Elizabeth Catlett - A Black Revolutionary Artist

A review of Elizabeth Catlett - A Black Revolutionary Artist

at the Art Institute of Chicago

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Political Prisoner,   1971

Though wealth may still buy a seat on its governing board, the Art Institute of Chicago has recently been a platform for a radical social justice ideology -  much  like the one that dominates academia.  Exhibitions of rightwing propaganda are inconceivable, while this is the second explicitly “woke” exhibition  this year. Indeed, the defiant prisoner shown above wears the Pan African flag that represents the theme of last winter’s exhibit.

Gallery signage tells us :

Political Prisoner draws inspiration from newswire photographs of activist Angela Davis' arrest in 1970, but represents a universal figure. As Catlett explained for this sculpture “What I feel strongest about now are the Black people in prisons. . Not just Angela Davis, but all the political prisoners"

As you may recall, Professor Davis was arrested for buying the weapons used in a courtroom assault that left the judge and two others dead. Just as with the January 6 rioters - her motivation may have been political, but the crime for which she was arrested  (and later acquitted) was a crime regardless.

Homage to the Black Panthers, 1970

Likewise,  she valorized the Black Panthers among other prints made on behalf of Black Power.  The automatic rifle at the bottom glorifies violent insurrection.

Accordingly, Elizabeth Catlett called herself a "black revolutionary artist"  - the title of this exhibition - but her work appears much more tame.  Rather than a call to arms,  the above is more like a dirge for Fred Hampton and Mark Clark, made two years after they were shot  -  just as  most of her other prints show compassion for the poor and downtrodden. They call for an army of social workers not soldiers.  Catlett’s parents were educated educators.  Her sculptures were made for middle class homes.  Tom Wolfe’s phrase, “radical  chic” might better apply to her political activism.

Homage to my Black Sisters, 196

All of the sculptures here, including  “ Political Prisoner “ feel aspirational - even the monumental clenched fist giving the black power salute.  It expresses personal triumph more than defiance, celebration more than anger.  If you climb a ladder up to see the face, it's gentle and sweet.  

 You may also notice its resemblance to contemporary Modern sculpture, specifically Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth.  Catlett took art making quite seriously, gaining  familiarity with both contemporary and traditional sculpture, as well as reaching a high level of craft. She selected each piece of wood or stone and carved it to perfection.

Black Unity,  1968

Even the giant fist is more celebratory than defiant, more affirmation than anger.

These pieces are as decorative as elegant furniture, - masterpieces of craft and design.  But are they Art? If we ask Art to connect us to human destiny or higher purpose, her smooth, hard, pleasant surfaces aim no higher than order, confidence and personal satisfaction. 

These pieces appear  to have been made for a home - not a temple, pubic square, or art museum.  They’re comfortable.  They’re domestic.  The political content is all about personal identity.  The college kids of my generation put  “Che Lives” posters up in the dormitory.  A few years later,  fashion called for Angela Davis.  Elizabeth Catlett was in the academic vanguard of what would eventually be called “woke” -  the ongoing call for racial justice even after the Civil Rights bill of 1964 - a  velvet revolution led by an educated elite that has mostly served to motivate a real revolution by the radical right.  Which doesn’t make her work any less aesthetically pleasing.  Visuality  never  takes a back seat in Catlett’s work.

And who’s to say that the home is any less important to the human project than the more public areas. She certainly has dignity down cold - especially when compared with the women depicted by DeKooning.  She presents that ,satisfaction and authority that only mothers can have.  Catlett created many more statues on the theme of motherhood than revolution -  but the curators of this show chose to highlight  politics.

Her contribution to American politics is problematic , but her contribution to Modern and traditional African figure sculpture deserves much more attention.  While postwar abstraction was marginalizing the human figure, she carried its finest, most uplifting qualities into the following  century.  She stands alone among American sculptors of high reputation. 

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Naima, My Granddaughter,  1998

Belongs in a tourist shop,

but only the very  best ones.

Phyllis Wheatley,  1973

We might call this medieval idealization:  a pleasant design built up with modified geometric volumes to present a generic saintly person.  But not without without a certain flair to give it more appeal.

Compares well with the very best tribal carvings from Africa and elsewhere.

1956

A carefull arrangement of volumes.

1983

Even this early piece has elegance and power

Head of a Black Woman, 1946

Cassada ,   1946

1971

Belongs in a hospital maternity ward

1993

Almost Romanesque.

Feels like carved ivory.

Rebozo,  1968

Glory, 1981

Comparable to Benin bronzes.

Suitable for an airport?

Stargazer,  1979

A great reclining figure.

Yes -  it’s all about the stars 

Target Practice,  1979

Thankfully, she did not portray victimhood very often.

Mask for Whites,  1970

Thankfully, she did not create racial stereotypes very often.

I do have a big mouth , but at least I’m not crosseyed.

Makes me think of the right wing talk radio hosts.

My Reward has been Bars between Me and the Rest of the land.  Linocut, 1947

Barbed Wire

Another signed version, with a different title and effect.

Special Houses,  1946

Such strong characterization.

These people have seen hard times,

but somehow their lives seems brighter 

than the following,

done by Catlett’s husband the previous year:

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Charles White, Mother, 1945