Professor Charles Goslin 1932-2007
My senior year of college I was "awarded" the daunting task of designing and creating a book for my graduating class. While doing some research for the project, I was bewildered to discover that although he had been teaching at Pratt Institute since 1966, Goslin had never won nor was ever nominated as the Distinguished Professor (a title the school traditionally bestowed upon one faculty member each year). I decided to hell with it, I would just feature him in my book. It wouldn't matter whether he won or not, everyone who had a copy of the book would think he did. I was told that this was ridiculous, that I couldn't do this, it just wasn't fair, that it didn't make any sense, I couldn't just feature a design teacher just because i was a designer, what about all the other departments? What if he didn’t win? My answer was a shrug and a reminder that I had been given the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I suggested that if he won, it would work out perfectly and not be a problem. So... maybe someone should just make sure he won.
I realized that these naysayers were the least of my problems. My main obstacle was obtaining a photo of Goslin, an endearingly grouchy old man who absolutely loathed having his picture taken. The only tactic available to me was ambush. I gathered a small, stealthy crew, and we waited for him to finish teaching one afternoon. Upon settling down to eat his lunch, I gave the signal for the others to grab his chair so he couldn’t swivel away, put up a black background, and engage in a conversational distraction before he could realize what was happening. The man was extremely annoyed. He barked and complained, tried to escape, growled and shouted that I was a nuisance. Secretly amused, he pointed his finger and told me to buzz off.
The book came out and he was teary-eyed at the mention. He won the award. He mentioned me in his speech at commencement. Afterwards, I thanked him for the shout-out (which had impressed my parents), and he thanked me for making him a centerfold.
Goslin confessed that this was his favorite image of himself. He requested copies over the years, for the wall of portraits that people had drawn and painted of him; to send to estranged family members he wanted to rekindle with. It is hearbreaking but fitting that the next and last print I will make of this photo will be for his memorial service.
“I felt the same way the day before I got the award as I did the day after. And I shouldn’t feel any different. Otherwise, it’s a conceit trip. But it is nice. When I make an image of my own, it’s very concrete. It’s there. I can see it. I can enjoy it. But when I teach, it’s very abstract, so for someone to pat you on the head and say, ‘You’re alright, cousin. You’re not bad.’ That’s very nice. That’s concrete.”
—Charles Goslin, May 2003
Professor Charles Goslin 1932-2007
My senior year of college I was "awarded" the daunting task of designing and creating a book for my graduating class. While doing some research for the project, I was bewildered to discover that although he had been teaching at Pratt Institute since 1966, Goslin had never won nor was ever nominated as the Distinguished Professor (a title the school traditionally bestowed upon one faculty member each year). I decided to hell with it, I would just feature him in my book. It wouldn't matter whether he won or not, everyone who had a copy of the book would think he did. I was told that this was ridiculous, that I couldn't do this, it just wasn't fair, that it didn't make any sense, I couldn't just feature a design teacher just because i was a designer, what about all the other departments? What if he didn’t win? My answer was a shrug and a reminder that I had been given the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I suggested that if he won, it would work out perfectly and not be a problem. So... maybe someone should just make sure he won.
I realized that these naysayers were the least of my problems. My main obstacle was obtaining a photo of Goslin, an endearingly grouchy old man who absolutely loathed having his picture taken. The only tactic available to me was ambush. I gathered a small, stealthy crew, and we waited for him to finish teaching one afternoon. Upon settling down to eat his lunch, I gave the signal for the others to grab his chair so he couldn’t swivel away, put up a black background, and engage in a conversational distraction before he could realize what was happening. The man was extremely annoyed. He barked and complained, tried to escape, growled and shouted that I was a nuisance. Secretly amused, he pointed his finger and told me to buzz off.
The book came out and he was teary-eyed at the mention. He won the award. He mentioned me in his speech at commencement. Afterwards, I thanked him for the shout-out (which had impressed my parents), and he thanked me for making him a centerfold.
Goslin confessed that this was his favorite image of himself. He requested copies over the years, for the wall of portraits that people had drawn and painted of him; to send to estranged family members he wanted to rekindle with. It is hearbreaking but fitting that the next and last print I will make of this photo will be for his memorial service.
“I felt the same way the day before I got the award as I did the day after. And I shouldn’t feel any different. Otherwise, it’s a conceit trip. But it is nice. When I make an image of my own, it’s very concrete. It’s there. I can see it. I can enjoy it. But when I teach, it’s very abstract, so for someone to pat you on the head and say, ‘You’re alright, cousin. You’re not bad.’ That’s very nice. That’s concrete.”
—Charles Goslin, May 2003