The Warrior (Personnage avec Lezzard)
Wifredo Lam, 1948. Oil on burlap.
The conditions under which an artist exists in America are nearly unbearable; but so they are everywhere in modern times. Sunday last I had lunch, in a fisherman’s inn in Montauk overlooking Gardiner’s Bay, with Wifredo Lam, the Cuban and Parisian painter, who is half-Chinese, half-Negro; he has difficulty in remaining in this country because of the Oriental quota; I know he is humiliated on occasion in New York, for example, in certain restaurants. He kept speaking to me of his admiration of America, asking me what American painters thought of this and that, and I answered as best I could; but a refrain that ran through his questions is less easy to answer, whether artists were always so “unwanted.” I replied that I supposed that artists were more “wanted” in the past when they spoke for a whole community, that they became less “wanted” as their expressions because individual and separate; but since I had never had the sensation of belonging to a community, it was difficult for me to imagine being “wanted.” This is not wholly true; we modern artists constitute a community of sorts; part of what keeps me going, part of my mystique is to work for this placeless community. Lam and I parted advising each other to keep working ; it is the only advice one painter ever gives another. — from a lecture given during symposium “French Art vs. U.S. Art Today”, Provincetown, Massachusetts, 1949
I take Motherwell’s point about not feeling part of a community and therefore “wanted”. But I wonder if he might have more easily imagined being a part of a community if he had been part of one that was “unwanted” by birth, rather than being the White son of a banker who put him through Ivy League universities.
We have now passed 200,000 dead from covid-19 in the United States. This persisting catastrophe is welded to another constant in this country: the systemic racism that continues to shape our national outcomes. Those who doubt or deny the prevalence or lethality of the pandemic must surely be insulated from communities of color, where the losses are outrageously high.
Is it possible that at least a portion of these deaths do not constitute a crime against humanity, in the face of careless and, now we find, perhaps purposeful neglect on the part of the Trump Administration? Will they never be held accountable for those lives lost?
It is a long, long path, this journey out of our national racism. Maybe we’ll never get there. But along the way are the gravestones of now 200,000 Americans dead of covid-19, among them far too many people of color.
Plague Faces No. 12
2020. Acrylic on canvas. 12 x 16 in.
I paint this series to recognize those who have died or suffered grave loss in this crisis, and, further, to accuse those who have knowingly, willfully, or carelessly pursued polices, actions, and inactions that allowed these deaths and suffering to happen and who continue to do so at this moment.