Danielle Mckinney in her studio (2024)
Photo: Danielle Mckinney / Marianne Boesky Gallery
I.
According to an old friend, the French [1], isn't what it once was - but then, what is?
Regardless of what anyone says, however, it's still a favourite haunt of mine: a place that maintains a bustling, vaguely bohemian atmosphere and much of its traditional charm; a place in which you can still strike up conversation with strangers and encounter interesting young women newly arrived from the Continent who are happy to discuss representations of the black female body in contemporary art ...
Women such as Fatima, for example, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at the French a few nights ago, and who persuaded me that I should write a post on the African-American painter Danielle Mckinney who, it seems, is the darling du jour of the artworld - though let me say at once I am not using this term to either denigrate her or dismiss her work which, whilst not entirely to my tastes, is nevertheless deserving of critical attention, just as she is worthy of respect.
II.
Beginning her career within the visual arts as a photographer - for which she still has a passion - Mckinney has nevertheless really come into her own as a figurative painter, producing a series of canvases that are concerned with the inner experience of black womanhood and the way in which the complex interplay betweeen self-definition and external social construction produce cultural identity.
In other words, Mckinney challenges the one-sided and simplistic idea that the latter is built solely upon appearance - skin tone, hair texture, body shape, etc. - and the perception of these traits by others. Black women are not just the racialised object of a male gaze, nor a fetishised figure within the white pornographic imagination; they are real beings and possess their own dreams, desires, and thoughts and needn't - as Du Bois would say - always look at themselves through the eyes of (judgemental) others.
In a sense, Mckinney is demonstrating on canvas Toni Morrison's argument that the lives of black individuals - including black women - have depth and meaning and that black culture is its own sovereign center of knowledge and feeling.
III.
Obviously, I'm a little ill at ease with the language of identity, self-hood, interiority, etc., and really don't want to go over a lot of old ground for the thousandth time.
So probably best we just leave all that to one side and say something about the paintings themselves which depict black women in private moments; smoking, lounging, or reflecting quietly on things (i.e., reclaiming their time and agency) - what has been described as the politics of rest (contra the politics of resistance); something I'm sure Roland Barthes would approve of [2].
What I think most interests me about the pictures - apart from their politics - is the fact that Mckinney has a thing for dark backgrounds and allows her figures to emerge from such [3], almost as if to suggest that Blackness is born of darkness and retains an element of such, much like an object always retains its mystery and potency thanks to the fact that is largely hidden and withdrawn and never obscenely exposed or transparent.
Objects never give themselves away and the figures in Mckinney's paintings never give themselves away either (even if she and her critics insist on speaking about the pictures opening windows on to the black female soul). There's an intimacy about her canvases, but no spectacle and if there's symbolism and narrative what really appeals (to me at least) is the silence and stillness. They have presence and one enters into a relationship with them, but one needn't stare at them trying to extract their meaning or make the subjects speak either to us or for us.
IV.
And as for the lovely Fatima - my new friend from the French - she's a living example of the sort of strong and independent woman Mckinney loves to immortalise on canvas; one who emerged not from the bright blue sea like a Botticelli Venus, but from the blackness of a Soho night ...
Notes
[1] The French House is a tiny bar and dining room at 49 Dean Street, Soho, London, long popular with artists, actors, and writers; no pints, no phones, no music, and almost no chance of a seat after six. Click here to visit their website.
[2] I'm thinking here of Barthes's late concept of le Neutre; a refusal to participate in the world of militant activity and ideological posturing and a withdrawl from the arrogance and assumption of the world. Why be bullied into taking a stand or passing judgement when you can sit quietly by the window and look out at the birds in the garden, or go for a short nap? One of the many things we can learn from objects is the art of withdrawl and how to evade the paradigm. See Roland Barthes, The Neutral, trans. Rosalind E. Krauss and Denis Hollier (Columbia University Press, 2007).
[3] As one commentator notes, Mckinney had previously tried priming her canvases with white and brown, but nothing felt right until she hit on the idea of painting them black and allowing the figures to emerge as if from a photographic darkroom or an eternal twilight. See Veronica Esposito,'"Women are not usually seen to be resting": Danielle Mckinney's portraits of repose', in The Guardian (17 April 2024): click here.
To read more about Mckinney and see a selection of her work and press interviews, etc., please visit the Marianne Boesky Gallery website: click here and/or the Galerie Max Hetzler website: click here.
Alternatively, readers might like to check out Mckinney's Instagram page: @danielle_mckinney_
