If you had the good fortune to meet Annie Layne, you’ll understand what I mean when I say that FUCC became infinitely cooler when she joined in 2019. It was easy to get a bit starstruck by her: Annie was the kind of person who looked like an artist. Not just because of her signature aesthetic, but creativity clearly radiated out of her. She was ebullient and riotously funny -- the sort of person you meet and think, “Wow. I wonder if she would be my friend.” And Annie, the Rockabilly Angel of the Valley, was a friend to everyone.

Annie was a hero to us. Her work was edgy, but more than that -- it was original and iconic. Her technique, and talent for composition was undeniable. She meticulously embroidered turn-of-the-century looking women who clearly did things for themselves. Her choice of medium was feminist, too -- she deeply respected hand needle work, and wanted to show that it was more than a domestic craft. She made work that “our grandmothers and great-grandmothers might have chosen to decorate their surroundings, provided they had the opportunity to express exactly what was on their minds without repercussion.” One of her pieces reads “Bless your Fucking Heart.” Her art was once rejected from a local museum for having too many vaginas.

The impact she made on FUCC was great. Several members were inspired to begin publicly exhibiting their work because of her encouragement. She enthusiastically participated in our 2019 Annual Exhibit (Women’s Work, McGuffey Art Center) and was so supportive of everyone else in the show. Not just on the opening night, but ever since -- commenting on our Instagram posts and encouraging us to keep making work that is real and true to our lives as women.

Perhaps someday when historians are studying the art that was made around our own turn-of-the-century, they will come across Annie’s embroidered vaginas and bare-breasted women. May they be as delighted and charmed by her as we were. And even if the needlework itself doesn’t survive, her life itself was art and she changed us for good. That is the beauty of art, after all. It never dies.

Remembrance by Ramona Martinez

Annie shared with us a piece, “Indecision (Esther Greenwood)” to include in our “Enough” in-person art exhibit. We’d like to share it with you here.

“Indecision (Esther Greenwood)” uses cotton, linen, silk, brass, glass, and found objects. Annie chose to submit this piece in response to our prompt because:

“Esther Greenwood was the protagonist of Sylvia Plath’s novel, The Bell Jar. Like the author, she lived a short life. Both the author and character had had enough; too many expectations, too much pressure, and too many choices at times.
Plath had said: ‘I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.’” (Annie Layne)

Indecision (Esther Greenwood), Annie Layne (2019): 23 x 17” cotton and glass — *Indecision (Esther Greenwood),* Annie Layne (2019): 23 x 17” cotton and glass

Annie’s eye for color, her love of the ornate and detailed, and the fight for feminist rights is littered through so much of her works. Take a moment to look at the legacy of her work on her website.

May you rest in peace, power, and passion, Annie.

MEMORIES OF ANNIE

A selfie that Annie took of Rob and herself.

"I remember bringing Syd to your home early in the morning to a wonderful infectious smile that would let me know not only was my day going to wonderful, but Syd would be loved as if she was yours...Annie had a unique way of making everyone feel important...thank you thank you lord for allowing my family and I to be graced by one of your angels here on earth..." (Jemel Ross)

Annie at her opening at Virginia MOCA on March 22, 2019, photo courtesy of Bill Tiernan.

“After spending a couple weeks messaging back and forth on MySpace, I met Annie for a lunch date on February 16th, 2008. My life was forever changed that day, I had just met the love of my life.
Twelve years and four months of memories, a spontaneous slow dance in the living room, our wedding, watching in awe as she created beautiful and clever art, hearing her tell “the broccoli joke” five thousand times, so much love and laughter, brunch with friends, Sunday’s on the porch, road trips, live music, and our beautiful son.
To know Annie is to love her, and she was loved and adored by so many. I’m the lucky one though, I got to be her husband. Although she’s gone way to soon, I remain forever thankful for the time we had, and that she chose me.” (Rob Layne)

This was taken at a friends wedding a couple years ago, photo courtesy of Greg Baker.

“Annie was my friend ever since childhood, we reconnected as adults, and since then, she has shown me ONLY love, true love. The earth is missing an amazing artist, incredible mom, true FRIEND. I love you, Annie Layne, forever!” (Aaron Grossman)

“Annie was a living work of art. In her physical appearance, Annie celebrated and honored an amalgamation of iconic American feminine ideals: the turn-of-the-20th century Gibson girl, the 1940’s World War II pin-up girl, and the 1950’s/1960’s housewife. And then she subverted all of this, all of what historically American women are “supposed “ to be, by covering herself with one of the most rebellious forms of art, glorious full-color tattoos. Her embroidery does the same – it celebrates and honors the feminine ideal of the art of embroidery, while at the same time, subverting and reinventing it.

For example, in her piece “Tooth Fairy,” Annie both honors the character, and at the same time, strips away the simple innocence of this story we tell our children and reveals the complicated truth of how grotesque, terrifying , and powerful this feminine embodiment would be if she really existed. How grotesque, terrifying, and powerful this feminine embodiment *must* be if she will pay money for children’s body parts (teeth) and is so intimately stealthy that she can slip coins under children’s pillows while they sleep and do so undetected?

Annie wasn’t subversive and irreverent for the sake of rebellion. Like any true artist, there was intelligence, heart, and meaning behind her subversion. She was undoubtedly the “coolest” person in the room, if not the “coolest” person in a radius of several hundred miles. Unlike many so-called “cool” people though, Annie was special in that, when you spoke with her, she made *you* feel like the “coolest “person. It was never about her, but always about us, her family, friends, and community. For me, with Annie, it was always about lovingly revealing and deconstructing the feminine embodiment for all the complexity that it is, grotesque and beautiful, terrifying and reassuring, powerful and gentle, so we can see and appreciate the intricate truth of the feminine for ourselves.” (Tammy Layne)

“Annie, or Ania, as we called her was my "cousin" growing up. We weren't related by blood, but I didn't know that until I was about 10 or 12. She was my godmother's daughter, the flower girl at my parent's wedding, and the cool older "cousin" who taught me to swing dance during the holidays and dressed me up in hats she had made herself. Ania and I lost touch shortly after she moved to Virginia, but I spent a Summer after college living in her high school bedroom surrounded by her art and the same old hats. I thought of her often, and how, even as a child, she always spoke to me like I was an adult. She encouraged my to challenge what I was taught, not to take my parent's or my teacher's word as truth. In our little hodgepodge Polish family, Ania was always the one who showed us it was okay to push boundaries, and encouraged us to break the rules; epitomized by her ongoing promise that ONE DAY we'd run away to the city and have a Turkey on Christmas Eve (a holiday that was strictly no meat). I remember talking to her in her parent's garage about how she was going to leave Long Island and live a life of her own imagining. Although she didn't say it directly, she always encouraged me to do the same. She even bought me "The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankweielr" for Christmas the year I turned six (a novel about a child who runs away from home and lives in the Metropolitan Museum of Art). Even though we lost touch and had our disagreements of the years, I loved Ania and what she represented in my life. Although I'll never get to apologize for telling her mom about her bumble bee tattoo, or not hearing out her side of the story sometimes, I'll always remember her hats - how she turned everything into art, the stories she told us about New York City, and the promises she made to take us there. I'll remember how she always spoke out when something upset her, how she didn't tolerate what she didn't think was fair, and how she always made my father laugh by being so direct. I'll remember the swing dance moves she taught me, how she always seemed to wear dark socks, and how she was always, so unapologetically herself. I hope to carry a bit of that with me as well. I love you Ciocia Madga. Thank you to Rob and to all of Annie's family and friends in Virginia who have loved her all these years. You are in my heart.” (Natasha Berg)

A photo taken on Annie and Rob’s wedding day.

Annie hosting a Halloween themed burlesque show a couple years ago in Harrisonburg, photo courtesy of Cara Walton.

“I loved our field trip with our friends from work to the Roseland Tattoo Convention about twenty years ago, scrambling from booth to booth to gush over our favorite tattooers - Juan Ournte- so many laughs if he only knew! After the convention we went for our favorite meal of Indian food fare at Rose of Bombay. You got me hooked on tattoos and Indian food that year for what would be my whole life! Remembering the time when we ordered Indian takeout at work and it was so good, you asked how it was and I declared “I think I found the promised land!” And we all joined hands in a circle to give thanks and praise for our bountiful feast. I love you forever and you are with me always️.” (Lisa Castagna)

“I followed Annie on FB because I thought her subversive domestic pieces were badass. When she came into my store (to buy Cheezits as artists do she said) it was like spotting a celebrity, I couldn't let her leave without introducing myself and forcing her to be my friend!

And it worked. She became my friend and coworker. We made each other laugh, we made each other food and she encouraged me to join FUCC and show my art for the first time. I never would have been able to do that without her.

She found something to like about pretty much everyone and she didn't hide her admiration or respect , she wanted you to know that shit.
I miss her and I hope she knows how much she brightened my life in the last two years. I Love You Annie.” (Paula Lam)

SHARE A MEMORY

We would like to create some space to allow people to share their own memories of Annie, if they wish to. If you would like to share pictures of Annie, please send them to this email (heyfucc@gmail.com). We will share your words and thoughts on this page.