A misplaced artist

Again, I was an immigrant, a misplaced artist [in Chicago], one who dealt with the contemplative, the sublime, whose work had developed out of the existential gesturalism of the fifties in New York and the traditions of European Modernism, tinged perhaps more than I was aware of with the melancholy of my early days as a Jewish war refugee. I found no audience in Chicago. The Jewish collectors avoided my work and its underlying content. Vera Klement