Boy and Their Guns

Photography is the newest type of art form to come about, creating it’s own medium of sorts. Some would assume that it takes the role of a 21^st century replacement for classic paintings, but I wouldn’t say the two are necessarily mutually exclusive. Looking over T. Coke Whitworth’s photographs in the Ackland Art Museum’s “New Currents in Contemporary Art” exhibit, I came to see that photography is a more subjective and experience-based art form. When seeing Whitworth’s Untitled photograph of the young boys and their guns, I realized that the interpretation and analysis of these images depends on one’s cultural background and personal opinions.

Honestly, when assigned to go to the Ackland Art Museum and pick out a painting with some sort of underlying cultural meaning, I went straight for the screen prints about slavery and discrimination. Easy enough, right? The man disliked slavery. Okay, simple, straightforward. I’ll have this knocked out in no time. After leaving the museum though, the only piece of art that still had me thinking was Whitworth’s photo with the boys and their guns. I realized that I could write a hundred straight-laced blog posts about Jacob Lawrence’s exhibit on John Brown, but any Ted, Jim, or Nancy could see what those paintings were about. In order to fully activate my brain and write something semi-worth reading, I had to think outside the box. And outside this hypothetical box Whitworth’s photo was staring me in the face.

It is an interesting photograph to say the least. In the foreground, there are three young southern boys, probably around the age of ten-ish. They are standing in a field in front of a pickup truck, clouds and trees surrounding them in the background. Two of them are holding guns, one pointing it down and one just staring that the gun itself. The photo is perfectly in focus, every cloud and eyebrow hair visible. It is a straightforward photo, no blurriness or light shadows to over-interpret, just life. Dang it, how I wish you could see it, but it’s not posted on the Internet. Just stop reading this now and go to the Ackland and look. Go. And after you get back, you may resume reading my blog.

Initially, we each as individuals would have our own unique reaction to such a piece of work. Some people would just walk right on by, seeing nothing. Others would sympathetically stare into the emptiness of one of the boy’s eyes. And I’m sure there are those out there who would merely see something that makes them happy and proud: southern culture, male bonding, sons growing into men, etc. Being from the background I am from, I immediately took the second route: sadly staring at the art. Over-analyzations of the poor boy’s thought process: this culture he was forced into, what he should become. Who could miss such a sad image as this, right?

After getting back home and reading the artist’s statement about the work, my viewpoint completely changed. This man was just exploring culture, not trying to give some artsy-fartsy representation of the woes of southern culture and hunting. Apparently he had just moved to a new town and wanted a way to get closer to the locals. Wow. I was pretty off base with my interpretation, wasn’t I? This was the point when I realized how with any art, obviously there is an ever-present individual interpretation with each painting, but this is much stronger in photography. The clear, straightforward photo leaves no wiggle room when it comes to things like brushstrokes or color choice or body proportions. It’s all there, honest and clear-cut. The bulk of the creativity of the art comes with looking at the end product, not during the act of creating it. With photographs interpretation is the beauty, not the talent of the detail work or shading or type of paint used.

So, when forced to reckon with the idea of Whitworth’s social goals in this photograph, my gut reaction was my own personal social goals. This photograph is obviously about the absurdity of southern culture. At how even something as terrible as killing an animal is engrained in these adolescent boys. Using guns frequently is almost like a right of passage for them, becoming a man. I could even stretch it as far as to say that this photo holds a message about the violent American culture and little boys thinking “guns are cool” thanks to things like family hunting trips and video games.

But, alas, Emalyn is not always right about these things. Shocking, I know. A touch of research proves that Whitworth did not have such a social goal in mind. Odds are that he is on the opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to the sentiments evoked by this photo. This is culture. This is pride. This is a fabulous right-of-passage that luckily was documented in a lovely photograph. This is the shit you hang on the mantle right here.

This is why I love photographs. They seem so straightforward, yet a hundred different people could have a hundred different interpretations of the same photo. It’s all about background and personality. Is that the same case with something like the Mona Lisa? A picture is worth a thousand words, and odds are my chosen words versus Whitworth’s would be completely different.

Frida and Fertility

I’m going to go out on limb here (pun intended) and say that odds are the Frida in this painting has quite a stomachache. Nature is present in most of Kahlo’s work, from merely serving as a backdrop to being the central focus growing from her stomach. This article focuses on the argument that the symbolism of plants is Frida Kahlo’s work has to do with fertility. I think it goes beyond that. The natural aspects in Frida Kahlo’s work demonstrate fertility, but also her inability to go outdoors and her ever-present connection to the circle of life that nature presents.

The author of the blog post re-tells what Hayden Herrera said about Frida’s work. “In Roots…it is Frida who nourishes that land by giving birth to a vine. Curiously, given the painting’s title, the vine has no visible roots. It must, therefore, be rooted in Frida, but Frida, floating just above a barren landscape and painted in a much large scale, is rootless, as in a dream.” Due to the rather obvious plant growing out of Frida’s stomach, I can’t argue with the claim that Frida is, in a sense, giving birth to a vine. Contrarily, I would like to add to this claim as to explain to the reader why Frida would use nature to demonstrate such a topic as fertility.

Due to an accident at the beginning of her life, Frida was unable to have children. Some sources say she was barren, others say that she would miscarry or get an abortion. Regardless of the reason, fertility was a central aspect in many of her paintings because Frida painted about what she knew: her own personal problems. Another result of Frida’s accident was that she would often be bedridden and unable to go outdoors for days or weeks at a time. This explains why she would always incorporate nature into her work; it gave her a connection to an experience that was unattainable, much like having children.

Frida’s fascination with nature also ties back into her fascination with the circle of life, hence the fertility aspect of the quote by Herrera. She loved the interconnectedness of all beings, the unity between plants and animals, humans and the earth. This is why in her picture “Roots” she has plant stems growing out of her, which “expresses Kahlo’s desire for fertility and to be a part of the life cycle.”

Mexico is a fertile, beautiful, colorful land that is filled with flowers and plants. Frida had a connection to her homeland that was both literally and figuratively demonstrated in much of her work. This painting could also be a representation of that connection to Mexico specifically, the place where she is comfortable and feels at one with the earth, as shown in this painting.

People can surmise hundreds of interpretations about Frida Kahlo’s work, but one thing is for sure, she painted about what she knew best: her own personal feelings and problems. Nature was an ever-present motif that represented these varying sentiments felt by Kahlo herself.

An Interpretation of Frida Kahlo

External hearts, nails in your skin, and vines growing out of your stomach. Would these be images you would use to represent your personal life? Frida Kahlo, the famous 20^th century Mexican painter, used exactly these things to describe hers. In the academic art history journal article “Life as Art/Art as Life: Dramatizing the Life and Work of Frida Kahlo,” the author believes that Kahlo’s intense emotions and overwhelming creative spirit were the driving force of her “genius” art. Her surrealist paintings fascinate the masses because of her not-so-evident thought processes. On the other hand, a different author from the New York Review of Books isn’t as complimentary. He recognizes Kahlo’s artistic talent in his article “The Nerve of Frida Kahlo,” but he is not afraid to acknowledge her obscurity, and he finds her constant physical and emotional pain somewhat depressing and gory. These art critics both recognize that Frida’s inspiration comes from a personal level, but they look at her work from different standpoints and therefore have different reactions to her paintings.

Most critics shower Kahlo’s art with undying praise, so it was difficult to find a critic who does not. Many professionals in the art community give bonus points for creativity and even more brownies points if you can make the viewer say “huh??” Only hints of such a reaction are provided in “The Nerve of Frida Kahlo”. Both authors acknowledge the fact that the inspiration of Kahlo’s paintings comes from a personal level; just one is more apt to report how this can become disturbing. Every artist wants their viewer to be filled with emotion, but was Frida really shooting for horror in her paintings? Obviously, art is all about opinions and the author of “The Nerve of Frida Kahlo”, like many viewers of Kahlo’s paintings, is mainly intrigued by her thought processes and the events that must have had to take place in order for such images to appear in her creative spectrum. He also hints at her self-obsession, seeing as how in almost every painting she is the center of attention. He criticizes the lack of “wide-ranging experience” in her paintings. Although each painting is unique with its masses of emotion and symbolism, most of them turn out to be depressing and angst-y.

The article entitled “Life as Art/Art as Life: Dramatizing the Life and Work of Frida Kahlo” looks at Kahlo’s work from a more academic standpoint. Obviously the writer is a fan of hers, but she genuinely researches the background of Frida and why she paints the way she paints. The author of this article very accurately states how “Frida’s viewpoint is expressionistically distorted; hence when she paints what she sees, she is intuitively a surrealist. These scenes effectively undercut the intellectuality and intentionality that characterize creativity in the arts.” When she isn’t being Frida Fan #1 (I bet that’s her screen name or something), she looks into the emotions of Kahlo and the life experiences incorporated into her paintings. Each picture is related to a life story, a sad challenge that Frida had to face in life.

When it comes to legitimacy and credibility, I would give the “Life as Art/Art as Life: Dramatizing the Life and Work of Frida Kahlo” a better grade. I believe this article, but the positivity eventually becomes mundane. “The Nerve of Frida Kahlo” is more entertaining to read, but it is mostly comprised of opinions and summaries, not hard evidence. Then again, that’s what art is all about, isn’t it? Opinions? Although her work is at times depressing, there is no denying the fact that Frida Kahlo used her personal life experiences and resulting emotions as inspiration for her work, an idea that was demonstrated in both articles.

Chaos of Life

On the day said of The Tilled Field there is chaos. Bright colors consume the canvas, capturing my eye. There is action throughout the daytime side. Animals are moving to and fro, crowding around the tree. Not only is there action in the foreground around the tree, but in the back. A woman attempts to move a tree, while smoke is coming from the house’s chimney. Chaos exists in the action, but also in the absurd characteristics of once real items: a tree with an ear, a half cow-half horse. Míro exhibits much of his past throughout his artwork, and in this work, the chaos of his life unfolds.

Born to parents in Barcelona, Spain, Míro began his life on an area of land resembling that of this farm; this farm may be seen in this piece of artwork. As he progressed forward in his life, Míro’s passion for art grew, and he realized that art was his true calling. While his parents had other ideas for his life, he put his feet in two doors – that of business as well as art. However, in the end, he prevailed, choosing art has his career. Likewise, this picture is presented in two contrasting sides: dark and light, with light overpowering dark – more light exists; it wins. Similarly, art won out. He did not choose business. Though business, or the dark of the painting, seems serene and picturesque, it is the art, or light, that Míro sought after.

As mentioned in a previous post, Míro wove his life into his artwork. However, he also incorporated styles of the time such as surrealism and cubism to aid in his portrayal of his chaotic life. His picture, integrates things he has come into contact with as well as past experiences. At the beginning of his artistic career, Míro moved to Paris. Ties with France are easily noted throughout this picture. The word “jour” is printed on the dayside, which is literally translated “day” in French. As well, the French flag is flown within the picture.

Throughout this of art, The Tilled Filled, chaos consumes the canvas. This chaos directly correlates with chaos that Míro experienced within his lifetime. Míro, living in Paris at the time, was prevented from traveling to his homeland of Spain because of civil war. Withheld from his own home, Míro’s life experienced uncertainty and many unforeseen events.

Within his piece, The Tilled Field, this uncertainty and chaos exist. There is confusion throughout. Míro incorporated the two movements he came into contact with within this painting as well: surrealism and cubism. He utilizes sharp edges and blocked objects to create unrealistic creatures, thus interweaving the two movements, generating bizarre animals. What are the animals? You can’t decide with assurance. There is a half cow, half horse - a cat with needles of a porcupine. A fish is on dry land, an ear coming out of a tree, a lizard and snail being “friends.” Míro does a superb job in creating a reality that is completely absurd, creating chaos from the unknown.

However, one thing within the picture remains normal, non-chaotic. This one thing is the house in the background. This house is not attributed any odd qualities. It is merely a normal residence. Míro dreamt of a gallery as well a nice house; it was a goal he strove for. Therefore, it follows that this is the one thing that remains standard; it is dream. It cannot be distorted by reality and the turmoil of everyday life.

Míro’s piece of art, The Tilled Field, is one of absolute disorder and confusion. He utilizes elements stemming from two specific movements, cubism and surrealism, in order to create this bedlam. This chaos reflects back on Míro’s personal life and how disorderly it was; the chaos of Míro’s life is mirrored through his artwork.

Colors and Symbols, a Key to John Brown's Ideals

When I first walked into the Ackland Art museum, I walked straight, then veering left into a gallery, I saw a sight that intrigued me. The walls were covered with paintings. What I saw hanging there seemed to be a picture storyboard of sort; a collage of paintings that progressed as I walked through the room. These pictures all included a man and at times, many other things. The pictures progressed to a final end; however, I could not interpret them; I did not understand what they meant. Then, also on the wall, I found an explanation: this sequence of paintings portrayed the legend of the famous abolitionist, John Brown. John Brown thought himself to be the savior of the slaves and acted upon this belief, planning means of escape for the slaves and staging riots against those who were pro-slavery. Walking around the gallery a second time, though this time with the aforementioned knowledge, I began to see symbolism within each painting, stemming from various different aspects of each of the pieces of art.

Number 13, one of the paintings in the series of The Legend of John Brown, is orderly and well planed. Your eye is drawn to several places within the artwork right off the bat. The black cross stands out, juxtaposed against a blue background. A map of the United States, spread across the table, exudes a bright red - the color of blood. Aside from the map and the blue background, the picture consists of bland colors. Jacob Lawrence utilizes certain colors to highlight specific aspects throughout his painting, Number 13. The colors also act as symbols and the orderly fashion contribute to the work’s meaning as Lawrence tries to portray the actions and thoughts of the famous abolitionist John Brown.

Looking at Number 13 in the Legend of John Brown, one’s eyes are immediately drawn to the blue triangle that envelops the top right side of the painting. This blue triangle radiates out from the lantern on the table; it is the light from the candle within. This blue triangle of light highlights a black cross that would have merely faded into the background without this blue light. The cross is located in the top right corner instead of the dead center; however, despite its location, it is still a focal point of the picture The light illuminating the cross comes from the table where John Brown is planning an escape route for the slaves. John Brown’s actions, finding a way out of captivity for the slaves, give light to why he is considered savior of the African Americans.
Another such image that catches one’s eye is the map of the United States of America, located in the bottom center of the painting. This map is consumed by red, outlined in a white, and then a blue. The red engulfs the map, symbolizing the bloodshed or guilt that drenched the entire United States due to the legality of slavery. This red did not merely cover the South of the pro-slavery states, but instead, it covered the entirety of the United States, showing that the fault lay upon the entire nation for allowing the practice of slavery to exist at all within the nation. This map consists of sharp angles; its outline line is harsh with no rounded curves. Like sharp angles, so was the government concerning the slavery. They left no leeway. Slaves were dealt with as if they were inhuman. Drawn on the United States map in black, various sketches and lines are seen. However, the only one that may be understood comes in the form of the Star of David in the top, left corner. In the past, Jews, often represented by the Star of David, experienced much persecution similar to that of the black slaves. They were discriminated against based on their religion, or in essence, who they were. Perhaps this Star of David is drawing a parallel from the past experiences of the Jews to the current situation of the slaves. The rest of the lines vary from thin, pencil marks to thick dots or triangles, merely marking the pathways of escape on the map for the slaves, denoting the final destinations on their escape routes.

Though I thought that the map of the United States, colored in by red represented a nation covered in the blood of the slaves, the guilt of the nation, I was in fact completely wrong. The artist who painted this work, Jacob Lawrence, recognized a key fact that I originally did not. John Brown set out with the idea that slavery was wrong as one any supporter of slavery. He launched many an attack on slavery advocates, spilling much blood. I understood that the red symbolized blood, but I thought it was the blood of the slaves. Instead, I now know this blood to be that of those he attacked on his plan – the blood shed as he forged his way to freeing the slaves.

The map, aforementioned, sits upon a tabletop located in the direct center of the painting. An older man with white hair (John Brown) sits at this table, pointing at the map. Seemingly deep in thought, both of his elbows rest upon the table as he leans over the map. He works by lantern light, the same light that brings focus to the black cross. John Brown’s posture and his working by candlelight give light to his dedication to his cause – the abolition of slavery. Alone he sits musing over his plans; alone he works through the night. The body of this man, clothed in black, blends into the black backdrop; however, his head and hands stand out, being painted in colors contrasting to black. Though as a person, John Brown may blend in with the rest of humanity, his hands and head stand out. Often times, hands represent one’s work and one’s head represents ideas or beliefs. Likewise, John Brown’s ideas of freedom and his personal plans that further obtaining this freedom for slaves are what make his name great; it is not merely him as a being that stands out.

On the right side of the artwork exists an empty chair spotlighted against the black background. A book resembling a Bible with red pages sits upon this chair. Contrasting this empty, serene chair with a Bible sitting on it is the left side of Jacob Lawrence’s artwork. This side of the artwork is light, with a tan background – no longer black. Regardless, four guns are the forefront of the left side of the painting. Three guns hang in a vertical manner while one gun is hung horizontally above the other three. This contrast from Bible to guns represents the vastness of John Brown’s character and his ideals. He longed for freedom of the slaves, which in essence, is a good thing. However, he went about starting “bloody battles with heavy losses.” The guns may represent the other side of this contrast. He began merely wanting to set things right, but this turned into wanting to conquer the South by force military force He wanted them to fail; he wanted to conquer the South.

There are many things to note within this one piece of art. The detail in color and placement of certain objects certainly add to the work. Looking at the piece of art without any background makes it hard to decipher; however, with a little bit of knowledge, the mystery of this painting begins to unfold. Though I was incorrect with some of the symbolism, the gist of the painting is clearly seen. The mere existence of slavery within the United States as directly/indirectly led to bloodshed. One man, the man pictured in the center, John Brown, will give light to the situation; he is, in essence, the savior. With beliefs all over the board, represented by the contrasting objects, he attempts to save the slaves. When looking at this picture closely, you can most assuredly see how Jacob Lawrence used symbolism to give a deeper look into the abolitionism of John Brown.

Complementing Views of Míro's Art

Artists place themselves in their artwork. Remember your first preschool drawing. My mom framed my first piece of art. I drew a picture of my best friend, Jessica, and I. No, the picture was not realistic, but it represented something deeper within me, an interpretation of my friendship with Jessica. I drew the inspiration from my experiences with her, and intertwined them within my drawing. The famous artist, Joan Míro composed his work similarly. One art historian, Mendelson, believes Míro’s work evolved over time as he learned new techniques and experienced different art forms. On the other hand, Palermo believes that Míro’s art was an actual response of Míro’s to the artistic movement of Cubism. Though both art critics have concrete beliefs concerning Míro’s work, their ideas may actually work together, complementing one another, offering a deeper insight into Joan Míro’s artwork.

Mendelson suggests that Míro’s work evolved over time. By incorporating clippings from the media, Míro intertwines society throughout his artwork and because society changes and varies from place to place, his art did as well. Míro began his work in a simple manner. He simply took clipping from newspapers or magazines, pasting them to paper. Looking at these clippings, he would connect them with shapes or lines. However, in time, this began to transform into a more current art style. Instead of pictures linked together with lines, he used the clippings to inspire other elements within each art piece. Beginning with a clipping from a magazine or newspaper, these clippings “would lead him to draw a form, which in turn would compel him to paste another image, until the moment when the picture attained the most intense poetic expression without the discipline of the plastic arts losing its privilege.” His works were considered “violent and playful, erotic and innocent, calculated and full of chance.” After a visit to Italy, he then began incorporating various mediums within his artistic collages such as wire, photographs, felt, and metal. He pierced his canvas with items creating a 3-d effect; however, these changes in his art were not popular with his viewers or critics. The last step on the evolution of his art was noted as postcard art where a piece of artwork would revolve around a picture, originating from a postcard, pasted onto his canvas. In viewing Míro’s art, it can be easily seen that his work and style progressed over time as new possibilities came about for his art.

Palermo’s claims that Míro’s art is representative of Míro’s experience with the Cubism movement – that the “pictorial space becomes a surface in which the activity of a surrogate offers a metaphor for the painter's bodily entry into the surface of the painting.” Cubism, birthed by Picasso and Braque, is an art style that incorporates geometric shapes. Instead of having art mirror reality, Cubism instead interprets reality using by creating 3-D images on a 2-D canvas. It is much like it sounds; Cubism is merely presenting something by drawing it in cubes. Míro did in fact integrate Cubism into his art. It can be noted in many of his paintings. Palermo believes that each brush stoke, each line drawn is a representation of Míro’s personality.
Mendelson and Palermo do not present opposing claims concerning Míro’s artwork. Contrary, their claims may actually go hand in hand. As Míro experienced the Cubism movement, his artwork was likely to evolve with this movement. His original art did not seem to incorporate Cubism; however, at a later point it did. This in itself offers evidence to the evolution of his work. Palermo denotes his art as a personal response to Cubism, which is valid. His reaction towards Cubism was indeed to portray this new art form within his work.

As Mendelson suggested, Joan Míro exemplified the way in which art can progress over time. Not only did his work alter as he visited different countries and experienced different art movements, but he intertwined all he learned within his artwork. Palermo also suggested that his artwork portrayed his personal response to the Cubism movement. These two ideas work together, showing not only how his skill and ideas changed over time, but how he incorporated his personal change into his artwork.

Jacob Lawrence's Message Lies A-Mouldering in the Frame

In pictures, John Brown is a severe man who looks like he should be feared. In this painting, he is the one who looks afraid. He stands forlornly, hands outstretched, and wide eyed. This fourteenth image in Jacob Lawrence’s series, The Legend of John Brown, is different from the rest because Brown appears both alone and unarmed. These traits separate it from all the others and allow Lawrence to get his message across. According to Lawrence, John Brown was a hero, a champion of black people, and he should be honored as such. The artist’s crude artwork and symbolism fail to get his point across though, and what is left is the vigilante we all know.

High school history courses teach students that John Brown was a maniacal vigilante who committed acts of violence in the name of abolition. He believed he was sent by God himself to free the slaves. His 1859 attempted occupation of the federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry is seldom missing from the chronology of events leading up to the Civil War. Jacob Lawrence originally painted The Legend of John Brown in 1941; the series tells the story of his life through twenty-two captioned images. The caption for number fourteen is: “John Brown collected money from sympathizers and friends to carry out his plans.” The caption and image say two different things though.

Brown stands before a rickety looking table that bears two silver and two copper coins. He is alone in what must be a church, for the Virgin Mary resides on the wall to his right and a crucified Jesus hangs opposite her. Lawrence’s attempt at perspective makes it seem like the church extends fairly far back, and the paintings to either side must be enormous to fill up their entire walls. Such a large space could surely house all of the people sympathetic to his cause, yet Brown is the solitary figure in the print. If he is a hero fighting for a just cause, he should be accompanied by friends and supporters, people sympathetic to the plight of the slaves like him. His company is absent though. Sure, at least four people have come by and chipped in, but that is not enough to capture an arsenal, much less abolish slavery. A painting that should show the makings of a great triumph for a man supported by many instead shows a lonely man on the brink of failure. For those who know the history, it appears that all of John Brown’s followers realized that they could not match his fervor and that they were saner than he. They understood that such small resistance would make little difference and chose not to follow Brown past the point of no return.

Knowing John Brown, closer examination reveals that he is not alone at all. In his mind, Brown had no greater sympathizers than Mary and Jesus, except for God himself. He stands between two of the most powerful symbols in all of Christianity, the Virgin and the Crucifix. To a spiritual person, he needs no other support. However, the symbolism is subverted by the quality of the art. The figures flanking Brown appear to look down as if they are judging him. Their gaze puts him on trial for the crimes he is going to commit. This interpretation would not be possible if Brown was more realistically portrayed, but he looks like he is cowering in fear. He shows the whites of his eyes and holds his hands as if to ask why he deserves such accusation. Lawrence has drawn him hunched over like a dog with its tail tucked, afraid of being beaten. Brown is not illustrated with the posture or conviction of a hero, and the heavenly figures look more like they want to send him to Hell than send him to abolish slavery.

Lawrence’s use of color does little to support his message. The church itself is a dull mix of grays. Mary is clad in blues and red, which are pure colors befitting her character. Jesus is covered only by a red cloth. Both instances of red can be seen as testament to the blood to be shed by the man in black standing in the middle. Perhaps Brown is meant to be wearing the color of the people he fights for, but the archetypical role of a black knight has always been a villain. That is the tone that resonates from the image of a man in black, cowering beneath the son of God and his mother. The color that speaks more volume than any other in the painting though is the deep blue seen out the door behind Brown. Lawrence uses a near identical shade of blue in the final image in this series. Its presence in number fourteen only serves to foreshadow the end, the inevitable hanging of a vigilante brought to justice, and his ultimate failure to complete his mission. With that blue, Lawrence foretells the death of his hero.

It should not be a difficult task for a black American to portray John Brown as a hero. He was one of the most outspoken abolitionists of the antebellum era. However, Lawrence has failed to adequately portray Brown in such a light, and he was doomed to begin with. Cubist artwork is highly open to interpretation, yet it is poorly suited for the depth of symbolism Lawrence hoped to achieve. It was his intention to show John Brown, an incredibly pious man, collecting offerings from other such people within the house of God to fund his quest to end slavery. After this scene is converted into a cubist work, we are left with a mockery of the righteous protagonist and the holy ground he stands upon. Brown was a physically imposing man with a fearsome gaze that put fear in the heart of pro-slavery Americans.

Pictured: The Personification of Pro-Slavery Fear

Lawrence presents us with a weak, old man, unarmed and unaccompanied on his road to failure. His attempt to present the man as more than a vigilante pales in comparison to Robert Hayden’s, whose poem glorifying Brown’s efforts features on the wall next to the series. Hayden’s work proves that the message was ready to be sent, but only through the proper medium with the proper style. Lawrence simply made the wrong choice.

Jacob Lawrence’s fourteenth image in The Legend of John Brown is the point that his message begins to unravel. Cubism is a poor interpreter for sympathizers of John Brown. The proud, righteous man Lawrence wished to show his audience looks like a hobbled, old beggar in the finished work. As such, we are unable to suspend our knowledge of Brown’s true nature, that of the man who took justice into his own hands, who thought he was chosen by God. Actually, Brown was rather prophetic in the end. His last words haunt our nation’s history: “I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land can never be purged away but with blood.” It’s certainly not the mark of a hero to condemn his country to war though.