Dear reader, If you have picked up this magazine it is likely for one of three reasons. One, you love Juxtapoz, and for that, we thank you. Two, you love the work of Kehinde Wiley, and in that, we join you. Or three, you were out and about in the world when the image on the cover of this issue beckoned. It so struck you that it became a personal mission, a visceral urge, a divine calling, to discover more about the artist with the magical mind who made such a portrait, and with that, we welcome you.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/6866588665.jpg]
I specifically remember the moment I saw my first Kehinde Wiley work, strolling about the Seattle Art Museum when they exhibited A New Republic. I remember looking up at Napoleon Leading the Army Over the Alps, ready for the horseman to jump out of the canvas and trample me with both hooves and Timbs. I believe I stood in front of Judith and Holofernes for a good fifteen minutes, ready to get on my knees and wash the feet of my newfound queen. Throughout the exhibit, feelings swirled around in my mind. Even today, when I stand before a Wiley work, words tend to escape my brain. I smell color. I see music. My skin tingles with goosebumps. Plainly, his work unlocked something from within, and for the first time, art made so much sense to me.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/6616515865.jpg]
I'm sure that if there was a list of people who shared this exact same experience, that note paper would go 'round the world twice, in twelve-point font. The man's a legend. But what exactly is the magic formula that conjures such allure? Is it the path of dignity that he's forged upon gallery walls for those with Black skin? Is it his fearlessness in reconfiguring the notion of masculinity? His adoration of the Black male body? Is it the floral backdrops that splendidly encircle his sitters in Mother Nature's nurturing hands? His compulsion, not to whitewash, but to rewrite history? His ability to both honor and critique? To paint dark skin like gently warmed Hershey's chocolate? There are a thousand more, but his ability to balance them all on a tightrope is clearly more than just a trick of the hand.
Just this past year Wiley opened the exhibition An Archaeology of Silence, on view at the Venice Bienniale, where his meditative works explored the despair and exasperation with young Black mortality. An exhibition at the National Gallery of London, The Prelude, placed Black sitters at the forefront of Western landscape traditions, expanding on his hallmark, the absence of Blackness within European art. But it's not always so heavy, like his portrait of Dr. Dre for an Interscope Records exhibition at LACMA. He has mentored artists through his Senegal-based artist-in-residency program Black Rock which he founded in 2019 and kept afloat throughout the pandemic. And, of course, his monumental portrait of former President Barack Obama continues to travel around the United States, years after its historic debut. And, and, and… That’s a lot of magic.
Now it’s a pastime of mine to watch Wiley’s numerous interviews and immerse myself in his soothing baritone. After allowing his words to echo in my subconscious there is one particular quote of his that has stuck with me: “Art should do more than point. Art should have an opinion. It should be something that says, ‘I believe in this more than that.’”
But at its core, isn’t magic just the application of actions to mold belief? And with all that is going on in the world, the little magic that remains has seemed to crumple into a pile on the floor. What is often leftfor me is the magic of art—and in that, I still believe.
Shaquille Heath: I’d love to start referencing your exhibition The Prelude that just closed at the National Gallery in London, specifically the video work that anchored the exhibition, which featured black Londoners traversing Norway’s fjords and glacial landscapes. During the film, subjects would stare at the camera, snowflakes stinging their faces as they unflinchingly maintain frozen grins. I heard you say, “The smile becomes this interesting metaphor when looking at the film. How does one at once project one thing when there’s another going on inside?” For Black people, this is constant. In that vein, my question to you is how does Kehinde Wiley take care and find joy?
Kehinde Wiley: How do I take care of myself and find joy? I suppose the work that I do is a way of engaging a deeply beautiful and terrible world and having the ability to say something about it. That allows me to feel less powerless, even though I know art has no revolutionary capacity at its core, it’s entirely revolutionary.
On an individual level, perhaps I can’t affect radical and broad change, but I think if I allow my work to point to the things that make me happy in the world, it nods towards the gravitational pull of the moral world that I want to live in. Something like that.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/9666656596.jpg]
I am continually intrigued with the duality that accompanies the existence of Blackness. We often hold onto one existence while avidly carrying out the performance that is necessary for our survival. The Prelude, in particular, really hammers this notion home. Can you tell me your personal interest in exploring this concept within your work?
Well, The Prelude, this sort of snowy austere, icy, mountainous, vertical space, as exemplified by the Norwegian fjords, is a stand-in for any number of environments, rooms, societies, or practices that consider me an outsider. This body of work is about navigating that space, but also, it’s about building community and play and joy within the outside, or the “outsider position.” It oscillates between a desire to be accepted and a desire to paint the world as it is.
Community is such a fundamental part of your work. Your Trickster series showcases the incredible community of artists around you, and I’ve heard you speak about how essential this has been for your evolution and growth as an artist. The community also seems to be at the center of your artist-in-residency program in Senegal, Black Rock, which brings together artists from all over the world to engage with Africa. Your website refers to “a void that so many of us hope to fill,” so talk to me about being at the center of creating this important space over the past few years.
Building community is really important because it works. The only reason why I am where I am is because some key people took a chance on me and allowed me to learn from them and to build upon the knowledge and skill sets that they carried. I try to create a space wherein the blast zone and the touchstone for that conversation happens in West Africa.
The idea is to invite people, creative people from every nation and of every color, to Africa and to explore not only their own creative practices but to explore Africa itself and perhaps be transformed by it. In so doing, I hope that I’ll be enriching artists’ lives, enriching the continent of Africa, and in a very selfish way, enriching my own life.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/1561965598.jpg]
Going back to The Prelude, and this may seem a frivolous observation, but one thing that strikes me is just the idea of seeing Black folks in nature, period. Seeing these landscape portraits that feature Black hikers and explorers feels like a radical act. I presume this was intentional, but please tell me more.
Yeah, I think there’s something really great about nature, especially pictured in landscape paintings. I’m thinking about Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (1818), for example. In his work, nature becomes this place where one can go and find oneself or empty oneself out and discover anew, without and within.
For me, the radical act in this painting is about Black subjectivity. In the original painting, we are encouraged to look at the man, the white male subject, standing and staring out into the vastness of nature. And we’re encouraged to wonder what he’s thinking, encouraged to wonder what is the nature of his interior lining, his psychological space. That effort, that tenderness, that psychological care, and closeness have rarely been afforded to Black people in painting or in the arts at large.
A really cool and tender thing about that painting is the fact that it invites you to see the world through his eyes and to wonder what he’s thinking. What’s going on inside of him? What are his dreams and what are his fears? How does he interfa...
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/6866588665.jpg]
I specifically remember the moment I saw my first Kehinde Wiley work, strolling about the Seattle Art Museum when they exhibited A New Republic. I remember looking up at Napoleon Leading the Army Over the Alps, ready for the horseman to jump out of the canvas and trample me with both hooves and Timbs. I believe I stood in front of Judith and Holofernes for a good fifteen minutes, ready to get on my knees and wash the feet of my newfound queen. Throughout the exhibit, feelings swirled around in my mind. Even today, when I stand before a Wiley work, words tend to escape my brain. I smell color. I see music. My skin tingles with goosebumps. Plainly, his work unlocked something from within, and for the first time, art made so much sense to me.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/6616515865.jpg]
I'm sure that if there was a list of people who shared this exact same experience, that note paper would go 'round the world twice, in twelve-point font. The man's a legend. But what exactly is the magic formula that conjures such allure? Is it the path of dignity that he's forged upon gallery walls for those with Black skin? Is it his fearlessness in reconfiguring the notion of masculinity? His adoration of the Black male body? Is it the floral backdrops that splendidly encircle his sitters in Mother Nature's nurturing hands? His compulsion, not to whitewash, but to rewrite history? His ability to both honor and critique? To paint dark skin like gently warmed Hershey's chocolate? There are a thousand more, but his ability to balance them all on a tightrope is clearly more than just a trick of the hand.
Just this past year Wiley opened the exhibition An Archaeology of Silence, on view at the Venice Bienniale, where his meditative works explored the despair and exasperation with young Black mortality. An exhibition at the National Gallery of London, The Prelude, placed Black sitters at the forefront of Western landscape traditions, expanding on his hallmark, the absence of Blackness within European art. But it's not always so heavy, like his portrait of Dr. Dre for an Interscope Records exhibition at LACMA. He has mentored artists through his Senegal-based artist-in-residency program Black Rock which he founded in 2019 and kept afloat throughout the pandemic. And, of course, his monumental portrait of former President Barack Obama continues to travel around the United States, years after its historic debut. And, and, and… That’s a lot of magic.
Now it’s a pastime of mine to watch Wiley’s numerous interviews and immerse myself in his soothing baritone. After allowing his words to echo in my subconscious there is one particular quote of his that has stuck with me: “Art should do more than point. Art should have an opinion. It should be something that says, ‘I believe in this more than that.’”
But at its core, isn’t magic just the application of actions to mold belief? And with all that is going on in the world, the little magic that remains has seemed to crumple into a pile on the floor. What is often leftfor me is the magic of art—and in that, I still believe.
Shaquille Heath: I’d love to start referencing your exhibition The Prelude that just closed at the National Gallery in London, specifically the video work that anchored the exhibition, which featured black Londoners traversing Norway’s fjords and glacial landscapes. During the film, subjects would stare at the camera, snowflakes stinging their faces as they unflinchingly maintain frozen grins. I heard you say, “The smile becomes this interesting metaphor when looking at the film. How does one at once project one thing when there’s another going on inside?” For Black people, this is constant. In that vein, my question to you is how does Kehinde Wiley take care and find joy?
Kehinde Wiley: How do I take care of myself and find joy? I suppose the work that I do is a way of engaging a deeply beautiful and terrible world and having the ability to say something about it. That allows me to feel less powerless, even though I know art has no revolutionary capacity at its core, it’s entirely revolutionary.
On an individual level, perhaps I can’t affect radical and broad change, but I think if I allow my work to point to the things that make me happy in the world, it nods towards the gravitational pull of the moral world that I want to live in. Something like that.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/9666656596.jpg]
I am continually intrigued with the duality that accompanies the existence of Blackness. We often hold onto one existence while avidly carrying out the performance that is necessary for our survival. The Prelude, in particular, really hammers this notion home. Can you tell me your personal interest in exploring this concept within your work?
Well, The Prelude, this sort of snowy austere, icy, mountainous, vertical space, as exemplified by the Norwegian fjords, is a stand-in for any number of environments, rooms, societies, or practices that consider me an outsider. This body of work is about navigating that space, but also, it’s about building community and play and joy within the outside, or the “outsider position.” It oscillates between a desire to be accepted and a desire to paint the world as it is.
Community is such a fundamental part of your work. Your Trickster series showcases the incredible community of artists around you, and I’ve heard you speak about how essential this has been for your evolution and growth as an artist. The community also seems to be at the center of your artist-in-residency program in Senegal, Black Rock, which brings together artists from all over the world to engage with Africa. Your website refers to “a void that so many of us hope to fill,” so talk to me about being at the center of creating this important space over the past few years.
Building community is really important because it works. The only reason why I am where I am is because some key people took a chance on me and allowed me to learn from them and to build upon the knowledge and skill sets that they carried. I try to create a space wherein the blast zone and the touchstone for that conversation happens in West Africa.
The idea is to invite people, creative people from every nation and of every color, to Africa and to explore not only their own creative practices but to explore Africa itself and perhaps be transformed by it. In so doing, I hope that I’ll be enriching artists’ lives, enriching the continent of Africa, and in a very selfish way, enriching my own life.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1661357392/articles/eUWl2B6HZ1666160494901/1561965598.jpg]
Going back to The Prelude, and this may seem a frivolous observation, but one thing that strikes me is just the idea of seeing Black folks in nature, period. Seeing these landscape portraits that feature Black hikers and explorers feels like a radical act. I presume this was intentional, but please tell me more.
Yeah, I think there’s something really great about nature, especially pictured in landscape paintings. I’m thinking about Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (1818), for example. In his work, nature becomes this place where one can go and find oneself or empty oneself out and discover anew, without and within.
For me, the radical act in this painting is about Black subjectivity. In the original painting, we are encouraged to look at the man, the white male subject, standing and staring out into the vastness of nature. And we’re encouraged to wonder what he’s thinking, encouraged to wonder what is the nature of his interior lining, his psychological space. That effort, that tenderness, that psychological care, and closeness have rarely been afforded to Black people in painting or in the arts at large.
A really cool and tender thing about that painting is the fact that it invites you to see the world through his eyes and to wonder what he’s thinking. What’s going on inside of him? What are his dreams and what are his fears? How does he interfa...
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Juxtapoz (Digital) - 1 Issue, Fall 2022