In Lou Giraldi’s living room, one noteworthy object is a ceramic sculpture of two graceful swans. Nearby is an abstract wood sculpture. And on one wall is a three-dimensional clay piece.
All of these are Giraldi’s creations. He’s an enthusiastic amateur artist, so it’s not surprising that he’s done sculptures, wood carvings, paintings and stenciling.
But this 81-year-old artist is totally blind.
"Black on black," Giraldi says rather cheerfully, describing his vision. "I can’t see a thing."
It’s been that way for almost 30 years. In l975, he underwent surgery to repair a detached retina. But the surgery failed, and he was left literally in the dark.
It hasn’t stopped Giraldi from pursuing activities he enjoys. In fact, his interest in art started after he became blind. When he heard about studio art classes at the Philadelphia Museum of Art specifically for the blind and visually impaired, he decided to give it a try — and has been an eager participant ever since.
"I enjoy experimenting with art, and it keeps my mind alive," says Giraldi. "I’m always thinking of a better way to do something."
No art training is required, but the program is open only to those who are legally blind. The museum pays for all materials and arranges for transportation. Giraldi takes full advantage.
Every Friday morning, he uses SEPTA’s paratransit service to get from his home on Tasker Street to the Art Museum. He’s been faithfully attending the Form in Art classes for almost 25 years.
The program focuses on sculpture and tactile art. Teachers and aides provide the guidance, but it’s the students who create the art. They work in two fully equipped art studios, complete with varied materials and tools.
"I have an idea of what I want to make — I have a picture in my head — and I visualize it as I work," says Giraldi, relaxing in his living room, with evidence of his sculptures all around. "Then I’ll ask the aide, ‘Does this look out of whack?’ If she says yes, then I make a change myself."
Or, if he’s sculpting an animal, as he often is, "I ask an aide to show me where the eyes and ears go," he adds. "But I don’t let them do the work."
He’s just as resourceful when it comes to sanding an object. "First I let my fingers do the walk," he says, describing how he explores surfaces. "Then I follow the walk, with one hand following the other."
Giraldi was an adept student right from the start. During the first class he attended, the teacher handed him a big chunk of stone and encouraged him to create something from it.
"I love a challenge, so I said right away, ‘I’ll do it!’" he recalls.
He sanded and chiseled the stone, then shaped it, mounted it, and even polished it with shoe polish. One month later, it was finished: a smooth, polished, egg-shaped object that he titled "Birth."
When the 26-week semester ended and the students’ works went on display — as they do at the end of each year — Giraldi’s sculpture was included. He’s had many other works on display over the years. Three Giraldi creations are part of the current end-of-semester exhibit, which started at the Art Museum, then went to Wills Eye Hospital and now is headed to the Pennsylvania College of Optometry in Elkins Park from Aug. 11 to Sept. 6.
One of the three pieces is a whimsical clown sculpture. Titled "Bozo the Clown," it’s an ingenious combination of wood, cloth, steel, plastic and papi�r mach�.
His fellow students in the program are of all ages and varying degrees of disability. Giraldi is not the oldest; that distinction belongs to an 87-year-old student. But he’s one of the most outspoken. He speaks his mind not only about art but also about disability.
"Just because you lose your sight, it doesn’t mean you’re helpless," the South Philly resident insists. "So sometimes I give ’em hell."
For instance, one young woman kept asking the aide to escort her to the ladies’ room. That irritated Giraldi. "It’s just 10 feet away," he says. "I said to her, ‘You have to learn to do things on your own.’"
He gives similar advice to others. "I urge them to be independent."
That’s been Giraldi’s own goal ever since he lost his sight almost three decades ago. It all started with routine cataract surgery, which led to a serious complication: a detached retina. He needed another surgery, this time to repair the retina.
But because the retina was completely detached, the surgeons could not repair it.
"Right after the operation, I was totally blind. That was it," relates Giraldi, who was then 51 and had a job at the Navy Yard as a heavy-duty tire repairman.
It was a shocking experience, he describes. "It’s as if somebody punches you and knocks you out. But then you decide, ‘I’m living, I’m breathing, I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve got."
"Of course we cried together," adds his wife, Sue. "But we knew we had to move on."
The first step was training for this new life as a sightless person. Giraldi got on a plane bound for Chicago, where he spent four months taking a course in mobility training at a specialized center.
"They put us through the mill," he says. He learned how to use a cane, and how to gauge distance by tapping the cane. He learned how to walk on streets, navigate curbs, ride on elevators and escalators — "all the tricks," he says.
Returning home to South Philly, Giraldi faced another adjustment. "People didn’t know how to approach us, so they stayed away at first," he says.
"But he tried to put people at ease, and that helped a lot," adds Sue.
Their adult son and daughter adjusted admirably. In fact, the first day home, when Giraldi asked his wife for a glass of water, his daughter Sue chided, ‘Dad, you can get it yourself.’"
"Everyone gasped, but I got up and did it," he recalls.
In fact, his determination to adapt was in part because of his family. "I couldn’t let them down," Giraldi says. "I had to show them that I’ve got the starch."
He still has it. At 81, he looks fit and trim and exudes energy and enthusiasm, talking in rapid-fire style.
He and his wife Sue — a youthful 82 — still lead an active life. They’re loyal members of St. Nicholas of Tolentine Church. In past years, they went dancing often at the Marconi Senior Center. (Lou stopped dancing because of knee problems.) And both of them enjoy bus trips to the Atlantic City casinos.
South Philly residents for more than 70 years, they’ve lived in the same house on Tasker Street for 40 years. Lou, who enjoys carpentry and handyman chores, has done numerous renovations despite his blindness.
He even became a golfer after he was blind. Through a blind friend, he got in touch with the Middle Atlantic Blind Golfers Association, open to those who are visually impaired or totally blind.
That was 27 years ago, and he’s been an avid golfer ever since. Throughout the years, he’s won a number of competitions.
Of course, procedures are adapted for blind golfers. Each player is partnered with a coach, who lines up the golfer and tells him or her the distance in yards.
Giraldi, the only South Philadelphia member of the group, plays about once a week and always plays l8 holes. His best score was 83.
"I love it!" he enthuses. "You’re out in the fresh air for four or five hours a day, you’re with friends. It’s great!"
Giraldi has the same enthusiasm for art. Even after almost 25 years, he still looks forward eagerly to each Friday class at the Art Museum.
"Every time I go, I’m doing something different," he says. "It’s creative, it’s a challenge, and it’s also a lot of fun."
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For information about the Form in Art program at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, call 215-684-7606. For information about the Middle Atlantic Blind Golfers Association, visit www.mabga.org.
