
Textile Art Newsletter
2012, #1
True Love
When I'm working on a piece of art that I really love, I feel infatuated. I don't mean that I feel really happy about whatever I'm working on, I mean that it literally feels just the same
as other kinds of infatuation. Like dating, when you think you may have met The One. Like when you gaze in amazement at your newborn's toenails and cannot stop boring your friends about how
perfect they are. Infatuation describes how I feel about the art that I'm making right now.
In a previous newsletter, I wrote about my new exploration into the world of concrete sculpture. At that time, I had just finished making the armature for a sculpture of a
mitten and I promised an update.
I applied concrete to the armature last summer and am in the process of gluing tiny mosaic tiles to the surface. In the photo to the left, you can see the original fur mitten next to the concrete sculpture. The process
is taking much more time than I would have imagined and I have not yet finished applying the mosaic tiles. As I glue the tiles on, gravity pulls them out of place, so I have to lay the
concrete piece flat and work on just a small section at a time.
I am also sewing some truly goofy-looking stripped leggings, made from tee shirts that I bought at a thrift store. The leggings will be the inspiration for another concrete/mosaic sculpture. I like the color
combination, even if it is A LITTLE BIT LOUD.
A few years ago I wrote about a silk wall hanging that I made from pieces of junk silk. the picture that is below and to the right is of the armature that I made based on this wall hanging.
I like the armature more than I like the silk piece, so we'll see how it turns out once I apply the concrete and the tiles.
I'm really experienced at working with fabric, have a little experience with tile, and am a complete novice at building armatures and working with concrete. Somehow the combination of know-how
and lack thereof is making me just crazy-infatuated with what's going on downstairs in my studio.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2012 Cheryl Gorn
2011, #3
Teaching Science and Heart
If you have a look at New York State’s Science Learning Standards and Core Curriculum (which I recommend as a sleep aid*) you’ll see a lot about testing theories, but not much about life lessons. That’s
why I’ve been dazzled by the creative way that Mary McManus of Tamarac High School incorporates art, science and the concept of service. She not only goes way beyond what she is required to
teach, she does it in a way that engages the students because it's fun. I am so pleased that I will be returning to Ms. McManus' classroom for the fifth year in a row to be a part of this
extraordinary program.
Here is how it works—I talk to the students about toxins in conventional clothing manufacture and present some eco-friendly alternatives to help them reduce their carbon footprint.
Then I teach the students some basic silk painting techniques and they create their own silk paintings. I’ve seen students paint everything from a beautifully rendered DNA double helix to
exotic flowers and stylized wildlife.
I understand that the students look forward to painting with me, and it's fun for me to see their artwork develop. However, but what happens after I leave is most unusual. The student art is
made into a quilt, an auction is held and the money is donated to charity.
Combining art with science is an innovative idea, but including service into the mix goes well beyond what is normally seen in the classroom. It's really something to see meaning and heart
included in the avalanche of facts that students are required to learn.
*Catch some zzz's now at http://www.emsc.nysed.gov/ciai/mst/scirg.html.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2011 Cheryl Gorn
2011, #2
Concrete Mitten
I've decided to give some of my textile art pieces an extended life by reinterpreting them as concrete and mosaic sculptures. Fabric is
fragile. As much as I love working with it, I don't like the idea that my fabric pieces do not last.
Mosaic and concrete, on the other hand, are almost indestructible. I'll continue to make textile art but will also make some of my designs
into mosaic and concrete sculptures.
I've made a few mosaics, but concrete is completely foreign to me. My first attempt is a simple design, a single mitten, based on a pair that
I made using the skins from an old mink stole and a leather jacket.
Using cardboard, chicken wire, a kind of mesh called hardware cloth, and some duct tape, I made an armature strong enough to support the
wet concrete. The armature is larger than the actual mitten to accommodate the glass tiles that I will use for the surface design.
Since taking the two photos that you see here, I have begun to add layers of concrete to the armature. Once that's done, I will start applying the tiles. I am hopeful that this
will turn out to be something other than a very heavy blob on my studio table, and will let you know, in a future newsletter, how it works out.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2011 Cheryl Gorn
2011, #1
At Last, My Book is for Sale!
I love clothing. I make it, think about it all the time and sometimes create art that's about how much I love it. Those of you who have been
reading this newsletter for several years might remember that I also enjoy secondhand clothing stores and that I buy most of my clothing used.
As much as I appreciate secondhand clothes, I know that there is a stigma about buying and wearing garments that were once worn by
somebody else. This continues to be true despite the current state of the economy, and the fact that used clothing is a far smarter choice
environmentally. I believe that the stigma needs to be smashed, and I have done two things to reach this goal. In 2006 I created a yearly
holiday called Secondhand Wardrobe Week. In 2012 it will take place February 26th through March 3rd. The other thing I've done is to write a
book about how to find great used clothing. The book is called The Secondhand Wardrobe: Have Fun Finding Stylish, Earth-Friendly Used
Clothing Deals and was published in January of this year. Because I'm a textile artist with 30+ years of secondhand shopping experience,
I know how to tell great used clothing from what should be left on the rack. My book explains how to do just that.
You can read more about both my book and Secondhand Wardrobe Week at my other
website.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2011 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2010, #3
I'm Still Here
It isn't an accident that many schools refer to art
as an “extra”. Anything that's an extra can be eliminated
without it hurting too much, right? Actually, no, it can
hurt quite a lot.
Sitting still and absorbing information
through my ears is almost impossible for me, which is why I hated school.
I am a tactile learner. When I make
something with my hands, I learn quickly and remember the
information forever. When I'm forced to sit and listen, I become so
restless, itchy, and annoyed that I have to fight with
myself just to stay in one place.
I can't go back and make my school years less miserable,
but creating and teaching my programs is the next best thing.
It feels like a kind of do-over. That's the reason why my
commitment to arts in education is both very personal and
very important to me.
Unfortunately, when cuts have to be made in this
tough economy, art is one of the first things to go.
I keep hearing from teachers and arts in education
coordinators that they want to hire me but don't have
the funds right now. It has gotten harder for me to
stay in business, but I plan to do what I need to so that
when the economy gets better, I will still be here.
I do have to admit that this is one of those times when I
wonder what my life would have been like if I'd become a
dentist. Dentists can earn a decent and reliable income.
Even when times are tough, most people think of dental
care as a necessity. It's too bad that we cannot say
the same for the arts.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2010 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2010, #2
Rescue from the Vortex
Horrible art, like the piece you see here,
can be a great thing. That’s because a part
of me, and I don’t mean the well-adjusted
part, feels that each piece I make has to be
magnificent. Since nobody, including people
who are much more talented than me, makes
only magnificent artwork, it’s pretty silly
to expect myself to only produce masterpieces.
Unfortunately, it’s not only silly. Expecting
myself to create only excellence makes it
hard to make anything. Here is how it
works:
1. I expect only masterpieces
2. I get scared that I’ll make something
that isn’t a masterpiece.
3. In fact, it will be so much less than
masterpiece quality that it will be
embarrassing. I will be forced to recognize
that I’ve grossly over-estimated my talent.
4. The next thing I know, I’m wandering
in and out of my studio, feeling anxious and
telling myself to start a new piece, unable
to come up with fresh ideas. This can go on
for a while. It’s like writer’s block, which
I never get. I expect only adequacy from my
writing, not brilliance, so there’s no
pressure.
Horrible art comes in handy when I’m headed on
this downward spiral. I purposely make one
really terrible piece and then I start to feel
better. That’s because I know that when I try,
I’m capable of doing work that’s much better
than a poorly painted duck head growing out
of a bootie. Awful paintings like this one
help me move past my fears. I can get back to
work, forgetting about being the best in the
universe and instead focusing on just doing
my best.
If you'd like to send me a message about
this newsletter or whatever else might be on
your mind, click here for a feedback form.
©2010 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2010, #1
Remembering Soupy
I was in the second grade the day that I walked into
the school auditorium, got behind a
cardboard stage and performed a puppet show in
front of the entire student body, the teachers
and the parent teacher organization. I made
the puppets and the stage myself and wrote
most of the material. But some of it I stole
from my idol, Soupy Sales, who had a very
popular TV show for kids in the early 1960’s.
Viewing clips of his comedy today
still makes me laugh. Soupy died October 22,
2009. He was 83 years old.
On his show, Soupy threw pies in people’s
faces and was regularly visited by crazy
neighbors and loud, demanding animal puppets.
He offered words of wisdom to his audience,
such as these gems that I found on the back of
my old Soupy Sales trading cards: “Don’t tell
anybody that you have false teeth—unless it
comes out in conversation” and “When things
look black—send them to the laundry.”
A few months ago I wrote a newsletter about
how shy I was as a kid (see below, 2009, #3).
I was quiet in class and unfamiliar adults
terrified me. But that day in the second
grade, art pushed me to transform myself from
a shy little girl into the child who stood in
front of an audience and made them laugh. My
art, in the form of puppets, script and hand
painted stage, was rudimentary and some of it
was stolen from Soupy, but my enthusiasm for
it was boundless.
I remember Soupy as the comedic innovator who
provided the silliness that I needed after
many long days at school. And although he didn’t know it, he was also
someone who inspired me to reach.
©2010 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2009, #4
Teachers, I Salute You!
My friend Bonita, who has been a teacher for 25
years, was at lunch one day with another friend of
hers who expressed the uninformed opinion that teaching is
not only an easy job, but also that teachers are
overpaid. I’m not sure how Bonita managed to get
through the meal without choking, but I was
choking mad when she told me about it.
My work as a visiting artist has
been an education in just how difficult the job of
classroom teaching can be. There are the combined,
and often contradictory, pressures from both
administrators and parents. And, of course, the
often too-large classes include kids who lack
basic impulse control and simple manners, hungry
kids and some who are being treated very badly
at home.
Aside from being such a difficult job, it also requires
a master's degree in Education while paying so little.
I do know that the benefit packages for teachers—health
plans, pensions and such—tend to be good. It’s also
true that the time off is terrific compared to most other
fields. And everybody has experienced at least one terrible
teacher who shouldn’t be in the classroom. They don’t
especially like children, don’t care what the kids learn
and are just putting in their time before they retire.
But there are also teachers
who spend the last few weeks of their summer vacation
running from one office supply store to the next, spending
their own money to grab up cheap pencils, paper, and
folders for students whose
families can't afford them. These are the educators
who can’t bear to teach the same lessons in the same
way over and over because they know that improvements
are always possible, so they spend their evenings and
weekends reworking lesson plans to make sure that the
kids will enjoy learning. These teachers need the
vacations because the job is so labor intensive and
emotionally draining.
I thank all of the wonderful, dedicated teachers
(and of course that includes all of you who are reading
this) for doing your best to educate the next generation
of Americans. And I also wanted to let Bonita know that
she should tell her friend to put a sock in it.
©2009 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2009, #3
My Bony Legs were Showing
“Want to go hide in the closet?”
You bet I did! Meeting new people was painful
for me because of my shyness.
I was 10 years old, and my parents had decided
that my two older brothers and I were outgrowing
our house. They were right—with five people in our
family, we were constantly tripping over each other
on our way to the one bathroom. So the house went
up for sale and a steady stream of strangers
kept showing up at the door.
One afternoon, while deeply involved with my friend
Sylvia in a make-believe drama that included troll dolls
and miniature clay food items, I heard the doorbell
ring. My friend was aware that my parents were trying to
sell our house and she had already met the realtor
as well as several potential buyers. Sylvia hated meeting
new people almost as much as
I did, and she was the one who suggested hiding in
the closet. We shut the door and felt pretty satisfied
with ourselves. That is, until we heard the realtor,
who was now in an adjoining room, opening a closet
door in order to show off the storage space. We knew
that we were seconds from discovery, so my friend wisely
strolled out, said hello and locked herself in the
bathroom. Too scared to think quickly, I stayed where
I was and hoped that they wouldn’t notice me hiding
behind the hanging clothes. I didn’t realize that my
bony legs were showing.
There was a long pause after the realtor opened my
closet door, and then he said, “Hmm…I didn’t know
they made clothing with legs.” I felt so humiliated
when everybody laughed.
I’m not quite as shy as I was back then. I have
learned that the more I talk to new people, the less
frightening it is. At parties I look for people who seem
ill at ease about being by themselves and push myself to
initiate conversations with them. As I’ve slid into middle
age, I’ve also learned to pay less attention to how I feel
minute-by-minute. Shy right now? Wait an hour or so and
another feeling will take its place.
But some days I still feel like a scared 10-year-old.
A few years ago I went to a dinner meeting of a professional
organization that sounded like it might be a good group for met to
join. I drove to the meeting place, paid $25.00 for the
rubber chicken and walked into the dining hall where
at least 300 people were all happily gabbing away.
After holding onto my glass of seltzer for ten minutes,
trying to feign extreme interest in the bubbles, I
strolled over to the coat room and considered grabbing
mine and leaving. Nobody would know or care; there was
only $25.00 to lose. Well, that and any respect that
I had for myself. I went back into the hall and sat at
one of the empty dinner tables. When people finally
took their seats, I spoke with the people to my right,
my left and the folks across the table. At some point,
somebody admired my guts for coming to the event by
myself. Hey, I admired my own guts for being there alone.
So now you not only know my secret, you know how I’ve
coped. Perhaps you’ll run into me at a party some day
and see me smiling and chatting away. You won’t be fooled
because you’ll know that I’m still the little girl who
sometimes wants to go hide in the closet, bony legs and all.
©2009 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2009, #2
Get out the Arsenic
My husband and I have religiously put money
away for college for our two kids. We started when
they were babies and in recent years, our children
have also contributed a percentage of their earnings
from their part-time jobs.
It’s too bad that the cost of going to college
has increased at such a shameful rate while we’ve
been putting money away. Our stockpile of college
savings is now actually an anthill compared to the
Mount Everest that our children need to get themselves
through four or six years of college. Necessity has
forced me to create a new plan. It’s so simple that
I’m surprised that the college catalogues don’t
suggest it. Here it is—my husband and I will sell
all of our possessions including our home. For our
kids, and of course, their colleges, to get the full
benefit of our finances, my husband and I will also
have to eliminate any need that we might have now
or in the future. We’ll do that by eating enough
arsenic to kill ourselves. That’s right, you read
it here first; it’s the ultimate parental sacrifice.
The kids might miss us, and we’ll miss out on grandkids
and anything else that the future might hold, but at
least the colleges will be happy, and what else matters?
Disclaimer: This is supposed to be a humorous entry.
I do not intend to eat arsenic, nor does my husband.
Nobody should eat arsenic. Instead they should stay well
and explain to the financial aid people at the colleges
of their choice that the tuition and fees are ridiculous.
They should then demand more support for students and families.
©2009 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2009, #1
Junk Art
A month ago I decided to clean my art studio,
which often means weeding through piles of
fabrics. This time I decided to dispose of
whatever was lurking in the large plastic bin
that I’d marked “silk scraps”. The contents
turned out to be a personal history of my
life as a silk painter. There were scraps
from my first silk painting attempts, 18
years ago; many squares of fabric that I
had used to demonstrate silk painting
techniques for my workshops over the years;
bits of accessories and Judaica that I
made during my unfortunate time as a
crafter (see below, Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #4) and lots of first drafts of
paintings. I threw out some of it
immediately, and used some to make the
piece that you see here.
This piece was great fun to make,
partly because I violated almost every
rule and every habit that I stick to when
making art. I usually start by sketching
out an idea for a design and either paint
the design on silk or make it into a
sculptural piece by building it out of fabric.
But for this piece of junk art, instead of
working from a sketch, I rummaged through
the pile of silk scraps, chose a few pieces,
cut them up and combined them into a pleasing
mix of color and shape. Then I stuck them
in place using liquid starch as a temporary
adhesive and quilted it all together. I generally
don't use starch with silk because it will
eventually make the fabric deteriorate.
Because I was once a museum curator I feel
compelled to make art that will hold up well
over time. But I figured, hey, this is made
from junk! Why not just enjoy and not worry
about what will happen to it at some point
in the future?
In fact, it’s been so enjoyable that I
finished one more junk piece after the
one you see here, and have started on another.
I think that says a lot about the value of sometimes
just allowing art to happen instead of working
so hard to make it just right.
Whatever fabric project I’m working on,
whether it’s junk art or my usual, more
deliberate style, there’s nothing else
that feels so much like play as messing
around with fabric. Unfortunately, while
there was once a bin that contained all
of my silk scraps, there is now a mountain
of scrap that’s on my ironing table, some
of which is falling onto the floor and getting
tracked into other rooms. My studio is much
more of a mess than when I started trying to
clean it. But then again, nobody ever said that
making art was tidy.
©2009 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #5
Is it art? Is it craft? Here's my opinion.
I went with my family to a modern art museum
recently. One of the rooms had nothing but
canvasses that were painted entirely black.
My husband asked me how a completely black
canvas could be considered art. My answer was
and still is that I don’t know.
I believe that art requires three things
from the artist—innate talent, an effort at
honing that talent and creativity. For me, two
of those parts, talent and effort, were
missing in the creation of the black canvases.
It annoys me when museums and art galleries
claim that pieces lacking these two elements
have great artistic significance because I
don’t define them as art.
On the other hand, I get frustrated when I
see pieces that demonstrate enormous talent
and effort but that lack a creative spark.
Frustrated because I can’t call those pieces
art either.
Last summer when we were on vacation, we
stopped at a quilt shop in a tiny beach town
in Oregon. A customer came in to show the
storeowners some finished quilt squares. I’m
so glad that I was there to look at her work
because it was among the finest I’ve ever
seen—and since I’m a former museum curator,
I’ve seen plenty. She expected that it would
take her another ten years or so to finish the
quilt. I was in awe.
It was a real let down for me when she
mentioned that she was using a design from a
book instead of her own. Even with all of her
hard work and skill, because the quilt lacks
her creative input, I would call it
unbelievably superb craftsmanship, but not
art.
I still love going to modern art museums
even though they sometimes contain work that
looks like a toddler spent a few minutes
making it. That’s because sometimes I also
get to see wonders of creativity, skill and
hard work, all rolled into one piece. When I
do, it makes it worth putting up with the
rest.
©2008 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #4
These might look like brightly colored boomerangs, but they
are actually hand painted silk shawl collars.
I periodically get asked if I sell my artwork, and the answer
is that at the moment I’m happy to make pieces, rotate them
in my home, and occasionally get them out for a special
exhibit. But there was a time when I actively made fine craft
to sell.
It was 1990 when I first asked myself how I could combine
textile art with making money. “Hey, I make stuff and I
like going to fine craft fairs. Maybe I could sell what
I make at those sorts of places.” I’m not sure of why this
made sense to me at the time because I hate selling, even
though the selling gene shows up on both sides of my family.
My dad and my mom’s brother, Uncle Victor, absolutely
relished selling thousands of that 1970’s men’s fashion
called the leisure suit. In case you weren’t around then,
these suits were made of crunchy, texturized polyester
and came in sorbet colors like mint and cantaloupe. My
relatives were especially delighted when customers bought
two of the same style in different colors.
Even if I had enjoyed the selling process, I couldn’t
have lasted long in the fine craft business. One reason
is that I like making one-of-a-kind pieces, but for the
shows I had to make endless multiples. Also, many of the
shows that I attended were organized in ways that made
selling nearly impossible. My rock bottom worst fair
placed me next to the food court, which people had to
walk through in order to enter the show. Customers were
either eating fried dough while they handled my silks, or
standing in front of my booth, having screaming
conversations with their friends because the music
in the hall was turned on so loud.
After my largely unpleasant experiences with the
craft world, I started looking into creating my
educational programs. As they say, you’ve got to
kiss a few frogs before you find your prince, and
while the craft fairs were definitely frog-like for
me, the teaching is absolutely regal. Perhaps at
some point I’ll want to push to get my art out there,
but I guarantee that you’ll never catch me doing it
behind a table at a craft show.
©2008 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #3
I bought these Salvatore
Ferragamo boots at a consignment store.
The original retail price was $1000.00.
My price was $25.00.
It’s not at all unusual for
those of us who love fabric and
clothing to also love secondhand
clothing stores. Since we already
know what wonderful clothes look
like, it’s easy for us to pick
them out even when they’re crammed
on racks with other, far less
wonderful items. For me, the fun
of shopping secondhand has a lot
to do with the teeny, tiny prices.
The icing on the cake is that
clothing reuse is a good thing for
the environment. Every time a new
garment is made, resources are
used and pollutants are emitted.
When you buy used clothing,
you’re not adding to this problem.
Even though I’ve been shopping
the thrifts for 30 years, until
pretty recently only my closest
friends knew. Then one day I gave
a speech on the topic to my speakers
group, Toastmasters, thinking
that it might amuse people in a
quirky kind of way. A fellow group
member, Glenn Harrison, told me
that other people could benefit
from knowing what I know, and he
kept hounding me to start writing
about it until I gave in.
A few months ago I started a blog
about secondhand clothing and am
building a website around the blog
that will have information about
the financial, ecological and style
benefits of buying used. I also
have written a guidebook that tells
how to create a wardrobe from
thrift store finds, which I will
sell as an e-book.
My blog is located at
www.secondhandwardrobe.com.
Have a look and leave me a
comment. See you there!
©2008 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #2
"Too Much Alone Time", Silk Painting, Copyright Cheryl Gorn, 2008, 21" x 22"
I’ll be hanging around with my
daughter when she’ll suddenly
pop out with, “Oooh, I love the
shape of her nostrils.” She
constantly draws faces so she
notices these things.
Before becoming her mother,
I didn’t particularly notice
facial features. But to make
the piece pictured in the
photo, I had to spend
a huge amount of time looking
at myself in the mirror so
I’d get it right.
For other pieces of art, I’ve
spent hours looking at
floorboards and the parts of
a salad, but when I made a soft
sculpture piece that included
an ice cream cone, I had to take
a picture of it because it
would have melted before I’d
gotten enough information. Of
course I ate it once I’d captured
the image.
I think that art is one way to practice
getting better at focusing on details. I
notice facial features more than I used to
but I've got to admit that nostril shapes
still don’t fascinate me.
©2008 Cheryl Gorn
Textile Art Newsletter
2008, #1
The Certainty of Right and Wrong
This morning, a driver in a huge pick-up truck
ignored the stop sign that’s at the
intersection in front of my home. This
happens all the time, which is why I pull out
of my driveway at about 3 miles per hour, with
my foot hovering over the brake. This morning
my first reaction to their bad driving was to
silently curse them and their immediate
relatives. My second reaction was to try to be
more understanding, wondering if perhaps
they were distracted by something in their
lives, were just plain tired, or maybe didn’t
take the time to eat and had low blood sugar.
I go through this all day long, trying to
remember that mine isn’t the only perspective,
to remember that life isn’t all black and
white, it’s more shades of gray.
It can get really tiring trying to put
myself in other peoples shoes this way, and
that’s why I loved creating my website. Let
me explain. To format the site, I used HTML code,
a kind of computer language. For example, I wanted the name
of my business in pretty letters at the top of the web
pages, so I typed in the letters,
numbers and symbols that tell
the computer, “Now, listen up computer,
I want you to put the name of my business in pretty
letters at the top of each page." At first
the computer left the space at the top of the
pages blank. Oops! That meant I'd made a mistake
when I entered the code. So I corrected my
error and then it worked. Simple and fantastic!
No energy spent wondering whether the computer
had low blood sugar, just a matter of making sure
that I fixed my mistakes.
I’m not implying that building the site
wasn’t frustrating—since I’d never written
code before, I made tons of mistakes, it took
much longer than I thought it would, and I
often wanted to hurl the computer out the
window (not very effective since our home is
one level). But there is something wonderful
about the certainty of right and wrong.
In general, I prefer shades of gray because
that’s where the fun is. But it’s reassuring
to know that when I get tired of trying to
fathom why other drivers don’t bother to stop
at stop signs, I can always go write some
code.
©2008 Cheryl Gorn