Where do you fi nd your inspiration?
Reading—a lot of reading, which is a sacrifi ce I’ve
had to make at this productive time in my career. I
read to start a conversation with myself, to open me
up. The bigger your vocabulary, visually and with
words, the easier it is to communicate what you’re
trying to put out there.What is your favorite part of the artistic process?
I love doing the research, but painting the faces and
eyes is the most fun part—I’m able to get to know my
models in an intimate way.You were raised in Columbus, Georgia. How did
growing up in the South shape you?
It shaped my identity, my work ethic. It infl uenced
how I saw myself, which wasn’t always positive. When
I moved back to Columbus for four years to care for
family, I thought about who I was in that environment,
and how much I “turned on” around certain people. At
times, I felt I had to prove to others that black people
are better than they thought we were. Acknowledgingthe performative aspects of race and Southernness, I
committed myself to exploring the interiority of black
Americans. I wanted to create unseen narratives.H ow did you determine what you wanted in your
new show?
The show centers around self-love, and blackness—
mostly informed by bell hooks’ 2001 book Salvation:
Black People and Love. I borrow its fi rst chapter for
the title of the show, and hooks’ vocabulary brought
me back to a personal love ethic: loving who I was,
focusing on who I was on the inside and not thinking
about the way that the world sees you.
And Kevin Quashie’s 2012 book, The Sovereignty
of Quiet: Beyond Resistance in Black Culture, informs
my interest in interiority. The fi rst chapter examines
the image of the 1968 Olympics black power salute
as a moment often read as resistance, although John
Carlos and Tommie Smith are silent. There’s an
undercurrent of emotion going on inside of them,
which isn’t always considered.
So, when I began to think about interiority, I’m
like, “That’s what it is.” My portraits are quiet,
but they’re not passive. When you consider the
African-American historical narrative and its
ties to the gaze, a glance could result in pun-
ishment by lynching. I wanted my sitters to
look out and meet your gaze, instead of being
gazed upon. Essentially, that’s the beginning
of selfh ood, a consideration of self which is not
reactionary to your environment.Do you feel pressure to create art with a
social justice bent?
A black person on a canvas is automatically
read as radical. In hindsight, I look back and
I’m like, that’s why my fi gures are gray. I didn’t
want the conversation to be marginalized, and
I had a fear of that, early on. My fi gures needed
to be pushed into the world in a universal way,
where they could become a part of the main-
stream art historical narrative. I knew I didn’t
want it to be about identity alone.What’s next for you?
Right now I’m focused on being in the studio.
The more museum spaces that I can fi ll up, the
more change these paintings can project. They
can be employed in many diff erent ways, but
hanging them on walls in accessible public
spaces is essential. If you know African-Amer-
ican history, then you recognize the power of
their presence.Like many of her
works, A single
man in posses-
sion of a good
fortune takes its
allusive title from
literature—in
this case, Jane
Austen’s Pride
and Prejudice.
BYLINESArt services coordinator Tiff any Y. Ates
last wrote about Mickalene Thomas.
Miranda Barnes is a Caribbean-American
photographer based in Brooklyn.The girl next
door coyly
challenges a
familiar phrase.
Sherald aims to
“bring the viewer
and the fi gure
to a place of
introspection,”
she says.