Wardell Milan’s Battle Royale series of photographed collages, 2007
These individual images, seen large, are here. Milan was artist-in-residence at the Studio Museum in Harlem at the same time as Titus Kaphar, who made such an impression in this space yesterday. Where Kaphar’s works are visceral bodies in the gallery (scrunched, pulled—I can’t believe I didn’t think of Matthew Monahan before now), Milan seems to keep his surfaces almost troublingly neat. Check out his color collages especially.
more of the lame kind of “I’M BLACK!!!!” art that white-guilt liberals love
@1, more of the lame kind of “I’m a pig-ignorant philistine who knows nuthin’ about nuthin’ and is proud of it” comments you’re so fond of excreting around here.
These collages are awesome. They remind me of “Just What Is It That Makes Modern Homes So Different, So Appealing?”, by some accounts the birthplace of Pop Art — only cranked up a thousand degrees, to reflect the oversaturated colors and intensity of modern pop iconography. They look like deconstructed Martin Parr photos. Love ’em.
haw haw thanks for proving my point!!!
@3, please. Are you commenting on Slog from middle school?
go hang out for a few hours by yourself at 23rd and Jackson tonight
Just finding out about this Jen???
You’re so on “the cutting edge”
What, at Starbucks? What does Starbucks have to do with art? Seriously, boy, you don’t know what you’re talking about. At all.
no fagarf I mean ON THE CORNER
That trigonometry homework’s not going to do itself, boy.
so does that mean you don’t want to go hang out alone on the corner of 23rd and Jackson for a few hours later tonight?
Um, no thanks. But you boys have a nice time!
This might be the best post modern commentary on black masculinity I have ever seen. It highlights the art and beauty of Joe Louis, Sandy Saddler, Henry Armstrong and Sugar Ray Robinson; and asks why the hell were they in the ring in the first place. The last picture, of Sugar Ray beating Armstrong, is devastating. Robinson was tormented by that fight because Armstrong was his idol, he was petrified he was going to hurt him, and he was scared that someday Armstrong would be him. That final picture, of a brilliant young lion in a lion’s den scared to hurt a brilliant old one, is a profound piece of work. Kudos for highlighting it.