Seeing
the Unspeakable: The Art of Kara Walker
by Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw
Duke University Press, Durham NC, 2005
208 pp., illus. 34 b/w, 10 col. Trade,
$74.95; paper, $21.95
ISBN: 0-8223-3361-9; ISBN: 0-8223-3396-1.
Reviewed by Michael R. (Mike) Mosher
Saginaw Valley State University
mosher@svsu.edu
Race is (perhaps tied with class) the
most festishized, contradictory, goofy
and frustrating part of lifeand
especially inner lifein the
United States of America. As a black woman,
Kara Walker was and is faced with taking
on the race thing in a way other richly
imagistic artists like Mike Kelley (from
the thoroughly racialized city of Detroit!)
or Paul McCarthy aren't. Walker grew up
in a relatively benign and multiculturally-accepting
California academic environment and, then,
moved to Stone Mountain, Georgia, a town
whose mountain-sized monument to insurrectionary,
terrorist, and racist Confederate generals
certainly deserves to be dynamited. Instead,
she dynamites the imagery of racism inside
American skulls with her gallery installations.
Walker mines the "done to death" racial
imagery of mammies, masters, rape and
murder, Uncle Tom and the whip, her devilish
cartoons evocative of the Rolling Stones'
"Brown Sugar", where we hear the "scarred
old slaver...whip the women, just around
midnight" Her work is cartoony, bloody,
scatalogical, simplified and broadly guffawing
in a sensationalistic time that lacks
subtlety, a cauldron of creepiness in
which she piles on the transgressions
to evoke our nation's racist past and
continued abuses. She works in silhouette,
a "minor" art form relegated two centuries
ago to women, like quilting or weaving,
long undervalued as Art out of sheer sexism
. . . as was the personal computer in
the 1980s and early 1990s while real men
manipulated 3D graphics on powerful workstations.
Walkers forms are elegantly decadent,
puckish "pickaninnies" in a history book
illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley or Felicien
Rops. Her mannerism may be the appropriate
tone with which to talk about Racethe
American Unmentionablein our
overdetermined era.
Kara Walker's work is environmental, unfolding
upon gallery walls to create a surrounding
cocoon of sly, stark horror. Her 2000
Guggenheim Museum installation "Insurrection!
(Our Tools Were Rudimentary, But We Pressed
On)" even includes additional light projections
on the walls. While Gwendolyn Dubois Shaw
cites the Atlanta Cyclorama as one influence,
she doesn't mention the possible influence
of the black community murals created
by artists of Walker's father's generation.
Jon Onye Lockard's 1980 cycle in the Black
Students' Lecture Hall of the Manoogian
Student Center at Wayne State University
in Detroit is as spatially ambitious as
a Walkerworld, covering walls with symbolic
narratives of the African and African-American
experience, respectively. Unlike that
generation of black artists' positive
Afrocentric imagery or righteously indignant
visual assaults upon oppression, Walker
repeatedly creates a "wall of disrespect".
A Detroit artist who is now about 50 years
old (Mike Kelley's generation), Tyree
Guyton, responded to his city's degradation
by aestheticizing a city block, where
he used abandoned houses as a medium to
paint polka dots upon and set Arman-like
assemblages of junk in front of them.
His piles of shoes harbored rats that
made life more difficult for remaining
neighbors, who resented the gawkers who
rolled down the street, car windows up,
and doors locked.
In 1996 Walker created a watercolor with
the central figure of John Brown, presenting
him as a corpulent, grandfatherly figure;
his broad nose and Ishmael Reed brow suggests
classical representations of Socrates.
She intended to move beyond the traditional
reverence older blacks show for Brown.
Though abolitionists were lampooned in
Spielberg's Amistad, there is much
attractive and morally sound in the "New
Abolitionism" called for in the 1990s
by the journal Race Traitor in
hopes of eradicating white privilege by
eradicating the very notion of "whiteness".
My own respect for the nineteenth-century
abolitionists, for Brown and his righteous
intolerance for injustice, should in no
way restrain Walker or other less reverent
artists from investigating and depicting
this historical personage in whatever
manner. Far beyond the well-behaved Condoleeza
behind President Bush's morally degraded
public discourse, black citizens have
certainly earned the right to be outrageous,
deserving their equivalents of cartoonists
Robert Crumb or S. Clay Wilson (creator
of characters of pirate Captain Pissgums
and his pugnacious nemesis Ruby the Dyke),
and of Johnny Rotten's Sex Pistols blustering
"I'm not an animal!" in the two-chord
abortion narrative "Bodies". Hip hop music
may now be the African American creative
realm that most often surges over the
top. Yet the question about Walker's opus
remains: Is it really outrageous if it
gets her a MacArthur Genius Grant and
numerous museum shows? She commented upon
this contradiction with a 1998 self-portrait
"Cut", where blood spurts from razor-sliced
wrists: Come one and all, and see the
good black girl bleed.
Will Kara Walker's art outlast our visual
culture of Rodney King beaten and Judge
Clarence Thomas' interrogated on his dirty
jokes and videos, of the O.J. and Michael
Jackson trials, of New Orleans citizens
waiting amongst watery corpses for assistance
that won't come? Despite the lessons it
should be offering under dangerously similar
political circumstances, much artwork
created in opposition to the Vietnam war
or in support of Central American struggles
of the 1980s looks very dated today. Perhaps
Walker's work will look dated in 20 or
30 years as racial injustice recedes into
historian memory. Interracial teens cavort
in a Sunday newspaper insert advertising
Target stores' summer shorts and swimsuits
(Walker's own white husband is said to
be supportive but not directly involved
in her career). As we work like Kara Walker
to build a just and post-racist society,
this important artist is discussed thoughtfully
and appreciatively by a serious scholar
in a well-written book.