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Faces of Harlem Transcends Time
Returning for its third year with another series of portraits documenting the Harlem community through public outdoor exhibitions, the organization expanded the number of featured youth photographers this year from three to five. Now registered as a 501c-3 nonprofit, their mission is to provide accessible, cross-generational cultural experiences for communities of color. “We should invest in the medium of photography today, and make sure that we don’t erase our own histories because gentrification is happening before us,” Sade says. “Harlem has been gentrifying so quickly.” Sade, who moved to Harlem in the 90s, sees a parallel between the aims of her work as Chief Curator of Faces of Harlem and the preservative legacy of work by artists like Gordon Parks. “There is no permanency – years down the line, these people may not be there, these places may not be there — but photography is like augmenting time geographically, historically. When we look at photos from 40, 50 years ago, we’re in awe. But that work is happening right now in contemporary photography.”
Photos by Kaila Burke-Ozuna
Photographer Kaila Burke-Ozuna was a part of the Faces of Harlem exhibition in 2022, posing with her father for a portrait by Xavier Scott Marshall. When she realized that the photographers were selected from an open call, she decided to submit herself, leading to an unexpected friendship with Sade. “We talked on the phone after I sent my application, and we ended up being like, ‘Oh shit, we live like three blocks away from each other!’ This woman has been here in my neighborhood for all these years! We just really hit it off, and in the last couple of months, she's turned into a type of life mentor.” This year, Kaila’s work was featured in the exhibition at Morningside Park. She describes her work as “an ode to folk Catholicism and faith in Afro-Caribbean communities in Harlem."
Placing artists and their works in intergenerational conversation with one another is another guiding principle of Faces of Harlem. Japanese-born photographer Katsu Naito moved to Harlem in the 1980s, and has documented for the nearly forty years since. He originally lived on W 112th Street and St Nicholas Avenue, the same block Kaila would grow up on two decades later before the two would exhibit their photos alongside each other.
Photos by Katsu Naito
Sade hopes that as people recognize the archival value of the exhibition, Faces of Harlem will be able to obtain greater financial support from arts institutions. “Funding obviously is key, from organizations and corporations. Unfortunately that has been lacking and it continues to be lacking because what I have seen is that funding is given to bigger organizations which are not necessarily non-profit and not really serving the community in this kind of way,” she says. “From a historical perspective, years from now people will go back and say, ‘Oh my God, we've created a record of who these people were.’ But it takes many, many years for people to appreciate and recognize these kinds of projects.”
Sade and her Co-Curator Madeleine Budd sought to make the works as accessible as possible to a wide audience, inspired by the artistic history of the Harlem Renaissance and the diverse multicultural vibrance of Harlem’s residents.
Uninhibited by the spatial boundaries imposed by a traditional gallery space or arts institution, Faces of Harlem’s street exhibition model allows it to reach members of the community who may not have sought out the arts themselves. Setting the photographs outside of the park allows the exhibition to belong to the public. This “for us, by us” ethos informs the open call and consideration process as well, prioritizing clarity and authenticity of vision over the orthodox and often prohibitive criteria of the fine art world.
Installation photos by Alex Bershaw
A full list of 2023 Faces of Harlem contributors can be found on the Faces of Harlem website.
In De Cara Al Sol, Diego Vourakis Journeys Into the Sun-Tinged Landscape of Cuba
How did Lima and its culture influence your photography while growing up?
I grew up in a very communal environment that had a profound influence on the way I approached photography. When I was a kid, one of my fondest memories was waiting for the clock to strike 4pm. All the kids from the street would call my brother and me to come out and play some activity like “trompo” or “canicas” until it got dark, and our parents would shout for us to come back home. We knew everyone on our street and the next one: our lives revolved around community. Life wasn't easy there; everyone was in similar circumstances, and what we were left with was the need to come together and truly understand the value of having each other. This laid the foundation for my upbringing. Community was incredibly important.
Could you unpack your heritage and what it was like growing up in your country?
Lima is a city where the past and present coexist. While growing up I was exposed to various cultural traditions and festivities that were incorporated in school. For most of my childhood, I lived in a small town on the outskirts of Lima, in the district of Mangomarca. Every summer, during the month of February, all of Peru would celebrate "carnival," a festivity used to mark the last few days before the Lenten season in the Christian calendar. For kids, it was celebrated with an ongoing water balloon fight throughout the month, along with dancing and music. Each region put its own spin on it, making it a lively and colorful celebration. It was my favorite time of the year as a kid! My grandma grew up in Yurimaguas, which is in the northeast of the Peruvian Amazon, and that had a significant influence with Amazonian traditions. These included traditional dances, cuisine, music, and even natural healing practices. It was pretty cool to have been exposed to such a diverse range of customs during my childhood.
What are your key messages that you like to convey in your practice?
A message I always try to convey is intentionality. Taking a photo, for me, is about mutual giving. In some of the most intimate images I've taken, there was a lot of trust involved from both sides. I often ask myself why I take photos, and it's these kinds of projects like De cara al sol that give it meaning. To be able to share photographs that speak a universal language, ones that could influence action, stimulate understanding, or evoke a feeling.
I have always seen this medium as a doorway into sharing my experiences. It is our upbringing and influences that shape our interests and make us unique. From there, each of us take our own paths and become interested in shooting subjects that remind us, in some way, of a part of our past lives or younger selves.
De Cara Al Sol is the title of your new book. What were your inspirations and references?
The title was inspired by one of Jose Marti’s poems, "Versos sencillos XXIII,” which is part of a series of 46 poems. In these verses, Marti talks about his experiences throughout different stages of his life and expresses principles and assessments about nature and poetry. Jose Marti is considered one of the most important figures in Cuba and a key factor in Cuba's fight for independence against Spain. It felt right to pay tribute to his work.
Why Cuba? What aspects do you find compelling?
I discovered a sense of familiarity while in Cuba, it uncovered a childhood feeling that resonated deeply with me. Initially, I had no intention of starting a project about Cuba. However, visiting and immersing myself in their culture sparked a profound curiosity, inspiring the creation of this project. I emphasize this point because I consider it crucial: it's the strong bonds they share and what 'community' truly means to them. It resonated with me, and I felt it deeply. Even as an outsider, they welcomed me with open arms. At its core, Cuba represents the strong sense of community and the love they have for one another. It's a beautiful feeling to be a part of. Their energy is truly magnetic.
What was your key focus while building the book? How long did it take?
A key focus for me was publishing this book under my new creative studio, AMILE, which I founded with two friends. It's the first creative project undertaken by the studio, and it's incredibly exciting to create and publish a book with a team of like-minded creatives. We spent approximately four months designing the book, along with some other projects that coincide with it. It has been a highly rewarding journey. This whole project took approximately three years to create. Most of it is derived from my most recent trip to Cuba. During my initial visits, I focused primarily on absorbing the culture. I realized I had to cultivate a profound knowledge of the island, not only from my point of view as an outsider but also to comprehend the Cuban perspective. This involved building relationships and gathering stories to effectively convey through this book. The objective is to immerse you in a sense of curiosity, encouraging readers to explore further, to draw inspiration from these stories, and ultimately, to visit Cuba. It aims to kindle an interest in the island and its unique charm. It serves as a reminder that, now more than ever, we need each other and a sense of community. The Cubans demonstrated to me how simple happiness can truly be.
There’s a recurrent theme of nature that runs through the book. Why does it play such a huge part?
It naturally evolved this way; I feel most alive and fulfilled when surrounded by nature. I find great peace and clarity within it. It transports me back to a simpler memory of my childhood. Nature has the power to humble and ground you. In Cuba, I felt so attracted to the unique and untouched nature the island holds.
What’s your favorite photograph in the book? Why?
It would have to be the image of the kids in the playground, primarily because of the feelings it evoked while I was there. During my travels in Cuba, various encounters would stir emotions that led to memories from my past. This particular image serves as a vivid reminder of a time when I was a child in Lima and the clock would strike 4pm, and my brother and I would run outside to play with our friends.
What’s next for you?
What's next is our focus on organizing various exhibitions and activations for 'De Cara al Sol' across the US, Mexico, Europe, and the UK, all while sharing these profound stories with the world. I'm also excited about creating more philanthropic projects under AMILE. The two friends I'm starting the studio with bring unique backgrounds to the table, and together, we aim to make a positive impact.
And your future hopes?
I hope that this project has an impact on the Cuban community, initiates meaningful conversations, and inspires other creatives to use their talents to effect change — to use our voices to make a difference. I also hope that 'De Cara Al Sol' marks the beginning of a series of books where I can explore more about other cultures. Aiming to promote cultural understanding and celebrate the richness and diversity of our world.
Unraveling Jean-Luc Verna’s Twin DNA
On the opening night of his solo show in New York, he surprised the audience with karaoke adaptations of Funky Town by American disco-funk group Lipps Inc. and songs by the English Rock band Bauhaus. The impromptu performance marked Verna’s debut at the France-based Ceysson & Bénétière Gallery as well as his return to the stage, drawing on his 17 years of experience traveling across Europe under Gisele Vienne’s dance company.
Upon its founding in 2006, Ceysson & Bénétière dedicated its roster to the 1960’s & 70’s French art movement Supports/Surfaces, which detached the canvas from its stretchers in an attempt to critique Paris’s institutionalized art system. The ethos of Supports/Surfaces is fitting for Verna, who seems equally fascinated by the structures of culture and knowledge that support his image-making as he is with the content of the work itself. Throughout the show, images of numerous infamous figures from Michele Lamy to Siouxie Sue meld with landscape drawings, textile work, and shiny rainbow-colored stickers.
Verna’s strikingly tattooed face — evidence of a life of risk, spent in the margins — belies his calm, eloquent demeanor and the mature, thoughtful contemplation that permeates his body of work. I met with Verna over a video call from Paris in a dimly-lit New York City library one rainy Sunday to discuss his latest exhibition, his love and hate for the art world, and his plans for his next tattoo.
Hello.
Hi, how are you?
I’m good, I’m good. It’s great to talk to you. How was your time in New York?
I was cheated out of my brain. And I’m still in New York in my mind because it was a hell of a good time to be there. So I miss it already.
Well, I’ve found it quite insightful to see the exhibition. I know that the range of work spans both the breadth of your archive and mixes in new work. When did you start thinking about this show?
Well, it’s the third time I’ve exhibited in New York, but the first two times were group shows, and for a group show, the logic is really different for many reasons. So it was important for me to bring on some samples of different periods of my drawing work, and also different areas of artistry that I could provide. So, the easiest way to do that was to sing some songs.
In many ways this was really important for me, it’s my first exhibition ever with my new gallery. And it’s a big event for me. I’ve been working for 34 years with another gallery, and now it’s like our, how do you say… it was the wedding night.
Ha! Right.
It was also really nice that the public reception was really good. It was a mix of a bunch of different people, and I was doing this exactly for that. I don’t want to be a sixty-year-old artist, showing for a sixty-year-old audience.
That’s what’s been redemptive for me. There were youngsters, there were people of every age, shape, color, and gender. And it was just perfect to me.
I was told that you sang at the opening — you had a performance?
Yes, it’s a part of what I am, I’m a singer too. So it was not a gig, it was not serious, it was just something to treat — or to punish — the audience. And they quite liked it, so I was lucky.
What songs did you perform?
I choose songs that I listen to when I draw, to be immersed in my process or head — or cave, or grotto, I don’t know. So I sang a little cover of Funky Town with the lyrics rewritten and I’ve made it into a very funny song about Paris.
And I’ve been covering a song from the group Bauhaus. The first song was so funny it was nice to follow with something very sad, thoughtful, and nostalgic. Because I had to show my colors, and they’re not as predictable as one could think. Just like my drawings. They may be funny, may be atrocious, may be cynical, or may be joyful…all at the same time.
I'd like to ask you about the smaller image-based drawings of landscapes with the text over them. What spurred this inclusion of landscape? Have you always been interested in this type of imagery?
No, no. In fact, it’s very recent. I hate to draw landscapes. It’s the last thing I’ve tried in my life, landscapes. Normally I find them very boring and quite unappealing to work on. But, you know, my way of choosing subjects is based on what’s not appealing to the contemporary art market. And I will add that in France, and Europe, landscape drawing is actually quite unfancy.
So as I really hate and run from all things fashionable and hashtagable, I said to myself, well, it’s doubly interesting for me to draw the subject I hate… and it’s totally suicidal in a commercial view, if you want to look at that angle.
Could you speak to the juxtaposition between the classical imagery of the landscape format and the contemporary voice of the text scrolled across them?
Well, a landscape drawing can be really old-fashioned and out of fashion. Postcards too — postcards themselves are really something that’s becoming obsolete. Just like me. Just like people. Because I’m growing old — I was born in the ‘60s — so I’m going to disappear.
Postcards are going to disappear. And I love those things because they are like old actresses that have run out of work. What could happen if I go into the dustbin or the grave, I take them out, shake them a bit and add a little makeup, and try to make them say something about now and here? Which is what I’m about as an artist.
What’s actually written on the drawings are the titles of very known classics of New Wave and Post-punk music. And, as you can see, it’s not colorful, it’s not joyful, it talks about nature but without the hashtag of being, like, ecological… being aware.
It's like a kaleidoscope view of my youth and my adulthood, and those rarely meet in real life. So this music I’m referring to is like sad or anxious music and quite fits with what I feel about nature, of course, like everyone else now, because we know… it’s the end of time.
What do you hate about the art world right now? Maybe hate is too strong of a word. What’s—
No, no, it’s never too strong. Because those things are really strong—I mean feelings must be strong. So I might start by saying that there is nothing I hate about the art world that I don’t hate about the world. I mean they’re the same – the same shit, you know.
Is there anything that you love about the art world? Or is it the same answer; that you don’t see a difference between the things that you love about the world and the things that you love about the art world?
Well, let’s say that the art world accepted me … I love it because if it was not for the art world and what it gave me, I wouldn’t be here today. It’s just that. It’s a question of being alive or dead.
I mean frankly, I couldn’t see myself making it in another part of society. These are my only skills. This is the only way I can feel useful, as a man and a citizen, and I can raise my voice, and I can sometimes be heard. I can teach, with art I can be in touch with my period, with my times. And I obviously have a tremendous luxury of spending so many hours asking myself questions…
The only thing I can do is to be as sensitive, intelligent, and skillful as I can, and maybe be joined by some valuable human beings. And that’s all. It’s a life of luxury, even when I was very poor and without a flat and without a studio. And I’m very thankful. I’m very thankful.
Aside from the pieces in the show, do you see a connection between your artistic practice and the way the practice of tattooing your body acts as a work in its own right?
Well, tattooing for me has never been an artistic thing. I began to tattoo myself when I was fifteen years old, when I was a teenage punk. And then bit by bit I tattooed myself, I asked for friends to tattoo me. And then I had a certain success, so a certain amount of money to waste on those stupidities, so I had more of them.
And then I had to deal with getting older and having my face… dropping. And then I choose to tattoo my face — so as to not see the… collapsing.
I tattoo myself a lot less now because it hurts more. I feel it too much now. So I just enhance some things on my face. And of course, I’m going to tattoo the name of my new gallery.
Oh nice, where’s that tattoo gonna be?
Oh, I don’t have a lot of room left, so it’s going to be in one of my calves.
Nice. Are you gonna draw out the font yourself?
No, I’m going to take the exact same font that they use on their letterhead. It’s going to be just perfectly that — recognizable at first glance.
That’s funny, I like that. I have one last question for you today. What does pop culture mean to you?
Well, pop culture is what saved me from myself and from my family. Once, I was getting back from school, and on the television, there was a gig of Siouxsie and the Banshees. At the time I didn't know what that was. But I was really hit hard by this vision.
After that moment at the TV, I cut my hair, I began to wear makeup every day. And I ran from my family. So pop culture is basically my first life savior, really.
I listen to music, I look at TV series every day. So pop culture is my culture. But real culture, I mean high culture, I mean book culture or museum culture, is the second loaf of bread that constitutes my sandwich. I mean, without one of them, there is no taste, and you can’t put it in your mouth. So now, I’m not a teenage prostitute, I am not a young punk rocker. I am a known artist, belonging to the MOMA in New York, and a lot of very big and very illustrious collections.
I’m just in the middle of those two points of very low culture and very high culture. And this constitutes exactly half of me, half of my aesthetic, half of my body, half of my way of talking, half of my way of being on stage. I mean, it’s really like I have twin DNA.
I was born in the museums, and I was born in the nightclubs.
Jean-Luc Verna’s « Soloshow » is open until December 9, 2023 at Ceysson & Bénétière New York.
