Latest news with #BlackArtists
New York Times
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Raymond Saunders, Painter Who Rejected Racial Pigeonholes, Dies at 90
Raymond Saunders, a belatedly recognized Bay Area artist who decried the art world's tendency to pigeonhole Black artists by race even as he produced paintings that actively explored racial subjects, died on July 19 in Oakland, Calif., just a few days after his first retrospective at a major museum, in his native Pittsburgh, closed. He was 90. His nephew Frank Saunders said he died in a hospital after he had aspirated a piece of food and contracted pneumonia. Mr. Saunders prided himself on his independence from movements. In 1967, he published a now-famous polemical pamphlet, 'Black Is a Color,' which rebutted an article by the poet Ishmael Reed, a leader of the Black Arts Movement. Breaking with the collective spirit of the '60s, Mr. Saunders argued that Black artists should not feel obligated to share social goals, or to use their work to lobby for political change. He wanted to be seen as an American artist rather than be ghettoized as a Black one. 'Can't we get clear of these degrading limitations,' he wrote, 'and recognize the wider reality of art where color is the means and not the end?' Still, he was not averse to exploring questions of identity in his work. 'He wasn't throwing his fist in the air,' the artist Dewey Crumpler, a friend of his in Oakland, observed. 'It was more subtle.' Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Forbes
20-07-2025
- Business
- Forbes
How One Black Woman Is Building Legacy Through Tattoos In New Orleans
Still image of Malaika "Mecca" Burke tattooing. Malaika 'Mecca' Burke spotted a $3.9 billion market inefficiency hiding in plain sight: Black Americans get tattoos at the highest rate of any demographic—39% versus 32% of white Americans—yet less than 5% of tattoo shops are Black-owned. Burke didn't come to New Orleans expecting to break barriers, but today, she's the only Black woman tattoo shop owner and the second in its history. She arrived in 2006 as a college graduate with an animation degree, a painter's eye and a volunteer's heart, drawn by the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the call to help rebuild what the storm had torn apart. 'I was one of those do-goodery volunteers,' Burke said with characteristic directness, her hands never pausing in their work. What began as a summer of service stretched into something more profound—a recognition that this layered, beautiful city offered something she'd never found in her native New Jersey: space to be authentically, unapologetically herself. Still Image of Mecca's Art. 'I love this city so much,' Burke reflected. 'It's fundamentally broken, but the people—this has probably been the most warmth and the most welcomed I've ever felt anywhere. There's a lot of space to be an absolute weirdo, and I really appreciate that.' This appreciation for New Orleans' embrace of the unconventional runs deeper than personal comfort and shapes Burke's entire approach to her craft and business. Her shop operates as something rare in the tattoo industry: a genuinely safe space where queer people, trans people and Black people can exist without constantly negotiating their presence or defending their worth. 'Lots of queer people, lots of trans people, lots of Black people' work in her shop, Burke noted—identities that 'definitely would not have been comfortable in the tattoo industry' when she started 15 years ago. The importance of this sanctuary cannot be overstated in an industry that Burke describes as 'mean and unforgiving,' where 'there's no HR' and artists must 'nut up and demand a space, because no one is going to give you anything.' When Representation Meets the Bottom Line The business case for Burke's approach becomes clear in the demographics. While Asians have the lowest tattoo adoption at 14%, Burke's core clientele, Black and Hispanic communities at 39% and 35% respectively, drive industry demand. Burke's path to ownership wasn't ordained by family tradition or a traditionally artistic calling. She stumbled into tattooing through necessity and stubbornness, securing an apprenticeship because a shop owner 'needed free labor.' The memory of her first tattoo remains visceral: sobbing inconsolably while a supervisor berated her for a minor mistake, yet pushing through to complete the work. Mecca tattooing a client 'Maybe that was my first lesson,' Burke said. 'You just gotta keep going even if you want to cry or even if you're actively crying.' That lesson would become the foundation for her attitude and approach to business—and the inspiration for her Magazine Street storefront, Hell or High Water. The phrase captures both her grit and New Orleans' own survival story, an understanding that surviving in the tattoo industry demanded a militant commitment to occupying space that others would deny you. As a Black woman in predominantly white, male shops, Burke faced constant assumptions about her competence and belonging. Clients would bypass her expertise, seeking confirmation from male colleagues. The sexism was blatant; the racism more subtle but equally corrosive. 'In New Orleans, I feel like a lot of the time I got discounted, it was never because I was Black, only because I was a woman,' Burke said. It's a distinction that speaks to the city's particular racial dynamics, a place where Black culture forms the foundation of what makes New Orleans distinctive, even as that cultural appreciation doesn't always translate into economic equity or social justice. Close up tattoo by Malaika Mecca Burke. 'Most of the businesses are started and run by old white dudes,' Burke explained, 'so you're gonna find just more white dudes.' The result is a self-perpetuating cycle where legitimate paths to mastery remain closed primarily to Black artists, forcing many to work from their homes rather than shops and operate outside the industry's recognized networks of support. 'You just gotta keep going—even if you're actively crying.' Burke's artistic vision largely ignores these industry politics while remaining tied to personal aesthetics. Her work gravitates toward florals and portraiture, faces that mesmerize her in ways she can't fully articulate. 'I don't know what it is about faces that kind of mesmerizes me, but I really enjoy recreating that,' she said. Her own body tells no grand narrative through ink; instead, it's a collection of 'mostly vibes' punctuated by memorial work and friendly collaborations. When asked what mark she hopes to leave on the world, Burke's answer is refreshingly unburdened by grandiosity: 'Good vibes.' In a cultural moment obsessed with branding and calculated impact, her calling to simply 'making cool s—' and 'helping some people smile' feels both radical and grounded. By creating space for alliance rather than competition and for vulnerability rather than machismo, she's rewriting the rules of what a tattoo shop can be. She hopes that her NOLA Black tattoo convention will continue this conversation. 'That's how you become better,' Burke noted. 'You work with other artists, and they're like, 'Oh, I do it this way,' and you're like, 'Oh, but I do it that way.' Those things help you grow.' The convention also addresses client needs that mainstream tattoo shops often overlook. 'You want to get work done by people that look like you, people that you feel like understand you,' Burke explained, particularly for larger pieces requiring hours of intimate proximity. Painting by Malaika Mecca Burke The economics support this approach, with cultural competency becoming a key differentiator as the customer base diversifies. In Burke's hands, tattooing joins this tradition, each piece honoring personal identity and contributing to a larger history about who gets to make a lasting impact in this city. As New Orleans continues to evolve—gentrifying and tussling with its layered racial history—Burke's work offers a model for how individual creativity can serve broader justice without sacrificing artistic integrity. 'In the end, the world might end tomorrow,' Burke said with characteristic pragmatism. 'I can't be worried about that. I just wanna make cool things and make some people smile.' In a city that has weathered centuries of endings and beginnings, Burke's commitment to joy and beauty in the face of uncertainty feels less like resignation than wisdom—the kind that comes from choosing, again and again, to build something lasting in a world designed to be temporary. Burke's work as a Black woman tattoo shop owner proves that representation is about visibility and rewriting who gets to belong in billion-dollar industries. Her tattoos may be 'mostly vibes,' but those vibes carry a long-term business truth: representation drives growth. By creating space for others, she isn't just honoring identity but shifting equity in an industry expected to hit $4.8 billion by 2032.
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Vogue
24-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Vogue
Solange Brought Intentional Style—and Several Outfits—to Her Eldorado Ballroom Series
Knowing the special history of the venue, Solange wanted to create a series that continued its legacy of spotlighting and uplifting Black artists—especially women—across categories. 'I always say anything new that you think you have done, a Black woman probably did it before you a century ago,' says Solange. 'That reflects in so much of the reason Saint Heron created this series. As a curator, I am constantly thinking of all these themes and nuances through connections we share as Black women artists, and how that carries through generationally. I'm also thinking about voices and stories who I feel deserve to be amplified.' To do so, the Eldorado Ballroom included over seven nights of programming, and featured a variety of different artists include organist Dominique Johnson, DJ Crystal Mess, saxophonist Angela Christie, and pianist Artisan Cain—among many other impressive talents. 'We started with 'On Dissonance,' which celebrated Black women composers in classical music,' says Solange. From there, other evenings included 'Paper in My Shoe,' a night focused on Black women in folk and Zydeco; and 'Monuments Are Here,' a film night that explored Black films 'that hone in on Black domesticity and our collection of sacred objects.' A personal favorite of Solange's, meanwhile, was 'Glory to Glory'—an evening that featured 'women from all facets of expression who devote their work to god and spirituality.' Wearing Ferragamo Photo: Kobe Wagstaff Wearing Ferragamo, with son Julez Smith Photo: Kobe Wagstaff Wearing Ferragamo, with son Julez Smith Photo: Kobe Wagstaff Naturally, as a musician herself, Solange also performed as part of the ongoing series. The star presented two of her own classical works, 'Villanelle For Times'—her score for The New York City Ballet's Playtime—and 'Not Necessarily in Arms Reach,' her orchestral piece for two tubas. 'It was really beautiful to experience people's connection to these works,' says Solange. 'I've always been a composer, and have written music for brass and piano in my more contemporary and pop work—but the evolution into more classical orchestral works has been both some of the most proud, yet vulnerable work I've ever created. To not have the distraction of lyrics, or the voice, and dance. It's taken me a while to stand firmly in that this is who I am right now, who I want to express, and be unapologetic about that.' Equally as intentional as the programming, was Solange's approach to fashion. Given she had several nights to dress up for as the host and lead visionary, she brought in a stellar team to dream up a thoughtful and striking wardrobe. She worked with stylist Danielle Goldberg and creative director Akeem Smith on her sleek, sculptural looks—by labels such as Ferragamo (a main supporter of the event), Calvin Klein, Mowalola, Gabriela Hearst, Loewe, and Comme des Garçons. 'They are both artists in their own right in different ways, but both so valuable,' says Solange of her team. 'It was really beautiful to work with them.'
Forbes
23-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Ezrom Legae And Art Under Apartheid At High Museum Of Art In Atlanta
"Ezrom Legae: Beasts" installation view at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. Mike Jensen They're animals. They're people. Stand-ins. Code. Black artists working under apartheid in South African didn't have the luxury of being literal. Artists living under or observing extreme cruelty have always used animals to represent people. Francisco Goya in Spain in the late 18th century. Picasso with the bombing of Guernica. Ezrom Legae (1938–1999). Not even the nerdiest of art nerds will know that name. The High Museum of Art in Atlanta hopes to change that, staging the South African's first major museum exhibition in the United States, 'Ezrom Legae: Beasts' through November 16, 2025. After apartheid was established in 1948, many artists in South Africa contended with its corresponding oppression and bodily violence by presenting the human figure in animal form or abstracting it. For them, animals traditionally sacrificed, such as goats and chickens, served as allegorical figures for activists who endured sacrificial violence and suffering under apartheid. South Africa's Indemnity Act of 1961 made it legal for police officers to commit acts of violence, to torture, or to kill in line of duty. Larger animals, such as bulls and contorted horse-like creatures, represented the autocratic government and agents of said violence. The High's exhibition focuses on Legae's own bestial compositions, with each work an imaginative study articulating the artist's political consciousness of his surroundings while living in South Africa's apartheid era. Legae was just 10 years old when he witnessed the National Party win federal elections and instill the system of racial and ethnic segregation that later became a centerpiece of his career's subject matter. 'For Legae in particular, there's obviously an interest in being subversive and encoding your messages for safety and to protect yourself,' Lauren Tate Baeza, the High's Fred and Rita Richman curator of African art and exhibition curator, told 'Using animals or observations of animals as a way to better understand the human condition is as old as human consciousness. You see cave drawings of animals and you can infer there's a way of trying to understand being taking place in those renderings. Religious allegory, sci-fi, satirical things like 'Animal Farm,' metamorphosis in literature. We're so used to animals meaning something else it's familiar to us that it is a code. Even if you don't intrinsically understand what that code is, it encourages the viewer to seek what that code might be.' Ezrom Legae (South African, b. 1938), 'Horse, four stages of dying,' 1967, pencil and charcoal on paper. Dr. Gavin Watkins, Private Collection, Sydney, Australia. Legae's work is outstanding. His story important. But why is the High Museum in Atlanta the one telling it? 'My charge is to seek out opportunities, gaps and omissions, and I try to do that until they become redundant, and they become more mainstream, and other scholars are responding to it, and then I move on to other gaps and omissions,' Tate Baeza said. Legae individually–and African modernism generally–represent a significant gap in the canon of 20th century art. Additionally, the High already possesses as a collection strength other examples South African art. It also owns a significant drawings collection. 'He's one of the most important artists in South Africa–full stop–of the 20th century, but also a particularly impressive draftsman, and speaks very different languages, if you will, in his line making,' Tate Baeza said. 'I thought presenting a sample of his different modalities of drawing, his approaches to drawing, would be a wonderful way to introduce him to a new audience.' 'Beasts' presents 38 drawings from 1967 to 1996 and two small sculptures by Legae, his other specialty. The 1970s, amid mounting unrest and anti-apartheid protests such as the Soweto Uprising, are considered the artist's most prolific period. He produced pencil, ink, and charcoal depictions of animals as covert representations of apartheid's players and impact–activists and civilians enduring increased violence, exile, and imprisonment, often without trial and including solitary confinement. His production dropped off until the 1990s when he reemerged during South Africa's political transition out of apartheid. 'He was concerned and warning about intra-South African tensions of a different kind,' Tate Baeza explained. 'When an authoritarian government ends, people who are very different from one another, who were previously unified under one enemy, now don't have that enemy, and there's a power vacuum, and often that creates tension with respect to control for that power. There was a concern about people becoming vicious to each other now that they had their relative freedom, and were trying to sort out a new way of governing the growing pains of that.' Legae was also conscious of events around the continent in the 90s and motivated to comment on them. He visited Rwanda when his passport was returned to him following the demise of apartheid. He documented the aftermath of the 1994 Rwandan genocide through his drawings, again incorporating his bestial, animal-for-people representations. Exhibition loans come almost exclusively from South African institutions, including Johannesburg's Goodman Gallery which represented the artist in life and handles his estate today. Throughout their relationship, the gallery helped protect and defend Legae when he was arrested by the apartheid government, had Legae shows shut down by officials, and was targeted as being an enemy of the state itself for showing his work and hosting mixed-race gatherings. Kim Chong Hak Kim Chong Hak (Korean, born 1937),' Snowy Mountain,' 2008, acrylic on canvas, courtesy of the artist and the Kim Chong Hak Foundation. Kim Tang-Sae. © Kim Chong Hak. Along with South Africa, visitors at the High can also travel to South Korea this summer through the paintings of Kim Chong Hak (b. 1937; Sinuiju, Korea). 'Kim Chong Hak, Painter of Seoraksan,' through Oct. 26, 2025, features more than 70 works, including new acquisitions from the High's collection spanning the arc of Kim's mature career while presenting an aspect of Korean art in the late 20th century little known outside of South Korea. Like Legae, Kim is virtually unknown in the United States despite being a prominent voice in his home country where he's popularly known as 'the painter of Mount Seorak,' the highest peak in South Korea's Taebaek mountain range. This represents his first American museum exhibition. Starting as an abstract painter in the 1960s, Kim ultimately rejected the adoption of Western-style abstraction which he viewed as a response to national melancholy brought on by previous decades of hardship and deprivation. In the late 1970s, he settled in Gangwon Province, eastern South Korea, home of Mount Seorak. There, he moved away from the monochromatic painting popular in Korea at that time toward his unabashedly expressive style. He has since dedicated his life and work to interpreting the environs of Mount Seorak, developing an artistic and emotional attunement to the natural world during decades of self-imposed isolation in the mountains. The turning of the seasons, cycles of life, death, regeneration and ever-changing atmospheric conditions, have provided Kim with a subject of endless scrutiny and spiritual rapport. His work reasserts the expressive potency of mountain imagery in traditional East Asian art while demonstrating the influence of international movements of the 1970s and 1980s. Faith Ringgold Faith Ringgold (American, 1930 – 2024), 'And as dreams go,' from the book 'My Dream of Martin Luther King,' 1995, acrylic on canvas paper, Faith Ringgold Revocable Trust. © Anyone Can Fly Foundation. Photo by Paul Mutino. Faith Ringgold (1930–2024), on the other hand, is famous in America. About as famous as a visual artist can get, anyway. Her paintings and narrative quilts are featured in the nation's most prestigious art museums. Her award-winning accomplishments as a children's book creator are less acknowledged. Beginning June 27 and running through October 12, 2025, The High presents 'Faith Ringgold: Seeing Children,' the most comprehensive exhibition to date of Ringgold's original paintings and drawings made for her children's books, including several artworks that have never previously been exhibited. The exhibition will be the latest in the High's popular series celebrating children's book art and authors. The exhibition will feature more than 100 works from a dozen of Ringgold's books, including original paintings from 'If a Bus Could Talk: The Story of Rosa Parks' (1999), 'Dinner at Aunt Connie's House' (1993) and 'Tar Beach' (1991), in which Cassie, a Black child in 1930s Harlem, imagines a future where she can go anywhere that she dreams of from her apartment's rooftop. Also on view will be complete artwork from the fable 'The Invisible Princess' (1999) and 'We Came to America' (2016), which examines the history of immigration in America. Together, the artworks in the exhibition illuminate critical aspects of Ringgold's practice and convey how Ringgold, a lifelong educator, presents children as creative, purposeful art makers. 'Faith Ringgold started her career as a teacher and believed that all children are artists and should seriously consume art,' Andrew Westover, exhibition curator and the High's Eleanor McDonald Storza deputy director of learning and civic engagement, said. 'Often a child will first encounter visual art on the pages of picture books, and they can help children feel valued and empowered. Through this exhibition, we will underscore the importance of those discoveries while at the same time giving due recognition to a lesser-known facet of Ringgold's art.' In conjunction with the exhibition, the Alliance Theatre at the Woodruff Arts Center presents 'Rhythm & Thread' through August, a theatrical show for young audiences inspired by Faith Ringgold's quilts that will celebrate family, imagination, and the beauty of storytelling through the art of quilting. More From Forbes Forbes Contemporary West African Masquerade Comes To New Orleans By Chadd Scott Forbes Cincinnati's Taft Museum Shares First Generation Of Modern African Art To Reach America By Chadd Scott Forbes Jacob Lawrence 'Nigeria' Series Together Again For First Time Since 1965 By Chadd Scott
Yahoo
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Did Beyoncé Influence the Grammy's Latest Category Decision?
The Recording Academy has announced a significant change coming to the 2026 Grammy Awards. The long-standing Best Country Album category is being retired. In its place, two new categories will debut: Best Contemporary Country Album and Best Traditional Country Album. While the Academy cites a desire to better represent the genre's breadth, many are speculating that Beyoncé's historic win earlier this year was the true catalyst for this decision. When Beyoncé dropped 'Cowboy Carter,' she was reclaiming space in a genre deeply rooted in Black history. Her win for Best Country Album in 2025 marked a cultural turning point, making her the first Black artist to ever claim the award. The moment was monumental, not just for Beyoncé, but for country music as a whole. It reignited national conversations about the genre's origins and opened the door to broader representation. The Recording Academy explained that the category update was a response to the growing diversity within country music and the desire to give more room for recognition. However, the timing was impossible to ignore. Beyoncé's impact was undeniable. Her presence in the category disrupted longstanding genre norms and pushed the boundaries of what mainstream country has historically accepted. In online spaces and fan circles, the consensus is mixed. Some believe the new categories allow for greater representation, offering space to a broader range of country artists, especially those from marginalized backgrounds. Others feel the timing of the change suggests discomfort with Beyoncé's win, an attempt to preserve traditional country as a separate, perhaps whiter, space within the genre. Following her 2025 win, public reactions revealed a clear racial divide. Many Black listeners and genre-expanding fans celebrated Beyoncé's recognition as overdue, citing her deliberate homage to country traditions and the genre's Black origins. But among some white country artists and fans, the response was notably cooler. A few high-profile country stars avoided commenting altogether, while others offered only lukewarm praise, focusing more on the album's 'crossover appeal' than its merit within the genre. In country music forums and comment sections, complaints ranged from accusations that Beyoncé's album wasn't 'real' country to claims that the Grammys were caving to political correctness. This subtle resistance mirrors the backlash that has historically greeted Black artists entering country spaces, from Charley Pride in the 1970s to Mickey Guyton and Lil Nas X more recently. In Beyoncé's case, even before her Grammy win, the release of 'Cowboy Carter' sparked heated debates over whether she 'belonged' in country, a genre that has long been gatekept through unspoken norms around race, sound, and authenticity. Understanding the difference between 'traditional' and 'contemporary' country music helps clarify why the Academy may have felt the need to split the category. Traditional country leans into acoustic instrumentation like the banjo, fiddle, and steel guitar. It stays close to the storytelling roots of rural life, love, and heartache, and often includes older sub-genres like Western-swing and Outlaw country. On the other hand, contemporary country embraces modern production and often incorporates elements of pop, rock, or R&B. It reflects the genre's evolving identity, similar to how the Grammys have differentiated styles in R&B and blues categories. There's no denying that Beyoncé's influence helped spotlight the genre's complexity and forced institutions to reckon with its legacy. Her album blurred the lines between contemporary innovation and traditional homage, making it difficult to neatly categorize. The new Grammy structure may be a way for the Academy to better organize the genre's diversity. However, it also invites questions about who gets included under 'traditional' and who defines that standard. Beyoncé's impact on country isn't an isolated incident, it's part of a bigger pattern unfolding across music. As more artists push genre boundaries, music awards are finding it harder to fit them into neat boxes. At the 2025 BET Awards, for example, Memphis rapper GloRilla took home the Best Gospel/Inspirational Artist award for 'Rain Down on Me,' a collaboration with Kirk Franklin and Maverick City Music. Although the song has a gospel theme, many argued GloRilla isn't a gospel artist. Some, like singer Deitrick Haddon, argue her win steps on the toes of those creating gospel music regularly. This incident highlights how award shows struggle to define a genre when artists are constantly crossing into new sonic territory. Just last year, the Grammys introduced Best Alternative Jazz Album, a nod to albums that blend jazz with R&B, hip-hop, electronic, and other influences. Regardless of the Academy's true intent, it's clear that Beyoncé's 'Cowboy Carter' was more than an album that brought a cultural shift. Her entry into country challenged expectations as well as changed the landscape. With the 2026 Grammy Awards approaching, these new categories could offer opportunities for artists of color to thrive in both traditional and contemporary country spaces. Or, they could risk reinforcing old boundaries under a new post Did Beyoncé Influence the Grammy's Latest Category Decision? appeared first on 21Ninety.
