RISDiversity Community Narratives

Abled Differently

The Abled Differently initiative generates fundamental dialogue about the perspectives and experiences of RISD community members living with different physical, mental, cognitive learning or chronic health disabilities. By sharing the artwork and narratives of students, faculty, staff and alumni, the project explores how disability informs both their creative practice and daily lives.

Our Stories

    My Story

    • Katherine Cavanaugh

      Painting ’15

      The hardest thing to admit is that being disabled/chronically ill has meant that my art practice has been forced to take a backseat since I left RISD. I’ve put most of my energy into the struggle to meet my basic needs. I’ve had to leave jobs because I took too many sick days, I’ve been fired for using my cane or “looking tired.” And when I succeed in meeting my basic needs, I put whatever I have left into communist organizing, which I also see as part of my survival. As a disabled, working class woman I’m one of the people that capitalism deems disposable. When I live my life in this pattern, painting starts to seem like a luxury, but it’s not, it’s vital. These days I do a lot of small drawings of my neighbors, family, and comrades, on cardboard or butcher paper, whatever I can find. I like to think that each little portrait is both a gesture of love to its subject and gesture of defiance to systemic oppression.

    • Tim Duffy

      Sculpture ’70

      I was an adventurer, an instigator, and an assemblist for 30 years; a maverick in and out of the studio, when in an instant, a brutal stroke took my left side in 2002. It was only then that I grasped the word “strategy” that a nurse had given me as a tip. Only then did it sink in what Marc Harrison and the ID gang were probing so earnestly.

      It’s been 17 years. Now I sculpt with one hand. I require mobile assistance in and out of the Tacoma foundry where I create. My bronzes are for the most part of people and gesture. I hope this reincarnation turns out to be real. I’m so informed these days.

      www.timmduffy.com

    • Rebecca Erde

      MA ID ’19

      What is the equivalent of a cane for a psychological symptom? How does one create a crutch for persistent sadness? How can these objects feel stigma-free and desirable? These questions stem from a massive problem that is not adequately being addressed by society and the design community: mental illness and more importantly, mental health. Mental illness affects one in five people in the United States. There are very few products designed to help this ubiquitous population improve their mental health. And because mental illness is often not visible, the needs of those living with it are seriously underserved.

      I came to RISD to create a conversation, to highlight and normalize discussions about the stigmatized topic of mental illness. My motivation to focus on this blind spot within design derives from my personal history with mental illness and my chosen study of design. I use design as a vehicle to de-stigmatize mental illness, to create education and to better communication. I have created a methodology for designing with people living with mental illness.

      Through my personal experience with mental illness, my commitment to psychotherapy, ongoing conversations with specialists, my education in human centered design, and community-focused user research, I am in a unique position to design with a population that is regularly ignored and underserved. This is why I am designing commercial products to help myself and others cope with the day to day symptoms of a variety of mental illnesses, as well as to better navigate interpersonal connections with friends and family, because anyone can experience mental illness, at any time.

      www.rebecca-erde.com

    • Katryn Livingston

      Staff – Academic Events & Communications

      People have a lot of misconceptions about ADD. They don’t realize that hyperactivity is not the only marker. You wouldn’t think that the quiet girl with her nose stuck in a book has ADD. But I definitely struggled with it a lot growing up.

      I’ve had a lot of ups and downs with medicating my ADD. Medication that helps you focus can not only make you forget to eat or sleep, it can also muffle your creative impulses. There is always a fine balance between being functional (i.e. driving safely, being on time, holding a conversation) and making space to allow yourself a little freedom for creativity and exploration. I think I’ve found that balance now, but sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be more creative or artistic if I hadn’t been so (hyper)focused on perfectionism and fitting into what society deems as neurotypical.

    • Adelaide Mackintosh

      MA Architecture ’18

      There is an oral test for dyslexia I was once given by a psychologist. The test consisted of a speed round of word associations. When he said a word I had to state its pair as quickly as possible. For example, when he said peanut butter, I was probably supposed to say jelly, but instead I said bananas. Who doesn’t love a peanut butter and banana sandwich?

      My learning disabilities make some things quite hard. I struggle to memorize lines or names, but never faces or places. When it comes to visualization I can remember everything about a place I’ve been to or an image I’ve seen. When drawing, I picture everything in my head. When I build models, I see myself walking through them. I design spaces based on the imagined viewpoints I visualize. My dyslexia might make it hard for me to stay focused on reading, but it has given me the ability to be present in my spatial imagination. Because of this I see being abled differently as an asset.

      Growing up with severe learning disabilities I found comfort in artistic expression. I put all my energy into figure skating when school was not my strength. In my first studio at RISD I was tasked with designing a space for ritual; I designed a space for a figure skater. As I created the space, I visualized the view from the skater’s perspective. I sometimes have a difficult time articulating how I see the world, but I have a strong ability to visualize how the body moves through it. With that I am able to focus on designing spaces based on human interaction. I see this as a gift that I can continue to develop in my future practice.

    • Kasia Matlak

      Industrial Design ’17

      I am a researcher and a strategist with a background in industrial design. I am passionate about improving living conditions for people of all abilities. I focus on disability issues because I believe they are a gateway to a more inclusive and tolerant world. I enjoy getting to know the people that I design for and emphasize including them in the design process. I like to talk with and understand what people experience and feel.

      We are each born with a particular set of physical characteristics; our bodies have different abilities and limitations. The conceptual prosthetic socket I designed is an interface between human and machine. The capabilities of a residual limb can be compromised due to an injury or physical limitation. This prosthetic socket contains a hybrid of flexible and rigid materials. The rigid materials provide support and correspond to the soft tissue of the body. The flexible materials provide comfort and protect the areas with hard tissue. With my designs I aim to create support and flexibility.

      As humans we are all variable. Creating the world to accommodate people of varying abilities builds a more able and resilient society. I design to promote a more inclusive world.

      http://www.kasiamatlak.com

    • Nancy Meagher

      Painting ’78

      Walking is extremely painful for me. Once, a high-powered Elementary School Art Specialist, I pounded school hallways, arms loaded with reams of splashy paintings made by children. I stapled work onto corridor length bulletin boards, checked my watch, grabbed a waxed carton of chocolate milk from the cafeteria fridge, and took the stairs two or even three at a time and settled into the Art Room.

      All this joy came to an abrupt halt one morning, whilst moving sure footed across my day, I twisted my ankle badly and developed a disabling nerve disorder called RSD or today’s newer medical diagnosis, CRPS. I was no longer able to walk or stand without severe pain. Life can turn on an ankle. A rose by any name, Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy or Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, nerves damaged badly enough, don’t heal.

      Pain ensues as nerve fibers react, and alarms go off manifesting as pain. Like a teacher who gently separates the challenging students on either side of the classroom, the nervous system creates a symmetrical pattern throughout the body. Now instead of one foot over heated and over stimulated, both feet are enraged. Up into the hands the pain goes attempting to balance it’s ever teetering boat.

      The silver lining to my RSD disability is that I have been swimming each day for the past six years because I need to move, fast. I am and always will be a race horse. I developed and continue to manage a series of large splashy paintings of the Pool. I relish the lane markers, the blue and white flags that hover over the pool signaling to the swimmers that prefer backstroke to take caution that the edge of the pool is near. I revel in the sunlit waters during the day, and I am charmed by the underwater lights which flood the mint-colored water with chartreuse green. Who among us can immerse themselves in their favorite color every day?

      https://nancymeagherart.com

    • Michael Menchaca

      MFA Printmaking ’15

      In recent years I have become aware of my emotional and mental health limitations, experiencing paralyzing immobility effects due to information overload while interacting as a person of color on popular social media platforms. I am comforted by my recent turn to drawing and painting as my way of coping with these increasing anxieties. As the level of responsibility and expectation within my art career continue to rise, along with my ethical qualms regarding social media’s negative affects on world democracies, I will no doubt rely on the activity of meditative art-making in order to maintain my mental health.

      https://michaelmenchaca.com

    • Francisco Moreno

      Painting ’12

      I am a painter and I have deuteranomaly, a type of red-green color blindness in which the green cones do not detect enough green and are too sensitive to yellows, oranges, and reds. This has led me to create works in which I limit my palette. I may at time use color but in strategic ways.

      I am also a Mexican-born American citizen. I think like many immigrants in America, we have a sense of displacement. We embody two different cultures and social histories, if not more. In my work, I try to collapse the source of imagery and create something that communicates that complexity.

      These are my realities. When I have a hard time making sense of something in my life, it becomes interesting for me to work through it in my art. Perhaps, I will never find the answer, and so the question will only become more complex; but there is beauty in that. I am just trying to make sense of the world around me. When I realized I couldn’t see all the colors, I just had to think about color differently. Instead of painting with color to create a pictorial space, I use it conceptually or to lay a foundation in which I paint on top of with a grayscale palette.

      https://www.franciscomoreno.net

    • Carrie Neiss

      Architecture ’93

      I graduated from RISD with a degree in Architecture in 1993. Soon after graduation, I started to witness my body whispering to me, telling me I was on the wrong track. This came about after a series of anxiety and depressive episodes, as I tried to work in an architect’s office. Rather quickly it became clear to me that my mission was to become a painter instead of an architect. The shift was diifficult yet necessary. As soon as I picked up a paintbrush, I felt at ease and peaceful on my new journey as an artist.

      As I took a deep look inside myself I began making portraits, which I‘ve done for many years now, depicting my inner world as I have journeyed through life. I’ve painted and draw my own spirit and others, as if in another realm or lifetime. I felt more at ease on an etheric plane than on the ground we all walk on. But at one point I began to feel very small and isolated from the rest of the planet. My immune system was depleted, and I became very sick. This forced me to look at my body. My pain brought me down to earth, back from the spiritual plane I was so comfortable on.

      I went from doctor to doctor and it turned out that I had a very severe sensitivity to mold. During this time I always kept a portable studio, drawing on paper to document my inner journey. My portraits showed the suffering of my human experience, mirroring my own journey as I felt the pain that was necessary for the healing process to continue.

      No longer stuck in my own head, I let life in a little at a time. Through these challenging years I have become more authentic, patient, and compassionate towards others. I am learning not to hide the person I truly am. My health is still challenged, but I trust that the healing which is necessary will bring me to a wiser place of understanding and compassion for life. I am grateful to have been able to express these changes through my drawings and paintings. Aware that I am only a conduit, I embrace the opportunity and ability to draw from within.

      www.carrieneiss.com

    • Joy Raskin

      Jewelry and Light Metals ’90

      Being deaf and legally blind has its challenges. The struggle to understand people takes a toll on me daily. Being able to create my own art, on my terms, in my own way, is how I function best. Metal is my life. I eat, breathe, live and think metal.

      But metalsmithing is a noisy profession, and repeatedly pounding on metal with hammers caused additional hearing loss at a time when I was already struggling with a 95% hearing deficit. Eventually I had to have cochlear implants put in my head in order to hear after loosing most of my very limited hearing. One of my cochlear implants is so old, that I am now considered a pioneer in the cochlear implant field. I was lucky to have a professor in graduate school with a cochlear implant who shared his experience of the device with me. Being deaf also has advantages; I don’t have to listen to the hammering or the high-pitched whine of power tools, in my studio. I don’t regret being a metalsmith, it’s a solitary profession, and really it’s ideal for me.

      Being legally blind creates challenges too. As I get older, my eyesight is declining and this makes it harder to read and see fine details. Also my ability to see at night is mostly gone. Of course I had to pick a profession that requires a great deal of precision work using microscopes, Optivisors and jeweler’s loupes.

      Still, being deaf and legally blind has also made me more empathic as a teacher. I can take my metalsmithing and jewelry-making students’ limitations into consideration with greater understanding.

      As I get older, I retreat more and more into my silent world and create very labor- intensive artwork. I can also spend hours or even days just hammering sheet metal into small bowls or utensils as lose myself in the rhythm my hammer creates. It’s my meditation.

      http://www.joyraskin.com

    • Diane Rolnick

      Painting ’73, MAT ’84

      My struggles with depression, attention deficit hyper activity disorder, and anxiety that began in childhood, have followed me through my adulthood. They often interfere in my life, my activities, and my creative process for long periods of time. These mental issues have made me feel inadequate, like a stranger to others, and have caused me excruciating pain over small problems and interactions. I have always felt that I have been hiding in plain sight. In spite of these issues and with help, I have persevered by recognizing how my enormous curiosity, desire to create, passion for teaching and helping others has enriched my life. My sense of the depth and intricacies of human nature inform my creative practice. They inspire me to create layers of complexity in my work, to look for the “other” in my compositions, and to never give up.

      www.dianerolnick.com

    • Lily Siegel

      Film Animation Video ’17

      Being abled differently doesn’t impact my life. It is my life.

      That’s the most straightforward way to explain being an amputee to an able bodied person. Being born with several limb differences set me on a specified path. I was adopted into an American Jewish family after being born in South Korea. I was raised and currently live in Birmingham, Alabama. I went to RISD because of the privileges of my American family. I strive to create honest and personal work because that is what’s most meaningful to me. Why should we create work for others, anyway?

      https://vimeo.com/lilyahreesiegel

    • Nancy Cook Smith

      Textiles ’74

      I was born deaf. I did not have the same means of communication as other kids, so the creation of something physical and visual became my voice. I had an innate affinity with the tactile nature of things and a fine sense of color; these lead me to start working with fabrics. I began sewing when I was ten.

      After graduating from RISD, I began my career in fashion creating hand-woven textiles, which became the basis for the fine art fabric collages I make today. I combine anything that works, store-bought fabric or materials I find in the alley on my daily walks; it doesn’t make a difference to me. In the end it’s all thread, each special in its own way. Every fabric and material carries its own history. I appreciate them for their unique traits. I use their individual characteristics to create my world, combining old and new to tell my story.

      When I was designing fashion, the actress Anne Bancroft was my client. She told me “Talk in a deep voice…they will listen.” She was referring to my physical voice but this speaks to my artistic voice as well, which I stitch deep with layers and deep in reflection. The act of making art and the process of putting together each piece has the deepest personal meaning to me that I do not have the words to describe.

      www.nancycooksmith.com

    • Allen Spetnagel

      Illustration ’02

      I’m an alumnus of the RISD Illustration class of 2002 and have been living in recovery from schizophrenia since 2004. I use the term “living in recovery” because schizophrenia is a mental illness that has no cure. The mere fact that I make any artwork at all is an act of rebellion against my disease. People with schizophrenia sometimes exist in what has been called a “secondary theater of operations,” which I would describe as a reality within the perceived reality that we all try to agree upon and adhere to. This unreal, secondary reality can lead one to interpret statements and events in a drastically different manner from his or her peers. It can lead to anger, fear, and anxiety that eventually express themselves in different form. My method for creating has become less concerned with content and quality and more concerned with regularity. I am interested in creating structure in my life to combat the intrusive feeling that nothing in life has positive consequences. That feeling of apathy is my schizophrenia taking control. I schedule time devoted to art making every day. I draw for at least an hour every morning as soon as I wake up. I try to paint or accomplish more free-form projects in the afternoons. Keeping up with my tasks of daily living and avoiding social isolation are equally challenging. A small bit of art–making, however, is a tangible sign that I am still making progress in my recovery.

      https://allenspetnagel.blogspot.com

    • Shauna Summers

      Counseling & Psychological Services

      I have visual impairments, the remnants of congenital cataracts for which I had surgery as an infant. I’m told I was the first infant in the state of Indiana to have cataract surgery. I was three months old when the cataract was removed from my right eye and five months old when it was removed from my left. I can’t imagine how my parents must have felt handing me over to have a surgeon cut my eye open.

      During the two months between surgeries, my right eye grew stronger while my left eye just floated around in the milky environment created by cataracts. My left eye has never quite caught up to my right. I don’t have depth perception so I see things in sizes rather than distances.  3-D movies are the closest I can come to experiencing depth perception. Also, I barely have any peripheral vision. Because of this I prefer to walk slightly behind people when we are walking together. I’ve been left behind so many times because the person I’m walking with turns or stops, and I have no idea until I sense that they are no longer with me.

      I’ve adapted well, mostly due to the tremendous privileges I’ve had throughout my life: health insurance to cover surgeries, medical care, glasses, contacts, and magnifiers. My parents and grandparents did everything they could to provide me with excellent health care and support in school. Growing up they also provided me the opportunity to attend programs through the local League for the Blind.

      People with 20/20 vision don’t need to be taught how to see, but that isn’t true for me. This has several side effects. I never quite learned to observe slight social cues the same way fully sighted people do. I sometimes miss when a friend starts to tear up ever so slightly. But I’ve learned that I just need to tell people about my vision, what I can see and what I miss. I also need to ask a lot of questions. The people in my life have always responded with care and love. Always. I appreciate artists and designers for so many reasons, and one is because you have also been taught how to see, maybe not in quite the same way that I had to learn, but in a way that makes me feel like I belong in this community.

    • Emma Werowinski

      Textiles ’18

      I am incredibly grateful to have excellent vision in my left eye.

      However, I cannot see out of my right eye because of Coats Disease.

      You wouldn’t know this unless I just told you. Here I pause for you to squint at your screen, tilt your head slightly and try to picture it, lifting up your hand to cover your right eye so that you can “see” what I mean, pun intended. But it doesn’t work that way.

      I don’t often talk about this bilateral-half-blindness except to make jokes about it, or to apologize for bumping into someone. The reality of only seeing out of one eye, affects my life constantly, and yet it doesn’t. My work has nothing to do with it, and yet it has everything to do with it at the same time. In comparison to people who see out of both eyes, my eyesight might seem like a series of coping mechanisms. But I don’t feel compelled to analyze about how my day-to-day is different.

      Recently, my mom shared that she knew she didn’t have a normal suburban kid when she realized that she couldn’t enroll me in soccer. Upper middle class suburban childhood + fewer seeing eyes = no flying objects. Probably the entire course of my life stems from being enrolled in ballet instead, no flying objects there either. Human society prizes vision above all other senses, but there are many types of vision. I love my eyes and I’m proud of them both ways.

      Five year old me wanted to keep my right eye in a jar if I had to have it removed; this is common with Coats Disease patients. So if, and more likely when that happens, I guess I’ll have to make art about it. Until then, artists are asked to see the world differently, so I’ll just continue doing that.

      https://www.emmawerowinski.com

    • Jennifer Woronow

      Illustration ’06

      Living with co-occurring mental health disorders has taught me a great deal about personal resilience. I am in recovery for Major Depressive Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I also live with a type of obsessive-compulsive behavior called dermatillomania. I experienced psychiatric hospitalization when I was in my early twenties and have overcome suicidal feelings. Today I can successfully manage my symptoms with the aid of trauma-focused therapy, exercise, and medication.

      There was a point at which depression and PTSD made me feel very detached from myself and from the world around me. During treatment in 2016, my therapist recommended that I reclaim my creative side as a way to help heal. I make mixed media paintings as a reminder that my mind has healed and is capable of producing creative, intuitive thoughts. I see myself as a changed person and never a broken one. I make art to affirm that my life is worth living. It’s important for differently-abled people to recognize their strengths and achievements. My mental illness informs how I navigate the world, but it does not define me as an individual. As a person in recovery, I want to tell others that finding self-acceptance and your place in the world is possible.

    • Chia-Chi Wu

      MFA Ceramics ’19

      I believe that everyone is unique and individual. I am a sensitive person. And being a sensitive person, I can feel overwhelmed easily. I’ve often been told that I think too much, which simply leaves me feeling different and unaccepted. But there are many positive aspects to being a sensitive person. Through working on my projects, which reveal my inner thinking, I discover and re-discover who I am, and learn how to embrace myself. In order to convert the concept of “sensitive people” into sculpture, I begin by observing people’s postures. I believe that personality can be revealed through body language, and that body language can sometimes be a more direct and honest way to express our feeling rather than words. The figures in my work are based on the postures of sensitive people.

      https://www.chiachiwustudio.com

     

    Portraits
    Videos
    Book

    About

    Each of us has a story to tell – compiled from the rich reservoir of our history, our life experiences, our creative vision and the distinctive details that make us unique. At RISD these stories intersect, overlap and are stitched together by our shared passion for creativity. Together they create the beautifully diverse tapestry that is RISD – that makes our community so strong.

    The RISDiversity: Community Narratives project was created in 2011 to offer faculty, staff, students and alumni an opportunity to use their voices to inspire others about the impact each of us can make in the world. The project provides a glimpse into the hearts and minds of the eclectic individuals who make up the RISD community.

    The exhibition by the same name features a series of portraits by photographer, author, and educator Adam Mastoon, accompanied by powerful text and artwork created by RISD staff, faculty, students, and alumni willing to share their voices and vision with the community.

    The collection of portraits provides an inspiring and insightful look into the unique and authentic lives of its subjects, their journeys, and stories.

    www.adammastoon.com
    Adam Mastoon utilizes the power of images and narratives to celebrate diversity in communities nationwide.

    Portraits

    Videos

    Take a look behind the scenes to learn more about the the RISDiversity project, and more about our students, faculty and staff.

    What is Diversity

    Behind the Scenes 2015: Indhu Solayappan

    Behind the Scenes 2015: Yelitsa Jean-Charles

    Behind the Scenes 2015: Jacob Vidal Seiferle-Valencia

    Behind the Scenes 2015: Samantha Weiser

    Behind the Scenes 2014: Adam Blake

    Behind the Scenes 2014: Alicia Deyanira Luzón-Villaman

    Behind the Scenes 2014: Eric Telfort

    Behind the Scenes 2014: Leah Benjamin

    Behind the Scenes 2014: Pradeep Sharma

    RISDiversity: An Introduction

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Nafis White

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Kelley Mills and Matt Bengochea

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Soung Park

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Rachelle Crosby

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Pamela Chavez

    Behind the Scenes 2013: Eric Estenzo

    Behind the scenes 2012: Michael Cooley

    Behind the scenes 2012: Agus Winangun

    Behind the scenes 2012: Steven Bailey

    Book

    Check out RISDiversity Community Narratives, a vibrant 140 page book that celebrates five years of beautiful photographs and compelling stories. All proceeds from the book go to scholarships for students needing support with supplies, travel funds, tuition and much more.

    Excerpt

    Connect

    If you’d like to be involved in this project, please contact Candace Baer, Vice President for Human Resources at cbaer@risd.edu.

    Purchase the RISDIversity book and help write the story of a young artist.

    Learn more about our RISD Resources around disabilities.