To Be Read
Black Objects at The Brooklyn Art Book Fair
To Be Read is a column where I share the books, threads, and other thing I can’t wait to get into. Check it out below.
I’m reporting live from the dystopia, or perhaps the apocalypse. Likely, both. The rooms in my already darken cavern of a pre-war Harlem apartment have taken on a sepia tone, and the air outside is thick and murky as the reality of climate change encroaches on this part of the nation. It’s giving great lighting for your very last photo.
Last weekend in commemoration of my partner’s umpteenth birthday, I attempted to curate a weekend of things that interest her that will also interest me, and the one thing we both enjoyed for sure was going to the Endless Editions’, Brooklyn Art Book Fair. It’s the fair’s seventh iteration, but it was my first time attending. I didn’t know what to expect, and the gloomy weather was something of a downer.
The scene was relatively quiet in the industrial neighborhood of Williamsburg, and in the midst of all these warehouses for paper products stood tucked into each side of the street modern white brick and glass buildings, that each housed several galleries. I trotted down the sidewalk taking in the homogenous crowd of white and East Asian folks in an assortment of Y2K fashions (for the Gen Z set) and mom jeans, dad jean jackets and sensible sneakers (for the Millennials). We checked into our time slot, designated by a blue circular sticker, and walked around a bit. There was an outdoor food-n-bev situation set up with freshly prepared arepas and hard seltzers (aka white ppl malt liquor). As we contemplated gentrifying our mouths, grinding our feet into the noisey gravel of the unpaved lot we opted not to and turned to cross the street to explore the galleries that had no lines.
My bespectacled date noted the stark contrast we made in the crowd of younger, not so of color folks. I think to the tune of if Mary J. Blige was at a book fair was the comment I pretended not to be flattered by. I’ve been called worse things but was kind of saddened that my favorite broken-in black leather 3-inch cowboy boots didn’t go over the knee. At least my knit printed shorts were short enough. It was obvious that we were not the intended audience. Or so they thought! After skimming the art in the main gallery, we weaved through the folks ensconced in the narrow courtyard that connected the museum to the street. We still had about 30 minutes before they called our bloc.
After killing time in the car on our phones it was time to join the queue. As we approached the fast-growing line, some Solange played on the speaker, and I admired the staff’s green and black graphic tee shirts and their general kindness towards one another. This line featured very little conversation worth eavesdropping, but they did offer us these cute mesh and metal foldable stools to sit on. Despite these seats being made available to anyone who wanted to use them; the mom jeans, and dad jean jackets found it amusing that I chose to sit as we waited in line for 40 minutes. I think mostly they were amused by our presence. There was a Black man working security in a tidy black suit, who locked eyes with me, when they expressed their fascination. He and I joked about one of the staff offering him a seat.
I was in a bit of a funk that day and didn’t even bother to turn around when the subject of me, and my sitting became fodder for the bored trio waiting behind us. We were handed masks before we entered, and when we walked in, the frenetic energy of the room lit me up and my mood changed. It also helped that we were greeted by a familiar and beautiful face.
The vibe inside was loud, and colorful, and busy with people handling books, phones and in some cases each other. The walls of the two galleries inside were lined with exhibitors, and the music, a mixture of top 40 from now and 2008 blared loudly from some omnipotent portable speaker.
I love the themes of eroticism and Black queerness that Khari explores through his figurative works on paper. And since 2017, I’ve been collecting his zines and fine artworks. This time around I copped a mylar print, that is just behind him in the photo above. Can’t wait to get it framed.
Bush Body, one of the three zine’s he was selling that day is all about male sexuality as interpreted and rendered through a man negotiating the desirability politics of being hairy.
A table or so down from Khari was the Other Publishing set up. A collective of queer and trans folks of the Asian diaspora, and the person hawking their wares was excitedly singing along, lyric-for-lyric, Hotel Room Service by Pitbull. So yeah, I was intrigued. Immediately I was drawn to the descriptions underneath the bound books of poetry that were for sale, in particular the theme of gay revenge. I copped four fabulous HIGH CAMP bumperstickers that seem rightly appropriate for the back of my Volvo, but might make for some fun stocking stuffers.
John Vazquez Meijas’ block print features a quote by the late-great James Baldwin, that reads “Who an artist is, is simply somebody who helps you see reality again.” The wood cut was printed onto sturdy paper that can be folded into a pocket reminder to carry around. It’s sitting on my desk right now. The worker owned printer and publisher, Radix Media printed them. I believe the quote originated from a talk by Baldwin, entitled The Moral Responsibility of the Artist, and it’s on YouTube!
Motif in Madness 2022 A-Z Lexicon was my next purchase. Asjha Malcom assembled a collection of posters bound together, and I was delighted. This is part zine, part art, part portfolio. The book is described as an “A-Z type fold out poster using the first words that come to mind for each letter of the alphabet.” It’s gorgeous, and I don’t think I’ll ever disassemble it.
At this book fair, I decided not to buy every-single-thing I liked, A) because I’m experimenting with the cruel concept of a budget, and 2) I wanted to be intentional about supporting Black artists, and writers who historically take up less spaces in environments like this. Radical book making is a tradition I speculate has been formed as resistance by our Black ancestors in this hemisphere who were criminalized for seeking knowledge through the written word. It felt critical to honor that heritage. No sooner than my trying to regulate my impulse buying did I encounter for the first time, Sojourners for Justice Press.
Ok, so I bought every book and zine on the table. Sojourners for Justice Press had several incredible titles, offering histories of infamous and iconic Black women in history, and the reproductions of pamphlets many of them made. Pamphleteering was a very common practice for getting the word out about political issues. They were a critical organizing tool before the invention of the communication technology we’ve come to rely on these days. I was especially inspired by this chapbook of 1920’s Harlem gangster turned activist, who essentially developed the modern American lottery. She was a powerful numbers runner who fought the Italian Mob and the (always been, always will be) corrupt NYPD.
Stephanie St. Claire used the power of the independent press to gain support in her efforts to fight back from the hypocrisies of the white establishment of that time. Talks of a film about her life are now in the works.
In many ways I can be a luddite: I believe there is power in spreading radical messages of freedom, justice, and people power through paper. In fact, I think it could be useful in slowing down the mega loads of information we get about the current state of affairs in the Black and Queer worlds. Making zines involved multifaceted creativity, resourcefulness and it gets people out onto the streets. I believe zines, and pamphlets could work as a way to offer hope that can galvanize action, more than any doom-scroll.
It was a real pleasure coming across this indie press, and I hope to support them more. Check them out. I even did a lil photoshoot (a la Blk Mkt Vintage) with the books I brought home.
Hopefully I get to read all of these really soon, but I’m just as content with adding them to my collection!
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Leave a comment if you’re curious about any of these titles, or what’s on your To Be Read pile, or just leave me a few 📚📚📚, to let me know you made it.
I'm with you on the slowing down and creative process that paper allows us. Thank you for that.
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