In Memoriam A Tribute to Genesis Breyer P-Orridge

The Brooklyn Rail
by Jane Ursula Harris

I met Genesis in 2007 at the opening of a show I’d curated called Keeping Up With The Joneses. Along with work by Pope.L, Laurel Nakadate, LaToya Ruby Frazier (in her New York City debut), among others, it featured a photo of Lady Jaye in their Gates Avenue apartment dressed for work in one of her dominatrix outfits. Like a Vermeer by way of Pierre Molinier (one of Gen’s favorite artists), she stands gracefully in the tiny cluttered kitchen, her long slender body extended by stilettos, and her blonde pixie cut refracting light from the window behind her. I’d wanted work related to their pandrogyne project, which I’d discovered via a friend, but fate intervened. A month before the show was to open, Gen texted to tell me Jaye had passed, a devastating revelation that made the gauche prospects of negotiating what works to include impossible. I let Gen decide, and s/he picked the large-scale photo of Jaye in the kitchen.

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Jane Harris. Courtesy the artist.

I arrived late to the opening (a bad habit I have even when I curate), and it was very crowded. My ex came up to me and told me he’d given Gen some kind of pill (Oxy I think) to ease he/r pain. I don’t know if s/he took it, but I share that anecdote because I don’t believe in moralizing the use of chemical substances to alter oneself whether for peace of mind, spiritual growth, or pleasure. And Gen made lots of work—music and art alike—under the influence of various substances, particularly hallucinogens, which s/he treated as ritual conduits. I still covet one of the beautiful gridded collages made from heroin baggies that s/he and Jaye made, and Blood Bunny (1997–2007), the life-sized wooden rabbit they rubbed with blood derived from the ketamine injections they took for astral travel. When I wrote an essay for the Believer on Gen’s survey at the Warhol Museum, s/he showed me the related scars on he/r arm; small cuts made by Jaye to bring he/r back into he/r body.

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Courtesy of: The Brooklyn Rail

The African-American Art Shaping the 21st Century

New York Times

Prominent black artists on the work that inspires them most.

OVER THE PAST 20 YEARS, a new vanguard of African-American creators has helped define the 21st century. Jordan Peele. Ta-Nehisi Coates. Kara Walker. Ava DuVernay.

It’s the first time since the 1970s that black art, history and political life have come together in such a broad, profound and diverse way. That convergence was evident in the farce of “Chappelle’s Show”; on the pair of albums D’Angelo released 14 years apart. You can see the imprint of the Barack Obama presidency on “Black Panther”; Black Lives Matter on Beyoncé; the country’s prison crisis on Kendrick Lamar. You can sense that convergence haunting the fiction of Jesmyn Ward.

For eight years, all sorts of black artists sailed through the White House, and shaped the depiction of black America, by thinking transcendently, trenchantly, truthfully. They adjusted the way the entire country can look at itself.

So we asked 35 major African-American creators from different worlds (film, art, TV, music, books and more) to talk about the work that has inspired them the most over the past two decades: “Atlanta,” “Moonlight,” “Get Out,” “A Seat at the Table,” “Double America 2,” and on and on. These are edited excerpts from the conversations.

From the start, black people have been at the center of American popular culture — essentially because white people placed them there, through imitation and mockery and fascination. Ever since, the struggle for black artists has been to wrest control of their own culture, to present themselves, in all of their complexity, diversity, innovation and idiosyncrasy, and represent one another, as rebuke, as celebration, as advancement.

So while the power these artists have attained might be a breakthrough, the primacy energizing their art is centuries old. Maybe these two decades of fertility and surprise constitute new territory. But, as these artists are about to explain, they amount to what someone like Beyoncé knows well: homecoming.
— WESLEY MORRIS

LaToya Ruby Frazier on Flint Activists

Amber Hasan Musician, author
Shea Cobb Poet, musician
Interview by Salamishah Tillet

LaToya Ruby Frazier: I’ve been on the ground here in Flint, Mich., ever since I did my first photo essay about the water crisis, which was published in the September 2016 issue of Elle magazine. Amber Hasan, her rap song “No Filter” was a big hit here that helped people understand the intensity of the water crisis. Her song inspired my photo essay.

Shea Cobb also did a poem that ran online with the Elle piece, about her daily reckoning with lead-contaminated water and trying to protect her daughter. Cobb and Hasan formed an artist collective called the Sister Tour with artists, activists and entrepreneurs that advocate for other women, artists, activists and entrepreneurs. These have been the women on the ground, keeping the narrative out there and trying to get access to clean water. These are everyday folks that people are not thinking about because they don’t know they’re out here doing grass-roots initiatives, and fighting for the quality and access to clean drinking water. As an artist, to stay with photographs and storytelling that lead to a solution, and to play a key role, and to be able to fund that solution, I couldn’t ask for more.

LaToya Ruby Frazier is an artist and academic.

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Courtesy of: New York Times

THE ARTIST’S EDIT: May Day

Gavin Brown’s enterprise presents…
“MAY DAY” by LATOYA RUBY FRAZIER

Paul Robeson sings “I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night” for miners in the canteen. Credit: Mining Review 2nd Year No. 11, Data Film Productions, 1949.

This playlist is dedicated to all the essential workers, healthcare workers, the poor, working-class people of this nation and all around the world, to the uninsured, disabled, detained, to the prisoners, to the sick who can’t get their medication because politicians and pharmaceutical companies would rather line their pockets, to the elderly abandoned in nursing homes, to all the teachers who have died, to the unclaimed bodies being buried in mass graves, to all those who mourn loved ones taken out by this virus, to the farmworkers that fascist capitalists proclaim that this is not your land when history tells us it rightfully is your land — thank you for feeding this nation during this pandemic and ensuing famine, to the homeless and people in the nation who have no clean water access, or access to water in order to wash your hands, to the climate activists, first nations and indigenous people that continue to take a stand with their bodies on the line against fossil fuel companies that keep polluting and contaminating the earth and water thank you. To the 26.5 million U.S. workers that have filed for unemployment, It is never too late for the people to unite and fight for a more equal, just, humane, and sustainable life.

With unwavering Solidarity and Love,
LaToya Ruby Frazier

Click to listen to LaToya Ruby Frazier’s MAY DAY playlist on YouTube…

  1. Elizabeth Cotten – Freight Train
  2. Pete Seeger – Solidarity Forever
  3. Rhiannon Giddens – Shake Sugaree
  4. Elizabeth Cotten – Shake Sugaree
  5. Paul Robeson – I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night
  6. Branford Marsalis – Berta, Berta
  7. Skip James – Hard Time Killin’ Floor Blues
  8. Sam Cooke – Chain Gang
  9. Nina Simone – Work Song
  10. C.B. And Ten Others with Axes – Rosie (Recorded at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman work camp in 1947)
  11. Ed Lewis – I Be So Glad When the Sun Goes Down
  12. Gary Clark Jr. – This Land
  13. Billy Bragg – Which Side Are You On?
  14. Billy Bragg – There is Power in a Union
  15. GmacCash – On Strike
  16. Jimmy Joe Lee – The Coal Miner Song
  17. Gil Scott-Heron – Three Miles Down
  18. Sweet Honey in the Rock – More Than a Pay Check
  19. Big Bill Broonzy – Black, Brown and White
  20. Lightnin’ Hopkins – It’s A Sin to Be Rich, It’s A Low-Down Shame to Be Poor
  21. Almanac Singers – I Don’t Want Your Millions, Mister
  22. Almanac Singers – Roll the Union On
  23. Joe Glazer – Union Buster
  24. Dorsey Dixon – Babies in the Mill
  25. Pete Seeger – Eight Hour Day
  26. Ross Altman – Haymarket Square
  27. Bobbie McGee – Ballad of a Working Mother
  28. Pete Seeger – Homestead Strike Song
  29. Billy Bragg, Mike & Ruthy Merenda, Dar Williams and New York City Labor Chorus – Union Maid
  30. Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard – Working Girl Blues
  31. Ben Grosscup – Union Nurse
  32. Jasiri X – People Over Profits
  33. Barbara Dane – Unemployment Compensation Blues
  34. Billy Joel – Allentown
  35. Dolly Parton – 9 to 5
  36. Bruce Springsteen – Youngstown
  37. Marlene Dietrich – Sag mir wo die Blumen sind (Tell me where the flowers are)
  38. Bruce Springsteen – Factory
  39. Joan Baez – Bread and Roses
  40. Look for the Union Label television ad featuring members of the International Ladies Garment Workers Union
  41. John Lennon and Plastic Ono Band – Working Class Hero
  42. Green Day – Working Class Hero
  43. Strawbs – Part of the Union
  44. The Kinks – Get Back in the Line
  45. Prince & The New Power Generation – Money Don’t Matter 2 Night
  46. Nina Simone – Backlash Blues
  47. John Lee Hooker – Hard Times
  48. The Stylistics – People Make the World Go Round
  49. Joe Glazer – Farm Workers’ Song
  50. 1960s Farm Worker Protests and Strikes
  51. Pete Seeger – The Farmer is the Man
  52. Joan Baez – De Colores
  53. Woody Guthrie – Deportee (Plane Crash at Los Gatos)
  54. Teatro Campesino – El Picket Sign
  55. Los Perros del Pueblo Nuevo – Corrido de Cesar Chavez
  56. Los Lobos – Corrido De Dolores Huerta #39
  57. Pete Seeger – This Land is Your Land
  58. Taboo – Stand Up / Stand N Rock #NoDAPL
  59. Amber Hasan – NO FILTER
  60. Georgia Anne Muldrow – New Orleans
  61. Georgia Anne Muldrow – Roses Pt. 2
  62. Jimi Hendrix – The Star-Spangled Banner
  63. Joan Baez – Forever Young (Bob Dylan cover)
  64. Woody Guthrie – All You Fascists
  65. Tracy Chapman – Talkin’ Bout a Revolution

Thanks, Mom! 6 Famous Artists Who Loved Their Mothers So Much They Made Them Their Creative Muses

artnet news
by Katie White

Since at least the Renaissance, mothers have encouraged—and sometimes inspired—artistic genius.

Is there a more complex, loving, and sometimes fraught relationship than that between mother and child? Psychology tomes have been written trying to untangle the nuances and consequences of that very quandary. Perhaps it’s inevitable, then, that over the course of history, mothers of artists would sometimes become their muses. Who could make a more perfect model or a more deserving source of inspiration?

Patient, encouraging, and especially affordable, mothers often make the ideal subject. Albrecht Dürer, for example, certainly thought so, and was one of the earliest artists to capture the likeness of his mother, when, in 1514, he rendered her at 63 years old, aging but resolute. And he was certainly not the last to do so.

LaToya Ruby Frazier, Momme (2008). Courtesy the artist and Michael Rein, Paris/Brussels.
© LaToya Ruby Frazier. Collection of ICA Boston.

A Family Portrait: Photographer LaToya Ruby Frazier’s 2014 book, The Notion of Family, is filled with stark and moving images of her home city of Braddock, Pennsylvania, and has been hailed as one of the best photography books of the 21st century. At the heart of the project are Frazier’s haunting images of her mother and “Grandma Ruby,” lifelong residents of this forgotten American industrial city, who come to embody the personal toll of poverty and societal disenfranchisement.

Constant Collaborator: Among the most stirring portraits in the collection are ones made in collaboration with Frazier’s mom. In these works, Frazier herself at times appears partially obscured by her mother’s figure, like a small child hiding behind her parent’s legs. In another sense, these same images are a window from the past into the future, showing the effects of a lifetime of struggle on the body—but also, in a sense, a kind of hereditary of strength.

Caregiving: Frazier suffers from lupus and her mother has battled cancer. To date, the photographer continues to live close by so they can provide care for each other.

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Courtesy of: artnet news

11 Photographers on How To Finish a Body of Work

Huxtables Mom and Me photograph by LaToya Ruby Fraziera

Aperture
from the editors

Over the course of her career, curator and lecturer Sasha Wolf has heard countless young photographers say they often feel adrift in their own practices, wondering if they are doing it the “right” way. This inspired her to seek out insights from a wide range of photographers about their approaches to making photographs and a sustained a body of work, which are brought together in PhotoWork: Forty Photographers on Process and Practice. Structured as a Proust-like questionnaire, the responses from both established and newly emerging photographers reveal that there is no single path. Below, eleven artists respond to the question: How do you know when a body of work is finished?

[…]

LaToya Ruby Frazier
It will never be finished. The meaning of an image is never fixed. It changes as history changes. We’re all connected intergenerationally—we’re connected to the images of the past and to the future. I’m thinking about time travel when I make my work—take, as an example, my work with my mother and my grandmother (The Notion of Family, Aperture 2014). I’m suggesting we are one entity; we are all markers on a timeline that is cyclical. But even within that work, things change. Take the self-portrait Huxtables, Mom, and Me (2008). I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s worn, the ink is peeling off; the mirror behind me, in which a reflection of my mom can be seen, is dusty and scratched. The image already had meaning embedded in it because of what the Huxtables meant to American society—the first public image of a middle-class Black family and the whole “Cosby effect” that I wanted to critique. Looking at it now, thanks to Bill Cosby’s sex crimes, that image has acquired a whole new layer of meaning.

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Courtesy of: Aperture Foundation

MAINTENANCE WORK: Andrew Russeth considers the role of art in a pandemic

Art Forum
by Andrew Russeth

The Last Cruze by LaToya Ruby Frazier

There have been harrowing interviews with doctors, sobering podcast hits by experts, and on-the-ground reporting, but when it comes to images of the coronavirus pandemic, the defining ones have been almost entirely ancillary, at least a step removed from the actual devastation. That has made it difficult to grasp its human toll. Many funerals occur without mourners, the sick deserve their privacy, and cartoon renderings of COVID-19 baffle. And so the most visible images related to the crisis have been the time-lapse videos of China speedily building hospitals, the footage of Italians singing and playing instruments on their balconies, photos of medical professionals holding signs asking people to stay home, and now Christ the Redeemer, in Rio de Janeiro, blanketed with a projection of the flags of countries dealing with the disease.

From a public health standpoint, the most effective visuals to emerge have been abstractions. It feels like weeks ago, but it was only on March 14 that the Washington Post published its digital simulations of randomly ricocheting dots, showing how different behaviors can flatten the curve of transmission to wildly different degrees. I suspect I am not the only one who saw those tiny flying circles and sharp-edged graphs and thought of, say, randomly generated compositions by François Morellet and paintings by Morris Louis or Ed Clark or Marina Adams. Works produced by aleatoric methods or just riding on a bit of luck—a pour of paint, a slip of a broom or a brush—have a newfound poignancy.

Perhaps to say so risks sounding deranged—or worse, frivolous. But I have derived some solace from thinking about art that seems to imagine—and even to anticipate—our moment. There are the deserted Parisian streets captured by Charles Marville and Eugène Atget, and the vacant subway cars and stores of Duane Michals’s series “Empty New York,” begun in 1964. (As it happens, Michals shot near the popular selfie spot in the Dumbo section of Brooklyn looking onto the Manhattan Bridge, now empty of Instagrammers.) Certain early Cindy Shermans, with their solitary protagonist moving warily through an abandoned city help, too.

Suddenly, a lot of art looks very different. The 5,525 toilet paper rolls in Martin Creed’s 2013 sculpture Work No. 1782 now have a dark piquancy, the writer Greg Allen has pointed out, while the art historian Michael Lobel, on Twitter (where only the true masochists, like myself, reside these days), has highlighted unpopulated paintings by Edward Hopper. Critic Deborah Solomon has mentioned René Magritte’s masked lovers.

But even more than any picture channeling this torturous emergency in an approximate or coincidental way, I have been shored up by revisiting works of art that feel engineered for it, that embody what and who is at risk—and maybe even show ways forward.

This art brushes aside the language of armed conflict adopted by so many politicians. “In this war, ventilators are what missiles were in World War II,” New York Governor Andrew Cuomo said the other day. That may be true, but the metaphor elides the full reality of the situation, which German Chancellor Angela Merkel incisively described in a recent speech. “Those who sit at supermarket cash registers or restock shelves are doing one of the hardest jobs there is right now,” she said. To broaden her argument: This awful catastrophe will be overcome only by repeated, prolonged efforts—feeding people, testing them, treating them, cleaning public spaces, washing hands. The heroes are in maintenance. National Guard troops scrubbed children’s blocks in a school in New Rochelle when the virus hit there. All over the country, sanitation workers are picking up garbage and recycling, and workers at public schools are serving meals for children.

[…]

And some artists, of course, have explicitly foregrounded such maintenance and care, like Theaster Gates with his efforts to restore buildings in Chicago and run them as cultural centers, or LaToya Ruby Frazier and her project of meeting with and photographing groups of activists, unions, and families—people living and working together, getting through the day.

To put it bluntly, while contemporary art has enjoyed the myth of radical individuality (development, in Ukeles’s parlance), artists—and the art community—are actually pretty good at setting up systems to keep things going. At the risk of sounding like a self-help guru, when we view art from that vantage point, it makes me believe that we’re ready for this. There will be fundraisers, support networks, and relief measures we have never seen before. Now is a time for Maintenance Art.

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Courtesy of: Art Forum