Gentle poetry on screen: Isaac Julien at K21
Kunstsammlung NRW brings the first major exhibition of the film storyteller to Germany. His poetry-like films guide through the many facets of Black experiences.
Isaac Julien (Baby Boomer, British) is one of the most important filmmakers of our time. He played an important role in establishing Black film in the contemporary art and film canon. What Freedom Is To Me is Isaac's first comprehensive exhibition in Germany in cooperation with Tate Britain. Ngl, I hollered when the director announced that the exhibition architecture was designed by Adjaye Associates because if you know, YOU KNOW. The show brings together film and photography from Isaac’s decades-spanning career, amounting to around 4 1/2 hours of footage (bring some time with you, it’s worth it). Isaac chose the title based on an interview with singer, pianist, and civil rights activist Nina Simone (1933-2003): “I tell you what freedom is to me. No fear.” Isaac exposes the trauma of Black queer existence without butchering it for the sake of relevance. His storytelling full of cross-references is dignified, beautiful, and painful at once.
Ten screens of various sizes hung at differing heights evoque the feeling of a picture gallery at someone’s home. A man in 19th-century clothes is projected onto one of the screens, the others are filled with snapshots of red fall leaves and tree trunks. The lighthearted atmosphere is disturbed by the friction of a rope pulling something heavy. The sound is joined by visuals: Black and white close-up footage of legs dangling off a tree. My heart drops. Lessons of the Hour (2019) follows Frederick Douglass (1818-1895) who was born into enslavement and became the most influential Black philosopher and advocate for human rights in his time. Like most of Isaac’s films, Lessons of the Hour is neither a documentary nor fiction. It follows Frederick’s speeches in Scotland, his personal contemplations, and his wife Anna Murray Douglass (1813-1882) who was also an active abolitionist.
Photography appears as a tool for Black emancipation. Something Frederick frequently lectured about. In fact, he was the most photographed person in the US in the 19th century. While self-representation was limited to the wealthy and white for a long time, the invention of photography allowed more people to leave a trace of themselves. To prove that they, too, existed. Frederick’s inspiring speech about the power of this new tool switches places with the sharp sound of a whip lashing out. I flinch. The images are one by one slowly pushed away by cotton fields. The reality of many hasn’t caught up yet with the optimism of few. When Frederick walks by the beach, the dark algae at the shore uncannily resemble Black bodies washed ashore.
Three screens. A beautiful bright day on a Mediterranean beach. Children and families enjoy their vacation. A destination for leisure is simultaneously a graveyard: Bodies wrapped in space blankets lie in the sand. A Portuguese castle. Performers lie on the ground, wrestling with gravity, wrestling with the air pushing them in a hundred different directions like sea currents. How can they move so elegantly? The camera cuts to the performers submerged in water. The surface is turned upside down. Keeping up with the pace of the switching screens gives me a dizzy feeling. Is the floor moving, too? I first thought that Western Union: Small Boats must have been made after 2015, after Lampedusa. It’s from 2007.
When Isaac was born in 1960 in London, queer relationships were still persecuted in the UK. Looking for Langston (1989) portrays Harlem Renaissance poets Langston Hughes (1902-1967) and James Baldwin (1924-1987). The grainy texture of the black-and-white film feels comforting. Jazz tunes swirl around the vintage frames. Men dance in a bar as the protagonist lays eyes on another man, Beauty. A barely noticeable smile escapes the corner of his lips. A white man at a table gives him a piercing look: Is it judgment? But they are all dancing with each other anyway. Is it jealousy? Is it maybe a well-meant warning? "Don’t expose yourself!”? A few frames prior, a person in a graveyard wearing a drag angel costume held up images of Langston and James. The song in the background goes “Is there a life that you’ve hidden? One you felt was forbidden?” The protagonist meets Beauty again in a vast field. A dream? He wakes up next to his lover. One surreal moment follows the other. Phantasy doesn’t go side by side with reality. Or is it all reality taking place in imagination?
Isaac Julien: I Tell You What Freedom Is To Me is on view until January 14, 2024, at K21 in Düsseldorf.
Kunstsammlung NRW
K21
Ständehausstraße 1
40217 Düsseldorf
Open Tuesday until Sunday
Ticket prices vary
Website
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See you soon!
Jennifer