I love pizza. I don’t remember how this romance started, perhaps it was because of a stint I spent when I was young living near New Haven, Connecticut. My mother was reaching the point in her life where she was resenting cooking (though she was a great cook) and I filled in the spaces with pepperoni pizzas from a nearby pizza joint, named (as they always were at the time) “Tony’s Pizza”. I still remember the hot ovens with the smell of tomato and oregano with the rudimentary counter, all the boxes stacked up against the wall. Each pie “Tony” made for me was a perfectly rendered American pepperoni pizza. I don’t remember ever ordering anything else. I think a 12″ round cost $2.70 US. Those were the days.
▲ Frank Pepe’s in the 1980s. Pepe’s is still going strong, though it doesn’t look much like this any more. I like the vents above the ovens (coal fired). The stains on the ceramic bricks indicate that worker health may have been an issue.
My range increases
When I got so I could drive New Haven came into the picture where there were legendary pizza “restaurants”. My favorite was Frank Pepe’s. I usually hated clams but for some reason at Pepe’s my favorite was their white pizza, spread with a generous helping of the slimy little animals. It was probably the garlic, olive oil, and the parmesan (romano?) that attracted me, a sure combination. Pepe didn’t go in for any obvious aesthetic. The pizza was served on a rectangular aluminum serving tray with parchment paper, and there were diner-style booths for sitting. But the crust was to die for. Pepe had a legendary coal oven with a baking chamber the size of a small car, and to add to the drama pizzas were placed in it with ultra-long-handled peels. I’ve never seen another place quite like Pepe’s. The crusts came out a bit charred; not pretending to be a Naples ripoffs but being happy just being themselves, as they should have been.
Moving north from Connecticut
But I didn’t last long in Connecticut, and further north in Greenfield Massachusetts was a non-imposing but favorite stop on my pizza journey called “Village Pizza”. It was run by a welcoming family who in retrospect seem like they were Greek and the pizzas were traditional style, a bit like Tony’s. Either I had graduated to more sophisticated toppings by then or it was just a fancier place. My friend Stephen, who went on to be a food editor, found the place and for years I’d stop every time I was going by Greenfield. There were seats to sit down, but for me it was more a place to drop in on while driving north on I-91 and get back on the road with the warm smell of a fresh pizza filling the car. Nothing could be better.
The wasteland that was Vermont
But “north”, where I was living, was Vermont and there no one had heard of pizza in the early 70s, unless it came as a dry frozen food relic. In those days you were lucky if you could find green vegetables in stores. I mostly ate food out of a food coop called The Do-It store. It was in 1973 when I tried baking my first home-made pizza. The girlfriend I had then fed me mostly a sludge of something called “Tiger’s Milk” and I was desperate for anything that came from the shores of the Mediterranean. My cooking skills were about as limited as the available ingredients. But to augment our diet along with the Tiger’s Milk we had a cookbook by Frances Moore Lappé called “Diet for a Small Planet”. The cookbook was pushing some theory of complementary grain proteins but more importantly, for me, it had a pizza “recipe”. Unfortunately the ingredient list called for a mostly cornmeal crust. I remember laboring over this inedible monstrosity of a recipe for several months before I concluded that it wasn’t for me, as were a lot of the other recipes in that book. We split up before I died of hunger but it was shortly after that time that I started doing wheat-crust pizzas. By the late 70s I had my own pizza peel and was regularly smoking up the kitchen with my then-messy technique.
▲ They invited me over to make pizza, I put their oven on fire. Early (1985) experiments in high temperature crusts.
Putting pizza into context
My patient and loving wife, Beth, has eaten what we calculate to be between 2 and 3 thousand of those pizzas since the late 70s. Wherever we travel we look for good pizza, from non-presumptuous joints to fancy sit-down restos. I love other people’s pizzas too and have friends who make wonderful renditions. Tia, whose family roots extend into Chicago, makes a fantastic deep-dish that we always laugh wildly over. Her husband, who is Italian, loves pizza too (of course) and he and I have pizza-eaten together as far west as Anaheim CA in our shared journey. Closer to home, Ed makes a wonderful Naples ripoff in his super-charged backyard oven. In New York I was friends with a guy who worked at John’s when it was first starting up, and there the waiters (including him, he was one) used to get up on the tables and dance, so there was never any lack of excitement. So I have really good pizza friends, and at the top among them is Beth.
Pizza as a universal food source
I know that pizza is a topic a lot of people have strong opinions about, so I think it would be fun to do an intermittent series of posts about my journey through pizza. Cooking it, searching for the perfect pizza, and sharing our pizza journeys and the love of the warm smell of a freshly baked pie, along with recipes.
Hollywood exile Joseph Losey transformed from a promising American filmmaker into one of Europe’s most celebrated auteurs after fleeing McCarthyism in the 1950s. His journey from blacklisted director to celebrated European master of psychological cinema reveals both the destructive power of political persecution and the resilience of artistic vision.
Decades after his death, critical studies continue to emerge about Joseph Losey’s work and life. In an industry where few directors achieve lasting recognition, Losey’s enduring influence stems from his unique position as an American artist who found his voice in European exile, creating films that bridged continental sensibilities with Hollywood craftsmanship.
▲ Joseph Losey as guest professor at Dartmouth College, 1970, in his first trip back to the United States after his forced departure due to blacklisting. He was given an honorary doctorate by the college three years later.
From Privilege to Exile: The Making of an Artist
Born into a family with a history of wealth and privilege, Losey’s immediate circumstances were more modest. His grandfather had not bequeathed his fortune to Losey’s father, Joseph Losey II, who worked as a claim agent for the Burlington Railroad after failing to complete college. Despite reduced circumstances, Losey grew up surrounded by culture and arts through his aunt’s connections in La Crosse, Wisconsin. Her home was a large estate where renowned musicians like Sergei Rachmaninoff and Jascha Heifetz would stay (and rehearse) when they visited the city for performances.
This early exposure to high culture shaped Losey’s artistic sensibilities. He pursued undergraduate studies at Dartmouth and graduate work at Harvard, later traveling to Russia to study film. Upon returning to the United States, he was hired by Hallie Flanagan, National Director of the Federal Theater Project, to work on the groundbreaking Living Newspaper project in New York. The work, already controversial with right-wing critics, would later contribute to his political troubles.
Losey’s career trajectory seemed destined for success when Dore Schary, head of production at RKO, offered him his first directorial position in 1948. However, his fortunes changed dramatically when Howard Hughes acquired controlling interest in RKO. Hughes offered Losey a “poison chalice” – directing I Married a Communist – which Losey categorically refused. This decision effectively ended his relationship with RKO. A year later, and after much trouble, he was released from his contract and allowed to work for Paramont, but by then J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI had flagged him as a communist sympathizer.
The European Renaissance
Rather than testify before Joseph McCarthy’s committee and implicate fellow leftists, Losey chose exile. His departure from the United States was hurried and unplanned, arriving in Europe without work and with tenuous legal status. His passport renewals were always uncertain, often valid for only two years, and work permits presented constant challenges.
The early European years were marked by financial hardship and professional humiliation. Losey directed low-budget genre films under pseudonyms to protect his collaborators from blacklisting. Yet these difficult circumstances proved transformative. The European film industry, particularly French critics, proved more receptive to his evolving style as he developed the complex themes of alienation, outsider status, and social critique that would define his mature work.
▲ Losey being interviewed for French TV in 1976. The striped tents in the background were used for dressing and makeup of the over 2,000 extras who were used in the stade scene filmed at the Vélodrome Municipal de Vincennes in the eastern part of Paris.
Despite the constraints, Losey repeatedly found projects that resonated with his moral and political beliefs. He later acknowledged that being blacklisted had been a blessing, removing him from Hollywood’s commercial temptations and allowing him to develop as a serious filmmaker. His European period saw acclaimed collaborations with screenwriter Harold Pinter on The Servant, Accident, and The Go-Between.
▲ Losey at Usine Citroën. The scene filmed here, when Klein is searching for his double’s girlfriend, was one of the few places in the film where Losey allowed a sympathetic view of humanity to show through the female workers in the wartime factory.
The M Klein Production: A Career Pinnacle
By 1975, when Losey began work on M Klein in France, he had established himself as a major auteur in European cinema. The project came to him through actor Alain Delon, who owned the rights to the screenplay. Losey heard that Greek director Costa-Gavras had declined directing the film, and he contacted Delon. Delon was eager to work with a recognized auteur to enhance his serious acting credentials. Having previously collaborated successfully with Losey on The Assassination of Trotsky, the project went forward.
Losey’s personal history of political persecution and exile deeply informed his approach to M Klein, a film exploring themes of identity, persecution, and moral complicity in wartime France. Before production began, he worked with screenwriter Franco Solinas in the Italian coastal town of Fregene, with his wife Patricia serving as translator. Losey significantly revised the script, cutting an hour of material to create greater intensity and developing characters more fully, particularly the female roles.
The production process revealed Losey’s meticulous approach to film-making. His days began at 6:30 AM and extended past 7:00 PM with dailies, followed by planning for upcoming filming, business negotiations, and correspondence. The demanding schedule reflected his total commitment to the craft, a work ethic that impressed cast and crew alike.
The Director’s Burden and Vision
Losey’s approach to directing embodied the complex demands of the role – balancing financing, writing, casting, and countless daily decisions while maintaining artistic vision under commercial pressure. His reputation for integrity and refusal to compromise attracted top professionals who knew he would “stick to his guns.”
The production of M Klein exemplified these qualities. From the first day of shooting at Cachan, where actress Isabelle Sadoyan performed a brutal nude scene under carefully controlled conditions, Losey established a tone of mutual respect and professionalism. The international crew, including professionals from England, France, and Italy, responded to his leadership with enthusiasm and dedication.
▲ Preparing to film at Cachan, south of Paris. Actress Isabelle Sadoyan is on the left in the robe, and far right Patricia Losey is just visible. This was the first day of filming and set the tone for the entire eight-week shooting schedule.
Not every aspect of production went smoothly. On January 20, 1976, Alain Delon left the production in anger, threatening the film’s completion. Yet through Losey’s consistent honesty and professional integrity Delon was brought back in. Losey built sufficient trust among his collaborators to overcome such crises. He neither pulled punches nor compromised the truth, qualities that sustained his reputation throughout his career.
Legacy of an Artist in Exile
Joseph Losey’s career represents a unique trajectory in cinema history – an American artist who found his authentic voice only after being forced from his homeland. His story illustrates both the destructive power of political persecution and the possibility of artistic redemption through exile. The films he created in Europe, particularly his collaborations with Harold Pinter and works like M Klein, demonstrate how personal adversity can fuel artistic achievement.
Losey’s enduring influence lies not just in his films but in his embodiment of the artist as exile – someone who transformed displacement into creative advantage. His work continues to resonate with contemporary audiences because it addresses universal themes of alienation, identity, and moral choice while maintaining the technical excellence and narrative sophistication that mark great cinema.
The blacklisted director who fled McCarthyism ultimately created a body of work that stands as testament to artistic integrity. In losing his American career, Joseph Losey found his authentic voice as a filmmaker, proving that sometimes the greatest creative breakthroughs emerge from the most challenging circumstances.
Joseph Losey’s films
Date of release
Film
Country
1948
The Boy with Green Hair
United States
1950
The Lawless
United States
1951
M
United States
1951
The Prowler
United States
1951
The Big Night
United States
1952
Stranger on the Prowl
Italy
1954
The Sleeping Tiger
United Kingdom
1956
The Intimate Stranger
United Kingdom
1957
Time Without Pity
United Kingdom
1958
The Gypsy and the Gentleman
United Kingdom
1959
Blind Date
United Kingdom
1960
The Criminal
United Kingdom
1962
Eva
Italy/France
1963
The Damned
United Kingdom
1963
The Servant
United Kingdom
1964
King & Country
United Kingdom
1966
Modesty Blaise
United Kingdom
1967
Accident
United Kingdom
1968
Boom!
United Kingdom
1968
Secret Ceremony
United Kingdom
1970
Figures in a Landscape
United Kingdom
1971
The Go-Between
United Kingdom
1972
The Assassination of Trotsky
Italy/France/United Kingdom
1973
A Doll's House
United Kingdom
1975
The Romantic Englishwoman
United Kingdom
1975
Galileo
United Kingdom
1976
Monsieur Klein
France
1978
Roads to the South
France
1979
Don Giovanni
Italy/France
1982
La Truite
France
1985
Steaming
United Kingdom
More about Joseph Losey
Archer, Eugene. “Expatriate Retraces His Steps: Joseph Losey Changes Direction with His British ‘Servant.’” New York Times (1923-), March 15, 1964. 115707295. ProQuest Historical Newspapers: The New York Times.
Barthel, Joan. “I’m an American, for God’s Sake!” New York Times (1923-), March 26, 1967. ProQuest Historical Newspapers: The New York Times.
Goodman, Ezra. “Meet Pete-Roleum.” Sight and Sound, London: British Film Institute, Summer 1939. 1305505140. ProQuest One Literature.
Houston, Beverle, and Marsha Kinder. “The Losey-Pinter Collaboration.” Film Quarterly 32, no. 1 (1978): 17–30. https://doi.org/10.2307/1211896.
Houston, Penelope, and John Gillett. “Conversations with Nicholas Ray and Joseph Losey.” Sight and Sound, London: British Film Institute, Fall 1961. 1305505087. ProQuest One Literature.
Losey, Joseph. Conversations with Losey. Edited by Michel Ciment. London ; New York: Methuen, 1985.
Palmer, James. The Films of Joseph Losey. Cambridge Film Classics. Cambridge: University Press, 1993.
Prime, Rebecca. “‘The Old Bogey’: The Hollywood Blacklist in Europe.” Film History: An International Journal, Indiana University Press, 2008.
Sarris, Andrew. . . . “. . . And the Man Who Made It: Joseph Losey.” New York Times (1923-), November 17, 1968. 118367559. ProQuest Historical Newspapers: The New York Times.
Weiss, Jason. “Screenwriters, Critics and Ambiguity: An Interview with Joseph Losey.” Cineaste Publishers, Inc., 1983.
The Art Deco Aldred building is a 94 year-old office tower on Place d’Armes’. It’s Montreal’s own “little Empire State”, completed in the same year as the New York building (1931) but of considerably smaller stature. Ironically, though, it’s the one that hasn’t been dwarfed by surrounding buildings and still stands proudly. That’s not to say that it doesn’t have problems. It’s suffering from the same disease many downtown office towers have contracted since the pandemic – a lot of empty space and the listing by brokers who represent owners eager to get out of the market.
A Living Landmark
It wasn’t always that way. When it was built it was a proud, if misplaced, statement of financial-district confidence. Architect Ernest Isbell Barott masterminded the setbacks that characterize its stepped shape in order to take advantage of an 1929 Montreal by-law allowing extra height if sunlight reached the square. The move allowed the building enough height to express its modern ambition. From street level you see limestone that mirrors older façades. The building’s massing feels almost ecclesiastical, yet it projects a kind confidence that was probably in short supply during the Depression.
▲ The view looking south on St-Urbain.
Stitching Into Montreal’s Economic Fabric
When the tower opened in the teeth of the Great Depression, its $2.85-million price tag signaled bullish faith in Montreal as Canada’s financial hub. Aldred & Company, a New York finance firm, anchored the top floors; local banks soon clustered nearby. Even today, in its diminished state, real-estate brokers list the address as commanding premium leases. Yet vacancy hovers near 30 percent and it’s touted as an opportunity for residential or boutique-hotel conversion.
That tension mirrors Montreal’s broader economy as the city navigates a post-pandemic recovery. Tourist visits were up 7 percent in 2024 and projected higher for 2025 – but older offices struggle to meet post-pandemic hybrid demands. The Aldred thus sits at the crossroads of heritage preservation and economic reinvention, with no clear plan of where it will go.
▲ Notre-Dame Basilica doesn’t quite match its height. The architect was able to take advantage of a by-law allowing stepped buildings extra height.
Past and Future in the Same Gaze
There’s never a lack of discussion about what to do. Preservationists argue for light-touch retrofits, citing UNESCO principles that balance cultural value with economic use. Urbanists argue for adaptive reuse to keep the historic city core alive. But in any case, the building seems perfectly at ease with being photographed and appreciated.
An Unmistakable Part of Montreal
For me, I’m lucky – I don’t have to worry about its elevator systems or quirky partitions, or any of the many other worries that haunt building owners. For me The Aldred is a 96-metre miniature gem we can honor in its Art Deco glory while still debating office-to-housing policy. I appreciate its confident limestone ribs and see it as being an unmistakable part of Montreal.
When Joseph Losey set out to make M Klein in 1976, he turned to one of Europe’s most celebrated art directors, Alexandre Trauner, to help bring wartime Paris to life. Their collaboration on this film was not just a meeting of two accomplished professionals, but a convergence of personal histories and artistic philosophies that shaped the film’s haunting atmosphere and visual authenticity.
The Art Director’s Legacy
Alexandre Trauner was already a legend in the world of film design by the time he joined M Klein. Trained as a painter in Hungary, Trauner had built a career in France, working with some of the greatest directors of his era. His credits included an Oscar for Billy Wilder’s The Apartment and a reputation as the “dean of European art directors.” But for Trauner, M Klein was more than another prestigious project – it was deeply personal. Born Sándor Trau, he was a Hungarian Jew who had fled anti-Semitism in Hungary, only to face it again in Nazi-occupied France, where he went underground to survive.
▲ Trademark Trauner Alexandre Trauner had nothing to prove at this point in his career. As a Jewish young man in Hungary he fled the right-wing authoritarian regime of Miklós Horthy, only to face the same situation in Paris when the Nazis captured the city.
Building the World of M Klein
Losey’s vision for M Klein demanded a level of realism and atmosphere that only a master like Trauner could deliver. The film was shot both in the controlled environment of Studios de Boulogne and on locations throughout Paris. While Losey preferred the unpredictability and grit of real locations, he grudgingly acknowledged the advantages of studio work: flexibility, control over lighting, and the ability to reconfigure sets as needed. Trauner’s skill lay in making these studio sets feel as authentic and lived-in as the city streets outside.
▲ Trauner with assistants surveying part of Stage A at Studios de Boulogne. In 1976 this was the leading French film studio, hosting many French and American productions.
Studio Mastery: Trauner and his team transformed the cavernous Stage A at Boulogne into convincing interiors, using movable walls and ceilings to create dynamic spaces for the camera and actors.
Location Expertise: Trauner’s intimate knowledge of Paris allowed him to identify and secure locations that captured the city’s wartime character, from rundown tenements to grand public buildings.
Visual Storytelling: Trauner’s approach was less about literal storyboarding and more about mood, color, and the “dressing” of the set. With Losey’s input he translated the screenplay’s emotional cues into physical spaces that reflected the film’s themes of identity, suspicion, and moral ambiguity.
▲ With the walls and part of the ceiling removed, Klein’s bedroom has been transformed into a set for the scene where Jeanine reads from Moby Dick. Klein (Delon) sits at the desk, with the camera positioned right beside him. This photo, taken from a catwalk above, demonstrates the benefits of filming in a studio rather than on location: the space functions as a small stage set, offering flexibility and easy access for the crew.
A Partnership of Trust and Professionalism
Losey’s previous long-term collaboration with art director Richard Macdonald had ended before M Klein, making his partnership with Trauner especially significant. Trauner brought a different energy: more structured, less chaotic, but equally committed to artistic excellence. Losey praised Trauner’s professionalism and his ability to immediately grasp and adapt to the director’s needs, saying, “There’s a kind of professionalism about Trauner and a kind of immediate recognition of what I want. Also, if I say to Trauner that something that he’s doing is wrong for me, whatever it may be…he understands and can change this immediately”.
▲ A wider shot of Klein’s “apartment” from above. Note the large painted flats that formed “views” out windows. The small figure in the top left is Trauner.
Personal History Meets Artistic Vision
What made Trauner’s contribution to M Klein so powerful was the way his personal history resonated with the film’s subject. Like Margot Capelier, the casting director, Trauner had lived through the Nazi occupation and the persecution of Jews in France. This experience gave him a unique sensitivity to the film’s themes and a determination to render them truthfully on screen. His bond with Capelier – her husband, Auguste Capelier, often collaborated with Trauner after the war – further deepened the sense of shared purpose among the creative team.
The Lasting Impact
The world that Trauner built for M Klein is more than a backdrop; it is a character in its own right, shaping the film’s mood and immersing viewers in the paranoia and uncertainty of occupied Paris. His work stands as a testament to the power of art direction in cinema and to the importance of personal history in shaping artistic achievement.
Through his collaboration with Joseph Losey, Alexandre Trauner helped make M Klein not just a film about history, but a living, breathing evocation of a world on the edge – crafted by someone who had survived its darkest days.
McCann, Ben. “What Trauner Did next: The Continuation of a French Design Aesthetic in an American Context.” French Cultural Studies 20, no. 1 (February 1, 2009): 65–81. https://doi.org/10.1177/0957155808099344.
McCann, Benjamin Edward. “Set Design, Spatial Configurations and the Architectonics of 1930s French Poetic Realist Cinema,” n.d.
I met Moki Cherry in 1969 when she and Don were living in Vermont. Jon Appleton, a professor in the Music Department of Dartmouth College, had invited Don and Moki to come to the United States and teach a course for the spring term. Later, I went to Sweden where I spent part a summer living with the family in Stockholm during the Utopias & Visions 1871-1981 exhibit at the Moderna Museet and traveling to Tågarp just after they had purchased the schoolhouse. These pictures are from that period.
▲ A delicate balance Moki Karlsson surrounded by her work and family in her Post Mills, Vermont home. Every detail of this photograph represents Moki – her son Eagle-Eye, Don’s performance costumes hanging on the wall, the plants…Moki created worlds where she lived, centered around her family and her projects. (Vermont, 1970)
Early Life and Education
Monika Marianne Karlsson was born on February 8, 1943, in Koler, a small town in Norrbotten, Sweden’s far northern region. Her parents, Verner Karlsson and Marianne Karlsson, were from opposite ends of Sweden – her father was from Skåne in the south and her mother from Norrland in the north. Verner worked as a station master for the railway company, while Marianne ran the local post office. The family moved frequently throughout Sweden as Verner was posted to different stations.
From an early age, Moki displayed an independent spirit and a deep connection to nature. She was absorbed by the world of animals and the natural environment, preferring to spend time in the forest rather than with other children.
After leaving school in 1959, Moki apprenticed at the Haute Couture Atelier Anna-Greta Blom before working as a design assistant with Vera Öhrn at Distingo, a women’s coat and suit manufacturer in Kristianstad. In 1962, she moved to Stockholm to study fashion design, illustration, and pattern-cutting at Beckman’s School of Design (now Beckmans College of Design).
Meeting Don Cherry and Early Artistic Collaboration
In 1963, while still a student, Moki met American jazz trumpeter Don Cherry at Gyllene Cirkeln (The Golden Circle) in Stockholm, where he was performing with saxophonist Sonny Rollins. Don was already recognized as one of the leading figures in American avant-garde jazz, having been a key member an innovative quartet that shook up American jazz in 1959 (The Ornette Coleman Quartet).
▲ Often multi-tasking Eagle-Eye has a clear idea of where he wants to pocket the shot (with Neneh’s encouragement). Don is practicing drums while waiting for Ornette Coleman to show up in Coleman’s Prince Street loft. (New York, 1970)
Artistic Practice and Philosophy
Moki’s artistic practice was inherently interdisciplinary, encompassing textiles, painting, sculpture, ceramics, collage, set design, and costume creation. Her work was characterized by bold colors, organic forms, hybrid creatures, and spiritual symbolism drawn from various cultural traditions including Indian art, Tibetan Buddhism, African aesthetics, and Scandinavian folk art.
Textiles and Tapestries
Moki’s textile work became her signature medium, born out of practical necessity. Living a nomadic lifestyle with Don and her family, she found that fabric was lightweight, transportable, and versatile. She could “roll it up, put it in a couple of duffel bags” and carry her studio anywhere. Her large-scale textile appliqué tapestries served multiple functions: as stage backdrops for Don’s performances, album covers, as educational tools for children’s workshops, and as independent artworks displayed in galleries.
Major Exhibitions and Recognition
Moderna Museet Stockholm (1971)
One of Moki’s most significant early exhibitions was at Moderna Museet Stockholm in 1971, as part of the Utopias & Visions 1871-1981 exhibition. Pontus Hultén, the museum’s director, commissioned Don and Moki to create an installation which was housed in a Buckminster Fuller geodesic dome. Moki created artwork which defined the performance space, which was used to gather artists and musicians from Europe and beyond.
From 1977 onward, Moki split her time between Tågarp (the family home near Malmö) and Long Island City, New York, maintaining her connection to both her Swedish roots and the international art community. She continued to exhibit regularly, with solo shows in galleries across Sweden, the United States, and Europe.
▲ Collaborators in Stockholm Don Cherry is holding the leather case, home to his pocket trumpet, while the Turkish percussionist Okay Temiz talks to Eagle-Eye. They are standing immediately outside the naval brig on the Stockholm island of Skeppsholmen that was used as housing for the family during the 1970 summer exposition. (Stockholm, 1971)
Personal Life and Family
Moki’s personal life was inextricably linked to her artistic practice. Moki successfully balanced motherhood, artistic practice, and professional collaboration. She said about the challenges: “I was my husband’s muse, companion and collaborator. At the same time, I did all the practical maintenance. I was never trained to be a female, so I survived by taking a creative attitude to daily life and chores.”
Legacy and Rediscovery
Moki Cherry died on August 29, 2009, in her Tågarp home. For much of her lifetime, her contributions were overshadowed by Don’s fame and the gendered biases of the art world toward textile work. However, the period following her death has seen a resurgence of interest in her work.
Major retrospectives include Moki Cherry: A Journey Eternal at Moderna Museet Malmö (2023), the most comprehensive presentation of her work to date, and Moki Cherry: Here and Now at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London (2023), her first solo exhibition in a UK institution.
These exhibitions have been curated in collaboration with her granddaughter Naima Karlsson, who has become a key advocate for her grandmother’s legacy.
▲ Moki helping Neneh with color Neneh was a voracious daughter to Moki’s sensibilities which she combined with her step-father’s musical world. Both have served her well. (Vermont, 1970)
Writing and other media about Moki’s work and life
Moki’s work abounded in color. These articles and web pages have reproductions which often do justice to her chromatic sensibilities.
Return to Damascusis my new book of photographs, available for order, that preserves fleeting impressions and the spirit of a place through the lens. Accompanied by brief reflections and memories, the photographs offer a tribute to the place and its people, focusing on enduring character and the subtle interplay of light, architecture, and tradition. Return to Damascus is a quiet celebration of observation and memory, inviting viewers to participate.
How Many Roads? is a book of photographs by Jonathan Sa'adah, available for order, offering an unglossy but deeply human view of the period from 1968 to 1975 in richly detailed, observant images that have poignant resonance with the present. Ninety-one sepia photographs reproduced with an introduction by Teju Cole, essays by Beth Adams, Hoyt Alverson, and Steven Tozer, and a preface by the photographer.
If you'd like more information, please have a look at this page.
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