I was tired by the end, oversaturated by an amusement park of Blackness. Such idolatry sensationalizes the organic productivity of black people. Commodity seems to be the only way that audiences can engage with our unique voices.
—Erica Cardwell, “Jean-Michel Basquiat and the Immortal Black Life” in Hyperallergic
How much would you pay to play Black for the day? What is the currency of the Black body? Of Black masculinity? In a world rampant with anti-Blackness, even the most unaware and ignorant of the realities of Black life can access Black culture to wear, flaunt, and experience as their own. Trade Tower reveals the myriad ways that the commodity of Black life has come to be absorbed all over the world. Inspired by Cardwell’s words, Oluseye brings to life the commodification of Black life into an immersive exhibition that invites us to consider how Blackness, Black life, and Black bodies become simple consumable goods.
The Black feminist sociologist Patricia Hill Collins spoke of “controlling images” in her 1990 book Black Feminist Thought. Conceptually, Collins explains how stereotypes of marginalized groups become tools of oppression–ultimately justifying the exploitation and subjugation of said groups. While originally offering the term in reference to Black women and their experiences in the US, the term “controlling images” gives us language to put words to the experiences of so many marginalized groups under the confines of state power. Social institutions (i.e., educational institutions, media–both social and traditional, and the state) serve to reinforce ideas of Black identity as both mystical and depraved; full of “cultural creation” yet devoid of “class.” These staunchly held stereotypes are leveraged into the controlling images that at once subject Black bodies to second-class status but simultaneously make Black cultural identity a globally consumable good. Indeed, step up to the vending machines in Trade Tower and take your pick of any Black cultural artifact: Hennesey, durags, pro-sports figurines, bling, handcuffs, and more. These artifacts of Black life reveal both the controlling images used to cast Black people as dangerous criminals (handcuffs) or superhuman (pro-sport figurines). Yet, while these controlling images are stereotypes that have become ubiquitous in the perception of Blackness world-over, Black people actively push back against this degradation, turning less into more; shifting despair into hope; and transmuting the proverbial lump of coal into diamond. Black people are the true alchemists of this world.
Playing on the terminology of “trade,” oft used in the gay/queer community as a term to mean unsuspectingly (read: masculine presenting) “down” men whose outward appearance might not suggest that they are open to sexual encounters with those of the same sex or gender, Trade Tower reminds us that these elements of Blackness in an isolated form each hold a meaning as one piece of a larger puzzle. The word “trade” itself underscores the novelty and significance of the piece. One of the earliest uses of the word “trade” is found in Chauncey’s Gay New York, a study of the gay life world in New York City spanning 1890-1940. While today you can find online debates between Black gay men about who counts as “trade” and who can be “trade,” the term originated as a way to refer to male customers of “fairy” (read: effeminate gay) prostitutes. Essentially, the term has become a racialized term wielded by and among Black gay men to connote the desirable hypermasculine Black (maybe Latino) man. In effect, the term has been absorbed into the gay Black lexicon and repurposed to make sense of the pervasive stereotype of Black hypermasculinity and sexuality. In Trade Tower, each individual vending option signals a particular truth about Black life (or maybe just life in general)—grape soda, watermelon candy, Air Force 1 sneakers, and hip-hop cassettes. Yet, when they are assembled into various totems of Blackness, we see the stereotypes come together. Stepping back to take in the vending options, a menagerie of disembodied Black cultural artifacts is ready for your consumption, and you can name your own price. For the viewer, you know the vending shop is open, marked by the lighted neon sign “NEGRO”–in effect, Blackness and these cultural artifacts are available for purchase. The Black Market is OPEN for business.
Strikingly, the stereotype of Black men as hypersexual thug criminals comes across from the vending options and plays with the primacy of that perception–placing the Magnum XL condoms and dismembered, disembodied Black phallus at the top of two totems. The stereotype of the hung, Mandingo Black man serves as both an aspirational masculinity gauge and confining cage for all Black men, regardless of sexuality (i.e., gay, bisexual, straight, pansexual, etc.). The disembodied big Black phallus reminds us of the promise and consequence of Black masculinity–namely, it feeds the fetishization with Black bodies (even outside of care for Black personhood) and harkens to the fascination, fear, and envy of Black male bodies that fueled the racist lynchings of Black men across North America, often including his dismembering. Flying above the installation is a banner of durags: flags of Blackness that underscore both the multiplicity of Blackness while simultaneously reminding us of one of the most recognizable, yet oft co-opted cultural artifacts of Black life. Taken together, the multicolored durags bring a celebration of queerness front and center, weaving together notions of (hyper-) Black masculinity and queerness. Just as the pride flag serves as a celebratory marker and a call for recognition and human rights, these durag “flags” celebrate all that Black manhood and masculinity offer the world, while simultaneously acknowledging that Black queer men are (and will continue to be) an integral part of conceptions of Black manhood.
Like other examples of Oluseye’s work, Trade Tower deftly weaves together aspects of Blackness, masculinity, and queerness. Indeed, the play on the word “trade” may be overlooked initially, but its importance lies in its simplicity–it underscores how queerness is intrinsically a part of understanding Blackness. Yet, while we might primarily focus on how these stereotypes are confining, there is joy to be found in these emblems of Black life. As the writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie reminded us in her 2009 talk “The Danger of a Single Story,” “the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.” This resounding reminder underscores how Trade Tower leverages stereotypes of Blackness to celebrate and critique the single story. Oluseye’s work reminds us that there is no monolithic Black experience; the vending options could be reconstructed in an alternate configuration, yet the importance of each individual element signals an aspect of the Black cultural experience. Indeed, the installation is a reminder that multiple formulations of Black masculinity exist simultaneously across sexualities, genders, socio-economic status, and in different corners of the globe.
Every aspect of the installation asks consumers to consider to what extent their acceptance of Black cultural products is just that–consumption. How do non-Black persons come to borrow, steal, covet, and morph Black creativity into something altogether different, only maintaining its Black genesis in ghostly form? These questions should force viewers to contend with their own consumption practices that often reinforce the use of controlling images to dehumanize Black life. Instead, how do we reconnect the Black cultural object to the Black person? How can these phantom artifacts be rewoven into a true, holistic understanding of Black life in the contemporary world?
For the Black viewer, we must consider how these stereotypes come to shape our creativity and self-perception. How do we resist the co-opting of our culture to resist monolithic and unitary understanding of Black life the world over? It is an invitation to turn these controlling images on their heads and to instead become the controller of our own image. How do we stop the proliferation of consumable Blackness that fuels racial capitalism and continues the marginal, subjugated experience of Blackness in this life? Trade Tower both celebrates the creativity of Blackness and serves as a reminder that our creativity can be its own capitalist trap–stripping Black ingenuity from its Black origins. Let these totems serve as a reminder of what to celebrate and the durag flags surrounding the piece serve as a reminder of the queerness that is Blackness in the world; we will not surrender our Blackness for mere consumption.
TERRELL J.A. WINDER, PhD is a sociologist and professor at the University of California, Santa Barbara. His research interests and writings explore the ways that social institutions like religion, the family, and education shape the Black experience in everyday life. He has written extensively about Black masculinity and sexuality; his book Shameless: The Making of Black Gay Identities in LA is forthcoming from New York University Press.