A few years ago I started a series of drawings of incarcerated Black men. For each individual prison identification number, I chose a year from African American history in which a history-changing event took place. My thinking was that each Black man (or woman) who finds himself (or herself) under the watchful eye of the prison industrial complex is a walking representation of the tragedies and struggles that have marked our history as a people.

The numbers worn by the men in this drawing mark the following dates:

1845: In this, the year that Frederick Douglass first published his famous narrative, he gave a speech titled “My Slave Experience in Maryland” in which he detailed the physical and spiritual brutality of his years in bondage.

1764 (partially obscured by the left arm of the center figure in this drawing): In this year Brown University was founded. Several members of the Brown family either owned or were involved in the slave trade.

1919: This year marked the “Red Summer” in which bloody race riots took place across the nation, from Arkansas to New York. Many African Americans were killed in this epidemic of anti-Black violence, and even more were displaced from their homes, their places of work often destroyed.

8-Rock

This is not a Black hipster. It’s a revolutionary with funky glasses.

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When I made this drawing, I was thinking about a trip to South Carolina that I made long ago. My roots in that state run deep; and even though I’ve only ever been a visitor there–to visit my grandmother, uncle, and cousins–it still feels like home. I heard that my family’s old neighborhood has changed a lot since I was last there, but I cherish my memories of this unique place where history coexists with the present.

8-Rock

The other day I was in downtown Oakland, when I ran into this brother I know. He is incredibly tall; and big too. He’s the kind of guy who probably never gets messed with, because he looks like he could take out any and all comers. When I say he’s tall, I mean the kind of tall that would make him a star on his high school  basketball team even if he wasn’t particular good at shooting. On a rugby team, he would be the secret weapon, and in the boxing ring, his reach would throw a wrench in the technique of all but the most experienced fighters…Only, this guy isn’t really in sports. He’s bookish and kind, passionate about writing and active in anti-sexist and anti-racist social change.  Knowing him makes me wonder what it’s like to be big, tall, black, and male.  What is it like to be the vessel of so many stereotypes and expectations from people of a races and nations, to be the object of so many fantasies and fears, but to manifest so few? The way my friend moves through the world, it is clear that he is aware of but untouched by the expectations that even strangers place upon him. They swirl around him without every truly penetrating his own sense of self; and this graceful defiance is a beautiful thing to behold.

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Although they were common in the 1800s, Black cowboys are a rare sight in 2010. But they still exist, and when I see a brother dress head to foot in western gear, I always take notice…like in the New Orleans airport back in July of this year. Between the high temperatures and the even higher humidity, I couldn’t quite figure out how a western and jacket with a bolo tie cinched up to the neck could possibly be comfortable summer attire; but, then again, sometimes style just has to trump more practical concerns like the weather. I dedicate today’s drawing to all those brothers who dress for winter in the summer and for summer in the winter, simply out of their sheer commitment to looking fly.

8-Rock