The exhibition, Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary at the Brooklyn Museum is a solo show, but it does not isolate the artist. Or perhaps Catlett’s work itself rejects isolation. Even as the artist herself was banned from her home nation, the United States, she did not stop working on themes that united her life and art experiences in her new home of Mexico to the struggles of Black Americans. Ultimately, the exhibition showcases the sense of unity that those who are oppressed share regardless of the particulars of their point of origin.
The point of entry into the exhibit is opaque and a viewer starts encountering her work before they are introduced to a statement about the exhibit. So, before you read about her work, you are already informed by the gaze of black women rendered in terracotta and mahogany. One of the first encountered is Head of a Negro Woman (1946) which is shaped from “the course porous clay favored in Indigeounous communities in Mexico” (Brooklyn Museum). Described in both English and Spanish, as both an acknowledgement of her two homes and of the two most commonly spoken languages in the United States, Head of a Negro Woman, needs little introduction. A long pillared neck supports a face with strong, bold planes and eyes, though unrendered in terracotta, that look directly forward from its display.
Wrapping around Judy Chicago’s The Dinner Party before expanding into additional halls, the exhibit fits itself into triangular rooms populated with Catlett’s sculptures. The sculptures are placed in the space so that the faces are roughly on the level of an average American’s height. To look at them is to confront their humanity even as they are crafted in wood, clay, and stone. They are non-confrontational while still directly confronting the viewer with their presence, saying: I am here, and you must engage with me as an equal. Often placed in large groupings, it’s impossible to ignore that there is power in numbers. Black women are depicted in motherhood, in chains, and no matter how else, they are depicted in power regardless of their situation, even when depicted in modes of leisure as they “recline, sit, walk, stargaze, and stand unburdened” (Brooklyn Museum).
Particularly compelling, though likely to be missed, is the framing of Mother and Child (1983) in a vibrant green wall, and when you stand at just the right angle you can also glimpse Political Prisoner (1971) between the open sections of the wall. This small moment puts these works in a conversation about motherhood, womanhood, and the politics that dictate to them. It also keeps each of these pieces from being isolated. Though easily passed without noticing, none of these depictions of women are alone even as they stand in their own contexts.
The dusty blue walls are lined with portraits and scenes of frequently, but not exclusively, black women. Her ability to replicate prints and the display of those replications in the exhibition, like Sharecropper (1952), also echo the sensibilities of the sculptures. A linocut print with delicate texturing of the bold black outlines, Sharecropper (1952), depicts a black woman staring yearnfully over her shoulder under the cover of her wide brimmed hat. In one print, it’s a starker black and white, in another darker richer tones reign, and in a final one, a blue, not so different from the color of the gallery walls, stands out between the black that renders the details of her jacket held together by a safety pin. Sharecropper (1952) is shown these these three ways, with slight differences in coloration and in framing, announcing that singularity is not the objective. Instead it is the multitudes of women that she has chosen to represent. Catlett’s prints and the choice to display their duplications, reflect the plentitude and strength shown in the placement of her sculptures throughout the exhibition.
During her Rosenwald Fellowship in 1946 she studied printmaking with the artist collective Taller de Gráfica Popular in Mexico City that was “dedicated to advancing revolutionary social causes” (Brooklyn Museum). Both she and the collective at large were dedicated to advocating for access to art regardless of social position. Regardless of this being a solo show, Elizabeth Catlett is not alone. Through the thoughtful display of her work by the Brooklyn Museum in partnership with the National Gallery of Art, Catlett brings her community and those she represents (and makes work for) with her into the space along with her work.
Originally Written in November 2024 for Curatorial Practices at Hunter College. Previously Unpublished.