Another painting emanating out of the spirit of the age was “Meaningful Dialogue.” The phrase was always used by politicians, and the media, to explain the outcome of interactions between opposing factions. “There was “meaningful dialogue....” some news reporter would say. Huey P. Newton, also, spoke to rousing crowds on two separate occasions at the Chicago Coliseum and the Afro Arts Theater. The image of a larger than life, rifle wielding Huey Newton with, his trade mark black beret and black leather jacket, flashed in the news media numerous times and overwhelmed nearly every aspect of the larger, less provocative, more positive message of the Black Panther party, which was advancing empowerment and community responsibility. But, there he was, the iconic, archetypal image of the urban revolutionary warrior, recognizable in the same way that Emiiano Zapata and Che Guevara were, and meeting a similar fate. That painting was one of three attempts ("Pantera Negro" and "Panthers and Pigs") to embody the kind of rage at the dichotomy of life as an African- American that could tempt someone to want to take up arms and strike out at the injustices hoisted upon people wanting to do positive things, but who were seen,at the flick of a switch as a suspect first - as when cops stop a young man on the street because he looks like the guy seen a month ago carrying a blue steel revolver (the further implication being that he may as well have been that person, therefore requiring humiliation) and oh, by the way reminding him that they are there to serve and protect him - or as a victim of someone else's mis-directed rage, and needing to be relieved of something valuable. When thinking of Black experientialism, then, rage rated high on the list among things to control with as long a fuse as possible in order to survive. The Black Panther was emblematic of that rage.
eye with numerous exhibitions, its having generated uncommon interest in the art community, and its having had varying degrees of inspiration on some artists working during that age. There was never any formal, organizational structure. It was not intended to be a club or fraternity. There were no officers or leader outside of the de facto position that Jeff had as visionary and spokesperson, and my role as keeper of the treasury and the one keeping the lines of communication open between the members, and with outside parties. There was always the matter of who is or is not a member, or who could or could not become a member, and what is and is not an AFRICOBRA work of art, or even a rational way to include others in the experience who wished to be. Some will suggest, even, that AFRICOBRA died a long time ago and that what exists today is living, frankly, off of the afterburner fumes of past history without forging any identity of it's own. Nevertheless, everyone who has been a part of the AFRICOBRA has, and always has had a life of their own, with individual aspirations, whether or not they attempted to enlarge upon, or expand the basic principles and identity that the five founders felt important enough to work hard to establish. Lessons learned by the AFRICOBRA experience, most particularly in it's seminal years, is that everyone has his and her individualism, which when put in the service of a collective aspiration can accomplish more than might be gained by any one individual. At any rate each of us advanced greatly from the points that we started from when we came together.
when we were a laboratory, experimenting with different techniques, scrubbing and scrutinizing aesthetic principles, scanning the social and political landscape for salient subjects, genuinely fostering the idea of a communalistic pot, and feeling that, as artists, honestly attempting to make a contribution to the reservoir of ideas that might inspire, stimulate, uplift, and promote discourse in the public at large, and to share a vision within the art community, in particular. One of our realized goals was making prints to sell to generate income, but more importantly, to make the work available to more people in the community at a low cost. One work by each person was selected in a preferential poll taken of visitors to the exhibit in the Studio Museum in Harlem. “Wake Up” was the painting of mine that was selected to be reproduced, although the resulting silkscreen print was not an exact duplicate. As to the subject? Who hasn't been confronted on the street by someone wanting to hand you a flyer of some sort to throw in the trash? The man in the picture holds a flyer that was handed to me one day by a brother at a rally. It bore an interesting subject to be taken with a grain of salt by sober minds, but in the social and political climate of the day, it entertained a world of possibilities.
barbed wire in the event of massive riots, thus making them instant concentration camps. Given the vagaries of the way history has unfolded through time, such a possibility may never be totally discarded. One never knows does one? The “plot” has long ago been debunked, but it resurfaces again from time to time for other active imaginations to contemplate. Other works appearing here were completed at various times since then, and up to the time that I returned to the United States in 1980 after a two year period of service in the Peace Corps in Kenya, followed by travel in other parts of Africa.
January 2010 |
