While certain figures smile cheerily, others wear recognizable V-neck prison jumpsuits, and some wear suits and ties in court hearings. One is wrapped in an American flag, while another rides atop an enormous eagle (ostentatious nationalism at its finest). A different subject seems to be a boy scout. The most ominous wears a Ku Klux Klan hood.
Often, these killers make headlines for a short period — their images circulated on Twitter (hence the title’s hashtag) and on the news cycle, but are ultimately forgotten. But Locke reminds us. The gallery is papered with these infamous figures; there are enough to fill each and every wall, and many more have been left out. They have formed their own lineage and tradition of contemporary lynching, indirectly birthed from not-long-ago traditions of Jim Crow and slaver brutality. At least 10 portraits on the wall depict police officers.
A few sketches depart from the portraits, one being an illustration of Emmett Till’s memorial, which sits at the site of his death, barraged by bullet holes. Another one is a sketch of a protest sign that reads “One Tragedy Two Victims,” captured from a rally in support of Peter Liang, a Chinese-American police officer indicted in the slaughter of Akai Gurley. It hangs adjacent from a portrait of Liang in court. His circumstance accompanied national headlines insisting he was scapegoated in the national narrative of police brutality as an Asian-American man — as opposed to countless white officers who have never been indicted for similar actions. Liang received five years of probation and 800 hours of community service.
Throughout the room, these killers drown in whiteness, visually and metaphorically. They are hardly differentiated from their backdrop from a distance — likely commentary on the fact that they are not outstandingly different from what is expected and perpetuated by white supremacy.
White, in most Western understandings, indicates purity. Our cultural associations with the color are communions, weddings, and heaven (all associated with Christianity, a grotesquely ironic association considering that one of the subjects, Dylann Roof, carried out his vicious massacre on Black churchgoers). These drawings seem innocent, peculiarly light, and inconsequential. From a distance, they are unproblematic and unspectacular.
The exhibition overall is unassuming — it is certainly not the most polished, with frameless drawings and photographs attached to the wall with magnetic clips. The success of Locke’s work lies in its underlying philosophies, rather than outright visual merit. His critiques are quiet, pensive renderings of Black trauma and White power. They possess a subtlety not often found — a quiet call to remember, and to heal.
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Read full review at hyperallergic.com.
