Integrated Art

I never want to be thought of as an Angry Race Woman. Someone who can never appreciate the beauty around her because she is always ranting and raving about some injustice that the MAN has thrust upon her people.

Clearly, as evidenced by this blog, I am obsessed with racial issues, but I'm always on the look-out for signs of progress and thoughtful integration, not just instances of racial inequities. BUT, I think I'm going to have to put on my Angry Black Woman hat for a moment.

Yesterday I took my two SpaNegro boys to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was pay what you want day, so the hubby and I decided to beat the heat and expose the boys to some culture at the same time. No agenda, just a chance to show them what "art" looks like in a big museum. After some exciting hands-on crafts we headed to the Arms and Armor exhibit, dashed through the special exhibit on William H. Johnson and then strolled through the great hall to view some of the modern and contemporary artists. We really wanted to show our older son some Joan Miro paintings because they show a striking similarity to the artwork he brings home from kindergarten!

As we're walking and the boys are gazing at the different paintings on the wall, I find myself looking for any paintings by or of people of color. After a short while the kids started getting antsy and we knew we would have to leave soon but I almost started feeling desperate to show them something, anything that would prove to them that people that looked like them were part of this amazing display of art. Granted we pointed out Picasso, Miro and Dali, Spanish artists, but the work of the Negro was nowhere in sight, save the Johnson exhibit in a separate hall downstairs.

By chance we noticed a Diego Rivera mural behind the staircase on our way out, so we felt we were getting closer to some colored people's art. Just as I was about to curse out the curators, the experts and the board of directors of the Philadelphia Museum for not including Black artists in this massive building, in a city with a double digit Black population, I noticed a flyer at the information desk. Right there in front of me there was a listing of all of the "African-American Works on View." Ooops. Glad I didn't open my mouth. And next to that there was a similar listing of Latino Works on View. I just didn't know where to look.

NOT!

Three massive floors of phenomenal art, whole galleries dedicated to, American art, European Art(early and modern), Costume and Textiles, Asian Art, the aforementioned armor and only 15 pieces of artwork done by African-Americans are on display. And of those 15, two are cups and two are pieces of furniture, meaning one would be hard-pressed to know that a person of color created them. The contributions of Black-American artists in the Philadelphia Museum of Art can be listed on a single sheet of paper. The Latinos' contributions at least, stretched to two.

It would be one thing if Black people and Latinos just weren't an artistic people and had nothing to contribute to the art world, but we know that's not true which makes this all the more painful to accept. Except for special exhibitions, why are the works of Black and Latino artists not on the walls with their contemporaries? Why is there not a Black American or African gallery? Why is there no Latin American gallery? Is it racism? Is it ignorance? Is it apathy?

Whatever the reason, a great city like Philadelphia who wants to be the Next Big City, will never get my vote (even though I live here now) if their world famous museum doesn't include the work of the world's artists. They promote their "international collection of nearly 225,000 works of art," but fail to mention that the colored people's work didn't make the cut. And obviously if they are putting out flyers highlighting the works of African-Americans and Latinos (which coincidentally are almost all Mexican not a reflection of the diversity of Latino artists) then they know that people want to see works by artists of color.

Shame Shame Philly Museum. It's time to integrate your walls.

Speaking of Interracial Loving

As I begin the countdown for the Loving Decision Conference 2007, I thought why not write about some groovy, important, interracial relationships, past and present, that deserve celebration. Because really, how often does that happen in real life?

It's ironic really that there ever even existed anti-miscegenation laws since it never stopped people of different races from falling in love or even marrying for that matter. History is full of romance and relationships across color lines, but many historians would like to conveniently delete them from our collective memory.

This weekend, while strolling through the Philadelphia Museum of Art I discovered the artwork of William H. Johnson. Johnson was an artistic genius, born in South Carolina in 1901. I'd known of Johnson only as a painter of the Harlem Renaissance who grew frustrated with America's hostile racial climate and so he escaped to Europe.

Indeed Johnson did find the freedom he longed for in Europe to pursue his art as an artist instead of the suffocating label of Black artist. He ended up living for sometime in Denmark where he met his wife, Holcha Krake, a textile artist more than a decade older than himself.

In Denmark, in the tiny fishing village Johnson and Krake called home, the locals were more surprised that Krake had married at age 44. The fact that her husband was a Black man was inconsequential in their eyes. Johnson and Krake supported and influenced each other's work, sometimes they collaborated on pieces and eventually the couple moved to New York City. Krake, reportedly faced far more criticism in the US for being a Black man's wife than Johnson ever did in Europe. Still, their passionate love for one another seemed to sustain them and their art in the face of America's "race problem."

The end of their romance is tragic. Holcha Krake died of breast cancer, circa 1944. Soon after, around 1946 Johnson was diagnosed with "syphilis-induced paresis," which basically meant his brain turned to mush over the next 20 years, leaving him completely without memory of his former life or loves.

If you get a chance, look into the art of William H. Johnson, not because he married a White woman, but because he was a man who refused to allow the color of his skin to limit his passions.

Peace Out and keep Loving!

(illustration by William H. Johnson titled "Cafe" )