Artists, advocates, and family members rush to save artworks inside UArts

Legendary Philly artist Sam Maitin built a life and career at the University of the Arts. A nearly 50-year-old painting of his still adorns the northside stairwell of the former Gershman Y building, owned by UArts since 2000. The three-panel painting — with a 16-foot-long central piece and two 8-by-4-foot flanking paintings — bursts with vibrant colors.

After the sudden announcement of UArts’ closure, Maitin’s daughter, Ani, made a trip to the arts college to ensure her father’s work would be saved. She covered the triptych with sticky notes with her email and phone number. She left another Post-it with a more urgent message: “Anyone told to remove these artworks please contact me in advance. They require special handling.”

Former staff member Elisa Seeherman understood the urgency.

“It’s not just about the monetary value of these pieces, it’s about the historical value of them,” said Seeherman, who was the school’s director of career services. “He was a Philadelphia icon.”

Ani Maitin talked to Seeherman, UArts Board members, and a representative from the company handling the closing of UArts, and was told she could take custody of the paintings. Still, much like the fate of the students, faculty and staff of UArts, the future of Maitin’s work — and that of many other pieces in the UArts system — remains up in the air.

Seeherman said it would take a crew to remove Maitin’s painting from the building, most recently home to the UArts’ Student Center and Lightbox Film Center. The biggest issue, she said, is finding a place that will properly restore and house the slightly abraded artwork.

“These pieces are huge and won’t fit into most homes,” Seeherman said. “It’s complicated. And that’s probably why the former Gershman Y people left them in the building after they left.”

Sam Maitin: Mayor of the Arts

Sam Maitin was born in 1928 above a grocery store run by his Russian Jewish immigrant parents in North Philadelphia.

After graduating from Simon Gratz High School at age 16, he won a citywide art scholarship to the Philadelphia Museum School of Industrial Arts, now known as UArts. He simultaneously attended the University of Pennsylvania, and would later go on to teach at both schools and the Moore College of Art and Fleisher Art Memorial. He died in 2004.

“His work is an important piece of Philadelphia. But whether or not people loved his work, he was recognized as an endlessly generous person who did so much for other people and organizations,” Ani Maitin said. “It’s an incredible gift to manage his work. ”

The “Mayor of the Arts” — as Maitin was often called — was connected to the Gershman Y through his involvement with the center’s Y Arts Council. He was the in-house designer during the 1960s, working with figures like Joan Kron, Audrey Sabol, and others to promote the Arts Council’s visual, literary, and performing arts programs.

He was commissioned to create a set of paintings for the building’s lobby, and the result was the vibrant three-panel painting adorned with a Hebrew message that represented the mission he and the culture center shared.

The Hebrew phrase “Al tafrosh min hatzibur” translates to “Do not separate yourself from the community.” The painting also contains “Simcha” and “Sasson,” which translates to “joy” and “happiness.”

“I think the message still translates today,” said Craig Stover, Maitin’s former studio assistant and longtime friend. “If UArts made it their mission, their closure may not have happened.”

When the painting was unveiled in the early 1970s, Ani Maitin was only in preschool. But she remembers how it enlivened the Jewish family center, even as the building took on other iterations. “It felt very much like home to me when I was a kid,” she said.

An uncertain future

On Monday, Ani Maitin received a phone call from Alvarez & Marsal, the company tasked with managing and liquidating UArts properties after its closure. Though the consulting firm didn’t respond to The Inquirer’s queries, it informed Maitin that she or anyone from her family could come take Sam Maitin’s artwork from the building.

“Given the circumstances, I’m now feeling more reassured that the company is making efforts to handle things thoughtfully,” she said. “It’s all definitely an unexpected and time-consuming part of caring for my dad’s work and legacy.”

Ani Maitin said she’s scouting for nearby preservation sites and hopes to find a place to house the paintings soon. Her trip to UArts, however, opened her eyes to another glaring problem: No one knows what’s happening to other artists’ works displayed on campus.

“It was clear to me it wasn’t just about my dad’s artwork,” she said. “I felt like I was channeling my dad because he was such an activist. He taught me when you do something, you do it to uplift others too. Don’t just do things to support yourself.”

Based on their phone call, Ani Maitin said Alvarez & Marsal intends “to take their time to deaccession” the other works on UArts campus. This process involves the removal of artwork from an institution’s collection in order to sell or dispose of it. But no further details were provided, she said.

UArts faculty and staff can submit access requests to retrieve their personal items from university buildings, but it’s unclear whether the families of artists are given the same courtesy — or what will happen to artworks that don’t have family advocates like Ani Maitin.

An art piece has slipped through the cracks before, Seeherman said.

In June 2022, Seeherman said, she held a meeting to express concern for a sculpture named A Woman of Courage by Gladys Barry, a donation that had been in the Gershman Hall foyer since 1979.

With a new lobby construction set to begin, she was worried the sculpture would get damaged or misplaced. And when the construction project was completed in 2023, her fears were proven right — the sculpture was missing.

Seeherman is hopeful that outcome can be avoided this time around, citing the work of Ani Maitin and what others are doing to advocate for artists’ work on UArts campus.

“I wish [the art] could find a home where it can be appreciated for the art it is. Whether it’s in a museum, a private collection, or goes back to any of the families connected to it,” she said.

“UArts may have closed, but we’re still a community.”

– The Philadelphia Inquirer

The Philly artist who gets mistaken for Banksy

Susan Ferrence was in a rush on a December morning as she passed by Jefferson Plaza at 12th and Chestnut Streets. She was late for a workout session when an image stopped her in her tracks.

It was a stenciled mural of a young child, screaming while wrapped tightly in a straitjacket.

Ferrence, an art historian and director of publications at INSTAP Academic Press, took pictures of the freshly stenciled work with darkened shadows and etched grooves. She told her friends she had just spotted a Banksy.

The “Banksy” turned out to be the work of a Southwest Philly artist who goes by Bad Luck. The 33-year-old, who opts to conceal his identity, had stenciled the sketch of the screaming child on a wood-paneled wall hours before Ferrence walked by it.

The idea for the mural, he says, stemmed from a feeling of restriction, like being bound in a straitjacket. Bad Luck wanted to break free of his thoughts, like the child he drew screaming in enraged silence.

That’s how he’s always envisioned his artwork — as a cleansing of thought and emotion. But the comparison to Banksy is something he says he never imagined or wanted.

“I hate it, man,” he said. “He’s so big, talented, and clever. But if you try to do stencil work, then somehow you’re automatically biting off of Banksy. That’s how people view it.”

Philly artist Bleak, who shares an Instagram page with Bad Luck and assists him on select projects, said the comparisons are “wild.” “We admire Banksy’s work obviously, but we’re trying to be our own thing.”

Bad Luck started out as a graffiti writer before transitioning to stenciling after seeing Banksy’s work, but he wants to avoid being labeled a copycat.

“I’m inspired by him for sure, but not as much as people would like to think,” he said. “He showed me a new way to be able to create things years ago, but I try to find my own style. I try to send different messages, which is why my work can be darker.”

Since long before catching Ferrence’s attention, Bad Luck has been fascinated with the art world, but was forced to admire it from afar.

Growing up in foster care, and bouncing around group homes as a teen, the self-taught artist never attended a traditional art school. In time, Bad Luck said, art became his emotional refuge. He embraced the pain of his challenging upbringing and called himself “Bad Luck.”

If it were up to Bad Luck, he would spend most of his nights drawing on street corners and highway overpasses. But with a full-time job and a separate life as a husband and father, it can be a difficult balancing act for both him and Bleak.

“My wife has definitely expressed concern about cops and safety,” Bleak said. Thankfully, there haven’t been any real run-ins with law enforcement. The only real conflict, he says, has been between stencil and graffiti artists.

“For any art form, Philly is all about being respectful and true to yourself, but [Bad Luck and I] have received a lot of love and a lot of hate,” Bleak said. “Stencil artists don’t mix well with graffiti writers. We’ve heard some good things too, so it’s not completely sour.”

Bad Luck said he’s had graffiti artists spray over his artwork, and he has covered theirs in retaliation.

Despite the criticism and infuriating comments — including being called “Fake Banksy” — Bad Luck said his respect for graffiti artists and other Philly creatives has never wavered.

“The art in the city is unreal man,” he said. “The people here are talented with brushes and paint cans. I feel like that’s real art.” But when it comes to stenciling, he doesn’t see anyone else doing it on a large scale.

Conrad Benner, who’s covered the arts for years under his Streets Dept banner, says there are plenty of stencil artists in Philadelphia. But like many trends in the industry, some rise in popularity or grow more obscure over time. While Philly’s street art generally doesn’t have a recognizable Banksy influence, Benner said, there are definitely stenciling artists in the city other than Bad Luck and Bleak.

West Philly resident Tyquaan Bardlavens is surprised by the Banksy comparison.

Bad Luck’s ability to convey his emotions through his work is what drew in Bardlavens. And as they have become friends, he’s encouraged him to take his street art to wider audiences.

Bad Luck said he next plans to place his work in gallery spaces. He’s still figuring out how to navigate commercial art space, but above all, he wants to deliver positive messages through his creations and be known as “the stencil man.”

“It’s not about the money — I don’t want to get paid,” Bad Luck said. “I want normal people that are in the art world to see my s— on a wall and in an exhibit, and for me to get recognition. Oh, and to not get caught by the police.”

Philly’s Illharmonic Orchestra is a house party in a concert hall

Like many Black teens in the 1980s, Philadelphia native Jeffrey McNeill was obsessed with hip-hop music and culture. He wrote his first rhyme at 8 years old, and at 12, he mixed the Beastie Boys’ “Paul Revere” and Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to craft his first beat.

Years later, Coolio’s 1995 hit “Gangsta’s Paradise” gave McNeill artistic purpose. The song, built from Stevie Wonder’s “Pastime Paradise,” landed the late West Coast rapper a Grammy for best rap solo performance and led McNeill to the harmonious blend of hip-hop and orchestral music.

As Coolio, backed by an orchestra, hit the 1996 Grammy stage, McNeill watched in awe. “I pointed to the TV, thinking, ‘That’s it. That’s the idea, and that’s what I want to do,’” he said. “I knew it could work.”

The future MC looked to meld the powers of rap and traditional orchestration and play it in concert halls worldwide. And with the Illharmonic Orchestra, he did just that.

By the late 1990s, McNeill was recording and making music, but he wasn’t performing as regularly as he wanted. That changed when he began dating his wife and musical collaborator, Andrea, in 2000.

On their first date, McNeill took Andrea to see Mary J. Blige in Atlantic City and the two connected through their love of hip-hop, jazz, soul, and classical music. The two music lovers eventually joined hands on stage; She started out as McNeill’s hype woman, then became the group’s lead vocalist soon after.

Going by the stage names “Thee Phantom” and “The Phoenix,” McNeill and his wife perform classic hip-hop records that are woven together by a DJ and rotating ensemble comprised of trumpeters, cellists pianists, violinists, and other instrumentalists — mostly of color.

“It’s like a house party in a concert hall,” McNeill said, with audiences dancing through aisles as the duo play their orchestral renditions of songs like the Notorious B.I.G.’s “Big Poppa,” Eric B and Rakim’s “Don’t Sweat the Technique,” and other beloved hip-hop records.

“Hip-hop is an amalgamation of jazz, soul, breakbeats, and disco,” Andrea said. “But it also has instrumentation, and we’re putting a face to that. You’ve heard it on the radio or wax, but you haven’t necessarily made a connection to that sound in a Rakim song as a standing bass, or the piano in ‘The Bridge Is Over.’ It opens up the mind in another way.”

As many opportunities opened up for the orchestra, there was just as many “nos,” Andrea said.

“A lot of places were afraid of hip-hop,” she said. “Hip-hop is quintessentially Black, and bringing hip-hop into a classical space made people very uncomfortable.”

There was skepticism from the classical and hip-hop community. It was, as Jeffrey McNeill said, “draining” to continue spending their own money to rent venues and produce shows. “It was really tough to get booked on our own,” he said.

The couple was on the verge of disbanding, but in 2015, things began to change. That year, the orchestra was tapped to play at Carnegie Hall. McNeill brought a 25-piece ensemble to play at the famed concert hall, becoming only the third hip-hop artist to headline a show at the New York venue.

After Carnegie Hall, the orchestra continued to perform across the country, and even sold out the Kennedy Center in 2017. To date, the couple have had over 200 musicians take part in their touring orchestra.

Phill Charles, who joined the orchestra as a DJ in 2010, said Illharmonic looks to change the audience’s perception of hip-hop performances. “The orchestra is vast, diverse, and talented,” said Charles, who performs as DJ Philly C. “You can count on them at any time in any city. There are no wild cards because they have performed with us, been vetted, and they fit together like Legos.”

For Kelly Lee, chief cultural officer for the City of Philadelphia, the orchestra is a great representative of Philly, and she’s happy to see the ensemble receive its just recognition. “The Illharmonic Orchestra blends two iconic parts of Philly music culture into one genre-bending art form that makes hip-hop more accessible to orchestra lovers, orchestra music more accessible to hip-hop lovers, and lovers of both,” she said.

Philadelphia writer and DJ John Morrison, currently working on a documentary about the group, said what Illharmonic has done over the years is “mind-blowing.” “Working on this film has been eye-opening,” he said. “I’ve been able to go to a few of the orchestra’s performances, and seeing the reaction from the crowds has been powerful to witness. I didn’t get a full picture before we started the process, but watching the audience respond has opened my mind.”

“It’s not a gimmick for us,” Charles said. “This is not like a thing that we’re just doing because it’s in vogue right now. This is what we’ve always done.” Although other hip-hop orchestras have surfaced in recent years, the Illharmonic ensemble is the first of its kind.

The couple want to extend the Illharmonic legacy in a way that makes a community impact. With the documentary and continued performances, they want to inspire more instrumentalists of color to pursue their musical ambitions.

“Representation means something; it’s important on all levels,” Andrea said. “One of the things that gives me the greatest joy is being in a room full of gifted musicians, and we’ll continue to move with a certain level of intention.”

– The Philadelphia Inquirer

The chipped pieces of Isaiah Zagar’s fallen mosaic are trinkets of Philadelphia’s history

Isaiah Zagar’s famed mosaic, Skin of the Bride, has seen its last days.

For more than 25 years, the 7,000-square-foot mural wrapped around the former Painted Bride Art Center. But on Thursday, Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens’ restoration team finally chiseled away the remaining tiles and gathered usable pieces with hopes of creating a memorial honoring Zagar and the original mosaic.

After hearing that tiles would be available for people to pick up at the mosaic site, Fishtown resident Jenna Countie knew she had to make a trip to Old City.

“As soon as I saw the announcement … my brain immediately was like, ‘Alright, I need to get my hands on some of them,’” she said. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with them; I just wanted to keep them somewhere.”

Countie remembered seeing Zagar’s work along the streets of South Philly in her youth, but it wasn’t until she wrote a research paper on him in college that she fully realized his artistic genius. As the years passed, she continued to marvel at Zagar’s work and dedication to his craft. Once news about Skin of the Bride’s destruction made its rounds, it was a “massive blow” to her. “It symbolizes how the city doesn’t prioritize art,” she said. “It’s really a sad, sad moment.”

Countie intends to turn Zagar’s tiles into a picture frame, but if they’re hard to assemble, she will put them in a shadow box with a picture of the mural. Then she will attach a plaque with Zagar’s name and include a little description of the mosaic so she can see an inkling of Philly history every time she passes by the box, just as she did walking the streets of Old City.

“They’re not just tiles, it’s really a piece of art and history because it’s been here so long,” Countie said. “[Zagar] is 84 years old. He’s probably not going to be making more art like this, so this [is] cool and personal to have — even just a few pieces of it.”

PMG events and marketing manager Allison Boyle said the organization is moved by the support of the greater community and the reverence residents like Countie and others have for Zagar and his work .

“We know Zagar’s work is a part of the fabric of Philadelphia and helps to make this city such a special and unique place to live and visit,” Boyle wrote in a statement. “It’s our hope that all those who have been touched or angered by this story will contact their city representative and ask them to recognize the importance of Zagar’s art to Philadelphia, and join us in fighting to save future murals from destruction.”

Zagar worked 12- to 15-hour days for nine years to create Skin of the Bride, one of the largest public murals of his storied career. Developer and architect Shimi Zakin wanted to preserve the full mural and build apartments above, but neighbors sued to stop the city from granting him the zoning exceptions he said he needed.

Considering the history of the site and her experience getting to know Zagar over the years, Tracy Buchholz said she couldn’t help but grab some tiles to place in her office.

“I met [Zagar] nine years ago, and I watched and photographed him creating mosaics across the city,” said Buchholz, who works for the company that supports PMG’s public relation efforts. “He doesn’t just slap these things against a wall. They come alive piece by piece, resulting in something beautiful.”

Holding onto tiles from the mosaic is important for her “because I understand what went into it. [Zagar had] so much passion and love for the Painted Bride and for the community.”

“His work is meant to be shared, discussed, and appreciated. Walking past any of his work makes me smile on a bad day and get creative on a good day,” she said.

Countie is hopeful the city will rally together to preserve Zagar’s remaining work. His art makes people appreciate Philadelphia’s “imperfections,” she said, and it’s important the fight to protect his work continues.

– The Philadelphia Inquirer

Breaking barriers and opening doors: Philly artists are finding new spaces to showcase their creations

Few spaces are as essential to Philly arts as the city’s history-rich museums and art galleries. The institutions house some of the most prized artifacts and antiquities in the country, and serve as a domain for unknown artists to become international fixtures.

But for Lauren Fiasconaro and other Philly-based creatives, the barrier to entry is often too steep, forcing many artists to turn to local cafés, restaurants, bars, and other alternative spaces to showcase their artwork.

“This is definitely something that’s been cropping up more and more,” said Fiasconaro, 30, who’s currently displaying her cyanotype photography at Northern Liberties’ Mammoth Coffee. “More than half of my ideas came from seeing artwork in places that I wasn’t expecting, and there’s some amazing work in places and venues you wouldn’t expect.”

Philly sculptor Jonathan Santoro, 39, said local artists have taken matters into their own hands.

“Groups of artists are growing tired of white cube galleries and rejecting the status quo while being intentionally anti-commercial,” he said. “More artists are taking the reins and displaying their artwork how they want.”

Rather than wait for spots to open at established art institutions, artist Sue Moerder began hosting small showcases in hair salons, restaurants, bars, and even pet shops under the group philacitywithart. She started the 500-member Facebook page to forge more opportunities for local artists to display and sell their work without having to jump through hoops to get into galleries and museums.

Moerder, who makes sculptures from animal skulls, said the city is flooded with local talent, but the exclusivity of certain spaces has led many artists to seek other ways to sell their work and make ends meet.

“Galleries are great, but they’re very hard to get into,” Moerder, 62, said. “I think one of the harsh realities of being an artist in Philadelphia is that many people can’t survive solely doing their art. Most have to work to support it, which is a shame because there are too many talented artists. And when you’re exhausted and you’re mentally drained, it’s hard to create. It’s frustrating.”

Recognizing the shortage of accessible art spaces, Gleaner’s Cafe owner Stephen Hencheck fills the shop’s walls with the work of local artists as a way to spotlight the city’s talent and build the confidence of newer creatives hesitant to display their designs.

With the cafe’s name partially inspired by Jean-François Millet’s painting The Gleaners, Hencheck said the decision to add these works was an important one. Not only has the move drawn more eyes to local artwork, it’s helped struggling artists fully profit from their creations, rather than fight for higher commission splits in more traditional spaces.

Hencheck allows creatives to fully profit from their work, while more notable galleries have commission splits that teeter between 30% and 50%, he said.

“We just try to keep a starving artist from starving so we can look at their work,” Hencheck, 44, said.

“If your business is your community, you should make it your business to support that community. That doesn’t apply to everyone, and it doesn’t have to. If creativity and culture are what you believe your base is and what makes the neighborhood your business is in, why wouldn’t you try to support that?”

Through partnerships with nearby galleries, the Fitler Club is combining the influence and resources of established spaces to fuel its own alternative venue.

The urban social club has Philly-made pieces throughout its center, a move Visual Arts Director Tricia Maloney said has connected the club’s members to the city’s creative forces, and given more local artists a platform to spread their wings.

“Our hope is that there may be a lower barrier to entry to engage with the art in a place like the Fitler Club,” Maloney, 41, said. “It’s not a gallery — we tried to take that intimidation factor out of the equation, even to the extent that I coordinate the program and I don’t have an arts background. It’s really about relationship building.”

Fitler Club cofounder Michael Forman said the addition of alternative art spaces doesn’t diminish the importance of established art institutions in Philly. It’s an added way to support local creatives and place a brighter spotlight on the work they produce.

Along with the Gleaner’s Cafe and Fitler Club, Fiasconaro said venues and organizations like Persimmon Coffee, Underground Concepts, and Feminist Flea are opening doors for artists in the LGBTQ and Asian American and Pacific Islander communities, as well as others that have been marginalized by their race, ethnicity, sexuality, and identity.

Having these spaces, Fiasconaro said, is key to a more inclusive and well-rounded arts scene.

“Historically, gallery spaces are and can be very inaccessible for a lot of people,” she said. “I have definitely encountered that as well. But I’m seeing more inclusivity in this trend of alternative spaces, which is amazing. It’s been a long time coming.”

Fiasconaro is hopeful more opportunities for artists of all creeds will open up in museums and galleries. And as Philly creatives continue to carve out nontraditional platforms, the artists and businesses receive the support they deserve.

– The Philadelphia Inquirer