Crow and Carnation

Deliberately withholding information about the identities of her painted subjects, Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s work (which she often gives poetic and allusive titles, considering them to be “an extra mark in the paintings”) defies straightforward or simplified descriptions, instead allowing for a multiplicity of interpretations. Her pictorial universe is inhabited by ordinary individuals (mostly alone and sometimes lost in contemplation with their eyes averted) in a place where time holds no sway. Our attention is directed, without distractions, towards the people themselves. The past, present and future merge and the temporal state that is evoked suggests the underlying general human experiences we all, to some extent, share.

The absence of contextual clues invites viewers to construct their own narratives, thus assuming an active role in the artist’s creative process whilst trying to interpret her world. Independent curator and art advisor Carlotta Mazzoli writes (in ‘Exploring Nuances: Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s Captivating Narratives’, Daily Art Magazine, 20 February 2024):

The ambiguity of her work derives from her subjects just as much as from her technique. Working primarily with oil on canvas, the artist employs a dark palette, with muted earthy colors and only occasional bursts of vibrant hues. This approach adds to the mystery of her portraits, leaving her figures in an undefined space, a blurred backdrop that gives away no clue or reference. In this no man’s land, viewers are not solely asked for an interpretation, but they can find their own place, immersing themselves in this fictional universe.

Worth noting here, in relation to Mazzoli’s text, is the fact that Yiadom-Boakye nowadays paints on linen rather than canvas, a fact pointed out by Andrea Schlieker (in Lynette Yiadom-Boakye: Fly In League With The Night / Att flyga I förbund med natten, exhibition catalogue, Tate Britain, London / Moderna Museet, Stockholm, 2021):

She paints quickly, wet on wet, without disegno, in a way that is reminiscent of ancient fresco technique. The paint is applied in such thin layers that the herringbone structure of the linen support she has used in recent years often remains clearly visible. The canvases she previously used forced her to finish each painting in one day because the paint dried so quickly. [...] The roughness of the linen fabric allows for a different brushstroke and a different way of handling the paint. The decisions are made in the process of painting, where improvisation becomes an important driving force.

The palette also plays a crucial role. The colours are generally muted: greens and greys and blacks and an extraordinary variety of browns. Sometimes (generally in works executed from 2012 and onwards) amid this sober palette: splashes of pink, yellow, orange, vivid blues and emerald greens. Her dark palette, with earthy colours and occasional bursts of vibrant hues (as pointed out by Mazzoli), adds to the mystery of her portraits, leaving her figures in an undefined space, a blurred backdrop that gives away neither clue nor reference.

Yiadom-Boakye’s work celebrates and examines the portrait genre, whilst also subtly undermining it. Although she doesn’t define her art as portrait painting (“It has been a long time since I considered my work as portrait painting... A portrait is something very specific... for a specific time and purpose”, ‘Artist x Artist: Lynette Yiadom-Boakye and Jennifer Packer’, Studio, Winter/Spring, 2014) she repeats some of the conventions of classical historical portrait painting in terms of format (en face, profile, three-quarter figure, half-figure and full figure) and genre. The most striking difference from traditional portrait painting is the fact that her “models” are not real but fictional.

When asked about the source material behind her images she often refers to a potent mix of photos, albums filled with various images from magazines and newspapers, close-up details of Old Masters, memories, imagination and spontaneous painterly improvisation (a technique that brings to mind the creative chaos in Francis Bacon’s [1909 – 1992] legendary studio on 7 Reece Mews, London): “I work from scrapbooks, I work from images I collect, I work from life a bit, I seek out the imagery I need. I take photos. All of that is then composed on the canvas”.

Yiadom-Boakye’s own studio in East London is said to be littered with artist monographs and similarities with several earlier painters in European art history can be discerned in some of her paintings. The monochromatic Eurosceptic (2006), for example, explores Chiaroscuro and brown tones in a way that recalls works by Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669) and Francisco de Goya’s (1746 – 1828) Pinturas negras. The black and white stone floors of Johannes Vermeer (1632 – 1675), and other 17th century Dutch masters, greet us in Black Allegiance To The Cunning (2018, 200.8 x 150.5 cm, Sheldon Inwentash and Lynn Factor, Toronto) at the same time as A Concentration (2018, 200 x 250 cm, Carter Collection) references Edgar Degas (1834 – 1917). One could also mention Diego Velázquez (c. 1599 – 1660), Édouard Manet (1832 – 1883) and Paul Cézanne (1839 - 1906). The red bathrobe in Any Number of Preoccupations (2010, 152.4 x 230.2 cm) has taken its inspiration from John Singer Sargent’s (1856 – 1925) legendary Dr Pozzi at Home (1881, oil on canvas, 202 x 102 cm, Hammer Museum, Los Angeles) but can also be related to Walter Sickert’s (1860 – 1942) Minnie Cunningham at the Old Bedford 1892 (1892, oil on canvas, 76.5 x 63.8 cm, Tate, London): “All my use of red goes back to that painting” (Yiadom-Boakye in conversation with Andrea Schlieker, 25 October 2019).

Yiadom-Boakye is recognized as a pivotal figure when it comes to redefining the representation of black people in art in, what has been described as, a renaissance in painting the Black figure. Writer and critic Hilton Als has written that Yiadom-Boakye is ”interested” in black society, not as it was affected or shaped by the white world, but as it exists unto itself”. Yiadom-Boakye herself clarifies:

Blackness has never been other to me. Therefore, I’ve never felt the need to explain its presence in the work anymore than I’ve felt the need to explain my presence in the world, however often I’m asked. […] It isn’t so much about placing black people in the canon as it is about saying that we’ve always been here, we’ve always existed, self-sufficient, outside of nightmares and imaginations, pre and post “discovery”, and in no way defined or limited by who sees us.

Crow and Carnation, in Yiadom-Boakye’s typical way, raises more questions than it offers answers. Is the crow, mentioned in the title of the work, visible along the left edge of the canvas? Or is it a reference to the depicted man, who appears to be wearing a kind of collar with black feathers? Similar collars appear in paintings like Skylark (2010, 108.9 x 70.1 cm) and Greenfinch (2012, 140 x 100 cm). Andrea Schlieker writes:

Another motif repeats itself in paintings over several years and connects them - the feather-like neck collar, a very unusual clothing accessory that catches the eye in a number of single and double portraits of men. In particular, the “bird” series that began in 2009. An emblematic, evocative motif that at first glance seems to refer to carnival costumes, although feather collars were also part of traditional tribal costumes worn by Native American chiefs in particular to mark their ability as spiritual guides. Alternatively, it may be an allusion to the pipe collars in Dutch portraits from the 16th and 17th centuries, made with the aim of weakening these collars’ connection to rank and status. However, the bird-name titles in this ongoing series suggest a mystical juxtaposition of man and animal, or at least an emphasis on their kinship.

And what about the Carnation? Well, this, on the other hand, is a clearly identifiable object that, in many ways, could be perceived as the focal point, at the heart of the composition. But why is it there? What does it symbolize? Is it just a pretty flower? Does it simply tie the composition together in a coloristic way? Maybe? One should, however, remember that Carnations have ancient symbolic value dating back to mythological times. In the Christian tradition, for example, Carnations are associated with the Virgin Mother. According to the legend, when Mary saw her son Jesus carrying the cross, she shed tears. These tears turned into Carnations when they touched the ground – making them a symbol of a mother’s undying love. Carnations also traditionally symbolize love, respect, and distinction in the language of flowers. Exquisite pink Carnations, especially, symbolize a mother’s pure and never-ending love. They are also known to symbolize gratitude.

Perhaps, however, the mesmerized viewer should simply forget about all theories and art historical traditions, and simply surrender to Yiadom-Boakye’s ambiguity with its long-lasting dialogue around fundamental themes of humanity, as Carlotta Mazzoli puts it: 

Both universal and deeply personal, her figures speak to each one of us –past, present, and future human beings– and her art has the rare power to connect across cultures and time, speaking a universal language that transcends boundaries and restrictions. It is a testament to the enduring power of traditional techniques when wielded by a masterful hand with a contemporary vision. Her ability to infuse her paintings with a sense of mystery and ambiguity challenges viewers to question established norms of representation and narrative in art, engaging them in a shared experience and a long-lasting dialogue around fundamental themes of humanity.

Copyright Firestorm Foundation