Zucot Gallery, the foremost African American gallery in Atlanta, opened its doors March 20 for Little, “a group exhibition featuring 12 artists and a curated selection of smaller works.” Yes, Little is an exhibition of artwork on the smaller side, featuring several artists who typically produce works that scale much larger in size (and price). Take, for instance, Jamaal Barber, who often renders prints at four feet long …
—or Honey Pierre, whose mixed media art typically towers over seven- to-eight feet high.
“Big Mama,” a 30×22 mixed media piece by Pierre that is featured in the show—and composed of acrylic paint, oil pastel, and glitter on paper—would be considered little compared to the normal scale of her artwork. However, those dimensions aren’t really little at all, nor are a significant number of works hung in the exhibition. The size and price points across the gang of works vary.
The Little exhibition is ambitious. The art show comes at a time when art might be considered quite the luxury, considering the U.S. economy is currently fickle. Black Americans, in particular, are experiencing a 7.7 percent unemployment rate, the highest among racial groups, according to recently released data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.
According to Zucot, the show places emphasis on the “impact and presence” that smallness can sometimes emit—and is aligned with art lovers looking to get their feet wet as first time buyers, veteran collectors looking to snag yet another piece, and buyers who want accessible artwork.
“It fills the gap for a lot of interest,” Onaje Henderson, co-owner of Zucot gallery, shared. “I think that it is a way to say, ‘no matter what’s thrown at us, we’re going to create a way, figure out a way, to make things relevant for the times.’”
As a person whose consumption of art is at copious levels, I wanted to be overwhelmed with an abundance of art. I anticipated a smorgasbord of actual little artworks from as many artists as possible, eating up all the white space in Zucot gallery, much like you’d experience in the Louvre.
Perhaps I’m a junkie.
Nonetheless, the show’s start is successful. The turnout was exceptional with collectors engaging upward of 50 “Little” art works on view and available for sale from 12 artists, including Charly Palmer, Georgette Baker, Richard Clark, Aaron F. Henderson, Shanneil Clarke, Honey Pierre, Jordan Toombs, George Galbreath, Marryam Moma, Jamaal Barber, Petie Parker, and Nathan Addley.
Palmer, the most prominent artist of the bunch, had 11 acrylic on canvas pieces in the show that showed off his painting prowess and line work. Each piece centered Black figures: some against backgrounds with fanciful details and others against geographical settings.
The sum of them were on par with the archetypal style the artist is known for. That is, Palmer’s artistic treatment of Black people is identifiable through deeply pigmented blacks and browns and every now and then, he gon’ drop some bold text to drive home the message. Images from Palmer’s Martha’s Vineyard series were standouts from the others. Stencil is a recurring element in Palmer’s work that signifies joy, and pairs well with paintings that express Black people living their Black lives, unbothered, in Black space.
In this grouping of paintings—they are free. “Masterpiece on the Bluff,” “The Inkwell,” and “Mama and We,” are palatable —in that a little Black boy building sandmen from grains of sand; a Black family perched on beach towels and soaking up sunrays; a top-heavy mama and her Black chi’rren, standing in the shallow parts of the ocean water, under a stenciled sky, posing for a photograph feels good and Black. It’s giving Black whimsy in a place where most Black people cannot identify but in ways many Black folks can.
Palmer’s subjects feel real, like people you may cross paths with on a regular basis like a neighbor, a family member, or perhaps someone you might encounter flipping the pages of a family photo album. Thematically, his work places its subjects in nostalgic settings. And as of late, Palmer has boldly placed Black bodies in-your-face and in the imagination subsisting in dreamscapes. Which makes the paintings for this show curious. The selection feels safe.
E. Richard Clark’s watercolor on paper pieces outfitted a wall on the second floor of the gallery. Much like Palmer’s paintings, Clark’s show pieces are a throwback to the familiar. Clark, an 82-year-old painter, invites viewers into a pastoral space. Images from his quilt series, specifically “Quiltmaker Series #20” and “Work Clothes,” are reminiscent of a time and place where Black women lost themselves in the rigors of rural labor and poverty.
Clark places these women against the backdrop of an open field and open sky. Though they are central figures they are not centrally positioned. Clark places them on the right side of their respective settings, giving way to quilt work hanging from clotheslines in the distance. The shared space is balanced. The image is crisp, clear. and picturesque.
The woman in “Quiltmaker”
appears proud but hardened by hardship. Her gaze is so piercing that one might feel shame for looking and want to avert one’s eyes. The elderly woman, sitting in “Work Clothes,” has longing and indifference painted across her face. In the words of Fannie Lou Hamer, she appears “sick and tired of being sick and tired” as she rests against a cabin. The log cabin quilts that are embedded in Clark’s paintings are a distinctive nod to the women quilters of Gee’s Bend, who know all too well about hardship and manual labor for survival, and finding themselves through the art of quilt making. Just as quilts were salvation for the mighty Pettway and Bendolph women of Gee’s Bend, the vitality of Clark’s quilts redeems the hopelessness depicted in the work.An antithetical vibe to Clark’s work is found in Aaron Henderson’s iteration of Moko Jumbies, created with gouache on paper. The Jumbie figures pop out from the grassy field, body of clouds, and color-washed backgrounds they are set against. Call it praxis and protest on paint. Originating in central Africa and adapted into Caribbean culture, the skillful stilt dancers represent liberation, resistance, resilience and good vibes. The translation of Moko Jumbie is “healer and spirit.”
Henderson’s color palette of lime, yellow, purple, blues, and magenta is consistent across these specific works.
Henderson turns up the hue on these Jumbie pieces, bringing vibrancy and movement that is synonymous with the history and projection of Jumbies to his paintings, “I’m Here for You,” “High Frequency,” and “Moving & Shaking.”
“Festival Day in Afrolantica” and Henderson’s other Jazz pieces are equally rich with color. Because of this, Henderson’s images are alive, spirited, performative and restorative.
Likewise, collagist Marryam Moma’s Wunderland Noir series added a much-welcome dab of whimsy. Moma’s Little works, “Not Like Us” and “La Vie En Rose,” a set of ink drawings laser-etched on white porcelain plates, shown in pure white 12×12 frames. “Not Like Us” bears twin figures that somewhat resemble the artist. Black and gold leaves on thinly etched vines are wreathed across the plate and framed by small gold-toned clock gears. The latter piece also bears a resemblance to its creator. The figure in the drawing sits in an armchair, legs crossed, wearing a tiered robe, enveloped in opulence: a bouquet of roses and floral wallpaper; a stack of books at its feet. A framed photograph of a man donning a kufi is next to her. Moma’s fine line work, attention to detail and design are successful—right down to the perception of wood flooring, the baseboard and the matting of the picture frame in the drawing.
The visuals prompt wonder/wunder in the viewer: What is the subject pondering? Who is the person pictured in the frame? Is it dad? A gentleman caller? Did someone send roses? Who? There’s a lot going on, yet on the plate and in the drawing a complete story is told; one that is elevated but not exaggerated.
A plethora of Petie Parker pieces were on display. The negative paintings are a departure from most of the other gallery offerings that exude tertiary color. Paintings “Butter-Fly” and “Vantage Point,” feature young Black children highlighted, shaded, and outlined in greyscale, along with their respective environment. The “Butter-Fly” series depicts a young girl wearing a pair of boxing gloves with wings on her back; floating against foliage. A boy donning a textured ‘fro is perched—on the fence. The sky above and behind him blurred.
The line work in “Hood Trampoline,” which is at the gallery, though not in the show, exposes a detailed apartment building with a playground situated in front of it. A haze of trees and faint fencing delineates the background from a scene with specter-like figures who sit on the sidelines, as a more prominent figure is captured midair, mid-black flip above a mattress resting on the ground.
A negative painting approach works well for Parker’s paintings. He owns this style, and it is pretty much the artist’s signature. The greyscale is applied efficiently in each image. It does just enough to give the viewer clarity and context. In an Instagram caption, Parker describes himself as a “storyteller,” a “narrative artist.” These works are proof. Each line, blur, contrast, and heavily coated dab of black acrylic paint co-signs that notion.
At first glance, Parker’s acrylic-on-wood pieces are arresting, like Black-on-Black crime. You want to look away, but cannot resist looking. From afar, the paintings appear dark and daunting, particularly against the crisp white gallery walls. However, they are quite the opposite of gloom and doom. Much like Kerry James Marshall’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Shadow of His Former Self (1980),” these rather dark paintings with dark figures elevate blackness. They are dark in hue, but this draws attention to them—and Parker’s titles do matter.
I am reminded of Deniece Williams’ bittersweet ballad “Black Butterfly”:
Morning light
Silken dream take flight
As the darkness gives way to the dawn
You’ve survived…
I can’t escape the harsh
reality that many young Black girls (and boys) must thrive in, nor the loss of innocence they face at such tender ages. The corners that young girls must box their way out of and the decisions young boys must ponder are nothing to sneeze at. Black youth carry a heavy weight.In her very optimistic song, Williams sings:
Black butterfly
Sail across the waters
Tell your sons and daughters
What the struggle brings
Black butterfly
Set the skies on fire
Rise up even higher
So the ageless winds of time
Can catch your wings
It appears that Parker has the same hope for them, in that he wants them to fly high, to float like butterflies, to remain innocent and free.
Parker sold six paintings before opening night.
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