A Teary Eyed Takeway of the Jean Michel Basquiat: King Pleasure Exhibit
There are a few things I’ve known to be true in my three decades here on earth. The surest one is this: there is no love like the love of family. From ten years as a public school educator, I can also say that the damage from the absence of that love is profound.
I’d seen the first in practice, of course. I had a really happy childhood with two loving parents who showed time and time again, even to this day, that they’d do anything for me. So, in theory, I thought I understood altruistic love.
It wasn’t until I had my own child that I really, deeply, profoundly understood that love.
That love twists from the inside. It’s a slow burning fire, and the flames are made of jubilation and fear and hope and…did I mention fear? It guts and restores simultaneously. It’s constantly the thrill and anxiety of being at the tippy top of a rollercoaster, waiting to plummet down. It’s feeling melancholy nostalgia for a moment that is being experienced in real time.
There’s also pride. A ridiculous amount of pride that no person deserves to possess, but that you feel anyway. Everything your child does makes your heart swell with delight. Every doodle. Every scribble. Every ordinary utterance. Every movement. It all suddenly becomes the most brilliant, creative, exceptional thing that anyone on earth has ever done.
That kind of love keeps children safe. It makes them feel worthy. That’s what children deserve. That kind of love.
All of this is why I found myself at the Jean Michel Basquiat: King Pleasure exhibit doing that weird thing where you jut out your chin in hopes that the unexpected tears in your eyes go back to where the fuck they came from.
Jean Michel Basquiat’s mother was more or less the catalyst for his journey into the art world. After being struck by a car at seven years old, Basquiat spent many nights in the hospital undergoing surgery, one to remove his spleen. His mother brought him a copy of Gray’s Anatomy so that he could maybe better understand his body and how it was being healed. Jean Michel Basquiat became obsessed with the book and from there dove head first into creating art.
Unfortunately, she also suffered from mental illness in his later childhood and was deemed unfit to care for him. He lived with his strict Haitian father, Gerard, who apparently was abusive. In his teen years, Basquiat bounced around to different schools until he was kicked out of one in New York. From there, and at seventeen he left home (some sources say he was kicked out) and spent nights sleeping on friends couches and sometimes out in the open in places like Washington Square Park.
The current exhibit in Chelsea was put together by Basquiat’s sisters which already is an indication that this is different from other art installations that one might see. While they’re not his parents, there is a sure maternal-type love that comes from the artists’s sisters. Life with his actual parents was tumultuous as we already know.
Maybe I’m just overly perceptive. Maybe, more likely, it’s in the layout of the exhibit. But the tenderness that Basquiat’s sisters have for him seems to permeate not just the walls full of his work, but even the air. And that pervasive adoration made for quite an emotional experience, something that I’ve confirmed with other colleagues of mine who have seen the exhibit.
There is, apparently, no piece is too small or too abstract or unworthy in any way from being housed in the exhibit. Basquiat’s drawing of a Pabst Blue Ribbon cap. A single piece of paper where he only wrote, “the conveyor belt of life.” All of it has meaning to Jean’s sisters, and thus, guests are encouraged to dig deep and find meaning as well.
If some art snob put this together, I think there may have been fewer pieces. Perhaps he or she would have been more critical and discerning with which artifacts made the cut. But that’s not what happened. By contrast, I get the sense that his sisters would have found it nearly impossible to cut any of his creations from the exhibit.
That sentiment, if at all accurate, really resonates. Even though Basquiat was beloved by giants like Andy Warhol, he created works that appealed to the common person — art that was accessible in that it touched on the everyday goings on of life for the average guy or gal. His sisters have kept that vision alive in the King Pleasure exhibit. Their endearment of their brother Jean and everything that he’s drawn or painted is a universal feeling for guests. We all love someone that much and thus, that ethos creates an accessible entry point even for those not familiar with Basquiat’s work. Or even for those who only know him in a singular way, “Oh that dude who _________!”
In short, we see pieces that only Basquiat’s family could have surmised had very deep meaning to him. That intimate knowledge of their brother is, in my opinion, key to guests better understanding his work.
While you’ll find interpretations (via video) of his brightly colored pieces from scholars and big shots as you walk around, the most sincere understanding of his work comes from the video of his sisters and their own families. As you watch them talk about Basquiat, or read what they have to say about his creative process and inspiration, it’s abundantly clear they have a keen and unique insight into his art that even the most savvy paintings dealer or academic couldn’t get at. Realizations like this are what makes the exhibit a ubiquitous one. Nobody knows a person better than his or her family.
Basquiat’s work is unique and eye-catching. His use of pop culture, global events, and everyday interactions weaved into his art is, well, fun for lack of a better term. (Although I’d like to think that Basquiat would choose words like fun over convivial. He seemed down to earth.) The bright primary colors are reminiscent of the warm Caribbean (which makes sense given his Haitian and Puerto Rican background.)
Sometimes, he created his paintings on discarded items like a blanket or garage door fridge. I interpreted this as something that many immigrant families or children of immigrant parents can relate to – making due with what you have. That necessary frugality is how we get astounding things like paella and apparently Jean Michel Basquiat’s work.
The man is a bonafide artist. I’m sure you’ll find many articles online that are much more scholarly and impressive regarding the interpretation of Basquiat’s work. Definitely way better than what I’ve just written in the above paragraph, probably.
I could write about what I think his pieces mean. I could say that as someone who went to the exhibit and takes art theory and history classes for fun that I have Jean Michel Basquiat all figured out. I could engineer some cool sounding theories on why he painted a half man half saxophone on a canvas. But none of that was the big takeaway that I was left with. I feel in my gut that we were meant to understand Basquiat on a more personal, human, level. To see him as his family and close friends saw him.
There are perhaps people who will say that I missed the mark on this one. That this exhibit was meant to highlight social injustice or cultural nuances – and of course it did. But as we know, art is subjective, especially one’s interpretation of it. I understood the themes of police brutality and prejudice. But I also took away something else entirely.
Through all of the personal and societal suffering that he saw and trying to make sense of it, Jean Michel Basquiat was loved. By celebrities. By other artists. By the press. But most importantly, by his sisters. His work shows us that unique experiences, whether good or bad, influence how we see the world and everything in it. My personal belief is that any parent who has ever felt a burning devotion for their child will inherently see another layer of meaning entirely to the King Pleasure exhibit. You resonate with the pride and motherly type love that his sisters have for him. Your eyes well with tears at knowing he probably could have used more stability at home. Your heart breaks at knowing that he’s gone now from a drug overdose. Jean Michel Basquiat: King Pleasure is a showcase of the work of one of the most renowned artists in the world. But it is also a pair of sisters, perfectly showcasing their heart swelling adoration for a family member that they loved so much.
Information: Starrett-Lehigh Building, W 26th St, New York, NY 10001
