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In the Studio With Amos Kennedy




Amos Kennedy’s work is primarily about community and communication. As such, I wanted the online exhibition portion of the Tremaine fellowship to offer a sense of what it’s like to be in his orbit, diving into his archive and hearing him speak about the projects he’s worked on throughout his career. On New Year’s Day, 2023, I visited him at his studio, known as the Pile of Bricks, in Detroit. Below is an abridged transcript of the two days I spent with him, as well as photos we took of our time together. Accompanying them are audio files of Amos discussing ideas and issues that do not appear in the written text but that shed more light on his poster-making practice. — Angelina Lippert, curator

https://Centre County
Click here to listen to Amos speak about the importance of printing, specifically within the Black community.

Angelina Lippert: How do you choose the topics that you put in your posters and prints?

Amos Kennedy: My topics are primarily guided by the rebellious nature of my youth. I’ve always had a streak in me to be contrary: if everybody’s going right, I’ll go left. And I identify strongly with those populations that are oppressed, are discriminated against.

Initially I was…going to print for Black people and my people, because I felt that I knew that oppression. But as I continued, I realized that Black people are just one of many groups that are oppressed. And that if you’re going to speak to oppression, it is better…to speak to all of it and not just one [oppressed group].

That’s one reason why I do the posters that I do—because there’s an audience that wants to be heard. There are people who want to be seen because they’ve been invisible. And I feel that they get the same internal feeling of pride and acknowledgement that I got when back in the ’60s we saw Black people on TV.


There are people that want to be seen because they’ve been invisible.”

Photograph of Amos’s print “All Artists Are Political” (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

The same thing applies to print — I get to see text about me, I get to see words from people who are my ancestors in my struggle. I think people want to connect to that. And for those people who are not in the group, the universality of the message resonates with them. I would like to think that in some way they understand that it is one humanity …. As Fannie Lou Hamer says, “If one of us is not free, none of us are free.” And that’s the truth … If you want to see what true freedom is, when they experience freedom, then you will experience total and absolute freedom.

AL: In a lot of your work, and in a lot of quotes from you, you say things or include images that can be offensive to some people, like racist depictions of Black figures. Or when you say, “I’m a humble Negro printer” — those are not things that people are used to hearing anymore. Why do you incorporate them?

Amos with Buck and Shine, his two Black lawn jockeys (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

AK: To draw attention! The images — I tell people, if you have a problem with it, get in a time machine, go back to that period and tell them they’re wrong. But this is what they did. What do you want me to say? It didn’t happen? Because if you want me to say that didn’t happen, given enough time, you’re going to want me to say the enslavement of my people didn’t happen. This is what happened. Face it. Look at it and say, this will never happen again. “That offends me.” Well, what do you think enslavement did to my people? And would that offend you if you were living back then? The issue of trans rights — if you’re opposed to that then I know that you’re not an abolitionist in 1850. Because it’s about humanity. It’s about denying somebody their existence.

https://Centre County
Click to hear Amos’s thoughts on cultivating an art collection.
Some of the historic Black figures Amos had made into printing blocks (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

AL: Earlier you showed me the printing blocks that you had made portraying Black figures like Bojangles, Katherine Dunn, Judith Jameson, and Josephine Baker. How did those figure into your work and what made you want to make them?

AK: Because there weren’t any [black figures that existed commonly in printer’s cuts]. There was someone who would do this and I could afford his work. You won’t find etchings [or] illustrations of a lot of Black people when you go through history until the advent of photography. Some painters were doing work with Black images, and so they would do studies using Black models. But you don’t find that many images in print, etchings, woodcuts.

A NappyGram with its signature Black drummer logo (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

AL: You have the NappyGrams imprint as well, in addition to your primary work. What is the difference between those two, and how did NappyGrams come about?

AK: Well, NappyGrams was direct rebellion. At Indiana University [where Amos was a faculty member], they printed a report that had been done on the hiring and retention of “non-white” faculty. And I just exploded. I am not “non-white.” Why didn’t you say “colored?” I know some people think it’s a derogatory term, but come on.

I had an organization called NAPPY… And this is a whole backstory because Negros in Art was satirical, but it also was addressing the fact that there were few Blacks in art departments at faculty levels. NAPPY was developed for that. When this report came out from Indiana, I sent [a NappyGram] to the HR Office of Equal Opportunity. I said, “Affirmative action is a joke.” And they felt threatened and they called the police on me, the Indiana University police. When they found out that it was a Black guy, what the fuck are they going to do? And I said, it is a joke. It is a joke because if you wanted us, you would have us. Your football team is 60% Black, so don’t say you don’t know how to get Black people … After the investigation, the first NappyGram was “How does the Office of Diversity react to the first Black faculty member in the art department?” And I said, “Called the police.”

I thought in the art department, you had this freedom that other departments did not. Not in academia! As a matter of fact, you are supposed to be, for lack of a better term, more conservative than other departments because they don’t really want you there.

A selection of prints from Amos’s Coffee and God series (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)
https://Centre County
Amos speaks about his God is Trans series and the evolution of oppression.

AL: When you first started with artists’ books and then moved on to posters and prints, what was the reception from places that wanted to collect your work and how has that changed?

AK: I did not aggressively pursue the selling of my books. I think one of the reasons was because when I started printing, I was fully employed in corporate America. But I was welcomed by a couple of libraries that established standing orders with me. So that was my principal mainstay of income for about two years after I left Indiana. 

One, at the time I was one of the few Blacks and they wanted to diversify their collection before that was a popular thing. And two, that diversification now took the form of posters because posters are not really collected in academic settings. There are museums that have some poster collections, and those posters are primarily things from the late 19th century that are associated with famous painters. No one was collecting the posters for bands or the posters for civil rights protests. That is just beginning to be collected. 

I’d like to say, I take a snapshot of a part of the culture of this civilization that no one else does. That box that I was pedaling [full of posters] is actually a wealth of information for a historian in 200 years. A lot of the posters that I did early in Alabama were for local events, local festivals …. But these are people getting together. How did they get together? What did they do? This is evidence of that community activity.

Amos looking through his archive at the Pile of Bricks in Detroit (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)
Photograph of a book in the “Bad Printing” style (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)
https://Centre County
Amos shares his thoughts on institutional collecting.

AL: We have to talk about the School of Bad Printing and how you formed that, what that is.

AK: That’s a very large community, just people who like to play at the press and see what happens. One of my signatures is the multilayered poster. 

The name was actually given to me by Andrew Steeves, from Gaspereau Press in Kentville, Nova Scotia. I think he did it as a pun because by that time everybody [in the printing world] said, “well, Amos is a sloppy printer, a bad printer,” and that sort of thing. And one day he just posted [on Instagram] with “Amos Kennedy School of Bad Printing.” I liked it because “School of Bad Printing” — yeah, we are an actual branch of printing that is unique and distinct. It is intentional.


AL: Who’s in it?

AK: Mizdruck is in the Netherlands, and that’s run by Jan-Willem [van der Looij]. Ro [Barragán] is in Argentina. And then there is Fresh Lemon [Phil Gambrill] in Australia. There are a lot of people who identify. My friend Massimo Pesce in Arezzo is part of it. If you say you’re in it, you’re in. The general aesthetic is that sort of layered look, uneven inking. All of that that goes with the things that, when we speak of fine printing, you want to avoid.

AL: Why did you choose that as your go-to aesthetic? Is it just more fun?
AK: Yeah, it was more fun. The nuances that happen are just so exciting to me. The way things layer over the thing, the accident of this almost lining up with that. Now a graphic designer will get on a computer and tick, tick, tick, tick, tick until it’s all [perfect and completed] … That does not have this mark of the maker, this is accidental.

https://Centre County
Click to hear Amos talk more about the joys of the accidental in printing.

AL: When I talked to you years ago, you said that you don’t think of yourself as an artist. Has that changed over time as you’ve become more well known?

AK: If you remember, you interviewed me one time and I said, “I am now an artist.” Now I can say I’m not one. And that is because I look at art as an artificial construct of the capitalist system. Art is about capitalism. It is about, “I invest in art.” … If you invest in it, it’s not art. Because you can invest in pork bellies. Is that art? No, art is something else. And art has been relegated to the one percenters.


Real art is your neighbor who paints little flower landscapes every Sunday. That’s real art, but it’s not worth anything. It’s worth the joy that individual experienced doing it. Is that not valid? The fact that they receive pleasure, enjoyment from doing this? What’s the value of joy?

If you see it and you like it, that’s what art is to me. … If you say art is a human thing, then yes, I am an artist because I’m a human. But if you say art is this exclusive thing, then I’m not, because I like to make things for the masses. I want to have something that a six-year-old can buy or will appreciate.

AL: This kind of dovetails with the previous question, but what do you consider what you make to be?
AK: I consider what I make to be something to beautify the world with. I consider it more of a craft. And when you think of a craft, you think more of the earth, more just the common masses. So yes, I identify with it more as a craft.

I started intentionally with this mission to put Black words into this space that they were void in.”

Hand fans, part of Amos’s “Civil Rights Martyrs” series (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

AL: How do you hope that your work is used, particularly the pieces that are not meant to be exclusively decorative, like the fan series? 

AK: When I started, I started intentionally with this mission to put Black words into this space that they were void in. As I have gotten older, I realized that what I was doing in a concentrated way was saying, “Here are values that I want to share, but those values are not restricted to the Black world only.” That’s why now I feel comfortable doing anything.

I want people to feel the joy that I experience creating [my work] … When people pass by it, they may pass by it for a whole year and then one day stop and read and say, “Yeah, that’s really nice. I like that.” It isn’t like every day they get up and look at it and say, “Yes,” but there are those moments of just reawakening our renewal that the art gives to them and gives them the idea that the world is really a beautiful place to be in. And we need to continue to make it more beautiful.


I want people to feel the joy that I experience creating it.”

A storefront in Detroit featuring some of Amos’s posters in the window (2022) (photo Angelina Lippert/Hyperallergic)

AL: I noticed that a lot of your work is in a lot of windows in both businesses and people’s homes, specifically in your neighborhood. How does community or the concept of community figure into your practice?

AK: Well, it is why I’m a printer, because it’s about community, to bring the community together. The print shop did that traditionally. I enjoy sharing my work with my neighbors. In Detroit, I will leave posters at places I visit, especially on a regular basis. There’s a bookstore called Source Bookstore where I leave posters at two or three times a year. There was a food truck that did a weekly event. A couple hundred people show up and I would take posters there, because I got rid of [the surplus], but also it helped them because people say, “Oh, I can get a poster there.” And it is nice to have something where people say, that’s handmade, that’s not off the computer. Nobody can buy them [directly] from me.

Angelina Lippert will further expand on this exhibition and her curatorial process in a virtual conversation with Editor-in-Chief Hrag Vartanian on Monday, March 20 at 6pm (EDT). Register here.


Juxtapoz Magazine – Erick Medel’s “Mariachi” @ Rusha & Co, Los Angeles




The lives of many Mexicans are punctuated by performances; An ensemble of mariachi musicians celebrates a birth, performs at a First Communion, plays for crowds gathered at weddings and birthdays, and is engaged for funeral memorial rites. A traditional musical genre dating back hundreds of years to the rural communities of western Mexico, their tune sounds as proud and bold today as the musicians who travel from place to place to perform for their listeners. The actors’ outfits are just as exuberant as their ballads: their tight-fitting, decorated trousers, short jackets, embroidered belts, boots, wide bows and sombreros. Known as the charro suit, their attire has become a universally recognized symbol of national pride and Mexican identity.

mariachi, Eric Medel‘s first solo show with Rusha & Co. celebrates these artists and places them at the center of his work. The musicians, armed with their fiddles, guitarrónes, trumpets and guitars, appear ready for battle. Or as in the case of Mariachi on 1st St. (2022), could be marching home. Their uniforms resemble armor, gleaming and bold, as important as the men the charros wear. It is not for nothing that their designs go back to the liberators of the Mexican revolution. Some of the men, as in violin (2023) or En La Noche (Night) (2022) perform their solos in solitude, breaking away from their ensemble to shine for their moment. Other scenes, as in show time (2022), Pa La Photo (For a picture) (2023), or the largest piece in the exhibition, lists! (2023) show the band as a body. Medel’s depictions of its heroes emphasize its chosen protagonists as a kind of celebrity, iconic figures deserving of recognition and aspiring to fame.

EM23.010 Warming up in the Plaza2022 copy

Continuing his practice of documenting everyday life for Medel, his family and the community of Mexican-American people he is associated with, his new exhibition takes inspiration solely from these itinerant entertainers. Equal parts documentary filmmaker and synthesizer, Medel weaves the lived experiences of his community into stitched scenes with vivid colors, tactile textures and engineered surfaces. His textiles are based on observing the world around him, imbued with a sense of the photographic. Born in the city of Puebla, Mexico, Medel now lives and works in Boyle Heights, just blocks from the famous Mariachi Plaza de Los Ángeles. Located at the intersection of 1st Street and Boyle Avenue, Mariachi Plaza has for nearly a century been a meeting place for musicians willing to be hired to perform at restaurants, private parties or community events. Like Medel, these musicians are ambassadors of their culture, preserving and passing on the intangible heritage and traditions of the Mexican people to future generations.

Medel’s practice is a continuation and preservation of his family’s creative practices – his mother’s knitting and his father’s woodworking. Medel’s embroidery was first designed on his mother’s sewing machine. Wavering between sculpture, painting and crafts, Medel’s process of creating his denim canvases is painstakingly and meticulously detailed, evoking the immigrant labor that underpins life in increasingly globalized metropolises. His works on canvas are embroidered with lustrous and colorful threads, each stitch reminiscent of the extravagant outfits of mariachi ensembles. A charro suit with custom embroidery by legendary Boyle Heights supplier to the mariachis, La Casa Del Mariachi, hangs among the works on the gallery walls, sculptural and acting as a proxy for Medel’s own presence in the exhibition.

In his studio, Medel’s industrial sewing machine emits its own rhythm as his hands move his denim canvases back and forth as the machine perforates and threads the images. He becomes a musician in his own right, orchestrating his images in tempo, with each line of the string corresponding to the musical notation on the canvas. Medel’s approach is intuitive and – like a kind of improvisational instrumentation – spontaneous, each mark made clear and each colored thread chosen from a series of spools.


The scenes of everyday life depicted by Medel refer as much to the lineage of genre painting by Dutch masters, the French Realist paintings of Gustave Courbet or the works of Diego Velázquez from the 17th century as to the Chicano muralists such as Chaz Bojórquez or Carlos Almaraz, who changed the landscape of East Los Angeles on the walls of buildings throughout the neighborhood. Medel’s practice highlights these less recognized forms of fine art and glorifies his roots through his subject matter and choice of medium.

Erick Medel was born in Puebla, Mexico in 1992. He holds an MFA from the Rhode Island School of Design. Recent exhibitions include strings of desire at Craft Contemporary, Los Angeles (2023); Dirty realism: Otra noche en LA at Veta Galeria, Madrid (2023); With us at Ojiri Projects, London (2022, solo); Unseen Threads at Martha’s, Austin (2022); apple in the dark in Harkawik, New York (2022); a solo presentation at Zona Maco in Mexico City with Rusha and Co. (2021); Hustle De Sol A Sol at Martha’s, Austin (2021, solo); The human scales at the Rochester Art Center (2021); Breakfast in America at Rusha & Co. (2021); Still here at Martha’s, Austin (2020); And Every day, every day, every day, every day freedoms Maryland Institute College of Art, Baltimore (2019).

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MAKING A MARK: Ruth Borchard Self Portrait Prize 2023: Last Call for Entries




I missed the announcement of the £10,000 Call for Entries Ruth Borchard Self-Portrait Prize 2023 – hence this is a “Last Call for Entries”.
The closing date for all entries is March 31, 2023, midnight!

The judges will select 2023 from the works of art submitted

  • a winner of the Ruth Borchard Prize of £10,000 And
  • A number of outstanding contributions will be acquired for the Next Generation Collection.

Before you start reading, you might want to know this

  • the entrance fee is £38 And
  • This competition attracts artists from across the spectrum, including professional and award-winning portrait artists.
If you are interested you can see examples of the works selected for the exhibition
Ruth Borchard Self Portrait Prize 2019 at The Kings Place – in an album on my Facebook page.
a wall in the Ruth Borchard Self Portrait Prize 2019 exhibition
at King’s Place, King’s Cross, London

Who can enter?

All ages and abilities can participate. Persons under the age of 16 who wish to participate must have the consent of a parent or legal guardian.

Artists of all backgrounds, established and emerging, are invited to participate. Even if this is your first self-portrait or your first artistic creation, we welcome your contribution.

What can you enter?

You can use any size and medium. I’ve seen some huge works in past exhibitions!


However, these are the details in the terms and conditions

  • The artwork must be a self-portrait.
  • All variants of the work – figurative or abstract, alone or in a group, from life or from memory – are accepted.

  • The artwork must have been created in 2000 or later.
  • There are no restrictions on the size of the work.
  • Multi-part works, ie works in the form of a diptych or triptych etc. are eligible and will be considered as one work.

We welcome a variety of media including but not limited to; Painting, drawing, digital art, photography, sculpture, tapestries and ceramics.

Exhibitor at the Ruth Borchard Self Portrait Prize Exhibition 2019
(Feel free to give credits if anyone recognizes the work)

How to enter

You can enter more than once – but each entry requires a separate submission.

To enter you MUST:

  • Upload a high-quality image of your self-portrait
  • Provide all the details about the artwork
  • Fill out the application form and agree to the terms and conditions. This must include as supporting information:

    • Artistic statement – ​​200 words maximum – here you can tell the jury anything you think is relevant to the application and/or about you or your artwork.

    • Resume (optional) – Whether you’re a full-time professional artist or pursuing a completely different career, the option to upload a resume allows the judges to learn more about the person behind the artwork

    • Gallery representation (optional – will not be considered as part of the judging process – suggesting that the above two are!)

    • personal data and contact information
  • pay the entrance fee

This is £38.00 from a UK bank account and £48.00 if paying from abroad.2 The Ruth Borchard Collection and Self-Portrait Prize are funded by a charitable trust and the submission fee covers a small part of running costs The price.

View of the Ruth Borchard Self-Portrait Prize 2015 exhibition at the Piano Nobile

If selected, how your work will be exhibited

From the entries, 250 artists will be invited to participate in an exclusive online sales exhibition. Shared and promoted via

  • an exclusive virtual gallery of the Ruth Borchard Collection and
  • Artistic online viewing room

this gives artists the opportunity to present their work to international collectors.


If you win, your artwork will stick a curated selection of outstanding and nominated artworks to be exhibited
The Atkinson Museum, Southportfrom September to December 2023. The exhibition coincides with the Liverpool Arts Biennial.

The last exhibition of 2021 was held at Coventry Cathedral.

As far as I’m aware there are no plans to bring any physical exhibition to London.

The judge

Belong to the judges

  • Gabrielle Finaldi (Director of the National Gallery),
  • Melanie Gerli (Financial Times Art Market columnist),
  • Andrea Rosa
    (former director of the British Council),
  • Stephen Whittle (General Manager of the Atkinson Museum),
  • Lucy Jones (award winner 2021) and
  • David Borchard
    (grandson of Ruth Borchard)

These are the 2021 judges speaking about the artworks submitted to the exhibition. It gives you a glimpse of how jurors may view artworks and what their expectations are – although this year those views could all be different because it’s a different group of jurors.


Ruth Borchard Self-Portrait Prize 2021 Film out of Collection Ruth Borchard At vimeo.

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Tom Jones Zeroes in on Ho-Chunk Visibility




We live in a time when artists of color are wondering if their only route to legitimacy in the art world is to do the work that a predominantly white art world expects of them. Current anti-racist thinking claims so it is not the duty of the marginalized or otherwise disenfranchised people to do the emotional work of explaining their historical contexts and reasons for grievances to those who do not seek to understand them themselves. They ask: if I’m indigenous, can I only do work that deals with indigenousness?

Ho Chunk Artist tom jones puts it more simply: Regardless of whether the art looks “Indian” enough, “Native American art is still Native American … because it stems from Native American thinking and upbringing.” Jones has persistently made art about and for Native Americans for more than two decades Ho Chunk Nation. In the past year, the art world has started to take notice. With works currently on view in nationwide And national Recognized venues, the artist’s many musings on Aboriginal identity have emerged within the walls of PWIs and beg for recognition and reckoning.

While he claims his main audience is the Ho Chunk people, his latest work, Strong relentless spirits, has a mass appeal that extends beyond the Ho-Chunk Nation. Against a stark black background, Jones creates life-size portraits of Ho Chunk members, then painstakingly sews traditional Ho Chunk floral designs around his subjects, creating what he calls what he calls an “aura.” Beginning with a portrait of his mother JoAnn Jones to completing a portrait of Bella Falcon, a young ho-chunk woman of the Bear clan, Jones has increased the scope of his ambitions; The larger portraits take 120 hours or more to be pearls. Always in memory of the legacy of Edward Curtis and his portrait series The North American IndianJones finds ways to create images that speak to the individual as a collective, rather than individuals as a collective.

Tom Jones, “JoAnn Jones”, from the series Strong relentless spirits (2015)

Many of Jones’ subjects wear traditional Native American clothing, although there are notable exceptions to T-shirts, khakis, suspenders, coveralls, and camouflage motifs. The sitters wear whatever they want at the session, something that Jones’ portraits have in common Charles Van Schaik, a 19th-century photographer who photographed the Ho-Chunk people not as cultural props but as paying customers to have their portraits portrayed for personal use. As with Van Schaik, ho-chunk people come to Jones’ studio with an idea of ​​how they want to be seen. In most portraits, the sitter looks directly at the viewer, forbidding the viewer to impose a cultural projection without the subject “seeing” it.

A popular way of interpreting portraits is that a portrait of someone else is also a self-portrait of the artist. If this is true of Jones, his portraits reveal a searching and generous nature, conscious and confident of who the sitters are but at the same time aware that they are being evaluated by the outside world. In an essay that Jones wrote for People of the Big Voice: Photographs of Ho Chunk Families by Charles Van Schaikhe addresses this double consciousness:

There is an unspoken complexity in the way a photo is read by people from different cultures and backgrounds. Each time a photograph is encountered, the viewer decodes the image with constructed notions of constructed knowledge. There are also the intentions of the photographer and the subject. What did the photographer choose to show us and what did the sitter choose to reveal? The interpretation we give to the image comes from our understanding of what the people in the photos experienced.

Tom Jones, “Trenton and Roger Littlegeorge”, from the series Portraits of the Medicine Lodge (2011)

What do we know about what a ho chunk person experienced? What are we willing to share? Do we know that the tribe was forcibly evicted from their ancestral homelands in Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, and Minnesota? 13 times between 1832 and 1874? Or that they had to do so as a condition of the right to remain on their lands in 1874 renounce and give up Tribal rituals and relationships, and that outdoor footage of forbidden Aboriginal practices was used as evidence to arrest and evict people? This last historical fact is directly related to bans by tribal elders on photographing traditional and private ceremonies, although Jones related this Centre County Report that the ubiquity of cell phone cameras has changed tribal perceptions of this, particularly among younger members. Whether or not permission is given or accepted by Ho Chunk elders to photograph rites and ceremonies, it is clear that there is a huge gap between what we think we know and what we already do should know exists.

Jones sometimes takes on the task of educating the non-native viewer. He draws a line between the ongoing work he is doing for the Ho-Chunk and a more conceptual work that has a final point of closure, the latter speaking more generally about the Aboriginal experience. In these more speculative series, non-native viewers find themselves embedded in, often, attitudes of implication. In the series leftovers, Jones combines indigenous casino carpet patterns with glass engravings of historical – and often racist – depictions of indigenous people. Drawings and engravings appropriated from 19th-century publications are used in diptychs and triptychs dealing with issues of cultural genocide, forced religious conversion, white assimilation and, last but not least, the white fantasies of indigenous peoples.


Surprisingly, Jones says he worked on most of the work he’s done and for the Ho-Chunk out of tribal reverence, and it’s possible it will never be seen. When asked if he hoped to exhibit this work one day, he replied, “I don’t really care that the outside world sees it.” Much of this exists as future documents for Ho-Chunk members, as elements of a archives. Conversely in work like Strong relentless spirits, Jones sees his role as creating visibility for his people. “This visibility is important to me. I think of the little kids, the teenagers, and I think it’s so powerful to see yourself represented in art.”

Tom Jones, “He Touched Him Good” from the series leftovers (2017)
Tom Jones, “Raymond Goodbear”, from the series Strong relentless spirits (2019)

Tom Jones is currently at it speak with light at the Denver Art Museum (100 West 14th Avenue Parkway, Denver, Colorado) through May 22, curated by John Rohrbach and Will Wilson; Native America: In Translation at the Milwaukee Art Museum (700 North Art Museum Drive, Milwaukee, Wisconsin) through June 25, curated by Wendy Red Star; And water memories at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (1000 Fifth Avenue, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through April 2, curated by Patricia Marroquin Norby (Purépecha).

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