Artist Highlight

I have become an inherited artist…

Creativity is the great combatant to nihilism within the Black plight and the Black struggle.

In that small Black neighborhood of Jericho, I inherited the art practiced in my community and family. My mother was a seamstress, fashion designer, quilter, interior designer, culinary artist, and a host of other creative titles. She did what she had to, when she had to do it, or had time to do it, always with a flare and with class. She taught me so much about not just being an artist but living a creative lifestyle. Having three children constantly in her presence as she created masterpieces, she made ordinary experiences, whimsically imaginative creative dreams.

This is an example of the many Black homes in which through these courageous teaching methods, Black folk preserved their culture. The Black community became a conservatory of sorts. I have become an inherited artist, creating culturally relevant artistic expressions and this is what I call and begin to define as Black Folk art.

When colonizers entered the fertile land of Africa, they proclaimed the people to be nothing, and shortly after entering they realized the land was full of minerals and nutrients that now feed the entire globe.

They were right about the land and wrong about the people as the people come directly from the land. A people ripe with the same nutrients and minerals of the land and understood that they could take the mud of the land and develop architecture, grow food, manufacture clothing, and create dishes and pottery. The folk artist will forever be the one that reveals the spirit of the community and reminds humanity that there is beauty in the world around us.

The folk artist was the original community artist or creative cultural developer. A great example would be the artist, Bill Traylor. In his final years, he began to draw and paint. Sitting on Monroe Street, in the hub of the Black community of Montgomery, Alabama, with one leg and homeless, he created art pieces that told stories and expressed imagination and wonderings. He was so loved by the community that he was given space to sleep in the local funeral home; he sat and interacted with people, drew and painted what he both saw and remembered, and especially what he imagined. He spoke through his art, telling a story of resilience and Black culture, creativity, and community. This is a history that must be remembered and reflected as a lesson of what is truly valuable and important in this life, that it is never too late to do what you love, and that the folk artist of Black history have been our community artist, sharing the Black folk story, rich and ripe with the soul and spirit of an African diasporic people.

NeFesha Ruth is the founder of BlackFolkArt.com and zine.

On a recent trip to the East

Coast, I sat with a friend. She is a fellow art lover and does restorative justice work in Philadelphia. As we sat over coffee and tea, she mentioned an artist she thought I would enjoy meeting. Upon her recommendation, that same day, I followed the artist James Moss on Instagram after locating his tag, @the_art_of_indigo. He was swift to get back to me and offered a phone conversation at my request to talk with him. Our first phone conversation was full of fruitful dialogue, and I asked him if he would be open to me coming to visit his studio before I flew back to California. We set up a visit for an interview, and two days later, I found myself driving to Reading, PA, to speak with artist, chef, and fashion designer, James Moss. adventure, full of color and vibrant energy. Art lined every inch of his space, and I could see that he was not just someone who painted but was an intrinsic creative. His studio made me feel at home, with vibrant color and design. I felt his explicit efforts to get that creative energy out and onto a canvas, mannequin, table, tv, floor, wall, or piece of clothing. As we did a walk-through of his studio, Jason revealed beautiful, challenging, and spiritually empowered works of art.

Born and raised in Pottstown, PA, Jason Moss reflects on a troubled society to liberate the soul. As a self-taught artist who picked up a paintbrush just a year ago and began to paint out of an inward nudge, Jason is passionate about his work. In the first room, I found a collection of pieces, and Jason immediately started off explaining this piece as I sat on a chair that was fully painted and blended in with the collection that I learned is called “Triggered Anxiety,”

Jason Moss: The point is that it represents societal triggers that cause us anxiety. I mean the shit that we’re going through every day. So, this piece, when it is in place, it will be in front of the fence, and the main figure is called “Staring into Oblivion.” It represents going into adulthood, going into new things, looking into the void of uncertainty. The door is called “Open at Your Own Risk,” and it represents going from those teenage years to young adulthood. The symbolization represents those things that we go through, like working until you die. But did you live?

Why Don’t I Look Like That?,” is a part of this collective “Triggered Anxiety,” piece.

This person is looking at themselves through the lens of media. It could be a person with body image issues or a person of color not seeing themselves represented in media. All of those things that cause us to question, “Why don’t I look like what I am seeing?” or “Why don’t I look like what I am reading?” That is what this represents.

NeFesha Ruth: With this piece, “Why Don’t I Look Like That?” it reminds me of how a lot of times people do feel detached when they look at their body and feel that they are distorted. They see what they have been told to think from society. In Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, Dr. Joy DeGruy says, “I am who I think you think I am.” What is your reflection on that in response to your work?

Who was it that said that they didn’t free the slave they just took the collar off the neck? That is so true. We are a 1.3 trillion economy. We are the richest Africans in the world, and if you look at any major Black community, Harlem, for example, we are missing the four main things that put that power back in our control: 1. Black-owned land 2. Black-owned school 3. Black-owned grocery market (not a corner store but an entire chain) 4. Black-owned hospitals. If we had those four things, we’d be untouchable. Last time we had that was Oklahoma and look at what they did to that.

So, where do you find the balance you need in your art, looking out at society and its aesthetic expectations and the work you feel deeply moved to create?

That’s the struggle. I mean, what’s the saying, “Neutrality only helps the oppressor?” But in this day in age it’s not even about not being neutral, it’s

I can’t be disingenuous.

about the loudest voice, and oftentimes the loudest voice isn’t right; it’s just the loudest voice.

So, your art is loud in its own way, and do you find that it speaks for itself in spaces?

I am so new to this. I literally picked up a paint brush around October of last year. So, I am getting a crash course big time. I struggle to figure out if my art has a place and not playing small to make others feel comfortable. My work is loud and bold and most of it is big, and so it is one of those things that I just have to say, fuck it. Like Andy Warhol said, “Art is what you can get away with.” And he also said, “Let other people decide if your work is good or bad, while you make more art.” I don’t compete. I don’t feel competitive with other artist because good and bad is relative. I know my niche. I call my art ugly art. I don’t make pretty art. And I know that. It is how it comes out, and I can’t be disingenuous.

My art has been very therapeutic for me. It’s been a way for me to express my unadulterated thoughts and emotions as a man of color. If I were to go onto social media and write down all my thoughts that went into a piece, some people would listen. Some people would say to stop bitchin’, whatever, whatever…but you make it into art, and it captures a whole different audience and a whole different mindset. About two years ago, I wrote a book, and it really helped me down that road of vulnerability. Ever since then, I’ve been a big advocate of men being vulnerable. It’s not encouraged and embraced in our culture. My art has allowed me that vulnerability and allowed me to communicate with people in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to before. on ourselves.

I am supposed to be creative. I don’t have a choice.

Art and healing spaces are so important, and they do spark conversations that you would not typically have.

It has to stop with this generation. This whole generational thing in the Black community of what a man is and there are so many “emotional stuck points,” from proper relationships with women, perpetuating cycles, and heaven forbid you’re creative or artistic then you are gay, and if you are gay or bisexual then you’re a stereotype. We spend so much time putting boundaries

How has your art helped you to step outside of those boundaries?

It is just what it is. I am fairly comfortable with my skin—it’s taken a while. I think we all have struggles, and one of the things that I am working on in therapy is, that I’ve engineered a life for myself that I am pretty much in control of everything in my environment. I am very selective of who I allow in my space, so my art was hard to put out there at first because it was something new, and so I had to give myself permission to suck at something new. After I got my legs under me with that it was like, “This is what I do. I’m an artist, and I put out my art.” For me, I don’t have a choice. I am supposed to be creative. I don’t have a choice.

Jason Moss’ work is currently on display at Downing Gross Cultural Center in Newport News, VA and Bad Reputation Gallery in Honesdale, PA until July 29, 2022. Jason is also the featured artist at Arete Gallery in New Hope, PA and is on view at Subculture Pop-up Gallery in Philadelphia, PA until August 28, 2022