Dindga McCannon (African-American b. 1947), Woman #1, 1975–1977. Acrylic on canvas, 106.68 × 83.82 cm | 42 × 33 in. (Source: National Gallery of Art, Washington)
in the dream of foxes
there is a field
and a procession of women
clean as good children
no hollow in the world
surrounded by dogs
no fur clumped bloody
on the ground
only a lovely line
of honest women stepping
without fear or guilt or shame
safe through the generous fields.
Art: Dindga McCannon, Four Women, 1988, Mixed media, 24h x 27w in
Opening on June 2… It’s Pablo-matic: Picasso According to Hannah Gadsby.
Fifty years have passed since the death of artist and cultural icon, Pablo Picasso. He’s a mainstay of the modernist art historical canon and a household name whose artwork sells for record prices, but what does his legacy look like in 2023 through a contemporary lens? A critical lens? A feminist lens?
Using their incisive humor, comedian Hannah Gadsby worked with our curators, Lisa Small and Catherine Morris, to consider Picasso’s work through the aforementioned lenses in It’s Pablo-matic. The exhibition includes nearly 100 works including pieces by Picasso and selections by twentieth- and twenty-first-century feminist artists such as Dindga McCannon, Betty Tompkins, and Kaleta Doolin. Highlighting Gadsby’s voice alongside those of many of the included artists, the exhibition reckons with complex questions around misogyny, creativity, the art-historical canon, and who gets to be a “genius.”
Discover more about this exhibition: https://bit.ly/Pablomatic
Dindga McCannon, born in 1947, is an African-American artist, fiber artist, muralist, teacher author and illustrator.
McCannon was born and raised in Harlem and was inspired to become an artist at the age of 10. She is self-taught and works intuitively. Calling herself a mixed-media, a multimedia artist she works at "fusing my fine art 'training' with the traditional women's needlework taught to me by my mother, Lottie K. Porter, and grandmother Hattie Kilgo — sewing, beading, embroidery, and quilting into what is now known as ArtQuilts."
In response to sexism and racism in the art world, artists in the 1960s and 1970s created collectives as a way to fight oppression. In the 1960s McCannon was a member of Weusi Artist Collective. This is how McCannon became interested in the Black Arts Movement. The Weusi Collective was interested in creating art that evoked African themes and symbols, as well as highlighting contemporary black pride. In 1971, she hosted the first meeting of the Where We At group of black women artists in her apartment, which grew into one of the first group show of professional black women artists in New York City.
Reposted from @wallachartgallery In progress installation preview of the Uptown Triennial, opening [tonight] at the Wallach Art Gallery 6-8pm!
The third edition of the Uptown Triennial presents work by artists from Upper Manhattan and beyond that is representative of the history, culture, and contemporary issues of Harlem and spans the visual arts, media, and sound. The 1980s and 2000s saw musicians and rappers pushing both the sonic landscape and the changing representation of Black urban society. A new visual aesthetic followed with its own language and the next generation of visual artists became interested in exploring the intersection and/or juxtaposition of sonic and visual traditions.
Among the artists in the exhibition are Michael Cummings, Sonia Louise Davis, Ivan Forde, Kathleen Granados, Carl Hancock Rux, Lucia Hierro, Carlos Jesus Martinez Dominguez, Beau McCall, Dindga McCannon, RaFia Santana.
CURATED BY
Betti-Sue Hertz, Director, Wallach Art Gallery;
Lewis Long, Associate Director, External Affairs, Wallach Art Gallery @longgallery;
Souleo, Independent Curator @souleouniverse
The exhibition will be on view at the Wallach Art Gallery from June 23 - September 10, 2023, Wednesday to Sunday 12-6pm. Learn more in our link in bio.
you save me half a bag of skins, the hard parts, my fav, dusted orange with hot
•
you say we can’t go to the bar cause you’re taking your braids out
i come over, we watch madea while we pull you from you
•
you make us tacos with the shells i like & you don’t
•
i get too drunk at the party, you scoop my pizza from the sink with a solo cup, all that red
•
you, in the morning, bong water grin, wet chin
•
you, in the lawless dark, laughing like a room of women laugh
at a man who thinks his knowledge is knowledge
•
i text you & you say, i was bout to text you, bitch
•
you cook pork chops same way i do, our families in another city go to the same church
•
you, rolling a blunt, holding your son, is a mecca
•
you invite me out for drag queens on the nights i think of finally [ ]
•
you pull over in Mississippi so i can walk a road my grandfather bled on
•
you gave me a stone turtle, it held your palm’s scent for a week
•
i call your mama mama
•
you request like a demand, make me some of that mango cornbread
i cut the fruit, measure the honey
•
you & you & you & you go in on a dildo for my birthday
you name it drake, you know me
•
a year with you in that dirty house with that cracked-out cat was a good year
•
at the function, i feel myself splitting into too many rooms of static
you touch my hand & there i am
•
do you want to be best friends?
a box for yes, a box for no
•
did our grandmothers flee the fields of embers so we could find each other here?
friend, you are the war’s gentle consequence
•
i am the prison that turns to rain in your hands
•
you, at my door the night my father leapt beyond what we know
you, dirt where i plant my light
•
the branches of silence are heavy with your sweet seed
•
you smell like the milk of whatever beast i am
•
your poop is news, your fart is news, your gross body my favorite song
•
you, drunk as an uncle, making all kinds of nonsense sense
i listen for the language between your words
•
& when we fight, not a ring, but a room with no exit
we spill the blood & bandage the wound, clean burns with our tongues
•
if luck calls your name, we split the pot
& if you wither, surely i rot
•
we hate the same people, we say nigga please with the same mouth
•
& before we were messy flesh, i’m sure we were the same dust
•
everywhere you are is a church, & i am the pastor, the deacons, the mothers fainting at the altar
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as long as i am a fact to you, death can do with me what she wants
•
my body, water, your body, a trail of hands carrying the river to the sea
•
i ink your name into my arm to fasten what is already there
•
i would love you even if you killed god
•
you made coming out feel like coming in from the storm
•
you are the country i bloody the hills for
•
you love me despite the history of my hands, their mangled confession
•
at the end of the world, let there be you, my world
•
god bless you who screens all my nudes, drafts my break-up text
•
you are the drug that knocks the birds from my heart
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ain’t no mountain, no valley, no river i wouldn’t give the hands for comin’ to you sideways
•
o the horrid friends who were just ships harboring me to you
•
& how many times have you loved me without my asking?
how often have i loved a thing because you loved it?
including me
•
& i always knew
•
with yo ugly ass
Art: Dindga McCannon b. 1947 2 African Sisters 1972 block print with hand decoration12 x 11-1/2 inches