[MUSIC PLAYING]
Welcome.
Thank you for joining us at today's program, presented
as part of the Wignall Museum's Home Edition.
Home Edition consists of a series of curated artist
talks, workshops, and discussions
featuring artists and cultural workers.
Today's episode is a collaboration
between the Wignall Museum and the Chaffey College Hip-Hop
Studies Summit, featuring artists Jonah Elijah and Robert
Newman.
My name is Rebecca Trawick.
I'm the director and curator of the Wignall Museum,
pronouns she/her/hers.
The Wignall Museum as a teaching museum and interdisciplinary
arts space that introduces Chaffey College students,
faculty, staff, and community members
to innovative contemporary art objects and ideas.
By fostering critical thinking, visual literacy, discourse,
and empathy, the museum seeks to enhance
the intellectual and cultural life of our community.
I want to take a moment to recognize that we're situated
on the Rancho Cucamonga campus of Chaffey College, which
resides on the traditional and unceded lands of the Tongva
people.
We offer our recognition and respect
to the elders, both past, present, and future.
Next, I'm happy to introduce Adam Martinez.
Adam is a Chicano musician, poet, writer, and professor
of english at Chaffey College.
He's also a member of the Hip-Hop Studies Summit planning
committee.
Thanks, Adam.
Thank you, Rebecca.
I wanted to take a moment to share
a few thoughts about our dream and our vision for Chaffey's
Hip-Hop Studies Summit.
The Chaffey College Hip-Hop Studies Summit
is an annual conference designed to bring together
diverse scholars, students, faculty, researchers,
and visual performing artists from local communities
in order to promote social justice
and to celebrate African-American, Black,
and brown literacies through hip-hop.
Annually, we present professional community artists
to instruct free workshops, participate
in panel discussions, and build community, which culminates
in our hip-hop studies showcase, an artistic experience that
includes both professional and student artists.
Although we're only in our second year of existence,
we've learned how powerful this experience
is for our Chaffey community and the surrounding
community at large.
Last year, we saw people in seats.
We saw participants in the workshops.
We heard the positive feedback from our students
about the summit and what it meant to them.
Even though we're not able to bring the summit
to our physical space on our Rancho campus this year,
our vision and goal for the Hip-Hop Studies Summit
remains the same.
And our transition into a virtual space
is a testament to the resilience and innovation and adaptability
of hip-hop.
We envision working together as faculty, classified staff,
administration, students, and artists,
both national and local, to express
the power of hip-hop culture.
Our mission is to share knowledge
of the full scope of hip-hop.
From DJing, emceeing, dancing, street art,
to the knowledge of self, those of us
that participate in its many forms
know hip-hop as a space of resistance,
as a space of education, and as a space of Black joy.
Our dream is that our African-American, Black,
and brown students and the Chaffey student
body as a whole, learn more about career pathways rooted
in hip-hop, but more importantly,
that they learn knowledge of self.
And I'm going to pass it to my colleague, Tara Johnson.
Thank you, Adam.
I'm Tara Johnson, professor of fashion merchandising design.
And I am pleased to introduce John Elijah.
He is a Houston, Texas native, now working in Los Angeles.
He received his BA in studio art from the University of Texas
at San Antonio in 2017.
And his MFA from Claremont Graduate University in 2020.
Elijah's work encapsulates Black life in America
and addresses controversial issues that actively affect
the African-American community.
Elijah's practice embraces discomforting realities
using materials to explore economic inequality,
displacement, and human rights.
Being raised around lower income hardships,
Elijah builds off his own personal upbringing
and creates work that reflects the Black experience.
Whether in his paintings or installation,
Elijah layers his work with coded language
offering an abstracted and representational view
of what it is like to be Black in America today.
I also would like to introduce Robert Newman III.
He is a New York-based artist.
Newman currently works as an assistant vice president
at Neuberger Berman.
In 2020, Newman transitioned into the role
of equity and inclusion and diversity program manager
for the firm.
One of his notable accomplishments
and responsibilities is the role that he
has been co-chairing, Black History Month in 2019 and '20.
Outside of the office, he spends the majority
of his time working as a freelance visual artist
creating exhibitions and galleries across New York City
and serving the communities through various mentoring and
art-based nonprofits.
In the community, Newman is known for his work
as the co-founder of Words on the Whites movement, an arts
and advocacy initiative, and Silent Renaissance,
an organization dedicated to bringing people together
and promoting Black art.
As of 2020, Newman was appointed as the president
of the Morehouse New York City Alumni Association
after serving the board as director of programming
and social engagement since 2018.
In his role as president, he is responsible for carrying out
the organization's goals of helping area alumni connect
with the school, each other, and the broader New York City
community.
Nice to meet you, brother.
Likewise.
Glad we could join the stage together.
Definitely.
So to start us off, can you talk about the role
of music and specifically hip-hop,
and how that plays a part in your life?
Yeah, sure.
For me, I feel like hip-hop is--
I mean, it might almost be synonymous with being Black.
I feel like my earliest memories are--
they can be curated to albums.
I could think about songs, like, as early as songs and places.
I spent a lot of time in my life moving around.
Both my parents were in the military, so literally, places,
scenes, friend groups, situations,
they're all curated to this hip-hop backdrop.
I have albums that took me through high school, albums
that were like my freshman year in college, songs that I have
for like the first time I drove my car by myself,
like on a long road trip.
I think hip-hop and music, hip-hop by itself,
and music even more broadly, I think it's kind of integral.
I guess it's the music that I'm listening
to that helps me to express myself and understand
the world that is around me.
And I think otherwise, it's just like Bob Marley says, the one
drug that doesn't do any harm.
So that's how I feel about music.
That's the role it's played.
What about you?
How has hip-hop played a role in your life, your art,
and your inspiration process?
Man, music, it pretty much--
it pretty much plays a big role in my whole, whole life.
I remember the first song I ever heard or remember.
I was probably like two.
And it was Tupac's "California Love".
And I just remember how that melody
was getting into the back of my father's Camaro at the time.
And I was like, that's like one of my earliest memories.
And just yesterday, I was really--
I was in my studio and I was reflecting on Saba,
he's a rapper.
And one of his first albums, I was like, dang.
This is like around the time I started painting.
And it was kind of bringing me back to when I first was, like,
getting into, like, painting and making work,
and how, like, the album was inspiring me.
And music just--
I feel the same.
Like, you hit every point I wanted to say about music.
Or everything you said about music, I feel the same way.
Like, a lot of songs and a lot of albums
really took me through high school,
through college, those road trips.
So I feel the same way.
Yeah.
Yeah, I feel like one of the earliest songs
I can remember distinctly like, calling
out knowing that this is something that I like
that I was requesting was--
I want to say it was Master P. It was "Make 'Em Say Ugh"
and Silkk The Shocker.
Back then, like growing up, that was it.
That's what I wanted to hear.
I remember that song specifically.
I remember, like, in elementary school,
everybody was like, saying "ugh" in the hallways and stuff.
Everybody was, like, mocking Master P. So
that was like a big moment too.
Yeah.
OK.
Yeah.
Like, to keep it going, where do you find your energy and, like,
inspiration and your drive?
I wish I could say it was one thing.
And I think most of the time, when I hear this question,
I could kind of tell folks want to have like a--
a magic bullet type of answer.
Like, you know, it's my family.
They keep me going.
And they do, but I don't know.
I feel like because I'm an artist
and work on so many different things, the inspiration--
it just kind of bounces around.
Like, sometimes it is-- like, we just
mentioned the music that ends up giving me the spark.
Other times, I think this might be
because I'm a visual artist so I'm interested to see if this
is something similar to you.
But I like seeing images.
I like going to museums.
I live in New York, so walking up and down the street,
that's always a huge inspiration,
just people-watching, seeing how creative folks are just
in their daily life.
That's always a big source of inspiration.
I don't think I could discount, like, the amount of inspiration
I get from my friend group.
So I think that's one of the things that's always been--
that I've always been kind of most intentional about.
So I always try and keep like a very eclectic friend group,
folks who are a little bit smarter than me, more artistic
than I am or creative, just so I'm always pulled along.
And yeah, I know I kind of knocked there earlier,
but yeah, definitely my family.
They're all some very interesting and eclectic folks.
So I'm on the phone constantly with my elders,
my grandparents like every other day,
check in with, like, my parents, my sisters.
I'm the second child of eight all together, so really big
family, always hearing from everybody.
I think that's something that keeps me going as well.
And like, I'm always trying to have that conversation
with the work.
What about you?
I pretty much feel the same way.
My family-- my family plays a big role in my inspiration.
Like, just the way I was raised or how I was brought up.
And like, especially my siblings.
I'm always thinking about the times I had with them growing
up on the weekends.
And just like, so many different things
we did as kids just outside because we
had to always stay outside.
And we didn't come back into the house until the sun came down.
So, like, those-- like, those moments, like, anything
we were doing outside, those moments always, like,
find a way back into my work.
And I'm always thinking about, like,
what exactly were we doing?
And inspiration, it comes--
it comes from so many places.
Just like you said that you're, like, in New York,
I'm always like, I go to--
I live outside of LA, but I always
go to LA just to, like, go see work or go see some shows.
And sometimes, just to even ride around just
to find inspiration, just looking at people
on the streets, just seeing how people are reacting
with each other-- even though it's like we
in the midst of a pandemic.
But you still see people interacting.
You see people at parks.
And it's just those little, simple things that pretty much
drive me, keep me inspired.
Yeah, I think it might have been a quote from Picasso that
said, inspiration exists, it just has to find you working.
And I think that's always been my kind of relationship
with it.
Like, I think most of the time, people
hear what inspires your work.
And I think that the creative process
is inspiration, and then, like, this big thing that comes out.
But more often than not, I see it
as you're already working on a big thing.
And inspiration is coming in, like, throughout.
So there may be days, for example,
like where you have a big canvas and you
might be like 3/4 through.
Like, the painting may not look the way you want it to.
Or, it might be halfway there or a quarter there.
But the inspiration could come in on like the last day.
And as long as you're already in the groove, like,
that's when I think it ends up getting applied to the work.
So I think that's probably one of the reasons
why I hear a lot of connections between us just finding
inspiration from all over.
Because again, the work, it just happens in the background.
You're just waiting for it to be the spark, I think.
Man, that's so true.
That is so true.
I'm always figuring out what the painting
is going to be probably in the middle of it.
I just start scribbling and I try not to,
like, stress myself out about, like,
what is the painting going to be about?
What is going to-- like, what is it going to say?
What is it going to be?
And right.
Sometimes, it really does happen on, like, the very last day.
Talk about like, where you--
the value of hustle in your work as a creative person.
I think-- yeah, to the point that we just made,
I think that that is probably the most--
singularly, the most important thing, right?
I don't think any of my friends, especially the guys that
aren't creative, I don't think they understand
that, like, discipline is being, like, the most important thing.
Or, as we're saying now, like that hustle, right?
So most of the time, it's not necessarily
about having the best idea.
Because after a while, you start realizing
that you might have one good idea a week,
maybe one good idea a month.
One good idea a quarter could really take you,
you know what I mean?
Like, that could be the big painting.
That could be the one that's exhibiting the most.
But it's the-- that kind of hustle in the background,
knowing that, OK, it's something that I could be working on.
It's something that I could be improving on.
It's something that I could be learning about.
Having that same consistent drive,
I think, in the background, ends up
being the most important thing.
Because I might have the best idea
for the painting in the world.
But after being in my first job, talking to my family,
dealing with everybody like in the city of New York,
and then finally being back in my apartment
to paint the picture, if I don't have the hustle, like,
the picture will never get done, like, no matter
how great the inspiration is.
So I think hustle end up being--
I can't say it's exactly the same as creativity,
but it's like 51 to 49 on, like, how the process works.
I think hustle is up there.
That's a fact.
My mom always asked me, she's like, Jonah,
when are you going to come home?
What are you doing?
And I always tell her like, Mom, I make paintings for a living--
I mean, for like, for the most of my living.
I've got to stay in the studio.
I have to, like, always try to come up with something new,
or always just work, just continue to paint,
continue to work on a craft.
And I think that's-- for me, I think that hustle has to, like,
stay there.
And it's always been there.
And you always have to, like, keep creating and to figure out
where you're going to go next.
So in addition to your professional role at Neuberger
Berman, you juggle a lot of volunteer responsibilities
related to your Alma Mater, Morehouse,
within your community as well.
On top of all of that, you continue
to have your studio practice and you curate exhibitions.
How do you find the balance to, like,
juggle all of those different things
and still be able to have a successful studio practice?
Yeah.
I think to the point we both made earlier,
I think the hustle ends up being kind
of like my de facto answer most of the time.
But if I wanted to be more nuanced,
I would say I kind of--
I want to say, maybe three or four years ago,
I kind of got out of that idea of the box of balance, right?
So it's going to sound kind of crazy, but most of the time,
I hear people saying, Robert, I feel
like you have one of the best work/life balances, right?
Like, you have a job that you're interested in.
You got your passion or your hobby
that you're doing outside of the job.
And you've got your friends.
So you know, I feel like you just kind of have it all.
And when I hear balance, I think people almost
like to think about it as like a recipe.
Like, you know, I got the perfect amount of work
and I got the perfect amount of art.
And I just want them to level out.
And in real life, it ends up being more so
just the hustle part.
So it's like knowing that there's
a thing that I want to do.
Am I going to make time for it, and am I
OK with doing it, right?
So you mentioned being in the studio all the time.
Your mom is looking for you, trying to get you to come home.
But at the end of the day, you know
that the art is not going to create itself
unless you're there, like, pushing
the-- pushing the brush.
And for me, once I got over this idea of balance meaning, like,
OK, I need the perfect amount of rest.
I need the perfect amount of painting.
I need the perfect amount of, like, doing a thing at work.
I need the perfect amount of, like, social and hanging out,
I was able to do a lot more consistently.
And I think that's where it ended up working for me.
So I'm not worried about the balance,
but I'm worried about the doing, right?
So that shows up on a day-to-day basis of like,
I may only paint for 15 minutes.
I make it a day where I'm not doing anything,
so I get to paint for 24 or 48 hours at a time.
Family may be in town and I may not paint for a week.
Or work may be busy, and I may be doing that
for like a month straight and nothing else.
But it really just comes back to like, all right.
If the canvas is there, like, am I
going to get up and do it again?
Is it OK to, like, do the 5 minutes to 10 minutes to 15,
and then find something else?
Or am I really trying to make sure that, again, I
have a full time job and might try to spend
like 40 hours doing everything.
And then it's like you try and do it that way.
And you realize that there's not enough hours in the week,
right?
So yeah, I think that's been my experience, just getting
used to, like, finding--
you can call it-- the margins to work in,
knowing that 5 minutes will get you there sometimes.
And sometimes, you got to just string the 5 minutes together
until you can get to, like, the full hour.
And that ends up working just as well.
So I got a question for you.
So can you talk about your experience in graduate school?
And I mean, do you have any advice for students of color
or anybody else that may be watching?
And can you talk about a little bit,
for people who might be watching who have transferred
to institutions where they've been, like, more or less
historically excluded?
My experience with graduate school was--
it was pretty good.
It was a pretty good experience for me.
Honestly, I was so, so fresh and really
didn't know what I was getting myself into.
And I think I was--
coming from Houston, I was just trying to get out of Houston
and got accepted into the school.
I really didn't even know where I was going.
I didn't know it was-- this probably sounds a little silly,
but I didn't even know the school was a private school.
I was just like the new kid on the block.
And I'm looking around like, wow.
I really am the only Black person on campus.
Or really, the only Black person like myself
from a predominantly Black neighborhood.
And I think what drove me--
I mean, it was that that kind of drove me to it.
That was like the igniter--
I mean, the igniter in me.
And I think I wasn't really too concerned about it that much.
I just wanted to work.
And I feel like being that we are excluded
in those type of institutions, I think the work we put in,
if we put in enough work and put in-- like,
really put our passion into it, there's
no way we can be excluded.
And I think that's what--
I think that's what--
I think that would be some good advice to someone that's
applying or trying to go to one of those type of institutions--
not to, like, focus in on like, OK.
We're going to be excluded.
You should just go in and, you know,
knowing like, basically, I'm the shit, basically.
You should have that type of attitude.
And excuse my French for that, but I think--
yeah, I think that should be, like, the motive.
OK.
Going into it, you're saying that it
wasn't even a second thought for you,
that there weren't people that looked like you, that you
didn't have any connections or anything like that
on the inside.
You were just going for it because you
knew that that was the school that you were interested in.
Honestly, that was the only school that accepted me.
So I was-- I was just--
I saw it as my ticket out.
So I was just like, man, let me just
go take this big leap of faith going
all the way to California.
Let me experience some new life.
And I just--
I just took that.
I mean, I didn't notice.
I really didn't-- it didn't dawn on me that these type of--
that those situations were taking place
at the institutions too.
I think was coming from an all-Black school.
And everything so new to me.
And I was so fresh into it, I really just didn't even know.
I was like, damn.
If I could have, I would have--
I would have just applied to, like--
you know, I would have brought in my applications for school.
This one always comes up, I know just because I went to HBCU.
And now I'm working in corporate America.
So I went from, like, the all-Black college
to the all-white world.
What was that like for you, going
from, like, the all-Black school to the PWI?
You said what was it like?
[CHUCKLES]
It was so weird because just being
around so many Black people my whole life,
and then I take this big leap.
And it's like, oh, I'm the--
I'm the one.
I'm that one-- how do I want to put this?
I'm like the Black dot on the white shirt, put it like that.
I stand out everywhere I go.
So it was-- it was so weird to me.
But it also made me feel proud too.
I was just like, you know what?
One day I'll be able to tell this story to somebody
and they will feel empowered by it.
And it just-- it felt weird, but it empowered me
at the same time.
I felt good that I even got accepted into the school.
And they took a stab--
I mean, took a chance with me.
All right.
So Rob, your portraits often--
your portraits often celebrate luminaries
from Black culture and history.
Can you talk about the need for representation in the art world
and why your focus in your work is on these figures?
Yeah.
Yeah, yeah.
I mean, we talked--
you mentioned the need for representation.
And I think that for the, I guess,
headline, that's why I like focusing on the luminaries.
And it's not always the--
so luminaries, it's a good word, I think.
But I think when we hear it, it's
always like, we think celebrities
or historical figures or whatever.
But I mean, it's still a good word for me, right? so like,
a lot of the times, the portraits that I'm drawing,
it's not just-- the portraits I'm painting or drawing,
it's not just people that have, like, a huge historical impact.
But the key theme is generally, people
that have an impact on me.
So sometimes, it's like family members.
Sometimes, it's historical figures.
Sometimes, it's other artists, well-known or local art.
And I think it's something--
like, we just previewed the conversation a little bit.
I think is something that's powerful and almost
revolutionary for having like a Black face in a space,
any space, where there's like one person,
the only Black person in the room,
and a group of like, 20 plus.
Or, literally, just having, like, that
portrait in the background.
And funny enough, like, I have an interesting story
where I kind of, like, tested that out a little bit more.
Last-- well, it's 2021 now.
It was two summers ago, the summer of 2019.
I was able to curate an exhibition at my job.
And I think it might be like less than 5% Black employees
at this investment firm that I work at.
And they wanted all the employees
that were artists to bring in different representations
of their work.
So I remember thinking in the beginning,
I could do something that's interesting and vanilla,
something that's kind of safe for my coworkers.
Because, you know, I just want them to be interested.
And ultimately, I want them to buy.
I'm like, these people have money.
So it's great.
But as I got closer to the actual exhibition day,
I started asking myself like, what is the one thing that I
could put in here that almost would, like,
disrupt the space the most?
And I ended up doing, like, this huge portion of the Nipsey
Hussle.
And you could-- even with the portrait being
in the background, even with it being like this very eloquent,
like, light blue almost like, fade-into-the-wall painting,
you can see this thing cut the tension in the room.
You could see where people are, like, huddled up around it
on this side, and then everybody else just kind of, like,
going about their business.
And how quickly the conversation became either folks that
were just like, stunned at like, who this person was-- like, who
was this Black man, like, in here with this giant face
and his gold chain and tattoos?
And I mean, like, it was super detailed,
so it's like you see his tattoos on his face.
You see the braids coming down.
Like, it's undeniable that this is a Black man, like,
in his office.
And it was just important to me.
Because again, it was a very subtle act.
But it's very revolutionary.
Like, these people would otherwise not
see Black faces or even want to acknowledge, like,
Black stories.
So the fact that Nipsey's face was in this space
with everybody asking questions, like, I was able to walk around
like, for months after the installation just, oh, yeah.
Did you know about this rapper?
Like, did you know about the work that he was doing?
Did you know about any of his music?
Did you know about, like, the stuff that
was going on in California?
Do you know, like, the underpinnings
of why he actually got shot?
Do you think that it was just Black-on-Black crimes?
And it became a living, breathing situation.
So as much as I can, I'm trying to create Black faces.
As much as I can, I'm trying to almost, like,
pollinate those stories and get those into other people,
and get the question at least on the table.
If folks don't know, like, who is this?
And that's like, how I end up wanting to share.
Could you see, like, the disgust on certain people's faces
as they walked in the building, like, as they try to like,
turn a blind eye to it?
I think with art, especially, especially when it comes
to all Black art, I've never--
maybe, I'll say I've almost never seen anybody,
especially not Black, be disgusted.
There's always, I think, something that even
when it's something that they don't want to see,
that it's still disruptive enough
that people are drawn to it.
So there was a few people that you could tell.
Confusion is probably the closest I think I saw.
Like, you could see people getting closer and being
like, well, why is this here?
Why did they bring this here?
Like, why is it on the wall now?
Like, why do I have to see this, like, every day I
come into the office?
But that was still a smaller percentage.
I think most people were still just kind of like, oh, my god.
We've never seen anything like this before.
Like, is that really a Black man on a painting?
Like, who did this?
Whoever would take the time to--
and it just-- it was a whole other opposite effect.
And I think that was something that was more surprising to me.
I did think that it was going to be a little bit more
of a harsh reaction.
Jonah, can you talk about how your work--
or how you work to represent Black life
and represent your community in the different paintings
and installations that you've created?
I think I was--
I was like, really, I was drawn to Kerry James Marshall.
And I was listening to one of his lectures.
And let me just rewind on Kerry James Marshall.
The first time I saw his work, I was
like, I didn't know it was him.
But when I first saw it, I was like, man,
who's making these minstrel like, type
of TV show-type of paintings?
Who's making these extremely Black like, figures?
And I was like--
I didn't like it at first, because I could always
see the pink around the eye.
And I was like, oh, that goes back
to those shows when white people used
to dress up as Black people.
And I thought somebody was making fun of that.
But then going, finding out it was Kerry James
Marshall and the reason why he was doing it,
it led me to figure--
it made him want to like, investigate
how can I do this in my work, and like,
what I was inspired by.
And it was just like, the scenes.
The scenes I remember in my neighborhood
are just driving by and seeing certain things,
and seeing a lack of that in museums, especially in Houston.
And just seeing it in any gallery or any show,
just the lack of it.
And I was like, man, I really want to--
you know, just in case.
Because galleries are really not that big in my neighborhood
in Houston, Texas.
And I was like, if I was to--
if I'm going to make work, I at least
have to address like, where I come from and have something
where the people in my neighborhood
and neighborhoods in any city just like my neighborhood,
they can see this work and have a connection to it.
And they can feel like, OK, I know exactly what he's
talking about.
Oh, I know they have like a-- they
see something like an iron or anything. and they go, oh, OK.
I know what that means.
Or, I know what he was hinting at.
And they have a connection to it.
So having that representation or just painting things,
dealing with the Black subject, it just
made me want to put that in my work even more.
So you talked a little bit about the--
I guess, that coded language.
Can you talk or elaborate some more
on how you use either language, or just kind of like,
the different symbols in your work,
to give shout-outs to the people around you or to your hood?
Oh, yeah.
The coded language, that's something that's
really big in my work too.
I love having, like, the coded language.
And I think that goes back to like, during slavery times,
like even through songs, we had the codes in the songs.
And now we have a coded way we speak.
We can say certain things like F12
and that can mean anything to somebody.
But that means like, F the police.
And I try to do--
like, I specifically take that slogan
and not throw that on like a domino.
And I have like, the domino, like the big 6.
And I'll say F12 with the big 6.
And that's like my code with that.
And just having that coded language is--
I think that's history.
And I think--
I'm gonna mess this up--
WEB Du Bois, he has a quote saying, always seeing oneself
through the eyes of another.
And I think that's something that plays
a big, big role in my work too.
I hope I'm not misquoting that.
But it's something like that.
It's in that nature.
And I think that that plays a big role, having
that coded language in my work.
Yeah, I was listening to something maybe a few days ago,
just talking about how empathy works
and trying to bring people together.
And somebody was just going in on the Black story,
the Black narrative and how coded language has always been
a part of our American existence, right?
The fact that we've always had to have a keen understanding
of the people who were other to us,
but like, so that we can change our actions, hide our actions,
be more amenable with our actions, but also
staying authentic in a way that we
were able to inform each other-- whether that
was through the songs, giving the maps out
for like, how to go to the Underground Railroad,
or even just like you said, smiling in people's faces
and saying things that was just flat out insults.
But it meant nothing to them, so they had no reason
to investigate it.
So I think personally, also like,
looked for ways to just hide different codes into the work,
such that when it finishes, it is
something more or less nice, interesting,
and eloquent to look at.
But to the person that again, is a little bit closer
to my audience, they'll understand where
we're actually referencing.
OK.
That's nice.
Thank you.
Oh, wow.
You have created several outreach programs like Words
on White, the Silent Renaissance, that
really bring art into spaces.
What do you think is the importance of these movements
in the community?
And what is the impact?
I think when I think about, I guess, my discipline
and my practice as an artist, the objective for me or like,
my mission, is just communicating ideas.
So I got into, I guess, programming,
organizing, curating, pulling people together
because I kept coming back to the question like, well,
how can I communicate the idea a little bit better?
Or what are some of the overarching things, right?
So I know if it's me painting a series
or coming up on my own like, solo exhibition, that's
me exploring an idea in detail.
But for whatever reason, like, I'll do that type of work
and still present my work to other people,
but I'm less interested in it because I'm me, I guess, right?
So I know that if I do one painting
and I sit there next to it and talk to people,
I can go on and on and on about my ideas for ad nauseum.
But I know if it's my idea right here and 10 other people
with their idea, but we're all kind
of singing the same chords, now I
know that it's harder for somebody to come into the space
and leave without thinking Black Lives Matter, for example,
right?
Because they're going to get it from somebody on that wall
before they leave.
So I mean, throughout-- when I started thinking about my art
like that, about the importance of, I guess,
the education piece, right?
And knowing that by myself, I could have an impact,
but not necessarily as not as much breadth--
or at least not this early in my, call it, art career.
Like, there's not millions of people
that are interested in like, all my paintings.
But I know getting that breadth end up
coming around like, once we bring more people together,
once we have those bigger group exhibitions, once we
spend that time creating and curating
those spaces for folks.
I could not speak completely to the impact
of all those different initiatives just yet.
But from a very personal standpoint,
I can say that it's been huge.
So like, the people, the artists that I've been able to work
with for the past four or five years, like,
some of the best practitioners-- whether it's been dancers
or directors or producers--
have come from different community outreach
situations via Words on White.
Or if I'm looking for inspiration now
on a piece that comes from artists that I've
worked with via Silent Renaissance, folks
that I've like, literally exhibited at work side-by-side
with before.
And just continue until I get to those underlying messages.
So when we talk about like, the coded language, even the art,
even the exhibit are, to me, symbolic
of the actual conversation or idea that we all want to have,
right?
So I think the impact on the broader community
has been one that--
I don't know.
It's hard to describe, I guess.
Like, it's just been like a teaching and learning
community.
And that's been something that, since pretty
much like the beginning of me becoming more or less
professional as an artist, that's been something that's
been central--
just having that community of people
that are wanting to create together,
wanting to learn together, and then ultimately,
like, hoping to teach together.
Would you say that's what sparked you to start
those outreach programs?
Yeah.
I mean, it's-- because I think there's a part of me that
really is interested in getting my artwork out there,
that wants people to see the portraits and paintings and all
the stuff that I do.
But there's something more.
I always tell people like, I'm the laziest hard
working person in the world.
Because deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down in my heart,
I'm like, if there was somebody else that could do it
like this, then I would stop.
I would stop.
Like, I don't care anymore.
You know, if there was one person that I
knew that I could count on like, nah, this person,
they're going to make sure that they're going to represent.
Like, everybody is going to know about hip-hop.
Everybody going to know about Black people.
Like, when I come in, it's not going
to be no people that look at me crazy anymore.
I'd stop.
I'd just watch TV.
I'd be fine.
I'd much rather just paint in my room
and like, not deal with anybody.
But then I wake up the next day and I'm like, oh.
Well, I don't know that person yet.
So what do I do?
I'm like, well, I could try to be him,
but I could go find another person.
So if I find them and then bring like,
10 of us in a room, then one of us
has got to be the person that's going to like, help
teach or push this thing along.
And I realize--
I guess it's just always the spirit of collaboration.
Because I know like, I may only have one piece of the story.
I may have one sentence of the page.
I may have one chapter of the book.
But again, with all of us together, we
might be able to actually get the message across, get
enough people to watch, get that scale to where now,
somebody actually is inspired.
And then I could quit.
I could retire.
I don't have to do it no more.
So question for you.
Can you talk about your experience
returning to the Third Ward?
And can you talk about that specifically
in terms of what that meant during the pandemic, what that
meant like post-George Floyd?
Yeah, I'll start there.
What was it like going back to the Third Ward?
It was-- it was interesting.
I went back the day after Mother's Day.
I went back, that was--
I went there in the midst of the pandemic.
It was-- it was fun, and then my birthday came.
And then five days later, George Floyd passed.
And then I was like, I sat down on the porch
and I watched the video like everybody else did.
And then I was looking at him.
I was like, man, he looked familiar.
I seen him somewhere.
And then, come to find out, this is
like someone that is like, really close in my circle.
And he's like the big brother to like,
a lot of people in my circle.
Or, kind of like my friend's friends.
Some of my friend's big, big friends.
And it was crazy.
It was-- it was like--
it was just like one of the wildest things.
I knew if that was to happen in Houston instead of Minnesota,
Houston would have been a war zone, probably.
Just because of like, where George Floyd is from and where
he used to hang, which is basically like one
of the toughest neighborhoods-- like,
inner neighborhoods or inner projects neighborhood--
I mean, inner projects in Third Ward.
And I just knew it would have been crazy.
And it kind of hit me.
It hit me close, because then I realized that was
like, my friend's uncle.
And then days later, there was someone
on Facebook and Instagram asking that they needed help
with a George Floyd mural.
And it went viral.
And I told-- I was like, I'm from Third Ward.
This building is going to be where she's doing the mural.
It's going to be in the Third Ward.
I was like, I got to be on it because I'm actually
from the city.
I know a few people--
I know who-- I know his relatives.
And I was like, I've got to be on this.
There's no way around it.
And it was a crazy experience.
But it was a good-- it was a good experience too.
Because I got to see like, unity.
And I got to see like, people share their stories
and share their stories about George that really knew him
while I was painting.
I mean, I only had like one section on the wall.
And that was to put up how we throw up Third Ward.
And I was able to put the hood up
on the wall instead of his face, because it was all sectioned
into little, little pieces.
But it all ended up coming together.
But it was-- it was crazy.
I actually have to go home Wednesday.
And my high school--
same high school that George Floyd went to--
they had me design a Black Lives Matter mural for the ground,
like the ones being done in DC-- that were done in DC and all
over.
So I have to do one of those in the middle of the street.
I'm looking forward to doing it.
But it's such a big mural, I'm not
looking forward to doing it.
But it is a Memorial for George Floyd.
And his family will be out there.
And it'll be a big cause.
So I know that's kind of off topic, but a little on
topic too.
But it was-- it was a good experience.
Something to add on to that, but that I'm curious about, rather,
is I guess, how do you feel in the midst of what
seems like the end of the world, like this pandemic, social
justice, unrest?
And I couldn't even say like all the other stuff
that was going on in 2020.
Was there ever a time you felt like, OK, I
need to be doing something other than art?
That's my spirit.
It's like, I feel like if I wasn't doing art,
I'd properly be an activist, a serious activist.
And I felt like--
I was like, man, I really want people to listen to me.
I want people to gather around me.
Let's push unity.
And I think that's what me putting
the hood on the wall, that painting,
it wasn't just like the hood being on the wall.
I was kind of having some coded language with my dominoes.
I kind of spelled--
I spelled out-- I put this on the wall,
but I had dominoes spelling like an A,
like, the dominoes coming together
like this, like kind of like, making out an A. And I had an R
and I had a D. And it basically was saying Third Ward.
But with the dominoes, I was trying
to say like, we can build together.
If we lean against each other, we can hold each other up to do
what we need to do to be able to-- because when dominoes come
together, that's usually-- in the game of domino--
that's when things add up.
And that's when you start to multiply.
And I was saying that.
And I make the dominoes red, black, and green.
So I was saying in this community,
we could hold each other up.
And I think, yeah, if I wasn't doing the painting,
other than paintings, I probably would be trying to like,
unify us.
Even though I'm doing in the paintings, trying to.
But if I wasn't, I would be--
I'd have a microphone, walking down the street with my speaker
like, come on, y'all.
We got to-- we got to get this together.
Or just trying to stop certain things going
on in the neighborhood, which lift us up.
I mean, we just came out of like,
one of the most impactful years of probably,
our lifetime for sure.
How did 2020, if at all, change your practice?
How did it impact the work that you did?
I think before the pandemic, I was
talking about like, Black life and how Black Lives Matter.
And I mean, it really didn't--
it just enhanced it.
It just enhanced like, what I wanted to talk about.
And it led me to really--
to try to get more creative in that topic.
And how can I not be so cliche with the work, you know?
So trying to figure out how can I be creative and not--
I'm trying not to say the same thing, but yeah,
just trying to be more creative with that subject matter.
And yeah, what about you?
Yeah.
So 2020, very similar to what you said.
Like, I was already working on a lot of like, Black power
pieces.
Like, I started the year with like, a Martin Luther King,
Malcolm X, Angela Davis, Frederick Douglass,
like all these just Black figures
going into Black History Month exhibitions and stuff
that I was doing last year.
And then, all of a sudden, you know, the world stopped.
And we ended up getting locked at home.
And then George Floyd and everything else.
And I think for the first time in a long time,
it made me, in a very scary way, like,
more conscious of my work.
Because it wasn't like there were more eyes on it
or that I got anything of it, from it as a result of-- like,
I don't even know how to put it.
But I think seeing everybody being at home
and able to work on art, or able to do something
that I felt like was personally like, therapeutic and maybe
even meditative, right?
As we were going through such a hectic year,
I felt like this is an outlet that I
have that is helping me to kind of go
through this whole situation.
But maybe last April or May, it really
started to click that there's a piece of the discipline that
actually is like not just storytelling
from my personal story, but how much of this
am I supposed to be storytelling on behalf
of like, other people?
How much of this should I be giving
to like, the community around me?
So like, I always create for the community.
But how much of this am I supposed to be a witness to?
And I think from that question, and from that thought process,
like, towards the middle and end of the year,
like, I really tried to tell not just my story,
but again, highlight the stories of folks around me a lot more.
Because again, I started realizing
like, where my story had taken me, the things
that I had gotten exposed to.
And then, now, especially because like, I'm in New York,
but I'm in Harlem, right?
So I work in financial services, which is one New York City.
And then I live in Harlem across from the projects, which
is the second New York City.
So everybody that lives in the finance world that
had to work from home was super comfortable
getting on these Zoom calls.
There are people that are like, calling in the Poconos,
I'm calling in from my house up in the Hamptons or something
like that.
And it was very strange to see people literally living
a different existence and then walking outside to the corner
store and seeing people that I knew just lost their job,
or I knew I couldn't get like, groceries,
or they couldn't get a mask for like the first three or four
weeks, or were still trying to get services.
So it just became a whole different level of, I think,
connectivity for me for 2020.
It really just made me, like, a lot closer to my work
and like some of the stuff that I was trying to say or show.
Being that we're so used to being
in our own artistic realm, and we're
used to like being to ourselves and seeing people that
are so used to being around people,
and having to come back and be in shelter, seeing
that was kind of shocking too.
It was a shock to me.
So it's just like, dang.
I have an outlet.
A lot of people don't have an outlet.
Or, they used to have an outlet and they don't really
have it anymore.
And to see that, it kind of like, made me more like,
engaged with my work a little bit more,
and figure out what type of messages
can I put into the work that can engage them?
Yeah.
Ditto.
In your experience, how can--
how can public art serve as a source
for activism and healing?
I know you spoke about how the mural ended up
incorporating a lot of the messaging from the Third Ward.
So maybe you could dive into that a little bit more.
Like, what was some of the feedback
that you got from that?
I'm replaying like a scene when I was on the wall.
And it was like somebody-- somebody passed by.
It was several people that passed by.
They would just roll down their window,
they were like, yeah, yeah!
Just to see how happy they were to see the community come
together and put something so beautiful on the wall,
and just to see the representation of themselves
on the wall too.
Just seeing their hood up on the wall, seeing like--
even though this was a sad event,
a tragic event that took place, but seeing something
beautiful to come out of it, and seeing the community
come together just--
I think, for some people, it gives
them hope that there is unity in the future somewhere.
And it really is taking place somewhere.
And it could take place.
I think there were so many great moments just
seeing people like, pass by and be
so happy to see what's going on the wall,
and people sharing their stories about George Floyd.
I was going to ask you, how did you feel about the--
how can public art serve as a source for you
as well, as activism and healing?
Yeah.
I think that public art ends up being the--
we've kind of over-used the word inspiration, I guess.
But like, the spark, right, and in spaces that are normally
to me, kind of stagnant.
I mentioned earlier, the exhibition
I was able to curate in my office.
And I think that ended up being a really good example for like,
how public art or how public creativity can
serve as like this healing and activism.
When I took that portrait in of Nipsey Hussle,
I want to say it was like, maybe a few months after he
had passed away, right?
And I mentioned that the population of Black
and people of color at my office is like, less than 5%.
But it was something crazy, crazy,
like nuts that happened after they
saw this painting in our corporate headquarter building,
right?
I started having Black co-workers coming up
to me like, literally in tears because one,
I was not the biggest Nipsey Hussle fan.
I'm not saying I wasn't a fan.
I mean, like, when I saw people's reactions,
I realized that I thought I was fan number one.
But there were some people that were like--
they were up there compared to where I was, right?
So being able to just see their reactions, showing me like,
all right.
This is a thing.
Like, there is some energy that's being moved around here.
It's not just like, me working on canvas,
or people looking and just kind of admiring it
for the aesthetics, right?
Two, I remember people coming up and reacting to me
almost like, viscerally, because they just
couldn't believe that It was like something so
kind of big in your face.
And it was so Black in this predominantly white space.
So even the conversation around, that like, people seeing it
on the floor that it was installed on,
come into my floor to fire me, and then
us all having the conversation afterwards with the coworker
that sits next to me that didn't know
about the art, the coworker that knew about the art that
had no idea like what I do on a normal basis,
and then me in the middle, all of us having the conversation
around Black art, Black lives, like Black violence,
Black communities, like so on, and so forth.
It became-- it just became like this story that
kept going on and on and on.
And it did.
Like, there were more people that continue to see the art.
I think there was a reporter that came into the building
and saw it and ended up pushing the story further, right?
So being able to see that, I was able to, I think,
get a better appreciation for like,
how the art in public spaces can really, really like,
transmute emotions in ways that the stuff in my background
can't really do right now.
So yeah, and I think it's hugely important.
I was able to see in Harlem, like, they
put a few streets down, a block from where I stay,
they had one of the huge Black Lives Matter murals as well.
Unfortunately, it's kind of like, run down and worn out
a bit now because they took the barricades down or whatever.
But while it was up-- and I remember
being there for like the two or three days while they were
painting it, it was all-- it was that same example played out
again.
Like, you see the people that, just a month earlier, were
literally ready to like, burn down the blocks,
were literally ready to like, riot and just
tear everything down to remind folks that we were still here,
right?
But then, this Saturday, Sunday, and then Monday of them
just like having a street blocked off
and people being out there being able to paint,
it was literally like watching--
I don't know, like an art festival.
It was hard.
It was surreal, because like, I couldn't pull away from like,
OK.
We're watching this on the news.
This is happening.
This is why they're doing it.
But then, actually seeing what they were doing,
it looked like a normal summer day.
It looked like a block party.
They're having a great time.
And yeah, it was just crazy to see again,
like, how the art was the switch, right?
I think that--
I think that segues really into our next question.
How does your practice work to change
entrenched cultural narratives that
continue to exclude artists of color, particularly
Black or hip-hop artists?
I think for me, that's--
it's kind of like some easy answers.
Some with the people that I'm painting, the people that I
try to portray in the work, Kendrick Lamar or Nipsey,
and make their face giant for folks.
And I think that's where I'm trying
to continue the story more.
But as of lately, and especially like after last year,
I've began to add in a little bit more time
in my color research process.
And I'm starting to--
I'm starting to find, I guess, stories that are radical
in ways outside of just my personal palette.
That's the best way to say it, right?
Or, the best way I could think about it right now.
For example, there were--
James Baldwin is a good example.
He's an artist that I paint all the time.
And we wouldn't necessarily think about him as hip-hop.
But he was like a big figure, like, around the world,
but especially here in New York in Harlem.
And I think about how important intersectionality is
and telling those stories on like, the activism piece,
and how I'm like a Black person that grew up born and raised
in the south.
And I'm like, OK.
I know black people understand what Black Lives Matter means.
But then, when we start having things like Pride Month
or we want to talk about like the LGBTQ community,
it ends up being like more of a rift.
And then Black people, especially
like around the Bible belt, are like, wait a minute.
What?
No, no, no.
We don't do none of that.
Like, that's a whole-- we understand why
they discriminate against them.
It's like, we can't-- that's not the point of me putting up like
the Nipsey, wasn't so like we could adopt one image and then
discard all the rest.
The point of me putting up Nipsey
is so I could put up Nipsey, James Baldwin, J Cole,
and like continue on so somebody can see all of them together.
So I think the practice has changed such that
like, I'm not just--
I'm getting more comfortable telling stories
that I'm uncomfortable with.
That's the best way I could say it.
I'm getting more OK with researching
that are outside of my daily understanding or even--
yeah, like my daily environment.
So I'm reaching a little bit more.
I think that pushes the work too.
Like, you get the tap into like, a realm
that you are really not that familiar with.
And it shows in the work too.
I think that's a good thing to do.
Every time I do one of those reaches, somebody--
it almost draws somebody else in that is a lot different.
And then they push again, right?
So I think I did early last year,
maybe two different portraits of James Baldwin.
And then somebody else came back and said,
well, have you ever thought about doing like,
Bayard Rustin for example?
And then that became another situation where I'm like, well,
who is this guy?
Like, why is he relevant?
Why did he come up after I did?
This picture and that picture.
And then literally, within like another month and a half,
somebody saw the Bayard picture and they sent me
the picture of like, him, Baldwin, and King all together.
I'm like, I've never seen these pictures.
Or, I've never seen this man in the background,
and so on, and so forth.
So I think it ends up being this virtuous cycle.
I push a little bit, then somebody else pushes more.
Then I push a little bit more, then somebody else catches it
and they're like, whoa.
So it's-- that's how my practice has changed.
That's how it's been beneficial to me.
And that's how I try to kind of, like,
keep those Black artists in conversation in the story.
And I mean, I said earlier too, I
do have a lot of luminaries in my work.
But I always try to make sure they
are somebody close at hand.
So I'm like, these are the artists that I'm, like, drawing
inspiration from, or the stories that I'm drawing inspiration
from.
But then, I always try and go back to like,
my local surroundings.
So it's like, what other artists that
are right here that I could do a portrait of,
whether it's like my sister or my mom or something like that?
Yeah.
So what about you?
How do you-- how did your work change
to incorporate more Black stories, more hip-hop, more
music?
It's always so random, but I did a Nipsey piece too
because I felt connected with him as well.
And recently, I just did a MF Doom piece.
And I really wasn't trying to do a Doom piece because I
felt like he just passed away and I really try to sway away
from doing portraits of people that just passed
or just dive right into those portrait-making right
after somebody passed.
But doing him, it was a good--
I had a good time doing it.
And I felt like, connected to it.
I was just doodling and somehow, the face popped up.
And I was like, got to do Doom.
I see him already.
So it's like, I got to just put him in.
And just keeping those, I was just trying to find my way--
find like, a way I could tell that story
and be creative with it.
And I think I was so drawn to the word "entrenched".
And I was like, oh, I wonder if that's where
the word "trenches" come from.
Like you know how some people, we
say like, oh, we from the trenches.
I was like, OK.
So just that word, "entrenches", it's
like trying to keep the trenches in my work
too and keep that connection in the work.
I guess the next question, how can we
hold institutions of American art
accountable to include Black artists in the story
and legacy of American art?
To me, it's two answers.
And the first one is deeply personal.
So because I do so many outside work activities
and entrepreneurial endeavors, I'm like the number one way
to hold American institutions accountable for all of this,
create more Black ones.
Full stop.
That's all.
I'm like anywhere we can like, if there
are situations where more Black artists can
come together and tell stories, that's
always going to be the first thing I'm telling folks.
Like, it's not we, as an artist, especially
as somebody that curates and puts together exhibitions,
I know that it's something sexy, I think, about wanting to be
at the moment, something like extremely
enticing about wanting to be front and center at the Met.
But Basquiat painted on walls, right?
That's how we found out who he was.
He did a lot of painting for free and on walls.
And then, when people figured out who he was,
then they started painting around him.
And then they brought him in.
But I say that to say, like, we could create our own.
It's a lot of situations.
Just keeping with Basquiat, I think
that one of the most famous shows, like, him
and a lot of his contemporaries like out in Times Square
is another just great situation of artists just coming together
to spread their message.
Like, you don't necessarily need the institution or the building
or the million dollar grant to create this thing.
Like, our job is creativity, our profession, so to speak, right?
But I mean, on the other hand, I think it's--
being somebody that does have like the 9:00 to 5:00
corporate life, right, I think there's a lot of ways.
Like, it's as much as you can, like,
advocating in these institutions.
Going in there like, if you remember, like,
telling them like, this is something
that I'm looking forward to seeing.
Like, why don't you all have this?
Like, this is an artist you all should be displaying.
Like, in-- it's similar--
I think a similar mindset of voting, one person saying
it might not matter.
But if every single person in the Third Ward
went to the closest gallery or institution
and was like, what the fuck is this?
Like, excuse my French.
You know, what is this?
I need more people like this, I think they would be responsive,
you know?
I think that's what it is.
You just need people saying like, this
is what I'm patronizing.
And this is why I'm patronizing.
I'm not patronizing it to learn about other folks.
I want to see myself represented in here.
So I think the two answers end up being, like,
create your own.
And then, trying to draw people to it.
So the art lives, and then otherwise, like, advocate,
advocate, advocate.
Like, really get in there.
Like, talk to the people who are curating.
Talk to the people who are giving the tours.
Talk to the people who are on the boards.
Donate money where they do a good job at.
So again, in New York, like, the Brooklyn Museum
is a pretty good standalone institution.
It always has like, Black art.
The Schomburg is a museum where, like, a research institution,
it always has Black art.
So for me, that's where I donate money to.
Those are going to be the folks that,
like, continue to get the actual institutional support.
And I think it's just about having
that type of intentionality.
Like, knowing where you put your resources at,
knowing that you have a voice and you can speak up.
And then, afterwards, knowing that you have some agency
and knowing that you can create.
What about you?
I mean, how do you--
how do you find yourself like, holding
these institutions accountable?
Oh, man.
I question myself about that every time I go to Houston
and I go to the Museum of Fine Arts of Houston.
And I get so frustrated every time
I go to this specific building.
It's like the main building at this museum.
And it's like, I go upstairs.
And they can have like, this huge--
it's just like a bunch of rooms of just classical art.
And I'm just like, man, when is this going to go away?
Like, we can at least put it in storage
for at least a couple of years.
Because it's been up there for so many years.
It's like, when is that going to--
when is that going to not die out.
I'm not saying history has to go away.
But I mean, really, though.
What are the stories really telling?
And like, what are these stories about?
And it's like, there has to be a change in there.
They can't just keep those paintings up.
I mean, they can.
They can do whatever they want.
But I get so frustrated every time I go in there,
I'm just like, man.
This is so dated.
And it's not even--
it's only drawing a specific crowd there.
It's like, I feel like if there was--
I want to hold them accountable.
I want to do what you said and actually go in there and go--
not go crazy, but trying to talk to someone
to be like, man, come on.
Like, we at least in some representation in here
somewhere.
Yeah.
You just take the pink paint and you just throw it on the wall.
And tell them, we don't want to see it anymore.
There's so many of them, though.
It drives me insane.
Yeah.
I think doing-- and like you said, doing it yourself too,
like having our own shows.
Or, holding ourselves accountable
and putting our money into places that have--
that have our representation.
Yeah.
I know like, the advocating piece ends up being,
I would say, easier said than done, right?
But in New York, it ends up being a big--
I want to say like, avenue, just because we have--
because New York is unique in that
it has so many cultural institutions.
A lot of them are connected.
And most of the time, people are going
to show up one way or another.
But I think it's almost like obviously to see, like,
the amount of people that show up for like a Whitney
biennial show, because they do incorporate
more people of color.
They do have like a lot more modern art versus what
we may see at the Metropolitan.
Like, the Met only has like big crowds when, again, they
bring in a new exhibition.
So I think as people start to see
that, start to see which ones are the more interesting ones
when they see, like, this is what brings the crowds out,
they start to change.
I know like, Brooklyn Museum has been doing
a great job with, like, there.
They do these programs called, like, First Saturdays,
where they literally just turn the museum
into a party every month.
And the amount of, like, just foot traffic they
get from that, it's insane.
It's insane.
And I've started to see more museums adopt that model as
well.
So I think that the advocating piece is big,
but again, I understand that it depends on where you are
and how well folks are able to do that.
Right.
I probably would be the only guy that's tripping in Houston.
I don't think nobody else has a problem with it
because I don't see nobody else talking about it.
Are there any artists or creatives that you recommend?
And what other creative media do you watch, read, listen to,
for inspiration?
Or, listen to for inspiration?
Artists that I would recommend, as a visual artist, it's--
I'll probably come up with, like, two or three
and throw in a few more towards the end.
But like, the first one that comes to mind on visual artist
is Kehinde Wiley.
I want to say he was born in LA.
Maybe he's from the--
I think he's from California, or at least educated out there.
And in terms of like, inspiration for me,
he ends up being probably, like, one of the biggest sources.
His paintings are very flamboyantly colored,
very brilliant pictures, very, very, very large scale works.
So I think it's something awe-inspiring about that,
especially because this guy's always doing like,
these black images.
And I appreciate the fact that-- and I think I've even seen
him say this like, in articles, where
he tries his best to create, like,
these eloquent images to have almost like the most, not even
absurd, but just kind of very in-your-face conversations,
right?
Most people know him from like, his work
that he did with Obama for the National Portrait Gallery.
If anybody was in New York for like the past year, year
and a half, you might have saw he did this statue that
was in Times Square for like, maybe four months called Rumors
of War.
It's literally like this Black man on this giant horse.
And when I say this statue was big, like,
it was the biggest thing in Times Square for four months.
It was huge.
And yeah, so anyway, favorite visual artist.
I always recommend him.
In terms of listening, there's a new artist that--
I don't think he's that new, but new
compared to like maybe Drake or somebody.
But his name is KOTA the Friend--
K-O-T-A the Friend.
This guy is like, from Brooklyn.
He's a rapper more like in the hip-hop vein as opposed
to like, the straight rap.
And I think he's been very inspiring because he's
a relatively young dude.
I want to say he's like 24, 25 now.
I think he has like son.
And in all his music, he just literally
talks about like, having a kid, being from Brooklyn,
and wanting better stuff for the Black community.
So it's like, you have a 26-year-old, a 25-year-old,
he tells stories like he's somebody's like, uncle
or grandfather.
But he's a solid dude.
I appreciate him.
Yeah, so that's who I always go to
in terms of visuals for inspiration.
And that's who I'm listening to now.
Those are my recommendations.
What about you?
Anybody-- I guess I did listening and visual arts.
What about you?
Do you have a visual artist you could recommend?
And what about reading?
What about any authors you would recommend?
Yeah, definitely.
I got some artists.
Man, I was sitting here thinking of my artists
the whole time you were talking, and I'm still not ready.
No, I think of visual art--
I'll start with my visual artist.
A visual artist, one of my favorites,
I would have to go with--
man, I got a lot of favorites.
Right now, my favorite is a performance artist.
And his name is Daniel T. Gaitor-Lomack.
I know that's like a long name, but you can look him up.
He's a performance artist, conceptual performance artist.
And he's pretty dope, man.
His performances are amazing.
He does some assembly work.
Another artist I think we probably all know is Kerry J--
I'm going to go with Kerry James Marshall.
Got to go with him, just the way he paints
and the elegance in this work, and just the colors,
the way everything is so tight and together.
It really inspires me.
Let's see, music?
Who am I listening to for inspiration?
I listen to so much.
I listen to so many songs, albums.
I think right now, I've been moving around so much,
I have to go with Conway the Machine.
He's a rapper.
And the way he just puts words together,
his lyrics and just the beats, how everything just meshes
together, it just inspires me.
And not really so the message, because I never
really just lived that life.
But the way he--
his word plays is amazing.
That inspires me a lot.
So Conway the Machine.
An author I'm currently reading is Elijah Muhammad.
I think that's been really inspiring to me right now.
And his messaging-- his message and what
he provided for Black people is truly inspiring to me.
I think he's an awesome author and Black activist--
was a Black activist--
I mean, was a good activist.
I feel like we might have talked about this already.
But outside of art--
I'll make it a little bit more challenging.
Outside of art, how do you prioritize time
for self-care and mental health in your life?
Man, somebody asked me this.
And I was like, dang, what is?
I don't know if I really do self-care a lot.
I think self-care is--
I think, to me, self-care is--
I'll give you what I think self-care is.
I think it's like me taking the time out
to edge myself up, cut my hair.
But anything other than that, man, I don't really
do too much self-care.
I think after I do this mural for my high school,
I think I might actually take a vacation.
And that'll be my first time actually taking a stab
at like, self-care.
I will probably go to a beach and just lay out.
I don't even care about the virus right about now.
I just need-- I just need a vacation.
So yeah, man, what about you?
The biggest thing I think I do in terms of like, self-care
would probably be talking to family.
But really, just like even--
it could be friends, family, co-workers.
It's just like, anybody that can have like
an engaging conversation with.
Usually, I don't care too much about what
the subject matter is.
But I'm a person--
I'm opinionated.
I like to argue.
If I heard a little bit about it, I think I know all of it.
So if I just watched a documentary
about like, Bitcoin, I'll be on the phone arguing with somebody
like I'm a Bitcoin expert.
So that's one thing.
Like, any time I can get kind of lost in conversation and ideas
with people, I feel like that's something
that restores me a lot.
And taking time to like, be still.
So not necessarily-- I don't have to go too many places
or be on vacation or anything.
But sometimes, it's like super intentional.
Maybe like 5 or 10 minutes to sit down and just meditate
or otherwise, just being able to just turn everything off
for a second.
It doesn't happen all the time.
And it probably could happen more.
But right now, it's like good conversation
and taking a second to unplug.
I think that's how I self-care outside of art.
And also, working out.
Working out as well.
And praying, I think that's like, my self-care,
just thinking about that.
It's hard.
I threw the outside of art one in there
because really, the art ends up being such a big one for me
that definitely, like, having the conversations,
definitely like, the meditating.
But if it's more than like, maybe
four or five days without painting, I could feel that.
I could actually feel like, my body going
like, what is happening?
Like, it is just like sloggy and jerky and anxious, and just
like, ugh.
So that ends up usually being like full stop, that's the one.
And I know like, when I got art jones just like, in my bones
for a few days.
But yeah, I think outside of that, it's going to be like,
just connecting with friends and family.
Last question for you.
And I think this one might be a two part.
The Hip-Hop Studies Summit was built on KRS-One's idea
that all pillars of hip-hop lead to and culminate
in knowledge of self.
What have you learned about yourself through hip-hop?
Man, I've learned so much through hip-hop.
I think being that my father raised me like,
on a lot of early '90s rap, and being
that he was like during that time,
he was like, super like, quote unquote, "woke".
And he was listening to--
he was listening to people like KRS-One.
And he was listening to the Brand Nubians
and thinking about--
I'm blanking on different artists.
But he was listening to so many artists that were putting
in the message in the raps.
And at the time, I didn't really like it.
But now, going back to it, and then I'm reading certain things
and I hear it in the music and I see it in the books,
and I'm like, OK.
This really has a, like, influence on me.
It really teaches me to not lose yourself, I think, sometimes.
So it just gives a little bit of flavor to it.
It just has those beats to it.
And I think--
I think that's the way it hits me through, like, the music.
What about you?
I mean, I think over time, the biggest thing--
the biggest thing I've learned about myself through hip-hop
is that I think that it's OK to be different.
And it's kind of weird to say, because it's
like, knowledge of self.
Like, I've learned, of course, more about myself
through listening to music, through listening to hip-hop.
But I think hip-hop in particular
has really kind of opened up my eyes to this idea
that Black people aren't a monolith.
Like, it comes up all the time.
Like, I went to HBCU.
Like, I get that all of us aren't the same.
But just being able to hear the music,
go through these stories, for me,
it's almost like anthropology, right?
Like, being able to hear the different ways that they use
language, being able to hear the different ways
they express emotions.
Even as we started, and I think--
I credit a lot of this to, like, a lot of our modern hip-hop
artists.
People are just different.
Like, in the early '80s and '90s,
even in a few situations-- like, maybe
let's say New Orleans and bounce music,
for example-- like, you get these extremely easy templates
that people are filling out and continuing to make music,
but I want to say, like, late '90s early 2000s,
then you started getting artists like Drake.
And then you started getting artists like Wayne.
And then you started getting all these folks that are like,
you know, I'm really just going to go with it, right?
I'm really going to bring you who
I am, how I want this to sound, like, what I want it to look
like, how I want the art to be.
For me, that kind of like, just let me know, like, all right.
There's a lot of me that's still kind of left to explore, one.
And two, it's a lot more fluid than I think.
Like, we got artists like Lil Wayne.
I think he's probably--
he's an interesting example because he's so prolific.
And we remember like, he was just--
he was one image particularly for, like, the first 10 or 15
years of his career.
And then after that 15 year mark,
like, after he got all the trophies and accolades
according to like, this one little way, it became a switch.
It became a switch.
It became a pivot.
And he was always a little bit ahead of his time, I think.
But then, 5, 10 years after like, each one of those
switches that he did, he ended up defining, like,
a whole new type of music, or a type of hip-hop.
So I think the biggest thing I've ever
learned from like, hip-hop industry,
hip-hop music, hip-hop art, is that it's really just
about understanding who you are, and then
being OK with expressing that.
And I think that's it.
What a great conversation, you guys.
Thank you so much.
I so appreciate that you both spoke of your processes
and respective practices.
And the way that art can be a catalyst for community dialogue
and change, I think, is really critical
and such an important message.
And I appreciate that both of you, you really embrace--
or, you have a sense of responsibility
to reflect Black life, Black joy, and Black activism.
So I applaud you both.
I think it's really incredible.
So what a generative, beautiful conversation.
Thank you both.
Thank you for having us.
Hit us up at chaffeyhiphopsummit@gmail.com.
If you're on Instagram follow us at @chaffeyhiphop.
You can follow me on Instagram at @jonah.
E-L-I-J-A-H, @jonah.elijah.
And my website is jonahelijah.art.
And if you guys want to follow me on Instagram,
my name is Rob Newman III, so follow me
at R-O-B-N-E-W-M-A-N-I-I-I. That's for Instagram,
and I think it's the same for all my social media platform,
actually.
And my website is rxbart.com, spelled a little differently.
It's R-X-B-A-R-T.com