Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 17 text:

AARNE HANNINEN Gentle and retiring, Aarne looked no more energetic than the rest of us in the Deacon’s corner, but we were constantly chagrined at the fury with which our blond dynamo painted on gargantuan canvases with Geranium and Blossom Yellow, and the vast number of landscape sketches. MARGARET HUTCHINSON Our amiably freckled carrot top grew up before us but still took her cue to register coy indignation at our bantering. Charmingly saucy, her paintings, too, teased us, like a violinist tuning up. PHILIP KREVORUCK P. Craige O’Rourke, of the keen mind, determined lip, and McClel- land Barclay forearm, scrubbed undertones on his canvas, sang tuneless improvisations on the gas house” melodies, lashed our short- comings with a quip, and soothed everything by laughing at himself. EDWARD MALSBERG Emerging from Poe-like phantasms, reconditioned by radio gag writers, our Roman-nosed Pagliacci arrived early to plant his shovel in every pile, sweep a few brush strokes over home-made canvas, and fight for justice. Ludicrous, vituperative, lovable, — Shadow was a legend in his own day.

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PETER BELITSOS With a Byzantine palette and an eye for the children’s illustration market, the fruits of his labors were as honest as boiled potatoes. Pete’s ledger-like efficiency was belied by the roguish gleam above his dashing moustache and his impetu- ous vocalizing. MURIEL BERNIER We recall with amusement how we stole glances across the aisle into Muriel’s pew, trying to fathom the intangible serenity of our blond Beatrix. But the Pre-Raphaelite heroine emerged in an Impression- ist light and smiled radiantly over charming portraits at our most boisterous humor. CLIFFORD GEARY Behind tobacco clouds sat, or pref- erably lay, the Trapper. With the philosophy of another day. Cliff wove into a mellow design for living cosmopolitan yarns, ditties and dances, but the main threads of his interest run with the homespun illustrators, having withstood all en- tanglements with glamor boys. LORRAINE GRAHAM After mornings of unobtrusively stroking daubs of muted colored paint, Lorraine could often be found alone with the afternoon shadows of our easels. Dark and cherub faced, we knew that our mild- mannered individualist sympathet- ically divined the personalities of the rest of us in our paintings.

Page 18 text:

HAROLD THRESHER A pink and white Indian, the chief trekked down from Vermont sum- mers, and from behind his dicta- torial jaw he shot forth a steady barrage of naive questions and comments. But Harold’s Yankee tenacity commanded respect, be- cause he was our Child of the Muses. RICHARD TOBIN At banker’s hours and in sartorial splendor, the Mayor arrived. Doff- ing his coat too neatly for a D.P., Dick set about covering the sugary sparkle of his canvas with inter- mittent flashes of an infectious grin and Hibernian wit. And we always felt it was the morning after some- thing or other. PETER BELITSOS