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“The [congregation] themselves looked up
and said, ‘Why is this here? This is what those
people stand for; and this symbol in a church
is an impediment to worship.’ And so they took
out the windows and made a decision to put
something else in.” Mellon is helping fund the
new window installation, which will include an
inscription of a new poem by Alexander.
The poet’s ascent to the leadership of one of
America’s richest philanthropies was in some
ways unlikely and in others, very unsurprising.
Raised in Washington, D.C., by a lawyer father—
he was the first Black Secretary of the Army—
and an academic mother, she grew up steeped
in politics and social change. Her brother
Mark was an adviser to the Obama presidential
campaign. She’s an artist, or as she
calls it “an organizer of words.” She
published her first book of poetry,
The Venus Hottentot, when she was
just 28 years old, and five more since.
She’s been a finalist for a Pulitzer
(twice), and she read at the 44th
President’s first Inauguration.
And then there’s her academic
career—Alexander taught at Yale
University for 15 years, and headed
up its African American studies
department for four. An unexpected
stint at the Ford Foundation while
she was teaching at Columbia led
to the top job at Mellon. She says
she still misses the rhythms of the
classroom—she has new-school-year
energy every September—but feels
very mission-driven.
Mellon has increased its giving to
rebuild arts and cultural organizations
and communities hollowed out by
the pandemic, and is boosting access
to books and education in prisons.
“These are opportunities that could
end tomorrow,” Alexander says. “So
I am trying to do it as intensely as I
can, as bountifully as I can, as well as
I can, as sharply as I can, because I
know it’s not going to be forever.”
Alexander got a hard lesson on the
nonforever nature of life 10 years ago,
when her husband Ficre Ghebreyesus,
an Eritrean painter and chef, died
suddenly while exercising. They had
two pre-teenage sons. Ghebreyesus,
who eschewed self-promotion to
paint more, was not a well-known
artist in his life, but this year his
work will be featured in the Venice
Biennale. “A responsibility that I was
left with is: What do I do with almost
a thousand paintings?” Alexander
says. “I certainly never took my eye
off that ball, because I knew that
his work had something profoundly
beautiful to share.”
Although she no longer has time
to write poetry, Alexander believes
The Trayvon Generation springs from
the same well. “Art and history are
the indelibles,” she writes. “They
outlive flesh. They offer us a compass
or a lantern with which to move
through the wilderness and allow
us to imagine something different
and better.”
‘Art and
history are the
indelibles.’
—ELIZABETH ALEXANDER
DEMETRIUS FREEMAN—THE NEW YORK TIMES/REDUX
