Michael Richards

Michael Richards ‘Winged’ Takes Flight: A Voice Once Silenced Cries Out Anew (Part Two)

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Truth to Power

Yours truly beside sculpture of Tar Baby vs, St. Sebastian (Photo courtesy of Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, Sep. 2016)
Yours truly beside sculpture of Tar Baby vs, St. Sebastian (Photo courtesy of Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, Sep. 2016)

These are the photographs and/or descriptions of the remaining works left behind by the late Michael Richards, an artist and sculptor who perished in the 9/11 attacks that brought him and thousands of others down with the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City.

img_0973Let Me Entertain You, 1993, Mixed media installation with video, Installation images courtesy of the Studio Museum in Harlem and the Michael Richards Estate

“The installation takes the form of a historical dressing room of famous performer Bert Williams … A video of the artist applying blackface is projected unto the mirror. On the left wall of the room are four mirrors, printed with photographs of the artist, on which text is silk-screened questioning the degree of blackness reflected: ‘Black, ‘Blacken,’ ‘Black Enough For You.’”

img_0977Climbing Jacob’s Ladder (He Lost His Head), 1994, Resin, mirrors, lights, Installation images courtesy of Socrates Sculpture Park and the Michael Richards Estate

“Richards references the biblical story of Jacob’s Ladder, which describes Jacob dreaming of a ladder that connects earth to heaven, on which angels ascend and descend. Yet, in this sculpture, the text and disembodied feet and heads reveal a complex and pessimistic interpretation, or possible consequence, of this dream. Climbing Jacob’s Ladder highlights the tension between faith and failure; of looking to the heavens with a longing for ascension and the letdown of earthbound realities.”

img_0979Escape Plan 76 (Brer Plane in the Brier Patch), 1996, Wax, resin, paper, metal, rubber, lights, Installation images courtesy of the Studio Museum in Harlem

This piece “consists of five downed airplane sculptures caught in thick barbed wire. In an artist statement discussing the iconography of his practice, Richards noted, ‘Planes and other vehicles of escape are always caught in traps, or crashed, abandoned signs of hope and promise.’ ”

“Joel Chandler Harris’ Uncle Remus stories of Brer Rabbit were a touchstone for Richards and the reference appears throughout the titles of Richards’ work. In one of these stories, Brer Fox thinks he has thwarted his rival Brer Rabbit by throwing him into the prickly shrubs of a briar patch, only for Brer Rabbit to escape because he was ‘born and bred in the briar patch.’ Richards turned to Uncle Remus folklore as narratives and metaphors for negotiations of historical and contemporary racial politics.”

img_0981Swing Lo’, 1996, Steel, neon, wood, speakers with musical soundtrack, audio tape, Installation images courtesy of Socrates Sculpture Park

Swing Lo’ consists of a large, rusted chariot outfitted with neon lights and one wheel (a seconds wheel is purposefully, but mysteriously, missing). When installed, the chariot played reggae music from a booming sound system. The work conflates the biblical chariot with the visual vernacular of a souped-up lowrider car, retrofit with lights and stereo. Richards often merged worlds in this way, bringing together spiritual and literary references with popular culture to complicate the themes of his work. Richards’ recurring interest was in both the everyday and the transcendent, and how bringing them into conversation with each other opened up to a plurality of representation and interpretation.”

“Along with a nod to lowrider cars, the title Swing Lo’ more directly references the American negro spiritual “Swing Low Sweet Chariot.”

img_0984“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” an old spiritual, the voice of reason — preaching tolerance and understanding. But at the same time, holding a “mirror” up to life’s inequities and how we have been treated by those who have exploited race and economic equality for their own purposes.

img_0985The Great Black Airmen (Tuskegee), 1996, Wood, resin, plexiglass, tar, feathers, paper, bonded bronze, Installation images courtesy of the Studio Museum in Harlem

“In describing the stakes of this work, Richards said, “[The Great Black Airmen (Tuskegee)] is in the form of a public monument. You see these bronze monuments in the park and you just walk past them, yet they’re supposed to be the highest honor in our society. They’re commemorating some great deed or person. But I have to question is that really what we’re fighting for — a piece of bronze in a public park that no one notices or cares about? The whole heroic ideal of glory that you’re fighting for seems rather empty and banal when it comes down to that. With this installation it gets ambiguous because ‘Tuskegee’ is inscribed on the base. People assume it’s referring to the Tuskegee airmen, but it’s also about the Tuskegee experiments. At the same time and place that the Tuskegee airmen were getting their training, black men were being used in experiments to see how syphilis would progress through their bodies. So therefore it’s a destroyed and neglected monument. But it’s also one in which, the viewer, in order to see the hidden tar field inside, has to bow down to the monument. It’s a sexualized and an allegorical work in relation to all of these things.’ ”

Untitled (Air Lift), 1997, Super hold hair gel, plastic, wax, pigment, and plexiglass, Installation image courtesy of the Bronx Museum of the Arts

img_0989Free F’All, 1997, Resin, steel, mirror, Installation image courtesy of the Studio Museum of Harlem

“Richards created Free F’All during his fellowship with Socrates Sculpture Park in 1997. A life-size Tuskegee Airmen figure stands atop a tiny landing, 16 feet in the air, with a bucket below him, evoking the image of a dicing board and pool, yet Richards’ figure instead has a much smaller space for positioning his potential leap, perhaps alluding to the limited and constricting options for African-Americans in the face of ongoing oppression. Richards’ figures and bodyparts were often pierced and the airman in Free F’All is riddled with nails. Specifically a reference to [Congolese] nkisi nkondi medicinal power figures, this visual allusion highlights Richards’ exploration not only of race in contemporary America, but also of African ancestry, tradition, and religion.”

[Untitled] (Free F’All), 1997, fiberglass and resin with iron oxide, Brooklyn Museum, Anonymous gift in honor of Michael Richards, 2007 © Estate of Michael Richards, Installation image courtesy of Brooklyn Museum

img_0991Map Head, 1999, Urethane, resin, transfer, Installation image courtesy of the Studio Museum in Harlem

N’Kisi Nigga, 1999, Urethane, metal, Installation image courtesy of the Studio Museum in Harlem

“Throughout his career, Richards used his own body to cast his sculptures, including the disembodied heads for sculptures like N’Kisi Nigga and Map Head. Nkisi nkondi sculptures were an important reference for the piercing that was a hallmark of Richards’ sculptures. These Congolese power figures were used to protect a community and embodied defensive power. The nails and blades that often punctured the sculptures activated the spirits made accessible in the figures. Invoking the name of the N’Kisi figures and pairing it with the multiple inflections of the word Nigga, ranging from derogatory to the reclaimed, familiar, and colloquial, the title of Richards’ sculpture N’Kisi Nigga is a complex comment on the relationship between contemporary American racial politics and African heritage.”

img_0993Tar and Feather, 1999, Bonded bronze, tar, metal, Installation images courtesy of Franconia Sculpture Park

Tar and Feather is a poetic balancing act of lightness and weight. Five cast bronze sets of wings hang precariously from monofilament, encircling an overfull bucket of tar and a resulting puddle of tar on the floor.”

“Richards was consistently interested in the complexity of charged materials throughout his practice. While the sculpture’s wings, feathers, and flight speak to the possibilities of escape and uplift for Richards, on the flipside, the tar, and its racial connotations, reflect the ways in which black people can be struck or inhibited by systemic racial prejudice. As with Tar and Feather, Richards’ work purposefully navigated and mined this tension in both material and concept.”

img_0995Are You Down?, 2000, fiberglass, bonded bronze, resin, concrete, black beauty sand, Installation images courtesy of Franconia Sculpture Park

“Richards created his largest work, Are You Down?, in 2000, as part of a Jerome Fellowship at Franconia Sculpture Park, just outside of Minneapolis, MN.”

“John Hock, Artistic Director/CEO & Co-founder of Franconia Sculpture Park, describes the piece: ‘Are You Down? was created and is sited … outside the rural town of Shafer, Minnesota …. The original sculpture was cast in resin/fiberglass — cast into bronze, as a memorial, in 2012 & is the only permanent sculpture at Franconia. Are You Down? is a tableau of three life-sized human figures. Three parachutists fallen from the sky, they sit disconsolate on the ground in a mass of heavy black sand. Backs turned to one another, the figures form a triangle about fifteen feet on a side. Within the triangle of the figures is a large bulls-eye flat on the ground, the target where the men had aimed to land. Their heads clad in leather hat aviator helmets, their shirts torn from the drop, the figures represent three downs aviators from the storied, all-black Tuskegee Airmen Squadron of the Second World War, men whose images Richards (using himself as his model) returned to in his work obsessively, again and again. They speak not so much of the exhilaration of flight as of dreams of freedom crashed to Earth.’ ”

“In speaking to the pilot imagery in his practice, particularly the Tuskegee Airmen, Richards noted, ‘The pilots serve as a symbol of failed transcendence, and lost faith, escaping the pull of gravity, but always forced back to the ground, lost navigators seeking home.’ ”

img_0998Fly Away O’ Glory, 1995, Resin bronze, feathers, motors, Courtesy of the Michael Richards Estate

Fly Away O’ Glory consists of an arrangement of seven pairs of metallic bronze, muscular cast arms, with hands extended, each holding one feather that spins vigorously via motor power. Richards often used motors and kinetic elements to give his artworks literal motion and drive. With its spinning feathers and disembodied forearms, this work calls to mind the Greek myth of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun with wax wings that melted, causing him to fall to his death in the sea. In this work and others, Richards explores the opposing forces of uplift and downfall inherent in flight: the transcendent potential of wings and elevation and the inherently opposing risk of crashing and peril.”

“Grounded and flailing, the spinning feathers of Fly Away O’ Glory, despite their efforts, cannot lift and elevate the forearms of the sculpture. The unresolved, Sisyphean kinetic energy of this floor-bound sculpture speaks to the difficulty, maybe even impossibility of taking off and reaching great heights in a system and society that is structured to silence marginalized voices and repress their success.”

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Air Fall 1 (His Eye Is on the Sparrow, and I Know He’s Watching Me), 1998, Hair, latex, and glass, Courtesy of the Michael Richards Estate

Planes plummeting from the ceiling above into a mirrored abyss — again, Michael’s prescience was captured by his ultimate realization of the existing 9/11 Memorial, built on the exact spot where the North and South Towers once stood: two rectangular-shaped pools of water, open spaces, with middle squares of water pouring into a hole.

“In this impactful sculpture, 50 small airplanes wrapped in hair spiral downwards, from a cloud of hair in the ceiling, towards a mirrored bull’s-eye target on the floor. Richards often used hair in his sculptures, noting ‘I use hair and skin in an investigative way to raise questions of duality about race and social issues …. I just thought this is a perfect material in terms of its metaphorical content and reference to my own concerns about climbing the social ladder and how people judge me for my hair.’ ”

“The work’s title His Eye Is on the Sparrow, and I Know He’s Watching Me quotes the religious hymns of Civilla Martin. The hymn is about value, hope, and faith in the face of hardship, and the care of the creator to all aspects of the world, including creatures as small as sparrows. Richards often included biblical references, from Jacob to St. Sebastian, in his works. In Air Fall 1 (His Eye Is on the Sparrow, and I Know He’s Watching Me), with airplanes as small as sparrows nose-diving toward a mirror that reflects their downward flight back upward, a sense of faith and fate are confounded and Richards’ interest in flight with its transcendent and devastating possibilities comes to the fore.”

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A Loss of Faith Brings Vertigo, 1994, Resin, marble dust, wood, motor, photo transfer, Courtesy of the Michael Richards Estate

A Loss of Faith Brings Vertigo features five bust-like plaster heads and pedestals. Four of the heads rest atop small bases and bear images of white police officers in confrontational postures outfitted in riot gear. The images themselves were cut from newspapers and applied via a photo transfer method. Plaques are adhered to the pedestals for each of these four busts reading, ‘When I was young I wanted to be a policeman.’ The fifth and central disembodied head spins via a motor, and has an image of Rodney King’s face in the middle of the forehead, with a plaque on the pedestal reading the titular phrase, ‘A loss of faith brings vertigo.’ ”

“Rodney King was a taxi driver who brutally beaten by police officers after a high-speed chase in Los Angeles in 1991. King found himself at the center of a furor around racial injustice and police violence as video footage of the four police officers repeatedly striking him gained international attention. The police officers were eventually acquitted of charges, which is considered to be the main cause leading to the 1992 Los Angeles riots in which 53 people were killed and thousands injured.”

“With King at the center, the narrative of Richards’ sculpture is one of a loss of faith in the police and the dissolution of any implicit relationship to safety and protection. The antagonistic stances and actions of the white police officers depicted, juxtaposed with the presence of King’s slowly rotating face, has an effect of total disorientation. During our contemporary moment, in the face of recurring police brutality, the continued murders of black men at the hands of police officers, and the responsive Black Lives Matter movement, A Loss of Faith Brings Vertigo continues to have urgent and pressing resonance two decades after its creation.”

img_1014Travel Kit, 1999, Bonded bronze, hair, and wood, Courtesy of the Michael Richards Estate

Travel Kit is one of the most surreal of Richards’ sculptures. While a standard travel kit contains toiletries or other every day items, Richards inflects his version with a tinge of the grotesque. Seven fingers extend from each of two hairbrushes entangled in tufts of hair, providing an otherworldly take on primping. For Richards, ‘The suitcases [in my work] function as carrier of memories, containers of longing and desire for a lost home.’ Richards was born in Brooklyn, yet grew up in Kingston, Jamaica before moving back to the United States to attend Queens College; his international upbringing provided him with an incisive perspective on America, particularly pertaining to social and racial inequities.”

img_0957Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian

“Michael was riffing on Saint Sebastian, the early Christian saint and martyr who was tied to a tree and shot with arrows by the Roman Empire. There were multiple historical narratives interwoven in Tar Baby Vs. St. Sebastian other than the early Christian martyr depicted in psalms:118 or Christian paintings. Some popular culture references include the film King Kong (1933) and Muhammad Ali’s infamous Esquire Magazine cover (1968). The Tar Baby reference comes from the character by the same name in the Uncle Remus stories (1881) written by Joel Chandler Harris, made up of Black stereotypes in the 1800s; Tar Baby literary being made up of tar and turpentine.”

“I remember Michael speaking about the complexity of these themes running through the piece. Concepts of isolation, sacrifice and transformation were key elements in Tar Baby Vs. St. Sebastian. The discrimination and racism the original Tuskegee airmen had to struggle with and overcome as it came from their own U.S. Government was only the beginning of their battle during World War II. This complex and contradictory part of America’s history was crucial in the development of Michael’s piece. Interestingly enough, today most search engines describe this piece as ‘St. Sebastian’ and exclude ‘Tar Baby Vs.’ and there is a lack of critical attention paid to the American built Mustang fighter planes attacking their own pilot. I know Michael would have scoffed at the misrepresentation of his work because he was very particular about media-history and its representation of people of color.”

“He decided Tar Baby Vs. St. Sebastian was too expensive to make in bronze plus he lacked the proper facilities. Michael spent weeks making the life-size clay figure based on himself and in the process later taught me how to make a rubber mold. He didn’t complete the piece in Miami but worked on it in parts from 1997 through 1999 and exhibited first in Miami at the Caveat Emptor exhibition at Ambrosino Gallery, Coral Gables, FL. Genaro Ambrosino (Director) admired Michael’s work and was a close friend. Ambrosino Gallery would eventually give Michael his first one-person show in Miami on September 16, 2000. The exhibition was a coming home of sorts for Michael after finishing his CAVA residency in South Beach the year before.”

Say It Loud!

And these are the voices of those who knew and worked with Michael, along with Michael’s own special words:

Sam Seawright, Artist: “For Michael making art and getting his message to a diverse audience was essential to his being, and a vital component of his core beliefs. One beautiful lesson I learned from Michael was the importance of overcoming prejudices, lack of funds, false perceptions and misguided criticisms and to make art at all costs, in the end the art speaks for itself. He was able to practice in the studio the lessons he learned from the hardships persevered in his personal life. He preached compassion and understanding with his art and practiced generosity of spirit in his life.”

John Hock, Artistic Director/CEO and Co-founder, Franconia Sculpture Park: “Of the many blameless people annihilated that day in 2001, few can have meditated quite as much as this man did upon the quick rise and quicker fall of hope: a Jamaican, an immigrant, a black man, Richards knew something about the loneliness of exile, and the feeling of exclusion from others’ realities. It is no presumption to imagine Michael, at times, had nothing to go on but his rage against an identity projected on him by apartheid.”

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Carolyn Swiszcz, Artist: “I would describe Michael as soft-spoke (but not shy), confident (but not overbearing), and sophisticated (but not pretentious). He had a knack for charming pretty much everybody he met. It seemed to me that he didn’t suffer from the kind of prickly bad moods I struggled with, or maybe he was just much better at managing them. What stays with me most, almost twenty years later, is his smile. He shared ut often. I can easily envision it spreading across his face in response to a joke or in an attempt to express a sympathy.”

Wendell Walker, Deputy Director for Operations, Exhibitions, and Design, Museum of the Moving Image: “The fantasy of flight was a frequent topic between us during our early days together at the Grey [Art Gallery]. We shared dreams of flying — both beautiful and frightening ones — that we both had as children, and I cherish those conversations even though they now haunt me. I feel those dreams represent such a critical part of Michael’s work and life, and I feel strangely reassured that, on that horrible day, he decided to fly.”

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Marysol Nieves, Vice President, Specialist, Latin American Art, Christie’s Former Senior Curator, The Bronx Museum of the Arts: “The impressive body of work Michael Richards produced during his brief, yet prolific career reflects the discourse on identity, racial and gender politics that was so pervasive in the landscape of contemporary art during [the] 1990s. yet his work eschewed many of the tropes often associated with identity based art by tackling the complexities of, and at times painful histories implicit in the investigation of such notion as blackness, masculinity, and power.”

Dread Scott, Artist: “As much as I will remember Michael as an incredible brilliant artist and some of his unrealized projects, I really remember him as a fried and the simple things that make up friendship. What I remember most is him frequently greeting me in intentionally thick patois saying: ‘Whayousay Dread?’”

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Jorge Daniel Veneciano, Executive Director, El Museo del Barrio, former Curator of Exhibitions, The Studio Museum in Harlem: “Michael was a poetic soul. Somewhat quiet, with a bemused, all-knowing smile. He had a keen sense of irony. It suffused his work, sharpened his artistic wit. A poetic sensibility for human contradictions deepened the aesthetic value of his work… His interest in metaphors of flight adds a confounding layer of irony to his life and passing. Like Icarus, perhaps he flew too close to the sun — too close to the truth. And the dark poetry of the universe answered in an unforgiving way. Yet Michael’s work prevails as a living, lasting retort to the unmoved universe.”

Genaro Ambrosino-D’Amico, former owner, Ambrosino Gallery: “You know when sometimes you meet someone and you think, ‘Wow, he’s so cool! I want to be his friend’? That’s how Michael was. He was handsome, he dressed well, had a killer smile. He was loving and warm and made sure that you knew that you could count on him. He was smart, street and book smart. He could talk politics, art, music, history and popular culture with the same ease and knowledge, and always with a consistency that made you agree with him, even when you really didn’t! But one thing above all I loved of Michael, and makes me miss him most. He was fair, he was just. And you can’t say that of many people. That’s why he was so ‘cool.’”

Michael Richards, Artist Statement:

“— Does the glass ceiling which excludes also reflect the desire to belong?

“My current body of work investigates the tension between assimilation and exclusion. By focusing on issues of identity and identification, I attempt to examine the feelings of doubt and discomfort which face blacks who wish to succeed in a system which is structured to deny them access.

“How do systems of representation, and the portrayal of success both seduce and repel? I wish primarily to give voice to the psychic spaces in which exist both hope and frustration, faith and failure, and the compromises which must be negotiated in order to survive.

“Though the issues which inform the work may be seen as primarily political, I use language of metaphor to express them. The use of feathers and tar, mirrors and ladders, the concept of flight both as freedom and surrender, all attempt to open a metaphorical space into which the viewer can be seduced.

“This space allows for an examination of the psychic conflict which results from the desire to both belong to and resist a society which denies blackness even as it affirms.

“In attempting to make this pain and alienation concrete, I use my body, the primary locus of experience, as a die from which to make casts. These function as surrogates, and as an entry into the work.”

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The End Game

We look in vain for clarity to horrific events, and for meaning to our lives. Michael Richards discovered both fairly early in his career. I cannot help but think of the Winged exhibition, a spare memento of the artist’s state of mind, as an austere expression of his Spartan lifestyle.

Here, one may presume that Michael found closure in enclosed surroundings. His surviving works, as few in number as they were, have been arranged in predetermined patterns. We are left with a mere handful of artifacts, objects conceived and sculpted in cogent thought, in the hope of achieving a higher purpose and in demonstrating to the observer the many injustices that Michael witnessed around him.

What would Michael have said about the Black Lives Matter movement? About the murders that’s gripped the city of Chicago? About the NFL protests by quarterback Colin Kaepernick of the San Francisco 49ers? How would he have reacted to the treatment of young black men — which he, too, happened to be one — to the violence around them?

These are the true tragedies of Michael Richards’ death; the art and political world were deprived of his powerful, reasoned voice. The exhibition of his remaining work, at the Art Center at Governor’s Island, sponsored by the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, offers, if nothing else, a singular vision of what it was like to live as a talented black artist in a racially and economically divided America.

Unlike the noise and strife that surrounded him, amid the tumult of world affairs — the so-called “body politic,” and the use of his own body to portray that very politic, spiraling out of control — Michael’s voice was one of calm and reason. To paraphrase a line from the poem “Invictus,” he was the master of his fate; he was the captain of his soul. He commandeered a measured, more pensive response to the world’s problems. He gave thought to his actions, yet put action into his thoughts.

I see a severed head (his own, if such as thing were possible) encased in a football helmet, the American flag draped around the lifeless body of a football player, kneeling before us. In my mind’s eye, I see the artist’s “statement” — it is Michael himself.

With gratitude to Alex Fialho, co-curator with Melissa Levin, for the use of photographs and literature from the Michael Richards: Winged exhibition, and to the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council for their help, support and cooperation in the writing of this article.

Copyright © 2017 by Josmar F. Lopes

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Lost Navigator: Michael Richards — A Story of Redemption through Art

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Michael Richards & Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian (Photo: Frank Stewart / The Studio Museum in Harlem)
Michael Richards & Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian (Photo: Frank Stewart / The Studio Museum in Harlem)

The clock-radio went off at 7:45 a.m. on the morning of September 11, 2001, a radiantly sunlit Tuesday in New York. Instead of being greeted by the usual reggae beat, a distant, far-away psalm in Latin verse came over the airwaves — softly at first, then stronger and more assured. Women’s voices predominated, followed by the men; an eerie sort of sound not much different from Gregorian chant that reverberated in a church-like atmosphere. It forced Michael Richards to pry open his eyes.

“Oh, Geez,” he muttered sleepily to himself, “what the heck is this?” Michael rolled over in his cot, a simple makeshift bed he’d been using with increasing frequency, while he stayed up till the “wee, small hours,” a close friend would say, working diligently on his art projects.

Despite being startled by the sound, the music was vaguely familiar, except that Michael had a hard time placing it. He decided to leave the radio on for the moment. It took some time for him to shake off the effects of the previous night’s indulgence. He had gone to bed late, long past midnight; it must have been two or three in the morning. No matter, Michael had to be up by 8:00 and on his way to the Bronx by 8:45. The subway ride from lower Manhattan took about an hour and twenty minutes on a good day, but it was less of a hassle than if he had made the trip from his home in Rosedale. Besides, he didn’t want to be late for work.

Work? Man, he thought, it wasn’t work at all. Not to him anyway. He loved his job at the Bronx Museum of the Arts. Michael was an assistant art laborer, sort of a go-to guy and artistic jack-of-all-trades. “Yeah, and master of none,” another wise-ass buddy once remarked.

bronx museum of the arts

“Hah, you’re probably right,” Michael would snap back, in that deliberately calm, non-confrontational style of his. He didn’t want to offend his pal, whom he had known since their Miami South Beach fellowship days. What’s the sense of it? He’d only seen him, what, three, maybe four times a day. Each and every day! “Why make enemies when you can keep the mutual admiration society going?” he reasoned. Good point.

“Damn! Why can’t I remember this tune?” There was something ethereal and slightly other-worldly about it. “Is this what they call an out-of-body experience?” he wondered aloud. Moving in for a closer look, Michael noticed the radio wasn’t tuned to his favorite station.

“Yo, who’s been messing with my dial?” The call numbers read 96.3. This was WQXR-FM, a classical-music station. “Ah, right,” he remembered, with a look of bemusement. “Maybe Jeffy had something to do with that.” Michael was referring to a fellow artist named Jeff, his studio neighbor and a die-hard football fanatic. The two of them had stayed up past their normal hour to watch Monday Night Football, which featured the season opener between the Giants and the Broncos at Denver’s Mile High Stadium. The Giants lost 31-20, a real heartbreaker.

Among other styles of music, Michael knew that Jeff liked classical. Michael, too, had wide-ranging tastes, but classical? A little gospel and blues perhaps, and, of course, lots and lots of reggae, a love of which he acquired while growing up in Kingston, Jamaica. Although Michael was born in Brooklyn — on August 2, 1963 — his father was a Jamaican by birth, one who had strong views about where his son should be brought up. His mother, a native of Costa Rica, had other ideas. Michael’s decision to become an artist and dedicate his life to art had initially been met with resistance by family members. Still, that did not stop him from pursuing his goal.

“Can’t dwell on that now,” he commented. “I got to get going!” With that, he turned off the radio, got up from the cot and went to the bathroom.

As he turned on the shower, Michael’s thoughts turned back to sports. It had rained the night before. “Man, it poured,” he added for emphasis. A passing thunderstorm that started before 7 p.m. blanketed the skyline with threatening clouds. Heavy showers dumped nearly half an inch of rain onto Yankee Stadium, leaving a water-logged playing field in its wake. As a result, the game between the Bronx Bombers and the Oakland A’s, originally scheduled for later in the evening, had been scrapped. Michael was fond of baseball, but with the Yankee game cancelled football seemed the better option. Jeff thought so, too.

In as much as they both loved watching sports on television, Michael’s real passion was for sculpture. He’d often work through the night on a piece, sometimes into the next morning — shaping it, defining it, tweaking it with his tools and hands, until in his gut he felt it was just right. “That Goldilocks thingee in the belly.”

Monday, September 10, had been an especially long day for him. He had come to the studio, located on the 92nd floor of Tower One (also known as the North Tower) of the World Trade Center, after having first attended a late afternoon opening at the Grey Art Gallery where he used to work, near New York University in Washington Square Park.

Returning from the gallery, Michael kept to his habit of working out in the gym, sculpting his solid six-foot-something frame into fighting shape. Grunting and groaning, lifting multi-pound weights, working those thigh muscles, flexing his arms, calves and legs, and using the treadmill. He did this for the simplest of reasons: he needed his body in tip-top condition for his projects.

Why else would he, or anyone else for that matter, have subjected themselves to such torture? By covering himself with plaster resin and casting his own muscular build, Michael could put his time and effort to good use, as well as imprint his likeness on every piece he turned out — not unlike the carvings and statues of ancient kings and pharaohs.

Only, instead of relying on slaves to build 40-story-high tombs, Michael could depend on his colleagues and fellow artisans for help with the painstaking process. He worked patiently and methodically. Once the molding and casting were done Michael could manipulate the plaster resin to his desired purpose. In the age of advanced technology, his output was decidedly low-tech: therein lay its appeal.

Michael Richards & Friends
Michael Richards & Friends

On occasion, he would demonstrate the labor-intensive process in person to his girlfriend, now his fiancée, Christie. She would stand there and gaze at him, admiringly, seeing how much he enjoyed the results of his labor. Keeping her in his mind as well as in his heart, Michael called Christie on his cell phone just after the football game had ended, to let her know he was still at work.

“Michael, it’s midnight,” she reminded him. “When can I see you?”

“Tomorrow, sweetie. I should be free by tomorrow, okay?”

Jeff, Vanessa, Monika, and the other 22 artists in the World Views program run by the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council — the entity that provided windowed studio space in Tower One — were also privy to Michael’s working habits and methods, in particular his obsession with flight imagery.

It was an obsession that started about a decade ago. As a young black man, albeit one of distinctly Caribbean ancestry, living and working in the America of the new millennium, Michael took “the idea of flight” not only as it relates to his subsequent “use of pilots and planes, but” its references to “the black church, the idea of being lifted up, enraptured, or taken up to a safe place — to a better world,” as he explained it.

One of his earliest representations, from 1997, depicts a World War II Tuskegee airman in flight suit, helmet and parachute. The eyes are closed, the body rigid and erect, with the hands flat against his side. Nails perforate the figure from the neck down to the lower abdomen and upper thighs. With the left leg bent slightly inward, it’s an obvious pharaonic pose preserved in fiberglass and resin with elements of iron oxide. A study for future events to come, but Michael didn’t know that at the time.

Michael’s continued use of “pilots and planes,” i.e., the famed all-black and segregated Tuskegee air squadron, came to full fruition in his 2000 creation for the Franconia Sculpture Park, near the rural town of Shafer, Minnesota. He titled it Are You Down? Originally made of glass fiber and resin, but recast in bronze in 2012 as part of a preservation project, this piece is a tableau of three downed air pilots positioned triangularly across from and with their backs to one another. Again, Michael was the model for each of the airmen.

Are You Down? (Photo: Jason DeMoe)
Are You Down? at Franconia Sculpture Park (Photo: Jason DeMoe)

In the middle of the structure is a large bulls-eye target which the figures have missed. The faces on the three airmen are downcast and looking at the ground. According to writer, artist, designer and long-time Twin Cities resident Glenn Gordon, “They speak not so much of the exhilaration of flight as of dreams of freedom crashed to Earth.”

A variation on this theme found its culmination in one of Michael’s last surviving works. Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian is a bronze sculpture made in 1999 of a lone Tuskegee airman. True to form, the sculpture was cast from life, that is, from his own form. In this instance, the airman is portrayed as the early Christian martyr St. Sebastian. But instead of the figure being pierced by multiple arrows, the artist, who is dressed once more in flight gear and accompanying helmet, is impaled by a swarm of model airplanes.

Like his prior 1997 piece, Michael’s eyes are shut tight. But unlike that statue’s severe countenance, or the downed air pilots in Franconia, the face is tranquil and relaxed, the chin raised imperceptibly to the sky, the hands placed with their palms up in the manner of a supplicant. His feet (covered by army boots), and indeed his entire body, are lifted off the ground by several inches. The structure is supported by a steel shaft, with the planes attached by steel bolts. The impression one receives is that of the pilot (or, if you will, Michael himself) ascending into heaven.

Michael recalled the artist’s statement he had composed back when Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian was completed — the statement he never had the chance to submit before his statue was exhibited at the Studio Museum in Harlem: “The Tuskegee airmen fought for democracy in the sky, but faced discrimination on the ground. They serve as symbols of failed transcendence and loss of faith escaping the pull of gravity, but always forced back to the ground, lost navigators always seeking home.”

Detail of Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian (Photo: NC Museum of Art)
Detail of Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian (Photo: NC Museum of Art)

Stepping out of the shower, Michael dried himself off and got dressed in a spiffy black outfit. “Say it loud,” he’d shout back at his reflection in the mirror, “I’m all in black and I’m oh-so proud.” He mused on his accomplishments to date, and was indeed proud of the fact that he was an artist-in-residence at several New York studios and museums; that he had had several gallery showings under his belt, among them the Chicago Cultural Center, the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., the aforementioned Studio Museum of Harlem, and the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh.

Even more than these, he was glad to have been able to address such personal issues as social injustice, discrimination, the lack of opportunity, racial intolerance and unfairness through his art. “I’m a credit to my race — the human race!” he pointed out half jokingly, in a paraphrase of sports journalist Jimmy Cannon’s famous observation about the boxer Joe Louis.

Looking at his watch, he still had a few minutes to think about his mounting workload. One he had been spending a good deal of time on had to do with a man riding a meteor. Another was a life-sized recreation of his own torso with wings on its back. One of the wings was supposed to be broken off. He called this piece Fallen Angel. Michael gave out a little chuckle at that title. “Lucifer, you little devil, you’re the fallen angel!”

Time was getting short. Michael had to step on it if he was going to catch the subway train to the Bronx. Out of the blue, he found that he remembered the title of the choral music that had awakened him that morning. It was Adagio for Strings, sung by mixed choir in an arrangement by its composer, Samuel Barber. The words, based on the Latin text for “Lamb of God,” were part of the liturgy of the Catholic Church:

Agnus Dei

Qui tolis peccata mundi

Miserere nobis

 

Agnus Dei

Qui tolis peccata mundi

Dona nobis pacem

 

Lamb of God

You take away the sins of the world

Have mercy on us

 

Lamb of God

You take away the sins of the world

Grant us peace

 

This was something his Catholic friends would repeat when, on the rare occasion that Michael was invited to attend Mass, he would hear the priest speak these words from the altar: “Happy are those who are called to the supper of the lamb.” And the congregation would respond in turn: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” Even though he did not take communion, Michael invariably felt better afterwards. He especially looked forward to the sign of peace where the parishioners would shake hands with one another.

“Peace be with you,” they would whisper to him. “And also with you,” he’d answer back.

It was 8:45 a.m., almost time to go. Michael had just enough time to turn on the TV and hear the latest weather forecast, along with a summary of the previous day’s events. Satisfied with the news, he turned off the set. Just then, he heard the ear-shattering noise of a jet engine, an unmistakable sound for someone, like himself, so attuned to aeronautics. In the next instant, an airplane crashed into Tower One between the 93rd and 99th floors. The time was 8:46 and thirty seconds.

Repeated calls to Michael’s cell phone went unanswered. In fact, no one’s cell phone was working properly that day, or the day after.

*              *              *

Michael Richards perished on the morning of September 11, 2001. He was 38 years and one month old. He was working in his studio on the 92nd floor of the World Trade Center Tower One, on the side facing the Statue of Liberty. Ironically, Michael was entombed with his work in a 110-story structure, a tower taller than any pyramid or obelisk from the ancient or modern world.

At exactly that same moment, fellow World Views artist Vanessa Lawrence had stepped off the 91st floor elevator when she felt the whole building shake. She headed for the stairs, making her way through smoke, debris and water. Eventually leaving the building, she saw that Tower Two had collapsed next door.

The above story is a fictionalized account of the events on and before the day of Michael’s passing. Though much of the dialogue has been recreated and dramatized, the events as they occurred are based on the written record and on eyewitness accounts of those who knew the artist personally.

Linda Johnson Dougherty, chief curator and curator of Contemporary Art at the North Carolina Museum of Art, was co-curator of the Defying Gravity: Contemporary Art and Flight Exhibit held in Raleigh from November 2, 2003 to March 7, 2004, as part of the Centennial of Flight Show honoring the Wright Brothers. It was during this exhibition that I first laid eyes on Michael Richard’s achievement, the mesmerizing Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian. Needless to say, I was both stunned and immensely impressed by the figure.

Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian full length photo (NC Museum of Art)
Tar Baby vs. St. Sebastian full length shot (NC Museum of Art)

But how did this particular piece become a part of the North Carolina Museum of Art’s permanent collection? Linda explained that the sculpture was a long sought-after item, but that it had not been among the artist’s work at the time of his death. Later, the museum learned that it was found stored inside a family member’s garage (that of a cousin who lived outside the city, in Mount Vernon). The family had given it to the museum as part of a long-term loan. It’s an incredibly moving and poignant piece, hugely significant and impressively displayed. The work is a commemoration of the artist’s life and talents and a memorial, of sorts, to those who died on 9/11.

Out of intuition and my own curiosity about the artist’s thought processes and mind-set, I asked Linda if she felt Michael may have had a premonition of his own death. “No, of course not,” Linda insisted. “How could anyone know that? It would be impossible.” Indeed, one of the many ironic coincidences of Michael Richards’ life was how his art transcended his manner of death.

In a reference to this piece, Michael’s art dealer, Genaro Ambrosino, was quoted in the Associated Press as saying, “Although it was about death, it was more about liberation, freedom, being able to escape. It was a sad message because of what it meant historically … It was like redemption from all that.”  

This lost navigator sought and found his home, a spiritual port of call. For it is only through Him, the above-named Lamb of God, that we can be redeemed.

When asked by a friend what he wanted out of life, Michael made this telling connection: “I want to live hard. I want to love hard. I want to work hard, and then I want to die.”

Copyright © 2015 by Josmar F. Lopes