When Seagulls Fly Inland - Novel set in Bay Shore Beach, VA

Here's the link to a novel written by a woman named Ann Davis.  The novel is set at Bay Shore Beach in Hampton during the 1930s! I can't wait to read it!

http://www.annsdustjacket.com/wsfi.htm

Turn of Century Bay Shore Beach Postcard

Here is a postcard of Bay Shore Beach.
It looks like this may have been taken between 1898 and 1915.

This was sent to me by "Clyde" a guy who thought it might interest me.

Thanks, Clyde!

Recent Works - Exploring the Realm of Political Cartoon

"I Said Samich!"
Oil on Canvasboards (Diptych)
2 boards each 18" x 24"
Zeal Harris
2008

Left Panel

Right Panel























Detail































Right Detail


















***

"Women's Work"

Oil on Board

18" x 22"

2008

Zeal Harris























***

"Talk About My Food"

Oil on Board

18" x22"

2008

Zeal Harris

***

"Mijo Negrito"

Oil on Board
18" x22"
2008
Zeal Harris

***
"Malaika's Greens"

Oil on Board

10" x 26"

2008

Zeal Harris

"The Intern", For Sale

Friends and Family,
Jus want ya'll to know...I have a...
New Print Available:

10 x 20 inches
Fine Art Archival Giclee on Canvas
Signed and Self-Published Limited Edition of 350
$125 unframed price



"The Intern"

The print can be shipped rolled into a tube, or stretched and unframed.
Framing is not recommended for this giclee.
Prints are made upon demand.

Please allow approximately 3 weeks for shipping.

Visa and Mastercard accepted through professional Paypal invoicing.

http://www.zealsart.com/

Great Day in Watts - 2009 photo of Visual Artists in Los Angeles

[In this photo left to right; Deborah Charles, Kabaila, Glynnis Reed, Zeal Harris, Duane Paul,V Kali,Aziz, and June Edmonds].




On this past Sunday, August 16th, a photo shoot was held in Watts at the Watts Labor Community Action Center. The photo shoot was and event sponsored by the Watts Labor Community Action Committee (http://www.wlcac.org/).

I'm not exactly sure whose idea it was to do the photo shoot, but the photographer Willie Middlebrook seemed to have been one of the organizers. I feel sure that every artist who showed up, hopes that this will be a historic photo. The inspiration for the photo is the famous photo of jazz musicians called "Great Day in Harlem".




[Photographer Willie Middlebrook].





About 150 Visual artists and people strongly connected to African American visual artist community of Los Angeles metropolitan were present. We all mingled for about an hour or two before the photo was taken. Mini photo shoots were happening all over the place!






Everyone assembled for the photo. Cecil Ferguson took the microphone and lent some funny words to the crowd. He was sitting next to William "Bill" Pajaud. The MC's daughter sang the jazz standard "Summertime" and then Middlebrook was hoisted up on a cherry picker crane-like-ladder to take the photo from a high angle.







I was happy to have been a part of the event. In 1998 or 1989, this photo shoot was done before. Many people expressed that this should happen more often.

After the photo, refreshments consisted of chicken wings, meatballs, steamed veggies, watermelon, chips, cake, waters, and sodas. People sat at round tables covered with tablecloths and continued to mingle.

It really was a great day! It was amazing to see artists whose names I've heard and whose art I've seen but who I had never seen in person. It was a great way to reconnect with acquaintances and it was a great day for NEW people networking. Even more importantly, the event brought me down to Watts to the Watts Towers Museum and the Labor Center. I became more aware of the Watts creative community work. I also saw some great art while I was there. For me, most importantly, the event really did make me feel like I am a part of a community rather than just a creative individual on a path in the fringes.

Other artists and creative people present included: Noni Olabisi (she painted the famous Black Panther mural on Jefferson Avenue) Medusa (singer, songwriter, rapper, performer, and Aziz (well known local painter). There were many more but I didn't know all of their names or knew their names but not what they looked like!


[Zeal Harris and assemblage artist Dominique Moody].

Searching for Bay Shore Beach at Buckroe Beach in Hampton, Virginia

Connecting Through History

Six weeks or so ago, a received a hello email from a childhood friend named Ricky “Ric” Wilson. I don’t remember the last time I saw him or spoke to him. The last time may have been when I was 7 years old. Ric was about 10 years older than I but he was a friend of the family back in Hampton, Virginia. I responded to his email and we excitedly caught up on the years over the phone.

Ric mentioned that he “ran into me” on the internet and that that’s how he got in contact with me. At the very end of the conversation, he revealed that the way that he “found” me was by searching on the internet for Bay Shore Beach. He told me that he was talking to a friend on the phone one day. The friend had visited Buckroe Beach with a friend and had wanted to know the name of the old black section of the beach. Ric told him that it was called Bay Shore. Since Ric was sitting next to a computer, he did a search. Ric tells me that photos that I posted on Flickr came up in the search. When he looked at the photos, Ric recognized my grandmother, Edith Harris. He then noticed that his great aunt and uncle Charlie Carter and Florine Carter were in the pictures too!

All of this is not so amazing except that at the time, the 3 images that I posted were the only images of Bay Shore Beach that the search engines would bring to the surface. Since then, I’ve put up some historical reference photos of Bay Shore, Buckroe, and other local beaches. These images were mainly taken out of history books that I looked through at the Charles H. Taylor Special Collections Department or at Hampton University’s library. I snapped images of the photos in the books because I think everyone should be able to access the unique history of Bay Shore Beach. That is also why I have collected a few oral narratives of people talking about the beach. Finally, this is why I’ve written this blog.

Looking for Bay Shore Beach on the Internet

My search for Bay Shore Beach began about 5 or 6 years ago, I was surfing the net from Los Angeles (where I currently reside), and thinking about how the beach once existed adjacent to Buckroe Beach in Hampton, Virginia. My family told tales of how my great grandmother had run various businesses there. I thought that it would be cool to see pictures of the beach. I probably thought that it would be even more amazing to see my great grandmother or other relatives in pictures from old times. Further, I thought that maybe one day, I’ll make a historical painting of the beach. I would need to know what it looked like to do this.

On a spontaneous whim, I punched in a Google search. I tried my best. It hurt my ego. At that time, I could not find a single image of what used to be a happening spot for much of the early 20th century. I got sad. Why wasn’t there any mention of Bay Shore? Bay Shore was the black beach that thrived side- by-side with Buckroe Beach for many decades. The missing “presence” of Bay Shore Beach really hurt me. Where is/was it?


So I switched course and tried various searches for images of black people at the beach. I was trying to focus my search on the years prior to the 1960s. I figured that black people had to have gone to the beach prior to desegregation…right? That must have been a beautiful thing, right? Finding images and information prior to the 1930s proved ridiculously difficult. I then wondered if this history was “missing” because it’s “BLACK” history?

Growing Up

Growing up, I remembered seeing old black and white photos of people at Bay Shore Beach in my grandmother’s (Edith Harris’s) oldest photo albums. The pictures were so old that they were crackly and almost totally black. She had at least 14 photo albums of her life and 75 percent of the photos were taken in Hampton, Virginia. Besides the beach, she had photos of black parades, black masons, the elks lodge, her restaurant, parties, weddings, cemetery visits, churches, cars, phoebus homes, businesses, schools, atheletes, big wigs, and ordinary townspeople—the town period. Indeed, when I think about Mama’s photo albums, the pictures span most of the 20th century.

[My cousin Ronald in the top right corner. Other photos of the town of Phoebus, Virginia]

[A poster commemorating milestones of my grandmother's second cousin's husband's life. The couple's names are Louise and Albert Simpson.]



As I reflected I thought about how many of the elderly people of [black] Phoebus that I grew up knowing were passing away rapidly. And I thought about the younger generations and fear came over me. What would happen to this history? Would we throw it into trash cans? Would the city confiscate it like a crackhouse? Would these photos end up like the tons of “anonymous” vernacular photos in bins at flea markets and thrift stores? Were we turning over photos to museums and historical societies? If we were, then why wasn’t the history organized and tagged so that others may find it or research it? Was this an example of institutional racism? Or just a lack of recognition about what makes history? Does the nuts and bolts of the matter come down to a lack of money (resources) to get the history up and running?



[In these photos: Top left; my great aunt, Rosalind Harris Edwards (also known as "Boot" or "Boot Ninny"). Bottom Left, my grandmother Ms.Edith Harris and my great grandmother, Mrs. Virginia Harris. The middle photo on the bottom row is Bay Shore Beach. My uncle "Man", Lucian Harris stands in the middle. Far right, my great grandmother. My guess is that it is the 1930s]

In such a moment, I caught myself. I forced myself to hope that people do hold onto old family pictures. I talked myself into believing that people value their family photos so much that no one besides themselves should be trusted with the handling. Furthermore, I hoped that in other families, just as in mine, the black storytelling tradition continues to carry the oral history of African-Americans in this thing called a diaspora. I hope that people somewhere are continuing to tell stories about Bay Shore Beach.


If the History is Oral, Then You Gotta Talk to People

To try and get a better idea of what Bay Shore Beach looked like, I began asking my older relatives and older friends of the family to describe the place. Since I'm in Los Angeles, I usually talked to them over the telephone. (None of them were internet users). As they spoke, I took a few notes on their memories of Bay Shore Beach. I then decided that the next time that I visited Phoebus, I would set aside some time to research the history of the beach and record older people describing the beach. The older generations are passing at such an alarming rate that I’ve felt that in order to capture the history, it must be done in a hurry. In this July of 2009, I did make it to Hampton. While there, I did go and record a few older people talking about the beach.

In my mind, I consider my interviewing to be a kind of amateur oral history collecting. I am a visual artist (painter). Shooting these videos was the first time that I ever held a video camera. Since no one seems to have ever done this research, I figured that no matter how badly they came out, they were still going to be important. I couldn’t fall off the ground!

There are six people that I recorded talking about Bay Shore Beach. I’ve posted the videos on Youtube. They are: Ms. Edith Lively (living in Newport News), Mr. Bill Carson (of Hampton), Mr. Harold Neal (of Hampton), Ms. Cora Reid (of Hampton), and two of my aunts, Ms. Marion Watts (of Richmond) and Mrs. Olivia Charity (of Chesapeake).


I also spoke with, (but have not yet recorded) nine other people;
Raymond Harris (my father ), Ms. Ann Martin (a friend of the family), Mrs. Louise Simpson (my grandmother’s second cousin), Cousin Louise’s husband, Mr. Albert Simpson, my grandmother, Ms. Edith Harris (who recently passed away in 2005), Dexter Cox of Richmond (my great great aunt’s grandson), my great aunt Mrs. Lucy Edwards of Washington, DC (she attended Hampton University possibly as late as the mid 1950s), and finally, Ms. Lillian Fountaine of Randallstown, Maryland.

My Interviewees Narratives

To write this blog, I heavily relied on information from all of the people listed above. Some are relatives. Some are friends of the family. Some were strangers. For example; Mr. Bill is a volunteer at the Buckroe Pier. I encountered him while walking around and trying to determine the boundary of Bay Shore and Buckroe. He knew where it was and happened to be sitting on it.


[pier video of Mr. Bill]

As I was talking with Mr. Bill, Louise Neal, the wife of Mr. Neal approached us and asked me what I was doing. She said that her husband was 71 and would remember Bay Shore beach. I am very happy to have recorded him. His perspective of the beach was particulary vivid as remembers the brink at which Bay Shore and Buckroe began to become “not black water or white water”. Also, his point of view is particularly “male” and I needed to talk with more men to have a fuller picture of the beach. His wife mentioned that he is currently in a battle with cancer.


[video of Mr. Harold]

Ms. Edith Lively is the 97 year old aunt of my great aunt, Ms. Olivia Charity. The moment that I began interviewing her is the first time that I ever met her. Earlier that day, Aunt Olivia and I were eating lunch and interviewing at the Ihop on Mercury Blvd when she suggested that I interview her aunt . Her aunt, Ms. Lively proved to be quite lively. For hours we drove around looking for her. She was out and about driving and visiting friends!


[Ms. Lively video]

I met Ms. Cora Reid only moments before beginning to interview her. I was researching Bay Shore beach in Hampton University’s Library. In the midst of my very vocal disappointment over what I was NOT finding, a couple of the library workers brought Ms. Cora Reid to me. They also showed me this picture of Ms. Reid with her own family at Bay Shore beach circa 1940.
















[photo of Ms. Reid with relatives including scientist Thomas W. Turner]

[Ms. Cora Reid video]


Ms. Reid has been working at the Hampton University Library since the 1950s. The man in the photo with her is her uncle, Thomas W. Turner. She proudly states that he was a famous black scientist and scholar of the time. Interestingly, since HU’s library didn’t have much to offer in photos of Bay Shore, finding Ms. Reid was a winning moment! Even more notable, she says that her father at, some point of his life, had been on the Board of Directors for Bay Shore Beach. While writing this blog, I discovered that the author Colita Nichols Fairfax had also had contact with Ms. Reid regarding Bay Shore.

Ms. Reid suggested that I talk to Mr. Burwell, a photographer who has worked at Hampton University for decades. I didn’t have an opportunity to do that on my past trip. However, Here are two photos of Bay Shore during the 1950s. They appear to come from his collection.

It Was Written. Or Was It?

I also acquired a few tidbits of information from the Special Collections department of the Charles H. Taylor library in Hampton. Liz Wilson and Pam Luke (librarians) were very helpful. The library had thin a file for random articles about “Buckroe” and a separate one for “African-Americans” in Hampton. There was no file for Bay Shore Beach. Liz and Pam suggested that I try and contact Michael Cobb or Bethany Austin, employees at the Hampton History Museum for further help on my query. (I’ve yet to contact them).

The main thing that I discovered is that no one has done extensive primary research on Bay Shore Beach. One would have to comb through the archives of local newspapers such as Norfolk’s Journal and Guide black newspaper, or the mainstream newspapers such as the Daily Press and the Times Herald for articles and images of Bay Shore Beach.

A couple of articles at Charles H. Taylor were a bit useful. On page 54 of the August 1995 publication of “Richmond” (possibly a magazine?) there is an extensive article on the history of Buckroe Beach and it includes about three paragraphs on Bay Shore Beach. I highly recommend that anyone who is researching Bay Shore or Buckroe Beach…or Hampton’s history should definitely get a copy of this article.

Here is the transcription about Bay Shore Beach that is in the article:

[Not everything about Buckroe was idyllic. In pre-segregation days, a rope barrier separated the “colored” Buckroe from the “white” Buckroe. Hampton’s black citizens had recognized the need for a beach for swimming and recreation and had purchased waterfront property for those purposes in 1897, the same year the Buckroe Hotel opened for white clients. Bay Shore, a hotel for blacks only, opened in 1898 and, until 1933, it was believed to be the only resort which was open to blacks in this part of the country.

A 1933 Storm devastated Buckroe but the Federal WPA program was quick to begin a massive cleanup and rebuilding campaign. Bay Shore was not as fortunate: The hotel and park facilities that had been developed over three decades were almost destroyed. Ensuing financial difficulties caused the resort to be put up for sale by the Federal government which held an unpaid loan on the property.

In the 1940s, Joseph Healy, a Hampton bank president, was instrumental in helping black investors, led by Charles Williams, recover Bay Shore for the black community. The new Bay Shore Corporation developed the site once again. But in the 1960s both Bay Shore’s hotel and amusement park began to lose money. In 1973, Bay Shore’s directors were forced to cease operations and the property was sold to private developers].

Again, I must repeat, that unfortunately, I am not aware of any extensive writing about Bay Shore Beach, nor any survey book of the History of African-American beaches in the United States of America. However, one person in this world has written a bit about Bay Shore Beach. In 2005, the book “Black America Series: Hampton, Virginia” was published by Norfolk State Professor, Colita Fairfax Nichols.

Link to the book "Hampton Virginia":
http://books.google.com/booksid=dseuZW17L6oC&pg=PP1&dq=colita+fairfax+nichols#v=onepage&q=&f=false

In her book, Fairfax dedicates a chapter to the history of Bay Shore Beach. In it on page 115, there is a 3 paragraph summary of the lifespan of the beach. The chapter includes 10 relevant photos with captions. The photos are dated from 1910 and go across the mid 20th century. Included are images of people at the beach with buildings in the background, bumper cars, the ferris wheel, and the merry go round. The entire chapter is 6 pages long!

Regarding the origins of Bay Shore Beach, Fairfax cites the book “Hampton, From the Sea to the Stars, 1610-1985” by James T. Stensvaag. “During Reconstruction, the Bay Shore Hotel Company was formed, and a waterfront property was purchased in the fall of 1897. The first directors were J.H. Evans, J.L Fountain, Thomas Harmon, D.R. Lewis, F.D. Banks, Robert R. Moton, Alexander Gardiner Jr., John M. Phillips, and Richard R. Palmer. The hotel opened in the summer of 1898.”

For some reason, I don’t know why, I’ll have to look for my original source, but I believe that the men who founded the beach had a connection to the Black Masons. I’ll have to figure out why I think this.

Just a sidenote, my elementary school was named after one of the founders of the beach. I attended Robert R. Moton on Old Buckroe Road from 4th – 6th grades during the 1980s. During the time of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, I discovered that Robert R. Moton had been a special advisor to President Coolidge during the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Russa_Moton

After reading Colita Fairfax’s book, I learned some amazing history about Hampton – especially the history about the contraband slaves who ran to Hampton to begin new lives before Emancipation (a topic for another blog). Still, I was hungry for more about black beaches. So, I tried to find more books or documentaries on the subject. I found one called, “An American Beach for African Americans” by Marsha Dean Phelts. It was very thorough and entertaining.



Link to American Beach for African Americans:
http://www.upf.com/book.asp?id=PHELTS97

Parallels

The history of American Beach (ironically the beach is named American Beach) somewhat paralleled the history of Bay Shore Beach. Both were founded at the turn of the 20th century by black male entrepreneurs. For a few decades, the beaches thrived as tens of thousands of African-Americans visited the beaches and spent their money in black owned businesses. By the time that desegregation began, the beaches began to deteriorate and/or become less popular at about the same time that black folks began to explore white’s beaches.

Ultimately, both Bay Shore Beach and American Negro Beach were sold to private developers. In both cases, a main portion of what was once public beach became exclusive private enclaves for the very wealthy. In both cases, the major demographic of people that had once made the black beaches happening spots, were then excluded from these enclaves and the history that they created in these places “became” forgotten. So goes a general pattern: a struggle for self-determination. Then comes gentrification and then a displacement of African-Americans and the fragmentation of our history at sites around the nation. Bruce Beach of Manhattan Beach, the alleys of South West Washington, DC, and now possibly Harlem, New York have followed or may face similar destinies.

In the case of Bay Shore Beach, not a thing seems to be left of it. In its “absence” there stands a gated community of exclusive condominiums with private beaches. Up the road and yet adjacent to it is a mobile park of trailer homes. (How ironic?) One month ago, I drove around the area with a video camera. I was looking for any sign of a thriving Black Beach neighborhood. I wondered if maybe a few of the old cottage styled homes were once the homes or vacation homes of African-Americans.



Moments later, I encountered a street sign named “Bayshore LN.” My heart thumped excitedly as I drove the single block of the street's length. I got out of my car. I walked around the block, staring at the wilderness of a mysteriously “undeveloped” block and the “FOR SALE” signs stuck in the ground.


Finding My Family at Bay Shore Beach

Looking beyond those FOR SALE signs, I tried to see my great grandmother and her cousin Rosa hustling and making jokes as they were serving fried fish, potato salad, collard greens, and chittlins to beach goers. I imagined the bustle of black people across many decades and from all parts of Virginia, the Carolinas, DC, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Georgia having fun at the resort and amusement park. I imagined my grandmother and my great uncles and aunts as kids running in between customer’s legs while helping their mother out in the restaurant for a little allowance money. For OUR family, Bay Shore Beach provided. I am proud and jealous of my great grandmother’s ability to make a good living as a self-employed single black woman with six children. And as I stood there on Bay Shore Lane in play with the colorful ghosts of past times, my daydreaming was occasionally broken by the very real reality of a white person that would go by and stare at me with curiosity.


View Larger Map

For me, the search for the history of Bay Shore Beach is not just about the beach. It is also a personal journey to fill in a splotchetty family tree. My family’s presence in Hampton can be traced back to this Great Grandmother of mine, Virginia Harris.


[My great grandmother, Virginia Harris 3rd from left. Two of her daughters, Virginia Bernice Mitchell, far left and Edith Harris 2nd from left. Aunt Littie, Lydia ?, my great grandmother's second sister, far right]






In the 1920s, Virginia Harris migrated from Richmond, Virginia and settled in Phoebus, Virginia. Her youngest sister, Ms. Marrion Watts, was born in 1914. Aunt Marion is my Great Great Aunt. She’s alive and kicking today at the tender age of 95. She lived on Marshall Street in Richmond, Virginia since the 1950s, and now she resides in a Senior Apartment just outside of Richmond in Mechanicsville.




[My Great Great Aunt Marion in gold sequined cap. Her grandson Dexter Cox in red T-shirt. He remembers Bay Shore too]




A few weeks ago, I interviewed Aunt Marion about family history and Bay Shore Beach. She told me that my great great grandmother and my great grandmother (her nickname was Sook) both made a part of their living as bootleggers. She said that Sook always had a hustle. She said that Sook had a jazz restaurant (possibly on Lee street) before she moved to Hampton. My guess is that Sook was attracted to Hampton because of the potential for making money, a better living, and the beauty and excitement of a prospering black beach.

My grandmother’s 2nd cousin (Mrs. Louise Simpson of Hampton), says that Sook came down from Richmond with her first cousin Rosa. Sook and Rosa ran a fish fry together at the beach. Cousin Louise says that the two women were successful with their business because they knew how to fry fish good and they offered their customers free water. Louise says that no other businesses offered free water so they got all the business!

My father says that in addition to always running a restaurant at the beach, that Sook always had car. At Bay Shore, there’s talk that she also had hotel (not the famous Bay Shore Hotel). She was also the Great Granddaughter Ruler of the local black Phoebus Elks Lodge and there’s talk that she ran brothels too. With all of the travelers, Hampton University students, and military presence in Hampton, I imagine that her businesses had the potential to be quite lucrative. In addition, I'm told that her personality was much like the famous actress Della Reese. Judging by photos, they even look alike!

[insert photo]

The Heyday of Bay Shore Beach

During the heyday of Bay Shore, my interviewees say that many churches and civic organizations came in large groups to visit Bay Shore. Some travelled great distances. They held conventions, had events, or simply came to party (maybe kind of like a proto-freaknik?. The way that I understand it, for African-Americans, Bay Shore Beach was the most popular black beach of entire the Mid-Atlantic region. Three organizations that met at Bay Shore named by my Aunt Lucy were The Reindeer, The Calliopes Social Club, and The Phyllis Wheatly Social Club.

My Aunt Marion tells me that during the 1920s and 1930s, she and a friend used to organize train trips for people travelling from Richmond to Buckroe. She said that the trains were all filled with blacks (there were no whites on these trains and no segregated sections). The trains would stop right at Bay Shore beach. She said that many people made visiting Bay Shore a day trip or a weekend. Her information can be corrorborated on page 55 of the August 1995 of “Richmond” (mentioned earlier”. The article states that, “…the use of streetcars [in Buckroe] was discontinued after WWII. No one knows the exact date regularly scheduled Richmond-to-Buckroe train excursions ceased, but the last passenger train rolled over Hampton tracks in 1954.”



Ms. Edith Lively, (the 97 year old Aunt of my Great Aunt Mrs. Olivia Cherry), says that Bay Shore was in its prime up until the Hurricane of 1933 destroyed much of Buckroe’s beachfront. She felt that although the beach remained extremely popular, it never came back up to the level that it once was.



She said that the white side (Buckroe) was built back up to its pre-hurricane level. I think that she (and others) as much as they loved Bay Shore beach, they resented that fact that the white side looked better, had more rides and games, fancier restaurants, and that it was kept up better. Furthermore, the resented the fact that they were barred from entering it simply because of the color of their skin.

All of the people with whom I’ve talked about Bay Shore, can clearly remember what it was like to be at a segregated beach. Consistently, they agreed that the Buckroe side always had more because whites had more money. (Although one, Ms. Ann Martin, emphatically says that everything that the white side had, the black side had). All of my interviewees believed that Bay Shore was no less popular than Buckroe. They believed that for the respective demographics of beach goers and vacationers, the beaches were equally popular.



All of the interviewees remember that the two beach sides were divided by something that went from the boardwalk, down though the sand and to the water. Most of the people agree that up until the civil rights era, the boundaries were not crossed.

A couple of people with whom I spoke (such as Ms. Cora Reid and Mr. Neal) seemed to remember that whites would cross over the boundary at night to try and see music performances. When I pressed to find out if blacks ever crossed to the white side, two of my interviewees mischievously admitted to doing this. Ms. Reid said that she remembered riding in a car through the white side (Buckroe) to see what was over there. During the Civil rights era, Mr. Neal remembers sauntering through the white side of the beach with his friends. Prior to this, he remembers that the consequences of crossing the boundary between Bay Shore and Buckroe was a stay in jail.

All of my “interviewees” seem to agree that Bay Shore featured local bands as well as the most famous of black musicians. These performances can be dated at least as far back as the swing era.


[My grandmother's signed photo of Dizzy Gillespie]

The interviewees all had some difficulty remembering the names of bands. If they named a couple such as Cab Calloway, James Brown, Erskin Hawkins, Jimmy Lunchford, they stopped after a couple of names and then said that everybody and anybody black could be found performing at Bay Shore.

Here is my summary of what the beach was like based on the interviews:

Bay Shore Beach consisted of an area of about 5 – 6 blocks. In its prime, it was as popular as Virginia Beach is today. It had a neighborhood like quality.

The oldest people remember streetcar (trolleys). Apparently, the streetcars ran on tracks between Phoebus and Buckroe. This is according to the August 1995 “Richmond” article. Passenger trains also stopped at Bay Shore and Buckroe for black and white passengers respectively.

All of the businesses and concessions at Bay Shore were black owned. There was a small roller coaster (the Dixie Flyer), and a merry-go-round on an area of the beach that was like an amusement park. At some point, there were bumper cars too. There were a few stands where people sold various things and there were games. The Bay Shore Hotel was a landmark structure on the beach. So was the Willard Inn owned by Cecil Holston and operated by Ellen S. Horton (before it was destroyed in 1933).

The Dance Pavillion functioned as an entertainment venue and as a “convention” hall or “community” center. (My cousin Louise says that she remembers debutante balls at Bay Shore!) I think I was told that the main architectural structures were adjacent to the amusement part. To get into the amusement park, there was an entrance gate. In the 1940s, Colita Fairfax Nichol’s book states The New Bay Shore Corporation expanded and developed the site. It was called the New Bay Shore Amusement Park and it operated well into the 1960s.

Bay Shore Beach & Resort was public and anyone could enter at any time of the day. Besides the Bay Shore Hotel, there may have been other hotels and beach cottages for travelers. There were restaurants too, and people usually brought baskets of food with them to the beach. Some random foods not already mentioned above by my interviewees include: fried chicken, hot dogs, Carolina style pulled pork, traditional soul foods, cakes, steamed crabs, deviled crabs, oysters, clams, scallops, crab salad, gumbo, conch soup, game meats such as rabbit, deer, and ‘possum, lemonade, homemade as well as commercial liquor and wines.

The beach apparently had a vibrant day atmosphere as well as nightlife. All of my interviewees expressed that liquor was both plentiful and rather taboo. Mr. Neal and my father remember that prostitutes claimed a place at the beach too. I don’t believe that there was a “ho strow”, but if one needed such services they were easily found. A few of the interviewees mentioned that occasionally people would get the liquor in them and get to fighting.

On the actual beach, people picnicked or just hung out. In the earliest years, picnic baskets and baby carriages were made of wicker. As far back as 1920, black people wore whatever bathing suits and outfits were the current fashion trends for the times. Aunt Marion remembers wearing a long swimsuit with swim shoes at the beach!

[insert dominique’s photos]

I imagine that what Aunt Marion wore was much like the one in this photo. These are pictures my neighbor’s relatives (the assemblage artist Dominique Moody’s relatives) in about 1910-1915. Dominique is not sure where this photo was taken. I definitely do not think that it is Bay Shore.

Before there was conk, many black women pressed their hair. When they went to the beach, they covered their hair with swim caps. Some of the interviewees remember umbrellas, although they say that they were not as large or as colorful as they are now.

People brought old blankets or sheets to sit on at the beach. They may also have brought games or other pastimes with them. In the early years, the black inner tube of tires may have been used as a fun raft. My interviewees had difficulty remembering other kinds of rafts and floating toys and balls. My Aunt Olivia lamented that black people just didn’t have money for a lot of things like that.

From the beach, people could see the shore of Norfolk, and boats were commonly seen. (Note: the ”ocean” that makes up Bay Shore Beach is actually the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay where it meets the Atlantic Ocean). If I remember correctly, if it's summer and you’re sitting on the sand on Buckroe all day long, you can see the sun rise and set. A map shows that the beach faces mostly to the east. Plants mentioned in one particular article that I read includes roses, hollyhocks, blue bachelor’s buttons, daisies, honeysuckle, oak trees, tall beach grasses, mulberries, and grapes.

(I imagine that jellyfish were a problem back then as much as they were when I was growing up. In the 1980s, there were so many jellyfish in the summer months that whenever we went to the beach, we made sure to arrive by 7 or 8 am in the morning before the water got warm enough for the jellyfish to come around. While at the beach, occasionally I would catch a glimpse of a stingray or porpoise out in the water, or a soft shell crab struggling between seaweed or beach grasses).

At Old Bay Shore, it is a given that people swam or waded, and children played in the water. Black people of all ages and classes enjoyed Bay Shore. Since Hampton University is approximately 4 miles from the beach, I imagine that college students had a strong presence at the beach. Military men in uniform probably had a visual strong presence also. For a while, I’ve heard that the Hampton Roads area is one of the nation’s most important military location. Many of the older generation of black men that I grew up knowing in Phoebus had served in the military. If I had to estimate…hmmm maybe 35 percent at least. To this day, military service in Hampton is still a major “industry” and career.

Prior to 1920 and the boom of cars. The August 1995 issue of “Richmond” mentions the following activities at Buckroe Beach; bathhouse, fishing pier, tennis, ox-driven carts hauling fish, boat rentals, golf, steamships, fine gourmet dining, fireworks, jousting, and horseback riding. Although I haven’t found evidence that these things existed at Bay Shore, this at least indicates possibilities.

In the 1940s, the article above says that 400,000 people visited Buckroe annually. Again, since my interviewees state that Bay Shore was as popular as Buckroe, then it must be possible that in the 1940s, Bay Shore Beach had 400,000 visitors annually. However, it could be possible that Buckroe’s headcount included people going to Bay Shore, and in that event, then both would have only had 200,000 annual visitors during the forties.

http://www.hamptoncvb.com/go/visitors/what-to-do/heritage-sites

http://www.buckroebeach.net/


Carry This On Into the Future

During a recent visit to the Anacostia Museum of the Smithsonian in Washington DC, a few images of black people at all black resort vacation towns was on display. A placard informed that in the early 20th century, there were approximately 40 – 50 very popular black beach resorts. Locations named were Highland Beach, Idlewild Michigan, Camp Atwater, and Gulfside Assembly. Although the Anacostia Museum did not include images of Bay Shore Beach, a vintage advertisement for Bay Shore Beach was on display. These items were featured in the 2009 exhibit “Jubilee: African American Celebration”.

My Aunt Olivia and Aunt Lucy named the following beaches as other black beaches in Virginia; Seaview (Norfolk), Log Cabin Beach (Williamsburg), Mark Haven Beach (Middlesex, Essex County), and Sparrow Beach (Maryland). I’ve not yet looked into these beaches.

Well, for now, this is about all that I can write about Bay Shore Beach. I wish that someone would give me a year’s salary to go and make this a project! I would start with Bay Shore Beach, and then I would just keep going around the nation and research all of these black beaches. Maybe by doing what I have done, someone in a better position than me can take the information that I’ve put into this blog and can do great things with it. I hear that next year, Hampton celebrates 400 years as the oldest English speaking settlement in America. I would hope that Hampton's history will not be forgotten.

If one is sad about the abolishment of Bay Shore, one can be sad about the sorry current state of Buckroe Beach. The City of Hampton keeps trying to sell it to private developers, and the local people keep petitions going and they keep fighting the “privatization” of Buckroe. Since Buckroe is a public beach, it seems to be caught up in the politics. The city seems to only do a minimal amount to maintain Buckroe. When one goes there, they must bring their own excitement. There is sand, a gazebo, grass, and a pier. That’s all that’s left of Buckroe Beach. And it’s possible that even the sand is slipping away! Erosion at beaches is often a reality as land and sea are always at war and continents do float.

I wish there were some physical way that people people visiting Buckroe beach could see the glory that once existed there and at Bay Shore beach. While I was walking around Buckroe this July, I ran into some rowdy black family-oriented teenagers who were barbecuing at Buckroe. I asked them if they’d heard of Bay Shore beach and they said no. I asked them if people should know about Buckroe and they expressed mixed reactions. One girl holding a baby said "Yes.", she would like to know about it because she would like to know her history. Another girl said that she would like to know but that for some people it might be a sore spot. As I contemplate her meaning, I wish I’d ask her for whom would the history of the beach be a sore spot? Did she mean blacks or whites or some of both? Did she mean young people or old people or some of both?



Thinking about “the sore spot” makes me remember that the fact that that much of African-American history is SORE. Should we remain ignorant because a reality hurts? Does ignorance make one sore? Once a person knows important history that was forgotten or covered up, doesn’t this make one more sore as well?

It’s amazing how black people and white people can push our history into silence. One great example of how entirely this can function resides in the history of Tulsa, Oklahoma. There, in 1921, whites massacred African Americans, burned the black side of the city, and made refugees out of tens of thousands. Beginning a few days after the riot and massacre, and going for decades, not a single white or black person spoke publicly about the event. Critical documents, police reports, and articles about the event disappeared.

Fortunately, not all African-American history is sore. I believe that where African-Americans have thrived and accomplished, history should reflect this. Potentially, positive history made in the face of great injustice or obstacles boundlessly inspires people to become stronger, richer, and more compassionate. These are the kind of people who have a great understanding of the truths of being human. These are the people that make living life a joy to experience.

Additional Historical Resources:

To view my collection of old Bay Shore Beach and Relevant Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/artsyzeal/sets/72157621764395123/

To view my collection of Oral Narratives on Bay Shore Beach Videos:
http://www.youtube.com/user/zealousflow

Black America Series, “Hampton, Virginia”. By Colita Nichols Fairfax.

Journal and Guide Newspaper, September 2, 1933, page 1 and page 16

Journal and Guide Newspaper, September 23, 1933, page 1. “Willard Inn Buckroe Burns Down”.

“Hampton, From the Sea to the Stars, 1610-1985”. By James T. Stensvaag.

“Buckroe Yesterday’s Beach”. August 1995 article in “a publication titled, “Richmond”.

“Historic Photos of Greater Hampton Roads”. Text and Captions by Emily J and John S. Salmon.

Christopher Cheney photo collection at Charles H. Taylor Library, Hampton, Virginia.

Images of America “Fort Monroe”. By Paul S. Morando and David J. Johnson.

“Greetings from Hampton Roads, Virginia”. By James Tigner Jr.

“Historic Photos of Norfolk”. Text and captions by Peggy Haile McPhilips.

“Virginia Beach in Vintage Postcards”. By Alpheus J. Chewning.

American Legacy (Magazine). Summer 2004 issue. Article titled, “Destination: Hampton, Virginia).

“American Beach for African Americans”. By Marsha Dean Phelts.

“The Good Ol’ Days in Hampton and Newport News”. By Parke Rouse.

“Chesapeake Bay Voices; Narratives from Four Centuries”. By Maurice Duke.

“Freedom’s First Generation: Black Hampton, VA 1861 -1890”. By Robert F. Engs.

“From Calabar to Carter’s Grove: The History of a Virginia Slave Community”. By Lorena S. Walsh.

Cartooney Works in Progress 6-22-09

Photos of the latest 4 works in my studio.

These are works in progress.

They are all losely based

on real life experiences and/or conversations

that I observed or in which I was a participant.

I should be done with them

in the next couple of sittings with them.

* * *

4 WORKS IN CURRENTLY IN PROGRESS:

* * *

I'll be adding some outlines to sharpen the contours and make the paintings pop a bit more. This includes painting the lettering in the dialogue bubbles. Only the white part has be painted around colored pencil lettering thus far.

I will aslo clarify some details, adjust any shadows and highlights that might need adjustment and finish any small unfinished details such as eyelashes, eyebrows, other facial hair, etcetera.

Finally, I'll be adding roses onto the rose..."thing" what is that white thing called that holds up the roses...hmmm...I can't remember. Trellis! I just remembered.

I'm really excited about these new works. I'm trying to take up the caricature and political cartoonish tendency one of my stylistic approaches, and pushing it out of curiosity. I'd like to add more of these cartoons to my repertoire. I've been researching political cartoons. I'm really impressed with some stuff coming out of Australia.

In grad school, a student named Courtney once said that my work made her think "political cartoon". I had never thought about that before but it was a true and obvious direction for me to move in.

Ironically, Courtney seemed to hate my work. She was completely patronizing and condescending toward it-- even once going to far as to say that it reminded her of "the coffee shop". She preferred highly conceptual artworks that lacked physical material.

As a reaction my attitude toward the trend of "super-conceptual" artmaking approach is that it's like the Emporer's New Clothes. When it's bad it's just downright preposterously-intellectually-pretentious-esoteric-nerd art. Since my bias is so strong, (even when the work is actually interesting and thought provoking which is rare for me) I was probably just as rude and condescending towards her work and work like that by the other students and people in the "academic"/"critical" art world.

To me the conceptual art movement is a misnomer. It should be called conceptual minimalism. How can it be conceptual if the only layer of the work is the idea, a thin visual, and the words to describe what you're doing? To me, a work is actually more strongly conceptual the more the layering of the manifestations of choices (versus the elimination) that an artist must make to make the thing a complex visual object. This would seem to be a contradiction to my belief that art is not limited to painting, drawing, sculpture, craft, etcetera.

I really do believe that ART is EVERYWHERE and in all human activities because art is to me more than a noun it is also a verb because art is HOW. But, if I must narrow down and talk about ART, for the sake of clarity, I'm talking about the "common sense", general connotative meaning of ART as understood by people in most large-scale societies. I'm talking about art as a creative thing that is primarily, but not limited to being a visual object. Connotatively, Art is an object that calls attention to itself through the way that it was creatively made for for decoration, worship, awe, play, protection, or utilitarian function.

More on this topic in a future blog.

Right now, I'm struggling with proportion and some other technical compositional things. I'm attempting to play while subjugating those elements to the needs of the narrative and ultimately, I always want to keep it funky and funny.

Another thing that I am trying to enhance in my work more is the use of pattern. Ever since Holly Tempo ( a professor at Otis College) told me that my work is as much about pattern as color, I've been exploring this more.

Over time, I'd like to increase the staginess and theatricality of my works to high-fantasy levels whenever I desire.

New Post of 2008 work

* * *

"Jerry's Story"
approximately 7" x 12" inches.
Oil on canvasboard.
2008

Synopsis: Jerry Ferris encounters Bobby Brown
and is mistaken for Ryan Seacrest.




* * *

"Dominaytricks"
Oil on board.
24" x 30"
2008




* * *

"2005 N. Claiborne Ave"
Oil on Board.
approximately 16" x 20"
2008

Synopsis: This painting is inspired
by a photo that I took in New Orleans
where someone died during
the Hurricane Katrina flooding.




* * *

"Affirmations"
Oil on Board
24" x 30"
2008




* * *

"Peepin' Jackie"
10" x 12"
oil on board
2008





Since my last show and my last posting of art images,
there's been a dramatic slow down in my activity.
A lot of this has to do with working a 9 to 5.
Additionally, last year, 6 months of intensive beginning spanish.
I also basically started a new job, got married, and moved.
Lot's of life transitions.

The four images that I'm posting
are of work that I began in 2007 or 2008
but did not complete until this year.
Since I feel "behind schedule"
(haven't completed many Hurricane Katrina paintings
or any Obama paintings at all)
I've decided to date these works as 2008.

What I Loved and Hated About Living at St.Elmo Village

This is a blog long overdue. I’ve been meaning to write this one for YEARS. In a couple of weeks during the weekend of May 23rd, the 40th Anniversary of the Los Angeles historical cultural landmark known as St. Elmo Village will culminate. (http://www.stelmovillage.org/index.html)

Festivities will include an art show and performances that will happen at this location. I lived at this place known as “The Village” for 4 ½ years from 2004 – 2008 and I have a lot to say about it. (The photo of the house in which my husband and I lived is on the homepage of the St. Elmo website).

People always ask me what was it like to live there. It’s so much to talk about, that I usually summarize it to 3 or 4 sentences. My answer was usually followed by an intensely curious and excited, "Wow, you must love living here. It has such a great vibe. What do you have to do to live here?" To which I would grimly reply, "I think they run a private list or something and when a vacancy happens, they call people that they know, or people that volunteer for the village. Then by word-of-mouth, they pretty much fill the vacancies quickly, especially because they try to keep the rent rates slightly below market rates".

For the record, I am writing this blog because I think that this is an interesting topic of historical significance about a highly unique life experience. I have no negative intentions, and do not wish to hurt any particular individuals or entities. I wish to share the truth as I see it so that others may gain insight that may enlighten them on their life journeys.


Located between Washington and Venice Blvds and only about 2 ½ blocks east of La Brea, “the village” sits amidst exquisite, exotic, landscaping dominated by succulents and Southern African plants. “The village” is a collection of southern styled shot gun-esque houses. The wooden slats of the little houses are painted colors such at brown, red, green, and blue. There’s also an apartment building that has approximately 10 residential units.



In the back of the village, there’s a long “garage-like” building that has approximately 3 "rooms". One room is a photography “area” and “screening room”. Another room is Roderick Sykes’s painting studio. (Roderick Sykes runs the Village as a 501 C-3 non-profit with his wife Jacqueline Alexander Sykes). Another longer area is the public space in which no-cost children’s art workshops are held on weekends, and where public events that need a banquet or catering area are usually set up.



When it’s time to vote, this area is converted into a voting poll location and people for blocks around, mostly African-American and Latino, stand in line on the colorful, puzzle-like mural that runs throughout the entire village. (My husband helped to paint it years ago). Another interesting thing to note is that there always seemed to be consistent group of voting poll volunteers. Many of them were older African-Americans.



Other physical features of the village include a pond replete with fancy fish, and a small grassy area in the center-rear of the village that is shaded by trees and directly in front of the village office.






My first visit to the village was around January 1st, 2004. I came to visit a guy that I had just begun to date. I met him on December 27th, 2003 at a party. He lived in the village and had lived there for about 5 years. His name was "Ogden" (all names of Village tenants are herafter given aliases-- including my husband).

Ogden was a cute, 24 year old with dreadlocks to his butt, sporting Timbalands, a cute smile, and an interesting set of values, experiences, and characteristics. He was a rapper. He worked in Watts teaching black children. He had been on Oprah. He had met President Mandela. He was from South Central. He was extremely respectful and polite (at least in the beginning!). He is now my husband.

The first time that I visited Ogden at the village, it was at night. Despite the dark, I could still see the beauty and uniqueness of the place. When I entered Ogden’s little house, he seemed disappointed that I wasn’t going crazy over it. He dumped a long spiel about how the village got started and all the famous people such as Benny Medina, Billy Preston, James Olsen, Jeff Bridges, that had lived there or were associated with the village and he went on to say that when “girls” came to visit him, they loved the place so much that they just basically slid out of their pants for him. Later he told me that this was the first sign of my difference from most women that he’d been with.

On our first meal date, (breakfast at Roscoe’s which is located a few blocks from the Village) I discovered that the person who lived in Omari’s house before him was a friend of mine! The guy’s name was Mobolaji. How ironic. Mobalaji was a budding filmmaker at the time. Since then, he also has been working on a documentary about the village that may now be complete. Of course, Mobolaji sought out no commentary that he felt would be in the least negative about the Village and by this for example, I mean ME and other then current residents.

After I established what rapport I had with Mobolaji, Ogden then opened up and told me many details about the conflicting positive and negative feelings that he had about living in the village. He shared numerous stories about other people as well. He explained that it looked good from the outside, but that it was different, almost rotten and you could understand the fakeness of it all when you lived inside. As I sat and listened, I couldn’t help thinking that there was something askew with how these village residents (including Ogden). They all must have been doing something wrong and any problems at the village couldn’t possibly have been the two visionaries running it (Rod & Jackie).

In the middle of 2004, I moved into Ogden's house at the village. I was open and I was excited by the prospects and the benefits of living in a place with so much charm and reputation. As an artist with a history of work in the arts, entertainment, education, and community—the village seemed like the perfect place to be and to develop. How ideal to live in a place where I could bring all of these things together around like-minded people. I was especially proud of the village’s “BLACK” history.



During the 1960s, the village was an extremely “happening spot” Roderick’s cousin, Rozzell, and other artsy friends, were living on the property as renters. When they found out that the owner (the owner was the mother of current village resident "Jolene" Rodriguez who is currently an “auntie” like figure to me) was going to sell the property, they got organized and started throwing parties and events to raise money to buy to the place. 60s self-determination won out and the cousins became landlords and they also got a National Endowment for the Arts grant (with the help of "Terra", a current resident at the village) to run this “safe-haven of creativity”.

The way I understand it, Rozzell was the one who had the charisma and the “coolness”. He was good at networking and bringing in famous artists, Hollywood folks, and rich folks to believe in the mission of the village… "a place where people can meet as people first, to share those feelings, those things one wishes to share without dictation. Working together in a place like the Village, we are reminded of the things that we have in common rather than those that separate us”. Rozzell was a smooth, savvy socializer with a great personality and big ideas. When he died in the early 90s, I hear that that’s when the village began to become strange and die too. This is when his cousin, Roderick Sykes took over the place.

Word on the street is that Roderick was always the more uptight of the two. They loved each other and they also fought often. Roderick was much less of a socializer was always quite awkward and probably he never thought of himself as handsome. Since I never met Rozzell, I can’t speak on their fights or their differences. But I can describe what I perceive as the current Roderick and his wife Jackie.

Currently, Roderick appears to be in his mid to late sixties. Since “black don’t crack” it’s kind of hard to tell. He’s very fit and healthy looking with salt and pepper hair. He’s about 6’1” and usually dons jeans, a straw hat, and a tobacco pipe. He’s dark skinned and his eyes are spaced far apart. He talks extremely slow and his words have the rhythm and cadence of a black nationalist bruthaman of the 60s. My point of view of him is that I was always impressed with his vision and mission, but as a tenant of the village, I found Roderick to be controlling with a patriarchal bent. (Have I mentioned how much I hate authority?) I found that some of his actions conflicted with the mission of the village, although he performed in the genuine belief that he was upholding the mission of village.

His wife, Jackie Sykes, is the village administrator. She’s a woman who’s about 50-ish. She’s also an artist. She wears short dreadlocks and is of average height and build, and she’s the color of peanut butter. Looking in at the outside appearances of her relationship, it seemed that she did ALL of the administrative work at the village. She did it so well that one might think that if she didn’t, she might get fired from the job of being Rod’s wife. More than one friend of Odgen's commented that Rod had her in check because she would grill steaks for him and she was vegetarian!

Not only did Jackie appear to do most administrative things, she also acted like she was the village security. To be more precise, she was a constant snoop in everyone’s business. She could be syrupy sweet one moment, and show a complete reversal in the next moment for everyday of her natural born life.

When I moved in with Ogden that summer, he warned me that Rod and Jackie were kind of weird. I didn’t listen because for me and Ogden, I was seeing a long set of personal conveniences (rent price, location, lovely neighbors, etc.) . Ogden wanted to move and he wanted us to start somewhere fresh together. Eventually, he gave in to my list of practicalities and mentioned that he hoped maybe I could be the one to “turn” the village. And by saying the village, he meant Rod and Jackie.

At first Rod and Jackie were nice to me. I was nice back. Rod was interested in my art. I think he thought I was talented. Omari wanted me to have an art show at the village. He felt that I should participate in activities and get as much out of living at the place as I could. He especially wanted me to have exposure to the Village’s long list of patrons and fans. I did want to do this, but it was going to cost me a few hundred dollars to, for a one month, rent “the coffee shop” -- a small house that is a gallery at the village, where I could have an art show. Rod's explanation of this fee was followed by a barrage of rules and regulations. I had always intended to do a show at the village. I just never got around to it while I was on the “up-side” with Rod and Jackie.



Another thing that Rod always impressed, was the fact that villagers and the village should open their doors more often to the public look in, and that I should be open to giving people tours of my home at anytime of the day (presumably the way that he and his wife did). Well, I never got around to doing that also. And I also never found a way to have more space while living in the village to create my own work. Rod used to say that the long building in the rear of the village was communal, but only he had a studio in it and Jackie, his own wife, seemed confined to making her art in her own little shotgun house.

I don’t remember exactly when I started having problems with Rod and Jackie. I do know that it was bad by the the Fall of 2005 when Omari told Rod that our house had been broken into and robbed and that Rod's two words were "Oh, well."

I remember when Ogden and I first started dating, one of Rod’s iron yard art sculptures appeared on Ogden’s front steps. Back then, Jackie used to come and tell us that it was street cleaning day if she saw ours cars still parked on the side of the street that would get ticketed. Well, it was spring, probably of 2005. Being a plant person, I asked Ogden if he thought it would be OK for me to put a couple of plants in the little yard area in front of his house. He told me that Rod had told him that he could do anything that he wanted to the little yard next to his house.

So one spring day in 2004, I proceeded to tuck a six inch tall tomato plant that was in a 8 inch pot, in front of the house in this little area. Maybe I was watering the little plant and some water was flowing down the walkway path, or maybe the little plant was just there and this bothered Rod. I believe that he asked me to move it. (I vaguely remember this incident because I confuse it with another incident where we fought a hose a hose that I purchased and he tried to snatch it away from me while calling me a bitch!).

Anyways, with surprise, I explained to him that I thought it was OK to take care of plants in one's yard or plant because Ogden had said that I could do this. I think Rod then told me that I was welcome to help tend the communal village plants, but basically that I couldn’t put my plant in what I was to understand was the village yard (i.e. “his” yard). So I moved the little tomato plant to the front stoop of the house. He tried to tell me that this was a fire hazard. I ignored him. A day or so later, Rod’s iron sculpture disappeared. (Please note that on the Village homepage as of today, you can see the image of the sculpture leaning against the house on the stoop).



I remember that this sculpture would appear and disappear depending on the behavior of Ogden and I. If we had had some good moment with Rod and Jackie, the sculpture would appear. If we had some slight dispute or disagreement or maybe we did something that they didn’t like such as use our hibachi grill on our front stoop, or have company over that we didn’t introduce to them, the sculpture would disappear.

During this same spring, I was waiting to see if I would be accepted to Grad Art school to pursue my MFA at Otis College or Art and Design in LA or at UCLA. Jackie knew that I was applying. She came up to me one day and said something like…”it’ll be OK if you don’t make it in. I applied and didn’t get in because I wasn’t smart enough”. I immediately wondered what she thought about her own art.

In life, there are moments when people do something that lets you have a true and deep insight into their character. As much as you can, you try to give a person the benefit of the doubt and not put them in a box, but such actions have a way of sticking with you, and so, you do otherwise. From this moment forth, I disliked Jackie. I tried not to have my mind made up about it. I tried to substitute empathy for this miserable woman who day in and day out seemed to live for taking orders from her man while convincing village visitors of the perfection of her life. But I just could never shake my judgment of her insecurites and the envy streak that she had in her.

When I was accepted to Otis, being as nosey as Jackie was, she’d found this out too, and she came over to me while I was watering what had become a mature tomato-bearing plant on my stoop and she said, “Congratulations on getting accepted to Otis”. She said it almost actress-like. Like with the tone of, “I always knew you’d make it”. And she let me know that she’d found out because she was sitting on a panel as a juror for some art contest thing and had been chatting it up with Roy Dowell, the chair of Otis MFA program.



Small world. Even in this city of 3 million, I never cease to be amazed at the smallness and incestuous of the visual art community. This is one of the reasons why I do little “politicking”. I walk the edge, trying not to shit where I eat, and preferring to attend art shows of personal rather than popular interest to me and I usually try to see the work when other people aren’t there. I support my artist friends and choose to be around the people that I truly enjoy not people that I should enjoy because they’re somebody that can help me get somewhere in the art world.



I should take a moment to elaborate about my personality. It’s sometimes like…well it’s like…well… remember in the movie, “The Nutty Professor”, when Eddie Murphy takes the “get skinny concoction” and he gets skinny but then his big size comes out in unpredictable moments and he has a hard time controlling his personality changes? Well, that’s often how I feel about myself when I’m interacting with other people! I’m often too honest, too raw, too opinionated. I have a big mouth, a big laugh, I’m extremely curious, complex, and very self-centered. I’m also a person who might be as serious as she is playful. I try to control all of this and my realness pops out like fat in between the edges of tight undergarments.

But back to my main topic. The village. At the village, it’s a kind of a “contractual” obligation for residents of the village to volunteer and participate in its upkeep and continuation. I believe that this is very vaguely written into the older leases of village tenants. (Changes are probably beig made to make the language more clear on the leases of newer tenants). When I lived there, volunteership was never enforced, although Rod (I was told) passively aggressively suggested this at times to tenants. I always felt that a volunteership quota of hours or work, as well as a list of things that one could choose to do would have been a better way to handle the volunteering.

At the village, I always wanted to do these things; I wanted to design and run community programs usch as after-school tutoring; help with the gardening, start an edible community garden patch, host language and recipe exchanges with neighbors, bring in influential people that could teach life skills for upward mobility to working class blacks and Latinos that populated the neighborhood, teach art to adults, implement support groups, give tours of the place; plan, coordinate, or help with events and parties at the village; and just generally bring a new younger breath of life into the place to help it become rebuilt to the heights that it had once had. Instead, I placed my “participation” in community and arts outside of the village. I volunteered at local Women’s shelter and I was of course, an active artist.



I always felt that with more support and nurturing from Rod and Jackie, I and the other tenants at the village, could have done this. As I got to know the other tenants at the village, I learned from every tenant about the dreams that they had of making the village an even better place, and I learned that they too (with the exception of the newest tenants who are always still "drinking the coffee") felt that Rod through his words and or actions, had made it clear to them that they could help him in his vision (agenda, programs, ideas) while any idea that was not his own, would be something that could be discussed later…after of course doing it his way. The problem for most of the tenants, is that they felt that he was stubborn and would never let anyone do anything their way.

The best anecdote to explain this is: There used to be a certain family that lived in the village when I moved there. They moved out shortly after I moved there. They had once been so excited about the village, that they moved down from the upper north west coast to LA just to live at the village. This family consisted of a mother, father, and two little girls that make me now think of Malia and Sasha Obama.

The parents of the girls were schoolteachers who were artsy intellectuals and community activists. Their relationship, as most of the relationships of the tenants of Rod and Jackie that I observed, deteriorated quickly (in a little as weeks, to about 3 – 4 years). One day, these two little girls were playing in the village. They chalked hopscotch onto the walkway (it’s muralized). Apparently, Rod came around and washed their hopscotch away and told them to draw it with organic shapes instead of squares. The girls went crying to their parents. There were many more conflicts, such as the time that the girls wanted to sell lemonade at the village and they were told that they could do it as long as the village got a cut of the profit.



Another anecdote: One time, I came over to a village neighbor’s house. These neighbor’s were a foreign couple. She was a stay-at-home mom with a new baby, and her husband a schoolteacher. Ever since they’d moved in, I observed that she and her husband got along with Rod and Jackie extremely well. I attributed this to several facts. They were foreign, they were trying to begin a new family on meager income and the village was affordable, and lastly, they were homebodies that were not extremely outgoing (although they believed in family, neighborhood, and community). On this last point, I also think that they were genuinely “sold” on Rod and Jackie’s vision. They could bow down where I was too proud, and I admired their way while I stood ornery with mine.



Well, one day, I think it was a Memorial Day, the wife had been playing Afro-Latin drums with her toddler and a few neighborhood children in the small patch of grass in her front yard. In a short while, neighbors from nearby places on the block came over to participate. They had a great neighborly time. A day or so later, the couple received a letter from Rod and Jackie but I think it was addressed as if it were the Village Board of Trustees (Yes! the village has a trustee board and Rod likes to make like the board runs the place and makes all the decisions whenever he finds it convenient to do so).



I don’t remember if I actually read the letter, but somehow I believe that it stated that neighbors complained about the noise. (I didn’t believe it. The husband felt that whatever the landlord said, is what tenants should do because it was his property).

As a consequence of drumming on one’s grass, “The Village” was demanding that anytime one felt the need to drum, they should do so in the grassy area in the center-rear of the village. I must mention that I observed that Rod and Jackie daily treated this grassy area as it were their own personal porch. Boundaries regarding this area were often ambiguous, as were most things about the place, and the obligations that villagers had to it were equally ambiguous, as well as the behavior of and Rod and Jackie.



There are many such stories from many of the tenants of the village. Of these stories, each one does not seem to be a big deal. What I observed is that eventually they added up to a pattern that for many became transparent and unbearable. And so these good people would move or they would continues living at the village but would completely remove themselves from any contact with other villagers and would seemed to ignore Rod and Jackie as well. Other tenants simply came around and chatted with Rod and Jackie every once in awhile out of pure neighborliness or to save face.



Most tenants of the village that I’ve met never seem to publically tell the bad side of the place. I think that they are afraid of being blacklisted in the arts and activist communities by Rod and Jackie. Or they are afraid of not being believed by people because the place is so pretty, and/or they don’t want to be the one to air other people’s (i.e. black people’s) dirty laundry. It is interesting how we sometimes "protect" others from news which might be of benefit to others. Like the time that one of the tenants at the village found another tenants name on government list of sex offenders.



Maybe “we” work along the logic that people in the world should continue to believe in the beauty and illusion of an egalitarian village run by a loving black couple and populated by a multi-ethnic community whose home appears to be an eclectic cross between an African-American block of houses in the deep south, a unique hippie commune, and a productive artist colony.

Maybe there’s hope. We might each believe that it is us as individuals (and not the leadership) that is/was the problem. We might each recognize that the village is a topical beauty, doing some little good, and that if it is this beauty and the “idea” of the place and these small acts of good seductively lure people to believe it a better world, then why should anyone be self-fish enough to ruin this perception for anyone who has it?

Maybe things have changed. Maybe now, Rod and Jackie are picking “better” tenants. (They call tenants villagers). Or they're picking tenants that have more in line with their values and personality.

Last year in the summer of 2008, when they issued tenants (including my husband and I) legal documents that demanded that we vacate the premises or be evicted from the property, my husband and I knew what they were up to. The 40th anniversary of the village was coming, and they wanted to throw a heavy Public Relations event to celebrate. They needed people to help them put on the event. They needed to get new tenants that would pay higher rent to fund the their new mortgage of add on property and new projects such as a new building that they wanted to build at the village. They wanted to clear out all the people who they did not feel were doing enough for the village.

So, they had decided to scare their tenants with ultimatums despite the risks of a backlash of bad PR or a class action lawsuit. Within weeks, they pretty much got what they wanted. Frankly, I think it sucks to have a landlord that wants to be your village chief, your father, your landlord, your “good” neighbor, and your friend. I learned some lessons about black people and black leadership that I am still processing. Maybe that will become another essay one day in the future. But more probably, this is the only thing I’ll ever write about the subject or about St. Elmo Village.


After the village lawyers issued the eviction letters, tenants began scrambling to find their leases and to try and interpret the nebulous fine print. Unfortunately, there was no Tenants Association at the Village. Ogden mentioned to me that he believed that Rod and Jackie considered themselves to be tenants. On this point I must let out a long sigh.

Regarding the Notice of Eviction no not complying with our lease because we weren't volunteering in activities, my husband made me promise that I wouldn’t go off on Rod and Jackie. He wanted to handle everything. When Ogden first came to the village, he used to be like Rod’s adopted son/starchild. This was before their relationship fell apart. (Many stories that I can’t detail). Ogden was about to transfer to UCLA to complete his bachelors, and I had just finished grad school for a year and was now a staff member at the art school. Ogden thought that Rod’s actions represented a desperate (albeit pompous way) of asking tenants for help. I think Ogden also believed that Rod still had some love for him.

Because of these factors, Ogden went to Rod and asked him what could we do to participate in activities. (I must mention, that occasionally I attended meetings at the village that were held by the IBWALA, International Black Writers and Artists group. I even became a member for a while. Ironically, it was during this time of possibly being evicted, that I realized that one on the members of the group, C. Jerome Woods, was a board member!).

A couple of long, chatty, seemingly friendly public conversations between Ogden and Rod took place on the benches in the grassy area of the village. I could see the two and overhear their tones from our house’s windows. Ogden humbled himself and wanted to comply. He wanted to negotiate. I wanted a lawyer. We got a lawyer (Philip Koebel) after a final meeting in which Ogden, Rod, Jackie and I were present.

Apparently, Rod made Ogden feel that he was only open to compromise and negotiations if I were present. So, in this meeting, I sat in silence (a vow of behavior that I made to Ogden) while holding back a paradoxical urge to simultaneously pimp slap Rod and Jackie like dominoes or to blow out their eardrums with obnoxious laughter at the self-righteousness, unprofessionalism, and illegalities of their statements. They wanted us to leave and they behaved as if they had to the right to do this even though they did not have the legal grounds to put us out.

As soon as our lawyer took over all dialogue on our behalf, the village lawyers backed down, and Rod and Jackie were as nice to us as they would be to naive neighbors that they were asking to not park in their parking spot.


Philip drafted an Agreement for us to vacate that was more in our favor and would not tarnish the rental history that potential future landlords may need to review. We moved in about a month. We moved 2 ½ blocks away (because we like the location and the neighborhood). Even though there’s no landscaping where we live, we have a lovely view much of the Los Angeles skyline. We also have much more space. I can make art and host parties comfortably and there are no landlords snooping on me and my home all day long.

I still have to go to the village to vote. I will probably go to the 40th anniversary events. Mostly out of sheer curiosity. Plus, I miss some of my old neighbors such as Dominique Moody (whom I consider an art mentor) and Daniella and her family, the poet “V” and her family, and Jilma and her daughter. Probably what I loved most about my village neighbors was how we'd come together around births, deaths, weddings, holidays, an occasional festive potluck or official village event, or just the simple small talk sharing of daily ups and downs as we borrowed an egg or passed each other up on the way to and from the village.


I should visit them more, but crossing the threshold to that place seems like walking into a past full of restrictions that were as sticky as the cactii growing in the village yards. I always come back to thinking of those two little black girls and the erasing of their hopscotch and how this story contains my entire feelings about living in the village. This incident comes into such exact polarity with the mission of the village, so much so that I contemplated whether the village was an outright hypocrisy.

Well, these are the rambling notes of a black sheep ousted from America’s only Black owned and operated, connotatively referred to… “Black ART village”. In official village public relations, my name was and never will be listed as an artist who is or has been affiliated with the village. It is also likely that my husband's name and many other talented artists will not be mentioned either. Despite this, maybe unbelievably, I maintain the position that the village IS a great place, BUT that it COULD BE BETTER and that it could be more relevant to its immediate community, the city of Los Angeles, and the world in general , if it were run in a less autocratic fashion so that it could truly manifest its idealistic mission without limits.


All of the people that I have met at the village have been wonderful people with heart and vision. Maybe one day, we’ll go off and form our own villages – a thing that I often heard Rod suggest as what people should do if they don’t like something at St. Elmo Village (i.e. “HIS” village). “Go!” I heard him demand. “Go!”

To see more photos of residents fo St. Elmo Village and the Mid-City neighborhood in which they reside, please view my photos in this set on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/artsyzeal/sets/72157610567318792/

NO on Proposition 8 March in Leimert Park Today

For the past few months, I've been extremely conflicted about putting up posts on my blog. I haven't been making art. Well...I am always creating art...in my imagination, and through many daily life activities such as cooking, dancing, refinishing furniture, etc. I am an artist and to me this means that I live live and I make art. I consume and I produce. The levels that I do these things varies on the daily, the monthly, or by season.

I have wanted to dedicated my blog solely to talking about me in the art world-- my paintings, my shows, my press, my idols, and my thoughts about art. However, I am coming to realize that this is way too narrow a position for me to hold.

As a full and complete, well-rounded individual with many opinions, observations, and questions about the world around me...i have decided to open up my blog to various things that interest me in life. In short, this is just about everything that has to do with life. To me, this is the essence of living.

Today, I went to Leimert Park (Los Angeles, California) to march for Gay rights. I am very saddened that Prop 8 passed. I will write more on this topic soon when I have time. Here are a few pictures that I took today. Since I need to spend all of my free time for the next two days studying for a test in my Spanish 2 class (the main reason why my art production has slacked for the last few months), I'm just posting a few of the photos until I have more time to do edit and post the rest. If you'd like to see more of these pictures, please visit this set on flickr.

View my entire set of photos from the November 23, 2008
"NO on Prop 8!"
Black Gay, Lesbian, BiSexual, Trans March
Leimert Park (Los Angeles, California:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/artsyzeal/3055233934/

Even though I had little time to give to this today, I took time out to go to the march and post the pictures very quickly. I did this because I find it difficult to google or search for images on the internet of Black crowds rallying for Gay rights and representing "NO on Prop 8" and people to see this important representation of courage.

the Mayor Unveiling My Work

Mayor Villaraigosa unveils the cover
of the Los Angeles African-American Heritage Month Calendar for 2008.

I'm standing next to the Mayor,
and one of my paintings, "Dr. Scot Brown's Book Reading",
is featured on the cover.
The painting was done in 2004.
It depicts a scene inside of Eso Won Bookstore
(when it was on La Brea Avenue).
Due to rising rent, Eso Won has relocated to Leimert Park.

Forest Whitaker and Artis Lane
were honored at this event
which kicked off Black History Month
at the City Hall on Friday, January 25, 2008.

To see the inside of the calendar visit:

http://www.culturela.org/events/heritagemonth/index.html

People standing in front of "Devil's Rejects"!

This is the night of the opening at 18th Street Arts Center on January 26.

FYI, The LA Times
covered this group show
in the Calendar Section of the newspaper

on Thursday, January 24, 2008.
A detail image of my art was included in the article

to give an example of art in the show,

but the online version of the article doesn't include the pic:

Los Angeles Times Newspaper Article
http://www.calendarlive.com/tv/radio/cl-gd-art24jan24,0,7045426.story

Palisades Post Newspaper Article
http://www.palisadespost.com/content/index.cfm?Story_ID=3596



I really want to give a shout out
to my friends & neighbors

who let me use space in their homes
to create art in November - January.

Raksha Parekh, Duane Paul, Jilma Rodriguez, and Terese Harris,

thanks for being open and generous to me.
Look what you helped me make!

Patriot Acts Show Reception SAT Jan 26, 6 - 9pm

This work is on exhibit
January - March at 18th Street Arts Center, Santa Monica
in a group art show called "Patriot Acts".
www.18thstreet.org

"Devil's Rejects"
24" x 126"
mixed media on boards
2008

"The Haunting of Jody and Fee Fee La Bam"
10" wide x 36" tall
mixed media on wood

This is the first work in a series of art
about the oral narratives
of a 22 year old Iraq War veteran named Haitian Jack,
aka Rodney Majuste.
I started this work
in July 2007 while doing a narrative painting workshop
at an art colony called Anderson Ranch
in Snowmass Village, Colorado.
More art & description to come soon...

It's been a couple months since I last posted. In fact, my posting has slowed down precisely since I started working a 9 -5 about 3 months ago.

I must admit, this is my first "real grown up job". I takes so much discipline and so much sacrifice of my social life to work 40 hours and then come home and do another 20 - 30 hours a week of art. Hard to balance. I most often feel that making art comes up against getting my excercise. I find that I look at good bodies now, as if they are paintings or sculptures that require the same kind of tedious commitment that making complex, labor-intensive art requires.

A few folks have asked me if I've made any new work recently. I've been doing a lot of sketching lately. I finished my MFA program in May, and had to give up my studio. Soon, I'll have a studio again. In the meantime, I'm setting down the lines for new paintings. Maybe I'll put up details of these works in progress very soon. I've got about 5 of these sketches ready to be filled in.

I'm also working on a large narrative right now as well. It has rather epic proportions as it is 24 inches tall by 126 inches. I have to have this piece done for a group show at 18th Street Arts Center in Santa Monica in a couple of weeks. The work explores the the question of what ritual cleansing means for an American Iraq veteran named "Haitian Jack".

Without a studio, and without having a 10 foot wide wall in my own home, it's been extremely challenging to make this work. I've dragged the sketch for this work all around town between about 10 different friend's homes as I've "borrowed" wall space like a vagrant.

One thing I've discovered in this whole process is that the value of wall space in urban dwellings is even more directly linked with priviledge than I ever realized before. Part of me wants to keep my work small out of an affinity with my working class conditions. But the other part of me is thinking big and wants to stretch and manifest big. I want to bloom and feel uninhibited by space. I wonder what directions this need will take me as I attempt to fulfill it.