Infinite from Root to Tip, 2020. All images courtesy of the artist, Calida Rawles.
los angeles-based artist Calida Rawles on painting Black bodies in water and the impact of her work
words Chinasa Chukwu
Well aware of the historically negative connotations of water as a site of exclusion for Black people, Calida Rawles’ photorealistic paintings of Black men, women and children in water address difficult issues of contemporary Black life. Employing the water as her protagonist, sometimes with the bodies partly visible and at others fully submerged in the ripples and waves, Rawles tells stories of the complexities of Black trauma, exploring themes of race, gender and history.
In the wake of the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd amongst others and the subsequent revival of the Black Lives Matter movement, Black men and women have found themselves at the forefront of anti-racist work. Work which, though necessary, has left many exhausted, particularly being carried out in a world experiencing a state of suspended animation and therefore constant low-grade anxiety due to COVID-19. It is in this world that Rawles’ work transforms and a new meaning emerges. In this world, her paintings, especially the more playful, relaxed The Space In Which We Travel and Yesterday Called And Said We Are Together take on an alternative narrative, one where water, rather than being a vehicle for more trauma—as it is usually deemed for Black people—is reimagined as a site of relief and release for the Black body. For Rawles, water is the visual language of uninterrupted silence.
In our interview, we discuss her journey to painting, process as therapy and the impact of her work.
Yesterday Called and Said We Are Together, 2019
Chinasa: How did you become a painter?
Calida: I’ve painted most of my life. As a young child, my mother provided art supplies for my brother and me to fill our free time. I started out drawing, then moved to pastels. Once I started painting in high school, I knew it was for me.
What was the match point that led you to leave graphic design behind and focus completely on your paintings?
I came to the point where I acknowledged that graphic design was not my calling. I did it to pay bills. Not for the love of it. When I had my last child I felt like I was at a crossroads. Am I going to fully commit to being a fine artist? Or not? For some reason deciding that my daughter Siena would be my last child put a sort of time stamp on my life. Maybe I was feeling old or something, but I decided to take the leap and put any energy I had free from tending to my family towards painting. Luckily, I had their support to do it.
What inspired you to create the A Dream for My Lilith series?
A Dream for My Lilith came from a couple of sources of inspiration. I became captivated by the biblical story of Lilith. Lilith was deemed the first wife of Adam who left the Garden of Eden because she wanted equality. The fact that she was chastised for that was fascinating to me. I thought of how often Black women are stereotyped as being difficult (like Lilith) as they fight for equal rights and respect. So I repurposed the story.
After I learned about her I shared it with my cousin, Chana. We began to joke about starting a secret society of womanists and greeting our members with the phrase “My Lilith”. We even starting greeting each other on the phone that way. About three months after we began this ritual, she died from ovarian cancer. She was truly “My Lilith”. It was a dedication to her, to Chana Olisa Garcia.
How did you decide on the names for the series? Do the names have any personal significance for you?
Some of my titles come from lines from books or songs. For example, the title The Space In Which We Travel is from a line from the song ‘Square One’ by Coldplay. The title Yesterday Called and Said We Are Together is a line from Claudia Rankine’s ‘Citizen: An American Lyric’.
The Space in Which We Travel, 2019
What drew you to painting water in particular? I’ve read that you see it as a spiritual and healing element, can you explain this feeling a little more?
Swimming began as a quest to exercise more, but I also found it to be very therapeutic. I felt better in it. I breathed deeply. There was extended, uninterrupted silence (besides the sound of moving water). As I started swimming regularly I began thinking of ways to bring it into my art practice and make it a visual language.
Can you explain the process of creating a painting a little bit? I know you start with photographs and then expand through your imagination but how does it work? For example, do you plan the shots in the water with the models or just get them in there and let them move and see what happens? And how do you blend the reality of the photographs with your imagination? Are there any elements that have to stay fixed?
I go into the photoshoot with an idea in mind. After I achieve that shot, I let the model move freely and let more shots happen organically. I usually have around 400 shots by the end of a photoshoot. I chose areas I like from the photos and kind of quilt them together until I have a painting that conveys the feeling I want to convey.
Have your paintings taken on any more importance to you in the cultural moment we are experiencing?
I am excited to be a part of the conversations during this time. I think other people may find my work more important now, but they will always have the same relevance to me. I am just happy people can find solace in them…especially during these uncertain times.
You have noted that your paintings are political because they take on questions of exclusion and fears as they relate to black people and water, but did you also see them as addressing the politics of rest and black labour?
No, but I love how my work can be interpreted in different ways by different people. Water means so many things to so many cultures. This with the black body, which is arguably political in itself, gives multiple points of entry for people.
Wade, Ride This Wave of Mine, 2020
Where do you personally seek comfort beyond the self? Is it in your paintings or something removed?
I find comfort while painting, in the water, between the pages of a good book, snuggled in my husband’s arms and at home with my kids.
How much therapy is involved in your work?
Painting water feels therapeutic to me. If I’m working on a problem or feeling a certain way before I get in the water I always feel emotionally lighter when I get out. My work often address difficult issues such as police violence or loss. I use water to make the subject easier to approach.
What experience do you hope a viewer has when they come in contact with your work?
I hope they find comfort in it. I hope they see our humanity and magic in it. And maybe, just maybe the work can remind others that in times like this (turbulent waters) we should take a moment and breathe.
