My sister who is my neighbor and tenant was here when the Xfinity/Comcast technician came over to fix the modem because its her internet as well. She’s a great researcher and from the beginning has sent me links to articles about the Compton Cowboys in Southern California and male and female rodeo riders here in Albuquerque. When you start looking, African American cowboys are everywhere, contrary to what History of the American West books and the Hollywood film industry would have us believe. Today, photos of black cowboys from the 1860’s-1890’s West appear on Pinterest and there are many internet articles, books, videos, and documentaries that I have been utilizing for research. I didn’t know what I didn’t know, but once I did, the marginalization and erasure were blatant. Wyatt Earp is common knowledge - why don’t we know about Bass Reeves, the greatest lawman who served under Judge Isaac Parker in Fort Smith and the first black US Deputy Marshal?
My longtime friend of nearly 45 years lives in the Los Angeles area. When the comcast technician left I called her and asked if her husband had a cowboy hat and would he be willing to pose and could she take a picture? I thought maybe I could take the same idea of painting his portrait into the background of a classic iconic western movie poster. She laughed. No I’m serious. She continued to laugh - I took that as a no.
It was about this time, as the Pandemic was spreading, that George Floyd was murdered. People took to the streets around the world. I called my longtime friend in LA to check in. She told me her husband wanted to go to the #BLM protests in LA. I was like no! Absolutely not! Not because of the pandemic but because her husband had suffered a massive stroke and only has the use of one arm and can only say yeah and okay. I told her if the police tell him to put his hands up he can’t and he can’t explain why and when they talk to him and he keeps saying okay…I just said, the cops are going to kill him. You cannot go. It occurred to me I didn’t feel the need to call any of my white friends and tell them to stay home. My white privilege was clear to me. I wasn’t afraid that my white friends would be killed. All I could think was that you can’t go I love you and I don’t want to lose you. That I might fear for my friends’ lives solely because of the color of their skin is how many people of color feel everyday of their lives for themselves and their families for generations upon generations. I never in my life had to feel this way until this moment.
In spite of my fear my friends headed out. We heard the Compton Cowboys were participating in a march in LA. My friend is an amazing street photographer and she was hoping to get a photo of the Cowboys on their horses and told me Jule, maybe if I get a good photo you can use it in your painting! That was cool and exciting, but it didn’t seem right to me. I didn’t know any of the Compton Cowboys and unless I had permission, it wouldn’t be right to paint anyone from a photo she might take. As fate would have it, my friends were never close enough to get any photos. The Compton Cowboys are an amazing community of Black riders and if you don’t know about them, please look them up. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compton_Cowboys
With so much neglected history about the black cowboy in the West, I didn’t know where to begin. Based on the synchronicity of everything that was presenting itself regarding the work it seemed like that’s what I wanted to paint but it just didn’t feel right to paint a portrait of someone I found in a book or on Pinterest. And even though I was interested in Black Cowboy history, it didn’t feel right to paint a series about it from my white perspective. I felt connected to the specific story of my Comcast technician. And even in the beginning when I knew I was going to make 3 paintings and that one would be the diptych I had no idea what to paint on the third panel. It was this particular guy. That’s really all I knew. Beyond that, I had no plan. I did not envision a series.
Page from a 2006 Visual Journal. I altered a History Book of the American West I purchased about 15 years ago at a library Sale- no mention of black cowboys anywhere. I retitled it “Little Naked Cowgirl.”
I needed to go to the Library to return books I had had since the lockdown began. I didn’t want to get any new books or movies; I didn’t want to touch anything. But I have this thing for cookbooks so I thought I’ll just grab a few then I can leave them on the studio porch for a few days to air any possible covid-contamination. To check out you pass through the movie section. Right there in front of me was “True Grit” with John Wayne and I grabbed it. Watching it brought back memories of my childhood playing cowboys with my brother. My Dad himself was sort of a John Wayne character: tall, commanding, larger than life.. I remembered myself as a young girl and how these Hollywood icons in the classic western were heroes to me - strong characters I looked up to. John Wayne was a legendary figure and I could see myself reflected- I could be that- I could do that. And that was only true as a white person; I could see a reflection of myself in these iconic white cowboys.
From my research I knew that Hollywood had stolen stories of the Black Cowboy to use as white stories about the west. What if Bass Reeves had been a movie star hero we could all look up to? A man of integrity and honor. Because we know now that John Wayne was a white supremacist. And we fucking looked up to that bastard. What if John Wayne had been a real hero, a man of honor and integrity - what would that look like? I suddenly thought of my friend Steven, a man of great style and poise, generous, committed, multi-talented, charming, a teacher, a giver - I felt that he was a man who could pull off a John Wayne swagger but as a decent human being.
When the 8’ x 4’ x 1.5” panel arrived at my house, I went with my motto “start by starting” and gessoed the panel. An idea of what to paint was slowly taking shape. That afternoon, a little uneasy and nervous and very uncertain about what I was about to propose, I called my friend Steven Woodbury.