Gail O’Neill:  Was there a defining moment that triggered your interest in history and desire to understand how the past informs the present?

 

Masud Olufani:  I think, as young person growing up in the New York, New Jersey area, I developed an interest very early on in how history informs our present.  A very powerful moment for me was the television premiere of the original Roots miniseries in 1977. Watching the historical narrative of writer Alex Haley’s family reinforced the importance of the ancestral line and how that reality informs who we are. When I began reading in earnest, during frequent train rides in and around New York City, I was naturally drawn to historical non-fiction. There was something deeply gratifying about mining the past to acquire context for the present. In regards to the African American experience specifically, there is always the haunting reality of erasure at the heart of slavery system that actively sought to divest the enslaved of memory. The reclaiming of that connection to a fragmented history takes on a deeper resonance. It is a process of psychological, spiritual, and cultural restoration.

 

GO:  Who was John Jones? You have a photo of him on your studio wall. Do you consider him a muse?

 

MO:  John Jones is my maternal great-great grandfather. He was an enslaved person who picked Sea Island cotton in South Carolina. He is a touchstone of inspiration for me because of his direct connection to the slavery system. In spite of the dehumanization and objectification that was such a fundamental dimension of his imposed reality, he lived to be one hundred and ten years old. I keep his picture on my studio wall to remind me what perseverance in the face of extreme brutality looks like.

 

GO:  Following the killing of George Floyd, there was a resurgence of racial/social/political consciousness, the depth of which America has not experienced in 50 years. Based on your exploration of memory and meaning as an artist, are you optimistic about the sustainability of this movement? Or is collective amnesia a default setting for human beings?

 

MO:  I maintain an abiding belief in the inevitable maturity of a society struggling through the long night of its collective adolescence. In the wake of the brutal killings of George Floyd, Ahmed Arbery, Sandra Bland and others, I have seen a sustained outrage from a diverse cohort of citizens determined to come to terms with enduring legacy of institutionalized racism. Imbedded within the various iterations of civil disobedience is an echoing demand to transform our society in fundamental ways that acknowledge our interconnectedness and our interdependence. Something has shifted in our collective consciousness. We seem to have passed a Rubicon, beyond which there is no going back to "business as usual.” Ultimately, humanity is designed for oneness. The physiology of the body with its assortment of cells and organs, works collectively to sustain this extraordinary living "machine.” The corpus of humanity is comprised of billions of individuals who may be likened to the cells and organs of a body. Those constituent components must progressively learn to function in harmony to preserve the integrity of the whole. It is the next logical and inevitable stage in our collective maturity. An essential component of this work, and a sign of growth, is our ability to confront reality and face the complexity of the nation’s history. All sustainable work that seeks enduring, redemptive transformation must divest itself of the poison of deception and obfuscation, and embrace the cleansing power of truth. This is courageous and demanding work; the work of a humanity realizing its noble destiny.

 

GO:  The depiction of disembodied arms, hands and feet is a recurring motif in your public art installations, sculpture and works on paper. What do they represent to you?

 

MO:  I’m interested in the fragmentation of memory and of history.  How our past, and our present, particularly as it pertains to African Americans, is always only partially seen by the larger society. The disembodied body parts that reoccur in my work represent this fragmented reality for me. They are the physical marker of an identity partially eclipsed by the enduring racialized caste system.