Jill standing on street corner near subway station.

Riding the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan took about an hour, and seemed to be the means to an end for the ridership at large. But I couldn’t get enough, for me the subway was theater. I didn’t carry a book to read, I was more that kid who mercilessly poked my mother’s side asking “do you see that?” After awhile she stopped paying attention and dosed off until we got to our destination.

I saw everything, and looked at anything. Sitting quietly I studied women’s outfits, men’s shoes, babies in hats and people who had fallen asleep. We took the train in to shop, or on rare occasions, to meet my dad, but we never took the train at rush hour. Because of that the cars were mostly unfilled. It didn’t take long for me to visually calculate every color, every style, every shape and every amorphous blob of whatever substance had stuck to the colorless vinyl floor. I was drenched in the eccentricity of every person in my immediate vicinity.

After evaluating everyone’s wardrobe, I made mental notes on how I would change their makeup, or restyle their hair, and began to look at the mostly uninspired advertisements. Ads for cigarettes, beer, local services for things like accountants and dentists plastered every inch of available space between the low ceiling and the windows. Positioned just at the height where the average straphangers would have no choice but to come face to face with a can of Rheingold, I studied the graphics and the images just because I liked the way they looked.

Miss Subway poster from the 1960's

Kids didn’t really buy anything when I was growing up, so it didn’t matter much to me what the ads were hawking, I just liked them. From 1941 – 1977 each New York subway line reserved prime space for Miss Subway posters. There were at least two or three of these black and white dreary cardboard representations of ordinary girls hung throughout every car. After one month Miss Subway’s reign would come to an end, and the current Miss would be replaced by the next young woman who had entered and won the contest. The titled miss may have been as young as fourteen, but she could also have been as old as thirty. The photograph was always a headshot of an innocent, yet somehow alluring young woman. The lacquered placement of a perfect page-boy or an elegant bouffant hairdo made each girl look older than she probably was. A solid colored tight-fitting sweater often worn with a simple piece of jewelry was the personification of and glamour and sophistication amid the five boroughs.

Essentially the only requirement to become a Miss Subway was that you had to ride the subway, and send in a biography of yourself. To the train-riding public this title may have seemed frivolous, or unimportant, maybe not even important enough to matter, but to the girl who got to see her picture in the cars of the IRT, BMT and other subway lines, it must have been thrilling.

The advertising executive who conceived the Miss Subway contest did it to entice ridership to look at adjoining advertising. A poster of a pretty girl would surely catch the attention of weary passengers. If you got them to look up at her, it was a shoe in that they wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing the can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer adjacent to her smiling face. The Miss Subway campaign was simply a ploy to “make you look”. Miss Subway couldn’t have cared that this was an engineered ploy to ramp up consumerism; she would forever remember her reign and keep a copy of her poster always.

I had already shut the lights and turned off my computer at work and was about to leave the building when my phone rang and an official sounding voice asked for me. The soft-spoken voice had the sort of intonation which makes you think you left your wallet at the DMV and someone was calling to tell you the good news that it had been found. Instead it was a woman representing the Faces of the Arts Broward County selection committee. She told me that I had been chosen as a one of the nine Faces of the Arts in Broward because of a piece I had written about how the arts affected my life.

I immediately flashed to the scene of Ann Margret in the movie Bye Bye Birdie when she gets a call from the Ed Sullivan Show, telling her she has been chosen to be the only girl in America to be kissed on live television by the teenage heart-throb Conrad Birdie. She politely thanks the caller and calmly calls for her mother. By the end of the call she is jumping up and down in her furry slippers, having lost all composure and screaming out Mommy.

There was no one left in the building when I got the call about being selected. I was sure I was alone and when the call ended I threw up my hands and let out a scream. I knew there wouldn’t be any poster, but I felt like a combination of Miss Subway and a teenage Ann Margret. I have been chosen for other awards. I am a Whitney Museum Scholarship recipient, and I have been awarded a painting scholarship at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, but those seemed much more academic. The prompt from the committee for the contest about art in Broward was personal.  Being an artist is laden with uncertainty, often affirmation and reward is infrequent. Being chosen as one of the Faces of the Arts is an honor. Like the faded posters squirreled away in the attics of the Miss Subways; I will cherish and remember this always.

I wrote about me, but really it was an effort to make you look. To see all of the wonderful opportunities Broward County offers the arts community. Museums, ArtServe, Artist as Entrepreneur and studio spaces like Studio 18 and Sailboat Bend, together with dedicated people like Jim Shermer and Adriane Clarke of the Cultural Division, together with countless others who tirelessly support the arts in Broward make being an artist in this part of South Florida just that much easier. At a time when municipalities struggle to maintain basic services Broward County whole heartedly supports the arts and artists. They made us look at what we each have to offer for the greater good of making art thrive.

Jill and her mother

On Wednesday July 20th, I and eight other winners will be given an award at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts during an intermission of a performance by Symphony of the Americas. There will be a party after the concert. Tickets are available through the box office at the Broward Center for the 8:00pm performance. I won’t be wearing a tight-fitting sweater, or a simple piece of jewelry, but I will be smiling, and my mom will be in the audience. While I won’t be screaming Mommy she knows that she has been, and continues to be my greatest supporter regarding my interest, and my career in the arts.

Photograph of Jill as teenager taken by Julio Mitchell

Miss Subway www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/15548

July 20, 2011 Jill Slaughter RAW CANDOR by JILL SLAUGHTER 3 comments

All the Lies You Told - Jill Slaughter 18" x 24" acrylic on canvas

I have shopped, and paid for more than twenty black eyeliners. Though similar, they all held the promise of being quite different. A hollow assurance of being the one and only, the last one you’ll need to buy. The one you can dedicate yourself to. The one that will become yours.

Several are on the tray of cosmetics I use on a regular basis; others are in my travel make up case. A few are in random purses, while still others are in the draw of my desk at work. A single pencil is stashed in the vinyl case my dentist gave me so that every time I brush my teeth during the day I can re-apply the liner that came with the promise of 24-hour wear.

An eyeliner that lasts all day is as elusive as the African Galago monkey. A determined consumer is more likely to see this nocturnal primate while shopping than she (he) is to actually purchase the eyeliner that doesn’t fade, smudge or simply disappear.

Jill's assortment of black eyeliners.

Midnight, deep charcoal, ebony, jet black, kohl, cream, gel, wands, pencils, liquid, dramatic, intense, bold, smooth, professional, all eyeliners. The ultimate formula may be included in these many varieties; however I am among the legions of hopefuls still searching for the one that doesn’t turn into goop in the corner of your eye within fifteen minutes of the initial application. Still searching for the one that lasts.

Some of my purchases came hand wrapped in tissue paper gently placed into a small glossy laminated paper bag by a salesperson enthusiastically promising that this one really worked. Some were bought along with a bottle of witch hazel and a bag of cotton balls, all dumped into a plastic sack at the dollar store. It didn’t matter. The packaging was sometimes convincing, sometimes it was just an impulse to try yet another brand. Always hoping it would be the one.

Sitting in the alley behind my house Harry asked me to be his girlfriend. He lived across the street from my house. He was blond, cute and the bad boy type. He smoked. I was eleven. Hoping my mom wouldn’t be looking out the window we gently kissed to cement our romance. We had seen each other around the neighborhood and that seemed to be the only criteria he needed to ask me to be his. Apparently I needed equally minimal amounts of information to enter into a relationship. That lack of discrimination became my map for dating.

Jill (age 14) at beach with long-term boyfriend

As a teenager I dated the same boy for four years. At age fourteen I became his girlfriend, and we dated exclusively until I left for college. I liked him, and came to love him, but only started dating him because he was so good looking. That hollow attribute became added to my limited list of requirements for choosing a partner.

I have been dating for decades. “Off the market”, for a time because of my long term marriage, I am none the less a very experienced dater. Partners have included intellectuals, artists, lawyers, doctors, photographers, carpenters, entrepreneurs, trust funders, executives, academics, authors, actors, and do nothings.

The Love Boxer - Richard Kurtz, house paint on dumpster.

Each budding romance held the promise of a lasting relationship. Each time I thought it would be my last first kiss. Each of us thinking this union would be the formula for success. The alchemy of idiosyncrasies and compassion that would allow a relationship to flourish.

The package has been different among the men I dated. Some came with glossy wrapping, others more plastic bag kind of guys, but it didn’t matter. I was attracted to something in each of them that had more to do with the outside than the content. My recent copy of a popular fashion magazine devoted almost a half page to a new eyeliner, guaranteed to last. But, only promising to work if the wearer follows a multi step process for application, none the less, it promises to work.

Yesterday - by Jill Slaughter

The multi step process I now give serious thought to is seeing beyond the wrapping and getting to know all about the content of a potential partner. Because my mom, whose happy marriage has flourished for almost sixty years is still watching, as are my three beautiful daughters.

Photograph of Jill as teenager – Julio Mitchel

July 17, 2011 Jill Slaughter RAW CANDOR by JILL SLAUGHTER 3 comments

Jill's left hand symbols

My engagement ring broke in two just moments before I was about to walk down the aisle. At the pivotal moment between being a bride and becoming a wife I dared not think of this as an omen. In a hushed voice I handed the heirloom ring to my mother and asked her to have it repaired while we were on our honeymoon.

The square-cut diamond, set in platinum had belonged to my husband’s grandmother. It had been saved for him to give to his bride. He slipped in onto my finger while I was sleeping. The ring was his way of asking me to marry him. I was not a young woman who cared, or even knew about the five “C’s” of diamonds, certification, carat, clarity, color and cut. For me, the ring symbolized the strength of our relationship, and he wanted to marry me.

Over the course of our marriage I wore three other rings on my left hand a top my long since repaired engagement ring. An unadorned gold wedding band, a single platinum band, and a platinum band inlaid with small round diamonds. They declared my status as a wife, and I never took them off.

The joy leaked out of our decade plus marriage, and without noticing it became lifeless and shriveled, ultimately ending with a blistering divorce. I sold my rings. I didn’t want to keep them for my daughters.

Each time I glanced at my left hand I felt bereft. Accustomed to wearing rings, I had no rings to wear. The empty space left me aching to regain the comfort of wearing a symbol. But I was no longer someone’s wife, didn’t have a significant relationship, and didn’t simply want to wear a decorative piece of jewelry.

The Freedom Ring - designed by Jill Slaughter

I designed The Freedom Ring. It is worn on the middle finger. There is no stone, no jewel, no setting. The square-shaped ring showcases unoccupied space which declares the truly precious element, the flesh of the person wearing this symbol of self-love.

The Freedom Ring - accessory page of The Los Angeles Yogi Times

I needed to wear a ring, but not one that defined my romantic role in someone’s life. The ring I wanted to wear had to visually prompt me to embrace courage, possibility and change. I designed that ring. I wear that ring. The Freedom Ring symbolizes the commitment to being and becoming your story, not re-telling your story, not waiting for a story. The Freedom Ring is worn by people who value themselves as a jewel. The designed space is not empty, it is open.

The Freedom Ring is not currently in production.

And This Is What I Know:

Louise Hay      Watches 

July 10, 2011 Jill Slaughter RAW CANDOR by JILL SLAUGHTER 5 comments

I am Gina Dotson a human resources professional working in the health care industry. After three decades of managing and coaching employees, I know one thing for certain…connecting with people is critical and one way to make this connection is through personal storytelling.

I love “Raw Candor” because the theme is frankness and raw honesty. I believe we all benefit personally and professionally when we engage in genuine openness. The word candor comes from the Latin, meaning “to shine”. The essence of candor is to allow you and those around you to shine. And it is the notion of being candid that is evident here.

“BRING YOUR CANDOR TO WORK DAY”

Growing up in an Italian family with the motto, “We put the FUN in dysfunction”, there were remarkably few moments of candor. Authentic expression was a sign of weakness leading to the belief, “If you swim with sharks, don’t bleed”.

Looking back, there is no surprise as to why I chose the field of human study and the profession of human resources development. Perhaps it was that early lack of communication that landed me exactly where I am today, nurturing leadership potential by engaging in conversations that balance care with candor. Honest and candid interactions are a vital, sometimes overlooked, component of effective working relationships. The lack of candor stifles the creative process, blocks new ideas and prevents people from making significant contributions.

In my daily walk, candor allows me to connect with people at a time when surface conversation would be more comfortable. For example, during a coaching session my decision to be candid about my struggles as a new manager begins to build trust and open dialogue. Providing a glimpse into my vulnerability; it allows the other person to know where I come from and helps them feel at ease. Candor can be a leveling agent. It can help you meet a person at the point of their need and can improve or even change your relationships.

Yes, there are still situations when I find it difficult to initiate a candid conversation. I would love to bury my head in the sand, hoping the issue could self destruct like the Mission Impossible tapes that guided Mr. Phelps to his next assignment. Rarely does this happen. I have learned that candor works. It removes uncertainty and doubt. However, we must not lose sight of the fact that candor is a very sharp arrow in the quiver of honesty.

Perhaps in practicing candor, we may consider the teaching of the Sufis:

• Speak only after our words have managed to pass through three gates. At the first gate, we ask ourselves, “Are the words true?” If so, we let them pass on; if not, back they go. At the second gate, we ask, “Are they necessary?” At the last gate, we ask “Are they kind?”

Quote Details: Eknath Easwaran: The Sufis advise us… – The … (n.d.). Retrieved from ht

tp://www.quotationspage.com/quote/30749.html.

storytelling image – http://noteandpoint.com/

July 9, 2011 Jill Slaughter RAW CANDOR by JILL SLAUGHTER 2 comments

Former First Lady Betty Ford dies at age 93

Betty Ford is remembered for her courage and candor. – National Public Radio

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Betty Ford said things that first ladies just don’t say, even today. And 1970s America loved her for it.

I Won’t Back Down

Well I won’t back down, no I won’t back down

You could stand me up at the gates of hell

But I won’t back down…

Hey baby there ain’t no easy way out

Hey baby I will stand my ground

And I won’t back down

Tom Petty

Rest in Peace Mrs. Ford

July 9, 2011 Jill Slaughter RAW CANDOR by JILL SLAUGHTER 1 comment