Jacob Grossberg (1932–2014)
From President Leon Botstein:I regret to inform the community of the death, on August 20, of Professor Jacob Grossberg, at the age of 82. He died at his home in Milan, New York.
Professor Grossberg came to Bard as an assistant professor of sculpture in 1969. He was granted tenure in 1972 and remained a vital part of the art department until he retired in 1996. During his tenure, he did much to invigorate the art department by updating the facilities and providing strong mentorship to generations of students. He was also instrumental in developing and starting Bard’s MFA program and was named director of the program in 1981.
He was committed to cultivating a rich and interesting community, which he steadfastly contributed to with wonderful stories, bravado, and a wide breadth of knowledge. He was a mentor to many artists and respected as a person who would speak his mind. He was an influential and valuable member of the art community.
Professor Grossberg served in Korea as a Marine Corpsman in the 1950s. He earned his B.A. and M.F.A. from Brooklyn College, and his M.A. from Teachers College, Columbia University. He showed widely in both solo and group exhibitions, and his work is owned by many private collectors and museums.
He is survived by his wife, Diane Sisson Baldwin '66. We will send an update regarding a memorial service when more details are available.
REMEMBRANCES
Ben Boretz, Professor Emeritus of Music and Integrated Arts:Jake Grossberg personified the ethos of a generation of artists who identified with working class intellectuals rather than upper class intellectuals. It pervaded visual art, performance art, avant garde film, creative jazz musicians, and even a powerful strain of nonjazz American composers. As the practices of these arts moved into academe this identification seemed to recede and the culture of artists seems to have stratified (conceptually) along with the rest of American society. The loss of that tone of voice, more than a personal style, more than a social facade, is the real cultural loss I feel with the death of Jake Grossberg. Apart from the personal esteem and affection I shared with him for all of our years together in the Arts Division and the MFA program.
Ana Cervantes '73
I came to Bard in 1969, to study music, and the piano. My memory is that there were just 500 students there at that time.
I suppose I had dreamed about the university being like this but Bard was the first time I encountered it as a reality. My experience was much like what Richard Gordon describes but from the perspective of a student rather than that of a colleague. It was, for me, a kind of total immersion in which Art was Life, no more, no less; in which there was no artificial separation between disciplines: all talked to each other amiably -and at times hilariously- but with the utmost rigor. That experience has been an ideal for me ever since, first as a student and then as a teacher.
My memory of Jake: pugnacious yet tender, unshakeable convictions yet infinite curiosity both intellectual and artistic, with all the pride –some might have said “arrogance”- of those convictions but always with the humility to ask questions, which was –I realized even then- what kept it from being arrogance. I have the clearest memory of him doing that: asking questions.
In a way which is absolutely Bard, I never took a class with Jacob Grossberg, but he was one of my principal teachers.
As Ben Boretz says: Jake Grossberg was absolutely a product of that “powerful strain” of US intellectuals who were grounded in the working class. At the time I knew little of that history, Nevertheless, what Jake made real for me back then when I was a baby pianist and musician, just beginning to be what I would later become, was something that has vividly stayed with me ever since: the groundedness of making things, whether they be ideas, poetry, music, sculpture, whatever. The made thing must be real, communicable, accessible. By “accessible” in no way do I mean in a way that panders to cheap popularizing but rather in a way which is infinitely more demanding, which obliges you as an artist never to hide behind obfuscation or pseudo-intellectualizing. Which obliges you to live by what Keith Richards once remarked (I paraphrase): the sign that you are a true musician is that you can play something –my addition: be it Mozart or JS Bach, Anne LeBaron or Gabriela Ortiz- in any bar in the world and the people there will buy you a drink afterwards … my addition again: because you have functioned as that essential link between creator and listener.
Jake Grossberg disappeared from the surface of my life and my thinking, except when I thought about Bard and the extraordinary experience I had there. Now, when I find that he’s passed on, I realize how absolutely present have been the gifts he and his spirit gave me, all this time. I hear myself raging against the corporatization of the university, urging artists to stop pulling at their forelocks and abasing their work to earn the approval of people who have no idea of what those artists do and less appreciation of it, working to educate people with zero access to art, as well as that one percent, about how to let art reach them … a whole host of issues like that which for me are intimately connected with my work as an interpreter; and I realize that in large measure it was from Jake Grossberg that I learned how to be a “warrior of beauty”. That is his legacy to me as an artist and as a human being: to be a warrior of beauty.
Death is part of life: it’s one of the things that has grown into my marrow during these 14 post-Fulbright years here in Mexico. People have to go when their moment comes, and it is our job to celebrate their lives as each of us chooses to, as well as continue to celebrate life by living our own lives well. Nevertheless, I weep; and resolve to have Jake’s picture in my Altar de Muertos (altar for the dead) in a few weeks.
Tim Clifford '91
The loss of Jake Grossberg weighs heavy...but what a life. If this wasn't a life of the past century...
From Poland to Bed-Stuy in the 30s to escape Hitler, breaking a tradition of "18 generations of first sons to become rabbis"-- to become an Artist (and you thought you had it rough). Becoming a bodybuilder, modeling for Reginald Marsh, studying with Meyer Schapiro and Ad Reinhardt, seeing Jackson Pollock at the Cedar Tavern and saying "Hi Mr. Pollock, I really admire your work," only to have Pollock turn and say "F@# you kid." Living in Tribeca when rent was "$200 for 26,000 sq. ft." And then joining the Bard faculty in 1969 and using the barn near Blithewood as his studio–his name was still on the wall in the 80s.
Jake must've scared half the students in our figure drawing class to quit within two weeks, and one or two others were told to call their parents to say they were wasting their money because their kids weren't showing up to class on time. He castigated us for not understanding how the eye works (drawing a diagram to illustrate the anatomy) and for driving a car without understanding all the intricacies of the internal combustion engine (also diagramming it on the wall.)
I don't know what he said, but I still think that he taught me to "see." When I look at my work today, it's with his standards–it's undefinable but I know it's true.
Looking back I think I was lucky to study with Jake, Murray Reich, Jim Sullivan, Bernie Greenwald, and Alan Cote. We caught the end of one era at Bard that was transitioning to a new one with Laura Battle, Deenie Erman, Nancy Bowen and others. Both were equally important.
But Jake was unique. He had standards. You could draw the figure properly. There was a right way. If you didn't believe that, you should take an anatomy class as he did at Columbia, and study the body. Once you learned that you were free to deviate, but don't believe you could get away with just anything, without knowing the correct way first. Some things did not change.
As my work changed I grew apart from Jake, but he is still there in my mind--as I look at what I'm doing TODAY. When Dominic East and I started a gallery in San Francisco in 1992--Five Day Forecast--we had a motto "No Half-Stepping" which meant no cutting corners, no compromises, do it right or don't do it at all. I think Jake inspired that attitude.
They won't make his like again.
Erik Cuthell '85:
Sadly I heard from Di on Thursday that Jake Grossberg died on Wednesday. He was a great mentor to me, "The last of the Jewish mothers" he once claimed smiling after sternly pointing out some foolishness on my part. I will miss you Jake. Thank you Di for taking such good care of him for so long.
Richard Gordon, PhD, Research Professor and Professor Emeritus in Psychology:
I have enjoyed every word written by Leon Botstein, Stuart Levine, Ben Boretz and Robert Kelly on Jake Grossberg. I would like to add my experience of Jake’s contribution to the everyday, faculty culture at Bard, which when I came in the early 70s was something special indeed. The center of that culture were the daily lunches and gab sessions in the Faculty Dining Room, then in the last room on the other side of Kline. What I experienced when I came to Bard was an informal social and intellectual connection that is hard to describe in retrospect, and certainly was one of the things that inspired me to grow to love the community. And here was the center of that: it didn’t matter what field you were in, if you were a psychologist, there were no essential barriers between you and artists, musicians, poets, literary scholars, historians, or chemists. Jake was a prominent figure in a group of what I would consider larger-then-life personalities (that would include Ben and Robert) that offered you living proof that you were not just “teaching your subject” at Bard. Jake was a dynamic figure, something I learned more about when I was invited to moderation of an outstanding student who was majoring in both Art and Psychology. His legendary humor was powerful, potentially intimidating if you didn’t realize that it was in fact humor. I admired Jake for working against physical handicaps until his death, continuing to show and also, in a recent conversation, be the same person he always was.
William Hamel '84
I have known Jake Grossberg my entire life and he is part of the reason I ended up at Bard. My parents grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood and although he was a couple of years older, Jake dated and was briefly engaged to my mother’s best friend. Some of my earliest memories involve visiting Jake at his lower Manhattan loft, watching him throw pots on a wheel, making sculpture, and having him teach me how to use chopsticks at age five. My father, who is a scientist, said that Jake was a true “Renaissance man,” because he could as easily discuss hard science, literature, and politics as the fine arts. I recall visits where Jake and my father would work out some difficult geometry or engineering problem Jake was trying to tackle for a large sculpture. Jake’s intellect and span of knowledge was impressive not just for its breadth, but for his passion for thinking, and he always seemed to make a strong impact on those around him. Jake was like an uncle for me, as well as for his students, and always found time for those in some crisis about schoolwork or girls. We could count on his sage advice over a beer at Adolf’s or just to debate the issues of the day. Four years ago when my son started Bard I reconnected with Jake and last December when my family relocated to the Hudson Valley I was able to get in more visits, including one less than two weeks before he passed. Despite the physical ravages of his illness, his mind was every bit as sharp and his wit every bit as wicked. Jake was lucky to find Di and I’m grateful to her for taking such wonderful care of someone so important to me. I’ve never liked being called “Billy” but I will miss it coming from Jake.
Robert Kelly, Asher B. Edelman Professor of Literature; Codirector, Written Arts Program:
His qualities of directness I miss, his solid learning in art and art history, his humor, his unassuming simplicity of manner when, as so often, he was the wisest and smartest person in the room. There was a kind of historical urgency about him, backstory perhaps to the allegiances Ben mentioned. Jake was born in Poland, escaped. came here only as a growing boy -- but you'd never guess it from the demotic purity of his American. When his family first came to this country, they found themselves living, strange to say, on Abeel Street in Kingston -- and to our peculiar region he eventually was drawn back. He was wonderful to work with in the early days of the MFA program, and a generous, reliable colleague all his years here. He worked hard with his students, those who chose sculpture as their focus, and those who did not. I found his comments, lucidly delivered, useful to painters and poets too. Whenever I visited him he was working, or had just finished working, and was reading, ever reading. One moment makes me smile, sadly, to remember. We met one day, and under my arm I had a bunch of spring binders--what's that, he wanted to know. I said, a few months of my work, I said. He looked sad, strangely, and said My God you can carry six months of work, I can't even carry yesterday's. I felt his real sorrow at not being able to have his work present, to give it in every encounter. Kor-ten steel is a hard master, but met its match in him. I miss him, and we will always need his like. Let's hope.
And let's thank his wife, Dee Sisson (as she was as a music major and pianist at Bard) who met Jake years later, married him, and was there for him in the restricted life of his last few years--as a professional nurse she could match her love with her skill.
Lisa Pressman '84
A few weeks ago I received an email from Di Grossberg inviting me to Jake Grossberg's birthday party. She had found my post about him here and was inviting past students to come to his surprise party. Of course I said yes, wondering how any teacher could remember their students from year to year never mind 30 years. When I walked into his house there was a house full of former students plus friends already there and that was at the very beginning of the party. It was quite a testament to his influence on so many of us. When I walked up to shake his hand he looked at me and said "Lisa, are you still painting?". (I think I heard him say I still looked that same but that might have been wishful thinking). But oh what a great question!!
I hung around for a while, talked to other students and traded stories, wrote a note in the book Di provided and left. I did have a chance to thank him for all the wisdom he shared and to let him know I am passing it on to my students. It was quite a day. Thanks, Di.
Still on the subject of influences, I was thinking about artists that I know or have known personally who have the ability to help my work grow and change. One teacher comes to mind quite often and I repeat his advice to my students every time I teach and occasionally to myself when I am fussing around on my work. Jake Grossberg, sculptor, was trying to show me something with Plaster of Paris and I was very hesitant and timid. He looked at me and in his Jewish grandfather way said "Bubele, you are not making bombs here-it is just art".
Later after I had graduated he was encouraging me to go around NY with my work and I told him I wasn't ready. His words were "Do you think you will ever think you are ready? He suggested that I think of promoting my work like I was selling salami's. Some people like salami, some don't." He taught me to separate my work from myself and get into a different mind set when promoting......invaluable advice. Thanks, Jake
Gennady Shkliarevsky, Professor of History:
There is a lot of Bard history in remembering Jake Grossberg. And it cannot be otherwise since Jake was an integral part of that history that is, unfortunately, no longer with us.
When I came to Bard as a visiting professor, Jake was a prominent presence at Bard. There was a whole group of people, like Jake, at the center of Bard faculty life. Some of them are still at Bard, many retired, and some died. Few of them were interested in me. I suspect that the reason was the provisional nature of my appointment—I was basically nobody at Bard with few “political” prospects. Jake expressed interest. His interest was purely human. “So, you are a Russian Jew?” – he said approaching me for the first time in the dining room. He proceeded to ask me questions about Russia and myself. At the end of the conversation I felt that Jake really liked me. We seemed to have something in common; we “clicked,” so to say. I cannot really say what it was. It may have been directness and openness. It could have been our common roots or an acute sense of dignity and unwillingness to be somebody’s fool.
I recall my last long conversation with Jake. This was shortly after his heart attack at his home in Milan. Jake was visibly shaken by the experience. He no longer smoked (he had been a notorious chain smoker when smoking was allowed even at faculty meetings). Jake did not want to talk about himself and his illness. He was interested in the college but most of all he was interested in the world and its problems and what I thought about these problems. We spent good two hours together. When we finally said goodbye, I did not know it was our last long conversation. I ran into Jake a couple of times since then and we had brief exchanges but nothing of the intense kind we had had at Bard and that day.
Indeed, Jake and his cohort represented a distinct period in Bard history that is no longer with us. It was the time when faculty had a real say in what was going on at the college. The core that met at lunches in the Faculty Dining Room was a genuine source of power at the college—perhaps not always coherent and focused, but one that could do good (for example, bringing more fairness in faculty salaries) and that the administration had to take seriously. They did not see the president of the college as some superior figure. They treated Leon as their equal. I recall how Stanley Dimond once stood up at the faculty meeting and told Leon: “You are one of us, Leon.” I wonder if Stanley could say this today.
I will miss Jake and I will miss the culture that he represented so grandly. But time moves on and history does not stop. Who can tell what lies ahead for us, Bard, the world? But Jake for me will always be an inspiration and a model of a human being—one that always was, is, and will be on the side of human dignity.
Stuart Strizler-Levine, Professor Emeritus of Psychology, Emeritus Dean of the College:
It is something to conjure to have reached a stage of life when long known friends and colleagues and similar aged individuals begin and continue to pass away. Thoughts of one's own mortality surfaces and while never dwelled upon such become more salient than in years past.
President Botstein took deliberate care to capture the contribution of Jacob Grossberg to our college and I should like here to add a few thoughts of this person I knew well and regarded not from a distance but from within many contexts and closely.
Jake was a presence on our campus from the very late 60s and he resonated largely despite the enclave he joined in the Art Building of the time. The group of art faculty of the 70s and 80s commanded our attention almost in spite of their independence and somewhat insular nature. We all stopped by their place from time to time and we marveled at the command they maintained in their work and the excellent work of their students.
I became better knowing of Jake after I became the dean in 1980 and joined in the development of very progressive features of our total program. He, as President Botstein noted, was instrumental along with a handful of prominent faculty on our campus in establishing the M.F.A. graduate program across the arts which then served as a model for many innovations in our educational domain that were to follow. I also recall with lasting regard his working within our system and outside of it to comfortably bring a series of visiting artists to our campus. It was to his credit and the credit of his colleagues that the likes of a William Tucker in sculpture and many other luminaries joined our enterprise and served our students. Jake and many others within our faculty were enlightened in this respect and in the final analysis they also were enlivened by the presence of Avery Professor figures. One should take note how much our system of visitors brought with the positive regard of our continuing faculty shaped our growth and distinction over the past 30 years and more. This cannot truly be done well without the support of those in regular positions.
All of this being the case I should like to add some words about Grossberg the man that is vivid in my memory. I would not now judge him to have been, in the words of my grandfather who was also never this, an easy passenger. And I think that such is what I admired about him. Surely there was from time to time contention but such was not of the hidden kind. One knew directly what Jake thought about all things and one always knew that it was art making within the education of our students that was being given its full measure of attention. Jake was a serious fellow but also had a humorful side. When he appeared in one's office in his well worn boots which served to protect his toes from his iron works one could not easily predict the turn of conversation not even the turn toward softness and gentleness of spirit which would emerge.
Jake helped us along the way to advance our college not with an easy or glib agreement but with dedication to that which he judged important and a spirit which we all did hold and to my mind still do. He was a marine among us who demanded commitment from himself and from students to the task of making art and learning.
Post Date: 08-20-2014