Native

Tributes pour in for New Orleans native and ‘Mr. Big Stuff’ singer Jean Knight

Tributes pour in for New Orleans native and ‘Mr. Big Stuff’ singer Jean Knight

FOR NEW ORLEANS NATIVE WHO WAS KNOWN FOR BIG SOUL HIT THE BIG STUFF. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? JEAN KNIGHT PASSED AWAY LAST WEEK AT THE AGE OF 80. SHE WAS THE POWERHOUSE VOCALIST BEHIND MR. BIG STUFF, WHICH WAS A A CHART TOPPING ANTHEM IN THE 1970S. SHE OFTEN PERFORMED AT ESSENCE AND JAZZ FEST OVER THE YEARS, ALWAYS SHOWI

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New Orleans native and ‘Mr. Big Stuff’ singer Jean Knight dies at 80

The Grammy nominated singer was most known for her hit “Mr. Big Stuff.”

Tributes are pouring in for the New Orleans singer Jean Knight. She passed away Nov. 22, 2023 at the age of 80. She is a New Orleans native and has become an integral part of the city’s musical legacy. She often performed at local events like Essence Fest and Jazz Fest. Jean Knight was well-known for her top hit, Mr. Big Stuff. This song was #2 on Billboard in 1971 and since then, it has been sampled more than 50 times for other songs and heard in numerous films and commercials. Other notable singles include “My Toot Toot,” “You Think You’re Hot Stuff,” “Carry On,” “Helping Man,” “Do Me,” “Jesse Joe (You Got to Go)” and more.A statement from her family says in part “Jean Knight’s legacy is not just a musical one; it is a testament to the enduring love between an artist, her hometown, and the fans who adored her. As we bid farewell to this iconic soulstress, New Orleans and her global fan base join together in gratitude for the indelible mark she left on the world.”The family requests privacy at this time.

Tributes are pouring in for the New Orleans singer Jean Knight. She passed away Nov. 22, 2023 at the age of 80. She is a New Orleans native and has become an integral part of the city’s musical legacy. She often performed at local events like Essence Fest and Jazz Fest.

Jean Knight was well-known for her top hit, Mr. Big Stuff. This song was #2 on Billboard in 1971 and since then, it has been sampled more than 50 times for other songs and heard in numerous films and commercials. Other notable singles include “My Toot Toot,” “You Think You’re Hot Stuff,” “Carry On,” “Helping Man,” “Do Me,” “Jesse Joe (You Got to Go)” and more.

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A statement from her family says in part “Jean Knight’s legacy is not just a musical one; it is a testament to the enduring love between an artist, her hometown, and the fans who adored her. As we bid farewell to this iconic soulstress, New Orleans and her global fan base join together in gratitude for the indelible mark she left on the world.”

The family requests privacy at this time.

Lauren Good Day Is Making Wearable Native Art

Lauren Good Day Is Making Wearable Native Art
A woman wearing her long dark hair in two braids poses for a portrait. She is wearing an outfit inspired by traditional tribal regalia..
Photo-Illustration: by The Cut; Photos:Debbie Black Hawk

Lauren Good Day got her introduction to Native art at 6 years old, when her mom taught her how to bead her first bracelet. As a Arikara, Hidatsa, Blackfeet, and Plains Cree teen in North Dakota, she became a sought-after designer of tribal regalia, including jingle dresses, shawls, and intricately beaded moccasins, for powwow dancers. “I made a decent amount of money too!” she says. After college, Good Day spent a decade showing her traditional Native drawings at galleries and selling her work; then, in 2019, she launched her first ready-to-wear collection based on her art. She’s since collaborated with brands like Sephora, Prados Beauty, and Sackcloth & Ashes. 

Her latest fall line — sold exclusively on laurengoodday.com — mimics traditional buffalo-robe paintings and features her original ledger art. (After the Civil War, Native artists and historians who drew on animal hides adopted ledger pages as a new medium.) Natives on horseback parade across one black satin maxi dress with puffed sleeves; a moss-green frill-neck top stands out for its elegant motif of elk teeth. “I’m always updating our traditional dress with digital prints and new textiles,” Good Day says, “but the root of my aesthetic is who we are as a people and a culture.” She lives in Bismarck, North Dakota, with her husband and three children, who are between 2 and 10 years old. Here’s how she gets it done.

On her morning routine: 
First things first: I get the kids up and get them ready. I always joke that I’m a mom all day and an artist by night. We usually start the morning this way: We pray and we smudge. Basically, that means we smoke ourselves off with our traditional plant medicines, which would be sage, cedar, and sweetgrass. We also pray that we’re kind and that kindness, luck, and good fortune come to us. We ask that we’re protected as we go about our day.

On what gets her through the day:
I’m a coffee lover and maybe even an addict. I was using artificial creamer until I realized how bad it is for you. So now, I make black coffee and add my protein shake for the cream. I have to be careful about sweeteners because Native people are more prone to diabetes — my mom and grandmother had it.

On her evening routine: 
The majority of my creative work happens after we have dinner as a family and put the kids to bed around 8:30. Many times, I’ll work on original art at night. I might dive into a beadwork project, which will later be turned into a print and pattern for my clothing. Or sometimes, I’ll get online and answer customer-service emails or update the website. On a good night, I go to bed at midnight. But sometimes, I’m up until 3 a.m.

On powwow dancing and staying fit: 
I love the stair-stepper because it has really helped prepare me as a powwow dancer. Powwow is our cultural celebration of life. I know dancers who train all year just to keep themselves in shape. Most days, I do anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes on the stair-stepper, and then I do some light weight lifting. As a mother, I have to make sure that I’m keeping my body healthy.

I call my husband a “powwow dad” because he helps me get our three kids ready to dance. I’m braiding hair, while he’s putting them into leggings and dresses. My husband once asked me, “Do you ever get nervous going out there and dancing in front of all those people?” I was like, “I never thought about it that way.” I guess it’s just natural to me. My mom took me to powwow before I could even walk. I’ve seen the celebrations get larger since then, too. Native families who were put in metropolitan areas to assimilate into white culture because of the Indian Relocation Act are finding powwow as a way to connect to their people. It’s one way our aesthetic culture is alive and thriving. If it wasn’t for powwow, I wouldn’t be where I am today as an artist.

On launching her first collection: 
For start-up funding, I put in $5,000 of my savings from selling my art, and my mother contributed the other half. It was a fairly small collection, eight pieces, and I launched on social media. I had a base audience of connections and friends from the Native powwow community. But still, I had no idea how it would hit with people or in the market. The pieces sold out and I restocked twice. I reinvested the money into my business, and after the launch of my second collection, my mom and I went out to dinner to celebrate.

On being flexible: 
My timeline is very fluid. I’m not a super-hard planner. I’ll be like, “I’m going to get my fall collection out sometime in September or October — around then.” This is something that I could improve on, I guess. It’s the nature of Native culture. There are certain times to do ceremonies, and those times are strict, but what we do as a people in our daily lives is more like, “It will get done when it’s meant to get done.I love having the freedom to work on my terms as an artist. Maybe I don’t want to deal with the website right now, so I will go and work on a drawing. I can decide when I want to be creative or when I just want to spend time with my family.

On doing business with her community: 
I always try to work with other Native people to contribute to the Native economy. I have two employees: One of them is my husband, Bryce DeCory, and the other is my cousin Debbie Black Hawk, who is my assistant and photographer. When I do a shoot, I always try to work with Native models. And whenever I do really well with a new collection, I give back to other individual Native artists by purchasing some of their work.

On embracing her inner Auntie: 
I’m 36. One of my younger models called me an “Auntie” recently, and I was like, “What? Auntie?” But I have come to terms with getting into the middle range of life. This is my time. I’m finding a lot of success. I’m shining. In Native culture, you become an Auntie to a lot of people, whether you’re directly related to them or not. In my role as a Native woman designer and artist, I also need to remember to encourage our youth.

On the moment she felt like she made it:
Seeing my artwork at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C., was a highlight. My piece was ledger artwork and called Independence Day Celebration. I actually come from a historical ledger artist named Bloody Knife, and his art is in the museum too.

On banishing self-doubt: 
Whenever I start doubting myself, I quickly change my thought pattern into positive thinking. And I’m a firm believer that what you put out there — whatever you think or say — will happen. If I start to think people aren’t going like this design or it won’t sell, I’m like, “No! People are going to feel empowered wearing it. They will be proud of who they are when they put this on. Or they will appreciate it if they’re not Natives.”

On cultural appropriation versus appreciation: 
People ask me about this on the daily. When you purchase directly from a Native artist or a designer, that’s cultural appreciation. When someone asks me, “But can I wear this dress? I’m not Native,” I tell them what I sell is always appropriate ready-to-wear. I would never create anything out of sacred pieces. It’s appreciation when you contribute directly to the Native community.

On the people who help her get it done: 
I have one part-time person who comes in and does maintenance for our studio space and the fulfillment area in the basement. My children model for me, and they’re also fit models for clothing. I did a campaign called “Indigenous Barbie,” and my two daughters are featured in it. My kids are such a driving force with my artwork because I create to keep our culture alive and available for the next generations.

Lauren Good Day Is Making Wearable Native Art

Bad Bunny Gives An Exclusive Tour Of His Budding Sports, Fashion And Entertainment Empire

Bad Bunny Gives An Exclusive Tour Of His Budding Sports, Fashion And Entertainment Empire
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The Puerto Rican artist has expertly harnessed the power of music streaming and social media to become one of the most famous musicians on the planet. After partnering with companies like Gucci, Adidas and WWE, he’s wielding his fame to become a global brand.


It’s 11:30 p.m. on October 12, and the José Miguel Agrelot Coliseum in San Juan, Puerto Rico, is packed. More than 16,000 Bad Bunny superfans have gathered to become the first people on the planet to hear their hometown hero’s new album. Nobody knows what to expect.

Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, is a boundary-defying artist whose previous four studio albums have spanned hip-hop, reggaeton, Latin pop, Puerto Rican trap and Mexican country music. Tonight’s crowd embodies that vast spectrum: Hundreds are dressed in the white T-shirts and flat-brimmed blue caps from his recent song “Un Preview.” Others sport the cowboy hats from “Where She Goes.” Many simply wear bunny ears.

“I listened to a lot of salsa on my dad’s side, lots of ballads and merengue on my mom’s side. But being a ’90s kid, reggaeton and rap too,” says Bad Bunny in an interview in his native Spanish. “There’s lots of artists from different genres, countries and times that I feel are within me.”

If there’s one constant about Bad Bunny, who is 29, it’s that whatever he creates becomes a world- wide hit. Over the last three years, the alumnus of the 2019 Forbes 30 Under 30 list has been Spotify’s most-streamed artist, with 35.9 billion plays. His YouTube channel has attracted more than 32 billion views—more than those of Justin Bieber, Ed Sheeran and, yes, Taylor Swift. He has won three Grammys and 11 Latin Grammys. In April, he made history as the first Latin artist to headline the Coachella music festival.

And he’s done it all while singing solely in Spanish. “Spanish is part of me, it’s in my DNA,” he says. “I like speaking it wherever I go—not to force it on people, but because it’s who I am.”

It has made him extremely wealthy. Last year, Bad Bunny earned an estimated $88 million (pretax) from world tours, billions of streams and high-profile brand deals with the likes of Adidas and Corona. That performance was good enough for a debut in the No. 10 spot on Forbes’ Highest- Paid Entertainers list.

“It’s not about the money all the time,” he says about how he picks partners. “It’s about how much I love the brand and how much they’re going to respect my creativity.”

Back in the arena, the audience explodes as Bad Bunny descends from the ceiling, perched atop a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.

Tonight, the musician is wearing a fitted burgundy suit with a white button-down shirt open halfway. His face is covered in a mask reminiscent of Spider- man’s, but black with glowing red eyes. “I’m very shy about playing new songs that haven’t been released yet,” he says. He hits play on his iPhone and the listening party for his album Nadie Sabe lo que va a Pasar Mañana (No One Knows What Will Happen Tomorrow) Berupts.

Despite not knowing any of the lyrics, the crowd screams and dances to the new tracks. Bad Bunny doesn’t sing, save for the two songs from the album that he released earlier in the year. His face remains shrouded until after the clock hits midnight, whereupon he pulls off his mask to re- veal his new buzz cut, which, like the new album, pays homage to the early trap-style music that first shot him to global fame.

Bad Bunny is the archetype of a modern pop idol—a truly global artist who harnesses the vast reach of streaming services and social media to deliver what was once regional music to billions of listeners. “He has a finger on the pulse of culture like no one else,” says Jeremy Erlich, Spotify’s head of music. “He’s dictating what culture becomes.”

Streaming is making the world smaller. Over the last five years, Spotify has seen a 170% surge in streams of Latin music, a genre that—along with other styles including West African Afro- beats and K-pop—has hooked hundreds of mil- lions of new listeners thanks to viral memes on Instagram and TikTok and streaming services like Spotify, Pandora and Apple Music. Says Spotify’s Erlich: “The historic Anglo dominance of music is getting broken down at a crazy pace.”

Bad Bunny hasn’t limited himself to music. Earlier this year, he appeared in the Amazon Prime film Cassandro. In October, he did double duty as the host and musical guest of Saturday Night Live. A digital version of Bad Bunny is body-slamming opponents in the blockbuster wrestling video game WWE 2k23. All this in a year that he had declared a time of rest.

His broad appeal allows him to move effortlessly from WWE cage matches to Italian couture. This fall, he appeared in Gucci ads, promoting its high-end Savoy luggage alongside supermodel Kendall Jenner. In the past he has partnered with Crocs, the cult rubber clog company, dropping a line of glow-in-the-dark shoes in 2020. They quickly sold out. Also sold out was his latest shoe with Adidas, the $160 “Paso Fino” trainer.

That was Bad Bunny’s 14th sneaker with the German athleticwear firm. Other shoe brands approached him, but only Adidas offered artistic control. “He inspires so many not just locally, but around the world,” says Torben Schumacher, global general manager of Adidas Originals.

Before he was a worldwide superstar, Bad Bunny was simply Benito, an audiovisual communications student at the University of Puerto Rico at Arecibo. When he wasn’t in class, he bagged groceries at Econo stores and created Latin trap songs he’d upload to SoundCloud.

Everything changed in 2016, when his trap single “Soy Peor” (“I’m Worse”) transformed Bad Bunny into a household name. Full-force fame came with the release of “Diles Remix” the same year. By 2018 he was collaborating with some of the biggest names in music, including Drake, Cardi B and J Balvin. Just weeks before the Covid-19 lockdowns, he joined Shakira and Jennifer Lopez for the 2020 Super Bowl halftime show in Miami. During quarantine, he livestreamed on Instagram, where he has 46.8 million followers, and put out his collaboration-filled album Las que no Iban a Salir (The Unreleased).

“[I] can live off music,” he says. But he won’t settle for just that. There will be more surprising brand partnerships, acting gigs—and, down the road, his own fashion brand. All while never forgetting Puerto Rico.

His native island is central to his image—and his business. In 2021, he became co-owner of the Santurce Cangrejeros, a local pro basketball team. To support homegrown talent, he has started a sports management agency called Rimas Sports.

He’s building a charity arm, too. In 2018 he created the Good Bunny Foundation, a San Juan nonprofit that supports artistic and sports opportunities to children in Puerto Rico. It has given away roughly $2 million over the last two years. “In the absence of the government, it is artists that end up fulfilling those roles,” he says.

Whether Bad Bunny has the multidecade staying power of Madonna or Prince remains to be seen. But don’t expect him to spend too much time chilling out poolside at one of his mansions. He feels his obligation to those millions of fans, online and off. “Fame,” he says, “pushes me to keep working.”

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Sergio García Sánchez’s “Ready to Soar”

Sergio García Sánchez’s “Ready to Soar”

Sergio García Sánchez’s “Ready to Soar”

The artist discusses rhythm, rigor, and the linguistic capabilities of art.

November 27, 2023

Dancers and musicians can be seen practicing in the Juilliard School at night.

In the city, poetry is everywhere. It’s interwoven with the dense urban fabric of the everyday, present in the mundanities of human coexistence and in the extremes of creative self-exertion. For the cover of the December 4, 2023, issue, Sergio García Sánchez draws an elegant image of the Juilliard School at Lincoln Center, where musicians and dancers train and strive to develop their art. I talked to the artist about the collective and transformative power of movement, words, and images.

Do other mediums, like music or dance, ever influence your work?

Music is a big influence in my creative life. When I draw, I try to create images endowed with rhythm—it is fundamental to my work. When I was young, I made some narrative pieces inspired by the work of Wim Mertens, specifically his musical performance work “Maximizing the Audience.” And dance is the basis of path-drawing, a narrative concept I use when I make experimental comics.

Prestigious schools like Juilliard are known for their rigor. Do you think competition and pressure to excel are helpful in propelling an artist’s development forward?

Above all, I believe in the pressures you put on yourself as an artist—they are crucial. When I talk to my students, I emphasize that the artist is the one who must impose the constraints on himself when creating. I don’t believe much in competition with the work of others; we compete with ourselves.

You recently have completed some graphic novels made in partnership with other authors. Do such projects start with writers approaching you with a manuscript, or do you seek out authors to bring forth your ideas?

I’m usually the one who initiates, looking for the scriptwriters to develop a story. I just published two graphic novels: “Chassé-croisé au Val Doré,” with Lewis Trondheim, and “Le Ciel dans la Tête,” with Antonio Altarriba. I have done a few books with Lewis; we love coming up with alternative narrative structures and then developing them together. Our new project, for example, is presented in a box: it is four intertwined narratives, each a thirty-two-page comic. Then, what I really like about working with Antonio is the total freedom I have when it comes to composing the page and the narrative structures of the stories he imagines.

You teach and publish in your native Spain but also in France and in other European countries. Do you think visual narratives are a universal language, or do you see specific differences in each culture?

I have always believed that the same narrative can be common in all the cultures in which I have worked as a teacher. That’s a positive aspect of globalization. In fact, as an artist, I really like to work with images without words. For example, in The New Yorker covers, the visual imagery has a universal aspect. Languages often serve as frontiers; images cut across them.

Your cover features a young dancer. Did you always know you wanted to be an artist? When was the first moment you had an inkling it would become your passion and profession?

Yes, since I was very young I have always drawn. My father used to time me while I was making drawings. I remember being an adolescent and seeing the TV series “Fame” in Spain: I understood that there were schools where students and teachers share their creative passions (later I studied Fine Arts and I am a professor at the faculty of Fine Arts at the University of Granada.) Those memories inspired this cover.

For more covers about dance in the city, see below:

Find Sergio García Sánchez’s covers, cartoons, and more at the Condé Nast Store.

Navajo nonprofit taps into kinship to grow Native American-owned businesses

Navajo nonprofit taps into kinship to grow Native American-owned businesses

Of the millions of businesses in the U.S., just 1 percent are owned by Native Americans. A nonprofit of the Navajo Nation has started a unique business incubator to foster economic development without losing Indigenous ways of thinking. KNAU’s Melissa Sevigny reports, Change Labs works not through a mindset of growth, but one of kinship.

On a cattle ranch owned by the Navajo Nation, Leander Guy Thomas hammers horseshoes into shape on an anvil for two horses named Spitz and Thumper. They need fresh shoes every six weeks: “Just like going to the barber, getting your monthly haircut,” Thomas says.

Thomas is one of the only farriers at work in Northern Arizona and he travels for miles to see his four-footed clients. It’s an old school skill but he’s in high demand. “It’s a dying breed, you know. No one wants to do it no more, you know?” he says.

Leander Guy Thomas with one of his clients.

Melissa Sevigny

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KNAU

Leander Guy Thomas with one of his clients.

He’s training his brother-in-law as an apprentice, teaching him not just the blacksmithing but also traditional ways of getting a horse in balance. “Just get the horse in tune with nature,” Thomas says. “There’s a lot of cultural significance that is built in within the horse; if you pick up the feet there and look at the frog there, in our tradition they say that’s part of an arrowhead.”

Thomas was taught those traditions and his skills growing up on the Navajo Nation, but he didn’t know how to turn it into a business until he enrolled in a yearlong crash course run by Change Labs. The nonprofit was founded in 2019 by Heather Fleming, who says it’s uphill work to get silversmiths, sheepherders, and others with traditional skills to see themselves as small business owners.

A new building in Tuba City called the Entrepreneurship Hub offers meeting space and other resources to Native American business owners.

Melissa Sevigny

/

KNAU

A new building in Tuba City called the Entrepreneurship Hub offers meeting space and other resources to Native American business owners.

“In Navajo we don’t have a direct word or concept for ‘entrepreneur’ or ‘business.’ I think that’s part of the challenge; that when we talk about these things, we talk about in the context that it’s something we’re borrowing from another culture,” Fleming explains.

Specifically, from Silicon Valley, where Fleming moved when she was eighteen. She started a company there, swept up in ideals of fast growth and high revenue.
“When I came back to the reservation, initially, I brought all those concepts and ideas with me, and I was frustrated by how slow everything moved, so slow.”

But then she began to feel Silicon Valley could learn something from the Native way of doing business, where bonds of kinship matter more than the bottom line. “Success isn’t necessarily defined by how much money you make,” she says. “Instead, we look at metrics like the impacts that we have on our communities and community wellbeing.”

Racquel Black of Change Labs shows off a coworking space in the Entrepreneurship Hub.

Melissa Sevigny

/

KNAU

Racquel Black of Change Labs shows off a coworking space in the Entrepreneurship Hub.

Change Labs offers aspiring business owners what Fleming calls “culturally relevant support,” like loans that don’t require background or credit checks and workshops on how to file taxes.

A study commissioned by Change Labs found on Navajo land, it takes seven times as long to start a business and costs twice as much as it does off the reservation. Racquel Black, Change Lab’s coworking manager, says, “It’s a really hindering process, it’s a really a daunting process, especially if the steps to get that down aren’t completely clear.”

Black shows off a brand-new building in Tuba City called the Entrepreneurship Hub. It’s got a conference room, Internet, a printer, electricity, and water, all things in short supply on the Navajo Nation. “We want to be a safe space for people who have entrepreneurial aspirations, for them to be able to come here and ask the questions they wouldn’t necessarily ask someone else,” Black explains.

Painter Crystal Dugi in her studio in Tonalea.

Melissa Sevigny

/

KNAU

Painter Crystal Dugi in her studio in Tonalea.

More than sixty Navajo, Hopi, and Salt River Pima have come through the business incubator program, among them Crystal Dugi, who turned to art after receiving a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. “I chose painting because it was something that didn’t require any practice yet,” she says. “It was something I could do just comfortably and follow my own guidance, and it blossomed into what I have now.”

Happiness is her metric for success, and enough income to pay for her bills and medication. She says she’s achieved that by auctioning her art on Facebook and dreams of opening a gallery someday.

“There’s no pressure to become a multi-million dollar company in so many years. The goal is to get there as a business. The goal is a mutual community of businesses to come together and create a network of people that are going to be successful,” she says.

A network of people that don’t have to leave Native land to find work, but can stay and run businesses of their own, walking a path that goes back for generations.

Peninsula artist to exhibit work at leading arts fair in Miami, Fla.

Peninsula artist to exhibit work at leading arts fair in Miami, Fla.

PORT TOWNSEND — Egor Shokoladov, one of Northwind Art’s local Artist Showcase program participants, has been accepted to Art Basel Miami, a gigantic art fair set for Dec. 6-10.

The south Florida event, considered the leading art festival in the Americas, will show work from 277 galleries around the world. Last year, organizers reported attendance of 76,000 people.

“We are very excited about this opportunity,” Shokoladov said through his interpreter, who is also his wife Alina.

Shokoladov applied to Art Basel Miami on the advice of an art curator friend, Yuliya Sysalova, whom he got to know via Instagram. After seeing his work, Sysalova urged him to enter the huge fair.

The Shokoladovs are preparing to go together to Miami to present his artwork in the Synergy exhibition, one of the many shows at Art Basel Miami.

Shokoladov grew up in the small town of Grodno in Belarus and received his master of fine arts degree at Yanka Kupala State University there.

His native language is Russian; he’s in the process of learning English.

The Shokoladovs moved to Port Angeles in 2020 when Alina, who is a pharmacist, took a position at the Rite Aid there. Alina had come to the United States when she accepted a postdoctoral fellowship at Washington State University.

Soon after arrival on the North Olympic Peninsula, the pair met Ken Hulick, manager at Northwind Art’s Jeanette Best Gallery. After seeing Egor Shokoladov’s artwork — including his hand-colored etchings — Hulick invited him to apply to the juried Artist Showcase program.

Shokoladov has had his work at Jeanette Best Gallery, 701 Water St., ever since.

“People stop in their tracks when they see his creations,” said Northwind Art Communications Manager Diane Urbani.

“Sometimes they laugh out loud, or they just say, ‘Wow,’ and call their friends over to see it,” she added.

The Artist Showcase program displays the work of 24 local artists. This is the first time one has been accepted into an art festival on the scale of Art Basel Miami, Hulick said.

“Egor’s work has an Old World sensibility. Yet the whimsical nature and superb execution stand out and speak to today’s collectors,” he noted.

Shokoladov has eight of his hand-colored etchings in the Showcase gallery. In the adjacent room, in Northwind Art’s juried show titled “Small Expressions,” he has “Hoo,” his etching of an owl beneath a starry sky.

“I am particularly inspired by humor,” Shokoladov, 33, said, adding he seeks to “bring positive vibes into the world.” His style “has noticeable European shade, as I am a recent immigrant.”

Shokoladov pieces on view at Northwind’s gallery include “Newton,” his comical image of a worm connected to the apple that helped Isaac Newton discover gravity.

Then there’s “Lepidopterist,” a scene of a butterfly collector with a collector of humans standing behind him. Nearby, “Sleepwalker” pictures a figure walking high above a town, the golden crescent moon at his back.

Hulick, for his part, said he’s delighted to be able to continue sharing Shokoladov’s work at the gallery in Port Townsend.

“It’s sometimes hard to quantify ‘talent,’” he added, “but Egor is one of the most talented artists I’ve seen in my decades of gallery work — his vision, technique and artistic sensibilities are rare today.”

“Hoo” is among the Egor Shokoladov etchings on view at Jeanette Best Gallery in downtown Port Townsend. (Northwind Art)

“Hoo” is among the Egor Shokoladov etchings on view at Jeanette Best Gallery in downtown Port Townsend. (Northwind Art)

To understand Indian art, BN Goswamy often turned to Indian music

To understand Indian art, BN Goswamy often turned to Indian music

There is a painting by Mughal miniaturist Abu’l Hasan of an old, fragile ascetic bent with age facing a fresh pink blossom. The flowers sit cheerfully near the fakir’s feet as life ebbs away from his body.

To most of us, the painting would be a reminder of both the grimness of mortality and the promise of another day. But to art historian BN Goswamy, it held the music of Kumar Gandharva’s timeless rendition of nirgun poetry set to Bhairavi: Bhola Man Jaane Amar Meri Kaya (my foolish mind believes that my body is immortal). Goswamy points out how the achingly beautiful composition speaks of the fragility of life, like “balu ki bheet, pawan ka khamba (walls of sand held up by pillars of wind)”.

“When, being an art historian concerned mostly with paintings as I am, I come upon a group of Virakta Sadhus, suddenly I hear, ‘Yugan Yugan hum jogi (forever I am a yogi)’,” he writes in a tribute to Kumar Gandharva in Kaljayee, a compendium of essays on the great master. This Gandharva, for him, was like the gandharvas in the miniatures he had been researching for decades: a celestial being because he sang of maya and myths.

Goswamy, who passed away mid-November, was an exceptional art historian who could bring traditional Indian art alive, with great erudition but also with ease, humour and empathy. He was what you would call an art sleuth, a discoverer who peeled back layer after layer of meaning in miniatures to understand what the image meant, how the artist lived and created, and how wondrous it all was.

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The scholar’s wide-eyed engagement with miniature was not insular, it found fascinating links with many things around him – dance, music, classical theatre, textiles, armoury, the life of curio dealers and a hundred things that seemed to belong to disparate worlds. The Barahmasas, a poetic form relating to seasons, for instance, meant many things to him – it was the depiction of monsoons miniatures, it was poetry and folk music, and also the dance of a bereft nayika.

“He was a true, modern-day heir to the lost Indian tradition of an integrated thinking on arts, wherein visual arts, poetry, music and dance were in constant dialogue with each other,” said arts scholar Ashok Vajpayee. “Strikingly for our times, he took to poetry, music and dance to explain the subtleties of paintings. It reminded the moderns that a great art that from a few centuries ago could be equally complex and multifaceted.”

Realm of ideas

It was a sunny spring day with bright blue skies when Bharatanatyam dancer Malavika Sarukkai met Goswamy at the Rietberg Museum in Zurich. He was there working with his long-time collaborator, the German art historian Eberhard Fischer, and Sarukkai was there to perform.

“I was amazed by his scholarship because it was profound and, at the same time, accessible,” recalled Sarukkai. “We would spend evenings having long conversations about the arts, sculpture, dance and music and then stumble on a painting that could have links with dance.”

BN Goswamy with Bharatanatyam dancer Malavika Sarukkai. Courtesy: Malavika Sarukkai.

Thus began an unusual creative collaboration between a classical dancer and an art historian that was to span more than two decades. They went on to stage 10 presentations where Goswamy would speak of miniatures and Sarukkai would follow with a dance performance that illustrated the talk. These works centred on eclectic themes – Ramayana, Bhagavata Purana, Chola bronzes, gods, demons, lotuses, Sufis, love and detachment. Urdu and Persian poetry that the historian was passionate about would often make their way in.

Next year, in March, the two were to present another of these conceptual works.

“He knew dance conceptually, if not technically,” said Sarukkai. “After the performance, we would sit and talk and his comments came from a very truthful perspective, they were informed and they had great honesty and integrity.”

It was at the Experimental Theatre of the National Centre for Performing Arts in Mumbai that this unusual series took wing under the aegis of Sahachari Foundation headed by Nilima Kilachand. These were not literal collaborations but more in the realm of ideas.

“He would share a miniature with me and ask, ‘What do you think?’” Sarukkai recalled. “It would trigger something in me, something like an epiphany. The greatest joy of working with him was that nothing was linear for him. He delighted in finding connections between things that were seemingly unconnected and found it rewarding to be taken on a route of imagination. In dance too, we constantly see unseen things. We both wandered a lot and sometimes our paths crossed. There were fine capillaries of connection and he delighted in these.”

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Goswamy never missed the intermingling of philosophies in traditional Indian arts. A favourite anecdote of his was about his first close encounter with Koodiyattam, the ancient Sanskrit theatre tradition of Kerala. Watching the painstakingly long hours of the troupe’s make-up regimen that preceded the performance, he asked the guru: Why wouldn’t the artistes use modern, faster tools of makeup? “Because that is how long it takes us to go from the world of mortals to the land of the gods,” the artist replied.

This answer for him held the seeds of how time or kaala is treated in Indian arts, demanding patience and mindfulness.

In 2005, Goswamy recommended to the then Unesco-supported Parzor Foundation that the endangered tappa, an electrifyingly complex Hindustani classical form, be recorded in the voice of its exponent, the great vocalist Shanno Khurana. He wrote an inlay card for the CD, An Act Of Shoring Up, punning on the name of tappa’s best-known 18th century composer, Shori Mian. “He felt that the form had to be documented before it was too late,” said Naman Ahuja, art historian, curator and grandson of Khurana. “He had the capacity to think interdisciplinary. He also changed the whole way of presenting Indian art in a narrative structure with his path-breaking 1985 exhibition, Rasa, where he went beyond the obvious to show emotions that are rarely explored otherwise in the presentation of navarasas.”

Goswamy was dedicated to the arts but he was also fascinated by the hands, feet, minds and faces of those that imagined and created it. Among his most famous discoveries was Manaku, the 18th-century Pahari miniaturist, overshadowed by his better-known brother Nainsukh. What sort of a man was he, how did he create such works of beauty of minutiae? Did he have a still, clear mind “like a flickerless lamp in a windless room”? Was he arrogant? Humble? These bothered him as much, he said, as the analysis of Manaku’s bewilderingly beautfiul works.

In an essay in his book Conversations, Goswamy talks of the concept of Vishwaroopam – Vishnu as the magnificent and fearsome creator and destroyer of worlds – depicted by Rajasthani, Pahari, Kashmiri, Maratha and southern artists. “Each artist must have discovered something of himself, gained some glimpse of the mysterium magnum that life is and the universe consists of,” he wrote.

It was this Vishwaroopam he nudged Sarukkai to create in her dance. “He knew of this magical world and he was generous with it,” she said. “He would nudge me to do what I thought I could not because it was in the realm of philosophy. He said why not look at the idea of Devi and send me a painting. And I would work and create a new movement vocabulary. The same happened with Varaha avatara (Vishnu as a boar). The images would bring the myth alive.”

Though not with the frequency as he did with Sarukkai, Goswamy also collaborated with other artistes such as Bharatanatyam dancer Rama Vaidyanathan and Odissi danseuse Sujata Mohapatra.

As a speaker, Goswamy was nothing short of a performer himself, delivering short dramatic pauses, making gasp-worthy revelations and raising rhetorical questions to keep the audience enraptured even when he was doing something academic like establishing a miniaturists oeuvre.

“He was a fabulous performer and that appealed to the artist in me,” said Sarukkai.

Malini Nair is a culture writer and senior editor based in New Delhi. She can be reached at writermalini@gmail.com.

Southeast Asian and Latin American artists united in tropical storm at National Gallery Singapore

Southeast Asian and Latin American artists united in tropical storm at National Gallery Singapore

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The Mexican revolution was finally over. The civil wars and agrarian uprisings that overthrew a dictator and established a constitutional republic ushered in a new era of Mexican nationalism. In Frida Kahlo’s “Self-Portrait with Monkey” (1945), the artist, dressed in a robe from the indigenous Tehuana people of Mexico, trusty spider monkey at her shoulder, throws us a haughty glance from under her unibrow. Celebrating pre-colonial cultures and female empowerment, this self-portrait captures a mood of defiance and confidence.

Contrast this with “Self-Portrait” (1958) by Patrick Ng, rendered a year after the Federation of Malaya, formerly British Malaya, became independent. The artist, a Chinese man, has depicted himself as a Malay woman. The queering (from man to woman, Chinese to Malay) makes this a slippery painting. On one level, it seems to be expressing ambivalence about “Malayanisation”, a national development programme to build a homogenous identity in a multiracial state. But it could also be read as a vision of a future society of radical fluidity, where typical markers of identity can be transcended.

Two self-portraits made during periods of national transformation; two very different moods. They are placed side by side in Tropical: Stories from Southeast Asia and Latin America at National Gallery Singapore, billed as the first major comparative survey of art from the two regions. One of its propositions is that self-portraiture was a strategy that artists from both sides of the globe used to comment on societal change and to imagine new worlds.

A woman with long dark hair and a brown caftan with yellow details looks knowingly at the viewer
Patrick Ng Kah Onn’s self-portrait twists both his gender and his ethnicity

But is this a strategy exclusive to these regions? Self-portraits have everywhere and always offered commentary and vision. Beyond this, the show connects the art from diverse territories under a grand narrative of anti-imperialist resistance and sundry other rebellions. Besides self-portraiture, other threads in the show include the incorporation of local traditions, such as in the stacked totems of Rubem Valentim that reference Afro-Brazilian customs, as well as the innovative use of crafts, as seen in Barbara Sansoni’s geometric handwoven textile works suspended from the ceiling.

To unite all this, the curators propose a concept called “Tropical”, described as a “defiant attitude” that “allowed for the most imaginative possibilities to emerge even from the most trying of circumstances”. While not very illuminating (even verging on reductive, as it suggests that equatorial types are governed by their passions), it does generate an atmosphere of solidarity: the tropical as a hothouse space of restless ferment and unruly fecundity.

Is this convincing? Only if you take “tropicality” as a poetic mood or a speculative proposition, which allows for some fudging of timescales and the fusing of diverse liberatory struggles. The sweeping concept takes some serious creative licence and does not properly account for global conditions. The curators propose that although independence in both regions happened at different periods — most of Latin America between 1808 and 1826, south-east Asia between 1945 and 1957 — their art histories followed similar trajectories and can be mapped on to each other. But as this is mostly a 20th-century painting show, the Latin American artists are mischaracterised by this line of reasoning; by that time, some of them were fighting local dictators rather than colonial overlords.

Oil painting of a woman with extremely prominent brows and a monkey on her shoulder
‘Self-Portrait with Monkey’ (1945) by Frida Kahlo was painted at a moment of nationalist fervour © Bank of Mexico Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo Museums Trust. Photo: National Gallery Singapore

But this is an ambitious and meaningful project. As interest in the art from the Global South grows, there is particular focus on south-to-south exchanges. Here, two regions occupying peripheral roles within a “global” history of Eurocentric modernism have placed themselves centrestage. White people are not invited, with the exception of Paul Gauguin, who opens the exhibition as a common enemy. His “Poor Fisherman” (1896), showing a naked native from French Polynesia drinking from a coconut shell, exemplifies lingering stereotypes of the tropics as idle, primitive and backward.

Over the course of the show, this trope gets soundly rebutted by more than 200 artworks showing labour, resistance and futuristic visions of Global South solidarity (even before the term was coined). The argument is borne out in three sections, roughly chronological in order. The Myth of the Lazy Native explores how artists resisted European representations of colonial subjects in a series of figurative paintings that celebrate local life, industry and cultures. Here, we have a Brazilian fruit-seller on a boat with a wonderful expression of bored disdain (Tarsila do Amaral, “The Fruit Seller”, 1925), a Mexican woman making tortillas (Diego Rivera, “Woman Grinding Maize”, 1924) and a street-theatre performance in Jakarta (Hendra Gunawan, “Monkey Dance”).

Oil painting of a man in a straw hat sitting in a boat filled with oranges and a pineapple, a parrot perched nearby, on the sea
‘O vendedor de frutas’ (‘The Fruit Seller’, 1925) by Tarsila do Amaral © National Gallery Singapore

The second section, This Earth of Mankind, roughly maps on to the post-independence period, in which artists grappled with national identities and melded traditions with experimentation. As part of the exhibition’s populist manoeuvres, a mirror has been put between two Indonesian modern masters for visitors to take selfies. On the left, we have Chinese-born Lee Man Fong’s careful self-portrait dressed in a tropics-appropriate white T-shirt and surrounded by Greek statues, signalling his parity with European traditions; on the right, the Indonesian artist Affandi’s visage composed of chaotic squiggles, achieved by squeezing tubes of paint directly on to the canvas and smudging them around with his fingers. Following them is a pageant of self-portraits that eventually culminates in an exploration of how artists elevated craft traditions to art.

Finally, The Subversive brings us to the present day. This is where the exhibition becomes the most multidisciplinary, with installations, videos and sculpture. Curatorially, it’s a bit of a free-for-all: so long as the artist is challenging something, she’s in. But it ends up being the strongest section. Liberated from a linear narrative, the works speak a language of defiance, fierceness, sensuality and mystery. Bali’s I Gusti Ayu Kadek Murniasih’s sinuous figures with explicit genitalia upend sexual conservatism with joyous lasciviousness.

Imagine lots of loosely painted trumpets poking up and winding around each other
‘Tumbuhan Tropika’ (‘Tropical Growth’, 1968) by Latiff Mohidin © Latiff Mohidin

It is also here that the western category of “art” gets destabilised by Singaporean Malay artist Mohammad Din Mohammad’s talismanic paintings. As a Sufi mystic and healer, his works are packed with pieces of wood, animal bone and shells in crowded compositions which are believed to be therapeutic to the viewer. One wonders whether “tropical” could involve a fusion of different paradigms, such as art, spirituality and medicine, which make up singular practices in the Global South that cannot be easily assimilated into western aesthetic categories? In any case, this exhibition is a starting point for imagining how we can broaden the ways we narrate creative processes from around the world.

To March 24, nationalgallery.sg

Tsuzuri Project donates to Kanazawa College of Art a high-resolution facsimile of Sotatsu’s

Tsuzuri Project donates to Kanazawa College of Art a high-resolution facsimile of Sotatsu’s

Tsuzuri Project donates to Kanazawa College of Art a high-resolution facsimile of Sotatsu’s “Screen with Scattered Fans,” to be displayed to the public with five previous works

TOKYO, November 27 2023—Canon Inc. announced today that the Tsuzuri Project (officially, the Cultural Heritage Inheritance Project), a joint project organized by the Kyoto Culture Association (NPO) and Canon, donated to the Kanazawa College of Art a high-resolution facsimile of “Screen with Scattered Fans” by Tawaraya Sotatsu—the original of which resides in the collection of Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Arts, Washington D.C., U.S.A. —as part of the project’s Stage 16. The facsimile will be displayed to the public at the university from Monday, November 27 to Friday, December 1, 2023, coupled with other five Tsuzuri facsimile screens.

Appearance of the high-resolution facsimile of “Screen with Scattered Fans” on display
Appearance of the high-resolution facsimile of “Screen with Scattered Fans” on display

Screen with Scattered Fans was painted in the Edo period (17th century) and features a number of fan paintings with various motifs, such as The Tale of Hogen, The Tale of Heiji, and Tales of Ise, pasted on a golden folding screen. As the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Art, which houses the original cultural property, forbids the collection to be taken out of the museum in accordance with the will of its founder, the original masterpiece cannot be seen without visiting the site. By producing its high-resolution facsimile, this artwork, considered to be a Japanese historical masterpiece, was “brought back” to Japan.

Canon’s EOS R5 full-frame mirrorless camera was used to capture images of the original work, after which Canon applied its proprietary color matching system and image processing. The facsimile was then output using large-format inkjet printers with 12-color pigment ink. Finally, expert Kyoto craftsmen applied gold to the facsimile and mounted it on folding screen frames, completing an extremely accurate reproduction of the original work. The life and the artworks of Tawaraya Sotatsu, the creator of this work, are said to have had certain ties with Kanazawa City, where the Kanazawa College of Art is located. The university will exhibit the donated work to the public on campus and utilize it in classes.

Considering this donation as an opportunity, from Monday, November 27 to Friday, December 1, including the donated work, a total of six high-resolution facsimile artworks, including “Pine Trees” by Hasegawa Tohaku, who was native to present-day Ishikawa Prefecture, will be exhibited to the public at the university. The originals of them are treated with extra care from the viewpoint of preservation, and opportunities for viewing them are limited. In this public exhibition, however, visitors can view the works up close without glass cases and take photos of them, thus experience them in a way that only high-resolution facsimiles allow.

Exhibition details

Title Masterpieces of Japanese traditional paintings –centered on works of painters related to Ishikawa Prefecture- an exhibition commemorating the donation of the high-resolution facsimile of Sotatsu’s “Screen with Scattered Fans”
Date & Time Monday, November 27 to Friday, December 1, 2023
Venue Kanazawa College of Art (2-40-1 Kodatsuno, Kanazawa-city, Ishikawa Prefecture), Art Commons A (Building 4, 2nd floor)
Exhibition hours 10:00 – 17:00 (1st day: 14:30 – 17:00, last day: 10:00 – 16:00). No closure day
Admission Free
Sponsor Kyoto Culture Association (NPO) and Canon Inc.
Co-sponsor Kanazawa College of Art
Financial support The Hokkoku Shimbun

Tsuzuri Project works to be displayed

A high-resolution facsimile of “Screen of Scattered Fans” (Owned by Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Art. Original creator: Tawaraya Sotatsu)
A work of Tsuzuri Project Stage 16, donated to the Kanazawa College of Art

Tawaraya Sotatsu / Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Gift of Charles Lang Freer, F1900.24

A high-resolution facsimile of “The Wind and Thunder Gods” (A national treasure of Japan. Owned by Kenninji Temple. Original creator: Tawaraya Sotatsu)

A high-resolution facsimile of “Wind God and Thunder God / Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn” (Important cultural properties of Japan. Owned by Tokyo National Museum. Original creator: Ogata Korin / Sakai Hoitsu)1, 2

Wind God and Thunder God
Wind God and Thunder God
Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn
Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn

A high-resolution facsimile of “Pine Forest” (A national treasure of Japan. Owned by Tokyo National Museum. Original creator: Hasegawa Tohaku)1

A high-resolution facsimile of “Cypress Trees” (A national treasure of Japan. Owned by Tokyo National Museum. Original creator: Kano Eitoku)1

A high-resolution facsimile of “Cooling off” (A national treasure of Japan. Owned by Tokyo National Museum. Original creator: Kusumi Morikage)


  • 1.

    Created in the Joint-research Project on the Creation and Utilization of High-resolution Facsimiles of Cultural Properties by The National Institutes for Cultural Heritage and Canon Inc.

  • 2.

    The originals of Wind God and Thunder God / Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn currently exist as two separate pairs of screens for preservation reasons. In the high-resolution facsimile, the two artworks make the front and back side of a pair of folding screens to restore their original figures.

About the Tsuzuri Project

The Tsuzuri Project is a joint social contribution initiative organized by the Kyoto Culture Association (NPO) and Canon. Many of Japan’s precious ancient cultural assets have limited viewing opportunities, often because they have been moved overseas or are preserved in storage as designated national treasures. Combining Canon’s technical expertise in imaging, processing and output with the master craftsmanship of traditional Kyoto artisans, the Project produces high-resolution facsimiles. High-resolution facsimiles are donated to related recipients such as shrines, temples, local governments and museums. These cultural assets are available for a variety of purposes including public display and tangible educational materials. Works from artists including Katsushika Hokusai, Tawaraya Sotatsu and Ogata Korin, have been selected since, with 60 facsimiles produced and donated to date.

For more information, please visit the official Tsuzuri Project website:
https://global.canon/en/tsuzuri/