual expertise, and the creation of an unbreakable camaraderie. And while those skills are helpful for characters involved in gameplay, they also aid in the successful accomplishment of a research project.
As a part of the AU Summer Scholars Program, in May 2018, Brooke, Ellen and TK began a research project that combined the new technology of 3D printing with the age-old practice of pottery-making. The Summer Scholars Program was established by the Center for Undergraduate Research and Scholarship (CURS) to encourage increased student involvement in research and scholarly endeavors, which, in this case, has had the added outcome of impacting students in more creative fields like the fine arts.
“Research is an iterative form of inquiry that increases one’s awareness and knowledge,” says Scott Thorp, Professor and Chair of the Department of Art and Design who also serves as Associate Vice President for Interdisciplinary Research. “Through learning new things, people become more curious. And curiosity is the fuel for creativity. So, since art is meant to be a creative domain, the more research we do, the more creative we become.”
With an eye on both the academic and creative aspects of an art education, Assistant Professor of Art Raoul Pacheco acquired a 3D printer that, instead of printing a plastic polymer, is capable of extruding clay. Pacheco had the idea to bring in visiting artist Bryan Czibesz to set up the printer after seeing Czibesz’s work at a conference of The National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts (NCECA). “I was in the Art Department office talking about how cool it would be if we could get him to come set up a printer here. Cheryl Goldsleger, our Morris Eminent Scholar, overheard the conversation and agreed to fund the project.”
Goldsleger has been using 3D printing in her own art practice since 2000, so when she heard of the opportunity to introduce students to a new method of artmaking she knew immediately that she wanted to devote funds help make the program happen.
“I think it’s good for students to have hands-on experience in school,” says Goldsleger. “I knew there were clay printers, but Raoul knew someone who goes all over to introduce students to 3D printing and even builds the printer. So he’s the one who brought it to me and I said, ‘Oh that’s fabulous! That’s what we need to do.”
So Czibesz, who is a professor of art at State University of New York at New Paltz, came and gave a workshop at which he constructed a brand new 3d ceramic printer to leave behind for the students at AU to use. Renovation of the sculpture and ceramics studios temporarily derailed the effort, but once the new studios were completed, Pacheco brought in another artist, Matt Mitros, Assistant Professor of Art at The University of Alabama, to do some testing and demonstrations with the machine. This allowed another group of students the chance to get excited about the possibilities of printing with clay.
And this is where our adventurous trio’s journey began. “When we first started, we were actually just barely getting to know each other,” says Lee. “We had started playing D&D for maybe two weeks before spring semester let out.”
“Raoul saw us together and knew that I had experience working with the 3D printer and that we each had some interest in working with it,” she adds. “I had helped with both the initial set-up and when Matt Mitros came to do a guest lecture, so I was quite familiar with the program.”
“But Brooke and I had never touched a modeling program at all before this summer,” says Griffin. “I had looked at it and thought, ‘That’s too complicated.’”
Griffin was partly right. The process is complicated, but, as it turned out, it wasn’t too complicated for the three of them to learn. She describes the process, which included familiarizing themselves with a number of computer-aided design (CAD) software applications, figuring out the most ideal consistency of clay for printing, and a lot of trial and error.
“We wanted to explore 3D modeling and cad software to see how it intersects with a traditionally hands-on artmaking process,” says Griffin. “We also wanted to see how it can influence and impact our own existing processes.”
And so they spent the summer exploring the possibilities and problems of printing clay.
Even the name of the printer itself reflects the difficulties encountered along the way. During its initial setup, even after they felt they had properly executed each step of the process, an error message consisting of just five characters kept appearing on the screen: P_ERR.
“It just kept displaying P_ERR for printer error over and over again,” says Griffin. So it was decided that the printer’s name would be P_ERR (pronounced Pierre).
“3D printing can be frustrating on a number of levels,” says Goldsleger. “First off, you have to learn modeling software which is an enormous learning curve. And then you also have to learn the printer. So not only do you start drawing things virtually that you want to print, you have to make sure that they will print.”
Despite how tough it was, the trio gave it the old college try. And in much the same way they’d built a team to complete missions in the D&D realm, the three students brought their individual skills together to work through the issues of the project.
“We all had our strengths and weaknesses going into it, so it balanced out perfectly,” says Farmer.
“TK packed the tubes, I looked at the programs, and Brooke ran the prints. Mostly,” adds Griffin, noting that while each of them performed specific roles in the research, they’d all need to learn the process from beginning to end if the project was to be successful.
Along with the feeling of accomplishment that comes with the success of such a project, there’s also the possibility for lifelong impact.
“Having accomplished an in-depth summer-long research project in 3D printing, the students now have a head start,” says Goldsleger. “They’ve learned some of the language. They’ve used a machine. And in a lot of industries just a little bit of knowledge will get you in the door of companies where they’re willing to train you further.”
The students decided that one of the components of the project would be the incorporation of a live video stream of the work they were doing, and that highlighted a less technical issue. One of the members of the group has what she calls “a potty mouth.”
“I jokingly made the comment that we needed to watch our mouths and what we all say,” says Farmer. “So we kept tally marks on the blackboard for every time someone said a cuss word.”
They assigned a small monetary penalty for each time someone violated certain rules, depositing a quarter in a jar for each time someone crossed a line.
“It was like a sin jar, basically, because it couldn’t be like a swear jar,” says Griffin. “Since I don’t cuss, for me it was bad puns or jokes.”
Lee points out that the way to tell if the joke is bad is by noticing who laughs. “If someone laughed besides you,” she says, “you were excused from your bad joke.”
There is a little dispute among the trio as to how much money was in the jar at the end of the summer. Lee says it was around $30, and Farmer says $25. Considering how small the penalty for each “sin” was, either amount gives an indication that the process brought out plenty of swearing and bad puns.
Full disclosure: at the end of the research period, the three of them used the cash to go to lunch and, since I was there to talk with them about the work, they insisted that I join them. We piled into a car and headed to a buffet where we swapped stories, shared food, and laughed heartily before returning to campus with our bellies a little too full.
The buffet luncheon is just one example of how friendly the group really is. Lee, who transferred from another university where she said the art department was far less welcoming, describes her experience at AU with obvious affection.
“We’re not like most art departments,” says Lee. “We’re weird and we’re intimate and we want to know and love everybody down here in the art department. That’s why a lot of people who come down as non-majors and take a class end up switching majors or minoring in art. They become a part of the family.”
Watching the three of them interact, it does seem that their friendship has evolved beyond the kinds usually developed between students over the course of a few semesters. They laugh quickly and easily. (Griffin’s chuckle in particular is so infectious it could be marketed as a non-pharmaceutical treatment for depression.)
But 3D printing in clay can be frustrating, and, when the stressors of college life are compounded by an additional research project, even the most cheerful students can reach a breaking point.
“The three of us have seen each other cry at least three times over the summer,” says Lee. “Some more than others. But between the three of us, at least, I believe we’ve made a really big support system.”
And the support system they’ve built has spilled over from the realm of research into the more personal aspects of their lives.
“It’s become very personal,” says Lee. “I don’t have actual sisters, so it’s really cool to get to think of these two as my sisters.”
As a part of the AU Summer Scholars Program, in May 2018, Brooke, Ellen and TK began a research project that combined the new technology of 3D printing with the age-old practice of pottery-making. The Summer Scholars Program was established by the Center for Undergraduate Research and Scholarship (CURS) to encourage increased student involvement in research and scholarly endeavors, which, in this case, has had the added outcome of impacting students in more creative fields like the fine arts.
“Research is an iterative form of inquiry that increases one’s awareness and knowledge,” says Scott Thorp, Professor and Chair of the Department of Art and Design who also serves as Associate Vice President for Interdisciplinary Research. “Through learning new things, people become more curious. And curiosity is the fuel for creativity. So, since art is meant to be a creative domain, the more research we do, the more creative we become.”
With an eye on both the academic and creative aspects of an art education, Assistant Professor of Art Raoul Pacheco acquired a 3D printer that, instead of printing a plastic polymer, is capable of extruding clay. Pacheco had the idea to bring in visiting artist Bryan Czibesz to set up the printer after seeing Czibesz’s work at a conference of The National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts (NCECA). “I was in the Art Department office talking about how cool it would be if we could get him to come set up a printer here. Cheryl Goldsleger, our Morris Eminent Scholar, overheard the conversation and agreed to fund the project.”
Goldsleger has been using 3D printing in her own art practice since 2000, so when she heard of the opportunity to introduce students to a new method of artmaking she knew immediately that she wanted to devote funds help make the program happen.
“I think it’s good for students to have hands-on experience in school,” says Goldsleger. “I knew there were clay printers, but Raoul knew someone who goes all over to introduce students to 3D printing and even builds the printer. So he’s the one who brought it to me and I said, ‘Oh that’s fabulous! That’s what we need to do.”
So Czibesz, who is a professor of art at State University of New York at New Paltz, came and gave a workshop at which he constructed a brand new 3d ceramic printer to leave behind for the students at AU to use. Renovation of the sculpture and ceramics studios temporarily derailed the effort, but once the new studios were completed, Pacheco brought in another artist, Matt Mitros, Assistant Professor of Art at The University of Alabama, to do some testing and demonstrations with the machine. This allowed another group of students the chance to get excited about the possibilities of printing with clay.
And this is where our adventurous trio’s journey began. “When we first started, we were actually just barely getting to know each other,” says Lee. “We had started playing D&D for maybe two weeks before spring semester let out.”
“Raoul saw us together and knew that I had experience working with the 3D printer and that we each had some interest in working with it,” she adds. “I had helped with both the initial set-up and when Matt Mitros came to do a guest lecture, so I was quite familiar with the program.”
“But Brooke and I had never touched a modeling program at all before this summer,” says Griffin. “I had looked at it and thought, ‘That’s too complicated.’”
Griffin was partly right. The process is complicated, but, as it turned out, it wasn’t too complicated for the three of them to learn. She describes the process, which included familiarizing themselves with a number of computer-aided design (CAD) software applications, figuring out the most ideal consistency of clay for printing, and a lot of trial and error.
“We wanted to explore 3D modeling and cad software to see how it intersects with a traditionally hands-on artmaking process,” says Griffin. “We also wanted to see how it can influence and impact our own existing processes.”
And so they spent the summer exploring the possibilities and problems of printing clay.
Even the name of the printer itself reflects the difficulties encountered along the way. During its initial setup, even after they felt they had properly executed each step of the process, an error message consisting of just five characters kept appearing on the screen: P_ERR.
“It just kept displaying P_ERR for printer error over and over again,” says Griffin. So it was decided that the printer’s name would be P_ERR (pronounced Pierre).
“3D printing can be frustrating on a number of levels,” says Goldsleger. “First off, you have to learn modeling software which is an enormous learning curve. And then you also have to learn the printer. So not only do you start drawing things virtually that you want to print, you have to make sure that they will print.”
Despite how tough it was, the trio gave it the old college try. And in much the same way they’d built a team to complete missions in the D&D realm, the three students brought their individual skills together to work through the issues of the project.
“We all had our strengths and weaknesses going into it, so it balanced out perfectly,” says Farmer.
“TK packed the tubes, I looked at the programs, and Brooke ran the prints. Mostly,” adds Griffin, noting that while each of them performed specific roles in the research, they’d all need to learn the process from beginning to end if the project was to be successful.
Along with the feeling of accomplishment that comes with the success of such a project, there’s also the possibility for lifelong impact.
“Having accomplished an in-depth summer-long research project in 3D printing, the students now have a head start,” says Goldsleger. “They’ve learned some of the language. They’ve used a machine. And in a lot of industries just a little bit of knowledge will get you in the door of companies where they’re willing to train you further.”
The students decided that one of the components of the project would be the incorporation of a live video stream of the work they were doing, and that highlighted a less technical issue. One of the members of the group has what she calls “a potty mouth.”
“I jokingly made the comment that we needed to watch our mouths and what we all say,” says Farmer. “So we kept tally marks on the blackboard for every time someone said a cuss word.”
They assigned a small monetary penalty for each time someone violated certain rules, depositing a quarter in a jar for each time someone crossed a line.
“It was like a sin jar, basically, because it couldn’t be like a swear jar,” says Griffin. “Since I don’t cuss, for me it was bad puns or jokes.”
Lee points out that the way to tell if the joke is bad is by noticing who laughs. “If someone laughed besides you,” she says, “you were excused from your bad joke.”
There is a little dispute among the trio as to how much money was in the jar at the end of the summer. Lee says it was around $30, and Farmer says $25. Considering how small the penalty for each “sin” was, either amount gives an indication that the process brought out plenty of swearing and bad puns.
Full disclosure: at the end of the research period, the three of them used the cash to go to lunch and, since I was there to talk with them about the work, they insisted that I join them. We piled into a car and headed to a buffet where we swapped stories, shared food, and laughed heartily before returning to campus with our bellies a little too full.
The buffet luncheon is just one example of how friendly the group really is. Lee, who transferred from another university where she said the art department was far less welcoming, describes her experience at AU with obvious affection.
“We’re not like most art departments,” says Lee. “We’re weird and we’re intimate and we want to know and love everybody down here in the art department. That’s why a lot of people who come down as non-majors and take a class end up switching majors or minoring in art. They become a part of the family.”
Watching the three of them interact, it does seem that their friendship has evolved beyond the kinds usually developed between students over the course of a few semesters. They laugh quickly and easily. (Griffin’s chuckle in particular is so infectious it could be marketed as a non-pharmaceutical treatment for depression.)
But 3D printing in clay can be frustrating, and, when the stressors of college life are compounded by an additional research project, even the most cheerful students can reach a breaking point.
“The three of us have seen each other cry at least three times over the summer,” says Lee. “Some more than others. But between the three of us, at least, I believe we’ve made a really big support system.”
And the support system they’ve built has spilled over from the realm of research into the more personal aspects of their lives.
“It’s become very personal,” says Lee. “I don’t have actual sisters, so it’s really cool to get to think of these two as my sisters.”
Pay Your Artist Friends Op-Ed
"How much is the friends and family discount?" It's the one sentence an artist hates even more than, "Can you make me look skinny?" (It is possible that Alberto Giacometti didn't mind hearing the latter.)
I understand; for most of us, purchasing or commissioning a piece of art is a luxury. But when a fast-food value meal or a climate-controlled living space is just out of financial reach for a working artist, asking him to subsidize your wants at the expense of his needs is a proposal that any reasonable person should recognize as indecent.
No one would ask the proctologist who shares his pew at church for a cut-rate colonoscopy, and let's face it: he can probably afford to cast an occasional pro-bono glance up someone's backside. We all recognize that it would be rude to haggle over a haircut or barter with a bartender for a decades-old blended-malt Scotch.
Why, then, do we ask our painter friends to make a masterpiece to match our sofa, but only want to hand over enough cash to cover the cost of paints and canvas? How is it acceptable to pay our cousin, the one who "takes real good pictures," in wedding cake and jelly-soaked meatballs fished from a Crock Pot?
"I can't afford to pay you much for it, but it'll be good for your portfolio," is another good way to insult your artist friend. Be sure to follow that up with, "You'll sell so much more work once people see what a good job you did for me."
Perhaps someone will, in fact, see an artist's work and want to commission a piece of her very own. But here's the thing: if a potential patron knows you paid $50 for the piece you're beaming over, why would she pay the $300 the artist actually considers his work to be worth? It's for this very reason that Roseann Stutts, one of my art mentors and former photography professor at what is now called Augusta University, has said, "Ask for what you think your work is worth and accept nothing less." The only alternative she suggested was to give the work away for free, which, it could be argued, lends the piece some semblance of pricelessness.
I know that art is expensive. That's because not everyone can make it. If you could break out your box of 64 Crayola colors and dash off an instant classic that perfectly picks up those flecks of cornflower blue in your living room wallpaper, you wouldn't be seeking it from someone else in the first place.
But you can't. Making art is hard work. Each piece an artist makes has potentially been informed by every piece he's already made --or even seen-- before it. All the hours spent carefully applying paint to a canvas, every afternoon used up attempting to avoid showcasing your granddaughter's tribal arm-band tattoo on her wedding day, all of the hand cramps incurred through the pinching and pulling and poking it takes to sculpt a lump of clay into something that looks less like a lump of clay, likely reflect the experience gained from having performed these actions time and time again.
It’s true that artists need funds in order to buy materials, but they also need to be able to stock the pantry so that they can eat even when not photographing a wedding, or attending an art exhibition opening. Yes, there have been surrealists whose work benefited from the hallucinations that accompany starvation, but I think we can all agree that such a vision quest should be born out of desire to further one’s work and should not be a symptom of straight-up poverty.
So before you ask your friend who makes art to cut you a deal (or even to make you appear more svelte than you actually are), why not try asking your friend who specializes in internal medicine for a discount on gastric bypass surgery. At least he can afford to do it without becoming Giacometti-thin.
I understand; for most of us, purchasing or commissioning a piece of art is a luxury. But when a fast-food value meal or a climate-controlled living space is just out of financial reach for a working artist, asking him to subsidize your wants at the expense of his needs is a proposal that any reasonable person should recognize as indecent.
No one would ask the proctologist who shares his pew at church for a cut-rate colonoscopy, and let's face it: he can probably afford to cast an occasional pro-bono glance up someone's backside. We all recognize that it would be rude to haggle over a haircut or barter with a bartender for a decades-old blended-malt Scotch.
Why, then, do we ask our painter friends to make a masterpiece to match our sofa, but only want to hand over enough cash to cover the cost of paints and canvas? How is it acceptable to pay our cousin, the one who "takes real good pictures," in wedding cake and jelly-soaked meatballs fished from a Crock Pot?
"I can't afford to pay you much for it, but it'll be good for your portfolio," is another good way to insult your artist friend. Be sure to follow that up with, "You'll sell so much more work once people see what a good job you did for me."
Perhaps someone will, in fact, see an artist's work and want to commission a piece of her very own. But here's the thing: if a potential patron knows you paid $50 for the piece you're beaming over, why would she pay the $300 the artist actually considers his work to be worth? It's for this very reason that Roseann Stutts, one of my art mentors and former photography professor at what is now called Augusta University, has said, "Ask for what you think your work is worth and accept nothing less." The only alternative she suggested was to give the work away for free, which, it could be argued, lends the piece some semblance of pricelessness.
I know that art is expensive. That's because not everyone can make it. If you could break out your box of 64 Crayola colors and dash off an instant classic that perfectly picks up those flecks of cornflower blue in your living room wallpaper, you wouldn't be seeking it from someone else in the first place.
But you can't. Making art is hard work. Each piece an artist makes has potentially been informed by every piece he's already made --or even seen-- before it. All the hours spent carefully applying paint to a canvas, every afternoon used up attempting to avoid showcasing your granddaughter's tribal arm-band tattoo on her wedding day, all of the hand cramps incurred through the pinching and pulling and poking it takes to sculpt a lump of clay into something that looks less like a lump of clay, likely reflect the experience gained from having performed these actions time and time again.
It’s true that artists need funds in order to buy materials, but they also need to be able to stock the pantry so that they can eat even when not photographing a wedding, or attending an art exhibition opening. Yes, there have been surrealists whose work benefited from the hallucinations that accompany starvation, but I think we can all agree that such a vision quest should be born out of desire to further one’s work and should not be a symptom of straight-up poverty.
So before you ask your friend who makes art to cut you a deal (or even to make you appear more svelte than you actually are), why not try asking your friend who specializes in internal medicine for a discount on gastric bypass surgery. At least he can afford to do it without becoming Giacometti-thin.