Right On

ANDY SERWER-So you guys working together is really interesting. Maybe that's a good starting point. Can you talk a little bit about your collaboration—how you two met, how far back does it go, and how deep is it?

EMANN ODUFU-It's actually really interesting how much of a full circle moment this is. I feel like I first started learning about Hank through a book titled Who We Be: The Colorization of America by Jeff Chang. That was around 2014. It was one of those books that shaped how I understand the intersection of art, politics, and culture. There was a chapter that focused on Hank and some other artists, but Hank really stood out to me. Later I saw a posting on NYFA for an internship with Hank. This was around 2016. I applied and got the gig. That’s how I ended up in his studio. One of the projects I got to a on was In Search of the Truth — a public art piece that’s a giant speech bubble you can walk into and answer the prompt: "What is the truth?" We toured it across the country during the 2016 presidential election. It gave me an on-the-ground understanding of how people felt about politics, identity, and more. And through that process, I really came to understand Hank’s practice on a deeper level.

AS-So what year was that again?

EO-2016.

AS-OK, so nine years ago. So you cold-called him, basically?

EO-Yeah.

HANK WILLIS THOMAS-Emann is a man of many talents and deep curiosity. He always wants to engage and bring people together. The Truth Booth project was a great opportunity for that—we were literally inviting strangers to open up and be vulnerable. They took it to 35 different cities. I only made it to a few because I was also launching For Freedoms that year. But Emann and I stayed in touch. He later interviewed me for Office Magazine, and I believe we’ve had at least one public conversation before this. I think he even curated some of my work for another project.

EO-Yeah, we brought a few of the Unbranded works into a prominent ad agency in NYC. It was about sparking dialogue around how advertising shapes perceptions and using Hank’s work as a tool to disrupt that.

AS-Hank, I want to ask you about your work—especially in conjunction with Liu Shiming. Your art clearly draws from both the modern and the historical. How do you see your art evolving in that continuum, and where does Liu’s work intersect with yours?

HWT-One of the most profound things about Liu Shiming’s work is how timeless it feels. Even though many of his pieces are decades old, they could have been made yesterday. The figures, the postures, the situations they reflect—they're still relevant. I come from a different background as a photographer, as an American. But like Liu, I’ve always been drawn to observing the everyday. My work often reframes historical moments—especially those involving people engaged in nonviolent civic action. In a moment where that kind of activism feels urgent again, I think there’s a powerful resonance. Seeing Liu’s work made me reflect on how subtle, poetic gestures can hold just as much weight as overt activism.

AS-That leads to a question about political identity in art. Some artists are labeled activists, some aren’t. How do you see yourself? Is it binary, or more of a spectrum?

HWT-All art is political. In Western society, art functions like a kind of cultural currency. If it weren’t political, cultural institutions wouldn’t be seen as threats by governments. Even abstraction can be threatening—because it asks people to engage with their heart, not just their intellect. That alone makes it provocative.

AS-Emann, what about you?

EO-I wouldn’t call this exhibition overtly political. But I do think it expresses a kind of quiet resistance. Liu Shiming’s work often operates that way—it’s poetic, reflective, rooted in a shared human experience. The political message is more implicit than explicit. And in that sense, it can sometimes reach people more deeply.

AS-Let’s talk about curating this show. What was the process like? Where did you start?

EO-My brain naturally looks for connections. When I first visited the Liu Shiming Foundation and learned about the artist’s work, one phrase kept coming up: "everyday people." That stuck in my mind.

Then I thought of the song "Everyday People" by Sly and the Family Stone. I kept playing it during the early stages of planning the show. I was also listening to the Arrested Development version, which samples the original. Both are calls for unity. Originally I wanted the show to be titled Everyday People. But Hank suggested flipping it to People Everyday, which felt more contemporary. It created a more active tone. And the title captures what ties these two artists together—their radical care for everyday life, for ordinary people.

AS-Hank, what was your reaction to seeing your work alongside Liu’s?

HWT-I was honestly moved. It’s rare to have such a direct dialogue between your work and another artist’s. I saw echoes in form and theme that I hadn’t expected. The wrestling pieces, for example, really resonated with my work The Embracein ways I didn’t anticipate. It speaks to this idea that artists, across time and cultures, can tap into a collective unconscious.

AS-And this evolution of your practice—from photography into sculpture, public art, and more—how do you decide which direction to go next?

HWT-I studied photography at NYU, and right after I graduated, the iPhone came out. Suddenly everyone was a photographer. That shifted my relationship to the medium. My photos were always more conceptual anyway. So I started exploring other ways to express those ideas.

Take The Embrace, for instance. It’s a 24-foot monument in Boston Common honoring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King. It's based on a photograph taken the day he received the Nobel Peace Prize. I focused on just the hug, turning it into a sculptural form. While I’m not sculpting in the traditional sense like Liu did, I am sculpting in my mind, using digital tools to render emotion and meaning in physical form.

AS-Does working in public space change how you think about your art?

HWT-Absolutely. When work is in a public space, it belongs to everyone. That’s humbling. Most people won’t stop to analyze it, but maybe they'll glance at it. In a gallery, it’s more intimate. People come because they want to engage. That kind of attention is an honor. It means something.

AS-Emann, as a curator, what do you aim to accomplish? What resonates most for you?

EO-I see art making and curation as a form of storytelling, sublimation, and symbolism. The artist brings symbols into the work, consciously or not. As a curator, I add another layer of interpretation. And when I put two artists’ works together, I’m creating new symbols and meanings.

For instance, someone might be drawn to the connection between Hank’s Godspeed series and Liu’s boat sculptures. Others might resonate with the pairing of The Embrace and Cutting Through Mountains to Bring in Water. The goal is to make space for layered interpretation, to let people find their own way into the show.

AS-Can you both speak about one of the specific pairings? Like Archimedean Solid and Measuring Land?

EO-The maps we use to navigate the world reflect man-made borders—constructs we've created. Liu Shiming’s Measuring Land was one of his breakthrough works early in his career. It’s such a foundational idea—literally, how we make maps: by measuring land, plotting, dividing. I thought pairing this piece with Hank’s work spoke to how we think about territory and society today. It also made me reflect on how borders—whether natural ones like rivers and mountains or political ones—shape our lives. These lines aren't neutral. They’re tied to current events and geopolitical tensions, both here and abroad.

AS-And what’s the medium? What is that piece made from?

HWT-It’s made from retro reflective vinyl. Like a lot of the work downstairs, this piece has two viewing modes. Under normal light, it looks one way, but when you shine a flash or a flashlight on it, you see it’s actually a collage of hundreds of photographs—most of people participating in nonviolent civic actions around the world.

The shape is inspired by Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Map. He was fascinated by the idea of using technology to measure and more accurately represent the Earth’s surface. There’s also this concept he explored called the "polydetahedron"—a series of 13 triangular forms used to rethink the world’s shape. We usually think of the Earth as a sphere, but it’s more like...a potato.

Andy (laughs)-Right—something you could unpeel.

HWT-Exactly. And all maps, to some extent, are distortions. The Mercator projection, which most of us are familiar with, was created by northern Europeans who exaggerated their own region’s scale, which had lasting effects on how we perceive global importance. This piece tries to reimagine a more democratized version of mapping—something both Liu and I are exploring: how people shape space and reality through measurement.

AS-Didn’t expect we’d get into Buckminster Fuller. The geodesic dome guy, right? Love that. You were telling me earlier about discovering this reflective material. Can you share that?

HWT-Yeah. I hope everyone gets to see the show downstairs, if you havent already. The two-dimensional works down there are made using retroreflective vinyl—the same material found on street signs. It reflects light directly back to its source, so at night, a stop sign only lights up when a car’s headlights hit it. I was interested in taking this material—used for wayfinding—and repurposing it to explore history. Because history itself can be distorted or obscured. Using light to reveal layers beneath the surface became a metaphor for illuminating forgotten or overlooked narratives. The first time I saw the material was in a sign shop. I had this epiphany: if I printed green ink on green retroreflective vinyl, it would disappear. But if I printed blue on blue, it would become visible. That sparked the idea of working with visibility and invisibility—literally and metaphorically.

AS-Do you have to prompt yourself to have these kinds of revelations? Is it a discipline, or do they just hit?

HWT-Good question. If I could prompt myself on demand, I’d probably be much happier. (laughs)

AS-Yeah, it's that pressure. You sit there thinking, “I have to come up with something.”

HWT-James Baldwin once said the artist’s struggle for integrity must be seen as a universal human struggle—to become truly human. That quote stays with me. In my work, I’m just trying to be the best version of myself—and often failing. But artists get comfortable with that—failing, and doing so publicly.

AS-Don’t be so hard on yourself! But that’s part of the territory, right? I avoided becoming an artist for that reason. Though my field has its failures too. Also, props on quoting Baldwin—that’s no small feat. His sentences just keep going! Okay, let’s talk about the Embrace and the two Liu Shiming pieces you paired it with. Emann?

EO-Sure. One of the early connections I made as the curator was between Hank’s The Embrace and Liu Shiming’s Cutting Through Mountains, Submerging in Water. Both works subvert traditional notions of monumental sculpture. Historically, monuments have been about glorifying power—leaders, institutions. But Liu was doing something different. When he created Cutting Through Mountains, he was still at the academy in Beijing, and it was considered unusual, even frowned upon, to incorporate landscape into sculpture. He broke with tradition—kind of like Rodin’s The Thinker, but instead of focusing just on the figure, he included the environment. And with The Embrace, Hank zooms in—not on a whole figure, but on a gesture. A hug. Instead of a towering heroic pose, he monumentalizes love. It honors Dr. King and Coretta Scott King, but also speaks universally. Anyone can relate to a hug. Just like how Liu’s figures—riding bikes, working in boats—are universally resonant. So both works challenge the idea of what a monument can be—and who it’s for.

HWT-Exactly. And when I look at Wrestling and The Embrace, I see echoes. These sculptures were made decades apart, but their forms resonate. I didn’t know about Liu’s Wrestling when I made mine, but there’s an undeniable kinship. The tension in the arms, the closeness—it reminds me of The Thinker, but rendered in motion, in intimacy. And to cast that in bronze—a cold, static material—while still trying to convey warmth and vulnerability, that’s a challenge I embrace.

AS-It’s kind of Jungian, right? Like shared archetypes—Mayans and Egyptians both built pyramids without knowing each other. Maybe these gestures of embrace or struggle are just embedded in the collective unconscious.

EO-I love that. And it’s fascinating—Embrace and Wrestling are almost opposites emotionally. One is love, the other is friction. But both involve touch, engagement, presence. Wrestling can be playful or aggressive, but it’s still a connection. The forms are similar, but the emotions are flipped.

AS-Do you look at ancient or modern art for inspiration? Or do you try to stay in your own head?

HWT-I love history. Looking at historical art is like time travel. And if I can bring an idea like the Dymaxion map into the present, it feels like I’ve pulled an artifact through time.

AS-And what about current events? Are they influencing you right now?

HWT-Absolutely. I’m inspired by people taking to the streets, using their voices, standing up for democracy. That takes courage—especially in an age where our devices mediate almost all interactions.

We think we’re connected, but these platforms are programmed—literally. We don’t even understand the code that’s shaping how we engage with each other. That disconnect worries me. So seeing people here today, putting their phones away, listening—that gives me hope.

AS-Maybe that’s what we’re all craving, after so many hours on screens. Have you explored that idea in your work? Or maybe used AI?

HWT-I’ve experimented, but haven’t made anything I felt needed to exist in the world. The tech evolves so fast—by the time you finish, it’s already outdated.

EO-Same. I’ve used AI more personally—it’s like a sounding board or even a kind of therapist. Which is weird, because it makes me wonder: if we’re already so isolated, what does this added layer of mediation do to our humanity?

But on the flip side, I sometimes think about a utopian future where AI frees us from labor, so we can focus on deeper questions—healing the planet, understanding each other. Maybe that’s naïve, but it’s a vision I hold onto.

AS-Yeah, but the dystopian version always seems closer. I was just playing with Midjourney—type in a prompt and boom, you get this surreal image. Wild stuff.

HWT-I was just at a conference—Tesla's already building humanoid robots. They’re supposed to roll out next year.

AS-Wild. I’m surprised they weren’t in the parade this weekend... or maybe they were, who could tell? Last pairing: Hank’s Icarus in Sunlight and Moonlight, with Liu’s Greek Mythology.

EO-Right. So the Icarus works and Liu’s Greek Mythology- Centaur made me think of the Silk Road—not just as a trade route but a cultural exchange. These artists come from different times and places, yet both explore Greek myth. That says something about how ideas move across borders.

HWT-The silhouettes in Icarus in Sunlight and Moonlight draw from Wallace Thurman’s The Blacker the Berry, but visually I was channeling Matisse and Aaron Douglas—who was a major figure of the Harlem Renaissance. Matisse actually visited Harlem and was influenced by the aesthetics he saw there. So there’s this layered lineage—Douglas influences Matisse, Matisse influences me, and I connect it back to Greek myth. The figures shift depending on your angle—sometimes you see Douglas, sometimes Matisse, sometimes both. That multi-perspective is intentional.

AS-And the color? Red and blue, sunlight and moonlight?

HWT-Exactly. The red sculpture has a glowing heart—it’s from Matisse’s Icarus in his jazz series. The blue one uses a silhouette. I was also thinking about Keith Haring when I made these. It’s a blend of influences.

AS-You mentioned Liu once said he wanted viewers to have a “silent dialogue” with his work. You said that resonated with your process?

HWT-Yes. When we make art, we’re not thinking about legacy—we’re just making. But then you imagine Liu’s work being shown in New York decades later, and it reminds you that once you release the work, it has a life of its own.

AS-Okay, before we open up to questions, one last one for Emann. In Chinese tradition, “poetic quality” is considered the highest form of art. What do you see as the poetic quality in Liu’s and Hank’s work?

EO-Both artists embed community and symbolism in their work. That’s the poetry—each piece holds multiple meanings. For example, Hank’s Godspeed series, with water and hidden photographs, could represent actual rivers, but also life’s flow—or the transatlantic passage and the trauma of displacement.

Liu’s boat sculptures remind me of migration too—fresh off the boat, so to speak. These works are layered. A bird isn’t just a bird—it might represent aspiration. That’s the beauty of this show. It doesn’t lead you to one answer. It invites you into a space of abstract reflection on what it means to be human.