Helen Gee - Limelight: a Greenwich Village photography gallery and coffeehouse in the fiftees : a memoir

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Page i

Page ii

Page v Limelight A Greenwich Village Photography Gallery and Coffeehouse in the Fifties A Memoir By Helen Gee University of New Mexico Press Albuquerque

Page vi Copyright 1997 by the University of New Mexico Press. All rights reserved. First edition Library of Congress Cataloging in-Publication Data Gee, Helen. Limelight: a Greenwich Village photography gallery and coffeehouse in the fifties / Helen Gee 1st ed. p. cm. Includes index. ISBN 082631783-9 (cloth) ISBN 0826318177 (paper) 1. Gee, Helen. 2. Women photographers United StatesBiography. 3. Limelight (Gallery: New York, N.Y.) 4. Photographic art galleries New YorkNew YorkHistory. I. Title. TR140.G39A3 1997 770.'92dc20 [B] 9625382 CIP Designed by Kristina Kachele

Page vii FOR THE PHOTOGRAPHERS WHO MADE IT POSSIBLE.

Page ix Acknowledgments It is Tennyson Schad who is responsible for this book. It is he who suggested I write about Limelight, which preceded his own gallery, Light, by seventeen years. I went ahead and wrote a few chapters, then abandoned the project, busy with other things. But I had made the mistake of mentioning these efforts to friends. Word got around, and for several years, when I attended openings and other places where the clan gathers, I was faced with that awful question, "How's the book coming along?" My response was not always polite. Rather than go on evading the question, I sat down and tried again. But I was a hunt-and-peck typist, and had I not been given a computer by Yula Lipchitz (who became a photographer in her seventies after the death of her husband, Jacques Lipchitz), my efforts would have died once again. I approached this gift horse with much trepidation, but after learning the basics, I was carried away by its magic. Words kept flying all over the screen, but, alas, they did not, and would not, form coherent sentences. I had to face the sad reality: computers, smart as they are, do not do the writing for youyou have to do it yourself. So I buckled down, and from then on tested the patience of my friends. They put up with my complaints and forgave my withdrawal into self and my absence from functions I would not ordinarily have missed. I want to thank Frank Paulin, with whom I shared many a memory fest, William Rossa Cole, who listened as I struggled with my syntax, and those long-suffering friendsDoris Aach, John Erdman, Ilona Kinzer, Sanne Melgaard, and Gary Schneiderwhose ministerings included everything from

Page x pats on the head to bowls of soup. To them I owe thanks and deepest gratitude. My thanks, too, to the photographers who so generously contributed their work: first to Arthur Lavine for his coverage of Limelight's beginnings, and to Ellen Auerbach, John Cohen, Ken Heyman, Morris Jaffe, James Karales, Wayne Miller, Frank Paulin, Paul Seligman, Nina Howell Starr, and Sandra Weiner. I want to thank Peter C. Bunnell for his long years of friendship and James L. Enyeart for his encouragement and support. My thanks too to Susan Kismaric, Virginia Dodier, Ellen Kornhauser, Julia Van Haaften, Sharon Girard, Joan Stoliar, and to the many others who helped along the way. A very special thanks to my editor, Dana Asbury, for her patience and support during the many months of work.

Page 3 There's no telling what an empty stomach can lead to. Had I eaten breakfast that morning, cereal and eggs instead of toast and black coffee, Limelight might never have been born. I would have gone on with my own photography and left the pioneering to others. Opening a gallery for photography had never occurred to me, and certainly, never a coffeehouse. All I had in mind on that fine Sunday morning in the fall of 1953 was getting in a good day's shooting. It was the week of the St. Gennaro festival on the Lower East Side, a perfect opportunity to start using color. I rushed through my morning ritualswalked the dog, fed the cat, and after seeing my daughter off for her weekly visit to her father, grabbed my camera and took the subway downtown. The festival was in full swing when I got there. Mulberry Street had been cordoned off and for a half-mile stretch, from Chinatown north through the heart of Little Italy, the streets were alive with color. People came from all over, to eat, to stroll, to play carnival games, but it was the neighborhood Italians, dressed in their Sunday best, that gave the festival its flavor. I fell in with the crowd honoring the good saint and for the first few blocks did nothing but savor the sights and the smells, trying to get the feel of things. I had studied photography with Lisette Model and was determined to follow her advice: "Don't shoot until you feel it in your gut." Alongside the food stalls there were games of chance, where for as little as a dime and a bit of luck, you could choose from an array of prizes, everything from Hula-Hoops and Kewpie dolls to plastic Madonnas and bottles

Page 4 of scotch. I was tempted by a teddy bear, having my daughter Li-lan in mind, but I'd never had much luck with a roulette wheel, and preferred playing games of skill. I toyed with the idea of pitching pennies into a goldfish bowl and coming away with a goldfish. But the fish looked sickly, and if I won, could I handle a camera and a goldfish too?

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