“I don’t want the kind of career where everything is sensible and safe; I’d rather suffer through the anxiety of wondering where I’m going next than suffer the boredom of dancing in the same safe square.”
“The reward is getting through the tough stuff. And that’s what’s perplexing about the art thing. When I was going to school there were kids that could draw their asses off. There were kids that were better draftsman than me, for certain. But no one was more determined than me.”
From Lagos to LA, a young painter’s images resonate with meaning, both personal and political.
For her residency at the New Museum, Leigh looks at the act of healing through the lens of black female caregivers, educators, and intellectuals.
Pacale Marthine Tayou is a Cameroonian artist based in Belgium. His work has appeared in documenta11 (2002) in Kassel, two Venice Biennales (2005 and 2009), and numerous international exhibitions. Recent solo exhibitions took place at the Serpentine Galleries, London, and Fowler Museum, Los Angeles, both in 2015.
“I’m fighting between control and letting nature take its course.”
Cinematic choreography and the art of showing, not telling.
Black Nationalism, rural Brooklyn, faces, and monoliths.
This is the type of record that will slap cultural essentialists in the face.
Dutty Wine, radical action, phrase books, voices on television, and America’s orphaned tongue.
“The collage works are going to be life-size. My work increased in scale when I realized that I wanted people to enter the worlds or to see them almost like dioramas— these places that they could be immersed into, with their own social structures and their eco-systems.”
Radcliffe Bailey on artistic and regional labels, testing his own DNA, aging, and the power familial ancestry holds on his practice.
Kenyan writer Binyavanga Wainaina is inexhaustible, a public intellectual very much engaged with the literary and political worlds. His memoir, One Day I Will Write About This Place, published this July by Graywolf Press, chronicles the multiplicity of his middle-class African childhood: home squared, we call it, your clan, your home, the nation of your origin.
An exhibition of photographs from three series, exploring absence, decomposition and dislocation. Shot in Cape Town and New Orleans, subjects vary from migrants in their intimate spaces, empty beds, and ruined houses.
In 1976 I had been making photographs for a couple of years. I had certainly been looking at a lot more photographs than I had actually made.
If Marvel Comics had gotten around to it, Oscar Wao would have been a hero. As it is, Junot Díaz stepped in and made him one first.
I can’t remember where I first met Nuruddin Farah, but it was at some sort of conference.
Reading Dr. Erna Brodber’s novel Myal (New Beacon Books, 1988) is a transformative experience that unchains both truths and memories and moves you to explore what she calls the “half that’s not been told.”