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Mark Bradford, tbc, 2014. Photo: Craig Smith
Mark Bradford, tbc, 2014. Photo: Craig Smith
Artist Derek Fordjour on Mark Bradford: Inteview by Curator All
Artist Derek Fordjour on Mark Bradford: Inteview by Curator Allison Glenn Allison Glenn: Thank you so much for sitting down to speak with me today, Derek, about the influence and impact that Mark Bradford has had upon your practice. Let’s start at the beginning. Where and when did you first meet Mark? Derek Fordjour: I met Mark through a friend of mine, ours, I believe Sam Levi Jones. [Mark] was mentoring Sam at the time. And Sam had come out from L.A. for a show at Sikkema Jenkins Gallery in New York... Mark was there and he was passing out tickets to the after party, which you know, would never happen now! I was with Sam, and Mark just said, “you guys should come to the Boom Boom Room.” And I was like, “Oh, man, this is cool!” You know, Mark being from LA, he was a big deal, but he wasn't exactly the rock star we know today. Mark was so generous. We were just sitting around chatting. I said, “Mark, how do you do this? Like, how do you get to this insane level of accomplishment, the scale, the prices, the career?” I knew how much the paintings were selling for at that time, but I just couldn't fathom it. At that time, I could barely pay rent, and Mark’s paintings were selling for more than my parents' home was worth. So I asked, “Can you bridge the gap for me? How does this happen?” And he said [Fordjour paraphrasing], “You know, I started by receiving checks that were small. And then over time, they got bigger, and they got a little bigger. And when I started, I would show anywhere. I think artists now are a little too careerist. If there's a venue for your work, and you want to get it out, then show it! Show that work, and it will grow. And don’t be afraid to be part of those conversations around pricing.You go in the back room of the gallery, you sit at those tables, and you have a voice in that process.”
That doesn't sound like much now, but Mark Bradford laying that
That doesn't sound like much now, but Mark Bradford laying that out for me before I had any gallery representation was not just a roadmap, it felt like he was giving me permission by telling me exactly where to go and how to operate. And he was absolutely right on both fronts. So that's my Mark Bradford Boom Boom Room career advice story. AG: I remember that time was, specifically, a moment for a lot of us. I think that [Black Artists’ Retreat] created a sense of community that for me, has carried through. I think I met you and Yashua [Klos] and a whole circle of artists through [B.A.R.] that I wouldn't have known otherwise. I think there is a real need for that kind of collegiality, that kind of community, but also there's a real need for mentorship. What I'm hearing you say is that not only did Mark give you permission, but he showed you how to access permission. DF: That's exactly right. And I think you're right about the collegiality, and not to go too far afield with the Black Artists Retreat, but it was revolutionary how we all got in a room shared a meal and now we are a loosely constructed alumni group of sorts. It’s pretty amazing what Theaster [Gates] accomplished, but you can call people up that are on the other side of the country now as colleagues and peers, because you spent a wonderful weekend together. I'm forever indebted to Theaster for that. That was like a revolutionary act: say, I'm going to open my place, feed people for two nights and something special will happen. Theaster’s example with Black Artist’s Retreat and Mark Bradford with Art in Practice laid the foundation in my thinking for building charitable outreach into my practice thinking first about impact. They both modeled the artist as a catalyst for social change and made an indelible impression on me. AG: I couldn’t agree more! Talk to me about Mark's paintings. What do you see?
DF: So yeah, Mark’s paintings…the last show I saw that just flo
DF: So yeah, Mark’s paintings…the last show I saw that just floored me was in London a few years ago. I think it was four paintings, and they were gargantuan. I also saw his work in Venice [at the 2017 Venice Biennial], when he did the US pavilion. I’m just thinking about moments that were mind-expanding for me as an artist. And then Pickett's Charge (2017– ongoing) at the Hirshhorn Museum, in D.C., in the Rotunda. When I see Mark's work you know, I see expanse, I see his reach. Not just sort of metaphorically, but I actually see his body, his mark is actually physically large. And it feels apropos to his wingspan, and the kind of body scale relationship that artists have with the objects that they create. So, it has this presence that is on par with what happens when Mark walks into the room. So, I love that because there's something sort of honest and there's a symmetry that feels right about that. There is something very elegant about Mark as a human being, very sophisticated, very effortless. But also, what I resonate most with, is this sense of community and open invitation. The work is generous that way. Mark is very human and the works feel very expansive and not formulaic. They are cartographic in a sense, but his hand, his mark is most evident. Mark is engaged with the work, it looks like the record of a performance almost. So what I see are all those things when I look at his work, and I can't separate it from knowing him, that I really think that he puts a real heartbeat and humanity into the space of abstraction in a way that I think creates space for people that might have historically been shut out of that conversation. So that's what I see when I look at his work. AG: What do you think about his process and how do the paintings make you feel? What have you learned about painting from Mark?
DF: I love that I don't immediately know how the works are crea
DF: I love that I don't immediately know how the works are created. With a little research, I was able to find out he doesn't actually use pigment or brushes, or that sometimes there's rinsing and embedding and deconstruction. Nari Ward was my thesis advisor in graduate school, and he is friends with Mark. So as I was working in graduate school, and I was kind of having this interrogation of newspaper and finding different ways to tear, Nari introduced Mark Bradford's process to me and said, Mark will put embed ropes, and rip them out. And, you know, he kind of used Mark as a way to give me again, permission to engage even more rigorously with the material. And so, I think that his process, given my own, is very deeply personal and born out of his experiences in the studio. I don't think this kind of deeply embedded personal process comes from thinking alone. It's very much engaged with the practice of doing. And so when I look at this process, I see a deep investment in studio time, because you simply don't arrive there any other way. The paintings make me feel inspired, and they always have from the small papers that he used. His early works were very thin, translucent, sort of tracing paper. But to learn later that this came from his experiences in the salons and the beauty shops, I think his mom or another family member worked there, but he did also. So this material was culled directly from his lived experience. But again, you know, thinking about material or how the paintings make me feel: they make me feel very seen. Because I always regarded abstraction as a sort of higher art, that the thinking is more opaque and less accessible, and requires a kind of legend or some sort of education to properly decipher it. But to find him locating the materials in a hair salon in South LA, in Leimert Park, I just felt that he brought our culture into this kind of hierarchy in this way that was really transformational. And so, when I think about what I see in our work, it is the ability to do that, to reconcile things that are otherwise regarded maybe in a high-low sense to collapse them into one space. And I really appreciate that.
AG: Visibility is so important, and, for me, the perceived boun
AG: Visibility is so important, and, for me, the perceived boundaries we have inherited between who is within and who is outside of the conversation can be dismantled. On that note, where do you see yourself and your work within, or in conversation with, the larger canon of painting? DF: Where I see myself within a larger canon of painting is probably something I don't think about too much. Right now, I am very busy, about the work of building an archive that has value and meaning and truth while I'm healthy and able to do it. I believe that when I do that really well, then I will earn a place in the canon. I think it's far too presumptuous at my stage in my career to make assumptions about where I might end up or how the canon may regard me. But I have great respect for the canon, and I think that [it would be] a tremendous compliment to my life's work, should it be there. I also love reading art news magazines from 40 years ago, to take stock of all the names that we don't hear anymore. So, the canon is a goal, but I think the way you make it into the canon is by being really committed to the life you're living now and to be relevant to the now. And then, later on curators and institutions will decide who we extract from the great wave of creativity of now. So how do I influence a larger, younger generation of artists? It's something I'm deeply, deeply passionate about. I try and make myself available to artists in every way possible, from doing visits to becoming a guest critic at schools and mentoring. I also just created a Foundation. I'm thinking about Mark’s Art and Practice, thinking about Theaster’s Dorchester Projects, thinking about Titus Kaphar’s NXTHVN and Julie Mehretu’s Denniston Hill Residency. I created Contemporary Arts Memphis in my hometown that creates a kind of Skowhegan-style sleepaway art camp experience for twenty-six high school-aged artists. They have art intensive instruction for three weeks, and then we travel for one week. And that really is about democratizing the art world. I was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, so I know that kids in the Mid-South have limited access to world class museums. I really hope that this experience can become a beacon for the region for Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee. We had our first cohort this summer and I’m so excited for all the life changing possibilities. Much like Mark, I am also trying to do as much good as I can with my success and to live my life in a way that can serve as inspiration for artists of future generations.
In Derek Fordjour’s mixed-media painting Birdman (2022), a man
In Derek Fordjour’s mixed-media painting Birdman (2022), a man in a top hat balances on a tightrope, surrounded by a swarm of doves. As is typical in the artist’s work, this image is marked by a kind of Pointillist stillness. Despite the chaos and frenzy that would characterize such a scene, Fordjour renders both performer and birds in an impossible state of calm arrest, recalling precedents by Georges Seurat, David Hockney, or Edward Hopper—though the circus tent’s concentric swirls of lavender and teal stripes invite special comparison to Paul Signac’s elusive portrait of Félix Fénéon (1890). These canonical painters frequently depicted scenes of upper-class pastimes—regattas, luncheons, and cabarets—associated with the white leisure class. Fordjour subverts these coded expectations by rendering a Black performer, alluding to histories of racial exclusion and minstrelsy. Masons, Magicians, Showgirls & Kings (2022) likewise draws focus to tropes of orientalism and colonial exoticism in the entertainment industries. Black-silhouetted men are hidden within a crowded array of gilded mummies and well-dressed patrons outfitted in turbans and feathered headdresses. In such works, Fordjour places emphasis on the simultaneity of hypervisibility, invisibility, and commodification. Fordjour’s works are always process-intensive and textured. The artist begins by affixing cardboard squares or foil to his canvas, to form a topographical underlayer, then wraps this surface in newspaper pages culled from the Financial Times. The use of newsprint has roots in Cubist collage, Dada photomontages, and the encaustic works of Jasper Johns, yet the “intended audience and content” of this specific masthead, as Charles Moore has pointed out, “is associated with wealth and whiteness.” He then adds acrylic and oil paint, sometimes deconstructing and reassembling strips of canvas as the image begins to take shape. Born in Memphis to Ghanaian parents, Fordjour has often represented vignettes related to Black history, culture, and ritual; his subjects commonly include athletes, marching bands, and drum majors but also more recently, the rites of passage within grief and mourning. Fascinated by the subjects of crowds and spectatorship, he explores both the commodification of Black physicality and the hierarchies that are revealed by group dynamics. -Dr. Allison K. Young, Assistant Professor of Art History Louisiana State University
Derek Fordjour, Birdman, 2022. Photo: Craig Smith
Derek Fordjour, Birdman, 2022. Photo: Craig Smith
Derek Fordjour, Masons, Magicians, Showgirls & Kings, 2022. Ph
Derek Fordjour, Masons, Magicians, Showgirls & Kings, 2022. Photo: Craig Smith
Chris Ofili, Popcorn Tits, 1996. Photo: Craig Smith
Chris Ofili, Popcorn Tits, 1996. Photo: Craig Smith
Chris Ofili, Dry Season - Small Axe, 2010-2012. Photo: Craig Sm
Chris Ofili, Dry Season - Small Axe, 2010-2012. Photo: Craig Smith
Chris Ofili, Poolside Magic 8, 2012. Photo: Craig Smith
Chris Ofili, Poolside Magic 8, 2012. Photo: Craig Smith
One of today’s most significant contemporary painters, British
One of today’s most significant contemporary painters, British artist Chris Ofili has played the shifting roles of art world trickster, brilliant colorist, and archivist of Black cultural history, often all at once. Born in Manchester, England to Nigerian parents, Ofili became widely known in the 1990s for his monumental canvases that were bedazzled with glitter, beads, collage elements, and elephant dung. The latter material, which has sparked occasional controversy, references the artist’s formative travels in Zimbabwe while also serving as a wry, self-primitivizing gesture, subverting the art world’s exoticizing expectations of artists from the African diaspora. Popcorn Tits (1996) is exemplary of this early stage in the artist’s career: Propped up by two balls of dung likely sourced from the London Zoo, the painting is garishly bright, covered in scrawling, graffiti-like marks of dotted paint that recall 1970s psychedelia, while deflecting our gaze from the swirling array of pornographic fragments alluded to in the work’s humorously vulgar title. Currently based in Trinidad and Tobago, Ofili has expanded his practice substantially in recent years. For instance, a 2012 collaboration with The Royal Ballet led to the creation of set designs and costumes based on paintings and pastel drawings that reinterpret Ovid’s Metamorphosis through a lush, Caribbean-inspired palette and iconography. Similarly, Poolside Magic (2013) is one in a suite of vividly pigmented watercolors based loosely on a 1940 photograph of Trinidadian artist Boscoe Holder with a model in his Port-of-Spain studio. Recasting these figures as a contemporary nude bather, served by a cocktail waiter in coattails, Ofili adds a trademark layer of sensuality, mysticism, and narrative intrigue in his reworking of this scene. -Dr. Allison K. Young, Assistant Professor of Art History Louisiana State University
Betye Saar, The Edge of Ethics, 2010. Photo: Craig Smith
Betye Saar, The Edge of Ethics, 2010. Photo: Craig Smith
From a symbolism expressing Black captivity to allusions to Pau
From a symbolism expressing Black captivity to allusions to Paul Laurence Dunbar’s image of aviary confinement in his 1899 poem “Sympathy,” Betye Saar’s The Edge of Ethics (2010) has been explained by many critics in a steadfast, predictive manner. While these interpretations are not necessarily incorrect, they sidestep the sculpture’s heterogeneity, its conduct-probing, conditional title, and its implicit paradoxes. Instead of the Black female torso embodying “suffering,” “burden-bearing,” and “vulnerability”—superficially expressed by being chained to a vintage glass flask and standing with attached bird legs on the back of a toy alligator—could this figure represent a philosophical and abstract statement and not just something r eactionary? Has Saar created a structure that is not so much victimization incarnated but, rather, a materialization of a state of mind that, as its title suggests, hovers between an ethical stance and a moral principle? This deviation from seeing The Edge of Ethics as representing anguish and instead, invoking an exposition on proprieties-versus-values relies on a comparable analytical instrument: the bocio, or the assemblages comprised of wooden carvings, ephemera, and bindings created by ritual experts from West Africa’s Guinea Coast region. Like the alchemical entities contained within bocio sculptures, The Edge of Ethics itemizes its spiritually imbued components, whose aggregate—contained in a trefoil arch-shaped green cage and flanked at its rear by a spindly coral fan—puts into three-dimensions a metaphorical house of cards. This edifice, overflowing with meaning, creates an autonomous, existential conundrum for the sculpture’s discerning creator and viewers. -Dr. Richard J. Powell
A figure kicks off her shoes, strolls languidly into a red room
A figure kicks off her shoes, strolls languidly into a red room, and drops her weight onto the edge of a plush, sanguine daybed. Perhaps she has just arrived home from a date that screeched to an end the moment she began yearning for her own company, or a solo-sojourn to a foreign land, or a vivacious night out with her friends… She is clad in billowing fuschia fabric that drapes seamlessly over her forearms and stomach, as well as similarly hued pink panties, and an angular black bowling hat. The curve of her shining legs draw the eye down to the ends of her daintily pointed feet, which are kissed by the same shade that adorns her torso and hips. The clarity of her features are eclipsed by the brim of her hat as her shadow dissolves onto the back wall. Is she gazing down to the velvet coated floor? Or perhaps her own shoulder, or maybe at something that exceeds the frame? Surely, she occupies the frame with a fervent elegance and yet, this figure has secrets. Any information that could definitely point to the circumstance of the scene, let alone the details of the figure’s interior life, are concealed, which breathes space open for glorious speculation. Danielle McKinney’s Rouge exudes harmony and glistens with the potential energy associated with the artist’s decision to withhold access to her figure’s interiority. Here, McKinney withholds the audience's access to the figure’s interior life, thereby refusing the conception that we may come to “know” or “understand” the intricacies of a life simply by beholding a sliver of it. It is precisely from within the mouth of speculation that we may begin to understand the figure that inhabits the world of Rouge as an autonomous and self-determined figure. The scene is cinematic as it is romantic, and yet, its import lies precisely in the fact that we will never know what unfolded in the space around the particular moment McKinney has captured. -Camille Bacon, arts writer
Danielle McKinney, Rouge, 2021. Photo: Criag Smith
Danielle McKinney, Rouge, 2021. Photo: Criag Smith
Ghanaian artist and Ghanatta College alumnus Annan Affotey brin
Ghanaian artist and Ghanatta College alumnus Annan Affotey brings his subjects into intense, colorful, textured, and expressive portraits. Affotey’s paintings of everyday people are known for their expressive eyes, accentuated forms, and rich color palette. Although he currently lives in England, Affotey draws inspiration from people and places in Ghana that he vaguely remembers, knows personally, or discovers via photographs. Partly autobiographical and partly allegorical, Affotey’s “red eye” portraits speak to the artist’s experiences of being seen as an outsider in both America and England. Outside of Ghana, the reddish color of the area around his pupils becomes a quality that marks him as “the other”: a Black man, a foreigner, one who doesn’t belong. Affotey incorporated this experience into his work and started portraying the eyes of his Black subjects in subtle shades of red. The color becomes an indicator of outsider status and in the art magazine Yellowzine, Affotey has stated that this series of portraits is about “misinterpreted identities.” Through his choice of subjects and sitters however, he began to forge a collective group identity—a community that transcends time and place. These are people to whom the artist feels deeply connected, emotionally and physically, as part of the community he belongs to and lives in. As a Black man, an “other,” there is a connection with his subjects and that can be perceived through his paintings. At the same time, each person’s individuality is relayed through the artist’s realistic style, use of electrifying hues, and seductive ombrés. His gestural brushstrokes and bold use of color suggests that there is depth to the person in the picture. And while notions of power, privilege, and history cannot be erased from the white gaze on Black bodies, Affotey is an expert at reversing and reexamining it. His portraits are stark in composition; there is nothing to distract onlookers from the fact that the subjects gaze directly at them. They speak only of themselves and for themselves. -Natasha Becker, Curator of African Art de Young Museum
Annan Affoty, Addicted, 2021. Photo: Craig Smith
Annan Affoty, Addicted, 2021. Photo: Craig Smith
Amoako Boafo, Purprle Shadow, 2021. Photo: Craig Smith
Amoako Boafo, Purprle Shadow, 2021. Photo: Craig Smith
Amoako Boafo, Kofi, 2019. Photo: Craig Smith
Amoako Boafo, Kofi, 2019. Photo: Craig Smith
Amoako Boafo has emerged as one of the most important figurativ
Amoako Boafo has emerged as one of the most important figurative painters of his time. His portraits are noted for their singular style, engaging subjects, and vibrant colors and patterns. His paintings offer a new approach to black representation by documenting and celebrating the Black subject in art. He often depicts his magnetic subjects in thick, gestural brushstrokes in front of monochromatic color backgrounds. Boafo’s striking portraits have a crucial relationship to ‘the white gaze’—the ways in which whiteness d ominates how Black people are portrayed—and instead encourages a different way of looking and new trajectories of seeing within figurative portraiture. Kofi and Purple Shadow exemplify his singular finger painting style, often applied only to the faces and exposed body parts of his subjects. These swirls of brown or black paint makes visible a complex interiority within his subjects even as they gaze outward. Kofi and Purple Shadow are vivid and precise monochromatic portraits of two very different Black men. The artists’ formal and conceptual process allows for distinct subjects, gifted with an exquisite degree of regality and self-awareness. Boafo is expert at blending interiority and exteriority in his subjects—all of whom are familiar, friendly, in community with the artist—and hold an intimacy and capacity for self-possession, self-awareness, and self-fullness. In this context, Black interiority speaks to the inner aliveness of Black people and the expressive cultural production they shape. Simultaneously, the subject of the painting gazes outward, is situated outside, and shapes or acts on the material world. The Black body is thus |unconstrained by the duality of interior/exterior, or divorced from the political and from public life. Interiority is not a protection against the dominance of a racially-charged, oppressive, social world. Instead, it allows Boafo’s subjects proclaim their sovereignty within it. We only need to ask a few very simple but fundamental questions about Amoafo Boafo’s portraits of self-aware Black subjects to reveal the incredible possibilities for reading other aesthetic trajectories and for valuing their different qualities: Who is looking? Who is being seen? Who is being represented? And who is doing the representing? -Natasha Becker, Curator of African Art de Young Museum
Alex Gardner, Recap, 2019. Photo: Craig Smith
Alex Gardner, Recap, 2019. Photo: Craig Smith
Recap is a work that revels in omission. Two jet-black figures—
Recap is a work that revels in omission. Two jet-black figures—one sitting, with the other reclining in their lap—wear nondescript white clothing. The recumbent figure cradles their own featureless head in their arms, locked into their spot through the reassuring grip of the seated person. Positioned as they are, the sitter provides both protection and place as together the couple sinks firmly into the ambiguous squish of opalescent fabric. The skin of this pair appears otherworldly, denoting at first glance that this scene, while familiar, exists in an invented space of the artist’s own creation. Unlike the works of Kerry James Marshall or Amy Sherald, where black and gray-toned skin specifically denotes Blackness, Alex Gardner uses black as a neutral. His figures are raceless, genderless, nameless avatars to be identified only if viewers choose to fill in the blanks. In this way, Recap depicts a moment of quiet, albeit recognizable intimacy somewhere between the real world and a nebulous expanse of wide-open possibility. However, even among these informational voids, Gardner’s work emphasizes c onnection. For the reclining figure, the affectionately created spot of the sitter’s lap becomes a shelter to safely revisit the events of the day; there is catharsis in this figure recapping their struggles to their partner in this intimate setting. For viewers, witnessing that silent exchange of protection becomes an invitation. In the quietness of paint, Gardner omits just enough information to make space for onlookers to connect and add their own voices to the waiting void. -Alejo Benedetti, Associate Curator of Contemporary Art Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art
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