1 November 14, 1952
THE SALEMITE
Page Three
.. .^=: .
A Curse To Mpn kind
Artist Ralph Rosenborg’s abstract paintings are admired by Jo Bell of
Wilson, Carolyn Dobson of Greenville, S. C. and Betsy Giles of Morgan-
ton. The pictures are on display in the art gallery of the College library
and will remain there until Dec. 13.
Rosenborg Paintings On Display In Art Galleiy
Represent Extreme In Modernistic Painting
By Cynthia May
“My purpose for exhibiting the
work of Mr. Rosenborg is to show
the students, with complete dis
regard to my owm feelings, what
is being done in all fields of art,”
said Edwin Shewmake in com
menting upon the art display in
the Art Gallery of the Library.
The artist, Ralph Rosenborg of
New York City, represents the ex
treme in modern painting, Mr.
Shewmake said. He believes in
painting by instinct and feeling,
not by what is seen by the human
eye.
Mr. Rosenborg employs two ap
proaches to modern art in his
work: the appreciation of color,
balance of spaces and texture; and
the identification of the painter
with his work.
Some of the paintings on exhibit
are those that the artist did while
living in Durham several years ago.
They record his impressions, in a
modernistic way, of North Caro
lina. The display also includes
scenes of New York.
While he is painting, Mr. Rosen
borg locks himself away from dis
turbances and refuses to see or
talk to anyone. He works from
nine in the morning until five at
^ight and produces about 25 paint
ings a month.
The exhibition, sponsored by the
Art Club at Salem, will be on dis
play until Dec. 13. Members of
the club assisted in placing the
pictures in the gallery.
Sue Harrison, an Art Club mem
ber, commented that until the
works were explained to her, she
could not appreciate them. “Every
time I look at them,” she said,
“I find an entirely new interpre
tation.”
By Sandra Whitlock
Have you ever thought about that
small square known as the tele
phone booth ? It looks innocent
enough from the outside. It is a
small enclosure with a floor space
of about three square feet and a
height of about eight feet. It can
be entered through a folding door.
Inside there is a small seat, and a
telephone.
The appearance is not at all
dangerous, but wait until you have
an occasion to use one. Through
my experience with the telephone
booth, I have come to hate it al
most with the instinctive hatred
of a cat for a dog. The following
experience stands as testimony for
the justification of my hate for
the little black box called a tele
phone booth.
You Drop Your Nickel
You insert yourself into a booth
with a nickel clutched in your hot
hand. After settling your purse
and any other possessions you may
have on the minute black shelf,
aad closing the door, you drop
your nickel.
Since it is virtually impossible
to bend down to pick it up, you
open the door, step out of the
booth, stoop down, crawl half-way
under the seat, and recover your
nickel. You. cram yourself into the
booth once more, perch precari
ously on the triangular seat, brace
yourself against the wall, and slam
the door.
Now you are ready to get your
number. Clutching the receiver in
your left hand, you place the
nickel in the slot, and dail with
your right hand. This e^n tails
bumping your elbow and breaking
a fingernail. The rasping sound of
the busy signal echoes through the
booth, so you hang up. The nickel
is returned most of the time^ and
you start all over again with the
same result.
You take a long, deep breath to
prepare yourself for the attack.
Perhaps it would be better to say
that you try to take a long, deep
breath, for sometime during your
recent battles a hot sticky fpg has
replaced the air.
Fighting down a feeling of faint
ness, you try to open the door. It
does not cooperate in the least.
You grab the handle hoping that
a quick flick of the wrist will
open the way to air and freedom.
Your wrist flicks, and' you bang
your elbow on the shelf, knocking
your purse to the floor. The door
stays closed.
No Help Comes
You get up hoping to attack it
from a different angle. As a re
sult of this maneuver, you become
wedged between the shelf and the
door. By this time you are suffer
ing from a minor attack of claus
trophobia. You bang on the door
hoping to catch the attention of
some passer-by. No help comes
to relieve you.
You wrench yourself around and
sink down on the seat. Your legs
sprawl weakly before you. As a
last resort you kick feebly at the
door. As if by magic, the door
springs open, air rushes in, and
slowly the realization that you are
free spreads through your numbed
mind.
Check That Impulse
Now free from this monster, you
realize with fiery emotion how
despicable and how hateful the
telephone booth is. If you have
never experienced a similar situ
ation. I beg of you to “check that
impluse.” Wait until wou reach
home to make your phone call, be
cause the telephone booth is cruel
and unmerciful, and if it gets you,
you’ll have to fight a hard battle,
so that this won’t be said of you:
Here is another one gone.
In truth,
A victim of the telephone booth.
Covington Speaks
Miss EvabeJle Covington spoke
last Monday night at the monthly
meeting of the Home Economics
Club. Her topic was her hobby of
cake baking.
Displaying pictures of the cakes
she had decorated, she explained
the processes of cake baking. The
most elaborate one was a three
tiered wedding cake.
Preceding Miss Covington’s talk
a business meeting was held. At
this meeting plans for the Ging
ham Tavern were discussed.
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