Memorium: Kim Chalmers & Ed Zerne
For my normal readership, I want to apologize for the late posts this weekend. On top of our already full show schedule, the house studio at Casa Corteza experienced two great losses this past week: the death of artist and family member, Ed Zerne, and the passing of teacher and mentor Kim Chalmers. Both of these individuals have played fundamental roles in the living and learning of Stephen, Corey, and I, and we’re sad to see them go even as we are grateful for the part they played in our lives.
(photo courtesy of zerne.wordpress.com)
As a man of varied talents, Ed Zerne spent his early childhood in Panama. Attending the Corcoran School of Art and Maryland Institute College of Art, and as a teacher at Mount Vernon College, he was a proponent of human rights, and many of his works reflect the human place in society, action, and the universe, specifically in our relationships with each other as creatures of instinct. He wrote often about his experiences with art and the artmaking process, and lived his life with the same curiosity and search for knowledge: he found it difficult to imagine someone making a judgment call about something without having experienced it for themselves. He loved art, and he loved making art…”most of the time.” “…Ed could be something of a ‘punny guy’.”
Stephen remembers: “Seeing his work growing up was a good exposure to [art and artmaking] that wasn’t a standard portrait. Seeing the things hung around the beach house [in Delaware], [they were works that] bordered between painting and sculpture, [and leaning into installative experience]. The conceptual thinking is something I don’t think most people are exposed to at a young age, and frankly it caused really big debates [in the family] as to the validity of what was being done, and the sustainability of what people were doing, but it also allowed me to think about art [in terms of] legitimacy and value, and as something that can be and should be sustainable. I didn’t go into practicing any kind of artistry because of my uncle…but I think he exposed me to the [larger] dialogues necessary to get where I am at today.”
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I also wanted to take a moment to share the example of my old professor, friend, and mentor, Kim Chalmers. As a teacher and department chair at Western Kentucky University, he was one of the best: the kind that learns from his students even as he pushes us into the work he believes we can do. Some of my fondest memories are having knock-down, drag-on, flat-out arguments about my projects with him about why I should be able to make what I wanted to make: his willingness to debate with me made me feel like the work I was doing was worth fighting for. Just as importantly, he listened.
I could always count on Chalmers to have a wisecrack or to be bizarre and whole-hearted, rushing down a hallway with dramatic gestures and a bold voice: he was more like an Einstein or Beethoven with his crowd of flying grey hair and quick eyes. He was unafraid to be who he was, but by contrast, his site-responsive work was still, quiet, deep as a lake, heavily layered with metaphor and ice, thought creaking beneath every cautious surface decision. In conversations in his office, we experienced dismay and sadness over similar things – the terrible acts people could think to do to other people – even as we shared a similar, desperate hope over the power and voice of the creative act.
Even now I find myself caught by the desire to show him something new I’m working on, or ask his opinion, or share a good idea, or simply just nag him a little bit and give him a hard time. He always gave me a hard time…and I grew the better for it. I’ll miss him.