I can still recall the first time I ever walked into the
printmaking studio at Guilford College.
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, entering the well-lit room,
hardwoods creaking beneath my feet, and smelling the toxic solvents for the
first time. And I can vividly
remember meeting my printmaking professor, Roy Nydorf, as if it were
yesterday.
He started out our freshman orientation by flipping through
a portfolio of prints he had collected over the decades, briefly explaining how
each print was created—dry point, mezzotint, aquatint, sugar
lift—intermittently rubbing his beard, his fingers coated with turquoise.
I remember his keen eye during critiques, his gloveless
hands retrieving a plate in the acid bath, and the way he sparked my interest
in a medium I knew nothing about and had never heard of prior to 1997. That’s what great professors do.
I found the etching process fascinating and addictive. I was eager to discover how crucial the
timing of the acid was. I was
anxious to feel the rush of adrenaline when pulling a print for the first time
after having cranked the press and felt the release of the plate, flipping back
the blankets, lifting the corner of the print. And I was as equally hooked on the meticulousness of the
wiping of the plates—the seductiveness and methodical, circular motions.
It didn’t take me long to know that I wanted to concentrate
in this medium and explore as much as I could under Roy. I found myself asking him if I could
have the honor of being his Teacher’s Assistant, which he said yes to my junior
year. He taught me so much. So you can imagine my utter
disappointment when he announced he was taking a sabbatical my senior
year. Tears were indeed shed.
Many years later, the Greenhill Gallery in Greensboro, NC,
offered Roy a retrospective. This
included about 200 of his pieces and spanned over 40 years of creative,
artistic exploration. So when one
of my closest girl friends and senior thesis graduates, Carol DeVries, asked me
to meet her for lunch and a gallery tour, I couldn’t pass up the
opportunity. Coincidentally, Roy’s
wife, Terry Hammond, and two other Guilford alums were there, and we shared
some laughs, great stories, and caught up.
It was only until I started walking the gallery that I
realized what a phenomenal accomplishment my old professor had achieved.The
entire gallery was dedicated to him and his work. It was beautifully curated and a perfect chronology of the evolution
of his work. There were surreal
paintings that were dreamlike in nature, with floating figures drifting
lightless. There was a series of
ephemeral butterflies rendered in pastels that looked so real that, if you
touched them, their delicate wings would crumble. There were wooden carvings—one 10 feet in length and carved
entirely from one piece of wood with painted, red lips—that were so mature and
unexpected. There were
paintings—portraits and landscapes alike that detailed time in the Italian
countryside and desolate North Carolina highways after a summer rain. And then there were etchings I was so
familiar with because I had personally seen Roy meticulously wiping the plates
in the studio—The Black Cat and the a la poupee heads.
I consider myself blessed to have been able to see this
awe-inspiring show. But I consider
myself even more grateful for having had the opportunity to study under such a
well-rounded, gifted talent who taught me so much about the printmaking medium and
more about myself as an artist.
Thank you, Roy, for being the artist,
visionary, and mentor that you are.
You will never know how you impacted my life.
