ARTIST STATEMENT - ROOT ROT
In this body of work I am focusing on white supremacy’s relationship to the privileged spaces of my experiences, such as private art and educational institutions. In this fraught political moment, amidst ongoing public debates about race, power, and protests against its abuse, and widening gaps in wealth and opportunity, discussions about representation—across visual culture broadly—and its relationship to justice seem more relevant than ever.
In many of these compositions, which reference real sites, I have inserted fictional elements to raise questions about the allegiances and priorities of these institutions, as well as people—including myself—who have benefitted from, or continue to support them. The resulting works are representational, but through gestural passages and color and surface manipulation, I aim to suggest instability, corrosion or decay, as if decisions by these institutions have compromised their integrity. In the end, I strive to make engaging paintings that suggest dissonance and ambivalence, and that entice and challenge viewers, just as painting them entices and challenges me.
While formally distinct from my last abstract series, these new paintings share their precedents’ roots in contemplating Whiteness. These, too, emerge from wrestling with the politics of painting—the connections and gaps between painting and lived experience. These, too, reflect: a love of paint, the act of painting, and the power of the painted image; a regard for practitioners past and present, as well as those for whom practice has not been possible; and an admission of painting’s complicity with hegemonic power. As always, my process remains driven by questions. In this case, questions like: What role does painting play in the face of concrete social crises? How can my paintings respectfully incorporate—rather than exploit—relevant and thought-provoking content and imagery? What does it mean to think about racism, dehumanization, injustice, etc., and then to paint such pictures, and in particular as a straight, White man?
These questions and this body of work owe much to the work of others, and most acutely to three scholars’ books in particular: The History of White People, by Nell Irvin Painter; Ebony and Ivy: Race, Slavery, and the Troubled History of America’s Universities by Craig Steven Wilder; and The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, by Michelle Alexander. I am greatly indebted to the depth of research and insight that these books represent; each was inspiring as much as it was devastating.
Along similar lines, I cannot fail to mention the power, impact and influence of viewing Kerry James Marshall’s recent retrospective, which presented the scope of a body of work, and provided a window into an artistic practice I could not adequately honor in writing. Most succinctly I would say that show was the most affecting (and humbling) exhibition I have ever attended.
These people’s work, among others, influenced my own immeasurably, concretely sparking ideas for compositions, and more ephemerally—but equally importantly—by setting a standard, a tone, and a spirit for me in the studio that I strive to honor.
There is always danger in making art in response to inhumanity and suffering. I do so sincerely and humbly, without claiming success or certainty. And certainly, I recognize that painting has its limitations when compared to direct social action. That said, I believe art enables interaction and introspection for individuals, as well as creates opportunities for dialogue and discussion. My hope is that these works communicate a degree of internal struggle—among and between compositions, materials, processes, intents, and experiences—but, even more importantly, provoke conversation and critical thought.
In many of these compositions, which reference real sites, I have inserted fictional elements to raise questions about the allegiances and priorities of these institutions, as well as people—including myself—who have benefitted from, or continue to support them. The resulting works are representational, but through gestural passages and color and surface manipulation, I aim to suggest instability, corrosion or decay, as if decisions by these institutions have compromised their integrity. In the end, I strive to make engaging paintings that suggest dissonance and ambivalence, and that entice and challenge viewers, just as painting them entices and challenges me.
While formally distinct from my last abstract series, these new paintings share their precedents’ roots in contemplating Whiteness. These, too, emerge from wrestling with the politics of painting—the connections and gaps between painting and lived experience. These, too, reflect: a love of paint, the act of painting, and the power of the painted image; a regard for practitioners past and present, as well as those for whom practice has not been possible; and an admission of painting’s complicity with hegemonic power. As always, my process remains driven by questions. In this case, questions like: What role does painting play in the face of concrete social crises? How can my paintings respectfully incorporate—rather than exploit—relevant and thought-provoking content and imagery? What does it mean to think about racism, dehumanization, injustice, etc., and then to paint such pictures, and in particular as a straight, White man?
These questions and this body of work owe much to the work of others, and most acutely to three scholars’ books in particular: The History of White People, by Nell Irvin Painter; Ebony and Ivy: Race, Slavery, and the Troubled History of America’s Universities by Craig Steven Wilder; and The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, by Michelle Alexander. I am greatly indebted to the depth of research and insight that these books represent; each was inspiring as much as it was devastating.
Along similar lines, I cannot fail to mention the power, impact and influence of viewing Kerry James Marshall’s recent retrospective, which presented the scope of a body of work, and provided a window into an artistic practice I could not adequately honor in writing. Most succinctly I would say that show was the most affecting (and humbling) exhibition I have ever attended.
These people’s work, among others, influenced my own immeasurably, concretely sparking ideas for compositions, and more ephemerally—but equally importantly—by setting a standard, a tone, and a spirit for me in the studio that I strive to honor.
There is always danger in making art in response to inhumanity and suffering. I do so sincerely and humbly, without claiming success or certainty. And certainly, I recognize that painting has its limitations when compared to direct social action. That said, I believe art enables interaction and introspection for individuals, as well as creates opportunities for dialogue and discussion. My hope is that these works communicate a degree of internal struggle—among and between compositions, materials, processes, intents, and experiences—but, even more importantly, provoke conversation and critical thought.
