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A
And once you put a black figure in water, there's context. It was the first time I had an example in my mind how what happened with segregation is still impacting a culture because there wasn't access for my mom to go swim. You know, the leisure of swimming is not. Wasn't common and I didn't think about that.
B
Hi, I'm Dan Rubenstein and this is the Grand Tourist. I've been a design journalist for more than 20 years and this is my personalized guided tour through the worlds of fashion, art, architecture, food and travel. All the elements of a well lived life. On this podcast we've met a ton of artists, many of whom have been successful for decades. But sometimes their stories can be a bit rosy. When you're speaking with someone that senior, it doesn't matter if it's a sculptor or an architect. Sometimes the trials and tribulations are ignored or even forgotten. My guest today is an artist who has overcome numerous creative challenges and found herself in a well deserved career stride, one that is equally personally fulfilling as well as it is culturally relevant. Khalida Rawls. Her often large scale photorealistic paintings depicting black people in and out of bodies of water have really struck a chord for their beauty and resonance. Her first major solo show, Away with the Tides, just wrapped up at the Perez Art Museum in Miami and she's currently represented by a Lehman Maupin Gallery in New York. The Perez said this about her work. Khalida Rawls envisions water as a space for black healing and reimagines the African American community beyond the stories we already know as part of the United States collective history. Merging hyperrealism, poetic abstraction and the cultural and historical symbolisms of water, Rawls creates unique portraits of black bodies submerged in and interacting with bright and mysterious bodies of water. The water itself sort of character within the paintings functions as an element that signifies both physical and spiritual healing as well as historical trauma and racial exclusion. To hear Khalida's story on the podcast today, overcoming professors that didn't believe in her and being inspired by friends and fellow artists that did, is inspiring to any creative. And her work, which mixes a high degree of technical acuity with a kind of joyful creativity, is really something to behold. It's a story of perseverance and the inherent value in artistry that overcomes the forces of cynicism in the art world today. I caught up with Khaleeda from her studio in Los Angeles to talk about her creative process. The fraught and complex relationships between the black community and water. Getting Shot down by her professors at nyu. How fiction inspires her paintings and more. I'd love to start at the beginning. I read that both of your parents, you know, we're kind of working class, you know, an Amtrak employee and a post office worker, real responsible folks. Both sound like very responsible jobs, you know. How would you describe your sort of home life growing up?
A
The first, like, the word that pops in my head when you ask me that is quiet. And I have to even think about that, I think, because I have a brother that's seven years older than me. So it was kind of like we were in two different worlds. My mom worked a lot, and I was always given a lot of art supplies for, you know, things to do. It was like television, art supplies. You know, My mom would almost, like, cook big meals every Sunday, and it was about, like, heating up food.
B
Okay.
A
You know, throughout the week. She was like. I was very utilitarian, type of idea of food.
B
What kind of art did you do as a kid?
A
I drew my cat a lot. I drew things around the house, objects. But my first drawings, I remember were of cartoons like Garfield. I could draw Garfield very quickly. I used to draw Garfield in different ways and sell them to the kids at school and any cartoon they liked, you know, with their name, you know, in some way. I was always able to, like, kind of mimic. I could draw what I see. There's never been. You know, and I did that all my life. And so as a kid, it was always like, you know, just looking at. Drawing my hands. I drew my hands all the time. You know, after a while, it became.
B
More complex and, you know, did your parents, like, sort of encourage that creativity? Were they kind of, you know, did they recognize it, like, sort of in a talent or an ability in you that, like, as parents sometimes do?
A
Yes, I think so. My mom could draw.
B
Oh, okay.
A
And so she. And. But she was also a photographer, and so sometimes in her downtime, there were. There were moments where our guest bathroom would be a dark room and she would develop her pictures.
B
I've heard that you had a love of literature also as a kid, and that. That was, like, really important to you, you know, as it is now. But is there a novel that you read, like, as a teenager that you think was, like, important to you now, looking back, you know.
A
Yeah. You know what I remember the book that hooked me was Manchild in Promised Land by Claude Brown. I remember it's an older book, but I remember there was a. There was one scene where Claude is at his neighbor's house and they are about maybe 9 or 10 years old. And it was one of his best friends who's at the guy's house and him and his sister are fighting over an egg. And he thought it was really funny because they were like wrestling and fighting. And then the egg smashed to the ground and he was starting to chuckle, but then he realized the little sister started to cry. And then he saw his friend's face and that's when he realized they were hungry, that he had missed that and didn't understand. And then he went to the store and got them these eggs. But I remember how it was written. I was going along with him in the beginning, a feeling like there was just this silly, this silly squabble, went that far and they're wrestling over. Look how stupid they are. Look how ridiculous that is. And then he realized it was like survival. And then it was like he saw the rooms and he noticed the house and it was like he took me along with that. And it was, it was a very moving scene in my head, in my memory. And I haven't read this book in a long time, but I do remember that and this guy's journey of being raised. I don't even remember what city he was in, but him watching drugs come into this community. There were families and then when drugs took over and he was, you know, kind of in a gang or something and then he went into like boys homes and then he restructured his life and ended up going to college and becoming this, you know, I don't know, a writer and wrote this book about his life and just the growth that a person can do.
B
And you know, you first studied at Spelman in Atlanta, which is an HBCU for those that maybe not from the States, quite famous. Why that school? How did you wind up going there?
A
I remember when I went to visit it, it was just felt like home. And it was like all these young black women, so all women's black college, they were all like the top of their class and doing all these amazing things. I remember talking to this one girl. I was like, I was there as a prospective student at the time and at this table. And she was like, yeah, studied at NASA for the summer. And I was like, what? You know, and someone's like, oh. And I did this. Now I was like, everybody's just, you know, I can paint. But it was very exciting to be with in a group of high achieving people. And I wanted to be there.
B
And did you think about what you wanted to study there when you, when you got there. What did you study?
A
I ended up being a art major, painting focus. But when I first came, I was undecided. And I was thinking psychology or history. I thought I was maybe a history professor or African American, like literature professor. I imagine myself, you know. Yeah. Or psychology.
B
And how, why, how was there a flash point when you were like, where you realized that painting was kind of something you wanted to really, you know, study school wise?
A
I can't think of the moment, but I remember taking classes and feeling like I could grow and I wanted to push myself and I wanted to do it at all times because I think the other subjects kind of faded out. Like, I went to psychology classes too. Like I was taking those classes. And I remember feeling like the little classes I did take, I felt like you were to listen to people and then put them in the prescribed box like they are. This is how they are. So they must be like this instead of listening to someone. And it didn't seem like I didn't believe in that theory kind of. And I was like this. It was too prescribed of what I, what I was learning. And I didn't. I felt like I would have to. I would be always combating what I was teaching and how they were trying to teach it to me. And I didn't. I don't really believe you necessarily set people into these small, narrow categories. And then with English, I really enjoyed it. There was a lot of English majors that thought I was an English major too. Because I was in their classes and because I continued taking some of these classes, they were just interest to me. I enjoyed it. And I enjoy writing and of course I love reading and I love the art artistry of wordplay. But when I painted, I really felt like hours would go by. And it still is like that now. When I see that, like when I say I'm gonna go paint and I'm gonna leave at 6, it feels limiting. Like, oh no, I get there at 9, I gotta leave at 6. Like for other people, that sounds like a long day or a standard day. But to me, like, okay, I'll go home because my kids are there and I do need to see them. But if they were not home or if they're out, that means I get to stay. And I get really, like, I don't have to feel limited by time and I can stay as long as I want. You know, just the fact that I have that and it's something I get paid to do, you know, that's it.
B
And you went to NYU to get an Ma in painting. Was that your first time kind of spending time, you know, in New York? And do you remember? Like, I don't, you know, anyone moving to any big city has got to be like, is, is it big? Maybe it's a culture shock or maybe it's just like a fun adjustment. That seems so, you know, eye opening. What was your time in New York like?
A
That's exactly. It was a culture shock. I did go to New York often with my father. He would take me there a lot, like on trips, day in. It was really fun and I really wanted to go there. I actually applied early decision undergrad to nyu and I got in and I was supposed to go there, but then when I visited Spelman, you know, I was like, nah, changed my mind, sorry. And so I knew I wanted to get to New York for graduate school because it was something I always wanted to be and live in. But when I got there, it was hard and I, I think I may have gotten a little depressed, but I didn't know it at the time. I couldn't identify it as that. But I remember trying to talk to this teacher about it. Like, I, this isn't right. Like this doesn't. I mean, I got a B in painting and I was still irritated as hell. I was like, I shouldn't get a B in this class. You know what I mean? It was hard to adjust.
B
Was it like a new level of like people, you know, you're on a master's degree, graduate degree level? Was it like all of a sudden you were in New York City and NYU with like graduate level people and it was kind of maybe is a little bit colder and a little bit more competitive.
A
I didn't feel the competition. Maybe I'm arrogant like that. I didn't, I mean, I thought people were good, but I always felt like I could paint. And I'm, I didn't. I don't, I don't think I'm. I don't. I compete with myself more than anything. It was New York. It was hard. Yeah, it was the coldness. It was, it took a minute for me to adjust and me just going there. By the time I ended grad school, I felt okay there.
B
Was it a two year program or.
A
A one year program? It was like a two year program. But by the time I left, I felt like I didn't really want to be a painter anymore.
B
Really? What, What? Kind of sucked. The joy.
A
Yeah. Sucked the joy out of it really, because I didn't know what I wanted to really. I wasn't I remember it was in a moment of, like. I remember one of the professors coming in. He was like, what are you doing? Like, repainting, like, Clint work, you know, like, they all look like I was doing, like, kind of. I think I just remember them reading all this Greenberg and like, painting is dead and just all of this, you know, I was a figurative painter. Why do you keep painting a figure then? I had a few ignorant professors I won't name or anything. It's like, why are you painting black people? You know, I got asked, like, really dumb questions and stuff. I wasn't at the right program. Like, what are you? Why are you? You know? You know, and it was just like this irritating conversations, you know, why are you painting black people instead of people? I guess. Yeah.
B
Yikes.
A
Yeah. You know, it was like, am I gonna have to, like, argue with people to understand stuff? And it was just like, I just wasn't in the right place. It just wasn't the right program at the time. I don't know where it is now, but it wasn't at the time for me.
B
And did your hyper realistic style sort of begin there when. When. Because I know you mentioned in the past you draw your hands, and so it was always there in a way. Like, would you recognize, you know, for someone, you know, who knows your work now, would they look back on your college work and be like, oh, it's a hyper real. Did you start then or how did that start?
A
No, I think then, because I didn't like what I was doing. I kept. I tried all different styles, all different things, but I think I naturally am, you know, very realistic, hyper realistic painter. So it didn't matter. Like it was gonna come out that way, you know, so it did. It felt like I had no style. That's what I felt.
B
What did people kind of like. And I knew nothing about, you know, the learning how to paint or being in an art program. Like, did people kind of try to get you to not do that style?
A
I think I tried to not do it myself.
B
Oh, okay.
A
Because of the environment and what was happening, I was fighting against my own way. But I do remember a few students coming to me that were in the program that were like, you have a gift. Like, you were like, I was even different in the program. Like, they thought I was really good. My talent, you could see I could. You could just, you know, But I. But I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what I was making. I didn't have, like, I didn't Have a voice. I didn't know what I wanted to say. I didn't know what I. You know, let me. I was just painting what I could. Like, I didn't have. I didn't. I was lost in New York. I should have painted that, but I didn't. I didn't even think to do that. I think I didn't have a really good mentor, someone that I. I really gravitated to. I remember this one professor, was a female professor, and she came to me, she was like, listen, you know, you could probably get a show for sure, but you're black. You're a woman. You know what I mean? If you have kids, you're never gonna have a career. And I was like, okay, yeah, I had a lot of, like, maybe depressed teachers, too. I mean, I was depressed. I don't know what was happening, but I do remember that conversation. And I think she thought she was being helpful to me.
B
Like, if you.
A
You get married and have kids, this possibility. And I was like, God, I make a choice, you know, I believed. I listened a little bit. So when I got out, I was like, I'm just gonna paint for fun when I want, but it. I'm. It's not gonna be a career. I'm not gonna be able to make it, because I do want to have kids. I do want to have a family. And that possibility is like, you have to choose. So I think I subscribed to all those. I believed the hype of it, that you couldn't. And I think I've been so many different. This sounds weird. Phases of a woman in the United States. Like, I stayed home with my kids for some years when I had them. I, you know, I've done. I taught art classes. I have. Did graphic design on the side and also taught. I was for a second thinking about being a kindergarten teacher. You know, I. You know, as a substitute for kindergarten, this principal asked me, we could make you a full teacher. You are great. You know, I love children. I wrote children's book.
B
Okay.
A
And then I was, you know, but I was still painting and figuring things out.
B
And throughout all of that, were you just painting on the side? Like, what were you painting? And was it the recognizable as the sort of work with water that you are now, or is it completely different?
A
It was before that it was different. It was. They were figures, they were people. A lot of them were portraits.
B
And at this time, are you in LA when we're talking about.
A
Yeah, I'm in la. I'm in la.
B
I know, but, like, when you were teaching and first having your kids, was.
A
That all in la? Yes, all of in la. I had my children in la. I left New York because I think I was like, you know, met my husband at the time and I was like, I didn't want to have children in New York. I wanted to have children.
B
How many kids do you have now?
A
Four.
B
Four. Oh, gosh. Okay.
A
Well, one's a stepson. My stepson came to live with us when he was like nine.
B
Okay, Is that five? That's one of the. Is he.
A
No, that's.
B
You're counting one of the four?
A
Yes, he's counted as one of the four, then three girls.
B
Okay. Oh, gosh.
A
So I had all. Yeah, so I have like this other life in a way, you know, and then. Yeah, I think. And then it was like I realized it was my self doubt that was holding me back. I'll put it on me. And it wasn't honestly until I was painting and doing things. Not that we want to harp on this. I know she doesn't like to harp on this part of her life. Amy. Cheryl, which is my friend, we went to school together and we painted together. We were in the same program. And I remember when she went to get her heart transplant and her mom couldn't be there while she was waiting at one point because her brother was sick. And I flew to see her when she was waiting for a heart and she was like, you know, I'm gonna get out of here, I'm gonna get a heart and then I'm gonna win this thing and I'm be a famous artist, right? I'm gonna get this heart. Yeah, I'm gonna win this, this contest and then I'm gonna be a famous artist. And then. And I was like, okay, yeah, that'd be good. And exactly what she did, she did that. I was there when she was doing the application to do that contest. I can't remember the name of it right now. The one that went to National Portrait Gallery. And I remember she was there and she was like, I'm doing my essay because I'm going to do this and I'm going to win that. And then watch. I'm going to. So I can see it and I'm going to be in the galleries and I visualize it. This is going to happen. I was like, okay. And then when things were. And I saw her make a vision for herself and do it, and I was like, wait, what if I believed? You know what I mean? What if I believed I could make a Career out of this instead of telling myself the things I had heard. And then I was like, okay, what am I going to say? And then that was the first thing. What am I going to say? What do I want to do? What I want to say? And that's when it really clicked, when I got to the water and, you.
B
Know, when you moved to la, was LA itself as a city kind of influencing you?
A
Maybe? You know, again, I was in a little. A different type of universe. I wasn't going to that many galleries at first because I had, like. That wasn't. I was. I felt rejected from it. And it. I couldn't figure it out. So I was like, you know, but then I remember, like, I wanted to. I was like, why am I. Why I can paint? You know? I was like, I can paint. I knew I could paint. I just didn't have a voice or what I wanted. I didn't know what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it, how to make it different, how to be. How to, like, why. Why would my paintings be necessary in art history? What could I do that something someone hasn't done in it, you know? And then I just remember I was very lucky because at my school, or serendipitous or faded or whatever, but in my school, my daughter. My middle daughter's kindergarten class, Toba Kadori, was in that grade with my daughter. And Christine Kim was in. Christine the curator, Toba the artist. And I remember hanging with them. And Toba came to my studio to visit me. And I remember showing her this image as my niece in the water. And I said, you know, I'm painting all these things because, you know, I was like, I'm gonna do this. I had this idea, this big idea, and I was like, I'm gonna paint this, and then I'll have a series, and this is gonna work. And I remember showing her this picture, and I was like, but really, I just wish I could just. I just want to paint something like this. I just want to paint this. And she said, then why don't you do that? Why don't you just paint this? Don't overthink. Just paint this. And it was my niece underwater, and I got a big canvas and I painted it, and it was so fun.
B
How big?
A
So beautiful. It was about 4 by 5. And it was 4ft by 5ft, and I did it. I just. And I remember with my husband, it was like we made a pact when I had my last child, because first we went back and forth on the last baby I was like, anyway, I had her and I said, okay, this is going to be your baby. And I'm going to. After I have the baby, I'm going to go in, I'm going to get a studio outside the house, and I'm going to paint. I probably won't make no money. I'm just going to. I'm just going to paint for a whole year. I'm going to figure me out.
B
And so from that, what about that picture of your niece underwater? Like, what did that. What did that mean to you? Why. Why did you want to paint that? Was it just a beautiful image you hadn't considered before? Or is it just something about the. The waviness of the water and the way that light reflects off of it? Like, what. What kind of made you want to just paint that?
A
It was so beautiful and abstracted, though. Her body was all broken up because of the waves on the top of the water, but it was so be. She had these hair barrettes in her hair, but they look like birds. And I remember. I'll say to me, you can clearly see this figure underwater. But I remember sending to my mom, and she said, what is that? Earth? Like, it wasn't identifiable exactly right, because the barrettes kind of look like birds and there's like this dark patch. But I could see it because I was swimming at the time. But my mom, my dad, who don't swim, I don't think their brain, besides being in a tub, I don't think they thought of what the body looks like when you break the water in front and how abstract and how it moves. My mom couldn't see it. I was like, you can't see it as a person swimming? No, I don't even see it. Is it earth? Like, what is that? What is that? I was like, okay, whatever. But her bathing suit might have been colorful, and that was broken in the hair. And it was weird, but it was. I was like, ah, I got something like, that is exciting to me that I could paint something I see and it could still be like, what's going on? Even though some of my paintings are just, like, clearly there. But some have, like, a mystery and a dreaminess that I really love. And that's where I feel like I'm. I get really excited about.
B
Is your mom a kind of good critic for you? Like, is she. Do you bounce ideas off of her? Being that she's, you know, a painter and a photographer?
A
And I think she has a good eye. I think she has a good eye. So when I Even if she doesn't like, like, what are you doing? She's still like, no, that's beautiful. I don't know what I'm seeing, but that works, you know?
B
Okay, good.
A
And I think she. Yeah, I think she has a good eye. So sometimes I'll send stuff. Yeah.
B
And. And your paintings now, like, they're Some are quite large, right? I mean, like, what's the scale of, like, the smallest thing you'll do versus the largest? Just to give people an idea.
A
Smallest thing I'll do would be like 12 by 9 inches. Like piece of paper almost. Right. And then I've gone 12ft by 9ft.
B
Okay. Big.
A
Yeah.
B
Amazing. And, you know, for those people who don't know how painting works, you know, with this realistic style. How do you work from photography? Like. Or do you work with multiple photos or.
A
Yes.
B
How are you mimicking the photo exactly? Or are you kind of interpreting it as you go along? Or how does. Where does that borderline, you know? Or where is the border between, you know, mimicking the photo and then creating a new work of art that's just inspired by the photo, if you know what I mean.
A
Yes. I rarely paint it exactly like the photo, but it looks just like the photo for people sometimes. You know what I mean? But especially in the water, that's all interpretive and kind of like, oh, kind of shit. It's kind of loosely feeling it. And then if I make. If my brush goes in a certain stroke and I like it, then I'll keep playing with it, you know, or. But a lot of times I'll have multiple photos up on my screen.
B
And. Are you shooting these pictures?
A
Yes, I shoot all my images that I paint from. It's a whole process. Like, I start with a photo shoot, and even that sometimes is a family affair where, depending on the level of the person that I'm shooting, and it's very often where people can't swim. Well, they'll say they can swim, but they really can't swim. Right. So you go there and you're like, yeah, I can swim. Oh, this is gonna be great. But I have to hold the wall. Yeah. Okay. So you know what I mean? I can swim, but I just don't want my face wet and I can't float on my back. You'd be like, okay. So when there's times like that and I want someone to look freeing and, you know, in a certain way, sometimes I'm holding people and I'm telling them, move their arm up, lift your legs, and I'm holding in their back. And I may have one of my daughters take the image above.
B
Oh, wow. Well, you've got some assistance built in, I guess.
A
Yeah. And then I have my other daughter, pushes the water, makes waves, you know, and she's sitting there half the time. I just have to go pull her to the side. Get your attitude together. Cause her face is all. How many times I can push these waves, mom, like, stop it. So it's a whole family affair. Especially in the beginning.
B
They were my crew and. And so how long would it take you to do kind of like a painting in the middle of the size, Not a piece of paper, but not like a giant canvas. Maybe three weeks at like intensely. Because you sounds like you work from sun up to sundown. Essentially.
A
Yes. So it's probably a month of painting, really.
B
Okay.
A
They take a long time.
B
Where does your mind. Where does your mind go when you're painting?
A
If I'm really doing well, not on the painting. If I'm doing really well, I'm somewhere else. So I put on music. But most often they're books. I do audiobooks and I want a really good book that's like, oh my God, it's a great book. 17 hours or something. Like a lot of hours. And I can just get caught up in the story and my hand is just moving.
B
And when. And when you're painting for a month and your brain is somewhere else is what you're listening to. We talk about fiction and literature and how it influenced you. Does that. Can you look at something and be like, oh, I can see the Octavio butler in this painting. Even if no one knows how, it's just in your head that is. Is like music influencing a photographer at a shoot. Something sexy or something quiet versus you listening to, you know, sci fi or a romance novel or whatever it is sometimes.
A
Like, there are some paintings that are direct influences. There's a painting infinite from root to tip. When I painted that, I was thinking about the Power by Naomi Altman, like when I listened to that book. And I. And so even there's like these reflections in the top that looked like roots. And I was thinking of the beginning of the book where there was kind of like this, I guess you could say a poem where she talks about what power is and how it break like branches in a tree. And somehow she was describing it. And I put these women in these, like, very powerful. The figure is in this powerful position. I felt like agency. And I was thinking of that book and how it made me feel. And the Power of women. And sometimes I try to listen to books that kind of make me think about where my work is going. At the time in that show, it was about agency of these young, young girls, and I had these women in these white dresses. I was listening to books with women in power, you know, and agency and overcoming things like that. So sometimes that does lend in, and I want to feel that while I'm going along with it. I enjoy, but I think I love those books anyway, so maybe that's always in the work.
B
And obviously themes of water carry a lot of weight in the black experience in the United States especially. Can you describe that history in your own words to someone who maybe they had no idea? There's also people listening to this podcast all over the world who are not as familiar. If you could describe that history and then also what you're trying to say, referencing that history.
A
I mean, race is such. It's so funny how it means so much and then it doesn't mean so much, but.
B
Cause you didn't choose that original picture because of some thought about the history of race or water or, you know, and swimming and anything. You just thought, this is beautiful. I'm gonna do it. But obviously something clicked event when someone, I'm sure some critic or some gallerist came in and saw a bunch of pictures and was like, great meaning.
A
No, it was a beautiful image and it was complicated. And it looked like, ooh, a challenge, right? It was like, I can do this. And it was beautiful. And it was going to be hard. And I love challenges. I love to challenge myself. I want to see how far I can push it, you know, so it was like a really fun, I can do this. But it was when I. When I was creating the body of work for Dream for my little. I gave myself, I think, nine months or a year that I was going to be in that studio and sit and paint. You know, what? I could slowly as I, you know, as I could take my time and do it beautifully. And once you put a black figure in water, there's context. Because, one, I recognized that I didn't come from any family members that swam. You know, like, people didn't swim. And it made me realize, as I'm reading more and thinking about it, how many black people I knew that couldn't swim or how I thought I could swim until I went to this class and I realized I was a joke of a swimmer. And I never really took classes and didn't understand. You know, I thought if I could just hold my breath and push off a little bit and go underwater, that I was a swimmer and not understand stroke or breathing or anything. And then I started, like, thinking about it. It was a stereotype of black people can't swim, right? So I was like, okay, there's a stereotype, and some stereotypes have some truth that, you know, why is a common thing in a culture. But it was when I realized, you know, I, like many other people, when you say, well, people would say to me, I don't know what your, you know, problem y'all are talking about. Race segregation happened so long ago, right? It was the first time I had an example in my mind how what happened with segregation is still impacting a culture, that it's still alive. Like, because there wasn't access for my mom to go swim, that there were no pools, and her parents weren't even allowed in a pool with white people. Or, you know, in class, race and class, the access to pools, you couldn't swim. And because you couldn't swim, you know, the leisure of swimming is not. Wasn't common. And I didn't think about that or even. My father used to take us to the beach all the time. But I remember going to visit family members. My father's family was from the Maryland Eastern Shore, and we'd go visit my uncles, but they wouldn't go with us to the beach. And I would be like, why? And he was like, I would never go there. And I came to understand that when he grew up, you could only go on Thursdays. And so because of the segregation laws in that rejection of not being allowed or feeling welcomed in the ocean, he would never enjoy the beach. And that and how that impacted my culture, and that fascinated me, and I wanted to learn more about that and understand. And then I wanted the opportunity to give the element back to us that water is also for us, for leisure and the beach and those kind of things. And there's freedom in it. There's a freedom of taking it back and believing it's ours. It's a whole element, like air. But there's so many that say, oh, that's for them. Not, you know, we don't. You know, we don't do that. And, you know, and there's so many conversations that happen for that. So for me, thinking about that a little bit, and then thinking of our passage of middle passage, of how we got here through water and how many. You know, there's a. There's a saying which I. My brain can't even think of right now. It's like, for the. For those that I can't remember. But I was just thinking about the. How many people jumped over the boat, you know, or didn't make it or got thrown out, the lives, the bodies in that water. And then thinking about how all water is recycled, you know, and how much of us is made out of water, what percentage. And all of those things. I just started eating that up. And it became something I was thinking about as I was making the work and even thinking about how important the language of water could be and empowering of a vision of us having agency in water. And it seems in some ways simple, but it became something many people hadn't seen before.
B
And, you know, your first major solo show is at Miami's Pam Away with the Tides. Congratulations on that, by the way. It's up now until February. Thank you. Tell me about, you know, what's in the show? Like what, what is it like when you walk in? What am I gonna see?
A
Well, when you first walk in, you'll see a lovely man that is almost saluting to this map of Overtown. So I did a show about in honor, almost like a love letter to Overtown, a black community in Miami. I was asked to do a site specific show thinking about Miami and the residents there. And I started thinking, especially in the political time, what was happening in Miami. And I'm living in California, I'm an outsider. But what I did see in the news was how AP Black history wasn't going to be taught or recognized. And I started thinking how, what do black people feel like that live in Miami in a place where their history isn't allowed to be taught? And I kept thinking about that. I kept seeing articles about, you know, some banning of books and things like that, but I never heard the constituents there saying how they felt living in a place like that. You know, I didn't hear their voices. I never saw those articles. And I kept thinking about them. And so when I was asked to do the show and it was really on my mind, I said, where is a historic black neighborhood in Miami? Because I haven't heard of it. I do know about the Strip. I've visited Miami several times, been to the Strip. I do know of the migration of Cubans and Haitians in Miami, but there it was in the South. So where are the black Southerners that possibly did some plantation work? Like, where are they? Because I don't know what they're like, what is that history? And so I learned about the Southern black people that got the railroad to come down from the north to the south, who built Miami, who were the largest, one of the largest communities and was there from the beginning of Miami itself and how it became or was known at one time as the second Harlem of the South. And it was a thriving community with 300 businesses and everyone would stay there with hotels and restaurants and. And then I was like, you know, learning about this, seeing. And then I was like, where would happen. And then learning about the federal aid highway act that Eisenhower put into place all over the country, that was racist. You know, they, they targeted black, brown and any kind of community of color that they said wasn't doing well, but it could have been thriving and put highways right in the middle of them and destroyed them, displaced these commun. And that's why I laughed so much when I would. I would hear Desantis say when he was making fun of or he said something about Biden when he was doing these highways and he said, highways can't be racist. You know, I heard him say that and I was like, yes, there. Yes they can be. The federal aid act was put in place to destroy these communities and an overtown was destroyed by it. And I wanted to bring that community to light. I wanted you to see overtown. And so I thought of this neighborhood that was broken, fragmented, and the highway itself looks like a cross. So I thought of this crossing. So in the images you're going to see parts of bodies that are somewhat broken, I guess you could say you'll see crosses. You know, there's this woman, there's a painting that's a way of the tide and a woman's legs are just like crossed over, but it was like the shape of the highway. And inside where her, her legs are crossed and then inside where she's underwater, there's this broken fragments that, you know, there's bodies. But I put a geographical location of like, like the layout, the. The area of overtown right where the heart would be. Now all of that you may not readily see. But then there's this white. Wipe away this white area, this erasure that I'm trying to also talk about as well of this community. Then I put some faces and very hyper realistic figures because I thought it was also important to show them whole. Because when I went to the community and I went there, they love their community and they. I saw a community. Even though people may not think there's a community there, I saw it. I remember picking up this woman, Ms. Rolle, who I painted with these hands. There's these two panel painting where there's these hands in the water, rising up on her legs. When I picked her up, I remember taking her. I was going to take her to the beach. She had. She's in part of the video work that I also did that's in the show. I did a video for the first time working with this documentarian film director, Laura Brownson. So together we created this beautiful three channel video work that we call we're gonna swim and. But Ms. Roll is in there and you can see her and she's talking. But in the gallery itself, I have this two panel diptych with her hands. But when I went to pick her up, there were all these men sitting outside of her building. And they were, you know, I pull up and these men are sitting outside. She's coming down. And when I got out of the car, they were like, you know, what are you doing here? You know, I didn't look like I belong, I guess, and I've never seen me before. What are you doing here? And I was like, I'm here to pick up Ms. Roll. And Ms. Rolle came out and they were like, what are you doing, Ms. Rolle? So at first I'm like, I'm sorry, I'm just picking up Ms. Rolle, you know. And Ms. Rolle was like, it's okay, whatever his name was, I'm going with her. I'm safe. And then they were like, well, what are you going to do with her? I said, I'm going. I'm going to take her to the. To the beach. You're taking her to the beach? It may be too cold for her to go to the beach. I said, it's going to be okay. Be fine. They were like, well, what are you going to feed her? Listen, we're gonna have food. Are you gonna have water? She needs to drink water. And they became. I was like, this is her. These men sitting out on these chairs. Someone may think other imagery of these black men sitting outside on, you know, outside of a building. I don't know what people's conceived notions could be of what they're doing, but I saw this genuine concern of this older woman in her 70s, and he was like, well, she needs to drink water and don't give her any soda. And I was like, okay. I was like, are you related to her? No, but we're watching on Ms. Rolwin. Do you need me to go with you? You sure you want to go with her? And I was like, she's safe. And I had to bring her back, bring her back to her people. But that community and that love that's probably not depicted in the news or outside of that community of understanding how well and how much they take care of each other. You know, there is a community. It may not look like a community, like someone thinks in a white picket fence and all, you know, all that. It may look pretty impoverished, which it does because they lost their jobs and that was taken from them and their businesses were taken from it wasn't because they didn't want it, you know, and so just looking at it in that lens and me being able to show the people, the figures and begin a conversation about a community that's often overlooked.
B
And, you know, this era of your work has been, you know, for the past, I think it's about five years now, has been so fruitful and clearly has a lot, a long ways to go. As soon as you can keep doing it. Do you ever think this era will be kind of like your, Your, Your water period, or whatever you want to call, like a blue period, like Picasso's blue period, and like you're going to move on to, to do something else? Like, how do you think about that now?
A
I'm sure I will. I'm sure there will be a moment where it's over, but it's not. Right now, I can foresee three more shows. I already know what they look like. The problem is my body. That's just me painting them. And they take a long time. But if I had a factory and I could make 10 of me, I have three shows done. They're not exactly done, but I know what I'd want to paint in each one, you know, I know them. And that's gonna take three years right there, you know, like just right there, you know, So I have some years. And don't let me do some more photo shoots. Don't let me do some more, which I will do. So it's, it's. And I haven't even gotten into, like a beautiful sunset with orange. I haven't even gotten to a river where you can see the rocks through and the browns. I haven't even gotten to places where I want to go. I'm still working for, from shoots I have that I haven't gotten to yet. And so those will come too. So I have some years. But then when I'm done, I'll know I'll be done and I'll push it. I'll move somewhere else.
B
And the actor Steve Martin curated a show based around his film LA Story, which included one of your pieces. I'm just curious. How did that happen?
A
It was very great. I got asked by Mike Davis, the director at Hauser, if I want to be concluded included. He said he really wanted one of my pieces in it because he felt like it connected to la, the pool itself. And he knew he had a Hockney there in that pool, and it would be a conversation itself. How you do these Cali pools? Because I am doing in California, this blue sun. I need the sun to make my paintings, and I need these pools. And so it became, you know, he thought it would be very important to have that in the conversation. And so I said, yeah, I actually have a great in my inventory of photography. I mean, one day I'll maybe show my photography somewhere because I take a lot of photos. And I had that. I had this image of my stepson. That's him, my oldest, who was like, yeah, you doing all the girls? Why am I ever. Never painted right? And I was like, I got you, baby. I got you now, you know? Now I got all the kids, you know? And I had this image of him and he had these tattoos and la. His love for LA is on his body. And I was like, okay, this would grow great, you know, in a show about LA where he has LA on his chest. And so I pulled that out and it was perfect.
B
And if I had to ask you to describe your work in three words, what would those words be?
A
I'd say figurative, ethereal and dynamic.
B
Thank you to my guest, Khalida Rawls, as well as to everyone at Lehman Maupin Gallery for making this episode happen. The editor of the Grand Tourist is Stan Hall. To keep this going, don't forget to visit our website and sign up for our newsletter, thegrand tourist curator@thegrandtourist.net and follow me on Instagram danrubenstein. And don't forget to follow the Grand Tourist on Apple podcasts, Spotify or wherever you like to listen. And leave us a rating or comment. Every little bit helps. Till next time.
Podcast Summary: The Grand Tourist with Dan Rubinstein – Episode Featuring Khalida Rawls
Episode Title: Calida Rawles: “Once You Put a Black Figure in Water, There’s Context”
Release Date: February 26, 2025
Host: Dan Rubinstein
Guest: Khalida Rawls, Renowned Artist
Dan Rubinstein introduces Khalida Rawls as a gifted artist whose large-scale photorealistic paintings feature black individuals both submerged in and interacting with bodies of water. Her work has garnered significant acclaim for its beauty and profound resonance, culminating in her first major solo exhibition, Away with the Tides, at the Perez Art Museum in Miami. Currently represented by Lehmann Maupin Gallery in New York, Rawls' art explores themes of healing, historical trauma, and racial exclusion through the elemental symbolism of water.
Dan Rubinstein [00:22]: "Khalida Rawls envisions water as a space for black healing and reimagines the African American community beyond the stories we already know as part of the United States collective history."
Khalida Rawls shares insights into her upbringing, describing her home life as quiet despite having an older brother. Her mother, a photographer with artistic inclinations, provided Khalida with ample art supplies, fostering her early passion for drawing. Rawls reminisces about her childhood drawings, particularly of cartoons like Garfield, which she would sell at school, highlighting her innate ability to mimic and capture the essence of her subjects.
Khalida Rawls [03:03]: "The first, like, the word that pops in my head when you ask me that is quiet."
Rawls attended Spelman College in Atlanta, drawn to its vibrant community of high-achieving black women. Initially undecided between psychology, history, and English, she ultimately majored in painting, driven by a desire to push her creative boundaries. Her experience at NYU for her master's degree was fraught with challenges, including dismissive professors who questioned her focus on painting black figures and even doubted her ability to sustain a career as a black woman artist.
Khalida Rawls [14:14]: "Once you put a black figure in water, there's context."
These experiences led to a period of self-doubt and exploration outside the traditional art world, including teaching art classes and dabbling in graphic design and children's literature.
Rawls' signature hyperrealistic style blends photorealism with poetic abstraction. She meticulously photographs her subjects before translating these images onto large canvases, often depicting them in water. Her process is deeply immersive, involving extensive photo shoots where she collaborates closely with her subjects and family members to achieve the desired visual effect.
Khalida Rawls [25:39]: "If I have a factory and I could make 10 of me, I have three shows done."
Her works vary significantly in scale, ranging from intimate 12 by 9-inch pieces to expansive 12 by 9-foot canvases. The interplay between meticulous detail and abstract elements, especially in water, allows her paintings to convey both clarity and mystery.
A central theme in Rawls' work is the symbolic use of water to explore the black experience in America. She delves into historical contexts, such as segregation-era swimming restrictions, to highlight ongoing cultural impacts. Water serves as a metaphor for both healing and historical trauma, reflecting Rawls' desire to reclaim leisure and freedom for the black community.
Khalida Rawls [31:43]: "Once you put a black figure in water, there's context."
She connects these themes to broader historical narratives, including the Middle Passage and the enduring legacy of racial exclusion, aiming to empower through visual storytelling.
Rawls' exhibition at the Perez Art Museum, Away with the Tides, is a homage to Overtown, a historic black neighborhood in Miami. The show features her characteristic submerged figures and explores the community's rich history and subsequent disruption by racist urban planning, such as the construction of highways that displaced local businesses and residents.
Khalida Rawls [36:59]: "I wanted to bring that community to light. I wanted you to see Overtown."
The gallery experience includes large-scale paintings and a three-channel video work in collaboration with documentarian Laura Brownson, providing a multi-dimensional narrative of Overtown's legacy and resilience.
Looking ahead, Rawls anticipates continuing her current thematic exploration for a few more years, envisioning additional shows that expand on her water motif. She expresses a desire to diversify her subjects, including natural landscapes like sunsets and rivers, indicating a broadening of her artistic repertoire.
Khalida Rawls [45:27]: "I have some years. But then when I'm done, I'll know I'll be done and I'll push it. I'll move somewhere else."
Rawls also highlights the physical demands of her work, acknowledging that her unique approach requires significant time and effort, metaphorically wishing she could multiply herself to expedite her creative process.
Rawls' work has gained notable recognition, including a piece curated by actor Steve Martin for his show based on the film LA Story. This inclusion underscores her relevance and the impactful dialogue her art fosters within contemporary cultural conversations.
Khalida Rawls [46:43]: "He knew he had a Hockney there in that pool, and it would be a conversation itself. How you do these Cali pools?"
When asked to encapsulate her work in three words, Rawls describes her art as figurative, ethereal, and dynamic, emphasizing the tangible yet surreal quality of her paintings. Her philosophy centers on using art to challenge stereotypes, provoke thought, and celebrate black identity and community through the versatile symbol of water.
Khalida Rawls [48:16]: "I'd say figurative, ethereal, and dynamic."
Dan Rubinstein concludes the episode by acknowledging Khalida Rawls' significant contributions to the art world and the cultural conversations surrounding race and history. He encourages listeners to explore her work further and engage with The Grand Tourist through various platforms.
Notable Quotes:
Key Takeaways:
Artistic Resilience: Rawls' journey underscores the challenges faced by black women in the art world, particularly within academic institutions, and highlights the perseverance required to carve out a meaningful and recognized career.
Symbolism of Water: Her art uses water as a multifaceted symbol representing healing, historical trauma, and the reclamation of space and leisure for the black community.
Cultural Preservation: Through her solo shows, Rawls seeks to preserve and illuminate overlooked black communities, fostering a deeper understanding of their histories and present-day realities.
Community and Collaboration: Rawls emphasizes the importance of community support and collaboration, both in her artistic process and in the subjects she portrays, reflecting a broader narrative of unity and resilience.
For those inspired by Khalida Rawls' story and artistic vision, The Grand Tourist offers a compelling glimpse into the intersections of art, culture, and personal triumph. To learn more, visit The Grand Tourist's website, follow Dan Rubinstein on Instagram @danrubenstein, and tune into the podcast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or your preferred platform.