Metamorphosis by Melissa Aytenfisu at HMAAC | The Bert Long, Jr. Gallery

HMAAC HOUSTON MUSEUM of AFRICAN AMERICAN CULTURE

The Bert Long, Jr. Gallery

by Melissa Aytenfisu

HMAAC HOUSTON MUSEUM of AFRICAN AMERICAN CULTURE

The Bert Long, Jr. Gallery

by Melissa Aytenfisu

June 27 – Aug 22, 2020 SPONSORS:

Joan Batson & The Family of Bert Long, Jr. Yvonne Aguirre & Steward Krohn Melanie Lawson & John Guess, Jr.

ART MUSEUM

OF SOUTHEAST TEXAS

The concept for this solo show is Metamorphosis and suggests that, in times of darkness, despair, and degradation, there are elements of light, hope, and recovery. The detritus of violent and destructive acts can be harvested and reconfigured to produce work of uplifting beauty and meaning. The artistic process is thus harnessed to help trauma survivors regain their strength and equilibrium and journey forward with new energy and determination.

The genesis of my project, and the backdrop against which it finds meaning, is the physical, social, and emotional setting of Houston’s Third Ward. On a personal note, Third Ward has become a place of solace and recuperation for me. I moved there while recovering from a traumatic personal experience.

Walking my two toddlers down my street, I saw the residue of hopelessness, pain, and misfortune: gun shells, mangled vehicle parts, jagged broken bottle shards, and charred clothing strewn across boulevards. In an artistic epiphany, I realized that, as much as these items were the debris of personal disruption and anguish, they might also be progenitors of beauty and meaning. I was thus inspired to begin a series of prints and paintings that would express this idea.

- Melissa Aytenfisu visual artist | educator

Melissa Aytenfisu Edmonton Bridge, 2018 digital print & oil on canvas courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Skintone Panetone, 2018 digital print media courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Lalibela, Ethiopia, 2015 oil on canvas courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu This is America, 2019 collage & watercolor on mylar courtesy of the artist Inspired by Childish Gambino’s song ‘This is America’. Made in the style of artist Wangechi Mutu, this is a collage piece on mylar.

The catalyst to this work was the 2018 shooting of seventeen students and staff at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. As a mother of young children, I couldn’t imagine the grief and horror of losing your most precious creations to senseless gun violence.

The central space in this work is shared by the womb, the birthplace of humanity, and an image of Africa, the cradle of our ancestors. The gun and the woman float in an open space of blue ocean that separates our ancestors from Africa. Guns are transposed onto the different layers of this work of art, in ways that suggest how deeply ntrenched violence has become in our collective history. The woman is anonymous, pregnant with hope and possibility. She invites the viewer to think of ways to change our environment to make it safer for our most vulnerable citizens.

Melissa Aytenfisu The Land of the Free, 2019 collage & watercolor on mylar courtesy of the artist This woman is intensely absorbed, in the most natural way, in the profound and powerful experience of labor and childbirth. But she is constrained by a constellation of negative forces out of her control.

She bears the weight of the world on her back. She is coerced to replace natural laboring techniques with technological processes that disempower and disengage women from their own bodies and spirits.

I have combined various media to symbolize the power and pressures surrounding childbirth and motherhood. Maps are prominent. The map of Africa is a reminder that humankind was birthed from this continent. Old state maps are reminders of how state laws, past and present, have limited women’s choices in the care of their own bodies.

Deep red lines carved into the work symbolize the mother’s blood, coursing through her child’s body; they also represent the branches of the tree of life which connects us to each other and our ancestors.

Inspired by the pornographic collages of Wangechi Mutu, I have used collage to depict women’s bodies in their amazing beauty and fruitfulness. The cut out womb is a stark image with several meanings. It speaks to the culture of fear that is prevalent in contemporary society and deprives unnecessarily large numbers of women of the experience of natural, unmedicated childbirth.

Melissa Aytenfisu No Refuge Can Save, 2020 collage & watercolor on mylar courtesy of the artist The young woman in the painting is a study in serenity, vulnerability and courage. She is Madonna-like in her pose as she offers her baby the gifts of life and love.

But look more closely. Note her unflinching resolve as she faces down domestic abuse, societal pressures and the legacy of systemic racism. She is nursing her baby in the temporary haven of a women’s shelter. Look at her hair. It’s made of fragmented legs, arms, faces and backs - body parts most vulnerable to bruises and fractures. Look under the mylar. Behind the closed doors and veneer of safety is a place of oppression and fear for victims of domestic abuse.

The title of the painting is taken from the racist line in the Star Spangled Banner, “No refuge can save the hireling or slave”. Black women in America are disproportionately affected by domestic abuse. They are also less likely to nurse for a variety of oppressive historic and contemporary reasons. Aside from a lack of lactation support services today, black women are negatively affected by the stereotype of black slaves, forced to nurse the white masters’ children.

Each collaged photo holds significance and symbolism, from the kneeling image of Colin kaepernick, to the box of baby wipes. What refuge is there in society for a woman to nurse her child?

In honor of those brave women who nourish their children in every way, in the most trying circumstances, I’ve surrounded the mother’s head with a golden halo. This style is reminiscent of historic Ethiopian paintings in which artists adorned saintly figures with halos.

Melissa Aytenfisu Daughter’s First Portrait, 2018 oil on canvas courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Homeless, 2020 aerosols, acrylic, charcoal on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Metamorphosis of Emancipation Park, 2020 oil, acrylic & collage on canvas courtesy of the artist This painting found its inspiration in a sunrise jog through Emancipation Park, a significant and cherished landmark in the lives of black Houstonians, and a much-loved destination for me and my two children.

Emancipation park has gone through several metamorphoses since it was first bought in 1872 by Jack Yates and a group of African American citizens in Houston, Texas. A popular gathering place for family outings and the annual Juneteenth celebrations, it became the only park for African Americans with the racial segregation of Houston in 1922. During the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s, the park hosted peaceful protests, concerts, and demonstrations for equality. It subsequently fell into disrepair but,with a recent revitalization, has gained a new lease on life in the African American community of Third Ward and the broader Houston community.

My rendition of Emancipation Park was influenced by the Fauvist style of Andre Derain, which emphasizes strong, qualitative color over the realism of Impressionist predecessors.In European art history, Fauvists were considered “savage” and “wild”, derogatory images whic have also been applied historically to black people. Incorporating Fauvist elements in my work is my way of answering to the disparaging and discriminatory stereotypes that have affected African Americans over centuries.

I have used Fauvist color theory to highlight the strength, brilliance, and resilience of the African American community in Houston over almost a century and a half. The dominant colors of green, yellow and red remind me of the Ethiopian flag of my forefathers as well as the flags of many other African countries that are the ancestral home of black Americans. I painted the paths and tree trunks in vibrant magentas, reds and oranges to accent the deep, rich fabric of theThird Ward neighborhood.

To profile the history of the park, I superimposed archival and recent personal photos of children playing or attending events such as civil rights marches and Juneteenth celebrations in the park. The empty rocking chairs are an invitation to the viewer to relax for a moment and indulge in the wonder of curiosity. What is the legacy of those who walked these paths in the past? What will be the narratives of those who walk today? What will the future bring for this sacred space?

Melissa Aytenfisu Imprint of Third Ward, 2019-2020 aerosols, acrylic, charcoal on paper courtesy of the artist When I moved to Third Ward, it wasn’t out of choice, but necessity. I was recovering from a traumatic personal experience and living on a shoestring. Amazingly, my new neighborhood has become a place of solace and recuperation for me.

At the same time, it has become a place of revelation and awareness. Walking my toddlers down Emancipation and Isabella Streets, I saw residues of hopelessness, pain and misfortune in the form of empty gun shells, jagged bottle shards, and charred clothing. I recognized these items as the debris of personal disruption and anguish. When I looked more closely, however, I saw the same objects as elements of artistic beauty and meaning.

In this piece, a cast off bike wheel doubles as a luminous sunrise, the dawn of a new day and better possibilities. Gun shells are reminders of rage and brutality, but as imprints on canvas, they make bright patterns which beckon thoughts of brighter futures. Fabrics salvaged from a burnt out house speak to the ruinous effects of fire, but they make for intriguely woven prints, that suggests vibrancy and promising new patterns in life.

The prints evoke tranquility and dynamism in equal measures. The compositions are gentle, with a tenderness that evokes compassion for recovery from trauma. The color palette of reds, oranges, yellows and smoky copper conjure images of the sunrise, a time to welcome the day with energy and optimism. At the same time, the colors depict the brilliance and the multi-faceted dimensions of fire. The power of fire has been historically used to oppress the African American community, but fire has also symbolized the spiritual force that has galvanized the community to survive and thrive.

The process of transforming physical remnants of human breakdown into works of art has brought me enlightenment and joy. It has demonstrated the potential for beauty even in objects that appear ruined or useless. It has shown me that, just as damaged physical objects can be reclaimed and reconstructed to produce beauty and meaning, so too can wounded spirits be revived and healed. Such is the fruit of metamorphosis.

Melissa Aytenfisu Son’s First Portrait, 2017 oil on canvas courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Houston Metro, 2017 charcoal on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Is it a Black Family Moving In?, 2020 mixed media on canvas courtesy of the artist This piece speaks to gentrification in Houston’s Historic Third Ward. The images in the yellow boxes that form the ‘x’ are historic photos of African Americans from Third Ward; the images on the outside of the ‘x’ represent the economic and social forces that are squeezing black people out of the neighborhood. The grid system on the painting symbolizes the division of land and its parceling out to developers.

Black families have historically been pushed into low income, underserved neighborhoods with a lack of access to grocery stores, health care, good jobs and schools. These have been the conditions in much of Third Ward over its history. Recent developments have turned Third Ward into a “hot” real estate zone with the result that African Americans are being edged out by newcomers with higher incomes. Even long time residents are threatened by property tax increases that could drive them out of homes that have been in their families for a century. The question arises: how can Third Ward be made affordable for those families who have lived there for generations or who would like to be part of the fabric of a rich historical cultural community?

In a traditionally white neighborhood, if someone says , “is it a black family moving in?”, it could be out of fear, and bigotry. In Third Ward these days, it’s just the opposite. “Is it a black family moving in?”’ is said with hope - the hope that a black family is able to afford a home in the area and will help to preserve and contribute to the character of the African American community.

Melissa Aytenfisu Imprint of Third Ward #2, 2019-2020 charcoal on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu What if it was your son? #1, 2020 wood block print on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu What if it was your son? #2, 2020 wood block print on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu George Floyd Protest Third Ward, 2020 wood block print on paper courtesy of the artist

Melissa Aytenfisu Say their Names, 2020 wood block print on paper courtesy of the artist

HMAAC HOUSTON MUSEUM of AFRICAN AMERICAN CULTURE

The Bert Long, Jr. Gallery