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Pushkin.
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Hi.
A
Hello.
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Today we're gonna revisit an episode that I reported. It's called Frederick J. Brown.
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Oh, yeah. Okay.
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It's about art. It's about a painting.
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Amazing. I love art. You know that, right?
B
Yeah. You're always talking about how much you love art.
A
Is that true?
B
No.
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Oh, I don't, you know, want to become one of those art bores. Are we talking about, like, fine art?
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Because I thought we were talking about fine art.
A
Yeah, there's all kinds of different art.
B
Well, sure. This is art in a way. This conversation we're having right now.
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Well, let's not get crazy.
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I feel like a real dilettante around art, but I do like it.
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You like it? You wouldn't say you love it.
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I just don't know that I'm knowledgeable enough.
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You don't have to be.
B
Okay, then I guess I love it.
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Who do you think loves it more, me or you?
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Probably you.
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Really?
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Maybe just because of. This is going to sound rude, but you're added years of experience. Sure.
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I've had a lot of time in the game of ogling art. You know, you might be surprised to learn that a person like myself, I'm not much of an art snob in the sense that I believe that everybody possesses artistic and creative ability.
B
Wow, that's beautiful.
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Now I'm off my high horse. I'm gonna get on my low horse, my show pony.
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Okay.
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And away we go.
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Away we go.
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Do you know whose catchphrase that was?
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No. A pilot.
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Jackie Gleason.
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Oh, all right. Well, away we go indeed.
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Oh, but first, a word from our sponsors.
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D
Ready?
B
Let's be viva. That being said, I also found these Mario Kart hangouts deeply intimidating because I'm not good at Mario Kart. My gameplay mostly sounds like this oh no or this oh no. Along with the Mario Karting, there was also non Mario chatting
D
I saw on Instagram.
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Happy belated birthday and chatting of any kind is another thing I'm not good at. Every so often I'd weigh in with something like pretty crazy. This was essentially the extent of my engagement until the night Maya told us about the painting. Maya found the painting sitting in a pile of trash on the sidewalk, and it grabbed her instantly. It was only later, when she took it home that she saw the artist's signature, Frederick J. Brown. Although Maya works in art, the name was unfamiliar to her, so she googled him, and what popped up was a lengthy New York Times obituary from 2012 praising Brown's work and citing Willem de Kooning as an early mentor. Brown, it turned out, was an acclaimed Black artist known for his portraits of jazz and blues musicians. He had work in the Smithsonian. As Maya made her way through his biography, she slowly realized that the painting she'd been so instinctively drawn to was actually the work of an important artist. And so Maya was left wondering, how did Brown's painting end up in the trash?
E
Wow.
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Very regal building. On a cold Friday afternoon, I pay Maya a visit at her Brooklyn apartment building to follow up and learn more. And who knows? Maybe my boyfriend's friend can simply become a friend.
E
Hello.
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Very like regal building. I feel like my IRL chatting is truly no better than my Mario Kart chatting.
E
This is your first time here also?
B
It is, yeah. What I couldn't see on the small square of our Mario Kart calls Was that every surface of Maya's apartment is covered in art. Not only has Maya worked in the art world for many years at galleries, art publishers, her husband Wes is also an artist himself. He even proposed to Maya on the steps of the met. There's really only one spot in their apartment that's empty. A blank wall above the couch. They'd been waiting year after year for the perfect work of art to hang there. And now, with the discovery of the Frederick j. Brown painting, they knew they'd found it. Maya says she spotted the painting while heading home from a COVID test. It was gigantic, and she still had a mile to walk. She knew it didn't really make sense to take it with her, but she couldn't walk away from it either.
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I just kept going back to it. It just was different from all of the other paintings I've seen. It just really kind of grabbed me, and I started trying to get it out of the trash.
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Clutching the huge painting to her body, Maya awkwardly waddled the mile home.
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There was, like, a little garbage juice at the bottom and a little dust at the top. When I was walking, I wouldn't let it sit on the ground. I knew I had probably been on the street all day, But I didn't want it to be on the street anymore. It is nearly as long as I am tall and I'm five' four. Lots of color and patterns.
B
Despite my fondness for the audio medium, it fails to translate the force of Brown's painting. It's not as easily encapsulated as, say, the Mona Lisa Smiling woman or American Gothic Unsmiling Woman and man. It's mostly abstract, but then there are these tiny spots with recognizable figures.
E
You can see faces, and there's these horizontal bands that sort of organize the composition.
B
Admiring the painting with Maya makes me feel like I'm at A fancy party enjoying hors d', oeuvres, but also panicked that I have nothing intelligent to say. That kind of looks like a seven. The painting feels like a stained glass cabinet full of curios. It feels like a quilt, if a quilt weren't made of fabric, but of fields and buildings and people rushing to work. It feels like a packed room where everybody's dancing. I ask Maya to show me where she first found the painting. And so we hit the streets to return to the scene of the trash.
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Should we walk?
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Yeah, let's walk. We take a walk, as friends often do. Maya tells me the painting was in the trash with a bunch of other miscellaneous stuff. A TJ Maxx planter, a stained toy chest. Whoever disposed of it was probably moving. Maybe a neighbor can tell us who might have moved in the last couple months. But whereas I was picturing a small building with just a few buzzers to ring, it turns out the trash heap was actually in front of a public housing complex 14 stories high, taking up a whole block. We loiter by the building's entrance, and I try to catch people as they're going in or out. Can I ask you something weird? Can I ask you a weird question? Do you know anyone who moved out, like, in December? It's just about a painting that was left outside. A painting. My friend found a painting, and she's trying to figure out, like, what. What the deal is. Nobody knows anything. No. All right. Thank you. No, thank you. No? All right. Thank you. There's a lot I don't understand about art. Like, why are frames so expensive? But I can tell you this. Paintings, they have two sides. There's the side with all the paint on it that people are always tripping over each other to talk about. But then there's the other side, the second, or backside, if you will.
E
Do you want a water or tea or anything?
B
Water would be great. And back at Maya's apartment, she explains that on this backside or derriere side, there's another clue. She and Wes were cleaning the painting off, getting it ready to hang on the wall, when they saw it. Lightly scrawled on the back of the canvas was an inscription painted 1979.
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December, title, Genesis 2, Love. Happy Birthday. From Frederick to Lowery Sims. And then he signed it and dated it 1979.
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Maya may not have known the name Frederick Brown, but she knew the name Lowry Sims quite well. Lowery was the president of the Studio Museum in Harlem, and before that, she'd been the first black curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She's now in her 70s and has had decades of impact on the art world. She's reached living legend status.
E
You can't help but be like, oh, okay, yeah. Should I have not used a paper towel to clean this?
B
The way Maya sees it is if you find something with someone else's name on it, whether that's a wallet, a cat, or a painting, you try to give it back to them. And so she wants to return the painting to its rightful owner, Lowery Sims. And once we find her, maybe Lowery can help piece together how the painting ended up in the garbage. I would like love to help try and get in touch with this person.
E
Yes, please. Okay.
B
My garbage hunting, an abject failure. But my people hunting, that's going to be an abject success. I can't find an email address for Lowry. So I do what we all do when we want to pester someone more important than we are. I send a message on LinkedIn. I explain that I have a painting I think belongs to her. But perhaps fearing I'm running some sort of con where I trade paintings for Social Security numbers or. Lowery doesn't respond.
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Hi, how are you?
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I need some sort of inroad, so I contact an artist named Chloe Bass who's worked with Lowery.
F
I don't know why she would even need LinkedIn.
G
Her career is very well established.
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Chloe's also confused by how the painting ended up in the trash. She says Lowry can't have been the one to throw it away because Lowery doesn't live in Brooklyn and never has. Chloe agrees to reach out to her on my behalf. And now that the request isn't coming from a rando on LinkedIn, but a rando who knows Chloe Bass, Lowry responds. We have a few back and forths over email. I'm hoping to schedule a time for us to talk on the phone, but Lowery is reluctant. She tells me she doesn't want to talk unless she can see a photo of the painting first. So I send her a photo, saying I'd be curious if she recognizes Genesis 2 and equally curious if she doesn't. Who knows? Maybe Brown's gift of the painting never even reached her. The next morning, Lowery writes back, quote, intriguing, period. That is the extent of her email. And after that, our correspondence comes to a halt.
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B
Intriguing period. What did Lowry Sims email mean? It's not the response you'd expect of someone recognizing a beloved, long lost painting. I start to wonder if maybe the painting is a fake. Genesis 2 doesn't look like any of the other Frederick Brown paintings I've seen online. Maybe Lowery's intriguing means an intriguing forgery. So I contact Frederick Brown's trust. I figure they'll know best if the painting is really his, and five days later I get confirmation that the painting is legit. I receive a call from a man named Bentley who teaches at Fordham and is a PhD candidate at the NYU Institute of Fine Arts, Bentley is also, it turns out, Frederick J. Brown, son.
D
So here's the backstory.
B
Yeah.
D
The painting is part of a larger painting called Genesis.
B
Okay.
D
That's in the collection of the Met.
B
Oh, whoa. I didn't know that.
D
So my dad became the youngest artist to be in the collection of the Met at that time. Like, at 33.
B
Geez.
D
Let's see. Let me think about that. Actually. 34.
B
Okay.
D
And, like, on top of that, right, As a black artist. Well, right. So this is a big deal. So part one is at the Met,
B
part one in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, part two in a trash heap on a Brooklyn sidewalk. Bentley can't wait to see his father's painting in person. So he makes the drive from the Bronx to Maya's apartment in Brooklyn.
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Hi, I'm Maya.
D
Nice to meet you.
E
Nice to meet you.
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Julia on the phone. Nice to meet you in person. And I'm hoping maybe Bentley will have insight into how his dad's painting ended up in the trash. Should we look at this painting and then maybe we can talk?
D
Yeah, I'd love to.
B
We all file into the living room, where Maya and her husband Wes have propped the painting up against a wall for Bentley to look at. Bentley takes it in.
D
This is amazing.
B
Ugh.
D
It's just like. This makes me so happy.
B
Have you. Is this your first time seeing this painting?
D
Yeah. I've never seen this.
B
Bentley's dedicated years of his life to his father's work, but he can't tell me how the painting ended up in the trash. Before I reached out, he hadn't Even known Genesis 2 existed. He bends down to get a closer look.
D
He didn't just stumble upon any piece within his catalog. He stumbled upon a extremely important piece.
B
It turns out that Genesis 2 was painted at the moment when Brown was making a transition. That's why it looks so different than anything else I'd seen online. Brown was moving away from abstraction and towards more figurative work. So among the shapes and lines, you see faces, an airplane, and the fox
D
figure, and it's like a self portrait.
E
Do you know why your dad chose fox as a symbol of representation?
D
That's a good question. You have to be a fox to survive in the art world as a black man. Have to be. Everybody looks at the fox as, like. Like a nefarious sort of character.
B
Right.
D
But my dad kind of looked at it as, like, nah, that's just like. That's just a cat who has to do whatever it has to do to survive.
B
Bentley tells us about his dad's life, about Frederick Brown's childhood on the south side of Chicago, How Brown's dad managed a juke joint hanging around blues musicians like Muddy Waters. Early on, color made a strong impression on Brown. He grew up mixing paint for the luxury cars his uncle worked on. Later, Brown found work in the steel mills, the colors of the hot metal burning their way into his mind because
D
he'd always talk about how, like, bright orange the ingots were. You can see the bright orange in there.
B
Brown attended college in Illinois and eventually moved to New York, where he set up shop in a huge loft on Worcester street in soho. Other artists and musicians were always stopping by. Romare Bearden, B.B. king, John Lennon and Yoko Ono. The Worcester street loft is where Brown painted Genesis.
D
So then after that, he signed with Marlborough Gallery. And so that was a big deal because Marlboro Gallery was the hottest gallery at that time. We talk about, like, Basquiat being the first black artist to sort of make that break. It was really my dad, like, I'm not even gonna hold you. Like, I'm not. I'm not gonna. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, you know?
B
But while Basquiat went on to become a household name selling paintings for millions of dollars, Frederick J. Brown did not. So what happened? It turns out that even after signing with Marlboro, Brown wasn't being shown in the way he thought he should be.
D
My dad kept trying to get, like, a retrospective, and he couldn't get a retrospective anywhere.
B
So Brown took matters into his own hands when a Taiwanese artist named CJ Yao invited him to come to China. It was 1988, and Communist China was just starting to culturally open up. Only one other American artist, Robert Rauschenberg, had shown work in the country. But together, Brown and Yao decided, let's do a Frederick J. Brown retrospective in China.
D
And they decided to do it in the National Museum of China, which, like, is on Tiananmen Square, and it's, like, an insanely huge building.
B
The museum had been filled with relics of Chairman Mao and the Communist revolution. But all that was cleared out to make room for 100 Frederick J. Brown paintings.
D
And he had a lot. I mean, he had 60,000 people a day for, like, 30 days.
B
Wow.
D
He had to go to China to have a. He had to go to China to be seen as an American artist.
B
Because in America, Brown was seen as a black artist. And despite what he accomplished in China, when he returned to the States, he hadn't earned any additional Prestige.
D
Instead, Marlboro was pissed that he did the show because they did it without his. Without their consent. He took out a loan to do it himself of half a million dollars. He had no way of paying it back. So that was like the beginning of. I don't want to say the end, but it was the beginning of like a real hardship.
B
Marlboro dropped him. The bank was trying to take all his work, which he'd put up as collateral. He was only able to save some paintings by erasing his name entirely so the bank would think they weren't his other paintings he hid in the walls of his Worcester street loft. Brown continued to paint for the rest of his life, but he never regained that blue chip cachet from his early career. He didn't become a name that a non art person like me, or even an art person like Maya would immediately recognize. Brown died of cancer in 2012, and 10 years later, Bentley's frustrated that his father still doesn't have his rightful place in the canon.
D
You go up to these people that are gatekeepers and you plead your case. Most people are just like, eh, whatever. There's not a market for it right now, right? And it's like, it's like, man, fuck you.
B
It's the same story for a lot of black artists. Sure, these gatekeepers want black art, Bentley says, but they want a particular kind of black art. They want art they can look at and go, ah, yes, I get it. This is about the politics of being black in America.
D
When we think about black art or black artists, right? We are very quick to add like a political tag to the thing. I mean, I guess you could argue that blackness in and of itself is a political thing, but my dad was kind of much more of the camp of like, just like, make art for
B
art's sake, but purely aesthetic work by a black artist, that's what ends up in the garbage.
D
It's such a painful feeling. It's such a. Yeah, painful is the word. It's such a painful feeling when you know that, like, you have such a special world and people don't give a shit what is.
B
I mean, like, if you have to describe like what that special world was like, how would you explain it? Bentley points at the painting still leaning against the wall.
D
What's that right there? So much color, so much emotion, so much beauty. You two recognized it.
E
The painting definitely called to me.
D
Yeah. I mean, you rescued it, right? And it's like a piece of my dad. It's like his energy, his spirit is him, you know? That was my dad calling out to you. That's what that was being like, yo, don't let me go in the trash, yo. My son lives not too far away. Don't let me go in the trash.
B
While Bentley was able to trace the path that led Frederick Brown's work to the metaphorical trash heap, I'm still wondering about the literal trash heap, the one on a Brooklyn sidewalk. And so, of course, I'm still wondering about Larry Sims. It turns out Bentley knows Lowery well. The two are even writing a book together. When I ask Bentley about Lowery's aversion to speaking with me, he alludes to some bad experiences she's had with journalists. But he reassures me that I'll put in a good word. And the next morning, Bentley calls to tell me that Lowery is willing to talk. There's just one caveat. She doesn't want to discuss how the painting wound up in the garbage. It's hard for me to figure out why. And I don't really know how to do an interview about a painting that ended up in the trash without asking how the painting ended up in the trash. So I crossed my fingers that something might shift. Once we're on the phone, Lowry takes my call from her condo in Baltimore. She tells me that she met Frederick Brown when she was around 30, a newly minted curator at the Met. As a curator, Lowry's mission was to champion the work of overlooked artists. Lowery herself knew what it was like to be overlooked.
G
I mean, I was in, you know, as a black girl from Queens, I had a career nobody would have expected at that time. I was in places where nobody expected at the time. I mean, I used to tell people one of the most amusing things for me was to go to a collector on park avenue in the 70s and get to the front door, and the doormen would try to sort of scoot me around to the service entrance because they assumed I was a housekeeper or something, you know, and no, I'm, you know, descendants from the Metropolitan Museum. You sort of see the face change, you know, they go, oh. You know. It was a struggle to get past the ignorance about black artists.
B
Like, Once in the 70s, Lowery organized an exhibit of black art from the Met's collection.
G
And when we got the exhibition up, I was approached by a journalist who said, I didn't even know there were black artists now. This is like 1979. Come on, you know.
B
Oh, geez. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
G
So I said, well, we've been around since the late 1800s.
B
Hearing this story, it starts to make sense why Lowry might have been reluctant to speak with me, a white looking journalist she's never met. In fact, when I spoke with Bentley, he said Lowry had wanted him to suss me out to make sure that I was okay before she agreed to talk to me. Like his dad, Bentley said, Lowery, too, has had to be a fox. Lowry and Brown's friendship endured for decades, starting in that Worcester street loft and lasting until Brown's death. And even after he died, Lowery continued to engage with Brown's work. Just last summer, she helped put together a big posthumous show of his art at the Barry Campbell Gallery in Manhattan. Like Bentley, she wants Brown to finally get his due.
G
It's original work, you know, it's strong work. I'm just hopeful that, you know, Frederick gets written into the, you know, the art lexicon in the way that he needs to be.
B
When I ask Lowry why this hasn't happened yet, like Bentley, she cites the aftermath of the China trip. But she also offers this.
G
He sort of left New York at a crucial period in his career and he put the concerns of his family first.
B
And it's True, in the 90s, Brown left New York for a town called Carefree Arizona. A big factor in that decision was his daughter's asthma. Brown knew the dry desert heat would be good for her, and although money was still tight, the family was happy out in Arizona. Bentley recalls his dad attending his flag football games in his signature white Brooks Brothers suit, sweating in the Arizona sun and dabbing his forehead with napkins. While some children of famous artists remember locked studio doors, Bentley remembers his dad's welcoming studio couch where he'd flop down after school and talk about his day while his father painted. All of which is to say Bentley remembers Brown as a good dad. As Lowry and I talk, I. I do my best to avoid the whole painting in the trash thing. So we discuss her time at the Met, Brown's jazz portraits, the similarities between Genesis 1 and 2. But then, without prompting, Lowery volunteers this.
G
I mean, I sort of like, you know, kind of figured out that I probably gave the painting to someone who admired it. You know, I can't remember who because, you know, cause it was certainly too big for my little apartment.
B
As it turns out, Brown had painted Lowry Genesis 2 as a thank you gift because she'd been the curator who bought Genesis 1 for the Met's collection. But the painting was huge. And Lowery ran into the problem that so many New Yorkers do. Living in a cramped apartment on The Upper east side. She just hadn't had space for it. For Lowery, there was no blank wall above the couch, just waiting for something to be hungry. So instead, she found Genesis 2 a good home with a friend who loved it.
G
And I think I told Fred, you know, like, about that.
B
Yeah.
G
How it ended up where Maya find it, I don't know. I just can't remember who I might have given it to.
B
I suspect that Lowry might be trying to protect a friend. Maybe that's why she'd been reluctant to talk about the painting's loss. Maybe Lowery gave the painting to someone who moved to a smaller apartment themselves. Or maybe they died or fell on hard times and decided to sell it. Maybe it was re gifted to someone else or sold in an estate sale or just lost in the general shuffle of life. No matter what, the end result is the same. Ultimately, someone looked at it, thought, this isn't worth keeping, and threw it away. All of that, it seems, was wrapped up in Lowry's intriguing. Does it make you sad at all to think of art just in the trash like that?
G
Well, you know, there's a saying that 98% of all the art created in the world since the beginning is gone.
B
Do you think, like, the best stuff somehow makes it through? Do you know what I mean?
G
I think it's totally random.
B
Yeah.
G
I mean, I guess that's why we have museums, you know, because they can be seen as places where these things can be safe. But, I mean, just look at what's happening now in the Ukraine. You know, they bomb. They're bombing museums and cultural sites. So I think a lot of times it's just the luck of the draw.
B
Time is the most capricious of curators. A few weeks earlier, when Bentley came by Maya's apartment, we all sat around and talked for hours about art and family. And finally, when it was time to go, Maya turned to Bentley and said, I don't think the painting belongs with me. I think it belongs somewhere else. Bentley's taller than Maya and had no problem lifting up the canvas. He thanked Maya warmly and carried Genesis 2 out the door to his car. He'd serve as the painting's caretaker until Lowery decided what she wanted to do. Can you tell me sort of like, what's happening to it now? Do you know where it's going?
G
Yeah, it's been accepted by the Studio Museum as a donation.
B
Oh, that's great.
G
And the donation will be from me, from the estate of the artist, and from Maya.
B
On a warm Friday afternoon, I pay Maya a visit at her regal apartment building.
F
Hello.
D
Hey.
B
She and Wes are signing the paperwork to officially donate the painting to the studio museum, and I'm here to serve as a witness. Lowry and Bentley have both already signed. I'm gonna try and do some of that pen sound. Knowing how much Maya loves the painting, I thought giving it up would be bittersweet, but she's in high spirits. She likes the idea of Genesis 2 hanging in a museum. That way, thousands of people will get to enjoy it. We'll lean towards the plaque and read the name. Frederick J. Brown. Who knows what that name might mean to people in the future, if time will strengthen Brown's legacy or wash it away. But for now, we finish up the paperwork and all. Cheers. A shot of tequila to celebrate as friends often do. Cheers.
E
Thank you so much.
B
Tequila. Thank you. On my way out, I noticed that the big wall above Maya's couch is still blank. Now that the furniture's returning to its goodwill home, now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damaged deposit, Take this moment to decide if we meant it if we try
D
Felt around
B
for far too much from things that accidentally touch.
A
Hello?
F
Jonathan?
A
Khalilah?
F
Yeah. Hi.
A
Hi. What's going on?
F
I'm in the Studio Museum at the moment.
A
Oh, thank God. When I heard you whispering like that, I figured immediately that you were incarcerated somehow.
F
Why would I need to whisper?
A
Yeah, that's true.
F
It would be more likely that I'd been kidnapped and was secretly using a phone. You know what I mean?
A
Like from the trunk of a car.
B
Yeah.
A
Okay. Phew. I'm so glad you're in a museum instead. Why are you in a museum?
F
I'm in a museum because the Studio Museum is where Frederick J. Brown's painting Genesis 2, ended up. The painting is not up at the moment, but there are a couple galleries dedicated to, like, cycling things out that are in the permanent collection. So I imagine it will hang in one of those galleries soon.
B
Ah.
A
So you think it's in a storage room?
F
I guess. I don't really know how museums work, but, yeah, they must have some kind of art storage, right?
A
Well, here's your chance to find out. I'm gonna put you on assignment here.
F
Okay?
A
Do you see any doors that say staff only or do not enter?
B
Yeah, I'm standing by one right now.
A
Do you want to try the doorknob?
F
Let me just see.
A
Is it locked?
F
Yeah, it's locked.
A
Well, so much for our big art heist. Well, how does it feel I guess to know that it's in its rightful place and you had. You had a hand in that.
F
That's cool, actually. I mean, even though it's not up right now just to be like, oh, this is its home and it's among all this other art. And like, there's a lot of people at the museum.
A
Oh, really?
F
I feel like people are going to be able to come and appreciate it.
B
Yeah, Yeah.
F
I was going to say, not to presume, but are you in front of a computer?
A
I am, yeah.
F
Would you like to go to the Studio Museum website and look up Frederick J. Brown in the collection?
A
Studio Museum, Frederick. There we go. Let's see. Oh, there's three of his works here.
F
Oh, nice.
A
And here we are. Yeah. Genesis 2. And you know what? It is vertical.
F
I know, I noticed that too. I was like, maybe we were looking at it the wrong way.
A
I think we were. And honestly, looking at it like this, it's like looking at a whole different painting.
F
It does really change the way you see it. I know.
A
And it, you know, in a way, it kind of makes more sense.
F
Uh huh.
D
Wow. Huh.
F
I am sort of curious how they even determined that, because I feel like when I was looking at it with Bentley, he also thought it went horizontally.
A
He did, yeah.
F
And I did speak with Bentley recently too, and he gave me some updates about what's going on with his father's work.
D
And the major update, though, is that we do have a retrospective of his work.
B
Oh, you do?
D
Yeah, it's going to be opening in 2028.
B
Okay.
D
At the Phoenix Art Museum.
B
Great.
D
And yeah, again, I just can't thank you enough for taking on the story. Like, it brought us so much publicity. And then, you know, we had several major exhibitions after that.
B
Oh, that's great. Cool. Thank you, Bentley, for talking. It's really nice to talk to you again.
D
Thanks so much. Talk to you later.
B
Talk to you soon.
A
Thanks to everyone who helped put this episode together. If you haven't already heard, and I can't imagine how you haven't, we've started a free newsletter. Have you, Kalila Holt, heard about our free newsletter?
B
Yes. In fact, I've. I've written stuff in it.
A
Oh, that's gonna look great on your resume.
D
That sounds like a threat.
B
Am I fired?
A
No, not at all. I'm just saying, you know, kudos to you. That's a publication right there. So all of which to say, go to patreon.com heavyweight to sign up and we'll be back once again with another exciting update in two weeks time.
B
This is an iHeart podcast. Guaranteed Human.
Host: Jonathan Goldstein, Pushkin Industries
Date: May 21, 2026
This episode of Heavyweight revisits the compelling story behind a painting by Frederick J. Brown—an influential but underrecognized Black American artist. The narrative unfolds like a detective story: what happens to art when it's discarded, forgotten, or separated from its origins? Julia (the episode’s reporter) investigates how one of Brown’s paintings, Genesis 2, was rescued from a Brooklyn trash pile, seeking to restore its meaning and rightful place in the art world. Through candid conversations, the episode probes questions of artistic legacy, the randomness of preservation, and the struggle for Black artists to be recognized on their own terms.
“December, title, Genesis 2, Love. Happy Birthday. From Frederick to Lowery Sims. Signed and dated 1979.” (11:21)
“Intriguing.” (13:11)
“He didn't just stumble upon any piece… he stumbled upon an extremely important piece.” – Bentley Brown (19:23)
“He had to go to China to be seen as an American artist… Because in America, Brown was seen as a Black artist.” – Bentley Brown (22:46)
“Purely aesthetic work by a black artist, that's what ends up in the garbage.” – Bentley Brown (24:59)
“It's original work, you know, it's strong work. I'm just hopeful that, you know, Frederick gets written into the, you know, the art lexicon in the way that he needs to be.” – Lowery Sims (29:45)
“She and Wes are signing the paperwork to officially donate the painting to the studio museum... Lowery and Bentley have both already signed.” (34:50)
“Well, you know, there's a saying that 98% of all the art created in the world since the beginning is gone... I think it's totally random.” – Lowery Sims (33:00–33:18)
“She likes the idea of Genesis 2 hanging in a museum. That way, thousands of people will get to enjoy it.” (34:32)
“Looking at it like this, it's like looking at a whole different painting.” – Jonathan (39:14)
“We do have a retrospective of his work… opening in 2028 at the Phoenix Art Museum.” – Bentley Brown (39:51–40:03)
The episode blends art history, personal narrative, and investigative storytelling. The tone is warm, humorous, and introspective, with the hosts and guests frequently riffing on their own perceived “dilettante” status in the art world, but ultimately connecting on the power of visual art—and the importance of safeguarding its stories.
By tracing Genesis 2 from a Brooklyn garbage heap back to a museum collection, the episode raises larger questions: about how art is valued, remembered, or forgotten; about systemic obstacles faced by Black artists; and about the serendipity of survival. Heavyweight turns the story of one lost painting into a meditation on the caprice of art history—and the ways family, friendship, and chance can sometimes rescue what matters from the trash.