Yesterday my experience of art in Los Angeles expanded, again. I made my way to the Watts Tower Arts Center to meet artist Skip Snow and a curator friend of his. It was nice to see them there. They were relaxed. The sun played on the surface of the spiraling edifice of tile and cement that is the heart of the center. It is relaxing near that gem of public sculpture, the Watts Tower, which attracts tourists and art aficionados from all over the great big and tiny world. I slipped into the contemplative mood and feel the effects of having had a thought rich today. I am grateful to have received the invitation to attend this lively, colorful, community event. The exhibition, which included contemporary living local artists, mostly, of African American descent was rich and offered a survey of the art historical cannon, through the filter of ethnic or racial identity.
The exhibition, "Baila con Duende," which means dancing with the spirit, in Spanish was "The First Black Artist In Los Angeles Group Exhibition." The works on display were like the works in any regional museum worth its salt. They were proof of intelligent design and choice. The narrative of the African diaspora’s triumphs and tribulations, masterful objectivity of highly skilled visual artists whose works ring THAT BELL of being, the internal sensor that says YES!!! In cases, on pedestals, expertly mounted on the walls, insightfully installed, and in one or two cases perfectly strung from the ceiling, offered mostly large, handsome intelligent art objects. Musical instruments, punctuated the front room; reminding one of the paramount joy found in music. Paintings, sculptures, assemblage, and conceptual works, by clever New World and African blacks, visually dexterous creatives… One could teach a good art history course in this center. The works were selected to tell two stories: the story of ART and its modes and methods, materials and concerns and the personal stories of African American people, as both intellectuals and martyrs.
The well-attended and elegant exhibit flowed from one densely populated room to another equally packed art rich building. The air conditioning was welcome. The visitors, were beautiful people mostly in skin shades ranging from midnight plum to summer sand, with a few cream people, tossed in here and there, for good-measure and spice. As is often the case when one attends a conventional art world event and the Africans are in the minority attendance, yet these few OTHERS always seem to add international flare to any event, and assure others of the good will of all those present and able to enjoy the company of OTHERS, people from different ethnic/racial/social economic or gender background. I say, “Yippee!” For all those humans that are adventurous and venture into OTHER groups to learn and share experience.
Despite the heat, the crowds, and the historical-political sting of some of the art on display, the human energy, the moods, was light, celebratory, but suddenly privately quiet, as here and there one tripped into some serious piece of art that deftly addressed some vital human question, one of those pesky WHY/HOW moral or ethical questions, which one might try to suppress or deny, due to fear of falling into the abyss, a pool of sorrow, so deep, as to encompass much of what is. Reflecting on cruelty, on-inequality, on the history of abuse that forms a salient part human life, gender relations, narratives of victims, held dear by generations of disadvantaged struggle. The history of slavery, of rape, of unwanted children and other social and historical ills form part of the exhibition. Yet, the experience of triumph, of mastery over materials, conceptual bravado, and pride in the resilience and resourcefulness of ancestors and contemporaries, that made it across the vast ocean of oblivion into the, always peaceful, present; prevailed and the time spent at the Watts Tower Arts Center was moving. It was stimulating. It got me thinking, as a good fine ART experience always does.
Slowly, I am making my way to events in sections far-flung of this sprawling metropolis populated a universe of diversity, jammed with possibility, and crawling with opportunities to learn a thing-or-two about life and art. This city is a marvelous classroom, without walls, and limitless in potential.
I will report, again, about this exhibit. This is the first in a series of writings on the Watts Tower Arts Center and the African American Art experience in Los Angeles.
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