BLACK ART MATTERS: a review of "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light"

"BLACK ART: IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT"
Produced and Directed by Sam Pollard
**** (four stars)

I have an experiment that I am asking you to undertake. 

I am asking you to think about any times during your lives in which you may have visited an art museum. Simply casual visits. Not for research or anything. A regular outing. Now...when going to an art museum, how many works do you remember seeing that were created by Black artists and then, please think to when was the very first time you ever saw work created by a Black artist? Nothing that you necessarily had to seek for. But, what was just...present.

Additionally, there is this: One can easily go through life never having set foot within an art museum and still be aware of the existence of Monet. Or Leonardo da Vinci. Picasso. Vincent van Gogh. Yet, are you able to remember when you became aware of a Black artist of some prominence? Not in a class or through a lesson. But through the osmosis of just living life in America, an America dominated by Whiteness.

This particular experiment is one I utilized upon myself as I began watching Sam Pollard's brilliant, beautiful documentary "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light," and truthfully, I honestly could not devise an answer. But what I did discover through viewing was a greater window not only into the art world, and a selection of the Black artists, historians, dealers and collectors who populate that world. Pollard's film delivered unto me a greater view of Blackness itself, making his work function just as highly as many of my favorite documentaries: a film that transcends its subject matter and extends itself into themes grander and more encompassing to the human experience overall. 

Utilizing the landmark 1976 exhibition Two Centuries of Black American Art, as curated by the late artist/scholar David Driskell as a leaping off point as well as a bookend, Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" approaches to primarily accomplish what Driskell achieved 45 years ago: to honor the work and legacies of Black artists and therefore, educate the public at large to the existence of these Black artists and their legacies in order to widen the perception, conversation and appreciation of the art world in its entirety.

Including interviews with David Driskell, both archived and conducted especially for this film before his passing on April 1, 2020 due to complications from COVID-19, Pollard's film introduces us to Black artists from before, during, afterwards, and including those who were ultimately inspired by Driskell's watershed exhibit. 

While every figure Pollard presents expands the mosaic of the art world as a whole, delving into each artist's signature style and process also expanded the nature and purpose of each artist's creative process as well.

We meet Radcliffe Bailey (painter, sculptor, mixed media artist), who utilized 500 discarded piano keys and constructed a sculpture representing the Middle Passage. We are also introduced to both Kehinde Wiley (portrait painter) and Amy Sherald (painter), each of whom were graced with the privilege and responsibility of creating portraits of President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama.  

The room sized Black silhouette paper artwork of Kara Walker (painter, print maker, filmmaker, installation artist, Professor) showcases an artistic honesty about the Black experience through a grim surrealism that is perceived as being confrontational and polarizing even among Black audiences, some of whom characterize Walker's work as being exploitative while others champion the rightfulness of its often disturbing nature.      

And then, we also are presented with the purposefully representational art of Kerry James Marshall (painter/Professor) whose own work was conceived through his being inspired by the representational work of Charles White (painter, visual artist), as well as being a reaction to the reality that when visiting art museums, it is rare to see Black people in pictures let alone seeing images of Black artists creating art. Furthermore, Marshall's process fully challenges and therefore, upends the nature of what colors actually are. As he states pointedly, "Black is not the absence of color. Black is particular kinds of color." Meaning that with the three bases of Black (Ivory, Carbon and Mars) that one could purchase at an art store, a full spectrum of colors could be created from the base of blackness. For me, a nearly lifelong perception of what Black is was shattered, altered and re-shaped into what Black can be.

With regards to the necessity of Black artists and Black art being firmly recognized as being essential pieces of the American canon--for as David Driskell expressed with finality, "The American canon is not complete without it."--Pollard's film wisely delves deeper into the nature of inclusion, from the museums that are reluctant to showcase Black artists to tensions within the very groups that are already marginalized. 

When the film turns its attention to Faith Ringgold (painter, writer, mixed media sculptor, performance artist), an unapologetic Feminist and activist, whose refusal, despite her immense artistic skill and creativity, from being admitted into The Spiral, a New York based collective of African-American artists during the 1960's, the questions raised are palpable. Who decides who gets to be invited into or excluded from the canon of significant Black art? Who gets to decide what is significant Black art and what isn't?  

From matters of inclusion, we reach the topic of diversity within Black art and the art world in full, from the need for Black curators, Black museums, Black art journalists and critics and even further, prominent Black art collectors, individuals, like Swizz Beatz for instance, who can assist to raise the profile of Black artists within society, which even more crucially, helps us to elevate each other. From elevation, we are then able to inspire, just as witnessed by the image of then 2 year old Parker Curry gazing in awe at the portrait of Michelle Obama. For through the art that arrives from Black artists, we, as Black people, have the opportunity to feel seen in spaces where we are typically not. And if we are able to see ourselves and each other here, then we can be inspired to be seen and recognized everywhere.

For a film that runs just a hair under 90 minutes, Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" covers a tremendous amount of material with an energetic, fully involving grace that results in an engrossing experience. Pollard's warmly provocative style showcases every artist in succinct detail yet as rich and complex as the art they each create. In fact, so engaging all of the artists are as interview subjects, conversationalists as well as creative figures, Pollard could have easily helmed completely individualized documentary films for each person. 

Most urgently, yet gently so, Pollard's film delivered one revelation after another, from ones of the nature like the aforementioned fallacy of Black being the absence of color but revelations that for me, proved themselves to being more primal. Some of them were more "a ha" moments certainly. But, what I am speaking of are the deeply significant revelations, those that began with feelings of sadness, incredulity and even a taste of self-directed anger or disappointment, which then ultimately built themselves upwards towards a sense of validation and liberation. 

At this time, I wish to return to the experiment I asked of you to undertake at the outset of this posting. It was during a sequence filmed at the Art Institute of Chicago when I forced myself to seriously think back to the times when I ventured to art museums during my life. I think to the times as a child and teenager, when I went to the Art Institute, either with family or on school field trips. I think of the times as an adult, going to the same museum, or visiting Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art in the early 1990's as well as copious trips to the Chazen Museum of Art in Madison, WI, a location where I have taken children on several school aged field trips over the years. And it was here, a mere 12 minutes into the film as I watched and reminisced, it hit me how much that I had taken at face value and therefore, taken for granted that I really had not seen representations of myself within the art presented. 

I concede that maybe I did see some examples but do not remember. And yes, there is certainly Chicago's DuSable Museum. Yet as that location is not exclusively an art museum and is considerably more of a historical museum, I tend to keep each specific museum separate in my brain...which in and of itself, also may be indicative of the larger and more seriously problematic issue. I, as an African American living in a society purposefully designed for Whiteness, had been conditioned to not readily see examples of myself and in doing so, to not even question our absence. 

To think about it within this moment, the feeling is more than insidious as it stretches to every fabric of American society but keeping strictly to the medium of the arts, it was the same for television and the movies regarding for whom stories were told and centered around and who had been given access to make them. Even within literature, if not fully described by the author suggesting otherwise, when visualizing characters, my brain would default to imagining, seeing Whiteness. Unless given permission, representations of Blackness were not included and if invited, it was through a more marginalized capacity, always reminding me that I am part of a world for White people rather than being a Black person in a world for everyone.

By being marginalized at best and ignored at worst, I felt ashamed that I did not know of really any of the figures presented within "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light," when what we see within the film are a collective of world class talents and creators whose names should be as easily recognizable as their European counterparts. Of course, we know of Jean-Michel Basquiat or Gordon Parks but those are just two Black figures when the world is, at the very least, aware of White artists from a variety of eras and genres, and no one even has to be an art aficionado to have heard of Monet, Picasso, and/or a Da Vinci. To that end, I should have known about David Driskell, Faith Ringgold or Kerry James Marshall and more. 

When everything is said and done, I feel that if "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" is asking anything at all of us as viewers, it is pushing us to question where do we expect to see Black people in the world? Or even more pointedly, as Black people, where do we expect to see ourselves in a world designed for Whiteness and even then, why do we have these expectations? Are we only meant to be seen in the field of athletics, on stage holding a microphone or as a headline or chalk outline? 

When it is predicated that we are only to be seen in specific places and space, if any at all, then that enforced fallacy becomes a certain reality...even when it defies logic. For instance, logically, I knew as a child that Black people existed all over the world but I vividly remember that when I saw my first British Black person on television, that was the moment I realized that we really did exist beyond America and Africa. I needed to see that image in order to help myself see us. As a life long rock music fan, I remember when I first saw the images of the members of the bands Fishbone and Living Colour, Black men making up Black bands creating the music that Black people are not supposed to play, despite the fact that Black people invented it. Regardless, I needed to see those images in order to help myself see us. 

Over and over again while watching Pollard's film, I saw the images I needed to see in order help myself see us, to help myself to see the world of Blackness that is not overtly seen, acknowledged and recognized in a world of Whiteness. Much like the film's subtitle and the artists the film celebrates, Blackness in its totality, complexity, variety and nuances feel to operate in the absence of light, and for now, Pollard's film is that light designed to present a reality that we are fooled into thinking does not exist.  

Thanks to Pollard's film which introduced me to a host of Black artists, and furthermore, Black historians and educators, Black curators and collectors, Black writers and journalists, now I know of their work and for that, I am exceedingly grateful to this film for expanding my consciousness, perception of myself and my own sense of what Blackness is and can be. Again, logically, I know that there are Black artists and that Black art exists. But when one does not actually see it, the brain is fooled into somehow thinking that it does not exist. This is why representation matters so powerfully for if we can see it, yes...we can be it! 

Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" is a testament to the continued and ever evolving renaissance of the art world and canon as created by Black hands, hearts, minds and souls. It is a lushly executed experience that invites as it provokes, enriches as it engages you in mental debates with yourself and what you once felt to be valid, and deftly informs of how much truly exists even when the proverbial spotlight is completely turned away. 

I gently urge you to seek out this film upon your streaming platforms, bask in its superbly warm glow...and be illuminated!!

DEATH LOOP: a review of "Two Distant Strangers"

 

"TWO DISTANT STRANGERS"
Screenplay Written by Travon Free
Directed by Travon Free & Martin Desmond Roe
**** (four stars)

This film was traumatizing. 

In this past week, I, along with the remainder of the nation (and I would assume, considerable sections of the world outside of the United States) awaited the results of the Derek Chauvin trial, the Minneapolis police officer who placing his knee upon the neck of George Floyd for nine minutes and twenty six seconds, resulted in Floyd's murder via asphyxiation. The tragedy, all captured on a cellphone video courtesy of then 17 year old Darnella Frazier, the world all saw the exact same horrifying, inhumane footage, sparking a global level of moral outrage and solidarity within the entire Black Lives Matter movement that had been unlike anything witnessed prior. 

And even still, there were no guarantees of that proverbial moral arc of justice swaying in the proper direction, which is entirely due to the history and continuation of the systemic racism contained within policing towards Black people in the United States. We all saw the same thing but that did not mean justice would arrive. And in my mind, if we lived in a world where the likes of George Zimmerman could walk free after pursuing and murdering Trayvon Martin (a child, no less), and the officers who murdered a sleeping Breonna Taylor still had not even been arrested, then I did not harbor much hope in attaining justice for George Floyd. 

So...I essentially avoided the trial. Just seeing bits and pieces on the evening news. But, I tried to maintain some sense of ironic detachment, I guess because I honestly do not think I could handle a ruling that would potentially give police, plus armchair warrior racists, a full throated green light to hunt and kill Black people knowing consequences would not exist. 

All of these thoughts, plus so many more, weighed upon me heavily as I watched the short film "Two Distant Strangers" from Directors Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe, a work that just won the Oscar for Best Live Action Short Film at the 93rd annual Academy Awards...and deservedly so as this is a ferociously inventive, emotionally devastating experience that merges a dark magical realism,  with intensely brutal realities to struck me at the core of my mounting fears and anxieties that are inexcusably connected to living as a Black man in America. And still, it is essential viewing.     

Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers" stars a most impressive Joey Bada$$ as Carter James, a graphic designer and comic book artist who awakens one beautifully sunlit day in the bed of Perri (Zaria Simone), the morning after their first date. After some flirtatious banter and the clear promise to re-connect, all Carter wishes and intends to do is to return home to his beloved dog dog, Jeter. 

After exiting Perri's building, Carter stops for a quick cigarette yet unexpectedly bumps in to a passerby, accidentally spilling coffee upon his shirt. The brief, slightly heated exchange between the miffed passerby and the apologetic Carter catches the attention of Officer Merk (a frightening Andrew Howard), who instantly and wrongly profiles Carter, questions the wad of cash inside of his backpack, the cigarette itself and then, proceeds to illegally search Carter's belongings. As if happening like whiplash, Carter's life descends into nightmare as he is attacked by Officer Merk, wrestled to the ground and choked to death on the sidewalk, while being entirely filmed by a local street merchant upon her cellphone and with his gasps of "I can't breathe!!!" desperately uttered from his lips. 

And then...Carter awakens in Perri's bed. Gradually convincing himself that what he had experienced had been nothing but a horrific dream, Carter becomes unsettled as he experiences several moments of deja vu as he prepares to return home to his dog. Yet shockingly, just as before, Carter is encountered by Officer Merk again leading to a confrontation that results in Carter's death. 

And once again, Carter reawakens in Perri's bed.

While it may seem that Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers," is essentially Harold Ramis' "Groundhog Day" (1993) merged with say, Ryan Coogler's "Fruitvale Station" (2013), the film is by no means an affair that approaches the frivolous or exploitative. In fact, as Free expressed himself in a recent interview on MSNBC's essential "American Voices" with journalist/host Alicia Menendez, the film allows viewers over the running time of 29 minutes, "to experience what it feels like to be Black for 24 hours."  

Dear readers, I urge all of you who do indeed choose to watch this film, to not take Travon Free's description as hyperbole or self-congratulatory hype. As I expressed at the outset of this posting, the film was decidedly, and rightfully, traumatic to endure. If the experience of watching this film for you proves itself to being equally upending, then the filmmakers have performed their job exceedingly well by creating a powerfully effective piece of cinema filled end to end with pitch perfect performances, sharp and multilayered storytelling, and a brisk yet fully complete sense of pacing fueled by the work of Editor Alex Odesmith and sumptuously visualized via crisp Cinematography by Jessica Young. 

Additionally, and most importantly, Free and Roe have found a disturbingly inventive way to add their undeniably impassioned voices to our continuing national conversation about the status of policing in America, state sanctioned violence that is predominantly leveraged against Black and Brown people continuously without consequence and the desperate pleas from people of color to anyone who will listen as we exclaim that our lives are of equal importance and inherent value of existence as our White counterparts. The sheer empathy contained within every moment of "Two Distant Strangers" is palpable to the point of being primal.    

With its hybrid of an almost science fiction level of fantasy and brutal realism, "Two Distant Strangers" ultimately serves as an allegory. The story of Carter James being repeatedly and relentlessly pursued and murdered by Officer Merk, where both figures exist in a vicious, violent time loop, or better yet, a death loop, is fully representative of the status in which Black Americans find ourselves within 21st century America. For every time Carter James finds himself murdered by Officer Merk, regardless of the situations in which both characters find themselves, I found myself thinking of the real world Black people who have murdered, either via the police or by the hands of racist vigilantes, as well as wondering to myself, "Will I be next?"

The beauty of Joey Bada$$'s performance as Carter flows from the ease at which we already feel as if we know him fully within the film's first scenes. He is clearly and instantly warm and affable, intelligent and professional, romantic and sensitive, clever, caring and so obviously in love with his canine companion. Yet, with each murder and subsequent reawakening, Bada$$ conjures up crucial levels of humanity to this character, which makes every time he dies and every time he returns to the start of his day in Perri's bed (plus his reactions to every time he re-opens his eyes) deepen with the pain, sorrow, anger and fear at viewing a life wrongfully ended for no other reason than he was breathing. While Carter James exists as one character, every murder of him took me to another news story about yet another Black person either harassed, profiled, pursued, hunted and/or killed and the effect for me existed beyond being sobering. It felt like sinking and being unable to re-emerge.  

To that end, Officer Merk represents not solely a person but the entire systemic, institutional racism that by its design was created for the purpose of Black people not being able to rise, advance and in far too many cases, obtain the means to survive it. He is the ultimate perceived inherent goodness, fairness and justice of White people and the White systems created and upheld, regardless of the content of character and deed. In turn, Carter James, as envisioned through Officer Merk, is the perceived inherent maliciousness of Black people, always suspect and untrustworthy, always up to something nefarious and criminal, forever embodying all that is evil, regardless of reality, rooted in fantasy and in need of being snuffed out.

Andrew Howard's performance is fearsome as well as insidious, as it is a confrontational work that toys with us, in the same way that the character toys with Carter and his perception of how he can possibly navigate and maybe even circumvent this dark time loop in order to make his way back to his dog. Yet, unlike "Groundhog Day," where Bill Murray's character had to grow and discover how his own behavior affected his ultimate outcome, Carter is bested every single time and finds no sense of resolution no matter how he chooses to engage with his fateful day. And as wrenching as the film is, what saves it from being excruciating is the sense of hope contained within Carter's resolve. That despite everything Officer Merk throws at him, regardless of how many times Merk kills him, somehow, someway, he will get back home to his dog. Just as with all Black people because even with all of the tragedy we, as a people, have endured...we remain!     

At this time, I feel the need to express myself in a more personal manner as a means of the thought and emotional process I experienced as I watched "Two Distant Strangers."  Obviously, I am just one Black man and my individual experience as a Black man in America is not remotely representative of every Black man in the nation. In fact, within the breadth of my life, I count myself to have been extremely lucky to have not been on the receiving end of any levels of racism that approached the dangerous or life threatening. 

To that end, I have been a Black face in predominantly White spaces for most of my life and therefore, it is an experience I am more than used to. But since my college years, and especially as I have aged, I became increasingly aware and now am entirely cognizant of those inexplicable uncomfortable feelings that arise when those very feelings are projected or directed towards me. Enduring the stream of micro aggressions, the coded language and attitudes that have grown from undercurrents to the more overt and in turn, I have had to equally endure certain level(s) of code switching and public stifling of my complete self so as not to trigger retribution from the prejudices of others. 

What feels most foreign, and now more prevalent than I have ever experienced, is that foreboding sense of feeling unsafe, an elevated sense of danger, that creeping doom due to the overall intensity of the societal tenor regarding people pf color as enabled by over a decade's worth of flame fanning and igniting by right wing media, right wing politicians and unquestionably, the words and actions as delivered by the previous President of the United States. 

There are behaviors I engage with today that I never would have thought of even as recently as one year before (or at least pre-COVID-19). A need to stick strictly to familiar locations. Ensuring that I am safe at home before the sun falls for the evening. And most of all, every night when I do return home from work, I send a text to my Mother in Chicago, informing her that I am indeed back at my house safe and sound. I need to impress upon you that this is something I have never done before in my adult life and I am doing this solely because she is as scared for my safety as I am scared for myself. And all I am trying to do after a day's work is to just get back home.   

Vibrant and devastating, exhilarating and enraging, superb and sorrowful, Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers" deftly plunges into the pulse, tragedy, fight and trauma of the Black Lives Matter movement. Again for those who still proclaim to not understand the meaning of the statement, Black Lives Matter is a cry to a howl to a scream to stop killing us for we are human beings with families, friends, passions and dreams just like anyone else and we deserve to live and be treated and valued as human beings. 

That is exactly where I found myself as I viewed this short film.

On Tuesday, April 20, 2021, after 10 hours of deliberation, Derek Chauvin was found guilty on all three counts of second degree murder, third degree murder and manslaughter in the death of George Floyd. I exhaled a sigh of relief after expecting the very worst because, and please remember, the outcome of this trial, as obvious as it was considering what the entire world saw, was, in actuality, not obvious. The fact that the outcome of the trial was not obvious is disheartening and acutely distressing as the historical lack of consequence has outweighed basic humanity countless times that it is difficult to even believe in a system that is inherently biased against Black people. 

But yes, this time, for George Floyd, the right outcome arrived. Yet, true to the form of this nation, we could not even have 24 hours to bask in our relief.. Hell, we could not even have 5 hours before being emotionally pummeled again by the news of 16 year old Ma'Khia Bryant, shot and killed by police in Columbus, Ohio. This is precisely why I have to scoff at the notion that justice was attained for George Floyd despite my relief at the trial outcome. In fact, what I felt the very most was deep sadness. I do not believe that George Floyd ever wished to become a martyr for a global cause for racial justice. All George Floyd wanted was to return home and see his family again. 

George Floyd just wanted to go home. And like him and like Carter James, we all just want to go home.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR MAY 2021

 

As we begin again...

While I am not really able to make any promises (and perhaps, this is a way of remaining somewhat cautious), I am hoping that the month of May will bring Savage Cinema back in earnest...even though life at the movies has not returned to the fullness of anything resembling normal as of this time. 

I will say that your friendly neighborhood film enthusiast is indeed fully vaccinated!! (How about you?) Even so, I am unquestionably more than conscious that our global pandemic is nowhere near being something that we can relegate firmly to the past, and to that end, I am not feeling so comfortable to return to the confines of a movie theater regardless of how much I miss it. It is still going to be some time, as far as I am concerned. 

But that being said, there is more than enough material for me to catch myself up on and I actually have notes for a few films I have seen over the previous few months that I can refer to for all new reviews...maybe. You see, dear readers, so much time has passed since I happened to see these films that having notes to refer to or not, the memories of those films are not as fresh as I would prefer them to being when I get down to writing a review. I am going to try and see what I can do and if it proves to not being as successful as I wish, then those reviews will be transformed into a new batch of "Savage Cinema's Short Takes." Only time will tell.

But yes, I am hoping that I can now fully return to this blogsite where I can write and share to my heart's content about this thing that I have loved so very much for so much of my lifetime. Thank you all for your patience with me and let's see where this month will take us...