Hey, It's Bunmi!

August 25, 2020

Anthony Bunmi Akinbola is a multidisciplinary artist who makes use of the readymade to explore the cultural rituals, connections, and conflicts in the fashioning of identity. Employing objects such as Durags, Torino Brushes, and Palm Oil, Akinbola attempts to question what makes an object “Black,” and in turn, what makes him Black.

As a Nigerian American, Akinbola aims to mitigate the separation between Africa and Black America, his works acting as metaphors for what a first generation existence might look like. The Jean-Michel Basquiat to my Glenn O’Brien (socially speaking), Anthony resides in his Brooklyn studio exploring color, texture, and recalling how to live independent of the concept of responsibility. In his spare time, Anthony enjoys cooking, weekend trips to Hudson, and biking through Brooklyn listening to Sade.

Interview by Sebastian Jean
Photos by Matteo Mobilio

We sat down and spoke about ideas for the future and where he sees his work in the conversation of art and global cultures.

How do you define “culture"? Tell me about the cultural impact you see your work having on those who experience and interact with it.

I think the current global culture is a globalized American culture. When you look at apps, brands, celebrities, music, film, etc, the most popular ones tend to be American. China also plays a big role in the production of that “American Culture,” and in turn, both have a codependency when it comes to maintaining this beast called capitalism. It's with that background that I then think of “culture” in its contemporary understanding, as being synonymous with “Blackness.” More specifically, Blackness in America. In that same vein, if American culture has become the dominant culture and within that, Black American culture has become the most popular, then it's really just “Black Culture” that's the global culture. It becomes difficult for me, because with the advent of Black Culture, there is this demonization of these same things being idolized. I think about the ownership and value of tropes like Jordans, Popeyes, Hot Cheetos, Fashion Nova, Colt 45’s, a lot of these things aren't respected in the same way I see my blackness, yet they hold a social currency in this contemporary culture. I remember seeing a white guy walk out of a Popeyes near my old studio in downtown Brooklyn. Based on his accent and how he looked, I could tell he was a tourist from somewhere in Europe. I remember thinking, “what the hell is he doing eating Popeyes,” assuming that maybe Nathan's next door or McDonald's would be the more appropriate establishments for a european tourist in America to eat at. I am still trying to figure out why, you know, why or where that feeling comes from, that feeling of ownership. This notion of black culture being subjected to capitalist structure is a theme I’m continuing to explore.

If you had to localize it, where do you think the root of this understanding lies?

I think it's a symptom of trauma, it's a symptom of, “they’re always taking our shit.” Take Rock and Roll for example. It’s the fear of having these “products” that have an intrinsic cultural value off their proximity to black people, stolen and co-opted by white people in a way where they monetize.

Do those moments of immediate recognition and frustration regarding that ownership as it relates to “the other” make you upset, or is it just something that you realize and then later disregard as maybe being irrational or misguided?

It's interesting, because for me, Popeye's is terrible for you. It will literally kill you. And it's like, “Is that the thing that I want to champion?” I believe there is a cultural significance and value that Popeye’s holds, but I don't think that those things are necessarily worth holding onto. I don't want a fast food franchise that's not even black owned to validate my blackness or my black experience. This plays into ideas we grew up with, where if you're eating vegan or vegetarian, it's some white shit. Even now that I'm making this art, I'm like, “okay, okay, Durags are obviously black,” but how? And that shit makes me sound crazy, but when I really think about it, they're actually American, you know? And so, if the Durag is black and we don't see them in other regions of the world where there are black people, then I think it would be more justifiable to say that they're American, and Americans just happen to be black. I don't know if that's a controversial position to have as a black person but I also know the discourse on what makes something black or not is also very complex and ongoing and it's not something that's just black and white. Everyone experiences blackness differently.

We met in (2015) when you were working on your very first art piece, Target Practice. In that piece, you placed the heads of men of color on our college campus onto shooting targets and included audio where they spoke about their Black experience in America. How has your work and approach developed since then?

I’m expressing some of the same sentiments as I did with the piece Target Practice, but now, as I've developed my visual language, there has become a more subversive way for me to write palatably. There are a lot of white people that see the work, and I know they don’t look at it in the same way a black person would, which is fine because that's specifically why I use the Durags. However, I find myself having to explain to them why I'm using the material. And while it does defeat the purpose, I believe there is a silver lining in being able to educate non-blacks on what a Durag is, so they can understand there's a function and history beyond the crass perception of them “being scary” (somebody really told me that once). It's important to understand the history of the object and how that relates to conversations around accessibility and respectability. It's funny because the Durag was originally created to make you look less threatening and now it's the flip. I want viewing my work to become a spiritual experience outside of the basic, “Okay we get what you're doing,” because Durags are usually seen like this and you've made them look like art, and now they’re “okay” or “this makes sense.” I have Black people talking about their moms, and the hot comb, and matching their shoes, and the nigga they used to work with and “Oh, I actually have this Durag” or “Oh shit, silkies.” It’s like a portal, I feel like black people can walk into my work.

I love that. How do you feel about the lineage of the Durag? Black people have always worn du-rags, but from what I can remember, when I got my first durag in ‘02/’03, there have been so many developments in color, texture, and overall style. Back then, silkies weren’t even a thing and it's just become this super item. Durags are even more “fashion” now.

I think a big part of that is consideration, that evolution also relates to my practice in a very immediate way. When you look at the paintings, you'll see the seam is on the outside and then the Made in China tag is also on the outside, exposed. Durags aren't usually worn with the seam on the inside, because it’ll leave that line on your head. So to see that tags are now being sewn the way they'd sew a t-shirt, where you have the tag hidden, but the seam is still on the outside, shows this consideration of culture. It is nice to see all the new brands, colors and textures. I remember when Durags were just black and maybe you would see a white one once in a while. Now you got violet and turquoise and orange and burgundy. I like walking outside and seeing all the different color Durags I can spot in a day, it’s inspiring.

How has this development in Durags and their cultural status influenced you as an artist? The pieces have ripened so much since you first started working with them as a medium.

I don't usually create a series of work, well at least I wasn't doing it before. I like to make things and move on to the next. All of the works I made prior were all so different from one another. One might be a sculpture, the other might be a video, maybe I’d make a painting or try to figure out a performance somewhere. I still work in that way, but over the past couple years I've felt motivated to continue exploring these Durag paintings and it's kinda hard to stop. Especially when you go to the beauty supply store and they got new colors and patterns you are just seeing for the first time. It's like going to Blick and seeing new paints you haven't used yet or a music producer using a new drum kit. It's exciting to be working with a medium that is constantly evolving and developing. I couldn't have made this work 10 years ago, the variety just wasn't there.

With the Black Lives Matter movement in powerful effect, the legitimacy of how museums, galleries, and other art spaces acquired Black art throughout history continues to be scrutinized. As an artist and a Black man, how do you navigate a desire to be a part of the “art world,” in addition to being aware of the methods in which these art institutions came to be in possession of the Black art in their collections?

I enjoy being around the “Art World” but only for certain moments and from a distance. That environment is fickle and if you don't guard yourself, you can really get caught up.There is a long history of artists being exploited, especially now with this whole “Black Art” boom, it's hard to really feel like people are genuine in their motives. I’ve been much better at vetting people before I give them my time. To be honest, I prefer showing my work in an institutional setting if it's physical objects, and if it's something else, I like just putting it out in the world on my own. I believe it becomes less susceptible to art world politics that way, because if I am going to be a part of those politics, I want it to be on my terms.

You had a show that opened just before COVID-19 hit, at the Museum of Art & Design, and then a solo show that was supposed to happen in April. What can we look forward to as the world opens back up, and what are you looking to explore in your work and approach following these pending exhibits?

Yeah, the title of the show was LOCAL IMPORT, that's really the last thing I remember doing before the lockdown. I am glad people were able to see it before everything closed. I'm currently working on two solo exhibitions I have coming up early 2021, one at the John Kohler Art Center and the other at False Flag Gallery, which also happens to be my NYC debut. Both shows will run at the same time. I feel like I've just been mining more and more information and trying to make sense of it through the work, hopefully I can continue to concentrate these ideas in a way that I feel might be digestible to my audience. I don't really know what that looks like at this time, but it's definitely just the evolved version of themes and ideas I’ve already been playing with over the past couple of years.

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Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

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The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.