In 1980, the letter of acceptance to the Fashion Institute of Technology, New York, in the Fine Arts department, reached my eyes with great jubilation. I wanted this, since I could not get into Medical College as I wanted to, due to my lack of knowledge of the American Educational system. I had been in the United States for only nine months. Art was my second choice, and I was always very good at it.
My first week in college extinguished all of my excitement; this was hard work, much harder than I barging for.” My God what have I done? I know nothing about nothing." I was not a student of the Arts, but a student of the Sciences. I had developed a tremendous fear of being a total failure. The Fine Arts program I expected to be a creative environment. To my surprise, I found it lacking in every aspect of what I needed. I was naive and full of ambition. However, ambition had nothing to with anything, the ability to adapt was more essential and it was the criteria for the subsequent out come of all future goals by the Institutional standards. I learn very quickly that College is an Institution, and like so many other Institutions, it is there to instill it beliefs and agenda upon its populous. Bored and disillusioned I left the Fine Arts program. I had another bright idea that I could do much better in the Fashion Design Program, and without much thinking, I did exactly that at the end of that same year.
In the Fashion design Program, I knew that I was totally out of my element, and I was drowning in deep, deep, deep waters the moment that I heard that I had to learn how to sew. I have never sewn anything in my life, and this was a major requirement for this department. I Knew that I would loved the Fashion Illustrations. I knew that I would love Fashion Drawings from Live Fashion Models, but I also knew I would be an abomination in sewing. My Male ego could not go there. My ego would prevent me from absorbing the basic that was required in sewing techniques. My ego said” NO! It was too girly, it was too feminine, Learning this would emasculate me” This inner conflict resulted in the battle from Hell in the ninth ward. Sewing was not hard, it was F-ing hard, and I hated it with a passion and I was failing sewing from the first month. I did not help my disposition that my sewing professor had this disdain for me, and she made no excuse about it. Then one day I had a brainstorm, I should pay a professional seamstress to sew all my homework assignments. So I did. My professor failed her too. Oh, she did not know I had paid someone to do my weekly assignments, but she failed her and me all the same. Yes, how lucky could I get?
I had obviously jumped out of the frying pan, and into the fire. I had all the Artistic imagination but none of the technical skill required to be a Fashion Designer. Need I say more? To add insult to injury the sewing professor’s personal vendetta against me was now intolerable. It could have been my accent, I am sure it was, yes, it was my accent. She thought I was a snob and insisted on cutting me down to size, so she failed me, I mean my seamstress with extreme prejudice. This lesson was hard and brutal. I had failed not one my own accord, but at the hands of someone else. This was unacceptable to me.
Not only did I endure the weekly mental assault and deliberate aspersion of my ego. She humiliated me openly in the class and she expresses her displeasure”You will never make it as a Designer. You are too high brow!” Something had to give, and I was not about to be the casualty of this sour puss’s personal war. I was determined to succeed in sewing during the summer... I failed her sewing class the first semester as she told me that she would, with a big old” F,” and my ego lay in ashes like snider in the process. However, that grade mattered not to me; I had passed the Flat Pattern Making with an A, Art History with A+ and Fashion Illustration with A+ as well. Her grade was the only grade that left a scar that would take a long time to heal, as it had cut like a knife into my soul. I was determined to overcome my prejudice about sewing, and if I am going to fail at anything, at lease I will fail by my own hands. I was determined to face my sewing issue. I decided to embrace my shame, because I will not fail again. Here I began my first lesson in humility and the taming of the Alpha Male within me. I had never encountered anythin like this in my life, certainly not in the field of Academics. I complete the course that summer and pass the sewing course with a respectable C+, and this was from a different professor. One who cared nothing about my accent, and only about my ability to sew?
In my sophomore year, I met the most brilliant, inspirational, professor and mentor anyone could have asked for. She was a Fashion Illustrator, Prof. Linda Tain, at Fashion Institute of Technology. My first encounter with her was unforgettable. She was like a breath of fresh air, unpretentious, inspiring, alive, Eccentric, flamboyant, stylish, and full of charm and charisma. I was captavated by her. She was a true DIVA. I had never met one…. Until now! She was also a great Fashion Illustrator, and she was excellent at what she did, she was the best tutor I had ever had. The entire student body felt that way that about her, if they had her as a Professor.
The first lecture was intellectually superior to any other professor. It was inspiring and it made one think and feel something, other than boredom or fear. In addition, our first assignment was to break all of our rules of what we considered to be of good Fashion taste. The challenge was to go beyond our own sense of style, and to take a risk. The risk of having no taste in your designs. Six Illustrations was expected at next week class. I had finished my assignment that evening, and could not wait until the next week to arrive. The day was finally here, and we the students had placed all of our six Illustrations on the chalkboard. I was motivated. What a thrill to have such a free spirited instructor, and not anything like the other surly professors who just put their claws into your creative sockets. This class excited me; and I was like a sprung soaking up everything the Professor had to impart. Then she went to each Illustration and scanned them, ridiculed them, and all of us, not with malicious intent, it was full of humor and jess. With out warning, she screamed makes the whole experience so funny, as she pulled you into her word and disarm you. She would go to each work on the chalkboard, and make a hilarious description about what she had seen. Every student was laughing, until she reached his or her work. Then that person would be Silent. You did not know what she would say. She shrieked as she tossed the students work across the room. I was mortified, stunned, and amazed, I had never seen anything like this in my life, but here I am as a witness, and I love every moment of it. There were about twenty students enrolled in the Fashion Illustration class that semester. I swear, at least 16 screams escaped her throat, as she yanked the works from the chalk board and letting them fly to the ground., mine included. Then the dreaded reasons as to why it was on the floor. I was humiliated. This was not happening, and especially to me. I knew I was far better than the others were. I knew it. I could not believe what has just transpired. It was a surreal moment for me. My ego was shattered once again, and I waited anxiously to face the reason as to why my work was there amongst the rejects on the floor. When my name was called I was stoic, she told me that my work was not horrible, but it was safe, boring, and lack imagination. That is why I was expulsed and in the pile that laid upon the floor. She taught me that life with deviation, has character and therefore it is perfection unto itself. “All of life is Art, all drama is Art, and life is the Drama of making Art,” she said.
She had imparted wisdom that was worth all the emotional torture that I had endured in the first semester. A life lesson, which has helped to shaped my life as a man, as an Artist, also as a human being.
My Illustrations never hit the floor again in Professor Tain's Fashion Illustrations class. In fact, I had grown so much that I quickly become the Professors pet. There was Larry, Professor Linda Tain and myself that was the dynamic trio. We went everywhere together and were the envy of our classmates.
My taste level in College more on the level of Europeans Designers, Armani, Dior, Channel, Firrocci, Faragamo, and Missioni. I embodied their style and use of colors. Most of my professor tried to discourage me from this state of thinking. They were merciless and they hated the fact that I would not yield to their taste levels of the American Designers. I told one of my professors, after she had told me that American designer is what sells and that I will not work in the industry, because I have too rich of taste level, to which I responded in a huff. "When you are paying for my education, then I will do as you say, but since you are not, I will do as I so please." I said. "I did not want to copy Calvin Klein." I continued, rather as a matter-of factly. "Since I am in school to learn how to express myself, to be as creative as I can be, why is this not encouraged instead of being suppressed and ridiculed? I have seen what you think is Design, and it is dull as it lack creativity. It is like frock. Dreadful I tell you, absolutely dreadful, and you are here to oppress me?" She then answered me quite superiorly, "then I will fail you." I said, "Please fail me professor because I am not here for a grade. I am not here for mediocrity. I am here to be better than I already am, and further more, it is better to start out with a rich design, than one that has nothing. You can always modify your rich design concept, but a poor design, is a poor design, and there is nothing you can do with it...” She said, "Ok you will get a D." I said, Ok. I got a D. You can never guess who that Professor was. Yes, the first semester professor who failed me the first year…..Yes, I got her again in the final year. How lucky can I get? This was the final year and had to get my nemeses.
I got an A- in Professor Tain... That meant the world to me .This was not my first A, I had been collecting them all along…..but never in Garment construction, that is sewing. To receive an A from someone you admire and your fully respect, it is an honor, especially when you work extra hard to achieve it. I did not work that hard, it was pure joy and this was the only that I had in College.
The honor and the immeate goal for each student, was have your work chosen for the Graduation fashion show and a chance to win the Critic's Choice Award for best design in your category. I knew I could out design all my classmates; this was not a problem for me. I had done 30 sketches for submission in 1 hour. I turned them over for review to Mr. Stan Herman, re-noun fashion designer, and the sewing professor from the first year. They both said, "It could not be done. It would not translate well in fabric that I had selected." Arrogantly, I said, "Oh? I will show both of you how it is done." I made the Flat pattern in less than 2 hours; I knew how it was to be executed. I succeeded! They were both left speechless. The final garment turned out to be spectacular. I had sewn it all by myself. It was perfect. I knew I deserved to win this award. Because I was better than the rest of the class. I never Lord it over them, but everyone knew I had done a magnificent job and some of my classmates even told me so.
The day for the Critic award Fashion Show had arrived. I choose my Model; that morning was the pre show, and the final judging. That same evening would be the big Fashion extravaganza. The debate that morning from my graduating class was who would be the winner of the award? All hell had broken loose, as there was a heated confrontation between Professor Tain; the professor who hated my guts .Mr. Herman and professor Tain wanted to hand the "Fashion Critic Award.” The other professor said "NO! George does not conform, he is not consistent, He is too avante grade. They argued for the entire selection process. The professor who hated my guts had veto power over both of them. This was not democracy in action, but dictatorship in action.
Professor Tain told me in confidence what had transpired during the selection process, my heart was crushed. Professor Tain insulted the other professor, and stormed out of the room. They never spoke for many years after that. The insult to my personal creativity was short lived. It was even more upsetting to see all the other departments graduating class applauding when they saw my design on stage, as they thought my design had won. It was clear that my design had out shined everyone's, it was the best... The winner knew it. The whole college knew that I was robbed. I knew it as well. The outpouring of sincere sympathy from fellow students, models, and faculty members was a great consultation to me. I learned a lot. I learned a lot about prejudice, and standing up for what I believed in, regardless of the concequences. To accept defeat gracefully and most importantly the meaning of what it is to grow and evolve as a human being. I will never forget this very valuable learning experience. This was not the end of my world; it was only my new beginnings
To My greatest Professors, Professor Linda Tain, I thank you.
To my dearest College friend….Aracy Jensen Sacks. I thank you.
In 1980, the letter of acceptance to the Fashion Institute of Technology, New York, in the Fine Arts department, reached my eyes with great jubilation. I wanted this, since I could not get into Medical College as I wanted to, due to my lack of knowledge of the American Educational system. I had been in the United States for only nine months. Art was my second choice, and I was always very good at it.