She wasnt a dog anyone wanted. Bald from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail, she was a scrawny little black dog with little to recommend herself to anyone other than the little tricks she used to perform to amuse people. A loser dog. But then, I wasnt a person anyone wanted either. A loser in the eyes of the world. A neer do well named Jamie Fairchild, who, at the age of forty-one, had tried his luck in many places and invariably had failed. For twenty years, I had become a stranger even to the members of my own immediate family. I didnt want a dog. I wasnt even looking for one. But God has a way of intervening, regardless of our hopes, dreams, and personal wills, not necessarily giving one what one wants but what one needs. Th ey tole me you needed me, Betsy told me. Who told you? My superior offi cers, she smiled, elevating her chin toward heaven. Th ings hasnt been goin so well with ya these past twenty years. I hear tell ya had big dreams once, but you went bust, was homeless jes like me fer awhiles. I also hear tell them folks of yourn aint much of a family. But then, mine twerent neither. I hears ya likes adventure, aint afeerd of takin risks. I aint either. I also hear tell ya likes to perform. I does too. But ya lost your confi dence along the way. Well, Im here to give it back to ya. Before long, Betsy was putting me through my paces. Ah-ten-tion! shed bark at me. Th ats what our C.O. always barked at the fellas I worked with in New Guinea. Saunders was his name. Man, he was a doll, but he could also be one mean sonofabitch, let me tell ya. When Saunders barked them orders, them guys all shot up straight as ramrods. Shoulders up, ass in, chest out. Now, lissen up, Pop. Ah-ten-tion! Git that chin up! What goods it doin hangin down thataways on your collarbone? Well, no one would be able to cuff me under it if its hanging down. Lissen, Pop, she would say. No ones gonna cuff you under the chin. And if they does, Ill take care of em so good, they wont need to wear no shoes! No one messes with a Marine. Not if they know whats good for em. Now lissen up! Chin up! Shoulders back! Ass in! Awkward as these unaccustomed positions felt to me, I complied with her commands. Yeah, her muzzle widened into a grin. Th ats more like it, Daddy. If Betsy had set me onto the road of physical exercise, she also corrected my posture. If it hadnt been for the disciplines that she imposed upon me, Id now be a walking question mark. Why are ya walkin with your shoulders down on your chest? shed bark. You wanna be a hunchback one day? No, I said. Th en stand straight and stop hangin your head, she said. How are ya ever goin to see where youre a-goin lookin down at the ground all the time? You look at the ground when you sniff , Id say. Yeah, but thats only to get the smell of direction. Its in the dog world what you call a map in the human one. But ya caint go nowheres by always lookin at the map. Time comes when youve gotta keep your eye on the road. Th is was the army now, and I had become Private Jamie to Sergeant Betsy. When I would slump down into that easy chair, one of whose armrests she had completely disemboweled, and had sunk into those pointless ruminations about what I should or should not have done so many years before, Betsy would approach my feet and deposit at them the tug o war rope, fall back on her rear haunches, her big brown eyes shining with excited anticipation, her muzzle dropped open in an eager smile. Come on, Dad, lets play. Oh, please, not now, Betsy, Id say. Oh yes, now, she insisted. Come on. What goods settin there goin over things you caint do nuthin bout? When you does stuff like this, youre like me when a fl ea gets on my tail and I keep tryin to bite it off of it, but the more I turns around, that tail jes keep gittin further away from me. Memories is like fl eas, Dad. You chew on em too long, they gets your tail sore. Ya gotta keep your eye on your star. Th eres one up yonder thats yourn and yourn alone. Keep your eye on it, and it wont be forgettin ya. You jes take a hold on my tail, Pop, and Ill take ya to your highest dreams.

Traveling around the United States, the Guggenheim grant recipient spent 2012 chronicling 250 13 year olds, creating still portraits and video documentation of each. The resulting body of work creates a rich collective portrait of a group of Americans whose lives began at the turn of the millennium and who are coming of age now. To Be Thirteen depicts all 250 portraits with brief quotations from the extended video interviews and an interview by Center for Creative Photography Chief Curator Rebecca Senf with Schneider, unpacking details about the artist's process, insights about the project and how it changed her, as well as longer excerpts from the subjects. This publication captures and conveys the experience of meeting with the artist and looking through a stack of prints with her, and will complement an exhibition of the project debuting at the Phoenix Art Museum in the spring of 2018. -- Publisher's website.

When Jesse Lucas, a troubled, magnetic acting major, touches the sculpture Meditation in Stanford's Rodin Sculpture Garden, he burns his finger on the bronze. By the time he returns to the garden that night, an eighteen-year-old girl has emerged from the statue, naked and disoriented. It is 2008, yet her mind is swimming with vivid, fractured memories of her volatile past in nineteenth-century Paris--of serving as Rodin's muse, of her passionate affair with the acclaimed artist, and of her own creations. So begins Betsy Franco's extraordinary and imaginative novel, Naked. Stranded in the sculpture garden, Camille--or Cat, as she insists on being called--forms a deep bond with Jesse, who is soon leaving for college and is as lonely and disturbed as she. As Jesse encourages Cat to confront the sinister memories that afflict her, she helps him overcome the fury he has toward his abusive father and find peace within himself. Rich, inventive, and told with a compelling mix of grace and wry humor, Naked is a bold debut that explores love, loss, and the power of art, and brings to mind the magical realism found in The Time Traveler's Wife and Midnight in Paris.

Betsy Prioleau’s biography of Gilded Age female tycoon Miriam Leslie is “an appropriately twisty tale of someone trying to outrun her origins. . . . Her story sparkles, as intoxicating as a champagne fountain that somebody else is paying for” (New York Times Book Review). Among the fabled tycoons of the Gilded Age—Carnegie, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt—is a forgotten figure: Mrs. Frank Leslie. For 20 years she ran the country’s largest publishing company, Frank Leslie Publishing, which chronicled postbellum America in dozens of weeklies and monthlies. A pioneer in an all-male industry, she made a fortune and became a national celebrity and tastemaker in the process. But Miriam Leslie was also a byword for scandal: she flouted feminine convention, took lovers, married four times, and harbored unsavory secrets that she concealed through a skein of lies and multiple personas. Both during and after her lifetime, glimpses of the truth emerged, including an illegitimate birth and a checkered youth. Diamonds and Deadlines reveals the previously unknown, sensational life of the brilliant and brazen “empress of journalism,” who dropped a bombshell at her death: she left her entire multimillion-dollar estate to women’s suffrage—a never-equaled amount that guaranteed passage of the Nineteenth Amendment. In this dazzling biography, cultural historian Betsy Prioleau draws from diaries, genealogies, and published works to provide an intimate look at the life of one of the Gilded Age’s most complex, powerful women and unexpected feminist icons. Ultimately, Diamonds and Deadlines restores Mrs. Frank Leslie to her rightful place in history as a monumental businesswoman who presaged the feminist future and reflected, in bold relief, the Gilded Age, one of the most momentous, seismic, and vivid epochs in American history. Includes Black-and-White Images

20 projects and exercises will help readers break out of any creative rut and unleash the exciting paintings from within!

Art Workshop for Children is not just another book of straightforward art projects. The book's unique child-led approach provides a framework for cultivating creative thinking and encourages the wonder that comes when children are allowed to freely explore the creative process and their materials. As children work through these open-ended workshops, adults are guided on how to be facilitators who provide questions, encourage deep thinking, and help spark an excitement for discovery. Children explore basic materials and workshops that use minimal supplies, and then gradually add new materials to fill the art cabinets as well as new skills and more complex workshops. Most workshops are suitable to preschool-aged children, and each contains ideas for explorations and new twists to engage older or more experienced artists. Interspersed throughout are sidebar essays that introduce perspectives on mess-making, imperfection, the role of adult, collaborative art, and thoughts on the Reggio Emilia method, a self-guided teaching philosophy. These pieces underscore the value of art-making with children, and support the parent/teacher/care-giver on how to successfully lead, question, and navigate their children through the workshops to result in the fullest experiences.

An NPR Best Book of the Year A Vanity Fair Best Summer Read "A haunting, mind-bending memoir. . . . riveting." —New York Times "A mixture of biography and true crime, this narrative . . . offers more plot twists, shocking revelations and shady characters than most contemporary thrillers." —NPR The Book of Atlantis Black will have you questioning facts, rooting for secrets, and asking what it means to know the truth. A young woman is found dead on the floor of a Tijuana hotel room. An ID in a nearby purse reads “Atlantis Black.” The police report states that the body does not seem to match the identification, yet the body is quickly cremated and the case is considered closed. So begins Betsy Bonner’s search for her sister, Atlantis, and the unraveling of the mysterious final months before Atlantis’s disappearance, alleged overdose, and death. With access to her sister’s email and social media accounts, Bonner attempts to decipher and construct a narrative: frantic and unintelligible Facebook posts, alarming images of a woman with a handgun, Craigslist companionship ads, DEA agent testimony, video surveillance, police reports, and various phone calls and moments in the flesh conjured from memory. Through a history only she and Atlantis shared—a childhood fraught with abuse and mental illness, Atlantis’s precocious yet short rise in the music world, and through it all an unshakable bond of sisterhood—Bonner finds questions that lead only to more questions and possible clues that seem to point in no particular direction. In this haunting memoir and piercing true crime account, Bonner must decide how far she will go to understand a sister who, like the mythical island she renamed herself for, might prove impossible to find.

"The nature of the icon cannot be grasped by means of pure art criticism, nor by the adoption of a sentimental point of view. Its forms are based on the wisdom contained in the theological and liturgical writings of the Eastern Orthodox Church and are imtimately bound up with the experience of the contemplative life. The present work is the first of its kind to give a reliable introduction to the spiritual background of this art. The introduction into the meaning and language of the icons by Ouspensky imparts to us in an admirable way the spiritual conceptions of the Eastern Orthodox Church which are often so foreign to us, but without the knowledge of which we cannot possibly understand the world of the icon." -- Back cover.

N. C. Wyeth was one of America's greatest illustrators and the founder of a dynasty of artists that continues to enrich the American scene. This collection of letters, written from his eighteenth year to his tragic death at sixty-one, constitutes in effect his intimate autobiography, and traces and development and flowering of the "Wyeth tradition" over the course of several generations. -- Amazon.com.