viz. - african-american culture

Storytelling in Motion: Jacob Lawrence's "The First Book of Moses, Called Genesis. The King James Version."

Ty Alyea — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Lawrence, no. 1: ("In the Beginning--All was Void") Image From: Bill Hdoges Gallery

Replete with bright flashes of color, the "Genesis" series of Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000), currently on display on the back wall of the Harry Ransom Center's King James Bible exhibition, pulled me in like a tractor beam from across the room. It is perhaps only appropriate, then, that the subject of this series is an enthralling spectacle of storytelling and creation.Though Lawrence is perhaps best known for his "Migration Series," a sixty-panel retelling of the African-Americans' migration across the United States, Lawrence's comparatively short (8 panel) portrayal of the narration of Genesis deserves attention for its ability to express a powerful sense of motion in a single place.

Lawrence, no. 2 "(And God Created Day and the Night and God put Stars in the Sky")

Image from: Savannah College of Art and Design

As the Savannah College of Art and Design tells us, Lawrence based his paintings on his memory of Reverend Adam Clayton Powell Sr.'s sermons at the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, New York. Throughout the sequence, we can see that while the setting remains the same, the preacher's sermon literally transports the parishoners around the room, and, seemingly through space as well. The world outside appears to totally change, filling in from the "Void" pictured above and yielding to a rich world of plenty.

Lawrence, no. 4 ("And God Said -- let the Earth bring Forth Grass, Trees, Fruits and Herbs") Image from: Savannah College of Art and Design

As we move through the images, we can see how the preacher's expressive motions remain at the front and center of the image, capturing a sense of direct inspiration from above and radiating from the text itself. The shifting colors of his cloak, the flower vase near him, and the room itself capture a feeling of constant transformation as well. We also notice gradual changes in the arrangement of the congregation. Enthralled by the story being told, we see the congregation shifting their seats, sometimes staring at the preacher, sometimes looking up to the heavens, and on other occassions looking out the window. The neighborhoods of Harlem were in fact a major influence for Lawrence's artistic motiffs and color schemes, and their arrays of clothing, frequently synchs up with the varieties of colors inside the church and outside the windows.

Lawrence, no. 5: ("And God created all the fowl of the air and the fishes of the sea") Image from: Savannah College of Art and Design

Another significant image that we can trace throughout the images is a small box filled with tools.

Lawrence: nos. 6 ("And God Created all the Beasts of the Earth") and 7 ("And God Created Man and Woman") Images from Savannah College of Art and Design

As the images progress, we see the box behind and next to the pews (visible at the very top in image 6 and at the rear of the pew in image 7). But in the final image (below), which places the entirety of the congregation near the window showing a completed creation, the box sits in front of the group of parishoners.

Lawrence, no. 8. ("The Creation was done--and all was good") Image from Savannah College of Art and Design

This shift, I suggest points to the passing of the torch from God to the people. With his work completed, it's time for people do their own work as they look at the feast of plentitutde and creation before them. In doing so, Lawrence demonstrates a legacy between the holy text, its mediator, with the community's sense of common purpose.

African-American visual culture

noelradley — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:56:16 +0000

Image Credit: John H. White (1973) Image NWDNS-412-DA-13759

Portrait of Black Chicago for National Archives

John H. White's image of a sidewalk vendor in the South of Chicago in 1973 reminds me of Coye's and Laura's recent posts on the visuality of food culture. Looking closely, one gleans an untold story of race, urban food markets, and of the style of life in Chicago in the 1970s. White's series (Portrait of Black Chicago) was part of a program called Documerica, where the Environmental Protection Agency paid photographers to document environmental problems across America. I really like White's photos for how they conveyed everything from emotionally saturating pictures of the Black Muslim community to pictures of abandoned housing in the ghettos to pictures of the lake and skyline. White records narratives of race, which are intertwined with Chicago's political and religious history, but he also gives room to images of people's daily material lives in their environments, such as the initial photo above. I used this photo as part of the Best Practices for Digital images workshop, where we featured images archives that can enrich our teaching and scholarship.

Image Credit: John H. White (1973) Image NWDNS-412-DA-13800

Portrait of Black Chicago for National Archives

It would be an interesting lesson to contrast the images of White, who is by the way a Pulitzer-prize winner now teaching at Columbia, to the Calvin Littlejohn Archive, which is housed here at UT-Austin. The visuality of the Fort Worth, Texas black culture in the 1960's versus Chicago in the 1970's offers a way to understand the contrastive experiences of blacks across the nation, the specificity of lives across cities in the north and south, and across the time of a decade. Note that using the online images from the Calvin Littlejohn archive means you will be looking at the institutional watermark. However, I think the images are still interesting and powerful.You could follow up with a third discussion of contemporary African-American photographic narratives (see video below).

The video was published this February here on the UT-Austin site, along with the article "Photographer Eli Reed discusses being black in America." The video itself is a montage of Eli Reed's photos, along with a conversation between Reed (who has been at UT since 2005), Roxanne Evans, Michael Hurd, and St. Edward's student Adam Semien. For more of Reed's work, look on the Magnum photos site, and on the Digital Journalist blog.To range more of this kind of content, you could look as well at the New York Public Library's Digital Gallery on Africana and Black History

Killer of Sheep

dsmith — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 16:24:55 +0000

Charles Burnett’s little known and nearly plotless masterpiece, Killer of Sheep, offers a tender yet realistic vision of life in 1970s Watts, the racially segregated suburb of Los Angeles where poverty, racism, and riots doomed the area to generations of social and economic oblivion. Inspired by Italian neo-realism, Burnett’s camera lingers on characters—many played by non-actors—to reveal situations of familial intimacy and communal identification.

An opening scene shows a young girl in the mask of a dog. Such expressive sadness in the features of the animal hides the perceptive eyes and facial gestures of the child. Her father, Stan (played by Henry Gayle Sanders), exhausted from working shifts at a Los Angeles slaughterhouse, lays linoleum on the kitchen floor. A sensitive man, burdened with domestic duty and physical labor, Stan’s story offers occasion for audiences to reflect on the dislocation of his desire from the circumstances of his life.

Other images show children at play in an urban debris field; a young man casually walks away with a television set; children act out and are disciplined; petty gangsters arrive to tempt Stan to join them in a robbery. But the central narrative focuses on Stan and his relationship to his family and community.

This emotionally complex film, however, argues for the ambiguity of Stan’s relation to others—particularly his wife, with whom sexual intimacy is a problem. Attempts to help friends, too, often result in mishap, such as when Stan helps purchase a new engine block, only to have it fall out of the back of his pick-up as he puts it in gear. Stan’s main joy in life seems, in fact, to come through his work at the slaughterhouse, ushering sheep along to their final moments before the processing of their flesh.

Made on a budget of only $10,000 while he was a student at UCLA, Burnett’s film doesn’t try to ameliorate Stan’s situation. Instead, he argues for a vision of reality that refuses to perform to the social and racial expectations of others. He shows us, instead, a strange beauty that, perhaps against the viewer’s will, refuses to correspond to an appropriate system of values. Such tension brings viewers into a film that also denies the urgency of a crafted message, documenting instead the motives of communal actors. The final scene—a baby shower for a young pregnant woman—could have pushed the narrative into sentimentality (Spike Lee, for instance, can’t seem to live without it). Instead, viewers witness an exchange of human forces. Although we are not in the realm of Longinus’ sublime, the neo-realistic narrative nonetheless argues for a human vision that transcends social and economic behavior.

Listed in the Library of Congress’ National Film Registry and rated by the National Society of Film Critics as one of the top films of all time, Killer of Sheep is an American treasure, despite only recently acquiring the attention it deserves.