chicago artist

RAPOELCu

Th

In Memory of Rosalind Al-Aswad (1942-2003)

Spirit Mother, Christopher Al-Aswad, 2005

The spirit that dwells in my

mother, trickster and artist

alike, prods and pokes its way

into all of our lives. She likes

to cause problems, to upset

balances, to displace realities.

The conventional is her foe.

Her presence almost makes

you nervous with the sheer

abundance of energy dancing on

her force-fi eld. At any moment,

this abundance of life can rise

to an unheard-of pitch, and

suddenly, mysteriously, break

into a marvelous crescendo

of hysterical and contagious

laughter. Laughing in the

company of my mother is an

experience of ecstasy, complete

unconscious immersion

whirling in the absurdity of life:

crackling, squealing, shrieking

laughter. She feels her emotions

from the center of her being;

total emotion, not inchoate

half-feeling. Complete pain,

complete joy, complete anger.

My mother cries in a movie

theatre like no Jewish mother

has ever cried in public before.

She lives at the maximum

threshold and her life is

overfl owing. She lives, not apart

from the world, but within the

tumultuous movement and

ever-changing fl ow of it. She

lives without regrets, without

even the longing of unfulfi lled

desires. Anything she wants

to do in this life, she does.

I w

exh

The

tale

ROSALINDAL-ASWADPORTRAITS OF AN EXAMINED LIFECurated by Lisa Wainwright, Dean of Graduate Studies

The School of the Art Institute of Chicago

I wish to thank the Al-Aswad family and especially Dr. Basel Al-Aswad for conceiving of the idea for the

exhibition. Dr. Al-Aswad’s enthusiasm and generosity in support of this project has been immeasurable.

The School of the Art Institute of Chicago thanks Dr. Al-Aswad for his assistance in showcasing our

talented and respected alumna Rosalind Al-Aswad.

2

The legacy of Rosalind Al-Aswad resides in the dozens of paintings

and drawings she made of herself and others from 1985 to 1999.

Like many before her, Al-Aswad became an artist later in life,

bringing to her canvases the complexity of myriad roles as

business woman, mother, wife, daughter, citizen, friend, and artist.

Her life’s journey informed the paintings and gave them their

poignancy and critical edge. Al-Aswad gazed deep into the world

of human relations and chronicled the dynamics she found there.

Using models and props within her reach—family, friends, and

the trappings of suburban life—she probed the mundane as

a code for unlocking a deeper moral message. The work could

not be made fast enough to accommodate all that the artist

wished to say.

In the psychological mapping that Al-Aswad crafts in picture

after picture, sympathetic viewers trace familiar narratives, for

Al-Aswad took up with brush and pen those human dilemmas

with which we must all contend. Life defi ned by context, by the

trappings of class, by the social construction of gender, and by

the cultural traditions with which one identifi es (or not) drove

her inquiry. She was an early feminist coming of age in the

tumultuous 60s and 70s, grappling with radically changing

notions of womanhood, and playing them out in her life practice

and through an art that laid bare all the attendant challenges of

independence. For Al-Aswad, the canvas became a lens through

which she observed her life and pieced together her disparate

selves in acts of salvation that sometimes only art-making

provides. “Without my painting I would go crazy,” she confessed

time and again.1

Plate 1Best Laid Plans of Mice

and Men

42 x 29 inches

watercolor d’arches

1989

Plate 2Your Highness

42 x 29 inches


1989

About theFemale Gaze

PlaOur

42 x

wat

198

PlaWo

42 x

wat

198

3

4

5

The paintings in the memorial exhibition fall into three groups:

genre scenes of couples from the time the artist lived in Oakbrook,

Illinois and attended the School of the Art Institute of Chicago; the

political watercolors made after her return from Baghdad with her

Iraqi-born husband in 1989; and the late self-portraits proliferating

as she became more and more cognizant of her impending death

from a degenerative neurological illness. Oakbrook, Illinois is a

place in which Rosalind probably never imagined she would end

up living. Born Rosalind Dawn Ziv on the south side of Chicago,

around 47th Street, to Russian-Jewish working-class parents,

Rosalind fulfi lled the expectations of the 1950s by marrying at 18

and having her fi rst child at 22. She came from a long line of hard-

working Chicagoans going back to the mid-nineteenth century,

including tailors, gangsters, and shop-keepers. Her father was

a truck dispatcher and her mother worked as a bookkeeper for

a Chicago newspaper. Rosalind’s mother was a dominant force,

strong and controlling. She wanted her daughter to achieve all that

she had not, given the constraints of being a woman of a certain

class in the early 20th century. But despite a feminist tone set early

in the home, like many children, Rosalind

defi ed her mother’s wishes that she attend

Smith College, and married instead.

Rosalind was divorced by the age of 30, in

1972. But the new, undeterred Rosalind Barbrow

(her fi rst husband’s name) moved on to become

a highly successful fashion consultant and

designer for Sears, Roebuck while raising her

daughter Susan. At that time Sears was located

on Homan Avenue, a tough neighborhood west

of Chicago’s Loop, with an even tougher work

environment. She was the only female executive

in a large offi ce of seasoned businessmen.

Nicknamed “Rocky” due to her tenacity in

putting up with the all-male work scene, her colleagues’ jocularity

nevertheless extended to limits that, fortunately for them, predated

sexual harassment legislation. But Rosalind endured, and the

incipient feminist subject matter took further hold.

Al-Aswad came to art through design. And like another female

artist, the well-known Hannah Höch, she learned the practice

of art through the only viable profession available to creative

women: sewing and pattern making. Al-Aswad proved savvy and

exhaustive in her abilities, creating her own brand identity before

Plate 4Our Children

42 x 29 inches


1989

Plate 3Women in Black

42 x 29 inches


1989

fi g. 1

6

such things were de rigueur [fi g. 1]. She lectured on fashion,

grooming, visual poise, and modeling. She wrote “trend letters”

and taught classes in retail and fashion merchandising. As a fashion

coordinator for men’s wear at Sears, she designed affordable but

trendy sports shirts appropriated from the latest designs in Paris,

but altered and produced by the hundreds of thousands for Sears.

Al-Aswad designed more than 35 million dollars’ worth of goods

a year for Sears and in the process refi ned her artist’s eye [fi g. 2].

There is no doubt that the later paintings benefi ted from the early

commercial work, as they did for many American Pop artists of

the sixties: her sense of design, color, and pattern against pattern

are all a part of the complicated arrangements of props and

surfaces in the later work. And even the popular market that Sears

represented would stay with Al-Aswad when she turned to painting

the subject of everyday people in everyday situations, despite the

art school convention for postmodern painting at the time.

Rosalind met Dr. Basel Al-Aswad at a party in 1974. And following

on the challenge of being a business woman in the corporate world

of men, she began an unconventional

affair as a Jewish American woman

with a Christian Iraqi boyfriend. They

were married in July 1975 despite

warnings from his parents, who

were adamant that Basel not marry

an older divorcee with a child, not to

mention a woman of Jewish faith. But

after Rosalind and Basel’s fi rst child,

Christopher, was born in 1979, the

family reconciled and Rosalind grew

closer to her Iraqi relatives, albeit

feeling estranged from the culture

with which her husband so closely

identifi ed. There would always be a cultural divide, and Rosalind

put this tension into her work, just as she subtly wove a feminist

perspective throughout. Gender roles, culture, and religion were

all points of difference that Al-Aswad used to animate her intimate

portrayals of people in close proximity, yet far apart.

In December of 1988, during a period of relative stability after the

Iran-Iraq war, Dr. Al-Aswad took his family to Iraq. They had two

children then: Christopher, age 9, and Mandy, age 5. The visit made

a profound impact on Rosalind, and it came to drive the content

of her fi rst important body of work. She came home from Iraq

Plate 5On the Altar of Revolution

29 x 42 inches


1991

fi g. 2

PlaSpe

29 x

wat

199

PlaDon

You

29 x

wat

199

6

7

9

obsessed with Saddam Hussein and proceeded to make a suite of

large-scale watercolors depicting the principal characters of the

Middle East stage (see Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men, [1]).

Figurative groupings including Hussein, Arafat, King Fahd of Saudi

Arabia, supplicants, and guards act out simple vignettes—all

under the horrifi ed gaze of a mime in white face paint. Al-Aswad’s

doppelganger is the mime who, like Al-Aswad in Iraq herself, is

there as outside witness to the absurdity and tragedy of the scenes

before her.2

Rosalind writes in her travel journal: “…in the area [where]

my in-laws live, the internal police have taken up quarters. They

have taken over schools, private clubs, and homes. New people

do not want to move in. In better neighborhoods with fancier

homes, military personnel or prominent Baath party members

have taken up residency. At the curb in front of their homes are

trailers parked with two guards on duty, day and night.” Rosalind

saw how the situation directly impacted her husband’s family, and

so she translated their terror and grief into testimonials in paint.

Women in Black [3] depicts the sad mime in the foreground of the

composition ushering viewers into a space where two women sit

and mourn. All is set against an empty white ground that makes

the picture placeless, the subject timeless. And yet Rosalind’s

source was quite specifi c: close family members had been

mysteriously accused of white-collar crimes and, with no trial,

were put to death. Two years later, when the Al-Aswads visited,

the women were still in mourning for their husband and son.

On the Altar of Revolution [5], another Iraqi painting, is a large-

scale cartoon very much in the manner of 19th century realist

caricatures. It recalls Honoré Daumier’s “Gargantua,” for example,

of 1831, a scathing critique of the French leadership of Louis-

Philippe, in which Daumier depicts the rotund, seated king eating

the tax money while defecating more taxation decrees. Al-Aswad

likely knew this image from her art history classes at the School

of the Art Institute and she employs the same shifts in scale and

caricature rendering to depict the mighty Hussein, one arm holding

a model palace and the other a small red Mercedes around which

miniature soldiers hoist a rope to climb his grand facade. The fi rst

President Bush looks on with contempt while Hussein rests his

foot on an oil can sputtering red droplets onto more of the robed

masses below. The painting is Al-Aswad at her most satiric and

surreal. She understood that oil was the lynchpin in the political

landscape of the time, but her representation only presaged how

Plate 7Speak Up

29 x 42 inches


1991

Plate 6Don’t Believe Everything

You Read

29 x 42 inches


1991

10

destructive it would become. Our Children [4], another from the

series, vividly shows the damage done. At the upper left of the

composition, a collaged photo of the main street in the ancient city

of Babylon sets the context. Below the collage, Al-Aswad paints

small caricatures of warriors with spears and shields, who occupy

the edges of a fi eld where two children, one on crutches and the

other with a missing arm, appear as the victims of the war that

rages around them. While the image was taken from an actual

photograph Al-Aswad found while sifting through hundreds of

newspapers while in Iraq and after, the subject is sadly universal.

In 1989 and in 2005 the victims

of greed, intolerance, and power

are evident for all to see.

Iraqi control interested the

artist greatly as an American

accustomed to an extraordinary

level of freedom. Don’t Believe

Everything You Read [6] and

Speak Up [7] were Al-Aswad’s

response. In both pictures,

Rosalind the mime is watched by the fi gure of Hussein as she

reads an Arabic newspaper and pretends to speak on the telephone.

She had been warned about Iraqi informants who listened for

disparaging remarks about Hussein, even those made in jest.

One could lose one’s life over such comments. Al-Aswad had also

collected Iraqi newspapers and political posters and watched the

television, ever amazed at the level of propaganda issued by the

formal Iraqi press [fi gs. 3 and 4]. And while this body of work was

the immediate result of Al-Aswad’s trip to Iraq in 1988, the pictures

began to shape themes that would continue throughout her oeuvre.

The dynamic between Hussein and the mime, the leader and the

clown, a military green costume in contrast

with one in rich red and purple, one male,

the other female, one standing, the other

submissive and seated, set up relational

patterns key to Al-Aswad’s ongoing narrative.

Al-Aswad worked on the Iraqi series of

paintings for more than a year after her

return to the U.S., but she never showed them.

Basel’s family was still in Iraq at the time, and

they were afraid of retaliation. The pictures

remained hidden until today. And now against

Plate 8Sunday Afternoon #2

40 x 60 inches

oil on linen

1991

Plate 9Sunday Afternoon #3

40 x 60 inches

oil on linen.

1991

Next Page:

Plate 10Good Morning America

40 x 60 inches

oil on linen

1993

Plate 11Interior Nature

54 x 54 inches

oil and acrylic on linen

1993

Plate 12Dangling Conversations

54 x 54 inches

oil on linen

1993

fi g. 3

fi g. 4

11

12

13

14

PlaIt S

54 x

oil o

199

PlaMan

54 x

oil o

199

15

the backdrop of the current Iraqi war, Al-Aswad’s images loom

large. Propaganda, loss, and destruction are again quite relevant

to the latest military confl ict in Iraq.

Al-Aswad’s next major body of work was completed while living

in suburban Oakbrook. She was fi nishing her degree at the School

of the Art Institute, raising little children while in her forties, and

being the wife of a doctor whose family was emigrating from Iraq.

“I paint on Monday, shop and cook on Friday,” she wrote, while

going to school full-time on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

Al-Aswad had never gone to college. So at the age of 43 she entered

into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country, and

again undaunted, proceeded to learn the content and technique

of visual art. The School’s well-known painting department was

fertile ground for Al-Aswad’s desire to learn. She worked with the

fi gurative artist Susanna Coffey and still-life painter Susan Kraut,

both instrumental in Al-Aswad’s development, as she would go on

to concentrate on works that combined both still life and portraiture.

Suburban life, however, was not ideal for Rosalind. She was

a city girl and waited for the time that she could return downtown.

She was not particularly maternal, she did not garden, she simply

wanted to paint. The Midwest Club, the gated community in

which she lived (and with which she could have titled one of her

paintings), with its man-made lakes and manicured lawns, was

far away from the urban culture in which she had grown up and in

which her school and art community thrived. But again resolute,

she set about to paint what was at hand. From this corner of

Oakbrook emerged a series of ambitious large-scale paintings, all

of a similar format: two people in a room with props everywhere.

In complicated still-life studies, the artist set about painting the

everyday in highly symbolic terms.

Sunday Afternoon #1, #2 [8], and #3 [9] are three different

paintings of Al-Aswad’s models at the time: her housekeeper Lena

and Lena’s husband Harold. Each of the pictures shows the same

room with similar props and Harold in a wingback chair napping

or watching TV. Lena, more active, looks down with disgust at her

husband’s round, sedate body or gazes into a mirror fi xing her hat

in order to get out into the world. In two of the pictures a window

looks onto a scene of fi ghting geese. Al-Aswad was fascinated with

these birds and depicts them over and over again in a number of

paintings. As geese are monogamous but ill-tempered, they were

perfect vehicles for the artist’s marital critique. She had begun

to question the complacent patterns marriage seemed to secure

Plate 13It Seems Like Yesterday

54 x 54 inches

oil on linen

1992

Plate 14Man’s Best Friend

54 x 54 inches

oil on linen

1992

16

and was also increasingly dissatisfi ed with suburban living and

her husband’s preoccupation with his Iraqi friends and relatives,

people to whom Rosalind felt profoundly culturally disconnected.

The paintings of Harold and Lena became refl ections of the artist’s

troubled psyche.

Harold and Lena continued as key players in a number of Al-

Aswad’s domestic dramas, some personal, others more political.

She began to show images of the Iraqi war on the television that

Harold sat before (Good Morning America [10]), or she would

include a gas mask resting on the back of a chair in which Lena sits

holding a fi shing rod and staring at a tackle box and net (Interior

Nature [11]). In many of these pictures, Al-Aswad used exaggerated

shapes of shadows on the fl oors and walls, as well as mirrors

bouncing images around the space to heighten the emotional pitch.

At times, her motifs seemed to collapse onto the same plane with

the effect of one thing appearing to morph into another. In “Interior

Nature,” for example, Lena’s hair seems to rise up like that of a

Medusa’s head, but it is only the refl ection of a grassy plant in the

mirror behind her. Or in Dangling Conversations [12], the base of

Lena’s phone at her ear turns into an Assyrian beard like those of

the soldiers in the earlier Iraqi work. The deliberate slippage of one

thing into another found in painting from Dali to Rosenquist was

not lost on Al-Aswad, who also worked to undermine that which

might appear normal.

Al-Aswad liked to complicate pictorial space with mirrors,

a common prop in vanitas still-lives. She pushed the iconography

further, however, hoping to destabilize everyday scenes with

endless spaces within spaces. It Seems Like Yesterday [13] shows

Basel’s parents in the midst of mirrors—on the wall, on the vanity,

hand-held—and in broken shards on the fl oor. Basel’s mother

is turned away from the viewer with only a glimpse of her face

refl ected in the mirror she holds in her hand. Basel’s father stares

out expressionless and steady with hands and feet securely in

place. There are quirky elements all around: a Van Gogh-like chair

isolated in a far distant mirror, lingerie and stockings spilling out

of a dresser drawer, and the shattered mirrors, two piles each

adjacent to each of the fi gures. The curious props belie the vacant

expressions of the sitters, suggesting some underlying tension

close to the surface, if not directly expressed.

Al-Aswad never has her sitters engage with one another. In Meet

the Collins [16], a beautiful red and blue painting of a couple chosen

deliberately for their mixed-race status, each fi gure occupies its

Plate 15Left Behind

60 x 48 inches

oil on linen

1992

16 PlaMee

60 x

oil o

199

19

own world. Roosevelt Collins lounges on the setee reading the

Wall Street Journal, while Barbara, his wife, arranges a vase of

white fl owers. Between them is a Jeff Koons-like terrier, a prop

Al-Aswad employed in many pictures. Dog statues frequent the

work, but they are sculptures—unreal, artifi cial—set into scenes

where questions about conventionality and its disabuse drive the

content. Every happy family should have a dog, or at least the

pretense of one. In the Collins portrait, Al-Aswad’s preoccupation

with the cultural differences of her own marriage and marriage in

general was again investigated. Al-Aswad seemed to construct the

piece so that the portrait could be cut down the middle, with each

side—male and female—kept whole and complete. Marriage worked

when the integrity of one was not dependent on the integrity of

the other. However, Al-Aswad does give a newspaper to Roosevelt

and a fl owering plant to Barbara, as if to deconstruct the marital

harmony by pushing the old conceit that women are closer to

nature and men to culture, and thus all is in balance.

Al-Aswad’s props, critical to all the compositions, denote an

active family life but connote much more. The things and tasks with

which one fi lls one’s life, she suggests, ultimately do not mask our

existential plight. Objects are merely the surfeit vestiges of roles

we are asked to play while searching for true fulfi llment. And Al-

Aswad examines her people and props with a clinical light, a light

that is clear and diffuse. The light enhances the play of material

and surface that the artist was so adept at conveying. It is evident

how she took great delight in carefully rendering the fl oral pattern

of a chair, for example, or the arabesque design in a rug. Putting

pattern against pattern, interlocking shapes and color schemes was

Al-Aswad’s forte, no doubt left over from her days in fashion design.

In 1990 Al-Aswad began seeking medical advice for a condition

the doctors speculated was Parkinson’s disease. She graduated

from the School of the Art Institute with a B.F.A. in 1991, and was

painting almost obsessively. She had several important exhibitions

and sales and was picked up by the Gwenda Jay Gallery. But the

illness had taken hold, and once again, the artist faced a new

challenge with the profound strength and unusual industry she

took to all tasks. As the illness progressed, she produced painting

after painting gazing into a mirror and contemplating a face whose

muscles began to slowly weaken. Not since the Iraqi paintings had

Al-Aswad included her own image and never so directly (see The

Swan [22]). Again she employed a variety of props to augment

the mood. Swans, religious fi gures, mirrors, angels, and balloons

Plate 16Meet the Collins

60 x 48 inches

oil on linen

1991

20

kept a constant vigil around Rosalind’s seeking stare. The swan

was from the memory of a time when her family found a swan and

cared for it, only to have to let it go to its owner, who showed up

later. It was a poignant sign of beauty and loss at a time when

Al-Aswad’s predilection for symbols became even more acute.

Like the constant format of the domestic scenes, Al-Aswad

now turned to a stock composition for her self-portraits. Always

on the left side of the composition, her face and upper torso loom

up in the frontal plane, direct and forceful with an expression

of resignation. In various outfi ts and wearing a different dangling

earring of a fi gure (a substitute for the lack of a full fi gure in the

composition itself, perhaps) with cropped white hair and her glasses,

she occupies one space and fi lls the other with recollections,

regrets, and desires.

In Autumn [20], for example, two mirrors and an array of red

balloons complement the artist’s steady visage. The larger mirror

refl ects an unseen wall upon which a portion of a painting of a

neck and head can be seen. The neck is rendered with garish red

strokes, suggesting exposed musculature or a nervous system.

The red balloons, some fl oating, some depleted on the fl oor, pick

up the red of the neck and, like inverted droplets of blood, carry

further the macabre associations.3 In Lovers [21], Al-Aswad again

with stoic presence occupies the left side of an outdoor scene with

two lovers on either side of a wall at the right. Perhaps religious

fi gures with veils and costumes, certainly Middle Eastern garb,

the young lovers are kept apart by a thick ancient wall. Al-Aswad

muses on her past and on the issues that preoccupied her life and

surfaced in the work.

The Family [17] of 1996, takes a slightly different direction, with

four portraits of her relatives in a row. It is a small painting like

most of the others of the period, for Al-Aswad’s illness made it too

diffi cult to paint large canvases anymore. Aunt Marie (Basel’s

mother’s sister), Ibrahim (Basel’s father), Najia (Basel’s mother),

and Tiana (Basel’s sister) line up in attendance. They are there for

Rosalind, angels in white and gold, placid but steady, standing in

a heavenly place with a clear blue sky. The painting surface has

become tackier, as Al-Aswad’s dexterity had become compromised

by the disease. She is unsteady and stiff, falling frequently, speaking

is strained, and she needs help with everything. But they all pose

for her—Marie, Ibrahim, Najia, and Tiana—three or four times,

and she takes another breath and paints. They sit, not as Iraqis

or Christians, not as male or female; they just sit for Rosalind.

Plate 19My Mother, Myself

20 x 16 inches

acrylic on canvas

1994

Plate 18The Key

18 x 48 inches

acrylic on linen

1995

Plate 17The Family

15 x 48 inches

acrylic on linen

1996

19

17

18

20

21

PlaAut

20 x

acr

199

PlaLov

20 x

acr

199

23

Al-Aswad painted all through her illness until she could no longer

hold the brush. But she continued to think and to dream and to live,

as her journal, now written by someone else, describes. And then,

once again, her life took a turn and she and Basel divorced in 2000.

Even now she was forced to question who she was, just as she had

so many times before. The Key [18] shows three Rosalinds, each

in a different costume, with her mirrors and angels behind. She

holds a key in two of the portraits, an overt symbol for the need

to unlock a secret or open a new door. As she approaches death

Al-Aswad addresses herself in search of answers to the questions

she has asked her whole life. And she is not the fi rst. From Paula

Modersohn-Becker to Cindy Sherman, women artists have made

the self-portrait a feminist practice. Gazing at themselves, they

investigate how others gaze at them, at their roles—natural and

learned—and how these roles instill notions of womanhood.

Rosalind Al-Aswad was an expressionist of sorts. She faced her

demons whether in the workplace, on the domestic front, or in the

face of death. And all of this made its way into her painting for us

to behold with wonder. We should all have the strength of purpose

that Al-Aswad demonstrated in so many ways. Her children do.

And along with the painting, her legacy is alive in them. I never

knew Rosalind Al-Aswad, but I know she was an extraordinary

woman. She once claimed, “I guess I have always seen life as a

series of parts you play,” and now these parts, and all that they

entail, will linger in my imagination for some time to come.

Lisa Wainwright, Chicago, 2005

Plate 20Autumn

20 x 16 inches

acrylic on canvas

1994

Plate 21Lovers

20 x 16 inches

acrylic on canvas

1994

1 Rosalind kept sketchbooks and journals, writing steadily from the time she began art school until just before her death.

All quotes are drawn from this collection of journals unless otherwise indicated.

2 Christopher Al-Aswad pointed out the mime as his mother’s doppelganger.

3 I wish to thank my colleague, Martin Perdoux, who helped to read this image and many more.

On the Cover:

Plate 22Swan

20 x 16 inches

acrylic on canvas

1994

During her studies at The School

of the Art Institute, Rosalind

Al-Aswad was concerned for

her fellow classmates who were

working hard to make ends

meet. Many times, Rosalind

would purchase art supplies for

students who were experiencing

fi nancial diffi culty. In memory

of Rosalind, the family has

created a fund for student

assistance, and in building upon

her legacy, it is the hope that one

day this fund will also provide

scholarships for students

residing in the Middle East.

If you are interested in making

a gift in memory of Rosalind

and benefi ting art students

for many years to come,

philanthropic contributions

may be made to The Rosalind

D. Al-Aswad Memorial Fund at

the School of the Art Institute

of Chicago and mailed to The

School of the Art Institute of

Chicago, Offi ce of Development,

37 South Wabash, Suite 814,

Chicago, IL 60603. For

information about the memorial

fund, please contact the Offi ce

of Development at 312 899 5158.

The Rosalind D. Al-Aswad Memorial Fund

24

chicago artist

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