A Gifted Black Artist in a White Dominated Art World

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Self-Portrait, 1984, acrylic and oil stick on paper mounted on canvas, Yoav Harlap Collection © Estate of Jean-Michel Basquiat/Licensed by Artestar, New YorkNew York City, New York.

Jean-Michel Basquiat is considered to be one of the most influential African-American artists of the late 20th century. The black figure was typically the center of his artwork; as he stated: "Black people are never really portrayed realistically in... I mean, not even portrayed in modern art enough…” His African-American, Caribbean heritage was of the utmost importance to him. He also drew upon South American, Asian, and Western European art. Yet, he wanted to be known simply as an artist.

Basquiat explores himself, his internal struggles, as well as the conflict in the human experience through his paintings. He uses color to communicate to the viewer—his vivid colors are energetic, confrontational. Basquiat depicts himself in this self portrait with eyes, nose, and ears in red, neck and mouth in black, torso in red. His mouth and jagged teeth are emphasized. His hair is wild. He appears comical and depressed at the same time. Basquiat wanted to show us that organs such as the mouth can either make or break life—we all need to watch what we say, to use our minds correctly.

Despite Basquiat’s success, his emotional instability never wained, resulting in using cocaine and heroine excessively. Many speculated his fame, the volatile nature of the art world, and the pressures of being a black man in the white-dominated art world killed him.

It has been the case through the centuries that many creative geniuses, whether artists or composers or writers, etc., have lead tragic lives, often ending in premature deaths. Jean-Michel Basquiat, a gifted artist, never found his place, his specialness and uniqueness, in the art world. Admirably, he was a person who did not see “color”, a person who saw humanity as one.

The Dream Continues...

“Dr. King had a remarkable impact across generations and time, and in remembering him, we acknowledge the work that remains and the power we each have to build a better world”

— President Clayton Rose, Bowdoin College

This week we honor Martin Luther King Jr., the great activist who played a pivotal role in ending the legal segregation of African-American citizens in the U.S., as well as creating the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Recognizing this great man, whose life ended way too soon by a deliberate gun shot, remains indelibly in my heart. I grew up in Memphis in the 1960s, and was fourteen in 1968 when Mr. King was assassinated. The city went silent. Curfews were enforced. The day following his death school classmates were cheering his death, clearly mimicking the sentiments of their parents. Memories of this still turns my stomach. But, gratefully, my parents were sympathetic.

I am fortunate that I was raised by two parents who never saw color, who taught me to respect all people. And I am fortunate I had Karine in my life, whose spirit still remains with me. She was the Black woman who raised me from the time I was five until I went off to college. She taught me about God, about goodness, about loving all people. And she simply loved me. Karine was an educated woman, but because of her color being a maid and nanny was one of the few jobs she could have. And she lived and did her work always with dignity…

I have vivid memories of riding the bus with Karine and going to church with her. We would ride the bus to the zoo. I would sit in the back of the bus with Karine. We would be stared at by many white people but I never cared; I simply stared back. Karine was my dear friend, my family, my comfort. At the zoo she and I had to use separate water fountains and order food from different windows. I never understood this, but I just did what I was told. And going to church with Karine was always a real treat. Her church was a decrepit wooden building with a simple steeple, but the joy and praising of God permeated throughout the tiny building. And in my small way, I got an inkling of what segregation was, for I was the only white person there. People stared at me, asked Karine why she brought me. She would simply say “I love this child as if she were my own”.

I will forever be grateful for Karine. Rarely does a day pass that I don’t think about her.

I love you, Karine! And thank you Dr. King for all you did!