Chaiwali Love: A Delicious Harlem Haven

I found a dining place with vegan options to appreciate in Harlem. Amazingly enough, it's a four minute walk from my favorite place-- Studio Museum Harlem.

Last Wednesday, I had the most thrilling time in New York City. I saw the latest Kehinde Wiley paintings at Sean Kelly Gallery, Lynette Yiadom-Boakye's current works at New Museum (excited about going to her talk next month!), and spent time at Schomburg Research Center for Black Culture Library and their awesome bookstore.

Schomburg Bookshop presents to self: Jean-Michel Basquiat postcard, a Radical Dreams "Unbought & Unbossed" Shirley Chisolm lapel pin, the graphic novel adaptation of Octavia Butler's "Kindred," and "Black 20th Century Art" (which the cashier kindly gave me for free). 

The art hopping/book collecting day conjured up a supreme appetite. I had to be at a place near Studio Museum, seeing as it was my primary reason for coming to The Big Apple. The second annual Lea K. Green Artist Talk, a tremendous honor named after a wonderful arts advocate, would be bestowed upon one of my favorite contemporary artists, Jordan Casteel.
Chaliwali, on Lenox Avenue, was listed as a nearby spots with vegan options. I cyber browsed the menu and ultimately decided that it would be the perfect place to have dinner before the event. Of course, I walked down the wrong street. It wouldn't be me if this didn't happen.....  

I'm a big chai tea fan and had to try out their naked house chai tea. Pretty cool that they serve it out of a coffee pot. It's strong, unsweetened, and pure yum.

Beautiful interior shots of the exquisite yet sleek dining establishment. There are fancy chandeliers, warm brown and gold accents, clean, polished surfaces...

I choose to eat at the bar, but this is a look at the tables and outside eating area.

I ordered the kale burger!

I almost died.
Just died.
This kale burger is simply exceptional. And I told Eric, my waiter, that it was perfect. I can see why it's popular. It is giant, crispy, flavorful. I'm not the biggest kale fan, but this burger was swaying with powerful intentions, especially with the tantalizing side dishes--garlic spinach, spiced rosemary potatoes, and chutney. I had one hand holding onto dear life of my burger loaded with crunchy lettuce and juicy, perfectly ripened avocado and the other held a fork, digging into potatoes and spinach with greedy relish. I had Harry Meets Sally moments with that food, closing my eyes, savoring every bite, very happy to alone at the bar. It was that good.
When finished, the whole plate yes, I could barely move.

A close up of this mouthwatering, out of this world burger that made sure I couldn't order dessert. I'll be thinking about the vegan whipped coconut creme, saffron, and mango sweetness that I missed out on. Until next time Chaiwali...

Fabricated Fantasy Romanticism Shadowed By Disturbing Historical Trauma

Experimenting with remarkable deception and manipulating history is part of Fabiola Jean-Louis's cultivated master plan.

At Harlem School for the Arts, Fabiola Jean-Louis's Rewriting History: paper gowns and photographs is a breathtaking, suspenseful portrait survey. Surreal concept of Black Girl Magic poignantly address the artist's multifaceted heritage rooted in Afro-Carribean ancestry and puts past, present, and future on notice. Tongue in cheek with severe lashings in pretty bold packaging, rectangular gold frames contain impressive digitized prints that mirror hyper realistic historical paintings. Elaborately staged settings entail dark and moody environments. Palettes are as dramatic as noteworthy Romanticist/Rococo era painters Thomas Gainsborough and Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. There are no regal Marie Antoinettes or noble Queen Victorias implanted here. With curly coifs, braided updos, and pearled locs, women of color are dressed in fetching period costume, presented as beautiful, desirable ladies as important as positioned objects in their possession. Some images purposely interlace grisly accounts with interior frames and lieu of adorned flowers to lessen the merciless blow.

Madame Beauvoir's Painting, 24" x 31," archival pigment print, 2016.

Jean-Louis confronts the birth of white supremacy language, discloses the challenges and stigmas of colorism, and the centuries-long psychological damage of racial discrimination.
Madame Beavoir's Painting, masked in a heavy arsenal of froufrou fashion, initiates unsettling dialogue, obscuring idyllic fantasy and blatant reality in shocking orchestration. A woman draped in rich crinkled fabric and opulent jewelry stands before a framed image of a violently whipped figure, red particles deliberately splattered in small, intended doses. It is that of a slave. Slavery, though abolished in 1865, still remains an integral part of history, a bruise that can never be faded blemish. This beaten figure could have been this woman's ancestor, a great great great relative forever immortalized as indentured servant, as scientific beastly analysis.

Carrie Mae Weems altered version a similar archive photograph version in her From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried series. Chromogenic color print with sand-blasted text on glass.

 Madame Leroy, Conquistador, and Madame Beauvoir's Painting grace the walls with layered visual meaning.

Jean-Louis's unique portraiture-- truly provocative surrealism in advanced photography-- embarks on vulnerable paths impossible to bear away- both physically and emotionally. Artificial gold gilded frames and fanciful distinguished costumes are plot devices meant to allow viewer to become suckered in, become enthralled in materialistic grandness of ostentatious spectacle only to be delivered abrasive punch.
For example, Madame Leroy is a theatrical vision. Gloomy background enhances radiance of her skin, of her gold gown and its whispering rustles and bustles, and glint of luxurious jewels at her ear, wrist, and chest. She stares out into the viewer's vicinity, languidly fixated while poised in demurely classic gesture, her elegantly high box braided coiffure nearly reaching top of picture plane.

Madame Leroy, 24" x 31," archival pigment print, 2016.

Violin of the Dead, 22" x 29," archival pigment print, 2016.

The Color Purple, 22" x 29," archival pigment print, 2016.

Rest in Piece, 22" x 29," archival pigment print, 2016.

Rest in Piece goes beyond being diagnosed as a close up shot. This zooming exemplary portrait of Madame Leroy's dress, playing on painterly trompe l'oeil illusion tactics, amplifies old horrors stemming from ugly racism still refusing to die. Among threaded bead work and torn text bodice repeating words "historical," "Europe," and "geography," nestled inside ornate silver frame, propped against serene blue sky, hanging on a tree with budded pink rosebuds is a lynched figure with RIP grave nearby nestled in a thicket of wiry ground. It tells our tale well. To be taken under false sheltering wings of Eurocentric aesthetics yet not forgetting place of the brown body in the extent of Eurocentric gaze defines Rest in Piece's representation, the core of its meaning.
In black history, despite evidence of aggravated murder and malice, the mental and physical harm of the brown body, the gauntlet is rarely thrown. Lost victims and the grieving family of those victims are guaranteed no belief in a system that was never designed to protect them.
There serves no justice, no peace. Only piece. And that piece is knowledge of being wronged.

Coffee Dress, newsprint w/coffee stain, 5" x 7," 2015 in front of Passing, 40" x 60," archival pigment print, 2016.

Each paper costume that these magnificent characters have worn are displayed. Unbelievably layered craftsmanship, sewn with commendable skill and extreme dedication to detail, genuinely mimic fabrics down its thin, wispy mannerisms. To wear paper, a delicate, fragile thing that one can write narrative, is a deeply embedded metaphor, an allegorical context of the entire exhibit.

Louis iii, 4" x 5," pattern paper painted with acrylic, 2015 (bottom).

Jean-Louis's must experience, altering turbulent makeup of not-so-ancient history, has been extended to April 1, 2016. Please go if able.

By The Atomic 29 Tipped Arrow of Cupid: The Art of Mario Moore

Together, 54" x 69," oil on canvas, 2015.

Love is pure, sacrificial, untouchable, fragile.
Mario Moore's "Refracted Light" had pulled back gossamer curtains, unveiling a past standing vibrantly on familial foundation of love. Moore captures fruitful upbringing in mesmerizing detail. Each harmonizing brushstroke shares angst-driven, soul-stirring, heart-throbbing, undeniable compassion filtered through enchanted realism. Rapt attention draws focal concentration to traditional academic techniques holding hands with postmodern issues facing black bodies today. By painting powerful portraits on copper, atomic number 29 otherwise symbolized as Cu, places marginalization on a mighty scintillating pedestal.

Together close up.

In a prejudiced society so quick to illustrate black people as violent individuals especially those murdered out of racism, Moore's compositions showcase convincing opposition, the realistic positives in a harrowing narrative relying on stout dignity and ethereal poignancy. This compelling maneuver divulges humanistic layering, rendering figures in a deliberately sympathetic nature. Riveting physical urgency in Together drives a sense of emotional strength and unwavering grace. The clutching embrace between man and woman in front of a mirror is evocative, suspenseful. Narrative within narrative entails a close intimate bond yet opens up an unmasked sorrow coyly hinted in the woman's dewy eyes.

Study of a Growing Seed, 10" x 10," oil on panel, 2015.

Study of a Growing Seed, Study of a Grip, and Love reflect on different stages of life's memories, allowing storytelling hands to relay present time with framed photographs that had documented important historical events-- birth, high school dance (perhaps Prom or Homecoming), and romance. 

Study of a Grip, 12" x 12," oil on panel, 2015.

Love, 10" x 10," oil on panel, 2015.

Queen Mother Helen Moore,  24" x 36," oil on copper, 2015.

Refracted means to make a ray of light change direction when entering different angle.
Four women bring the exhibit its endearing name. To place them on metallic surfaces enriches their valuable importance. From their hairstyles, to their facial features, to their strong fingertips, each woman is individually distinguished, each manner specifically defined. Three women hold photographs of men in their hands-- some are larger parts escaping from other paintings, forming an interesting repetitive dialogue. Queen Mother Helen Moore holds two black men graduating and the prom/high school photograph from Study of a Grip. Whereas Yeah G Ma Don't Play is a larger role than that of Love.
Herstory, however, is a portrait leaving behind smallest amount of copper background. The woman doesn't hold photographs. Instead, she has an arm crossing her chest and a defiant hand on her cheek. Eyes house sassy attitude and upturned mouth carries wry amusement. A note beside her figure asks, "fear courses through the blood of ignorance but who gives us salvation through hope?"

Yeah G Ma Don't Play, 24" x 36," oil on copper, 2015.

Herstory, 34" x 28," oil on copper, 2015.

"Fear courses through the blood of ignorance but who gives us salvation through hope?"

Mom Says I'm Her Sun, 36" x 60," oil on copper, 2015.

Mom Says I'm Her Sun is a wonderfully composed painting demonstrating the artist's sophisticated ability of having copper background offset golden highlighted planes of his mother's three-dimensionally carved face. Like James Abbot Whistler, Henry Ossawa Tanner, and others before him, Moore depicted maternity in a rather dignified way. Moore's female parent is cast in pensive radiance, staring directly into viewer's soul, holding picture of a graduating young child with pride, with a seeming means to offer him, offer him up to the world where all glitters are not gold, or in this special case-- copper. From dedicated commitment to making her fabrics appear soft and touchable to the warmth of her subdue face, this beautifully crafted art was the truest star, the guiding light of the whole exhibit.

Mom Says I'm Her Sun close up I.

Mom Says I'm Her Sun close up II.

Mom Says I'm Her Sun close up III.

Moore's tenderly heartfelt exhibit is gone now from miniscule stage/ gallery space of Harlem School for the Arts. Gratifying presence lingers in mind and spirit, surging forth vibrant images dismantling pigeonholed stereotypes. Perhaps the black women depicted are single mothers honored to have had handsome, educated sons.  Or maybe they are holding onto their child's youth, pining away for the days of old, when they could protect their boys from society's perceptual evil. Either way, Moore most importantly conveys love, the kind of love provided in the cusp of a strong, vital family. It's the kind of love inherited, a genuine love that cannot be triggered by fictional arrows.
And love inherently ties these beautifully expressive works together.

Highlights of Schomburg Center's Hosted "Basquiat and Contemporary Queer Art" Conversation

Dr. David Clinton Wills, Kimberly Drew, Juliana Huxtable, Andre Singleton, and Dr. Jordana Saggese led an enlightening discussion on contributions Jean-Michel Basquiat brought into the art world and how he continues to relate to the now.

On Monday evening, I visited the Schomburg Center for the second time in my life to see the "Basquiat and Contemporary Queer Talk." Curated by Basquiat Still Fly @ 55 founders Ja'nell Ajane and Ayanna Legros and held in the Langston Hughes Auditorium, the remarkable panelists were Black Contemporary Art's Kimberly Drew, artist/deejay/poet Juliana Huxtable (star of the New Museum Triennial), author Dr. Jordana Saggese, Very Black's Andre Singleton, and Dr. David Clinton Wills.
Its purpose was to discuss Basquiat in this imperial present, placing his amazing, powerful, distinctive work into black body intersections, black body perception. Stimulating dialogue spoke on Basquiat's progressive influence on queer thinkers and art/sociology theorists, bridging narrative between complex minds and visual language.

"There was potential for conflating, room for vibrance, dynamism, queerness, resolution, blackness, and death-- celebration, ritual."

The panel analyzed Basquiat in different angles. Semantics and racial identity politics addressed his heritage as Haitian and Puerto Rican, his multi-disciplinary interests, his fluency in English, Spanish, and French, his use of African words and ancestry, historical negativity. Each sharp shooting response activated my resurgent love for the tragic painter, an intelligent man whose methodical practice and heavy hitting dialect came and exited my life at varied intervals.
This conversation made me utterly realize that he can never be a fleeing force ever again.
Basquiat is here to stay. His body may no longer spray paint sophisticated prose on random buildings or cross out grouped linguistics on torn cardboard scraps with thickly applied Oil Bar sticks, his work remains active and alive. Generation after generation continues to find something resonating about Basquiat-- whether it be his paintings, his drawings, his writings, his fashion statements, his intelligence, his attractiveness.

Of Basquiat, their instructor had said, "he broke boxes, broke chains, and broke constrains." She also said that one of the best aspects of teaching was to inspire and support students and that it was wonderful to include Basquiat in the contemporary scope. She introduced her students with beaming pride. Ayanna Legros (left) and Ja'nell Ajani (right) founders and curators of Basquiat Still Fly @ 55 giving thanks to all those that made this special event possible.

After opening up with Dr. Clinton Wills reading Langston Hughes' famous poem, "Genius Child" and a sincerely respectful moment of silence, the panelists discuss what led them to pay close attention to Basquiat and the frank messages his work provoked.

"I discovered him through Julian Schnabel's film. I thought the story fascinating. Basquiat redefined painting, invented a newer perception, threatened to eclipse his contribution to art, establish awareness of his place, wasn't ignorant and still very significant today."- Singleton

"I was aesthetically drawn to this cool, weird art kid, his unapologetic fashion shaped my college art history."- Huxtable 

"Basquiat had an access to an idea, championed a certain kind of cannon, eventually realizing few black artists operating on prolific, avante garde mannerism. He set model for questions, sense of experimentation from art, music, dynamic, [incorporating] difficult language, text and imagery, colonialism with strong disgust and frustration, [displaying] sensibility and rare visibility."- Saggese

"First day I encountered Basquiat, [seeing] violence on modern art. I contested with him, but he was there first, a genius. I had denied him. He had a sense of "black love," productivity of human body, history interpretation, crafted beautiful dynamism, oppress expression, context of being unafraid of your own power, your own creativity and tenderness."- Drew

" [There] was constant negotiation in him establishing his own pantheon. He gives figures currency by putting them on coins, taking things from text books, art museums, multi lingual. Like Romare Beardon and Bob Thompson, inserting self in broader context."- Saggese

One of the panelists said, "he made a space for us to sit." They couldn't have any more correct. A few more highlights, I captured here.

They articulately spoke of Basquiat's legacy softened by the impact of post modern core-- commericalism. He negotiated race and blackness in the art expression, the effortless importance of recognition. He had been so successful, a savvy businessman very aware of his power, his position.

"He was the first DIY [artist] on MTV and GQ, taking up responsibility as a scholar before art history could catch up, to go vital without agency, tripped of name ownership, mediate proximity, a name that once was a life."

After the engaging conversation ended, mesmerizing to the brink of my stimulated brain, I left the Langston Hughes Auditorium and took a moment to stand in awe at his interment. Underneath maroon circle with turquoise outline and schematic lightning bolt cracks, lies a cosmogram medallion, his remains. I shut out the gathering crowd, feeling his eloquent poetry invade and sink right into my pores-- right on his 113th birthday.  I couldn't believe fated luck.
It was a needed experience. The sustenance granted a sated soulful fullness.

"Tenderness and authentic are not weak emotions."- Saggese

Visionary voices of Langston and Jean-Michel, two vulnerable, brilliant humans, shared the cerebral cortex of my mental stage. whispering to continue onward as both artist and writer.
And I simply cannot refuse.

Seasoned Vegan

Seasoned Vegan seemed like the perfect, laid back place to relax and have a fine dinner.

After a beautiful day of art seeing in Chelsea and Harlem, I had grown famished. I was excited to eat at Seasoned Vegan, a place I hadn't known existed until Aph Ko compiled this #BlackVegansRock: 100 Vegans To Check Out List. The anticipation to try out #58 & #59 owners, Chef Brenda and Chef Aaron's restaurant reached tremendous height.
When I entered lovely, dimly lit establishment, it was moderately busy, modest really. A kind bespectacled male hostess led me to a comfortable seat and gave me a menu.

The timeless R&B music, the cozy atmosphere, the elegant furnishings, and colorful hung paintings set a mood that wasn't received.

I sat and waited.
It took a while for water and a while longer for my order to be filled.
Thankfully, I had purchased Zora Neale Hurston's autobiography to keep me company whilst listening to the staff talk to the table behind me, asking the guests if they were vegans. None of them were. Those customers laughed, discussing addictions to animal flesh and frozen yogurt.
I sighed and wished to have a conversation about veganism with my waitress.
That never happened.

Salad.

The first plate was a mundane dinner entree salad. I didn't particularly enjoy the leaves. Tangy garlic flavored dressing tasted pleasant. I longed for other textures-- pieces of slivered carrots, ribbed onions, something else. Yes, made-to-order salads are on the menu. I'm not a huge salad fan.
However, I didn't come to order a salad.

Pretty colors, but very salty.

My main course was the smothered chicken with sides of baked macaroni and cheese and steamed broccoli. Salty. Salty. Salty. I hadn't planned on consuming a salt mine. Baked macaroni and cheese delivered that luscious creaminess and well-cooked elbow pasta. Yet the vegan cheese sauce contained a heaping, near inedible amount of sodium. The broccoli was crisp and made for an easy scapegoat to lap up the terror of this dish. I did not find the smothered chicken to be up to any kind of par. It was a huge disappointment.

The mango puree and the graham cracker crust was the biggest wow of the night. The dessert and the plate itself were not up to snuff.

For dessert, yes I made it to dessert because I longed for Seasoned Vegan to have salvation, I ordered the raw mango cheezecake. I learned the hard way that sometimes it's best not to hang on. If intuition is screaming to make the move to run, then it's best to make a run for it. Call bad experiences a loss and move on. 
Now the mango puree was delicious. Perfect sweetness and genuine mango perfection. The graham cracker crust recipe I longed to have for my own. The raw cheezecake had good firm consistency, but the taste wasn't an exceptional thing to remember.
And the worse part-- my plate wasn't clean. When I touched the bottom, I felt remnants of great dissatisfaction. I couldn't believe it. I was shocked and inwardly asking "why?????" My heart broke, shattering into a million regrettable pieces. As a vegan restaurant, an ethical eating space, a black owned and operated business, there has to be commendable quality and a valued commitment to every single customer that crosses that threshold.
I had traveled so far. I left feeling hollow and unimpressed. They made me feel like a major inconvenience. 
Seasoned Vegan, sadly, wasn't worth almost missing the bus to Philadelphia over.

Studio Harlem's 'Everything, Everyday' Artists-In-Residence Deliver A Refreshing Bite of Black Ordinary Perception

Checked out the new summer shows at Studio Harlem and this year's artist-in-residents stuck out like a chewing gum with nonstop flavor.

In the asymmetrical upstairs gallery of Studio Harlem, among low ceilings, white walls and glossy hardwood floors, newly opened exhibition honors the museum legacy's three precocious artist-in-residents tradition. This year's eclectic trinity simultaneously pummel center stage without tripping over individual independence. Everything, Everyday thrusts forth magical manifestations of glitter and glamor tropes framed in a vapid sense of bourgeois commonality. Interruptions of psycholedic afrofuturism narrative weave in between Eric Mack, Sadie Barnett, and Lauren Halsey's wickedly delicious outer space continuum, their sharp laser-beamed unison encompassing defiant push and pull puppeteer mechanics.

Theoretically, afrofuturism is a pulpy concept beyond scope of tomorrow, blending visual art, literary writing, and science fiction in a consciously hot boiling pot with African diaspora seeds embedded in thought-provoking soil. Intellectual movement introduces gratifying brain stimulation to black consciousness; that kind of cerebral titillating stimulation serving as an erotically engaging current to those who know clandestine secrets and those in fetal yearning. The paradoxical triad of Mack, Barnett, and Halsey escort us into the golden cusp of afrofuturism via tersely maneuvered installations.

Mack's vivacious, high contrast palette emerges straight from Octavia Butler's obscure tenacity- sucking on systematic witchcraft and ironic symphonies playing orchestrated anarchy. Thick paint applique fabrics seem to mimic splattered blood speckles. Deliberate and intense like a confrontation, these vocal green and blue earth colored splotches deliver meaningful blows in a voracious rioting scream of acid tongued linguistics. Two medium sized urban styled jackets- one black bubbled and the other denim- feature fat sinister metal grommet holes like riddled bullet holes. On white hangers, they spin slow and creepily as if mirroring a barbaric Southern lynching. These ghastly unassuming 'bodies' tell cathartic stories that appear an almost violent commentary on the short life span of the African descendent or perhaps spark fueling debate about the politics behind used, voided cloth. In its sparkle, glimmered, textured surface, there is a mundane attitude, something cold and deceptive spitting blunt, metaphorical rhymes. He has carefully and precisely sewn together modern time with old history, logic with confusion.

Barnett is the pragmatic documentarian. Vivid, chromogenic color prints have a peculiar three-dimensional sensory reaching out and touching in soft, sedulous pleasure, harrowing leverage mirroring dilated pupils overwhelming eye sockets. On another wall, Barnett's collection of typewritten letters with faded stains and aged off white paper housed behind wooded frames and glass are highlighted by direct ceiling bulbs. They entail passionate correspondence from the heated 1970's. Angela Davis had been forced underground to escape the FBI who placed her on America's Most Wanted list, but these collected manifestos contain behind-the-scenes rebellious visionaries determined to keep Davis a free woman. Barnett has spoken strong, articulate language transcending boundaries of the norm. She lets past accounts bridge onto gaping passages of the now and of gritty obstacles burgeoning on horizon.

Halsey is the savory third branch, reigning sharp corners in a sweet effervescent surprise- a profoundly whimsical work-in-progress. On one side of her monumental cave installation, viewers are seductively invited inside hand tiled plaster floor and ceiling, reading chiseled Egyptian hieroglyphics as though in the midst of archaeological excavation. However, these are not typical, historically accurate Egyptian hieroglyphics nestled in perfect squared compositions. Alongside geometric pyramids and pharaoh motifs are braided hairstyles, nappy Afros, repetitive Air Jordan logos, chewed out Ebonics, and other recognizable iconographic chronology defining the twenty-first century black American experience. At cave end, majestic African deities simmer, but ambitious architecture turns monstrously abstract, submerging out of morphed wall in pastel colored clusters. Another white wall, resuming path of handmade cave, has rhinestones spelling “V.I.P.,” brown skinned portraits, and burned CDs. Just when engulfing enough saccharine dripped visual confection, Halsey presents an ebony world with outbursts of schematic saturation. A white My Little Pony with black synthetic braids hides under a cliff where a rainbow sun hangs mid orbit. A question rises to the surface. Is Halsey a reincarnated Butler? How else can one entomb heavy handed diligence and serious astrological chops?

Unified Mack, Barnett, and Halsey are varied in approaches, but sustain a quiet, ingenuous dignity. Everything, Everyday is an arousing, sophisticated science promising intellectual lexicons that aren't insufferable complicated jargon.

My traveling companion was Jonathan Chase an up and coming artist also in PAFA's illustrious MFA program. It was nice seeing what Studio Harlem's residents have to offer the world this year.