incoming (2006-13)

Knoxville-born black artist Joseph Delaney (1904-91). On view at the Frank H. McClung Museum Gallery between September 27 and October 15—three months following the initial attack on the mural—the exhibition was spearheaded by Mrs. Elsa H. Fine, a graduate student in the College of Education, who later became managing editor of the much respected Woman’s Art Journal . It was the first time a black artist had been so honored at a large Southern university and in a gesture of gratitude and acknowledgement of this fact, Delaney, in September of 1970, donated his mural-sized canvas “V-J Day” (1961) to the University. This painting presently hangs in a corridor next to the ballroom, which contains the Greenwood mural. For most of his career, Delaney was a New York artist who drew inspiration from some of the same muralists that had influenced Greenwood, but in 1986, after Chancellor Jack

Reese approved his appointment as visiting artist with the Art Department, he returned permanently to Knoxville. By coincidence, his homecoming was marked by a second, much larger, Delaney retrospective, this one organized for the University’s Ewing Galley of Art by director Sam Yates. Joseph was the brother of the painter Beauford Delaney (1901-79), the subject of a recent national exhibition.

Frederick C. Moffatt

Credit Where Credit’s Due

One thing I want to clarify is the people involved in the creation of this event, specifically, the partnership of the Issues Committee and the Visual Arts Committee. Issues Committee Vice-Chair Craig Davis and I equally shared the responsibilities for hosting this event with Catherine Abbott and Samantha Jacobs. As Chair and Vice-Chair of VAC, respectively, Catherine and Samantha worked tirelessly with VAC to help bring this event to fruition, and VAC deserves as much credit as the Issues Committee does.

Again, many thanks for your time and interest in this event.  We hope to see you at future events soon!

Sarah Graham

Art for Keeps

Generally, the depiction of iniquity does not imply approving it. In fact, if one does not admit its existence and record it for posterity, how can one redress it and prevent its repetition? For instance, a statue of someone like Hitler should be publicly exhibited where appropriate, with a plaque saying, “Never again.”

Vivian Leitner

Science Isn’t Fiction

By the way, the only proper faith held by “evolutionists” is the same as the faith held by other classes of scientists, and that is the faith that the natural world is real and knowable and substantial, and not an illusion provoked in our perceptions by gods and/or space aliens.  If I encountered some phenomenon that I could not explain, and I declared that a magical force was causing the phenomenon and that no human could explain it rationally, I would not be engaging in science; I would be indulging my faith in magical forces to explain difficult problems, and I would be guilty of extreme laziness.

Andrew Haun

Oh, Me Aching Ears!

Like most people, I expect my Sunday mornings to be peaceful and quiet. The band was so loud that people were shouting at each other to be heard, a block-and-a-half away and around the corner on Union Avenue. Krutch Park, which should have been a peaceful place to stroll on Sunday morning and listen to the birds, was filled with the raucous din of absurdly loud rock music.

I went to breakfast at Tomato Head with friends, and we sat by a window in the front. I saw literally dozens of marathon runners whose route came through Market Square right by the band, mostly women, running with their fingers in both ears to block out the din and prevent their hearing from being damaged. The music was so loud it was literally painful if you had to run that close to it. Is that how Knoxville wants to be remembered by so many visitors?

Numerous small groups of people out for breakfast or a stroll, meeting one another on the square, or parting outside after breakfast, were all shouting at one another to be heard, even on the opposite end of Market Square from the band, often casting angry glances in their direction. It was an unexpectedly cold morning for late March, so there weren’t many pedestrians outside, but if the weather had been more typical of the late March spring morning the event expected, families would not have been able to enjoy the Square like they do every Sunday morning when it’s warm. Residents and visitors would have not been able to enjoy eating outside at the restaurants with outdoor seating that open on Sunday morning on Market Square.

No one could hear above the racket the sound of birds in the oak trees, children’s laughter, and friends calling to one another. I never saw a single person anywhere near the band, only the poor, unfortunate runners, and a few pets yelping in pain at the noise as they dragged their owners as far away as they could get. The band drove everyone away from Market Square as soon as they could flee the area.

The marathon and associated events claim over 10,000 participants. I’m at a total loss to understand how anyone could possibly think such tasteless and painfully loud rock music is pleasant entertainment for runners and diners, or anything but rude and thoughtless to the businesses and residents of the Square.

This horrible din certainly wasn’t something that most of us who met for breakfast knew about—we were simply ambushed. I don’t expect to have my hearing damaged and my morning ruined just walking to breakfast on Sunday morning in my own neighborhood. I shudder to imagine the impression this must have made on so many event participants with fingers in their ears, and other visitors from places with better taste, and a consideration for the health and hearing of anyone other than stone deaf rock musicians.

Robert Loest

Guidelines for Incoming Mail

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