There is an undeniable richness to Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe’s paintings. When I first saw his work, I couldn’t help but note the vibrant reds, yellows, and blues. The way the colors bathe the canvas, it’s easy to overlook the fact that these are juxtaposed with figures painted in grayscale. The individuals that populate Quaicoe’s pieces are all Black Americans who invoke a feeling of regality.
I spoke with Quaicoe about his relocation from his country of Ghana to the United States and how it has influenced his work, how his paintings reframe and portray Black existence, and his artistic practice. —Karla Méndez
Karla Méndez: The paintings are an explosion of color, yet the skin on the figures is devoid of it, instead utilizing grayscale. Is there a meaning behind this? And what precipitated the decision to have that dichotomy within the pieces?
Otis Kwame Kye Quaicoe: It’s a combination of multiple things. Part of it is experimental—trying to take away excess and instead make something simple yet powerful. At the same time it’s about creating a new relation to identity in terms of skin color. It dates back to my experiences since I moved to the U.S. and how I’ve been perceived as an African and as a Black person in general. It’s also inspired by my love for black and white images and the rawness of them. As time went on, it drove me to separate all the colors from the body and just keep the image what it is.
KM: You mentioned your experience moving from Ghana to Portland and the way you’re perceived as an African and as a Black man in the United States. How has your work changed since your move from Ghana to Portland? How did it influence your work?
OQ: Back in Ghana, I was painting what was in relation to the country. My interest was more on politics and children. Children intrigued me because I loved their sense of freedom and expression. They say whatever they want to say and act however they want to. With politics, it was about how the country was being run and the corruption.
When I moved, I started noticing the color of my skin. That was the first time I paid attention to it because I grew up in a country where we were all Black. Even though there are influences from the Western world where if you have lighter skin, the better you look or the more opportunities you get, it isn’t as obvious. When I moved to the states I had to wake up and think about the color of my skin and because of that I’m careful of where I go, how I talk, who I talk with, how I stand, even how I [dress]. I became more aware of myself, as a person, as an African. You became more appreciative of where you come from, your country. In certain ways it’s strange that when you live in your own country, everything becomes normal until you step out of it and you become appreciative of things that you are so used to. All of that started to change and I started focusing on my identity. I started focusing on history. I started focusing on individual people and their story.
KM: You mentioned that your work before you moved from Ghana was influenced by the politics there. In residing and creating work here in the United States, how does the political landscape, of this country and globally, affect your work?
OQ: Yes it does. There’s no way you can escape that. Whatever is going on politically motivates my work. What I realized is that I attack that in a different way, not straightforward like I had back in Ghana. I talk about the people and how the government uses people. Politics are still something I talk about but in a different way. I focus more on the people that are affected by the government who tell the corrupt stories of the dirty side of the government. At the same time, I tell you about the person you are viewing, telling you about history, his people, his history.
KM: You primarily paint portraits of Black individuals. Historically, when you go into a museum and look at portraits, the subjects are all white and of a very specific class. Do you view your work as a reclamation of portraiture? Or as a transgression of what or who is traditionally depicted and made immortal?
OQ: You said it right in a sense that, when I started going to museums and started seeing portraits of these people, I loved it. But the more I went, the more I questioned why there was nobody that looked like me in those paintings? Many times, when you see Black people in a painting, they are servants or depicted in violent scenes. So it’s not that there wasn’t anybody that looked like me or that was powerful or successful. It just wasn’t documented. I started putting myself and others in that position that was omitted to fill those spaces, as it should be. It’s reclaiming something that was taken from history and putting it back by using the everyday life of the people I meet and making them feel the way they’re supposed to feel and not the way that’s being projected.
It’s about positioning ourselves in places in a majestic way to tell our story. If we need to tell our story it needs to come from us and who knows us better than we do? What I’m doing is documenting the lives we live now so that in fifty to 100 years when somebody goes to a museum they can go “This is how Black people were then.” It’s making sure that we’re still staying in the books. We’re staying in the institutions. We’re staying in history. We’re in the past and the future so that this never gets lost.
KM: That’s interesting. There was recently an exhibition that was all portraits and landscapes from between the late 1600s and early 1800s, that meant to shed light on Black representation during a historically forgotten period that was created to shed light on Black Americans during this time that didn’t revolve around slavery or violence. In fifty to 100 years, when kids go into museums they can feel like they’re seen and like they’re part of a history that isn’t dependent on violence or a devaluing of their lives.
OQ: Exactly. Even though they are paintings, they still have an impact in our lives and how we view ourselves. If you go and you see images of yourself in shackles all the time, it psychologically weighs on you and you start to feel it. If that is changed and we see ourselves in a more majestic, powerful and regal way, then we feel that way as well. It is important to revisit history and look at stuff, and then change and tell the story the way it’s supposed to be. And like you said, it’s a way of contributing to that.
These were things that I never thought of. In Ghana, we’d just live our lives. But here, you live constantly thinking about your skin color and having to fight for your existence, so it’s important to have these images projected.
KM: I’m interested to know how you find your subjects and how do you go about developing a relationship with them that empowers and supports your work?
OQ: Most of the time, you become a scouting agent. You look at people and somebody catches your attention. Sometimes you approach them, tell them what you do, and show them your Instagram. By talking to them, I get to know who he or she is, their life, and how they feel about what’s going on in the world. They also contribute to what I produce because what they give me is what I put on the canvas. We are in the same fight, I’m just fighting in a different way. You have to have something of a good relationship to get the energy out of the person and portray them in their most comfortable way.
KM: I like that you said getting an energy from them and making them feel comfortable because there has to be a level of comfort. There’s a lot of humanity and comfort in your pieces which other portraiture is devoid of. Your work shows a deeper level of a connection between you and your subject where you are able to accurately portray them as they are and not how the public instinctively perceive them.
OQ: I use my muse to talk about a subject, but I also want to talk about the person because they are not just an object. I want visitors to feel a sense of connection when they look at a painting. I’m not only telling their story, I’m telling my story through them also. When I hear their story it’s almost like I become a part of them. Whilst painting, I’m watching the story unfold, but at the same time how do you fit yourself in there? I put a little bit of myself in there so that we know we are all in this together. We are telling our story. You can see her story through me. You can see my story through him. You can acknowledge the culture, the people and their history. It’s important not to leave that out.
When I’m done with the painting, I invite them to come view the painting and many times they cry. You can tell it is a big deal. They see themselves in a different way than they look in the mirror. That moment is very important.
KM: Can you talk about your artistic practice? How do you see your work evolving as time goes on?
OQ: A day in the studio is like going on a discovery journey. Even though I know what I want to paint, I don’t know what the process will be. Painting on the canvas, you are in constant communication with the canvas. I always go with the flow. I have a plan but I’m open to whatever it will tell me to do. And at times I’m surprised by the finished work because I know I imagined it but it is totally different.
I’m inspired by a lot of things, like music. When I’m painting, I always listen to music. The music also channels my energy. Every part of the body that I paint, I change the music because I have to be in a certain type of mood. When I’m painting a portrait, I always start with the eyes. That is where I put all my focus on because I want to draw the viewer in. I have music that I listen to, to set the mood I want to be in and channel the person’s spirit to depict their emotions.
My work now is almost sculptural because of found elements. It’s all things that I find lying around that are part of our daily lives. I try to use things to represent daily issues. The process is very interesting and I never know where it will end. I just keep going and going and live in the moment. You always aim high for the future but you never know how it goes so I always kind of leave that side alone and just enjoy the moment that I have. At the moment, I’m in control of the present, I’m not in control of the future.
KM: Have you ever sat down to paint with an idea in mind and then when you look back at the finished product, it looks different than what you may have thought it would look like?
OQ: Yeah, sometimes. You start working and all of a sudden the energy just drops. And then you are done with the work and you think, that’s not how I pictured it in my head. There are times too when you have a little image of it in your head but once the painting is done, it’s amazing. That is why I said always go with the flow. Whether a painting turns out ugly or beautiful, I still finish it because these are thoughts that were in my head and I need to let it out. They are there for a reason so even if a painting doesn’t make it out how you thought, you still achieved your thought. It’s an achievement whether it’s a mistake or not. Everything happens for a reason.
KM: The way you’re describing it almost sounds like you’re painting, but you don’t necessarily have full control. They’re painting themselves and you’re just the vehicle.
OQ: Exactly. Most of the stuff that I implemented in my paintings were just thoughts that randomly came in my head. I didn’t plan for them. That is what I love about my work. The freedom it gives me to experiment. That is how you become better because if you let yourself experiment, there is new knowledge that has been unlocked.
KM: Do you work on one piece at a time or multiple pieces at a time?
OQ: No, I work on one piece at a time because my brain would not be able to paint multiple pieces. I’m the kind of person that when an idea hits my brain, I need to get it out or the rest will not show up.
KM: How long does it take to complete one piece?
OQ: It depends on my energy. Sometimes I am so packed with energy and I’m lost in the moment and within days I finish a painting. Someone will come in and say, ”you did it in just a couple of days,” but for the artist it’s not just a couple of days because being lost in time everything feels like months. When I close the studio at the end of the day and I go home, I am drained, mentally and physically. That is how intense it is.
KM: You had a show on view just before the pandemic and racial reckoning of 2020 titled Black Like Me. Where did the idea for that body of work and project come from? What did it feel like for it to close so soon before the summer of 2020?
OQ: It’s kind of funny how that show came about. When I came up with that show, it had nothing to do with COVID. It had nothing to do with George Floyd or the reckoning. My wife loves Black history books. She has a shelf of books I was looking at and I came across this book, Black Like Me, by John Howard Griffin published in 1961. I just loved the title of it and thought I would love to create a body of work around this. I sat there and thought about how this has a connection with me and what my experience has been since I moved to the U.S.
It’s kind of like telling a story about being an African and a Black person in the U.S. I’m an African but since I entered into the U.S., I’m identified as a Black person. Nobody looks at me as an African because skin color comes first. I also realized that when I go to the grocery store and I see other Black people, they’d nod their head. At first I didn’t understand what it was. I came home and I told my wife she explained to me what it meant. It was all of that and then it was all of the chaos. Everything just came together.
KM: Obviously creating art and organizing an exhibition takes time, but it just seemed like it was a coincidence or fate, the way it came together. It was very interesting timing. In a way, it was beautiful to have an exhibition mounted like that and then a couple of months later for all the events of 2020 to occur. It was a fascinating dynamic.
OQ: It’s a collective of Black images. It could be Black like me, Black like you, Black like him, Black like her. Kind of like telling the story of the individual person, but in a collective way.
KM: They’re all individual Black people and even though they may not know each other, they’re quilted together like a diasporic quilt. It’s also a reminder that Black isn’t one thing. Black isn’t just Black American. Black can be African, European, South American. It’s a reminder of these stories and how we’re connected together despite our geographical and cultural differences.
OQ: Exactly. Most of the time you hear how Black Americans talk to Africans, “Like you don’t understand.” But it’s not about that. When you go back through history, you were from Africa before you were brought here. Yeah, I may not be impacted the same way because this is where you live. At the moment, this is where the issue is centered. Nobody in Ghana comes up to you and calls you a name. But once you get here, what you go through, I go through. When the police question you, I’m asked the same questions. They don’t stop because I’m African. You become one. Your story is my story, my story is your story.
KM: There’s more similarities than there are differences if we open ourselves up to seeing them.
This interview was made possible by generous support from Critical Conversations, The University of Oregon Center for Art Research (CFAR), and The Ford Family Foundation.