[Every so often, a work of
art emerges that raises controversy because it depicts a subject that is
significant to a particular group of people, but does so in a way that causes consternation
or even anger. Often the artist is from
a part of the population that’s different from the engaged group.
[Kerry James Marshall is African American and a painter. He paints history—the history of his people in America, from slavery to today, and of the Africans from which he and they descended.
[But Marshall’s art is not always celebratory. There’s no Washington Crossing the Delaware (Emanuel Leutze, 1851) or Declaration of Independence (John Trumbull. 1818).
[As my subtitle above states, in a quotation from the artist himself, he paints what no one else will. (I suspect very strongly that his is the very kind of art that would exercise Donald Trump and his guardians of the image of America the Good.)
[Fortunately for America and the world, the current exhibition of Marshall’s work that’s the center of the report below isn’t in a gallery over which 45/47 has any say. (It’s at London’s Royal Academy of Art.) For it’s just the kind of art Americans and people around the world should—indeed, must—see from time to time. It tells the truth.
[I quote a statement made by none other than George Bernard Shaw:
The plain working truth is that it is not only good for people to be shocked occasionally, but it is absolutely necessary to the progress of society that they should be shocked pretty often.]
“FACT, FICTION AND
FANTASY IN PAINTING BLACK HISTORY”
by Aruna D’Souza
[The article below ran in the New York Times on 27 September 2025 (section C (“Arts”). It was posted to the Times website as “Kerry James Marshall on Making ‘the Paintings Nobody Else Is Making’” on 25 September and updated on 26 September.]
The day before his survey exhibition “The Histories” opened to the public — his largest presentation of work in Europe, with more than 70 works made over four and a half decades — Kerry James Marshall sat in one of the soaring picture galleries of the Royal Academy of Art [London, 20 September 2025-18 January 2026].
On the walls were his newest paintings, from the series “Africa Revisited” [created over the past two years], several of which focus on the considerable role African elites played in capturing and selling other Africans to European slave traders. It is a subject that has been widely written about by historians, but has rarely, if ever, been broached in the visual arts.
After days of showing collectors and V.I.P.s through the show — “doing the necessaries,” as he put it — Marshall, 69, was feeling good. “This body of work really represents a high-water mark,” he told me. “I’m pouring everything — the accumulated knowledge, the ability, all of that stuff — into these pictures.”
He created the new series over the past two years. “Abduction of Olaudah and His Sister” [2023] shows figures in a forest — not, as one might expect, heroically self-emancipating, but rather being kidnapped by an African man to be sold to Europeans. It is based on a 1789 account by Olaudah Equiano [ca. 1745-97; The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African, published by the author, 1789], who after years of enslavement, played a key role in the British abolition movement.
“Six for One” [2024] depicts a village celebrating after closing a deal — a half dozen human beings for a horse that sits, stiff and wooden, like a Trojan gift. A triptych — “Outbound” [2023], “Haul” [2024] and “Cove” [2025] — shows Black figures in boats, rowing to and from unseen European vessels waiting offshore. In “Outbound,” a totem of figures — bound male captive, child and sea gull — teeters precariously. In “Haul,” an ebony-skinned woman lounges on a bag of cowrie shells, surrounded by luxury objects — an ornate clock, some porcelain, an empty, gilded picture frame, a blond wig with a gold tiara.
[A cowrie is a sea snail, the durable, glossy, and egg-shaped shells of which have held profound cultural, economic, and spiritual significance for centuries in societies across Africa, Asia, and Oceania. The shells are used in rituals such as divination, as adornment, and as currency. In modern contexts, particularly for the Black community, cowries symbolize a connection to African heritage, resilience, and cultural memory.]
The series also includes two pictures of Africa’s “white queens,” the European women who married independence leaders — Colette Hubert [1925-2019], who wed the first president of Senegal, LĂ©opold SĂ©dar Senghor [1906-2001; President of Senegal: 1960-80], and Ruth Williams [Ruth Williams Khama; 1923-2002], who wed the man who would become the first president of Botswana, Seretse Khama [1921-80; President of Botswana: 1966-80]. They are two of only a handful of non-Black figures that Marshall has depicted in his career, and their presence here suggests that African sovereignty from colonization was never as complete as some would like to think [White Queens of Africa: Colette (2025) and White Queens of Africa: Ruth (2024)].
The series is pure Kerry James Marshall, a painter who has spent his career depicting all facets of history, with little regard for mythologizing or uplift. “I’m not a romanticist about anything — I’ve seen too much for those fantasies about any kind of perfect Edenic past to be relevant to me,” he said.
“These paintings are not unique just because they’re about Africans, but because there’s complexity in the way we are being asked to think about and understand that history,” he added. “I am always trying to make the pictures that nobody else is making.”
In opening remarks at the exhibition, the curator Mark Godfrey [b. 1973] commented, “They are complex. I think they’ll be controversial.”
Marshall disagreed with Godfrey’s characterization, however. “If you start thinking that they’ll be controversial ahead of time then you’ve already shut off a part of your attention to what’s really going on in the work,” he said. “I don’t understand why anybody would think these would be hard to digest or hard to encounter. The history is what it is.”
I asked, “Are there risks in presenting these events, which have long been used as ammunition by those wanting to play down or even absolve European and American culpability in the horrors of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, at this historical juncture?”
He responded, “Only if I was telling a lie.”
The artist, filmmaker, and cinematographer Arthur Jafa [b. 1960] has been one of Marshall’s longtime interlocutors — the two met in their 20s. When Jafa did cinematography for the film “Daughters of the Dust” (Kino International, 1991), directed by Julie Dash [b. 1952], who was then his wife [m. 1983-93], he brought in Marshall as production designer. (Marshall’s wife, the actor Cheryl Lynn Bruce [b. ca. 1949?; m. 1989], played one of the lead roles.) “I always like to say that one of the superpowers of Black people is our ability to see the thing as it is, not as we wish it to be,” Jafa said in a recent interview. “Kerry knows this fundamentally.”
Marshall has been recognized as a generational talent. Born in Birmingham, Ala., in 1955, he moved with his family to Los Angeles when he was 8 years old, eventually studying art at the Otis Art Institute [1918-77] (renamed the Otis College of Art and Design [in 1993]). He received a MacArthur “genius” grant in 1997, participated in the Venice Biennale (2003 and 2015), and in 2016 broke a record at auction for a living African American artist when his painting “Past Times” [1997] was purchased by Sean Combs [b. 1969] for $21 million [worth $28.4 million in 2025]. (The piece, which was sold by the scandal-plagued music mogul to a private collector recently, according to Marshall’s longtime gallerist Jack Shainman [Jack Shainman Gallery; Manhattan locations: TriBeCa and Chelsea], is included in “The Histories.”)
The New York Times’s chief art critic Holland Cotter [b. 1947; NYT staff since 1998], in his review of Marshall’s 2016 retrospective [on tour from April 2016 through July 2017], “Mastry,” called the artist “one of the great history painters of our time [“The Listings: Art,” New York Times 4 Nov. 2016, Section C:15].” Tackling the genre — considered the most important form of painting by the European art institutions that held sway until the later 19th century — was always his goal ever since his first visit to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art when he was 10, Marshall said.
That ambition — along with his pursuit of figurative painting at a time when the mainstream art world was insisting on conceptualism, photography and video — put Marshall out of sync with many of his white peers and art critics in the 1980s and 1990s. His continuing engagement with Western art was also at odds with the Black Arts Movement, whose adherents were turning to African traditions to make overtly political paintings that sought to celebrate and inspire their communities.
[The Black Arts Movement (BAM) was a Black nationalist cultural movement active from approximately 1965 to 1975. Often described as the “aesthetic and spiritual sister” of the Black Power movement and an expansion of the accomplishments of artists of the Harlem Renaissance (1918 - mid-1930s), its participants used art to promote Black self-determination and create work that was for, by, and about Black people. BAM encompassed a wide variety of arts, including poetry, drama, visual art, and music.]
But as Marshall explained it, he has always seen his purpose as to make paintings centering Black subjects that could compete with the best that the art in museums has to offer, so good that viewers couldn’t look away. “If I’m going to be a self-styled, so-called history painter, then I want to do all the things that history painters had always set themselves to do,” he said during our conversation.
At the museum, the “Africa Revisited” series is shown alongside works that focus on Black life. But Marshall draws on that same canon for his compositions, poses, and techniques — and folds in much else besides, including Kongo [people of the Central African coast in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Republic of the Congo, Angola, and Gabon] nkisi nkondi (power figures), Haitian Voodoo and Yoruba [inhabitants of parts of Nigeria, Benin, and Togo] religious symbols, street signs, record album covers, Disney cartoons and all manner of pop cultural references. He paints on PVC sheets whose smoothness mimics the wooden panels of early Renaissance painting, or on unstretched linen canvases hung from grommets. He uses acrylic paint instead of oil, though, and incorporates craft-store glitter as a stand-in for the gilding found in medieval and Byzantine religious icons.
According to Jafa, Marshall’s work is not a critique of what the canon leaves out. “It’s not a protest,” he said. “He’s engaged with short-circuiting ideas of who Black people are, and what we’re capable of, and what we’re thinking.”
In the Royal Academy’s galleries, we see Marshall tackle such topics as the Middle Passage; the rebels, artists and activists who fought for freedom from enslavement; the civil rights movement; the history of American public housing projects like the one he grew up in; the Black Power movement; and more besides. But he approaches his subjects obliquely, and without ever making spectacle out of suffering.
[The Middle Passage was the second leg of the Atlantic slave trade in which millions of Africans sold for enslavement were forcibly transported from Africa to the Americas as part of the Triangular Trade of slavery. The first leg was from Europe to Africa: European countries sent manufactured goods, such as textiles, rum, and firearms, to Africa to be traded for enslaved Africans. The third leg was the Americas to Europe: The Americas provided raw materials like sugar, cotton, tobacco, and molasses to Europe.]
“In almost all the pictures I do, you have to reckon with the fact that the figures have agency,” he said. “That’s a foundational principle that I work with.”
Harriet Tubman [1822?-1913; born into slavery; escaped in 1849; abolitionist and social activist; conductor on the Underground Railroad] is shown not as a fierce abolitionist but as a woman in love, embraced by her husband [John Tubman, free man; ca. 1820-67; m. 1844; div. 1851] in “Still-life With Wedding Portrait,” from 2015. In a 2011 picture, Nat Turner [1800-31; enslaved carpenter and preacher; led four-day rebellion in Virginia in August 1831; hanged, 11 November], celebrated for his short-lived 1831 slave rebellion, is shown with bloody ax in hand, the head of the man who claimed to own him [Joseph Travis, ca. 1790-1831] lying on a bed in the background, leaving the viewer to decide if he’s as heroic as Caravaggio’s [1571-1610] David dangling the head of Goliath, or [Artemisia] Gentileschi’s [(1563-1639] Judith decapitating Holofernes, or a mere murderer.
[David with the Head of Goliath (1610?); Judith Slaying Holofernes (1610)]
He approached the Middle Passage in a series of works that allude to the horrors that Black people experienced on or in water. “Gulf Stream” (2003), a seemingly breezy scene of people out on a pleasure cruise, is based on a Winslow Homer [1836-1910] painting of a Black man whose sinking boat is being circled by sharks [The Gulf Stream, 1899]. In “Great America” (1994), four Black figures squeeze into a boat about to enter a carnival ride: another figure bobs in the water nearby. But this is no Tunnel of Love: The composition suggests John Singleton Copley’s [American; 1738-1815] “Watson and the Shark” (1778) — an episode in the life of an English teenager, Brook Watson [1735-1807], whose leg was bitten off in Havana Bay [14 July 1749] and would go on to become a banker, politician and staunch defender of Britain’s role in the slave trade.
All of Marshall’s pictures are the result of his research into the historical record mixed up with other, often anachronistic, details, like Easter eggs hidden in the plot.
“My view of how history works is that it’s always part fact, part fiction, part fantasy,” he said. “If you look through these paintings, there’s a little bit of the discrepancy between what could have been real and actual, and the way it could be imagined.”
Marshall shies away from interviews these days. “The work should always precede the artist,” he explained. “If one spends the time and looks at the work closely enough, there’s nothing that’s not available.”
He has never made looking easy, though. Throughout his career, Marshall has used different devices, including layering of imagery, a multiplicity of details, and the use of monochrome to make his paintings hard to see without sustained attention. “Black Painting” (2003) is a prime example. Only after your eyes adjust to the subtle variations of tone can you discern figures in a bedroom, recalling the moment before the Black Panther leader Fred Hampton [1948-69] was killed by the police in 1969 [4 December], when he was just 21.
[The Black Panther Party was a revolutionary Black Power political organization founded in 1966 in Oakland, California. Drawing on Marxist ideology, the BPP advocated for class struggle and its practices involved armed self-defense against police brutality, paired with extensive community service programs. The BPP disbanded in 1982.
[Fred Hampton was shot in his
bed by Chicago police working under the auspices of the Cook County State’s
Attorney’s Office during a pre-dawn raid on his apartment on 4 December 1969.
Fellow Black Panther Mark Clark (1947-69) was also killed, and four others were
wounded. The raid was conducted in coordination with the FBI, which had
identified Hampton as a radical threat. In January 1970, the Cook County
Coroner held an inquest; the coroner’s jury concluded that Hampton’s and Clark’s
deaths were justifiable homicides.]
The “Africa Revisited” series of works departs from his earlier work dramatically — instead of layered or dark, these are bright, vivid and almost crystalline. “I’m distilling the image to what I think are the most necessary elements of the picture,” he said. “I’m looking to not have any loose ends anywhere in there, not only loose ends relative to the subject matter, but loose ends relative to the construction of the space that they are occupying.”
Marshall’s commitment to getting it right is precisely what allows him to tackle the subjects he does, the Chicago-based artist Amanda Williams [b. 1974] said. “Only Kerry can bring this conversation — this confrontation with our own past — to us Black diasporic people,” she wrote in an email. “I will receive it from him in a way I might resist it from others. I know he’s done his homework — he always has.”
[Aruna D’Souza writes about modern and contemporary art, intersectional feminisms, and diasporic aesthetics. Her work appears regularly in the New York Times, 4Columns, Art in America, the Wall Street Journal, Art News, Bookforum, CNN.com, and in numerous artist’s monographs and exhibition catalogues. She’s recognized for her incisive commentary on how art institutions and exhibitions address—or fail to address—systemic issues.
[D'Souza is the author of several books, including: Imperfect Solidarities (Columbia University Press, 2024), which critiques empathy in art and advocates for radical solidarity through engagement with contemporary art; Whitewalling: Art, Race, and Protest in 3 Acts (Badlands Unlimited, 2018), which was named one of the best art books of the year by the New York Times; and CĂ©zanne’s Bathers: Biography and the Erotics of Paint (Penn State University Press, 2008).
[D'Souza holds a Ph.D. in
art history from New York University’s Institute of Fine Arts. She has held academic positions at
institutions like the National Gallery of Art and the Corcoran School of the
Arts & Design at George Washington University, both in Washington, D.C.]