Meeting Bill Cosby at Morgan State University
knowing that my work had finally trickled down to a celebrity. Shortly thereafter, Winston Salem State University saw the piece I did for Bill Cosby, and they decided to commission me to do an illustration of Anita Baker as she was scheduled to do a benefit concert for their institution. And as a result, I got to personally meet Anita Baker. So, I was on a roll. I had just come off this low with the sign painting world that was falling apart. I got a big boost with the movie industry and that was starting to come to an end. And then this thing happened where Joe Ford practically catapulted me into yet another trajectory of my work: doing illustrations. Joe Ford was beginning to pitch me to people who made me realize I didn’t have some of the abilities I thought I had. He tried to get me a position creating storyboards for ad agencies, but we realized that my drawing skills at that time were not sophisticated enough for that. I had succumbed to the reality that I would likely never become a comic book illustrator, or that I would never become a cartoon animator. Those fantasies were coming to truths that I would not be doing many of the artistic endeavors I had earlier imagined. And still I heard that voice of Chenal Alford, “White folks will not allow you to do that.” But on the other hand, Joe Ford was reminding me, “You got raw talent and it’s time to figure out what trajectory to follow while not limiting yourself by the things that you’ve already learned.” This was an important transition for me because I still had the undercurrent of entrepreneurship and I was aspiring to connect to the new directions to find opportunities. If I had to nail it down, opportunity was the single-handedly most difficult challenge I was facing.
A Light at the End of the Tunnel
I had morphed away from graphic design because I didn’t
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like it, and I was having a little bit of success with illustration, but something was still missing. After being mentored by Joe Ford for a few years, I began to become discouraged as to whether a clear art opportunity would present itself. I questioned at that point whether my intention should be working for someone as an illustrator or continue my bumpy entrepreneurial path. I hadn’t really drawn a game plan or business plan toward building a business as an illustrator/artist. I had already gone to several portfolio reviews where people began to flip through my portfolio while staring me in the face as if to say, “Why are you here?” I heard that line, “We will keep you in our files” repeatedly. On a whim, a friend in New York City mentioned a portfolio review with buyers of freelance illustration and graphics for Ebony, Essence and Jet magazines. Looking at this as my last opportunity to strike, I put on my cheap suit, gathered my newly updated portfolio, jumped on the Greyhound bus to New York, and took another bus to the portfolio review. I was nervous, but felt I was ready, and I felt confident. Maybe this will be my turning point! My interview began, and to my surprise the reviewer was a white male. I handed the interviewer my resume, and with a brief read he opened my portfolio and began flipping through my portfolio the same way many of my past portfolio reviews had gone in the Baltimore, Washington, and Virginia areas. They all said they would keep my information and get back in contact with me. I literally was deflated. When I left that interview, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t ever have that feeling again. On the bus ride to Port Authority in New York to head back home to Baltimore, just before my bus was approaching the Lincoln tunnel, we passed the Jacob Javitz Convention Center in New York City. As we approached the building, I observed several people leaving the building with canvases jumping into taxis and limousines. I remember asking the bus driver could he let me off right there. I inched my way to the door and as I approached an Asian man was running out of the building. I asked him what was the name of this event, and with a slight accent he replied “ArtExpo, one of the biggest art shows in the world.” My eyes lit up. He jumped into a taxi and took off. I entered into the Javitz lobby and saw a registration desk. I asked the registration folks what I needed to get into the show. They said I needed a business card and $20. I, luckily, had business cards prepared for my portfolio review. So here I was entering this trade show known as ArtExpo at the last three hours of the show. This art fair took up
the entire Convention Center. If you can imagine me running through the aisles in my cheap suit, seeing every genre of art you could imagine. I felt like I had made it to heaven. My feet were not touching the ground. But I was frantic to take in as much as I could before the show ended. I know that I probably only got a chance to see at least 2/3 of that show while practically jogging, but during that overview I noticed there were only about three companies out of literally hundreds of companies that were selling works that were African American. When I left that show I didn’t know how, but I knew I was going to be in that show. Finally, all the rejections I had received made sense. Looking at that show, I realized I had been talking to all the wrong people, and now I had a path to follow to find how I would be able to sell my work rather than feeling like I was a service provider as a graphic designer or illustrator. I got back home and couldn’t sleep for days. I did some research and within two years from the date I walked into the Javitz, I became an exhibitor in ArtExpo. This was a key turning point for me moving from doing graphic illustration work into doing fine art.
Fine Art VS Commercial Art
One of the things that became apparent to me was that there was a division in ideology on the subject of fine and commercial art. During my foundation year all we were allowed to do was draw, draw, and draw. Still lives, perspective drawings, gesture drawing, and model studies were among our daily practices. It was a difficult adjustment, because I felt as if the instructors at MICA were stripping me of all the things I had learned in high school. Coming from a vocational education background, most of the things I was introduced to at MICA were not new to me. In high school I learned a lot about color, tonality, perspective, composition, typography and beginner to intermediate level drawing. As I began to travel around the campus at MICA all the students seemed to carry themselves a little differently. There were the gothic types, hippie types, quite a few relatively conservative types, and even a few militant types, like me. Everybody’s major question was, “Are you in the graphic design department or the general fine art department?” The graphic design reply was usually followed by a condescending look or facial gesture. After a while I realized I could not identify with a few of the students who were in the fine art department. So, segregation began even in art school. Later I would learn the that division was going to be a challenge even as a professional
artist. I could not understand why it seemed as though they were stripping me of all the things they selected me for in my portfolio reviews. I’d even made it a Black thing . . . because I thought they were trying to strip me of my blackness, use of black content or black consciousness in my work. I assumed this perspective through my first three years at MICA.
Creative Differences
Most of my critiques at MICA were summed up by me as “the instructor not being able to interpret my art.” There were times when they gave us guidelines with how our work was to be presented. Because of my militant attitude and views, I spent most of my time trying to aggravate the teachers by turning in projects that broke one of their rules. It was as if I was entertaining myself with seeing the frustration on their faces. I once had a classical cast drawing instructor named Peter Collier who told us at the beginning of the class to only use black and white media on paper 18” by 24”. I couldn’t understand why those restrictions were being imposed. During that class we stood out in the halls of the Maryland Institute College of Art and attempted to draw all of the classical casts created by some of the world’s greatest sculptors. The concept was that by drawing the classical casts we would learn a lot about light, shadow and form. I immediately found it boring. The instructor would walk the halls and inspect and critique all our work, and he walked through the hallway with an air of intimidation, as well. Not being used to any white men staring over my shoulder, I began to feel a little intimidated by his presence. His critiques really made me want to respond. It was as if he was singling me out to test my nerves. One evening he gave me an assignment to redraw my project. It was on now! I went back to my studio and begin a drawing that I knew would rock his socks. Oh, and by the way, I did it in hot pink on black paper. When I finished, it looked like a blacklight painting on velvet from the seventies. At the next class, I placed my drawing on the critique wall. I could hear small murmuring in the class. “Oh my God someone said . . . it’s in color! Can we do that?” Many eyes looked my direction like I had burned a flag. I was truly entertained by this. The teacher came in fashionably late put down his portfolio, removed his sunglasses and proceeded to the critique wall. As he walked down the wall he came upon my drawing and in an act of frustration he completely passed my drawing without a comment. His face was as pink as the figure I had drawn. He attempted to critique two drawings
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