art – Page 2 – Notes of A Native Son

Curating Spaces

Curation is about much more than hanging art on walls or items in a collection—it’s about shaping environments that reflect our values, histories, and aspirations. As an artist, I recently completed a commission for the new City Hall, an institution of governance and civic pride. Yet, directly across the street, the basement of a former bank holds a darker legacy: it once imprisoned enslaved people, treating them as chattel collateral in its cold stony bowels. This stark contrast between spaces reminds us how intricately intertwined the present is with the past, and how our relationship with space has the power to elevate or diminish our humanity.

We are the curators of the spaces we inhabit—our homes, workplaces, public buildings, and the invisible spaces between us as human beings. For too long, access to these spaces, particularly those of influence and power, was denied to people based on race, class, or gender. Today, as we step into places where chosen sectors of society were forbidden, we carry a responsibility to reimagine and reshape them with intentionality. Whether we are conscious of it or not, we design the spaces that define us, deciding who gets to be seen, heard, and respected within them.

Curating space goes beyond physical walls; it’s also about the various interactions that shape our societies. How we treat one another in these spaces, the stories we honor, and the legacies we confront are all part of this curation. Just as we, as artists, choose what to display in a gallery, we choose what to elevate or omit in our life space as well. Spaces, after all, are more than just physical—they are emotional and symbolic. They carry the not so dead weight of history but also the potential for resurrection and transformation.

Today, as we gain access to spaces once closed to some by law, litany, or self-imposed limitation, we do so with the knowledge that we are responsible for more than just being there. We must curate them for ourselves and future generations, ensuring that the injustices of the past do not persist and walk among us in contemporary designer hoods. Every room we enter, every relationship we foster, and every piece of art we create becomes a part of that narrative—a reflection of how we choose to inhabit the world and bridge the spaces between us. The question is not just how we fill these spaces, but how we use them to uplift and honor those who came before, while making room for those yet to come.

Remember Who You Are

“It has that thing – the imagination, and the feeling of happy excitement – I knew when I was a kid.” Walt Disney

Aside from love, imagination may be the most powerful force in the universe. As powerful as it is, it’s abundant and unfettered in the most vulnerable beings on the planet- children.

As an art educator, I used to admonish educators and students to remember who you were before you were told what to be. We are filled to the brim with imagination as children. As we grow up, however, that imagination dwindles until we become cookie cutter beings plugged into the machine on the level of existing to fill a space like another brick in the wall (shoutout to Pink Floyd).

For as long as I can remember, imagination has been my favorite word. As “artist ” became my profession of choice, I took comfort in claiming the word imagination, feeling I was an authority on the subject. All the way up until I realized that I too had gotten caught up in the turning of the wheel, working hard to make a living while refusing to fully dance with the joy and mysteries of life fed by the power of imagination. It was out of a misguided sense of responsibility, resisting the frolic of the mind reaching into the light of life and tasing all the good parts. I had drifted into the void and lost touch with the quintessential child inside.

My youngest daughter, still very much connected, continuously reaches into the imaginal abyss, with her seemingly absurd questions and “what if” scenarios. Her relentless roving mind never let up on tap tap tapping on my spirit’s door until I could finally hear what she was waking me up to. Her vivid imagination has become the spark that is rekindling my own imagination and awakening, reassembling my inner artist/child; over the too serious role (hole, box) I find myself slipping into. Her boundless creativity is a north star in my liberation journey. I now intentionally listen to her, deepening my own artistic awakening, remembering who I am. This re-membering is a little deeper than the idea of recall. It is the tedious and life giving act of putting back together the parts of ourselves disassembled by the destructive nature of a survival mentality.

I would be willing to bet there is something calling you. You feel it. You hear it. You even catch glimpses of it. It shows up in the strangest or most common places, like some consistent voice in the wilderness crying out to you. I was watching a movie the other night. There was a note in the film that read, “Remember who you are.” In that moment I knew that I was refusing to acknowledge what I already knew. Even after the movie, I could not shake the words. That night I had a vivid dream that opened up a sense of possibility that I had not felt in a while. A space that was both familiar and brand new at the same time. A space, where limits are pushed off the outer edges of life’s surface. A space that is safe for remembering who I am.

Same Sun

My oldest daughter was born in Crozer-Chester Medical Center in Chester, PA. Those hallowed grounds were once occupied by the Crozer Theological Seminary attended by such notables as J. Pious Barber, Samuel Dewitt Proctor and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. These were giants of men, men of faith I hold in high regard. I often walked these grounds where they walked in honor, remembrance, and reflection.

We had relocated to Pennsylvania on faith in what I do as an artist to start a new life. We named our daughter Imani, which means faith with Arabic and Swahili origins in East Africa, as a testament to that move. This year Imani returned from Alaska, another faith move – there and back. At the morning of this writing, she is on a beach in Maryland, as I am in one of my favorite places on the planet, Chicago. We exchanged sunrise images. The one thing constant in them both is the glow of the morning sun. Faith is the knowing that the sun will always rise. No matter how dark the night or tumultuous the storm, that golden orb ascends to the heavens as a metaphoric reminder. A reminder that we can always begin again, and that success came before us on the same planet that we walk. Sometimes even the same ground that we walk over. Remembering and thinking on things like this can help to put things in perspective as we go about the tasks involved in doing what we do.

Think of your most revered luminary. In this case allow it to be someone that you admire in your field of choice. Someone who has made accomplishments in the area of which you aspire to succeed. See them in action in your mind going about their tasks from the mundane to the magnificent. Above them every day is the same sun that shines down on you. The setting of your story has the same lighting as theirs. The warmth, the light, the brilliance — all of it bathed their path just as it bathes yours. The same source of energy that sustained their journey is sustaining you now, fueling your own rise, your own breakthroughs.

It’s easy to look at those who’ve gone before us and imagine that they had some secret, some hidden resource, but the truth is they moved forward in the same rhythm of faith, resilience, and consistency. Like the sun, they showed up, even on cloudy days when success seemed distant. And just like the sun, their brilliance was a reflection of what already existed inside them.

Faith, like the light of the sun, is a force we often take for granted, yet it’s always with us. Just as we trust that the sun will rise each morning, we must trust that our own light, our own success, will also emerge — even when it’s not immediately visible. Even on those days when we whisper in quiet desperation,”What the hell am I doing?”

Imani, faith, is not just the name of my daughter; it’s the principle that guides the journey. It’s in the small actions, the steady discipline, and the unwavering belief that, just like the sun, the time will come to rise higher. No storm, no night, can prevent the dawning of your potential. So as we stand on this shared ground, beneath this shared sun, know that you’re already on the path — step by step, light by light, day by day, moment by moment — to becoming the luminary that will shine for the generations to come.

Faith

Stepping out on faith as an artist is like moving through life with a paintbrush in hand and a large blank canvas looming in front of you, trusting that your next stroke will reveal something desired. I don’t limited faith to a shadowy belief in the unseen—it’s a commitment to your purpose, even when the path ahead seems unclear. Napoleon Hill defines faith as…

“Definiteness of purpose backed by a belief in the attainment of the object of that purpose.”

You can replace the word definiteness of purpose with intention for more clarity. For those of us who choose non-traditional careers, like being an artist of any kind, faith is essential. It’s the long arm of assurance pointing the way. It keeps you grounded to an eternal source, especially when external validation is scarce. Living in faith fuels your perseverance to create in ways that challenge the status quo.

Faith in art making is necessary because it’s a bridge between the inner vision and outer manifestation. When I chose to walk this road as a artist, with preparation from my parent’s kitchen table spread over with comic books and pencils to Alabama A&M University to The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, it was a leap into unchartered waters. But in that leap, I found a new kind of freedom. A freedom that flowed over into all arenas of living.

I was always being questioned as to whether being an artist was a real career. Could I actually make a living doing this? I’ve been blessed to travel many roads and pathways not only making a living but truly living. For me, art making isn’t just about creating objects and images—it’s about rolling passionately in the sheets with life and birthing stories, preserving histories, and connecting with the world on a deeper level. Faith gives you the courage to share those stories, even when the world might not understand them right away.

On the tailgate of a truck I had was the mantra, “Life is art, Art is life.” Life, like art, requires faith in your vision and your process. Mind the vehicle that is taking you through this life. Trusting yourself enough to take a non-standard path or do something that has been reaching out to you for the longest, is a bold act of creativity in itself. It’s saying, “I am enough, and I trust that my unique journey will lead to the fulfillment of my purpose.” In art and life, faith is the G-force (in this case, God Force) that helps you move forward, not because you fully know the outcome, but because you truly believe the journey is worth it.

Beyond HERe, acrylic on canvas 84″ x 44″

Post Cards From Rabbit Lane

In the spirit of gratitude, I write with a renewed sense of purpose. At this juncture of Juneteenth, the summer solstice, and my bEARTHday, I feel both the warmth of a new sun and the lull of evening’s tide. For this southern born artist, life is a color palette spread out on all sides. Although I am not immune to the rage of life’s realities, I live with the joy that the hues never fade. At least not for long.

I am often asked, as artist, who was my early inspiration to live as a creative. I can never cite a person from the onset. Before any character emerged from the plethora of paintslingers and wordsmiths, there was Mother Nature with her omnipresent bowl of colors, shapes, forms, and values set in a space of splendor that transcended time and drew no lines. She was my first, my present and my always. She nurtured my childhood curiosity causing crawdads to dart backwards and hummingbirds to hover in midair. The colors of the rainbow set ablaze on the sun-kissed backs of fish, the wings of Japanese beetles, and dewdrop misted morning leaves. She showed me all her colors and called me home to myself. I would sit in stillness soaking up her fragrance between whispers of wind and bird and frog symphonies. All that I do, in all of my effort is but a shadow of the her divine masterpiece.

Some time ago, I began to capture sunsets and rises on my phone. On long days, heading home I would debrief through golden wheat fields, oceans of soybeans, and corn that seemed to stand up in paise. Upon my arrival, the evening sun would wash the front lawn in a warm glow. I made a conscious decision that I would one day share those photos. Beauty, like love, should not be kept to oneself. The title came simple and immediate. Postcards From Rabbit Lane. They are not only visual notes about what I’ve seen, they are messages about what we can be, and how we can be, in this vast nature painted landscape. We get to choose our role and how we manipulate the elements to create what we will. At one point, I did not realize we had been entrusted with such power. Nature got my attention in more than one of her seductive ways and reminded me who I am, and whose I am. In all that I am, my goal is to honor my full purpose here on the planet. In that I find a peace that passes understanding. The divine lens puts everything in perspective. That makes for a pretty good picture.

Voyage To Now

As a child, I invested healthy chunks of afternoons and evenings lying with my back snuggled into the grass in my parents backyard staring up into the sky. Sometimes I would wonder what was out there. Mostly, I’d find shapes in the clouds, watch them float and transform, or when there were none, feel the wash of the calming blues stretching into forever. I couldn’t explain it then but that intense purposeful sky gazing was a lesson in mindfulness, being fully present in the moment. The intense gaze into the heavens took up all the space of yesterday and tomorrow, transporting me fully into those present moments. In the nowness of it all, I felt that no matter what, everything was alright right then and there.

As of late, I have come to the knowledge of a word called skychology. Skychology is is a new area of wellbeing research, defined as the study of the relationship between looking at the sky and wellbeing . It’s been proven that the act of looking up at the sky can provide a sense of perspective and calm, making one’s problems and worries feel small in comparison. Furthermore, the big blue yonder brings about an increase in mindfulness, stimulates creativity, and providing mental health benefits at no cost but a glance upward.

Who knew? Apparently, I did, my friends did, and you probably did too. We didn’t have a name for it back then, but in our spirit we knew the sky had something to offer beyond planes and an occasional spaceship . We knew how it made us feel and where it took us. As children we accept what we accept without overthinking and smothering the moment with analysis. For me the sky was the embodiment of the word possibility. The 20th century artist, Pablo Picasso frequently called out being like a child as a characteristic of a great artist. One of his famous quotes reads…

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

Let us look to the sky and allow it to transport us into the now. Through the eyes of our inner child, we can behold the world anew. Simply allow yourself to be aware of something that’s always there. Night and day, through all seasons, good days and challenging times do not take away the sky’s healing powers. I’m sure you’ve heard that the best things in life are free. The effects of sky gazing, no doubt, one of them. Plug in when you can, there’s no charge.

Consider the idea of the sky as a canvas. The art reflects the artist. As the luminary Wintley Phipps once said. “God created this world from the timber of his creative imagining.” What if we saw the sky is a divine canvas, ever present, stretched overhead, free to all to reap it’s benefits. A space that is sometimes blank and sometimes predesigned to to put our lives in perspective. Back then, I didn’t know I wanted to be an artist when I grew up but the artist in me already knew. It was offering to me, the artist to be, a front row seat to the most expansive canvas of all time and the most precious moment, now.

Shoutout: The New Huntsville City Hall Art

Over a year ago, I won a commission to do one of the key art pieces in the new City Hall. A few weeks ago we completed the install. My art piece is entitled Miracle Territory. I understand the gravity of this assignment as City Hall is the administrative hub of a city – the center ring around which all other entities revolve. The Huntsville City Hall has now extended beyond a symbol of governance and community pride but one of cultural relevance. My intent and purpose are to broaden that sense of community to even the most marginalized among us. Us, referring to that eccentric child who can’t seem to find a place for his ideas to land or that teen who dropped out of school and their today is overshadowed by yesterday’s clouds, the hardworking father who never went past the third grade, or the elder who thinks it’s too late to make good on that dream. I use the term us on purpose because to me there is no them. There’s only us, and the rest of us.

Art is a leveling ground, a proverbial foot of the cross. It doesn’t require a master’s degree, a certification a six-figure salary or even a strong knowledge of the craft to be appreciated. Ultimately, creativity is a communal act. This project called upon many hands, hearts, and heads beyond those of the artists. The entire effort was in itself a well orchestrated act of creative innovation. Art is a universal language. That language is soul speak. Soul speak goes to the bedrock of who we are as human beings, to that sacred connection we share as sentient beings on the planet. It’s a lifeblood bond. As writer Joyce Carol Oates says, “We are linked by blood and blood is memory without language.” It goes deeper than skin, class, creed, color, bank balance, or whether you’re for Auburn, Alabama, Democrat, Republican, crust or no crust.

In this painting, I set out to tell a story – a story of a journey of souls, with each one of those having their own life path. Paths connected through a backdrop of southern red clay on this bright spot on the map called Huntsville, Alabama. She pulls back the veil recounting the past to shore up the present for the future. This city we call the star of Alabama – A star in the north, Alabama, that can lead the rest of the state, the region, and maybe even the nation to a new level of freeness. We have that much potential. Let’s make that energy kinetic. This city went from red dust to star dust…from the mundane to the miraculous. That’s a divine activation of the deepest strands of human potential. This city, padded with red clay fortified with the blood of our ancestors, is truly miracle territory.

And The Goat Said To The Kid…

A few years ago, I had the honor of meeting and investing time with Kerry James Marshall, inspiration, fellow Alabama native son, luminary, and artist extraordinaire. Stay close with me now, because there are layers to this…

How I came to the meeting is a story all its own. When I arrived just before summer in Chicago that year, I intended to find and meet Kerry James Marshall. A day or so later, a friend shared with me that he would be speaking at the Art Institute of Chicago on June 21. At that moment, I knew I was in. I had already spoken and would consequently bear witness to the manifestation of my intent. Just go online, book my ticket and boom, done, ha.

That night, I settled in front of my computer musing over the fact that what I wanted had come so effortlessly and quickly. I followed the link only to find, at my dismay, large words across the screen that read – SOLD OUT. No, no, no I thought. I’m supposed to be there. I asked for it and the door opened. I’m supposed to walk right through. What is trying to be going on here. I felt anxiety mounting to frustration. Then I checked myself and found calm in the idea of just asking the program director or a professor about comp tickets. There had to be some…right.

The following morning I approached a professor and inquired about a ticket to the event. He was a major league gallery director, he had to have some horsepower. I saw his lips move but didn’t want to hear the words that came out of his face. After telling me what I already knew about Kerry James Marshall’s rock star status, he went on to tell me that there were no comp tickets. They had sold out in record time. No more tickets. My head spun a minute, then that thing kicked in. You know that thing in your gut that says, I hear you but… All I knew was that I was getting in. I’d called it. It had come. I was not going to miss out.

For the next few days I shared my resolve with everyone who would listen. I told a group of my cohorts that I was getting in even if I had to sweep the floors backstage or carry out their chairs. I was going to be in that auditorium, and it was no secret. And I kept saying it, every chance I got.

It was Wednesday, my bEARTHday, the day before the Kerry James Marshall presentation was to take place. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that he would be talking about another one of my favorite artists, Charles White, who in fact was my first inspiration in undergrad. Charles White’s 100 year retrospective exhibit was on view at the institute and his son was going to be on the panel. Man, If I didn’t get in… I hadn’t fully fleshed out my plan on how I would storm the Bastille. I just knew, by hook or crook, I was going to be in that building. I showed up early at the weekly Wednesday night artist talk and made my way down the center isle toward my usual second row from the front, to the left, middle of the row, seat. That generally put me square in front of the podium. At this late date and time, feelings of defeat were tugging at the hem of my faith. Tomorrow was the day…

TO BE CONTINUED…