R

Spirit Mother, Christopher Al-Aswad, 2005

The spirit that dwells in my

mother, trickster and artist

A
alike, prods and pokes its way
into all of our lives. She likes
to cause problems, to upset
balances, to displace realities.
In Memory of
Rosalind Al-Aswad
(1942-2003)
The conventional is her foe.
Her presence almost makes
you nervous with the sheer
P
abundance of energy dancing on
her force-field. At any moment,
this abundance of life can rise
to an unheard-of pitch, and
O
suddenly, mysteriously, break
into a marvelous crescendo
of hysterical and contagious
E
laughter. Laughing in the
company of my mother is an
experience of ecstasy, complete
unconscious immersion
L
whirling in the absurdity of life:
crackling, squealing, shrieking
laughter. She feels her emotions Cu
from the center of her being; Th
total emotion, not inchoate
half-feeling. Complete pain,
complete joy, complete anger.
My mother cries in a movie
theatre like no Jewish mother
has ever cried in public before.
She lives at the maximum
threshold and her life is
overflowing. She lives, not apart
from the world, but within the
tumultuous movement and
ever-changing flow of it. She
lives without regrets, without
even the longing of unfulfilled Iw
exh
desires. Anything she wants The
to do in this life, she does. tale
ROSALIND
AL-ASWAD
PORTRAITS
OF AN
EXAMINED
LIFE
Curated by Lisa Wainwright, Dean of Graduate Studies
The School of the Art Institute of Chicago

I wish to thank the Al-Aswad family and especially Dr. Basel Al-Aswad for conceiving of the idea for the
exhibition. Dr. Al-Aswad’s enthusiasm and generosity in support of this project has been immeasurable.
The School of the Art Institute of Chicago thanks Dr. Al-Aswad for his assistance in showcasing our
talented and respected alumna Rosalind Al-Aswad.
 Plate 1
Best Laid Plans of Mice
and Men
42 x 29 inches
watercolor d’arches
1989

About the
Female Gaze

The legacy of Rosalind Al-Aswad resides in the dozens of paintings

and drawings she made of herself and others from 1985 to 1999.
Like many before her, Al-Aswad became an artist later in life,
bringing to her canvases the complexity of myriad roles as
business woman, mother, wife, daughter, citizen, friend, and artist.
Her life’s journey informed the paintings and gave them their
poignancy and critical edge. Al-Aswad gazed deep into the world
of human relations and chronicled the dynamics she found there. Plate 2
Using models and props within her reach—family, friends, and Your Highness
42 x 29 inches
the trappings of suburban life—she probed the mundane as watercolor d’arches
1989
a code for unlocking a deeper moral message. The work could
not be made fast enough to accommodate all that the artist
wished to say.
In the psychological mapping that Al-Aswad crafts in picture
after picture, sympathetic viewers trace familiar narratives, for
Al-Aswad took up with brush and pen those human dilemmas
with which we must all contend. Life defined by context, by the
trappings of class, by the social construction of gender, and by
the cultural traditions with which one identifies (or not) drove
her inquiry. She was an early feminist coming of age in the
tumultuous 60s and 70s, grappling with radically changing
notions of womanhood, and playing them out in her life practice
and through an art that laid bare all the attendant challenges of
independence. For Al-Aswad, the canvas became a lens through
which she observed her life and pieced together her disparate
selves in acts of salvation that sometimes only art-making
provides. “Without my painting I would go crazy,” she confessed
time and again.1
2
1

2
3 Pla
Wo
42 x
wat
198

4 Pla
Our
42 x
wat
198
Plate 3
Women in Black
The paintings in the memorial exhibition fall into three groups:
42 x 29 inches genre scenes of couples from the time the artist lived in Oakbrook,
watercolor d’arches
1989 Illinois and attended the School of the Art Institute of Chicago; the
political watercolors made after her return from Baghdad with her
Iraqi-born husband in 1989; and the late self-portraits proliferating
as she became more and more cognizant of her impending death
from a degenerative neurological illness. Oakbrook, Illinois is a
place in which Rosalind probably never imagined she would end
up living. Born Rosalind Dawn Ziv on the south side of Chicago,
around 47th Street, to Russian-Jewish working-class parents,
Rosalind fulfilled the expectations of the 1950s by marrying at 18
and having her first child at 22. She came from a long line of hard-
working Chicagoans going back to the mid-nineteenth century,
including tailors, gangsters, and shop-keepers. Her father was
a truck dispatcher and her mother worked as a bookkeeper for
a Chicago newspaper. Rosalind’s mother was a dominant force,
strong and controlling. She wanted her daughter to achieve all that
she had not, given the constraints of being a woman of a certain
class in the early 20th century. But despite a feminist tone set early
in the home, like many children, Rosalind
defied her mother’s wishes that she attend
Plate 4
Our Children
Smith College, and married instead.
42 x 29 inches Rosalind was divorced by the age of 30, in
watercolor d’arches
1989 1972. But the new, undeterred Rosalind Barbrow
(her first husband’s name) moved on to become
a highly successful fashion consultant and
designer for Sears, Roebuck while raising her
daughter Susan. At that time Sears was located
on Homan Avenue, a tough neighborhood west
of Chicago’s Loop, with an even tougher work
environment. She was the only female executive
in a large office of seasoned businessmen.
fig. 1 Nicknamed “Rocky” due to her tenacity in
putting up with the all-male work scene, her colleagues’ jocularity
nevertheless extended to limits that, fortunately for them, predated
sexual harassment legislation. But Rosalind endured, and the
incipient feminist subject matter took further hold.
Al-Aswad came to art through design. And like another female
artist, the well-known Hannah Höch, she learned the practice
of art through the only viable profession available to creative
women: sewing and pattern making. Al-Aswad proved savvy and
exhaustive in her abilities, creating her own brand identity before
5
such things were de rigueur [fig. 1]. She lectured on fashion,
grooming, visual poise, and modeling. She wrote “trend letters”
and taught classes in retail and fashion merchandising. As a fashion
Plate 5
coordinator for men’s wear at Sears, she designed affordable but On the Altar of Revolution
trendy sports shirts appropriated from the latest designs in Paris, 29 x 42 inches
watercolor d’arches
but altered and produced by the hundreds of thousands for Sears. 1991

Al-Aswad designed more than 35 million dollars’ worth of goods

a year for Sears and in the process refined her artist’s eye [fig. 2].
There is no doubt that the later paintings benefited from the early
commercial work, as they did for many American Pop artists of
the sixties: her sense of design, color, and pattern against pattern
are all a part of the complicated arrangements of props and
surfaces in the later work. And even the popular market that Sears
represented would stay with Al-Aswad when she turned to painting
the subject of everyday people in everyday situations, despite the
art school convention for postmodern painting at the time.
Rosalind met Dr. Basel Al-Aswad at a party in 1974. And following
on the challenge of being a business woman in the corporate world
of men, she began an unconventional
affair as a Jewish American woman
with a Christian Iraqi boyfriend. They
were married in July 1975 despite
warnings from his parents, who
were adamant that Basel not marry
an older divorcee with a child, not to
mention a woman of Jewish faith. But
after Rosalind and Basel’s first child,
Christopher, was born in 1979, the
family reconciled and Rosalind grew
closer to her Iraqi relatives, albeit
feeling estranged from the culture
fig. 2 with which her husband so closely
identified. There would always be a cultural divide, and Rosalind
put this tension into her work, just as she subtly wove a feminist
perspective throughout. Gender roles, culture, and religion were
all points of difference that Al-Aswad used to animate her intimate
portrayals of people in close proximity, yet far apart.
In December of 1988, during a period of relative stability after the
Iran-Iraq war, Dr. Al-Aswad took his family to Iraq. They had two
children then: Christopher, age 9, and Mandy, age 5. The visit made
a profound impact on Rosalind, and it came to drive the content
of her first important body of work. She came home from Iraq
6
 5
on
6 Pla
Don
You
29 x
wat
199

7 Pla
Spe
29 x
wat
199
Plate 6
Don’t Believe Everything
obsessed with Saddam Hussein and proceeded to make a suite of
You Read large-scale watercolors depicting the principal characters of the
29 x 42 inches
watercolor d’arches Middle East stage (see Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men, [1]).
1991
Figurative groupings including Hussein, Arafat, King Fahd of Saudi
Arabia, supplicants, and guards act out simple vignettes—all
under the horrified gaze of a mime in white face paint. Al-Aswad’s
doppelganger is the mime who, like Al-Aswad in Iraq herself, is
there as outside witness to the absurdity and tragedy of the scenes
before her.2
Rosalind writes in her travel journal: “…in the area [where]
my in-laws live, the internal police have taken up quarters. They
have taken over schools, private clubs, and homes. New people
do not want to move in. In better neighborhoods with fancier
homes, military personnel or prominent Baath party members
have taken up residency. At the curb in front of their homes are
trailers parked with two guards on duty, day and night.” Rosalind
saw how the situation directly impacted her husband’s family, and
so she translated their terror and grief into testimonials in paint.
Women in Black [3] depicts the sad mime in the foreground of the
composition ushering viewers into a space where two women sit
and mourn. All is set against an empty white ground that makes
Plate 7 the picture placeless, the subject timeless. And yet Rosalind’s
Speak Up
29 x 42 inches
source was quite specific: close family members had been
watercolor d’arches mysteriously accused of white-collar crimes and, with no trial,
1991
were put to death. Two years later, when the Al-Aswads visited,
the women were still in mourning for their husband and son.
On the Altar of Revolution [5], another Iraqi painting, is a large-
scale cartoon very much in the manner of 19th century realist
caricatures. It recalls Honoré Daumier’s “Gargantua,” for example,
of 1831, a scathing critique of the French leadership of Louis-
Philippe, in which Daumier depicts the rotund, seated king eating
the tax money while defecating more taxation decrees. Al-Aswad
likely knew this image from her art history classes at the School
of the Art Institute and she employs the same shifts in scale and
caricature rendering to depict the mighty Hussein, one arm holding
a model palace and the other a small red Mercedes around which
miniature soldiers hoist a rope to climb his grand facade. The first
President Bush looks on with contempt while Hussein rests his
foot on an oil can sputtering red droplets onto more of the robed
masses below. The painting is Al-Aswad at her most satiric and
surreal. She understood that oil was the lynchpin in the political
landscape of the time, but her representation only presaged how
9
 Plate 8
destructive it would become. Our Children [4], another from the Sunday Afternoon #2
series, vividly shows the damage done. At the upper left of the 40 x 60 inches
oil on linen
composition, a collaged photo of the main street in the ancient city 1991

of Babylon sets the context. Below the collage, Al-Aswad paints

small caricatures of warriors with spears and shields, who occupy
the edges of a field where two children, one on crutches and the
other with a missing arm, appear as the victims of the war that
rages around them. While the image was taken from an actual
photograph Al-Aswad found while sifting through hundreds of
newspapers while in Iraq and after, the subject is sadly universal.
In 1989 and in 2005 the victims
of greed, intolerance, and power
are evident for all to see.
Iraqi control interested the
artist greatly as an American
accustomed to an extraordinary
level of freedom. Don’t Believe
Everything You Read [6] and
Speak Up [7] were Al-Aswad’s
fig. 3 response. In both pictures,
Rosalind the mime is watched by the figure of Hussein as she
reads an Arabic newspaper and pretends to speak on the telephone.
Plate 9
She had been warned about Iraqi informants who listened for Sunday Afternoon #3
40 x 60 inches
disparaging remarks about Hussein, even those made in jest. oil on linen.
One could lose one’s life over such comments. Al-Aswad had also 1991

collected Iraqi newspapers and political posters and watched the

television, ever amazed at the level of propaganda issued by the
formal Iraqi press [figs. 3 and 4]. And while this body of work was
the immediate result of Al-Aswad’s trip to Iraq in 1988, the pictures
began to shape themes that would continue throughout her oeuvre.
The dynamic between Hussein and the mime, the leader and the
clown, a military green costume in contrast Next Page:
Plate 10
with one in rich red and purple, one male, Good Morning America
40 x 60 inches
the other female, one standing, the other oil on linen
submissive and seated, set up relational 1993

patterns key to Al-Aswad’s ongoing narrative. Plate 11

Interior Nature
Al-Aswad worked on the Iraqi series of 54 x 54 inches
paintings for more than a year after her oil and acrylic on linen
1993
return to the U.S., but she never showed them.
Plate 12
Basel’s family was still in Iraq at the time, and Dangling Conversations
they were afraid of retaliation. The pictures 54 x 54 inches
oil on linen
fig. 4 remained hidden until today. And now against 1993

10
8

9
10
11

12
13 Pla
It S
54 x
oil o
199

14 Pla
Man
54 x
oil o
199
Plate 13
It Seems Like Yesterday
the backdrop of the current Iraqi war, Al-Aswad’s images loom
54 x 54 inches large. Propaganda, loss, and destruction are again quite relevant
oil on linen
1992 to the latest military conflict in Iraq.
Al-Aswad’s next major body of work was completed while living
in suburban Oakbrook. She was finishing her degree at the School
of the Art Institute, raising little children while in her forties, and
being the wife of a doctor whose family was emigrating from Iraq.
“I paint on Monday, shop and cook on Friday,” she wrote, while
going to school full-time on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
Al-Aswad had never gone to college. So at the age of 43 she entered
into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country, and
again undaunted, proceeded to learn the content and technique
of visual art. The School’s well-known painting department was
fertile ground for Al-Aswad’s desire to learn. She worked with the
figurative artist Susanna Coffey and still-life painter Susan Kraut,
both instrumental in Al-Aswad’s development, as she would go on
to concentrate on works that combined both still life and portraiture.
Suburban life, however, was not ideal for Rosalind. She was
a city girl and waited for the time that she could return downtown.
She was not particularly maternal, she did not garden, she simply
wanted to paint. The Midwest Club, the gated community in
which she lived (and with which she could have titled one of her
Plate 14 paintings), with its man-made lakes and manicured lawns, was
Man’s Best Friend
54 x 54 inches far away from the urban culture in which she had grown up and in
oil on linen
1992
which her school and art community thrived. But again resolute,
she set about to paint what was at hand. From this corner of
Oakbrook emerged a series of ambitious large-scale paintings, all
of a similar format: two people in a room with props everywhere.
In complicated still-life studies, the artist set about painting the
everyday in highly symbolic terms.
Sunday Afternoon #1, #2 [8], and #3 [9] are three different
paintings of Al-Aswad’s models at the time: her housekeeper Lena
and Lena’s husband Harold. Each of the pictures shows the same
room with similar props and Harold in a wingback chair napping
or watching TV. Lena, more active, looks down with disgust at her
husband’s round, sedate body or gazes into a mirror fixing her hat
in order to get out into the world. In two of the pictures a window
looks onto a scene of fighting geese. Al-Aswad was fascinated with
these birds and depicts them over and over again in a number of
paintings. As geese are monogamous but ill-tempered, they were
perfect vehicles for the artist’s marital critique. She had begun
to question the complacent patterns marriage seemed to secure
15
and was also increasingly dissatisfied with suburban living and
her husband’s preoccupation with his Iraqi friends and relatives,
people to whom Rosalind felt profoundly culturally disconnected.
The paintings of Harold and Lena became reflections of the artist’s
troubled psyche.
Harold and Lena continued as key players in a number of Al- Plate 15
Left Behind
Aswad’s domestic dramas, some personal, others more political. 60 x 48 inches
oil on linen
She began to show images of the Iraqi war on the television that 1992
Harold sat before (Good Morning America [10]), or she would
include a gas mask resting on the back of a chair in which Lena sits
holding a fishing rod and staring at a tackle box and net (Interior
Nature [11]). In many of these pictures, Al-Aswad used exaggerated
shapes of shadows on the floors and walls, as well as mirrors
bouncing images around the space to heighten the emotional pitch.
At times, her motifs seemed to collapse onto the same plane with
the effect of one thing appearing to morph into another. In “Interior
Nature,” for example, Lena’s hair seems to rise up like that of a
Medusa’s head, but it is only the reflection of a grassy plant in the
mirror behind her. Or in Dangling Conversations [12], the base of
Lena’s phone at her ear turns into an Assyrian beard like those of
the soldiers in the earlier Iraqi work. The deliberate slippage of one
thing into another found in painting from Dali to Rosenquist was
not lost on Al-Aswad, who also worked to undermine that which
might appear normal.
Al-Aswad liked to complicate pictorial space with mirrors,
a common prop in vanitas still-lives. She pushed the iconography
further, however, hoping to destabilize everyday scenes with
endless spaces within spaces. It Seems Like Yesterday [13] shows
Basel’s parents in the midst of mirrors—on the wall, on the vanity,
hand-held—and in broken shards on the floor. Basel’s mother
is turned away from the viewer with only a glimpse of her face
reflected in the mirror she holds in her hand. Basel’s father stares
out expressionless and steady with hands and feet securely in
place. There are quirky elements all around: a Van Gogh-like chair
isolated in a far distant mirror, lingerie and stockings spilling out
of a dresser drawer, and the shattered mirrors, two piles each
adjacent to each of the figures. The curious props belie the vacant
expressions of the sitters, suggesting some underlying tension
close to the surface, if not directly expressed.
Al-Aswad never has her sitters engage with one another. In Meet
the Collins [16], a beautiful red and blue painting of a couple chosen
deliberately for their mixed-race status, each figure occupies its
16
15
16 Pla
Mee
60 x
oil o
199
 own world. Roosevelt Collins lounges on the setee reading the
Wall Street Journal, while Barbara, his wife, arranges a vase of
white flowers. Between them is a Jeff Koons-like terrier, a prop
Al-Aswad employed in many pictures. Dog statues frequent the
work, but they are sculptures—unreal, artificial—set into scenes
Plate 16 where questions about conventionality and its disabuse drive the
Meet the Collins
60 x 48 inches content. Every happy family should have a dog, or at least the
oil on linen
1991
pretense of one. In the Collins portrait, Al-Aswad’s preoccupation
with the cultural differences of her own marriage and marriage in
general was again investigated. Al-Aswad seemed to construct the
piece so that the portrait could be cut down the middle, with each
side—male and female—kept whole and complete. Marriage worked
when the integrity of one was not dependent on the integrity of
the other. However, Al-Aswad does give a newspaper to Roosevelt
and a flowering plant to Barbara, as if to deconstruct the marital
harmony by pushing the old conceit that women are closer to
nature and men to culture, and thus all is in balance.
Al-Aswad’s props, critical to all the compositions, denote an
active family life but connote much more. The things and tasks with
which one fills one’s life, she suggests, ultimately do not mask our
existential plight. Objects are merely the surfeit vestiges of roles
we are asked to play while searching for true fulfillment. And Al-
Aswad examines her people and props with a clinical light, a light
that is clear and diffuse. The light enhances the play of material
and surface that the artist was so adept at conveying. It is evident
how she took great delight in carefully rendering the floral pattern
of a chair, for example, or the arabesque design in a rug. Putting
pattern against pattern, interlocking shapes and color schemes was
Al-Aswad’s forte, no doubt left over from her days in fashion design.
In 1990 Al-Aswad began seeking medical advice for a condition
the doctors speculated was Parkinson’s disease. She graduated
from the School of the Art Institute with a B.F.A. in 1991, and was
painting almost obsessively. She had several important exhibitions
and sales and was picked up by the Gwenda Jay Gallery. But the
illness had taken hold, and once again, the artist faced a new
challenge with the profound strength and unusual industry she
took to all tasks. As the illness progressed, she produced painting
after painting gazing into a mirror and contemplating a face whose
muscles began to slowly weaken. Not since the Iraqi paintings had
Al-Aswad included her own image and never so directly (see The
Swan [22]). Again she employed a variety of props to augment
the mood. Swans, religious figures, mirrors, angels, and balloons
19
 Plate 17
kept a constant vigil around Rosalind’s seeking stare. The swan The Family
was from the memory of a time when her family found a swan and 15 x 48 inches
acrylic on linen
cared for it, only to have to let it go to its owner, who showed up 1996

later. It was a poignant sign of beauty and loss at a time when

Al-Aswad’s predilection for symbols became even more acute.
Like the constant format of the domestic scenes, Al-Aswad
now turned to a stock composition for her self-portraits. Always
on the left side of the composition, her face and upper torso loom
up in the frontal plane, direct and forceful with an expression Plate 18
of resignation. In various outfits and wearing a different dangling The Key
18 x 48 inches
earring of a figure (a substitute for the lack of a full figure in the acrylic on linen
1995
composition itself, perhaps) with cropped white hair and her glasses,
she occupies one space and fills the other with recollections,
regrets, and desires.
In Autumn [20], for example, two mirrors and an array of red
balloons complement the artist’s steady visage. The larger mirror
reflects an unseen wall upon which a portion of a painting of a
neck and head can be seen. The neck is rendered with garish red
strokes, suggesting exposed musculature or a nervous system.
The red balloons, some floating, some depleted on the floor, pick
up the red of the neck and, like inverted droplets of blood, carry
further the macabre associations.3 In Lovers [21], Al-Aswad again
with stoic presence occupies the left side of an outdoor scene with
two lovers on either side of a wall at the right. Perhaps religious Plate 19
My Mother, Myself
figures with veils and costumes, certainly Middle Eastern garb, 20 x 16 inches
acrylic on canvas
the young lovers are kept apart by a thick ancient wall. Al-Aswad 1994
muses on her past and on the issues that preoccupied her life and
surfaced in the work.
The Family [17] of 1996, takes a slightly different direction, with
four portraits of her relatives in a row. It is a small painting like
most of the others of the period, for Al-Aswad’s illness made it too
difficult to paint large canvases anymore. Aunt Marie (Basel’s
mother’s sister), Ibrahim (Basel’s father), Najia (Basel’s mother),
and Tiana (Basel’s sister) line up in attendance. They are there for
Rosalind, angels in white and gold, placid but steady, standing in
a heavenly place with a clear blue sky. The painting surface has
become tackier, as Al-Aswad’s dexterity had become compromised
by the disease. She is unsteady and stiff, falling frequently, speaking
is strained, and she needs help with everything. But they all pose
for her—Marie, Ibrahim, Najia, and Tiana—three or four times,
and she takes another breath and paints. They sit, not as Iraqis
or Christians, not as male or female; they just sit for Rosalind.
20
17

18

19
20 Pla
Aut
20 x
acr
199

21 Pla
Lov
20 x
acr
199
Plate 20
Autumn
Al-Aswad painted all through her illness until she could no longer
20 x 16 inches hold the brush. But she continued to think and to dream and to live,
acrylic on canvas
1994 as her journal, now written by someone else, describes. And then,
once again, her life took a turn and she and Basel divorced in 2000.
Even now she was forced to question who she was, just as she had
so many times before. The Key [18] shows three Rosalinds, each
in a different costume, with her mirrors and angels behind. She
holds a key in two of the portraits, an overt symbol for the need
to unlock a secret or open a new door. As she approaches death
Al-Aswad addresses herself in search of answers to the questions
she has asked her whole life. And she is not the first. From Paula
Modersohn-Becker to Cindy Sherman, women artists have made
the self-portrait a feminist practice. Gazing at themselves, they
investigate how others gaze at them, at their roles—natural and
learned—and how these roles instill notions of womanhood.
Rosalind Al-Aswad was an expressionist of sorts. She faced her
demons whether in the workplace, on the domestic front, or in the
face of death. And all of this made its way into her painting for us
to behold with wonder. We should all have the strength of purpose
that Al-Aswad demonstrated in so many ways. Her children do.
Plate 21
Lovers And along with the painting, her legacy is alive in them. I never
20 x 16 inches
acrylic on canvas
knew Rosalind Al-Aswad, but I know she was an extraordinary
1994 woman. She once claimed, “I guess I have always seen life as a
series of parts you play,” and now these parts, and all that they
entail, will linger in my imagination for some time to come.

Lisa Wainwright, Chicago, 2005

1
Rosalind kept sketchbooks and journals, writing steadily from the time she began art school until just before her death.
All quotes are drawn from this collection of journals unless otherwise indicated.
2
Christopher Al-Aswad pointed out the mime as his mother’s doppelganger.
3
I wish to thank my colleague, Martin Perdoux, who helped to read this image and many more.

23

The Rosalind D. Al-Aswad
Memorial Fund
During her studies at The School
of the Art Institute, Rosalind
Al-Aswad was concerned for
her fellow classmates who were
working hard to make ends
meet. Many times, Rosalind
would purchase art supplies for
students who were experiencing
financial difficulty. In memory
of Rosalind, the family has
created a fund for student
assistance, and in building upon
her legacy, it is the hope that one
day this fund will also provide
scholarships for students
residing in the Middle East.
24
On the Cover:
Plate 22
Swan
20 x 16 inches
acrylic on canvas
1994
If you are interested in making
a gift in memory of Rosalind
and benefiting art students
for many years to come,
philanthropic contributions
may be made to The Rosalind
D. Al-Aswad Memorial Fund at
the School of the Art Institute
of Chicago and mailed to The
School of the Art Institute of
Chicago, Office of Development,
37 South Wabash, Suite 814,
Chicago, IL 60603. For
information about the memorial
fund, please contact the Office
of Development at 312 899 5158.
22