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‘A Love Supreme' at 60: Musicians celebrate the timeless work of jazz genius

‘A Love Supreme' at 60: Musicians celebrate the timeless work of jazz genius

On Dec. 9, 1964, saxophonist John Coltrane, bassist Jimmy Garrison, pianist McCoy Tyner and drummer Elvin Jones assembled at Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey's Van Gelder Studio. That one-day session became a seminal piece of music history, 'A Love Supreme,' which six decades later is widely regarded as one of the most important albums ever recorded. 'A Love Supreme' has all the accolades — constant mentions on countdowns of the greatest albums, preservation in both the Smithsonian and National Recording Registry, platinum sales in the U.S. However, the true impact of the album — which is considered along with Miles Davis' 'Kind of Blue' one of the two most essential jazz works — is felt the most when talking about it with musicians.
Often described as spiritual, meditative, raw, yearning, divine, longing, beautiful, transcendent and profound, the four-part 'A Love Supreme' — broken down into 'Acknowledgment,' 'Resolution,' 'Pursuance' and 'Psalm' — is as much a rite of passage for musicians as 'The Catcher in the Rye' or 'The Great Gatsby' are for young writers or Pablo Picasso is for young artists. In decades of talking to the greatest musicians from all walks of life and all genres, Coltrane's masterpiece is cited as much as any album as being an influence. In fact, you can argue 'A Love Supreme' has shaped popular music as much as any single album.
Testament to that is the group of musicians who lined up to talk about what this works means to them in honor of the 60th anniversary. Among the Coltrane fans we spoke to were Flea, Q-Tip, Rakim, Kamasi Washington, St. Vincent, Common, Greg Dulli, Robert Glasper and Theo Croker as well as Grammy-winning producer Larry Klein and Jamie Krents, president of Verve Records, which will be reissuing a special anniversary edition this Friday. All spoke about their introduction to the record and then in honor of the album's four parts about its musicianship, meaning, influence and legacy.
A calling to God, from God, a testament to the unyielding will to love, to all the beauty in this insane world, 'A Love Supreme' is, represents the highest level music can reach. 'It's a touchstone for sanity, it's a touchstone for beauty, for human possibilities,' Flea said.
Introduction
Flea: I first heard 'A Love Supreme' when I was a teenager. I don't know if I was ready for 'A Love Supreme' until I got to be in my late teens, where I could really feel the power of it and even though I was an atheist and not a man of faith or even thinking about believing in God or a divine concept I felt the spirituality of it without knowing it. It's like one of the things in life that you can't really articulate or understand but it's still there for you in whatever language you are able to use to understand it. You hear those first notes and it'll blow your head off with the sheer power. That record works on so many levels.
Robert Glasper: It's funny, the first time I heard it I was in seventh grade, I bought the album. My mom was a singer, so she had a band and I think one of her musicians told me to buy it. I was listening to a lot of Kenny G and he's like, 'You need to listen to another saxophone player. You should listen to John Coltrane.' I was like, 'Alright.' He said, 'Get 'A Love Supreme.' ' So, I'll never forget it. I put it on, I got in the shower, everything was fine, then when the chanting came on it scared the living hell out of me. I didn't know there was any singing.
Greg Dulli: I worked at Tower Records on the Sunset Strip in 1984. And every shift you got to run the information booth. That meant you were the DJ for the entire hour. I was in there on a Friday night and one of my favorite actors would come in every Friday and one time he came up to me and said, 'Do you ever play jazz?' I didn't know much about jazz; I was 19 from Ohio. So, the first record he played for me was 'Kind of Blue' by Miles Davis and the second record was 'A Love Supreme.' That person was Peter Falk, so Peter Falk turned me on to jazz music and helped educate me. Then flash forward to the Twilight Singers, probably around 2003. I've always thrown covers into my shows and sometimes I just grab them out of the ether and throw them in, not even knowing how they got in there. But we started riffing 'A Love Supreme' and I even wrote lyrics for it and I changed them every night.
Larry Klein: For young musicians who were listening, when a record of John Coltrane's came out, you went down to the record store and you bought it right away. 'A Love Supreme' was a dramatic departure from what he had done before and amazing, but every record, they were all just huge leaps forward. By the time I was actually playing with my jazz heroes, he had passed away, but they were all, whether it was Freddie Hubbard or Wayne Shorter, all these guys were profoundly influenced by him. I was always grilling them and what it was like to be around him. Freddie and Wayne would go over to his house and practice with him. They said that it was always very inspiring because he had tremendous focus and was wide open with regard to how he approached developing his musical language.
Rakim: When I first heard it, I was so young. I didn't really know what know what to feel. Everybody else was raving about it. But I didn't really know what was going on. Again, I didn't know the name of the record was until maybe it could have been months later. But it was a moment for the people in the house listening to it. It was a moment for them and me as a little kid. I had to be no more than 10. I was the youngest in the household. So there was always good music being played. There was always jazz being played. And the furthest one from understanding it was me. I'm a little kid. You play some Michael Jackson or something like that, then I know exactly what it is. But I'm growing up and everybody's playing jazz, so I'm trying to understand it. I'm watching everybody's facial expressions. I'm listening to what they saying about the music and things of that nature. So when jazz came on in my house, it was a learning experience for me. At first, I heard the song, and not too much later I heard the title of the song. But I didn't really put one and two together, just 'A Love Supreme,' but then later as you get to know more about Coltrane you understood what the title of the song meant to him and what his passion was for that song and then when you listen to it of course and you hear it differently now. You understand where he was coming from. You understand where he was trying to take it and what he wanted you to experience in the song.
Musicianship
Kamasi Washington: From a musician's standpoint, there's so much in there. So, I find that my experience of 'A Love Supreme' has taken on almost like a life of the record. I grew up on that album, but by the time I really was attaching to it as my own, not my dad's record, 'Pursuance' was the part of the record that I grabbed first. Then I spent years holding on to that. There's a lifetime worth of music in that one song. Then as I got older, 'Resolution' was the next part that when I turned that record on, I would go straight to that track first and then listen to the rest after that. Then 'Acknowledgement.' It's one of those records that for me personally fills me up. Every time I listen to that record, it's like a creative musical recharge. Cause there is so much spirit in the music. It's hard to put into words.
Q-Tip: It's just his horn, the construction of the songs, his ability to pull something deep and throw it up in the sky and then watch it float or land on the track. It's courageous, it's rock and roll too, as much as it is spiritual, if you think about it. Rock and roll not in the sense of white boys with long hair and Stratocasters, but rock and roll in the sense of the just unbridled, uncompromising sound that's hard, it's harsh, it's dynamic, but it's really talking without words. He's just taking you to the edge. He knows when he has you, you just go into the edge and when you drop into the music, it can't escape you. Whether you like jazz or not, you could put that on somewhere and ... somebody will say, 'Who's this?' Because that's how unique of a sound it is. It's avant-garde without trying, It's gospel without preaching, it's primal, it's subdued, it's beautiful, it's just a robust sound. The recording of it sounded like waves crashing to, a lake getting a stone thrown across it and you're looking at a ripple. It just ropes you in, man. It's a magnet.
Glasper: A lot of times when you're young it's just based on the technical part out of it. 'Oh, that sounds cool. Let me learn this lick, let me learn the vocabulary.' As you get older it becomes something you really feel and it becomes spiritual. For me, as I got older that's what it was. I didn't feel Trane the same back then. When I was younger it was about McCoy [Tyner]. It was the licks and how fast he was playing, the technical thing. As a grown person now I understand what people put on Trane. He was going through things, you could hear it. He was the voice of an era, he was the voice of so many things that grown people go through. Now I can hear it and I can totally understand that perspective of it, why he was playing that way.
Flea: Jimmy Garrison might be the most underrated jazz bass player of them all. He is so amazing in everything that he did. He is so incredible with Trane, but he has this droning depth of this like voodoo trance that he gets into on the bass. The warmest thing I've ever heard in my life and 'A Love Supreme' doesn't happen without Jimmy Garrison. He makes the bed for Coltrane in a way that is just a bottomless pit of grooves and greatness.
Theo Croker: Well, for me, over the years, the simplicity of it has become more apparent, which has only gone to enhance the spirituality of it. From a performance aspect, the level of vibe and spirit that are on this record and these takes become more and more masterful to me as time goes on. When you first hear it, you feel powerful, you feel impactful, it feels very spiritual. As I grow as a musician and get better at playing music and understand more the things I hear before, 'A Love Supreme' to me is almost like a blues record. So the simplicity of it really shines through to remind me as a musician and creator that it's all in the feeling, it's all in the power behind the notes and the music. The technical aspect of it or the chord changes or how wild it is or advanced is really not anywhere near as impactful or important as the spirituality behind playing it.
Meaning
St. Vincent: You hear somebody, the most honest reckoning with what it is to be a human and also for musicians, the knowledge that this thing, music, is so much bigger than you and you're lucky if you get to catch a lightning bolt for, an hour, or three minutes, or whatever, but it's just clawing its way into divinity. And it's a painful listen, it's ecstatic, it's the most beautiful. It just goes so deep.
Common: 'A Love Supreme' for me, speaks to my spirit in different ways in accordance to the way that I grow too. It's one of those pieces of art that continues to evolve as I grow. I see the love in it, the spirituality in it. I see God in it, and I see the unity in it. I see calmness in it. I see that music; I've played it at times when I'm stressed out and dealing with some of the most difficult situations. I played it when I'm sitting with a beautiful woman just wanting to put on some music that feels amazing and we can just chill and sip wine and have a good time. I've played it at times when I'm zoning out and I need to write. ... I played it in so many spaces like on my rides up to going up the [Pacific Coast Highway], just keeping myself calm and meditative.
Rakim: It taught me how to be passionate about things. For him to keep repeating ['A love supreme'] like that, he's trying to get you to feel the same way he feels. That could be toward anything. It's the passion. And I think like we were saying earlier, a lot of people may have interpreted it in different ways. Some people listened to it and said, 'Yeah, I love my spouse more.' Some people listen to it and say, 'Yeah that too but that your love has to be pure.' It just gave people so many ways to interpret that and every one of them was good.
Washington: I always took it more as a love is supreme. That was always my take, love is the most supreme part of love. It's just that to have love is supreme. And God is love. And I feel like that was part of his message in life. It's just the whole idea of being a force for good and that notion that love is like the ultimate good. That it is supreme and has the power to encompass everything.
Influence
St. Vincent: There are moments on, say, a song from my last record called 'Broken Man,' where at the end, there's these saxes coming in and they're doing these stabs and the stabs are violent, but then also there's just kind of a wild sax solo. I didn't say, 'Hey, cop Coltrane or anything like that.' Maybe the modality like, 'Boom, boom.' That bassline is the proto hip-hop. So maybe you draw a line to my kind of modal baselines that kind of harken back to 'A Love Supreme.'
Common: I got a song called 'Love Is...' [and it] definitely has 'A Love Supreme' in it. Even the spirit or mentality of having my father talk on some of my album and having him do a spoken word was the inspiration of what 'A Love Supreme' brings to my heart and to my soul. It could be an instrumental with a spoken word on it to me that comes from me loving writing over 'Love Supreme' and then I would think certain songs subconsciously have been influenced by it. But one thing I'll tell you, I've tried several times to use it for my books.
Klein: The jazz musicians that I came up apprenticing with were profoundly affected by that record and also other records of his but certainly that record because it was so dramatically different from anything else that was coming out in the jazz world. So many jazz artists were still stuck in the neo-bop kind of model of things. On one hand I think he took a lot of heat for that record because it was so free and so much of a prayer and so much of a meditation that the jazz musicians who were preoccupied with virtuosity thought it was very disappointing. But for me though I respected virtuosity and aspired to it to a certain degree, that part of jazz was never the heart of it. For me, the heart of jazz was always lyricism and getting at something that changed you as a listener. As a listener, 'A Love Supreme' was so exciting. The forward-thinking musicians saw it as a major step forward in breaking things open in jazz.
Rakim: When I first started picking my style out, I didn't know what was going on, I was listening to a Coltrane record in my mother and father's basement. And I remember seeing he didn't play the same melody twice. After I listened to that John Coltrane record, I came up with the style to never repeat the same bar or the same rhythm in my bars. So my first records, I never repeated a rhythm or the rhyme. I always changed the rhyme flow. I never used the same rhyme flow because of John Coltrane. It was so energetic and so moving, I incorporated that into the way I rhyme.
Legacy
Flea: There's a reason why a John Coltrane comes around once and never happens again. It's like Bach. It's these people that transcend to a higher place because they get beyond the form. That's when it becomes timeless and for everybody. It's beautiful. It's been one of the go-to's. I got married six years ago; we played 'A Love Supreme' when we walked down the aisle. When my kids were born, I'm sitting there with the boombox and 'A Love Supreme' on for as soon as they come out of the birth canal. On it goes, 'Boom, welcome to the world, there are beautiful things here. You are going to suffer, you are going to be betrayed, you are going to hurt, you are, worse than that, probably going to betray other people consciously or not, you're going to feel a lot of pain. But there are things that are so beautiful beyond our comprehension, and this is it right here. This is the thing. This is what human beings are capable of at their very, very best.'
St. Vincent: This record there's agony in there. There's clawing at the heavens. There's righteousness, like this idea that it's so powerful you simply must bow before it. I mean, it's God, right? It's the closest I get to seeing, feeling God, God writ large, God capital G, all the complications and ecstasy you see therein. Yeah, that was my first experience with it. And that remains my experience with it. But my conception of God and that which is divine has obviously changed and shifted as I've grown. So that which is sacred.
Common: It would be 'A Love Supreme.' That would be the most played. If I looked in my life and thought about which album I played the most throughout my life now, especially in adulthood, because I wasn't up on John Coltrane when I was really young. But as an adult, it has been 'A Love Supreme.' It's one of the wonders of the world, it's something that will always be on the planet and moving people. So the same way we look at 'The Godfather' as a film, like it'll always be here. 'A Love Supreme' is that, like it's one of the greatest creations that God has ever given an artist.
Washington: John Coltrane put so much meaning behind everything he played. Beyond his technical and musical abilities, which were at the highest level, there was always so much spirit. His essence and whatever he was trying to speak to beyond music was always so pronounced in his music. And it's right there, this love, it's supreme and it's universal and it's something that every person, every musician, every artist, every human being, can relate to that idea. I think that it's so pronounced in the music that anyone who gives it chance to speak to them will feel that ideal and will feel love and that's what grabs you. As soon as you let go to it, then you feel that sensation, you feel that feeling, and all of its facets. And when you go on the whole journey of the whole record, you can't help but to feel like this witness to something profound, witness to something from God.
Q-Tip: I guess music is like the connectivity to life's evolution. And in a spiritual way. Because, when life first arrives, say it's just a baby, you see the cute little eyes, the cheeks, the drooling, the crying, the laughing, then as it evolves, you see that same little face, then you see a tooth, then they start uttering words, then they just become a whole thing. And I think 'A Love Supreme' is kind of like that because, on face value, I remember when I first heard it, it's just like, 'Wow.' But then it grows and evolves. Or the old adages, you hear something different every time you hear a good song or a certain song, they always have these reveals within the song that you may not have noticed five years prior and there's a certain maturity you gain when you hear something. With this album, it's like an infant that's just morphing.
Dulli: I consider myself a spiritual but not religious person. So what I take from it is what I take from any great music, it moves inside me and it takes me somewhere. That song for me to be in a rock and roll band and grab that out of the ether, it means it had a spiritual import for me. It came to me onstage in the middle of another song and I was able to weave it in. Then when you're touring, after you weave something in you begin to hone it, and pretty soon I was covering the song. So clearly, to me, it had a power that resided in me probably since I was 19 years old.
Glasper: My mother passed away in 2004 and I think that turned something on in me. Life started happening after that, I started getting real relationships with people, started losing other people, started losing family members, you see family members on drugs, you see what drugs do to people, you see what racism does in America, you see people get killed by the police, you see all these things and now I'm going through my own version of some of what Trane was dealing with in his life. Growing up in the church as well, 'A Love Supreme' you can really hear he found spirituality, you can hear it in the music. The music was spiritual. That was around when he was coming out of drugs and found his new footing in life and found God. I can totally understand that now because in my own way I've done the same.
Croker: I feel like John Coltrane in this situation is like Martin Luther King Jr. giving the 'I Have a Dream' speech. That concept is so simple, but it's so impactful. John Coltrane is like a master minister on this album and his band is like his choir. It contains all those elements of what is commonplace in jazz now. A spiritual aspect of a drone, an eight-bar form and playing the blues and some kind of rebuttal thing. That's like part of the standard repertoire now.
Jamie Krents: Part of the reason 'A Love Supreme' is so important is that it defies categorization. It's easy to call it a spiritual jazz record but just listening to the diversity of the musicians you've spoken to about it, it's had just as big an impact on people we associate with punk rock as it does with the most diligent jazz musicians and nonmusicians too. I think that that's one reason why it survived, and it is amazing to think that we're celebrating the 60th anniversary and yet it sounds as fresh as anything I've heard this year. I don't say that lightly.

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A minimalist pile of candy in a Smithsonian gallery has sparked a firestorm over memory, censorship, and who controls the legacy of one of America's most famous queer artists. In January, Out published a blistering opinion piece accusing the Félix González-Torres Foundation of sanitizing the queer identity of the late artist whose legacy it represents. The article ignited a flurry of online debate and became the magazine's most-read story that month. A deeper investigation felt necessary. A Candy Pile Goes Viral In December, queer art scholar Ignacio Darnaude visited the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., to see "Always to Return," an exhibit of Félix González-Torres's work, now on view through July 6. Known for his hyper-minimalist conceptual installations — a string of lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, a pile of candy in the corner of a room — González-Torres died in 1996 from an AIDS-related illness. His works, which are recreated anew for each exhibition according to his detailed instructions, are now managed by the Félix González-Torres Foundation, led by his former gallerist, Andrea Rosen. When Darnaude toured the exhibit, he was disturbed. There appeared to be no reference to González-Torres's identity as a queer man, nor to his HIV-positive status. Daranude was deeply upset by one piece in particular: "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.), a pile of multicolored candy meant to weigh 175 pounds — the ideal weight of González-Torres's lover, Ross Laycock, before he died of AIDS-related illness in 1991. In this installation, viewers are invited to take pieces of candy. As the candy pile diminishes, it echoes, in Darnaude's view, the physical decline from AIDS wasting. Curators replenish the candy endlessly, which 'means Ross can live forever,' Darnaude says. He later wrote in his opinion piece, 'By not explaining what Portrait of Ross in L.A. truly means, the National Portrait Gallery has turned his work into an esoteric cypher.' 'They turned a deeply personal and emotionally charged work into a neutral, depoliticized sculpture," Darnaude says. The Meaning of Ross Joey Terrill, a longtime HIV activist and visual artist — whose own still-life tribute to González-Torres was recently acquired by the Smithsonian — sees something else in this piece. 'You approach 175 pounds of candy — Ross — and take something away,' he says. 'To me, that was a metaphor for how the virus was transmitted. You engage, you take something, you walk away carrying it.' Guests attend the private view for Damien Hirst and Feliz Gonzalez-Torres' 'Candy' at Blain Southern on October 15, 2013 in London, Harvey/WireImage Until recently, Terrill served as director of global advocacy at the AIDS Healthcare Foundation, the controversial Los Angeles-based nonprofit that provides HIV treatment and prevention around the world. (AHF has come under fire in the past for describing PrEP as 'a party drug' and for running billboard campaigns some have called stigmatizing to sex workers and people with STIs.) Terrill shares Darnaude's feelings. 'You have artists like me who lived through the holocaust of AIDS, and we know Félix's work belongs in that tradition,' he says. 'I'd argue that it's precisely because it references Ross and HIV that it's so compelling.' Dr. Jonathan Katz, the founding curator of the 2015–2016 exhibition "Art AIDS America" who is widely regarded as the leading scholar of queer art, believes the foundation has spent years pressuring institutions to omit the artist's biography — including his queerness, his relationship with Ross, and his death from AIDS — from wall texts. 'They refuse to acknowledge that the Ross of Portrait of Ross in L.A. is a real person,' Katz says. 'They treat it as a kind of metaphor, not a biography. That is a political act.' When Katz curated "Art AIDS America" — which included works by David Wojnarowicz, Chloe Dzubilo, Hugh Steers, Hunter Reynolds, Kia LaBeija, Martin Wong, and others — he says his efforts to include González-Torres's work were repeatedly blocked. 'I saw Félix as the gravitational center of the show,' he says. 'The foundation would not even return my calls.' Eventually, a colleague at a major museum (who would not speak on the record) told him the foundation had issued an ultimatum: 'If you lend this work to the AIDS show, we'll never authorize any future loans.' Katz is emphatic: 'They tried to prevent Félix being in an exhibition because it was about AIDS.' After what Katz describes as a series of 'very hostile' emails with Rosen, he threatened to release their correspondence to The New York Times if the foundation did not relent. The works were eventually included, but only after months of what he calls 'fighting.' To understand this more clearly, Out asked curators to explain how artwork is typically shown in an exhibition. In essence, artist foundations and legacy estates loan artwork to exhibits and can rescind or approve a loan at their discretion, which means they have final say over where and how artwork appears. 'These foundations have to authorize a display,' says Dr. João Florêncio, professor of gender studies at Linköping University in Sweden. 'No one can do anything about the artist if they don't sign it off.' The Claims of Erasure This criticism of the foundation is not new. In 2017, The Village Voice published an article noting that a Félix González-Torres exhibitions at the prominent David Zwirner Gallery failed to mention in 2017, Poz Magazine highlighted how galleries were 'editing HIV/AIDS from his legacy.' In 2023, Spanish art magazine A*Desk speculated on the foundation's politics in a piece titled 'Private Happiness, Public Cancellation.' The most high-profile incident came in 2022, when the Art Institute of Chicago quietly altered its label for Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.), removing reference to AIDS and Laycock and instead describing the pile in terms of 'average weight.' Katz believes the foundation was behind the change. After backlash on social media, the original label was restored. Out reached out to the FGT Foundation to ask about these claims. The foundation sent a 1,600-word letter disputing Darnaude's article and defending its curatorial philosophy. It declined to be interviewed or to allow any excerpts from its email correspondence to be published. However, in February, the foundation seemed to address the controversy indirectly with a post on Instagram. In it, the organization states that González-Torres aimed to trust the viewer and 'avoid direct explanation of his works in exhibition contexts.' The post includes multiple quotes by the artist that seem to support this. (The post appeared to backfire — the comments largely express outrage. 'You have reduced this work to nothing more than free candy on the floor,' one commenter writes. Another: 'Why does this post not mention HIV/AIDS at all?') What Did Félix Want? The foundation maintains the artist intended his work to be open-ended — not about AIDS or his lover, but about the visitor's singular experience. Its website states that the organization upholds the 'artist's intentions' to let viewers 'reflect on the work in the present moment' and defends 'the artist's belief that all audiences have the ability to encounter the work on their own terms.' It maintains that all works can have shifting, multiple meanings depending on context and interpretation. Upon examination, this seems at least partly true — with caveats. Both sides of this debate — those certain that González-Torres's biographical data is essential to reading his work and those who feel it must be open-ended — base their views on statements made by the artist during his lifetime, and González-Torres contradicted himself. In various interviews before his death, he both insists on the specificity of his work — specifically its connection to Ross — and rejects authoritative interpretation, suggesting meaning is up to the viewer. Saxony's Science and Arts Minister Eva-Maria Stange of the Social Democratic Party (SPD, l-r), art patron Erika Hoffmann and general director of the Dresden's art collection Marion Ackermann stand around Felix Gonzalez-Torres' piece 'Candy spills' at the Albertium, Dresden, Germany, 2018Oliver Killig/picture alliance via Getty Images In a 1995 interview with Robert Storr for ArtPress, González-Torres speaks of the joy he felt watching a security guard hand candy to children at one of his installations, saying the work functioned even if the viewer didn't know its deeper meaning. In that interview, he says: 'When people ask, 'Who is your public?' I say honestly, without skipping a beat, 'Ross.' The public was Ross. The rest of the people just come to the work.' González-Torres even describes "Untitled" (Placebo) as a way to cope with Laycock's death: 'First and foremost it's about Ross,' he says. He further notes, 'I wanted to make artwork that could disappear, that never existed, and it was a metaphor for when Ross was dying. So it was a metaphor that I would abandon this work before this work abandoned me.' In a 1990 interview, González-Torres says about his work: 'It is all my personal history, all that and sexual preference, it's all that. I can't separate my art from my life.' However, in another interview, he says, 'I've become burnt out with trying to have some kind of personal presence in the work. Because I'm not my art.' He adds, 'I made 'Untitled' (Placebo) because I needed to make it' and 'there was no other consideration involved.' Katz feels this mixed messaging was intentional: 'At every point, he said you can get out of his work what you want. This was how he displayed work during the Helms Amendment, which made it illegal to represent AIDS or queerness.' The Helms Amendment, passed in 1987 as part of a federal appropriations bill, prohibited the use of U.S. federal funds in AIDS prevention programs to "promote or encourage, directly or indirectly, homosexual sexual activities" — also a powerful deterrent for publicly funded museums and arts institutions during the height of the AIDS crisis. According to several art scholars, González-Torres used ambiguity in his work to reach audiences in a time of extreme censorship, homophobia, and AIDS panic. 'There's a reason Félix was successful during his lifetime, unlike other gay artists at the time making art about sexuality and AIDS,' Florêncio says. 'He played with the Trojan horse thing — making art that is about something but looks like it could be about anything — in order to infiltrate the art world.' A now-famous, oft-quoted line by González-Torres, from a 1993 interview with artist Joseph Kosuth, supports this: 'At this point I do not want to be outside the structure of power…. I want to be like a virus that belongs to the institution…. So if I function as a virus, an imposter, an infiltrator, I will always replicate myself together with those institutions.' These shifting quotes raise the question: How much should curators depend on the words of the artist? Opinions vary. 'We hold Felix on too high of a pedestal if we think everything he said once, he stood by forever,' says Shawn Diamond, a lecturer on art history. 'It makes sense that some days he'd be missing Ross and say something like, 'This is all for Ross.' And other days he'd say, 'Well, the work can be taken any way.'' Censorship or Strategy? Katz believes that instead of honoring the artist's wishes, a darker, financial-based motive drives the foundation's approach — one he insists runs counter to what González-Torres wanted for his work. Katz notes that, in the high art world, labels of 'AIDS art' and even 'queer art' can limit where work can be shown and its commercial value to collectors. 'They believe that the more this work is associated with queerness or AIDS, the smaller the potential audience,' Katz says. 'That impacts money.' Terrill agrees: 'In my opinion, the foundation is concerned with maintaining high value and prestige. I don't hear anything from them about empathy or the community. I think they're motivated purely by money.' (In May of last year, the piece "Untitled" (America #3) — a single string of lights hung from the ceiling — was sold on auction at Christie's for $13.6 million). Darnaude also points to a 2021 Zoom event helmed by the FGT foundation to mark the 25th anniversary of the artist's death from an AIDS-related illness; he calls the presentation a "smoking gun" about the nonprofit's intent to downplay the role of AIDS and Laycock in González-Torres's work. After the 17:50 mark, historian Robert Hobbs cued up a slide called "Subjects Important to González-Torres" that was "put together" by Rosen. The slide attempted to show "how few works really deal with Ross" and AIDS by counting the number of pieces with Ross and "loverboys" in the titles. "There are under 50 works that deal with this," Hobbs stressed, as compared with say, the subject of politics, which numbered over 80 on the slide. In fairness, this seems to be at least one function of an artist foundation: to increase awareness, spread, and commercial value of art. It's worth noting that the Warhol Foundation isn't the same as the artist who created the work. Rather, it exists to legitimize the artwork and advance its reputation. Artist estates both protect and exploit legacies. They don't create with the purity or vision of the original artist. In one sense, it seems the Félix González-Torres Foundation is just doing its job, even if seemingly irresponsibly. However, various reports by those who have worked with the foundation in the past seem to support Katz's view — and lend credibility to his claims of antigay, AIDS-phobic erasure. For this article, multiple individuals who worked with the FGT Foundation previously — curators, gallerists, researchers — were contacted. Speaking anonymously, all described pressure to display the work in accordance with the foundation's view that it should be open to the viewer and depoliticized. However, none would speak on record; many refused to engage further when the foundation specifically was mentioned. Katz calls this a 'conspiracy of silence' in the art world. Guests at a private viewing of Damien Hirst And Felix Gonzalez-Torres's exhibition "Candy" at Blain Southern on October 15, 2013 in London, England. 'They know they're going to want to show [Félix González-Torres's work] at some point, so they don't do anything that will trouble the relationship,' he says. Additionally, Katz claims Rosen ignored some of González-Torres's dying wishes regarding his archives, including his love letters with Ross Laycock. 'Felix wanted their [love letters] read and seen,' Katz says. 'She has refused to give these materials to institutions he promised them to.' Shawn Diamond seems to corroborate this. Diamond studied the work of González-Torres for over 10 years. In his thesis about the artist, Diamond writes, 'Wall texts and gallery guides have largely abandoned context and biography, promoting a sanitized and aestheticized form of engagement.' In his research, Diamond was troubled by how the foundation appeared to restrict access to certain documents — in particular, those that are explicit about the artist's sexual relationship with Laycock. Diamond found a quote from González-Torres expressing his wish for the couple's letters to be donated to Bard College upon his passing. Even so, Diamond writes that the 'foundation retained the original copies and later donated a copy of these letters to Bard College but restricted access to them.' The Politics of Interpretation This renewed debate over González-Torres's legacy comes at a moment of rising cultural tension in the arts. In March, President Donald Trump signed an executive order titled "Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History," directing Vice President JD Vance to eliminate "improper, divisive, or anti-American ideology" from Smithsonian institutions, including museums and research centers — a development that feels darkly similar to the Helms Amendment. 'This is 2025,' Terrill says. 'We're facing a fascist takeover in the United States. The arts are under attack. Trump probably thinks the Félix González-Torres Foundation is doing the right thing, but I don't.' Florêncio agrees: 'In the current American political climate, it may be important to [the FGT Foundation] that the work is not seen as gay art.' In the exhibition "Kinderbiennale - Träume & Geschichten" in the Japanese Palais, a museum staff member arranges sweets in golden foil as part of Felix Gonzalez-Torres' work of art "Untitled", Dresden, Germany, 2018Sebastian Kahnert/picture alliance via Getty Images Given the responses from the FGT Foundation and others, the idea of whether art is fixed in time or open to evolving interpretation seems central. Among those we spoke with, opinions are divided — and heated. 'Saying 'Untitled' (Portrait of Ross) is just open-ended art is like displaying the AIDS Memorial Quilt and saying it's a modern interpretation of quilt-making,' Terrill says. Patrick Davis, a queer publisher who has studied the quilt as an act of biography and material storytelling, counters: "It is indeed a modern interpretation of quilt-making. It is a domestic art historically practiced by women to provide comfort. Men making them for their dying loved ones is subversive. The quilt panels are, essentially, the size of a grave." Florêncio says, 'The work of Félix González-Torres is no longer the same work if the idea is not present.' He adds, 'The idea behind the work is the work.' Davis similarly disagrees: 'Does Van Gogh's The Starry Night not stand on its own artistic merit? Art lives beyond the artist. Limiting González-Torres's work to its original spark of brilliance restrains it.' Patrick Moore, former director of the Andy Warhol Museum, writes in his book Beyond Shame: Reclaiming the Abandoned History of Radical Gay Sexuality, 'If the art of Felix González-Torres is truly meant to be open to interpretation, then I propose one such interpretation. I propose claiming Felix as a gay man who died of AIDS and relating his legacy to that powerful experience. The entirety of the 'authorized' body of work by González-Torres was created while he watched his lover die and discovered that he too was dying. The work is not about formal concerns; these are only the medium in which they were created. The work speaks of trying to grieve for another person even as you watch your own death approaching.' In The Painted Word, Tom Wolfe's acerbic 1975 critique of the modern art world, he notes, 'Modern Art has become completely literary: the paintings and other works exist only to illustrate the text.' Citing this, Davis adds,: 'González-Torres's work remains true even if meaningful text does not accompany it.' Florêncio notes that even the artist's contemporaries accused him of being 'too coy, too vague, and too beautiful' in his approach. 'Many said he was not gay enough or AIDS-y enough,' he says. 'But if the work had screamed 'gay art' from the beginning, he wouldn't have been the artist he became.' Florêncio says González-Torres 'was indirect by design, so embracing that uncertainty is part of the work.' Terrill similarly compares González-Torres to other artists of the time. 'His work was such a contrast to the art about AIDS I was familiar with, like the agitprop from ACT UP, Gran Fury, General Idea, even Robert Mapplethorpe's photographs. González-Torres's work was more subtle, less angry. It carried the undertone of grief and loss.' Andrew Hibbard, a curator who has worked with several contemporary art institutions and who worked with the FGT Foundation in 2018 to curate a González-Torres exhibit, says, 'As an artist, he was open about some things and also very cagey. You don't see many photographs of him. He didn't want that.' It's worth noting that Hibbard is the only past curator who worked with the FGT Foundation who would speak on the record; he has since left the art industry and now works for a tech company. The board members of the FGT Foundation themselves seem to have shifting views. Julie Ault, a MacArthur Fellow and editor, curated the exhibit "Afterlife: A Constellation" (2014), which rejected monolithic AIDS narratives and emphasized subjectivity in how artists like David Wojnarowicz and Martin Wong are viewed. During his lifetime, González-Torres named a work after her — 'Untitled' (Portrait of Julie Ault) — and she later published a volume on his work. Curators Elena Filipovic and Ann Goldstein helped shape some of the artist's major exhibitions, like the controversial David Zwirner show in 2017, which received accusations of AIDS erasure. These exhibitions stressed evolving, open-ended interpretations of González-Torres's work while still acknowledging its roots in illness and loss. Curator Miwon Kwon has similarly argued that González-Torres's work avoids specific meaning and instead centers on singular, unrepeatable viewer experience. Nancy Spector, who curated a major Guggenheim show while the artist was alive, once emphasized González-Torres's political and queer dimensions, but later, after the artist's death, curated exhibitions that seemed to downplay them. Musing on the board members, Hibbard says: 'They're mostly straight women. And it seems like the people pushing this critique are not straight women.' It's clear the tension isn't just about wall text or curatorial choices — it's about how queer artists are remembered and who should define that memory. Must a legacy foundation of a queer artist be run by queer people, like the Tom of Finland Foundation (an organization not without its own controversies)? At the same time, it seems necessary to let multiple interpretations of art exist. In her 1964 essay 'Against Interpretation,' Susan Sontag famously writes, 'Interpretation is the revenge of the intellect upon art.' She argues that 'interpretation in our time is more often reactionary, stifling' and that the role of criticism should be 'to show how it is what it is, even that it is what it is, rather than to show what it means.' Hibbard muses on this. 'The question of biography is tricky,' he says. 'The issue of not alluding to HIV and AIDS in didactics makes sense to me. If you look at things González-Torres said, he was interested in AIDS not as a biological factor but as a kind of social ill. Framing it as a single issue could alienate an audience.' He adds: 'I think Félix would bristle at any effort to hammer down one meaning.' ,The Current Exhibit In the current Smithsonian exhibit — which juxtaposes González-Torres's work with selections from the National Portrait Gallery's permanent collection — the main text at the entrance makes no mention of the artist's identity as a queer or HIV-positive man. It reads, 'His work refuses to convey history in a singular authoritative voice or through linear narratives of progress. Instead, Gonzalez-Torres's practice questions and exceeds binary thinking, such as past and present, public and private, major and minor, or collective and individual.' Notably, the exhibit omits accent marks in the artist's name — though these appear elsewhere in published material. The FGT Foundation's website also omits them. However, there is a reference to the artist's Cuban heritage on wall text for "Untitled" (Portrait of Dad) (1991). "Untitled" (Leaves of Grass) (1993) notes the work's allusion to Walt Whitman but does not mention Whitman or González-Torres's sexuality, though Whitman's queerness is referenced elsewhere in the exhibit. Finally, along one wall sits "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.), a pile of shimmering, multicolored candy — laid flat, like a body. Its label reads: 'Ideal weight: 175 lb.' The wall label does not explain who Ross was. "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) in present day at the Smithsonian National Portrait GalleryCourtesy Ignacio Darnaude On another spot in this room, separated from the "Untitled" work, there is a wall label that reads, "Gonzalez-Torres cared for his partner Ross Laycock, named in the candy work's title, who died from HIV/AIDS in 1991." (Darnaude, when he viewed the exhibition, doubts many visitors will make the connection to truly understand the context of the work.) Speaking on the exhibit, which presents González-Torres as one of the 20th century's greatest portraitists, Terrill says, 'When I think of Félix González-Torres, I don't think 'portraitist.' Say portraitist and I think of Grant Wood, John Singer Sargent, Romaine Brooks — not a pile of candy.' 'But,' he adds, 'if 175 pounds of candy is a portrait, who of? It's Ross. That makes the piece compelling. To say the 175 pounds is just the 'ideal weight' of the piece seems counter to the Portrait Gallery's mission. Portraits are of people, and this one is of Ross.' (It's worth noting that the artist himself defined the untitled piece as a 'portrait.') Hibbard still urges restraint. 'I'd be generous to the foundation,' he says. 'There are always a lot of interpretations. I don't think they're stifling anyone's vision. He's a hard artist to show because of the very nature of the work.' Theodore Kerr, coauthor of We Are Having This Conversation Now: The Times of AIDS Cultural Production, writes, 'As confused as I might be with the foundation's actions, I do think it is worth noting, celebrating, and continuing to organize around the fact that for so many of us, Félix González-Torres' work is about many things, including how we learned to and continue to process the ongoing HIV crisis.' Kerr goes on, 'Every time I go to a friend's house and I see that they, like me, have an Untitled"(Portrait of Ross) candy that they have saved for years, I get emotional. Those candies are memorials for our friends, the loved ones we lost, and the people we never had a chance to meet. No amount of attempted censure can take that connection away from us.' Davis, who publishes queer books and queer art through his journal Revel, says, 'This gets to a bigger debate. Can we separate art from the artist? Some want to cancel Picasso because he was a sexual predator. That criminality does not erase Cubism. Art requires nuance.' Diamond feels this debate mostly amounts to a request to see more from the Félix González-Torres Foundation — especially from those who survived a dark chapter in American history that the artist did not. The loudest voices calling for change are those who lived through the devastation of AIDS and fear its greatest voices being lost or, worse, intentionally erased. 'If anything,' Diamond says, 'I wish they would put out a specifically queer exhibit on Félix or at least agree to always acknowledge who Ross was. Because Ross represents everyone we lost.' He adds, 'They don't have to take a stance' on how the work must be read. 'But presenting more biographic information at exhibits would give viewers another lens through which to view it — not the only one, but another one. That would be enough. That would matter.'

Trump heads to Kennedy Center, where Vance was booed after takeover
Trump heads to Kennedy Center, where Vance was booed after takeover

USA Today

time6 hours ago

  • USA Today

Trump heads to Kennedy Center, where Vance was booed after takeover

Trump heads to Kennedy Center, where Vance was booed after takeover Trump's visit to the Kennedy Center with his wife, the vice president and the second lady is his first time attending a show at the iconic arts venue. Show Caption Hide Caption Trump pledges Kennedy Center overhaul, says it's in disrepair After JD Vance was booed at a concert, Trump toured the Kennedy Center, saying it is in 'disrepair' and promising to overhaul the cultural center. JD Vance was booed during a March visit to the Kennedy Center. A production of 'Hamilton' canceled its run at the center after Trump fired board members and appointed himself chairman. The president, first lady Melania Trump, Vice President Vance, and second lady Usha Vance will see a production of "Les Miserables." President Donald Trump is going to the theatre — taking in "Les Miserables" at the Kennedy Center after overhauling its leadership as part of his effort to transform some of the nation's premier institutions. Trump's June 11 visit to the Kennedy Center with his wife Melania Trump, Vice President JD Vance and Second Lady Usha Vance is his first time attending a show at the iconic arts venue, and comes after he appointed himself chairman and installed allies on the board. Richard Grenell, Trump's envoy for special missions, is the Kennedy Center's new president. The evening show is a rare public appearance for the Trumps in Washington's night life, and comes after Vance was booed at an earlier Kennedy Center show. The president didn't attend any Kennedy Center shows during his first term, but has taken a keen interest in the venue since winning back the White House. Trump's second term has featured efforts to exert more control over high-profile institutions, from Harvard University to the Smithsonian, as part of a culture war agenda. The president has complained about "woke" programming and "drag shows" at the Kennedy Center. The fallout from Trump's moves at the center has been swift. The musical "Hamilton" canceled plans to appear there, staff left and sales of subscriptions and individual tickets for Kennedy Center shows have dropped, two people briefed on the data told Reuters. Overall year-on-year subscription revenue was down 36% to $2.8 million as of early June for next season, which begins in the autumn, Reuters reported. Theater subscriptions, normally a major revenue driver for the center, were down 82%. A Kennedy Center official told Reuters the comparisons reflected in those subscription sales were not accurate because the center had launched its subscription renewal campaign later in 2025 than 2024. "Our renewal campaign is just kicking off," said Kim Cooper, senior vice president of marketing, in a statement. Cooper also noted the center had launched a new subscription option that allowed customers to "mix and match" genres and said more announcements of shows were coming. The Kennedy Center depends on revenue from tickets and subscriptions as well as donations. "President Trump cares deeply about American arts and culture, which is why he is revitalizing historic institutions like the Kennedy Center to their former greatness," White House spokeswoman Anna Kelly said in a statement. Trump's appearance at "Les Miserables", a show about citizens rising up against their government, comes just days after he sent U.S. Marines and the National Guard to quell protests against his administration's immigration raids in Los Angeles. Contributing: Reuters, Joey Garrison

‘Ultimate Icon' winner Jamie Fox on celebrating his second chance at life
‘Ultimate Icon' winner Jamie Fox on celebrating his second chance at life

News24

time7 hours ago

  • News24

‘Ultimate Icon' winner Jamie Fox on celebrating his second chance at life

Jamie Foxx struggled to hold back tears as he was honoured with the Ultimate Icon Award at the 2025 BET Awards. 'I cannot even begin to express the love that I feel from everybody out there,' the comedian and actor said as he accepted the award that acknowledges his remarkable contributions to the music industry. 'I have so much love to give, I told God, I said, 'man, just give me one more crack at this',' he continued, his eyes brimming with tears. 'I said, 'for whatever reason you put this on me, I promise I'm gonna do right'. And I'm gonna do right in front of you all because I know a lot of times when we get on, we forget about where we come from.' He went on to thank the black community for their unwavering support, expressing gratitude for how they've carried him and stood by him throughout his career. In addition, Jamie (57) thanked God for giving him a 'second chance' at life after his stroke in April 2023. He had previously shared how he experienced a severe headache before passing out. Unbeknown to him at the time, he was suffering bleeding in his brain. 'I was fighting for my life,' he recalled in his Netflix special, What Had Happened Was... 'It's a mystery, we still don't know exactly what happened to me [and] all I can tell you is that I appreciate every prayer because I needed every prayer.' READ MORE| Jamie Foxx on how a headache turned out to be a brain bleed that left him in a coma Since his recovery, Jamie has been rebuilding his life, finding strength in his family and sense of humour. 'If I could stay funny, I could stay alive,' he joked. Less than a year after his stroke, Jamie went back to work. In January 2024 he returned to the set of Back in Action, which he'd been filming with Cameron Diaz at the time of his stroke, and a month later he started plotting his comeback to stand-up comedy. 'I got some jokes and a story to tell,' he wrote on Instagram. The actor returned to co-host the seventh season of Beat Shazam with his daughter Corinne (31) in May last year, after Nick Cannon and Kelly Osbourne stepped in to host season 6 during his health scare. Last year, Jamie also had the honour of walking his daughter down the aisle at her October wedding to Joe Hooten. 'It was incredibly special, considering his health scare last year,' Corinne said. Even though his lead role in Ray in 2005 earned him a best actor Oscar, Jamie says he considers the Icon Award to be the most important accolade of his career. 'A lot of people think, like, the Oscars is the biggest thing, and we got to quit thinking like that,' he says. 'I say this all the time, thank you to black people and the black award, because this is what really counts.'

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