IN RETROSPECT | THE ARTISTIC JOURNEY

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 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

on the wall. The distraction was apparent. In a fit of rage, he went to my drawing, pointed to it and asked, “Who has decided to disregard the rules of this class? Who is the creator of this drawing?”

I could hear the other students gasp as I stood up to defend my drawing. “Why do you insist on breaking the rules Mr. Brown? Why have you chosen to use color in my class?” My reply was short and sweet. “Why are we only discussing color? What about the other merits of the drawing?” By then his face went from pink to red. “How dare you challenge me . . . when you break the rules there are no merits worth mentioning,” the instructor replied. Then I decided to use a squirt of street smarts to aggravate him further . . . I replied, “But Mr. Collier, I am colorblind! When I lay out all of my pastels, I select my colors from brightness to darkness. Then I select colors that are more intense versus colors that are less intense. So, in my eyes, my drawing is black and white.” My classmates gasped again, like I had done a magic trick that resulted in doves flying from my behind. And guess what? They bought it! The instructor really did not know how to take me, but from that point he left me alone. I returned the favor by following his guidelines. But after a few weeks of working in this class, I began to enjoy drawing classical casts. One day I had an epiphany that I was actually paying them to endure my mischievous disposition or ignorance. I realized I couldn’t let my militancy derail my focus.

A few professors at MICA were pivotal in my not giving up. Abby Sangiamo, was my portraiture professor during my foundation years at MICA. The rules of his class seemed pretty straightforward, and I knew I would ultimately enjoy his class. I loved drawing the human face, and now I was in a class that primarily focused on faces. One of the biggest things I had to prove to myself was that I was just as good as the other students. Being one of two black persons in most of my studio classes made me work a little harder. Mr. Sangiamo was one of the first professors at MICA to look at merits of my work. In this class, we explored creating a portfolio of self-portraits measuring 18” x 24” or 20” x 32”. Most of the students were creating monochromatic images with a traditionalist approach, using earth toned conte, charcoal, or pastel, mostly black and white with few remnants of color. I was bold and brash, turning in my assignments in full color.

On week two, I broke away from the black and white, started doing color. All of a sudden in week three, the other students started doing color. I got pissed off, and I went up a size to 30” x 40” in color. We would all participate in group critiques, and Mr. Sangiamo would always give an in-depth critique on the work. The following week, the students would come in with 30” x 40” assignments, so I got pissed off, and I went down to the MICA art store and found out what the largest sheet of paper was. To my amazement fine art paper came in 5-foot rolls! So, here I was in a portraiture class that started out with 18” x 24”, and I was suddenly doing these huge 5’ x 6’ portrait murals. I completely took over this class and what was really great is that Mr. Sangiamo, allowed me space for exploration. It was the first time I felt competitive because I went into this setting believing that white students had something that black and brown students didn’t. That old adage “that white folks wouldn’t let me do the art I wanted to do”, started to fuel me.

I really loved that portraiture class, so I kept pressing forward. It wasn’t until the very end of the class semester when Mr. Sangiamo pulled me to the side and he said, “You know, I hope you realize what you’ve done in my class.” I immediately thought that I was in trouble again with an instructor, which I had already experienced a few times in my foundation years at MICA. He then said, “Well, there are leaders and there are followers, and I watched you press yourself in content, scale, and in the amount of work you were creating.” I even got to the point where I was turning in two assignments because they were all doing one assignment. If they did one, I did two. I would create one for the class, and create one for me with no class restrictions, but hung them both for critique. The one created for me allowed me to do some things that were full of my imagination, but Mr. Sangiamo was watching me do this. He was the first person to commend me on leadership, on my ability and on me being a trendsetter. He said, “You knew the students were following your lead, but you inspired them all to do other things. Continue to be a leader. I want you to take that with you for the rest of your career.”

Those words would stick with me for the rest of my creative life. Mr. Sangiamo single-handedly fueled me through pivotal years of development at MICA. He gave me confidence and was the first teacher who really supported me in my college years. He was kind. I don’t know how he was to other students, but he was intentional in embracing me. That relationship helped me to find my own lane at MICA.

Early Phases I went through many phases as I attempted to find which subjects appealed to me. One of the first things I struggled with was my identity. Being a junior has its challenges. It means you automatically live under the umbrella of your namesake. If that namesake is an artist, you might have a few problems. First, everybody has expectations of your talents based on your lineage. Second, my father had his own signature (LOB), and as his son my signature was a copycat of his (LOBJ), but try signing your work Larry O’Neill Brown, Jr. My most frequent question from folks is where I got the nickname Poncho. Simply stated, it came from an old television show from the 1950s titled The Cisco Kid, who had a sidekick named Pancho. The Cisco Kid and his English-mangling sidekick Pancho travel the Old West in the grand tradition of the Lone Ranger, righting wrongs and fighting injustice wherever they find it. My dad thought it would be cool to name me Poncho. So, with much trepidation, I decided to drop the O’Neill and junior and start using my nickname as my moniker.

I started creating science fiction themed works which fused African American characters in imaginary national geographic settings. They were a direct offshoot from the black-light posters I experienced in the 70s with big afros, sensual strong figures, featuring both male and female subjects. I also had a huge interest in biology, so animals were often characters in these works. Most of these paintings were created using gouache on illustration board. I got pretty good using the water-soluble mediums. My father and I were both Frank Frazetta and Boris Vallejo fans, so their works had a big impact on the images I was creating. I was so enthralled with creating these works. I may have created about twenty-five paintings before I began to lose interest and move in another direction.

At the time fantasy art was becoming very popular, so my science fiction themed pieces became more futuristic. I was heavily influenced by 80s movies like Tron, Blade Runner, RoboCop, Terminator and other Sci-fi movies. As I began peeking into adult magazines, erotica, pinup or cheesecake art was also an influence with some of my favorite artists like Olivia De Berardinis, and Alberto Vargas. So, I ventured down a path to create some images in this style, although I may not have had the anatomical talent of some of these artists. The subject matter captivated me, and I did amass about 30 paintings in this genre.

These phases prepared me technically for my next direction, which was creating graphic-looking images with African American themes. I’ve finally found what was appealing to my spirit. I knew I wanted to do more images that featured an aspect of black culture, but in unique ways. I was a long way from drawing cartoons and comic book characters. I was aggressively trying to find a style, without realizing the style was supposed to find me. Through this early journey I learned a lot about all mediums, dry and wet and began to experiment with combinations of those mediums, while learning more about composition and color sensibilities.

The Airbrush The 1970s was a crazy time with all of the customized vans I saw around Baltimore. As a child, I always wondered how that work was done and I later learned about this technique called airbrushing. While I had a pretty extensive training in vocational education, I was introduced to the airbrush, but didn’t get an opportunity to pursue it based on the academic focus. When I went to MICA I still had the expectation that I would learn how to airbrush, but because of the foundation year requirements and full class load that I was carrying at MICA, I never got an opportunity to pursue learning more about airbrushing.

The year after graduating from college was when I first made a commitment to teach myself how to be proficient in airbrushing. I was so driven to learn airbrush that I went and bought all the materials, a small Badger air compressor, and two or three airbrushes. I, literally, created

one painting a day while trying to learn how to use this apparatus. The process proved to be tedious and time intensive. It required patience, which was something I probably lacked with regard to my creative process. The more I took my time, the more disciplined I became, and the more proficient I became at using airbrushing. I was excited about the medium and was proud that I had taught myself how to do the technique. The technique was utilized in many of my early popular works. It was my sole medium through most of the 80’s up to around 1999. “The Egyptian Queen Series”, “The Colorism Series”, “The Totem Series”, and “The Perseverance Series” were all created with the airbrush.

I eventually stopped airbrushing because of health concerns. I had at that point in my career been breathing every kind of toxic chemical from my sign painting days on up to my airbrushing days. So, I made a conscious decision to stop using materials that would threaten my health. I had noticed that many of my older sign painter friends were suffering from emphysema and other lung issues directly attributed to smoking, and other bad habits; but more importantly, the toxic lead-based paints that we were using at that time, we freely sprayed without masks for decades. I became conscious of this and began to work toward only using safe art materials, and eventually incorporating a water-soluble environment in my studio.

My Many Solicitations It was shortly thereafter that I really immersed myself into my illustrative work. In my black bedroom, in my mother’s house, I was creating a painting a day using airbrush or whatever other accenting medium I could find. I had accumulated a portfolio of very strange works from science fiction on down to realism. After graduation I went through this other path of really trying to hone my craft. In my naiveté, I concocted an idea to begin soliciting my work to celebrities and companies. A plan was devised to create portraits of celebs and to gift them when they did concerts in my hometown. My hit-list included Tina Turner, Lionel Richie, Bobby McFerrin, Oprah Winfrey, and a host of others.

In this plan, I would create a portrait, have it framed and delivered either to the venue or hotel if I was fortunate in pinpointing where they were residing. I may have tried this plan ten or so times. Most of the time I would act as a delivery person and transport the piece directly to the venue with a personal note as a gift welcoming them to Baltimore. I thought this was a stroke of genius. My hope was that eventually someone would recognize the merits of my work and I would possibly snag some future work. I shipped Oprah’s portrait to Harpo Studios, in Chicago, IL. In very rare instances, I would receive a thank you response, but I did receive a thank you form letter signed by Oprah.

When the Transformers hit the scene, I was so mesmerized by the concept I immediately began designing a few characters I thought would accent what already was one of the most creative concepts I had seen. In one case, I designed “The Aquabots” a team of aquatic robots that transformed into predator fish including a great white shark, a hammerhead shark, a killer whale, and a whale shark. I designed schematics and illustrations of the characters. I then took them to have slides made of the illustrations. I researched the address to Mattel Toys and sent my work to them with a cover letter introducing me and my work. In this case, my envelope was returned with a cover letter from Mattel Toys informing me they did not accept solicitations. The only thing not returned was the slides I had submitted. A year later a sea bound group called “The Sharkticons” were introduced as a new breed of Decepticons. Coincidence?

As a self-proclaimed fantasy artist, I began sending work to any magazine that seemed to feature illustrations with the hope that I would get exposure. I was a big heavy metal magazine fan, so I sent a few solicitations to the magazine with no response. Playboy magazine and Penthouse magazine from time-to-time featured illustrations by two of my favorite illustrators like Stanislaw Fernandes and Hajime Sorayama who both greatly influenced my earlier work. I solicited a few of my futuristic robots of women to Penthouse magazine. They sent me back a letter saying, “Hey, we thank you for sharing your talent. We’ll keep you in mind.” To my surprise they ran one of the submissions in the classified section of the magazine, covering themselves from liability by giving me credit for it. But it was then I realized, wow, I can’t solicit my work to anyone anymore because they can take it and do what they want with it. And this was Penthouse magazine too, which probably wasn’t the classiest place for me to solicit my work. I realized, I really probably didn’t think this through.

The reality is at that point in my development I had no concern about copyright issues and intellectual property protections. I also didn’t understand corporate structure and how my solicitations would be viewed by companies that had complete staffs of artistic creative individuals. I was so eager to be recognized that often put myself in danger of being creatively exploited. I needed to be smarter about how I was managing my work, despite the fact that I was certainly being more proactive than most artists would have been in promoting themselves. I actually compiled a 3” 3-ring binder to hold all of my rejection letters from the many things I solicited to get noticed. I believed in my spirit that with all of the no’s I’d received, that I’d eventually get a yes.

Creative Energy Creativity is an interesting topic for me. I find that most artists spend their lives trying to figure it out. I have found that most artists have been taught that art or creativity is an extension of them. They look at it simply as something they can do or an ability that can be turned on or off like a light switch; as if it’s a choice to participate in or not to participate in; like something that can be put on the back burner. My existence as an artist has always felt like a spiritual expression not totally defined by words. I have always believed in my abilities (my strengths and weaknesses) throughout school. I noticed that I was usually reprimanded for drawing in class, on my notebooks, on my completed tests, or on my desks. Everyone around me seemed to react like there was an appropriate time to “doodle”, but I never seemed to be able to control the urge.

I realized early in life that art was not an extension of me, that indeed it was a spiritual part of me, an innate part of my being. My college years were the worst. In sixteen years of education, I never heard the word “creativity” used in conjunction with “spirituality,” just as I never heard the word “art” used in relationship with “business”. Nor did I hear an assessment of a master or a student artist in the context of spirit. I believe this is the primary area of confusion for most artists. Who would I have become if I was told art was a part of my being? The day you accept it as part of your being, spirit and personality is the day you are forever reborn as a creative. Whatever your spiritual or religious beliefs . . . art and creativity are some of the most obvious signs that there is a creator. People will even say . . . “Oh, so it’s a God-given talent” as they dismiss all of the hard work or devotion you have dedicated to your craft. I have come to the conclusion that the creator only gave artists the ability, so that they wouldn’t go crazy. The creator knew that we would need a place to retreat and recharge, a place to think and resolve, a place to pray and meditate, and a place to fantasize and dream. Artists are all very sensitive, emotional beings that need to be heard even if they don’t feel like they have a voice. Art is a form of communication. Like religion it requires constant renewals of faith and patience.

Dick Gregory became the first celebrity to endorse my work

The Manifestation of Dick Gregory Back in the early 80s, I began working with Reginald Toran who worked with my mother at St. Agnes Hospital. He was a young budding entrepreneur who was very prosperous on his job, but really was interested in building some sort of business opportunity. He was affiliated with a few multi-level marketing companies in his spare time, like Amway. Toran was the very first vegetarian I had ever met, and most of his entrepreneurial endeavors dealt with health. This alignment would certainly affect my life. We became good friends and ultimately, we began discussions about the Black condition regarding entrepreneurship. As a result of those conversations, Dick Gregory became one of our targets. I remember sitting in my bedroom at my mother’s house with the two of us strategizing how we were going to meet Dick Gregory because at that time he was at the height of the Dick Gregory’s Bahamian Diet craze. Reginald was very informed about all things relating to health and was the real deal. We both planned to go to a scheduled event in our area at Catonsville Community College in Baltimore.

Mr. Gregory did an extraordinary lecture splashed with hard information and humor. At the end of the lecture, Reginald and I proceeded to go to the front of the auditorium to personally meet him as he was greeting guests. I was prepared with a small portfolio of my work and Reginald had already prepared a folder providing information about himself. We both shook his hand and he graciously greeted us. We quickly presented our prepared materials to Dick Gregory and proceeded to leave the auditorium.

As we were leaving, Dick Gregory called out to both of us and said, “Young brothers, young brothers come here for a minute.” We both turned around, went back to the front of the auditorium and he asked, “Hey, did you do this artwork?” I replied, “Yes Sir.” We reintroduced ourselves again, and Dick Gregory says, “I got a project I’d like to include you in.” He gave us a number to contact him, and I received my first job from him that night. Dick Gregory became the first celebrity to endorse my work. The first job Mr. Gregory gave me was creating a mural banner of Ronald High, a 700+ pound client. I worked as a free-lance graphic designer/illustrator for about six years. Dick Gregory was a very creative person. People knew him as a comedian, as a civil rights activist and a host of other titles, but they probably don’t realize about Dick Gregory as a very creative-thinking person. I would often get calls at midnight from Mr. Gregory as he was conceptualizing a particular project. He always moved fast, so he would present it to me to illustrate it or make it look presentable. That is how our relationship went for that six-year period.

I was included in some pretty pivotal projects that he was working on. The pace of these projects was usually fast and furious. At that point, the travel demands of Dick Gregory were very high, but I wasn’t personally aware of the status of the Dick Gregory Bahamian Diet at that time. The business was beginning to encounter financial challenges for him during that period. Nonetheless, he presented opportunities that I had never envisioned doing. Along the way, I was asked to design a multi-level marketing manual for the company, which was a very big project. I was also very eager in my art aspirations with this alignment. I would create visual prototypes that I thought would benefit him as kind of a solicitation. It was a good pairing because he would keep these concepts with him as he traveled his hectic schedule giving me added exposure. And now he had a creative eye that could visually represent some of his ideas. Mr. Gregory read ten newspapers a day. He hoarded information and seemed intrigued with history, the human condition, world news, social justice, and politics. It was the basis of his commentary, comedy, lectures and advocacy. A mounting issue was there were times I was compensated, and sometimes I was not compensated. Often intellectual properties were misused, but at the same time, it was fast-track learning because I was introduced to some people that I would’ve never met had it not been for Dick Gregory.

Dick was a very popular global figure around that period of time and was featured in Jet magazine every few months. The popularity of the Bahamian Diet was really spreading across the country. The Bahamian Diet was the first national ad campaign credited to me. It came from a solicited piece of artwork that I had presented to Mr. Gregory. He loved it so much that he submitted it to Ebony, Essence, and Jet magazines to run as an advertisement. That ad gave me national exposure really quickly, despite the fact that I was never fully compensated for its usage. Needless to say, I learned a lot about agreements, solicitation, copyrights, intellectual property, and other issues working with Dick Gregory. But I also learned how to filter through media influence in a way that sticks with me even today. Dick Gregory always expected us to not just hear the story, but to look at the story peripherally, and to not believe what you hear or what you see because other agendas are always taking place. I think this conspiracy theory component became part of my being as an artist during the period that I worked with him. It allowed me to look at my projects from more than one perspective, not just from the perspective of the client, but peripherally from more than one perspective. I think that the concept ultimately affected how I create my work and how I approach my projects.

Dick Gregory had me doing marches in front of the White House with civil rights activist Hosea Williams; conceptualizing advertising on Walter Hudson, who was the sixth heaviest man in medical history; doing before and after portraits of his 600+ pound plus clients in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, for a 60 Minutes feature story; or acting as his entourage

Presenting another advertising concept to Dick Gregory

while on the set of The Donahue Show. He placed me in so many different positions, which allowed me to see so many different aspects of what it took to address the media. Watching him prepare for the 60 Minutes interview with Ed Bradley was an amazing experience. Although I know that for everything I saw, there were twenty other things happening. It was that weekend in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, that I realized the mastery of Dick Gregory with regard to the media. Seeing that aired on television nationally with me being included was also pretty bizarre. Through most of the years we worked together, I was star struck.

Mr. Gregory invited me to a Black Mayors Convention at Caesars Palace in Atlantic City, New Jersey, where I met a host of Black celebrities and notables. It was amazing to me that I was suddenly in this environment as an introverted 24-yearold being in this world. I really wasn’t prepared, but I got to meet a lot of people, and it was amazing to see Dick Gregory navigate in any environment. During that trip, Dick had presented one of my illustration works to Muhammad Ali for a project he called “Muhammad Ali: Rice and Beans”. I created an illustration of Muhammad Ali holding a bowl of rice and beans. He obviously went to present the concept to Muhammad Ali and his people. I think he may have gotten some rejection because when he returned to the room, he was visibly agitated. He was scheduled for another event, so he had to fly out that night. He left Reggie and me at his hotel suite. A huge turning point was when we were having a discussion about some of his ideas and Dick looked at me and said, “Why don’t you leave this art $#!+ alone, and let me show you how to make some real money?” The room was silent. Reggie Toran was also a part of this discussion, and knew immediately that statement would forever change our relationship . . . and it did. Soon after, I no longer had the drive to continue working under those conditions, and decided it was time for me to take a different path.

Those times are irreplaceable, and he exposed me to some people during that period of time that really helped me build my confidence that I could use my art to achieve anything. Mr. Gregory also taught me something about loyalty. When I was doing an art program for the city of Baltimore called the African American Youth Art Exhibition and I asked him to be a guest speaker, and he did. When my father’s 50th birthday was approaching, I asked Mr. Gregory if he could come to my dad’s birthday . . . and he did. After my tragic studio fire in 1995, I invited him to my first art reception in my new studio, and he did. Dick Gregory always showed up and made me feel like I was an important part of his world. I am forever grateful for crossing paths with Mr. Gregory and the lessons learned.

The “Black is Black” Phenomenon Soon after my graduation from MICA, I began to have an urge to produce works that were a reflection of me, my visions, and the issues in my head, which my earlier works never accomplished. No artist knows what his most popular piece will be. When we are being creative in our image-making capacity, several concepts, ideas, and narratives run through our collective consciousness. We attempt to regurgitate fragments of those visions. “Black is Black” was a complete anomaly, in that it was my very first Black-themed work introduced to the art world. This piece was created after my science fiction and fantasy phases. It evolved from a debate between me and a close friend having a serious debate about who had it the toughest in the seventies, me being a dark-skinned male or her being a very light-skinned woman. The conversation was very intense, at times humorous, but I never forgot the exchange. Soon after, I did a few sketches exploring that concept, with our conversation still echoing deep into my spirit. It begged the question: How do we deal with the subject of racism and prejudice, when we practice it within our own racial group? That conversation became the central focus of creating the “Black is Black” series.

“Black is Black”, created in 1988, was the first time I had something to say, that I captured graphically. It also represented a new direction as a stylization in my work. Having studied some high fashion ad photography featuring all white women faces, I took that concept, and explored it. As a note of trivia,

the first piece I created in 1987, was not the work that became popular in 1988. It had a darker face toward the front, with the lightest face toward the background. I call it the lost “Black Is Black” piece because it was inexpensively purchased by a collector before I had a chance to document it. So, I created a second version, switching the face order, as to not confuse it with the first version. To this day that collector has never been heard from, as if they disappeared from planet earth.

I got an opportunity to present “Black is Black” to Things Graphic & Fine Art which at that time was the largest Black art distributor in the United States. I remember going to their offices and walking through their huge warehouse, seeing hundreds of titles they published of some of the top names in Black art of the times. I really aspired to work with a publisher at that point, but it was one of the first that I felt confident enough to pitch.

Edward Robertson, the owner, looked at “Black is Black”, and he also reviewed another work entitled “Sidesteppin’”, but his words would stick with me. He said “Black is Black” would never sell because it was not created in a traditional medium; that it was created in airbrush. He didn’t think that buyers would relate to a textureless figurative image. He also felt it was too graphic of an image in how it was cropped, but he shared more interest in “Sidesteppin’”, which was another textural experiment in my work during that period, which was created in 1990.

Needless to say, I didn’t accept his criticism. In my spirit I knew that if I self-published the piece, it would resonate with people. Nobody at that time was dealing with the subject of colorism and I claim “Black is Black” as the first piece to specifically have the discussion and dialogue about colorism. In frustration, I took a gamble and decided to self-publish the image. The piece would quickly become one of the top 10 best-selling Black art prints in the nation. Things Graphic & Fine Art would later reconsider and publish poster versions of “Black is Black” and “Sidesteppin’” around 1992. I then created a male version in 1992, to accompany the female. At that time, not many sequels were happening in the Black art realm. It became a very popular set. The pair outsold all of my other works combined during that period of time. The “Black is Black” female version was from my imagination, no real photo sources, but in the male version I used all models, and is the only self-portrait that I’ve ever created.

The “Black Is Black” series would become the first reproductions of its kind to address the subject of colorism visually and dynamically, while garnering huge commercial success, and a fan following. Released as open editions, the series was designed to be accessible, affordable works of art. It also became one of my most licensed images to date having been produced in book covers, calendars, puzzles, watches, tee shirts, and several other product lines. The rest, they say, is history. Soon thereafter television shows like “A Different World” would include it on the set of the show. Overnight “Black is Black” became mainstream, with a huge HBCU following. The message resonated with folks of all skin tones. I felt a sense of redemption that the piece had been received so well. I had once again proved my naysayers wrong. The great Carl Owens credited my “Black is Black” series as inspiration for his work “Sisters of the Sun”.

The artwork was so popular that many legal fights, intellectual property battles, bootleg scenarios and other struggles began to surface because everybody wanted a piece of the action. I was among a small group of notable artists featuring Charles Bibbs, Synthia SAINT James, Albert Fennell, and a few others to sign a publishing contract as the first African American artists signed with a major white art publisher, Paloma Editions, which was controversial during that period of time. Most publishers were reluctant to produce Black art or work with Black artists.

I had an early dispute with Mark Weinbaum, president of Paloma Editions. Mr. Weinbaum had an issue with me and a few of his signed artists self-publishing their work. In those days, art publishers and distributors believed they should control and promote the work, and the artists should just create imagery. I always had other publishing aspirations because of my early introduction to printing from my father. At one point, Mr. Weinbaum was so distraught with the momentum that I and other artists in the group were having as self-published artists, that he threatened me with finding an artist to bootleg my “Black is Black” series. At that time, he enlisted an artist from his signed group of talent named Keith Mallett who Mr. Weinbaum ultimately convinced to create two knockoff pieces of my “Black is Black” male and female works. His intention was to disrupt the flow and popularity of the pieces, and to show me that I could be bought and sold at any point. The unfortunate part of this story is that he pitted two Black artists against each other. Mr. Mallett always denied that it was his work. I learned quickly that art was a dog-eatdog business, and “Black is Black” would prepare me to defend myself against many copyright or intellectual property issues.

In another situation I was sued for $35,000 by Things Graphic & Fine Arts because I unknowingly signed a contract with them which allowed them to take over the distribution of “Black is Black”. I had not read the fine print on our contract, which lead to some deterioration of our business relationship. I lost that dispute in arbitration. It was the first time I had lost that sum of money over one of my works, but it will forever set the tone for my business dealings and contract arrangements from that point forward.

Studio Fire of 1995 I had reached that point in my life where the majority of the money I had invested in my art business was just about to bear the fruits of my labor and show a return on my investment. November 10, 1995 was probably the biggest turning point in my life. I had been truly blessed throughout my career as a professional artist. I felt that just about every derailment I had encountered, that I had figured a way to persevere. On this night, for some reason, I had a rare anxiety about staying late at the studio. I was rather hungry, but it was around 11 PM when most of the fast-food establishments in the neighborhood had already closed. I decided to take the seven-minute drive home to make myself a sandwich and return to the studio to work late.

The Hollins Street Exchange Building was located in a pretty bad neighborhood, so thinking defensively, I rarely wasted time getting into my vehicle when leaving the building at night. I proceeded to take the short drive home and as I entered my home the telephone was ringing. I rushed to pick up the phone only to find out that it was my security company. The dispatcher mentioned that a Code 6 was triggered on my alarm at the studio. I didn’t recognize what a Code 6 meant, so I simply requested that they dispatch the police and I returned to the studio. As I drove down Baltimore Street, I noticed that the sky was a warm orange color. As I got closer to the bottom of the hill, I realized that the sky was also full of smoke and that emergency equipment had already blocked off Hollins Street. As I turned the corner, I was horrified to find that my building was already engulfed in flames. One-third of the building was already on fire; the short trip home only took me about 25 minutes. The building must have already been on fire when I left to go home. It was a windy night, so I didn’t smell any smoke or see any flames. At first the police would not let me get closer to the building but, ultimately, they let me get closer after they found out I was one of the tenants.

The building housed about fifty companies and about 150 workers, most of which were African American owned and operated. The Hollins Street Exchange Building was a city block long and eight stories tall. Although it was in an industrial area it was surrounded by neighborhoods. Fighting the blaze would soon become a difficult task. The water pressure in the neighborhood was already substandard. The fire department had a difficult challenge trying to get enough water pressure to fight the eleven-alarm blaze. The fire had taken over the building rather quickly. As many of the tenants began to approach the rear of the building to see the blaze from another vantage point, we quickly found out that two other warehouses were already on fire. Later we found out this was where the fire originated. It was a rather cool fall evening and some homeless people had broken into one of the warehouses to stay warm. The homeless persons had begun to burn some trash in a couple of trashcans to keep warm. The third warehouse building housed mattresses. So, by the time the fire reached that building it really gained some fuel. One of the homeless people had admitted that the fire had gotten out of hand and they rushed

to evacuate the building. Fearful of prosecution many of them would never be heard from again.

But at that moment it Photo by Donnie Greene seemed like the worst of the worst was happening. After about four hours of waiting around, I became very tired and began to lose my optimism. As the fire made it to my corner of the building, which ironically was the last quarter of the building to burn, all hope was lost. With eyes full of tears, and a heart full of fear, I jumped into my car and returned home. When I turned on my television, it was already on the early morning local news and even featured on the national news. I prayed to God that by some miracle there would be something to salvage. To my amazement the building was completely destroyed. This experience triggered an emotional breakdown, which years after, left me in a state of depression, with contemplations of suicide. I lost everything I had created from grade school up to 1995 which required me turning the page on the first stage of my career. I had to start over.

Many lessons were learned as a result of this tragedy. Before this event, I had no idea how far my reach was or who my true supporters were. And although I traveled with many of my artist families, I still didn’t know who was in my support system. Artist camaraderie was something I learned during this difficult time. Many artists stepped forward to support me during this resurrection. Charles Bibbs, and Paul Goodnight provided their business mailing lists and substantial support checks. Frank Frazier delivered a huge chest to my home. It contained numerous art supplies. Michael Brown was the first to physically visit my home bearing cash to assist me. James Denmark sent me a case of a thousand sheets of large reproduction paper. Elba Vargas came and sat with me in a moment when depression was beginning to take effect. No one had any agendas. Fans and collectors mailed donations, returned artwork, and most of all provided prayers. These humanitarian expressions of love financially, physically and spiritually supported me that first difficult year after the fire. I quickly learned that I was not alone.

A large percentage of the images depicted in this book were destroyed by my studio fire of 1995. It was a painstaking process to go back and attempt to resurrect images that had been essentially erased from a history. Thankfully, with the efforts of my collectors, art dealers and family, I was able to re-document many of the creations from before that time frame. Many speculated that my work would change as a result of what I had experienced. “Phoenix Rising” and “Surrender” were the first two works created after I began recovery from my depression. The main thing that changed was my way of working. Prior to that time, I used lots of old magazine photographs as references while planning my imagery. After that, I began to rely more on my imagination and began shooting my own reference photos rather than using any pre-existing imagery. A reporter once asked me if I could have salvaged anything from my studio fire of 1995 what would be? I replied . . . “My 3” 3-ring rejection letter binder.”

The Golden Age of African American Art Little did we know that we would be at the helm of a major revolution in the arts. Before 1980 African American artists had little choice in the support of Black art in America. In fact, African American art hadn’t even been designated as a genre in the art industry. Exhibition venues were few, museum opportunities were rare, and there was no real infrastructure for African American art. Before that time the primary infrastructure for African American art lie in the hands of academia. Artists like Charles White, Elizabeth Catlett, Jacob Lawrence, Romare Bearden and others were the primary artists of mention before the 1980s. The Harlem Renaissance, AfriCOBRA, and other Black art movements were the last noted revolutions in the African American art realm.

I was also among the generation of African Americans who were hungry to see themselves represented in movies and television. We longed not only to be represented but envisioned seeing ourselves depicted in a positive light. Velvet paintings and black light posters of the 70’s touched that nerve. We were sucked into the appeal of these images. They were colorful, provocative, and sexy. They explored astrology and sexuality. They also depicted black people as strong figures, with afros and physiques, but typically were nude. The big problem about this era was it was an early example of how these images were targeted and marketed to Black people. The sad truth is most of those works were not created by Black artists. Many of my earlier works were inspired from what I saw during this popular poster phenomenon.

The Blaxploitation films of the 70’s were the first examples many of us experienced as Hollywood tried to capture the essence of Black culture through film. I remember seeing Shaft, Uptown Saturday Night, The Mack, Blacula, Three the Hard Way, and various other movies, that were refreshing to see regardless of the stereotypes they portrayed. That kind of media laid the groundwork for everything that came soon after.

Good Times was a pioneering television sitcom that aired for six seasons on CBS, from 1974 to 1979. It was created by Eric Monte and Mike Evans and developed by executive producer Norman Lear. Lear developed television’s first African American two-parent full family sitcom. The character of “J.J.” was single handedly the most inspiring character in my life to be shown on TV. The fact that they would include an artist as a central character on the show spoke to a new level of exploration in the storylines of television. “J.J.” became my hero. He was the first person who looked like me doing what I dreamed of doing. It really captured my subconscious in a way that nothing else had up to that point in time.

Soon thereafter, The Jeffersons was a sitcom television series that was broadcast on CBS from 1975 to 1985. The Jeffersons was one of the longest-running sitcoms, and the second-longest-running American series with a primarily African American cast. The depiction of an affluent African American couple was mind boggling. To show wealthy business-minded Black people during that period of time especially after the introduction of Good Times really set the stage for Blacks being seen in a different light. Mr. Jefferson’s character was loud, rambunctious, outspoken and militant for that period of time on television. His radical attitude and entrepreneurial spirit appealed to me in that important stage of my life. The only downfall was that The Jeffersons did not feature any art or Black art on the set of the show, which, I believe, was truly a lost opportunity. The Good Times era and The Jeffersons era both played an important historical role in painting a picture of modern black culture.

One of the largest contributors to the revolution in the arts in the 1980s came directly from the printing industry. The printing industry had gone through several revolutions directly impacted by technology. Before 1980 it was literally impossible for artists to afford to reproduce their works. Before that time artists employed traditional techniques to reproduce their work via etchings, stone lithographs, serigraphs, monoprints, etc. Printmaking became the primary method for reproducing works of fine art. Advancements in offset lithography would soon equalize the playing field and entice art publishers and artists to take advantage of mass production opportunities.

The Cosby Show era, a period between 1984 and 2000, created a new revolution in African American art. Bill Cosby was known throughout the world as a major collector of African American art. Whenever anyone from the African American art realm references the beginning of this movement, this era is pinpointed. Although Good Times was one of the first times African Americans experienced the life of an artist via a major network television sitcom, The Cosby Show was the first time we would witness a full gallery of works by several artists on the set of the Huxtable home. Surely an art revolution could have begun in the 70s when Good Times was on the air. Simply stated none of the works of Ernie Barnes was readily accessible to the masses during this period. The biggest difference between those two eras was the printing industry hadn’t advanced to the point where reproductions were affordable. That revolution in printing would come along in the 80s, and with it the ability to make art accessible for all to partake. The most powerful medium . . . television . . . began that explosion. That accessibility birthed what became referenced as “The Golden Age of African American Art”.

This advancement enticed legions of art publishers and dealers to get into the game. It spawned the dawn of African American art being offered as a legitimate genre in the art industry. Galleries devoted to ethnic art, publishers specializing in Black art, and venues created to highlight African American art began to pop up around the country practically overnight. After a few years of artists having viable opportunities, obvious problems arose. Many African American artists began to experience some of the challenges of working with galleries, museums, art publishers, art dealers, and most of their early contracts often did not work in their favor. Artists were forced to become business minded, and most were fast tracked into entrepreneurship. Many of the ideas artist quickly learned was that they could reproduce their own works and not have to partner with publishers. It was as if a new hybrid of artists was birthed during that period. Artists were not viewed as publishers, artists were hardly viewed as legitimate business people. Many of the artists entered into the open door of opportunity, not realizing the impact it would later have on the art industry. At this point in the evolution of the art business many artists were making a living full-time from their work and many of them would become financially independent as a result of new fan followings, and art opportunities.

Before long they were sarcastically referenced as “The popular artists.”

I started my art publishing business in 1985 at the age of twenty-two. My company Melanin Graphics began participating in international art trade shows like ArtExpo New York, Galeria, and Art Buyers Caravan. Also, because of this “affordable art” movement, many art publishers and art distributors began to appear in my sights. Coopers Originals, Viewpoint, Things Graphic & Fine Arts, Paloma Editions, Vargas and Associates, Fine Arts by Todd, Essence Art, and Bruce Teleky, where a few. Ethnic Expressions also found success in the home show arena and became a high-volume client for several years. These art publishers and distributors became necessary because of the 3000 plus art dealers and art galleries that ordered art through their networks.

It seems like all the elements for a viable art business network was in play. African American artists from all over the United States were willing and ready to make available their art for the retail market. Art publishers and printers were in place to produce art reproductions. Art dealers and galleries were in place to sell art prints to the general public. The general African American buying public had plenty of disposable income ready to make purchases. At the height of this era my works were being sold in 3000 galleries across the country, and on the walls of over 500,000+ homes.

By the global impact of 9-11 in 2001 to the economic collapse of 2007, the internet was becoming a force to which few in the art business had anticipated or prepared for. As the housing market, stock market, auto industry and pre-recession engulfed America, many of the demographics that had supported the art industry lost employment and required restructuring. We witnessed the total decimation of nearly 3000 art galleries, ten or more major art distributors, and several black art venues within that period. The web would become the new infrastructure. “Disruption” is a term being used to define the technical revolution that is happening daily in every aspect of business. Just as the impact of Netflix was to Blockbuster, or Amazon was to most bookstores large and small, the art business evolved to an online revolution. Now the playing field has become global, and thus the artistic opportunities. All artists now had the ability to brand themselves without the traditional artist blueprint. I began focusing my attention to the World Wide Web and all it had to offer. Many African American artists had taken note, as we all began to rewrite history in the African American art realm.

The Three Entities I opened my first business at the age of seventeen, so you can imagine I knew absolutely nothing about business or business structure, so my experience came through much trial and error. Business was a fast-track learning experience. I did not come from a family where entrepreneurship was stressed. My business aspirations evolved from me beginning to build a list of clients as a signwriter. I named my first business Poncho Illustrations. At that time, it certainly was a sole proprietorship, but at least I had a company name that gave me an umbrella of validation as an entity. Warehouse space was plentiful in Baltimore in the 80s. I resided in three different locations during this period of my development. Poncho Illustrations was my attempt to structure my signwriting, graphic design work, and illustration work. I came to the realization that I didn’t like doing signwriting or graphic design work for the same reason. It felt too service oriented, and creatively restrictive although making money was guaranteed. It certainly dispelled the stereotypical starving artist narrative. My passion had always been image making, so I decided to restructure my career aspirations and follow my passion.

My transition to follow my passions was bumpy at first. I was still being tempted by the work opportunities I was trying to stop doing. Many mistakes were experienced in the area of business, and it was going to be a long journey before I could catch up with the popularity of my work before it hit a wall. My second incarnation in business was Melanin Graphics, Inc. which I began in 1985 after publishing my first few works as reproductions. Melanin Graphics expanded its reach to include other artists from the Baltimore-Washington area. I began to network with other artists who had already self-published their works. Melanin Graphics acted as a publishing and distribution company of African American art. The growth and success of Melanin Graphics exceeded anything I could have expected and at one point had upwards of five employees, three part time workers, and a host of other salespeople servicing around 3000 galleries nationwide. The company flourished and grew until our untimely studio fire of 1995. We literally were forced to start over, and the years of rebuilding the business was slow and full of physical and emotional setbacks and challenges.

The African American art market had begun to reach its peak by the late 90s, and the great recession was heading our way by the end of 2005. The tragedy of 9-11 in 2001, and the economic collapse of 2006, set up an implosion in the art market. Melanin Graphics struggled to the point where it was wise for me to close that chapter and restructure to prepare for what was about to happen in the realm of technology. The company resided in two different locations during these transitions. Melanin Graphics existed before the internet and the advent of social networking. Although we took a blow in the art business, I had already begun to make adjustments for this new media and new direction which prompted us to launch our first website that offered our art reproductions online. At the core Melanin Graphics was a wholesale art distribution business. We watched art galleries, art venues, and other important parts of art business infrastructure begin to crash. By 2007, it was time to throw in the towel. The art business as we knew it would change forever.

My third incarnation in business was The Art of Poncho, Inc. The Internet was the newest frontier. The art industry either was prepared for this transition or tended to be reluctant about the impact the World Wide Web was going to have on the art business. Up to this point most viewed the art landscape in regions, but the Internet would prove to change everything into a global perspective. Very few art entities at that point had websites. The larger companies were first to be able to afford to be represented on the Internet. Artists certainly were the last in line to investigate the possibilities of being represented on the Internet. I had always taken pride and having my fingers on the pulse of what was happening in the arts. So, I began to investigate websites and learning website development by early 2000. We were among the first of many African American artists or galleries that had a web presence. Although it took a while for sales to be generated from this medium, it began to take off like wildfire as the new millennium gained momentum.

By the time social networking became a factor in early 200304 the two became a one-two punch that gave artists, galleries, and museums maximum visibility that, before this time, had to be in-person. The days of huge catalogs, printed materials, and tear sheets presenting artwork were becoming obsolete. By the time smartphones became part of this landscape, collectors, artists, galleries and anyone interested in art could have access to purchasing at the touch of a button. With the advent of social networking those huge catalogs were replaced digitally and virtually. We moved location, downsized and redesigned our focus to prepare for this new nor-

Photo by Helen Baskerville

mal. The internet allowed us to easily connect to and develop our following, and we were determined to take advantage of this new playing field.

Raising the Arts My mother once told me that one day my art would minister to others. I didn’t know what she meant at the time. She used to assign me these little projects from her job at St. Agnes Hospital. She was always so proud of me, and basked at any chance I would create something that her work colleagues would see. She was always promoting me to her coworkers.

My first commission piece was from Morgan State University for the Morgan Walk-A-Thon. That piece catapulted me into investigating the illustrative side of my abilities. It soon led to other projects from Morgan State University and a few other historically black colleges. Before long, I had accumulated a body of work that ministered to Black causes, Black events, Black cultural events, and HBCU events.

Over the last four decades, I have created over 70+ images for various nonprofit organizations across the United States to bring attention to their missions while providing fundraising opportunities. The concept for Raising the Arts evolved from a conversation with my former office manager at Melanin Graphics named Yvette Judge. At that time, I probably had amassed about 10 to 15 commissioned works. I soon had the epiphany that even the way I was approaching commission work was not traditional. The hustle and grind I learned as a sign writer began to transfer into how I marketed myself to other people. I was adept at walking into a storefront with a faded sign and convincing the owner that they needed me to do their sign work. It was the foundation that my entrepreneurial spirit was built on.

It wasn’t long before I developed a system that I could utilize to approach organizations and show them how I could assist them with raising funds while creating a work that encapsulated the mission of their organization. After a while, I began to target specific organizations that had a great impact in the Black community, like the Sickle Cell Association, the Alzheimer’s Foundation, including other causes for HIV AIDS, breast cancer, mental health, etc. It was amazing to me the number of non-profit organizations out there that were hosting redundant fundraising strategies like galas and other community outreach projects, who were craving a new fundraising option. I realized that some of them had art initiatives, so I duplicated that with other organizations.

I compiled a portfolio which featured all the commission works created to that point and encapsulated them in a catalog. I simplistically outlined the monetary investment, I also outlined what they could possibly raise in a simple form and began sending those to potential nonprofit organizations and other organizations. Sororities and Fraternities eventually became targets. My partner in crime, Karen Y. Buster, and I began doing the Delta Sigma Theta National Conventions in the early 2000’s. The biannual event exposed me to several Delta chapters. Before long, I had convinced many of these chapters to create a specific image for their chapter. This evolved to creating other images for The Links, the Alpha Kappa Alpha, and the Zeta Phi Beta sororities. These works were exposed to masses of women which became a target demographic for my work.

My first commission targeting a breast cancer organization was shortly after my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I met a woman by the name of Linda White-Epps who was a crusader for breast cancer awareness and was the president of a non-profit organization called Sister’s Journey. She, a cancer survivor herself, created an organization that catered to the wellness of African American women cancer survivors. I remember bringing my mother a calendar from her organization and witnessed how that calendar assisted her with making some difficult decisions regarding her personal cancer journey.

Unfortunately, my mother became a victim to a statistic that rarely is represented by the media. She succumbed to a malpractice incident which led to her death at the tender age of 57 years old. My mother didn’t die from the effects of cancer, which was early diagnosed, but she died from an error in judgement by an anesthesiologist. This life experience impacted me in a specific way with the Raising the Arts concept. In one year I had ten commissions by various organizations all over the country. It also allowed me to build a portfolio of images that dealt with specific issues facing the African American community.

I got great satisfaction from creating these works as well as watching these works minister to others, as my mother had predicted decades before my success as an artist. I have since taught a few of my artist mentees my concept and showed them how to duplicate what I had successfully created from a spark from a valued employee. I also struck an accord with faithbased organizations and before long, I had over ten commissions by various faith-based organizations, which became a specialty area for my Raising the Arts collection.

One of my largest commissions to date was purchased by Coppin State University, Helene Fuld School of Nursing, which was a 40-inch by 60-inch painting giving homage to black nurses. The piece “The Caregivers” also represented a concept where I began to market the original works to some of those who could afford to treat the investment as an acquisition. More than half of the commissions in the Raising the Arts collection have been purchased by the organization.

I also reached a point in my concept where I was confident that I could sit with any organization and convince them to create a commemorative art fundraising project. At a certain point in the development of this project, I gave the option to the organization to publish and finance the work, and for those who didn’t have a budget, I began to publish those works myself. The momentum of the Raising the Arts collection was an example of duplication. Some of my negotiations were deals that allowed me to create multiple pieces for certain organizations. Venture Richmond eventually commissioned five consecutive pieces to promote the Second Street Festival, in historic Jackson Ward, Richmond, Virginia. The West Oak Lane Jazz and Art Festival commissioned me to create three images to represent their festival. Soon I had amassed a collection of images created for music festivals. One of the bigger names included in my recruitment list was for Macy’s as they commissioned me to create an image for the Macy’s Music Festival in Cincinnati, Ohio. Sometimes I was on a roll and got multiple opportunities. The same year I was commissioned to do the Macy’s Music Festival official poster, I was also commissioned to do a work for the Underground Railroad Museum,

Photo by Kirth Bobb

which had recently opened in Cincinnati, Ohio. Ultimately, I would create two images for the Macy’s Music Festival taking place at the Paul Brown Stadium in Cincinnati, Ohio. Creating images for music festivals were among my favorite commissions.

Cultural festivals became a good fit, as I had participated in so many of them in my art journey. The Kunte Kinte Commemoration and Heritage Festival in Annapolis, Maryland, was my first commission for a cultural festival, which also commissioned me to do a second poster twenty-six years later. I also created images for the Umoja Festival in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, The Ujima Festival in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the African American Cultural Festival of Raleigh and Wake County in Raleigh, North Carolina. These images breathe culture and were a joy to create.

Duplication, duplication, duplication. The concept worked, and it was providing me a strong body of work and a stream of income that kept my work visible for over four decades. Creating works for this series allowed me to explore different stylizations. Most of the images had cultural appeal and all of them were clearly created with Black people as a central focus. The notion of creating positive imagery that represented our culture is very evident in the Raising the Arts series. I have made a commitment to the universe to expand the reach of this legacy building project.

“The Egyptian Queens” was my response to The Budweiser “Great Kings of Africa” series. The collection’s award-winning artists included Jonathan Knight, Alexander Bostic, Barbara Higgins-Bond, Paul Collins, John Biggers, Lydia Thompson, Jerry Pinkney, Leo Dillon and Carl Owens. Reprints of the artwork were featured in Anheuser-Busch advertising, calendars and posters. The series was so bold and explosive that I wished I had an opportunity to participate as one of its original artists. I had a fascination for ancient Egyptology, so I decided to create a series of queens in the spirit of the Budweiser collection. This series was among the very first pieces that I published of my personal work. The series consisted of six paintings, all created in acrylic on illustration board with airbrush.

“The Colorism Series” evolved from my painting “Black is Black”, and explores the variance of color tonality of black females and males. It touches on themes of diversity, but was a graphic exploration in harmony, movement, and composition. The series consisted of eleven paintings, all created in acrylic on illustration board or watercolor paper with airbrush.

“The Dance Series” was a departure in subject matter from the music and jazz images I saw other artists producing in the 80s and 90s. I had always been fascinated with dance, so it gave me an opportunity to explore a subject that I felt was just as universal as jazz while giving tribute to dance companies like Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, the Dance Theatre of Harlem, Philadanco and other Black dance companies. The series consisted of eighteen paintings, all created in various mediums on black paper or watercolor paper.

“The Perseverance Series” began with my painting the “Blackness”, and explores the subject of oppression, spiritual submission, the balance of strength and vulnerability, and perseverance of the black male and female. The series consisted of five paintings, all created with a fusion of charcoal and acrylic airbrush on watercolor paper.

“The Totem Series” was inspired by Native American totem poles, but utilizes kente cloth patterns and adinkra symbolism from Ghana, West Africa, combined with African American male and female faces. The series consisted of six paintings, all created in acrylic on watercolor paper with airbrush.

Red or Blue Pill In the movie The Matrix, one of my favorite trilogies, the term “red pill” and “blue pill” referred to a choice between the willingness to learn a potentially unsettling or life-changing truth, by taking the red pill, or remaining in contented ignorance with the blue pill. My first major decision as an artist would

Photo by Kirth Bobb

surely present a life-changing truth. Nobody told me when I enrolled in college that choosing graphic design would automatically put me at the bottom of the barrel with regard to being respected as a fine artist. I had a choice of general fine arts, printmaking, photography, graphic design, but I chose graphic design, and immediately I realized that there was a difference in perception of the two paths. That one decision was pivotal. Remember with each of those programs, the tuition fee was exactly the same. It’s not like graphic design was discounted and the one that was most prestigious had higher value. So, in my observation, choosing graphic design really put me in a bad position from the start because I was interested in graphic design as a craft, but all along, I had aspirations of pursuing fine art. Graphic design was chosen because I had just come from a commercial art background, and it also quieted stereotypes of the starving artist.

I already knew in my spirit that I could make a living, so at that point, I probably should have selected general fine arts, but I chose the graphic design track, and it seems that over the course of my career, I have been fighting that choice. Once you are categorized as a graphic designer, they have difficulty considering you as a fine artist. If I applied for a juried exhibition, my work generally looked more commercial because I was from a commercial background, and it was non-traditionally created. I was always being judged on the graphic content of my work and never the essence of my work, and I didn’t realize how bad the situation was until I graduated from MICA, attempting to be recognized as an illustrator/ fine artist, but people couldn’t see past the graphic quality of my work. I think that the distinction or delineation became a struggle throughout the forty years of me being an artist. Many arts grants were rejected. Many juried exhibitions rejected my work because of its graphic quality. I had to adapt a stylization that would give me a better chance of selection in the grant and jury systems.

To this day I think the cloud of commercial distinction and my commercial success was the only thing that made people take notice of what I was doing. Nothing I’ve done in the art business has been traditional. From representation, to publication, to distribution, most of my strategies to have my work recognized were untraditional. I think that I moved against the grain of what most art dealers, gallerists, especially museums were looking to support. At that point, I had to make a distinction of what I wanted from my career. Did I want critical acclaim? Did I desire to be respected as a viable force in the art world, or did I want to be successful as an image maker? I was almost forced to be content with being an image maker. Becoming a popular artist or a commercially successful artist gave me leverage to do some things that many artists probably weren’t able to do. I also watched a host of artists become successful in that same way.

I studied the movements of premiere African American artists like Paul Goodnight, Joseph Holston, and other artists of that caliber because they were able to straddle the fence of this fine art/commercially successful duality. They also began to receive opportunities on the fine art side of the business that many artists were not able to accomplish. I’ve also watched artists like Charles Bibbs, Annie Lee and other commercially successful artists who were comfortable in the lanes they were in. I would later have to learn how to be comfortable in the lane I was in. Once I understood what was at stake, I became content with the direction that was passed to me. No roadmap was given to me on how to become a successful artist or image maker. I had to learn the best way to navigate this multi-track thing called art. My teacher Chenal Alford used to say, “There’s more than one way to a destination.” I adapted that mentality along the way, fusing each victory and success while duplicating those efforts to the point where I developed my own road. I had to learn to trust my visions and instincts. Moreover, I had to accept the fact that I may never be accepted by the masses. I had to learn that my collectors and followers ultimately would be the people who keep my name alive.

The Importance of Art My journey as an artist has taught me a lot about what I personally feel art should be. Yes, art is supposed to encapsulate our history and act as a narrative to the stories of our culture. Art is supposed to be a place where there is an exchange between concepts that need to be articulated in a specific visual way.

I’ve witnessed the longing for cultural identity in my people. As I traveled many communities across the country, it was a unifying desire. There’s always been a fine line between catering to people with pretty pictures and educating them. I also don’t believe that every piece is supposed to educate. I do believe that opening dialogue about certain subjects is what art does. I also don’t believe that art is exclusively for intellectuals. Art is a universal language like music and like dance and people act like voyeurs desiring to see themselves reflected in the art. I’ve witnessed customers cry over certain images I have created. I’ve also experienced people beam with pride at a piece that reminds them of their past or of a person in their lives. I’ve heard people say this is me and my sisters or that reminds me of my dad. I’ve also witnessed a woman on her death bed, frustratingly awaiting the hospice to hang a piece I gifted her, only for her to pass away peacefully soon after it was hung above her bed. It was my angel piece entitled Heaven Sent. I’ve watched people who had no idea of what’s happening in a piece only to be awakened after reading the title. Watching customers from 10 feet away view The Forgotten Journey and then as they approach, they get punched in the heart and in the head chakras as the middle passage slave ship that they thought was a thermometer or a tattoo came into focus. The pieces that I believe are timeless are images that I usually decide to produce as open edition images. Have I ever published a flop? Yes, I have. All artists have. We all have that piece that we thought was going to resonate with the public, only to have a stack of them still sitting on the shelf in a warehouse somewhere. Have I ever known in advance what pieces will be a hit? It has never occurred to me that I would be painting for hits, or creating for awards, or be in a realm of that level of assessment or scrutiny.

The biggest transition I’ve made in my art career is that I stopped questioning what I was creating. In the eyes of academia and scholars, that statement probably would not be something that could be considered high art, but I’ve always had my fingers on the pulse of my community, the issues that are important to them, and the way that I can best articulate that to them, to make them want to keep that creation on their wall at home.

And, while all artists would like to have their legacy translate into our culture and would like to have mass acceptance in the realm of fine art, if I had to have a choice, I’d rather my works be in 500,000 homes than one museum.

I struggle with the internal dialogue of “Is this just a pretty picture?” “Is this saying anything?” For the last four decades, I’ve been in many places in my personal development, and I’d like to think that the images in this book are reflections of snapshots that have crossed my mind in one way or another. I realize by putting that statement into the universe that it might be the actual result as it is returned from the universe. But I must live with all the images I shared with the world as an image-maker.

The images in this book reflect the published works of Larry Poncho Brown. There are several thousand images that the public has never seen or that were purchased by collectors, or that I determined should not be published. The question always arrived at is how do I know what to publish and what not to publish? My response is: it’s a spiritual feeling. I do an overview of a piece, determine its reach, and what’s being said in the piece. That same question helps me decide what pieces get produced as open edition works versus limited edition works.

Larry Poncho Brown, Alonzo Adams, Roedrick Vines, Woodrow Nash, Keith Mallett, Kathleen Adkins Wilson, and Charles Bibbs at ArtEpo NY

Have I ever put a piece into production that shouldn’t have been? There was a time in the 1980s when I could not offer or sell a nude image, but by 2000, there was a demand for nude images. While I may have been successful marketing a civil rights image in the 80’s and 90s, I would not have had much success publishing social justice themed images, but in 2020, the demand was there.

Yes, I have had to question when a customer asks me, do I have a piece under a particular subject. My creative side wants me to shut out that information, but in time, I began to filter some of those ideas to fuel future works. I do not intend for my customers to match their sofas, chairs, and drapes with my works, although I’m smart enough to realize that it does happen. What I do hope is that they are so moved by an image that they want to take it home, to put on their wall, to act as a mirror through their soul. It’s always amazed me to watch a customer find a piece, resonate with the piece, purchase the piece, frame the piece, and hang the piece. That process for image-makers is the ultimate commitment and validates their vision and purpose.

The world is filled with literally millions of subjects that can be captured by the psyche of an artist. I have taken the responsibility of creating images that are reflections of the many faces I have met in my life and of the circumstances that have governed my life. I’m blessed that people see and react and validate those visions.

All I hope for my people, is that we continue to strive through open dialogue, and to educate people, and to rewrite and restructure every stereotype that’s ever been handed down to us. I know that sounds dramatic as you thumb through the pages of this book, but if I got you to question your history, I was successful. If I made you feel beautiful, I was successful. If I made you long for family, I was successful. If I made you cry, I was successful. If I made you sad, I was successful. If I made you angry, I was successful.

Artists are held to the highest level of scrutiny when it comes to their concepts and how they are purveyed. Being a commercially successful artist has released me of some of that responsibility. In order for a publisher or distributor to decide to sign certain works for their catalog, they would have to be able to predict whether their client base would receive these works. No publisher or distributor is going to publish a work that leaves too many questions in their interpretation. That whole equation or assumption may be limited if it is a white distributor versus a black distributor, but I have watched both sign certain pieces that had a unifying thread, and I believe they both knew which images would resonate to the public.

My demographic, as in other artist’s target demographic, has always been 85% women and 15% men. I think those percentages have wavered over the last four decades, but I’m still well aware that the higher percentage of the purchases of my work are to African American women. It has always puzzled me why most art contain women, or women and children, but may not have included men or men and children. And I was also staggeringly aware that the African American male, young male, has been almost avoided in the art world. Art is truly a reflection and depiction of what’s happening in our communities.

That’s not to say that artists are not creating these images, but somehow these images never make it to the marketplace. I believe artists must continue to force certain types of images on the marketplace in order to break the barriers that exist about what images publishers and distributors believe black people want to see.

I have constantly created images that challenge every notion of the rules I was taught in art school. One of the biggest responses to my work that always annoyed me was the statement, “I like your colors.” Because at that moment, I feel since we all see in color, that you had no other way to assess what you were seeing.

I’ve watched other races observe my work, and I’ve come to realize that white people are often intimidated by my work. They look in curiosity from a distance as if the image is going to jump out and abduct their soul. I’ve also watched black and brown people look at the work with a curiosity, a commonality, and those are the ones who mostly collect my work.

Does that mean that white people have not purchased my work? No, they have. And the images they purchase, typically are universal subjects like music and dance. Am I painting happy pretty pictures? You will find a few in this book. Am I addressing social justice in this book? Yes, I am. Am I attempting to show the strength and perseverance of my people in my work? Absolutely.

My freedom has come in not being defined by what academia

Photo by Kirth Bobb

or the commercial market says I should or should not be. At the moments when I am creating, there’s total silence with an element of time travel. It serves as my therapy, and it is an anchor to my mental health and wellness. I get my therapy long before a piece is ever published. It has been my honor to paint the narratives of the beauty I’ve seen in my people. Black magic is created every day. Black people are so colorful and have such style and attitude that I will never run out of subjects to create. We are truly among the most colorful people on the planet.

The images in this book are likely images on your wall. If you have collected my work, the image is likely in this book. Remember that these images are the pieces that have made it to print. The criteria for inclusion in this book is special because under the guise of making affordable art, I had to present fresh new ideas that had to go through assessment just to be published.

The images in this book are in two categories. My limited editions cover everything from open edition offset lithograph prints, limited edition lithograph prints, silkscreen prints, and giclée prints.

Most of the images in this book are still available to the public unless they have reached sold-out status. Our impact on culture is evident in all venues and professions, in skilled labor - those who have special training and knowledge and have attended college, universities, and technical schools; in unskilled labor – those in work that requires no specific skill or prior training; plus, those in commercials, in music, and in movies. That impact in style, attitude, and spirit are the inner secret ingredients why most of the images in this book have sold.

Enjoy this journey of 40 years of image-making. May my next volume be of images you have never seen.

Larry Poncho Brown

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 29” x 43” 2007

Gouache on Illustration Board 27” x 19.5” 1980

Gouache on Illustration Board 27” x 20” 1980

Gouache on Illustration Board 26.5” x 20” 1980

Gouache on Illustration Board 23” x 17” 1980

Gouache on Illustration Board 27.5” x 19” 1982

Acrylic on Illustration Board 25.75” x 20” 1984

Acrylic on Illustration Board 22” x 17” 1985

Acrylic on Illustration Board 19.5” x 15” 1985

Acrylic on Illustration Board 19.57” x 14.75” 1985

Acrylic on Illustration Board 22” x 17” 1985

Acrylic on Illustration Board 22” x 17” 1988 The Colorism Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 28.5” x 20” 1989 The Egyptian Queens Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 39” x 30” 1989 The Egyptian Queens Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 28.5” x 20” 1989 The Egyptian Queens Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 35” x 45” 1989 The Egyptian Queens Series

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 39” x 30” 1990

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 42” x 55” 1990

Oil on Fabric 46” x 40” 1990

Acrylic on Illustration Board 22” x 17” 1990 The Egyptian Queens Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 35” x 45” 1990 The Egyptian Queens Series

Oil on Black Rag Paper 44” x 38” 1990

Oil on Black Rag Paper 39” x 54” 1990 The Dance Series

Graphite on Watercolor Paper 30” x 22” 1991

Oil on Paper 40” x 30” 1990

Oil on Paper 48” x 36” 1990

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 39” x 54” 1991 The Dance Series

Oil on Black Rag Paper 36” x 50” 1991 The Dance Series

Oil on Black Rag Paper 39” x 54” 1991 The Dance Series

Oil on Black Rag Paper 30” x 44” 1991 The Dance Series

Acrylic on Illustration Board 22” x 17” 1992 The Colorism Series

Mixed Media on Illustration Board 40” x 40” 1992

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 39” x 54” 1992

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 49” x 38” 1992 The Dance Series

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 36.5” x 28.5” 1992 The Dance Series

Mixed Media on Paper 54” x 39” 1992 The Dance Series

Mixed Media on Paper 29” x 41” 1992 The Dance Series

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 54” x 39” 1993

Acrylic on Watercolor Paper 20” x 29” 1993 The Colorism Series

Acrylic on Watercolor Paper 20” x 29” 1993 The Colorism Series

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 40” x 40” 1993

Mixed Media Collage on Paper 30” x 44” 1993 The Dance Series

Acrylic on Paper 30” x 44” 1993 The Dance Series

Acrylic on Watercolor Paper 50” x 36” 1994 The Colorism Series

Mixed Media Collage on Watercolor Paper 40” x 26” 1994

Mixed Media on Illustration Board 28” x 15” 1994

Acrylic on Watercolor Paper 50” x 36” 1994

Acrylic on Black Rag Paper 39” x 30” 1994

Mixed Media on Watercolor Paper 50” x 36” 1994

Mixed Media on Watercolor Paper 44” x 39” 1994 The Dance Series