Alicia Brown, I am so happy to conduct this interview with you since I have so long admired your work. Let’s start with something seemingly self-evident: That the painted figure is always your main point of entry. What about it do you find so engaging?

That means a lot. I am likewise honoured to be interviewed by you, Jacqueline.

The figure has always interested me, maybe because I grew up looking at this form of art in magazines and later in art books. I was drawn to the skilful emulation of reality by someone who was able to create three-dimensional objects on a flat surface that ended up looking so real. I loved how through realistic representation I was able to get a glimpse of a world outside of the one I existed in. As a child I would copy the cartoons from the newspaper to get an exact likeness of the characters. I am intrigued by the complexity of human physiognomy — the flesh, bones, personality. There is something about the figure that allows contact with my vulnerability and allows for a connection with my soul, and I am elated when I can capture the feeling of being alive. I am fascinated by the representation and the role of the figure throughout art history. The figure is imbued with feelings shared by living beings, the figure is central in my works, not just as representation but to interact and connect with the model and the viewer. In a sense, what I am doing in my work is providing the viewer with the ability to engage temporarily in someone else’s intimate world.

I remember not so long ago when I was in art school we were constantly told that not only was painting dead but representational painting, the likes of what you do, had nothing more to say. As evidenced by what you choose to focus on, why do you insist that there is still a place for representational painting in visual art?

I think representational art is very much alive! I am aware of the many views surrounding its ongoing birth and death but there is renewed interest in this form of art. I have experimented in different art forms and admire the works of artists who make abstract work, but I always go back to my first love of representation. I think there is still a place for this form because it is fascinating to see a recognisable image which has the power to tell a story and to make connections to the viewer regardless of race, sex or culture.

Why is specifically Renaissance and Dutch 16th-17th century portraiture so important to you as an artist?

I remember as a child looking through a magazine and seeing a drawing by Michelangelo and thinking that I would love to be able to do that. Learning later on in art school about the Renaissance period I was fascinated; I could not believe that the paintings I was seeing were done by people and I wanted to be able to paint in that way. This period in art brought a resurgence of realism and presented people in their true form. The people depicted in the works of this period were from high social class and they were able to afford to pay to get their portraits done. I consider this when I am making my work, where I am deliberately making portraits of ordinary people who would not be considered worthy enough at the time to have their portraits done. Similarly, I am drawn to Dutch paintings of this period where artists represented everyday life in great detail. The common man was beautifully painted in environments that allow us to get a glimpse and see what the culture of that time was like. One of the most symbolic features of Dutch fashion was lace and ruff collars that were worn by the wealthy. In my work I utilise ruff collars that were famous in Dutch paintings, as well as European interiors that the figures are placed in. I utilise elements from these periods such as classical painting technique, formal elements of composition and the use of the figure as the focus to highlight the interrelationship between the past and the present in the collective identity within the Caribbean today.

You have stated your work is about “mimicry”. Can you explain what specifically you mean by this term and how it applies to what you do? You also say that your work engages the construction of postcolonial identities. What would you say to the idea that your work is an homage to colonialism?

I think of mimicry as the act of imitating the appearance or behaviour of someone or something in the environment causing adaptation. More specifically, as a colonial dialogue mimicry is a tool performed by the colonised subject in adapting mannerisms, dress, language, trends, and other features of the coloniser in the process of constructing identity. In my practice as an artist, I utilise the tool of mimicry in the approach to, or process of, making my paintings blend Jamaican/Caribbean traditions with European artistic techniques and pictorial representation. With our history of forced migration of people during slavery in the Caribbean, mimicry/ copying/ camouflage was a necessary device and still is at present a necessary device for adapting and surviving various colonial experiences. Mimicry in my work is not limited to humans but includes insects, plants and animals that develop various strategies as defence, to blend in, deter, attract, entertain, ridicule, lure and entice as a means of surviving. In my most recent works, the figure is contrasted with insects, animals, and plants to create a rich narrative which speaks to forced migration and the importance of using the ploy of simulation and mimicry to survive in the new world.

I don’t intend for or believe my works to be an homage to colonialism but I can understand why the idea could arise. Similar to the colonised acting through colonial mimicry by adopting European trends, the approach of representation in my work does not completely belong to any of the nations that have employed and used the technique but rather the technique floats as a distinct form of art. What is true is that portraiture is not a visual context in which we are used to seeing the black figure represented. Consequently, portraiture of black subjects stimulates dialogue and can make the viewer uncomfortable. This to me is a very postcolonial positioning.

Why are objects such as “sweets, collars, hair, pearls, spoon and cane” used continually in your paintings?

These objects are used in my paintings to create a theatrical setting, to add flavour to the narrative, to attract the viewer and to create play and a place of rest for the eyes away from the figure. I presume objects are easier to look at and to connect with, hence, in some of the paintings candy is integrated to entice and to lure especially younger viewers as well as being used metaphorically to represent countries associated with sugar and colonialism. Pearls, lace and ruff collars are universal objects representative of high class; they are used in the works to serve as symbols of oppression and dependency on western power structures of the past and present such as Europe, America, and China. I think so much can be said through these objects as supporting elements of the paintings. I believe these objects create a rich tableau that draws the viewer in, allowing them to ask questions, for example, of why do we place so much value on inanimate objects? What do they mean for us and why do we put them above other forms?

The people in your paintings are at once familiar as Jamaican “types” who are often placed in politically charged landscapes. Firstly, can you tell us how you find your models? What do the models make of themselves in your paintings? Also, why do you seem especially intent on painting young girls and women, and why is so much attention given to the area of the neck in your portraits which are always elaborately adorned?

The first paintings I made were of women I met on the streets of downtown Kingston in the street salons; some were hairdressers, vendors or just onlookers. What drew my attention to these women was how they commanded attention by the way they were dressed with an attitude of pride and power. They were adorned in pearl jewellery, bright coloured wigs, and clothing that appears to be expensive, but they were sitting on buckets on the streets. I found all of these juxtapositions compelling and fascinating.

Indeed, the individuals I choose to paint are people I feel a strong connection to who compel me to want to know more about them and who, I think, would fit a certain idea I have for a piece. The models in my paintings for the most part always express a certain pride at being painted, some of them express that I make them look beautiful, or that they look like royalty. I can only recall one instance where a model was not happy with the way she was depicted in a painting I made of her, but it was okay to get that reaction, and she was honest. In addition to the people I meet on the street, my models are drawn from family members, friends, or people in my neighbourhood, and I go for a certain body type and face.

I guess I focus on painting young women because they have a certain awkwardness and obsession with their appearance and I think they are more accepting of western trends, specifically mass culture. I am from a large family of sisters and I think growing up in a household of women, I somehow react to females more strongly and feel obliged to make paintings that represent them as resilient, defiant, survivors, keepers of culture, but at times people who are also very vulnerable.

In addition, and as I noted earlier, some of my favourite paintings are 16th- and 17th-century European portraits depicting royalty adorned with white ruff lace collars around the necks framing the faces. In most of those painting compositions, the figure is against a dark background, which creates a strong contrast with the model and the collar. This allows the white lace collar to be the focus. At first glance when you look at these paintings it seems as if the figure is being beheaded, and even though the collars look beautiful and delicate I always wonder how uncomfortable and restricting this object of adornment must have been to the wearer. Borrowing the idea of the ruff collar from the Elizabethan period of European history as well as from the tradition of African beaded collars that were worn as symbols of wealth, I often contrast this idea of the collar as a symbol of wealth with that of the collar as an object of forced control of enslaved Africans. I see the neck as the foundation that supports the head and the lower body and historically the neck has always been an interesting feature of the body that humans still have an obsession to adorn. Consequently, in my paintings I place focus on the figure by adorning their necks with objects that are a metaphor of desire and power but also of dependency.

Let’s step back for a moment and talk about your journey to becoming the assured visual artist that you are today. Can you tell us about your childhood, where you went to school, when you realised you were a visual artist, and also, your training?

I have fond memories of my childhood. I wish I could relive that juncture in my life! I remember playing a lot with my sisters and friends from the neighbourhood in our yard, chasing each other through the mountains. When I wasn’t playing I would go away from the house to my mother’s garden to draw from the cartoon section of the newspaper. I grew up in a small community called Alva in St Ann, where I attended Alva Primary and Infant School and later St Hilda’s Diocesan High School. I think it was while I was in high school that I had a naive view that I was an artist, and I decided to pursue this field, so after graduating from high school I applied and was accepted to attend Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts. At Edna Manley I majored in Art Education and painting. I studied with a large group of people who have impacted my journey to becoming an artist. Some of the people I studied with are the late Cecil Cooper, Prudence Lovell, Israel Delmonte, Raymond Watson, and Rozi Chung.

At the New York Academy of Art where I completed my master’s degree, the programme was structured in a way that allowed me to study with a large group of professional artists including faculty professors, adjunct professors and visiting artists who conducted workshops. Some people I studied with are Robert Armetta, John Horn, Ted Schmidt, Steven Assael, Margaret Bowland, Catherine Howe, Vincent Desiderio, Dik Liu, and Edgar Jerins.

You recently had a solo show in Washington, USA. What was the impetus for that show and how did it go?

I was in the process of making a new body of work which I wanted to show in a space outside of Jamaica when Tracey Cilona, the owner of Virago Gallery in Seattle, WA, contacted me and asked if I would be interested in showing my works in her space. She had invited me to participate in a group show in 2017 and I was pleased to know that she was still following and supporting my work. The reception to the show was more than I expected. It was my first time exhibiting work in Seattle and most of the people who came to the show were seeing my work for the first time. Many expressed how happy they were to have the opportunity to see my work. The work gained even more exposure as a result of a collaboration between Virago Gallery and WaNaWari Art Center in Seattle and so the works were on show in Seattle for a longer period, which I was very happy about.

Several artists living in Jamaica have noted that spaces to exhibit on the island are constricting and that the visual art market seems to be collapsing. What has the reception been like to your work on the island and what are your thoughts about exhibition spaces?

I think for the most part my work has been well received in Jamaica. I don’t have a long exhibiting history of my works on the island as I was teaching for years and it was a challenge to make work that I thought was worthy of showing. However, after entering work in the 2012 Jamaica Biennial and after completing graduate school in New York and returning to the island I had my first solo show at Studio 174 and was blown away by the positive feedback. The show was almost sold-out. After my solo show, I participated in other shows including the 2017 Jamaica Biennial at the National Gallery of Jamaica, where I was one of the awardees of the Dawn Scott Memorial Award.

I agree and disagree somewhat that space to show in Jamaica is constricting. Most of the galleries that were available to artists are closed and the ones that are currently in operation tend to be exclusive and are for the most part located in Kingston, so only a few get the opportunity to be recognised in the small art scene. I think there are more opportunities outside of established institutions that artists can capitalise on to get their work shown, such as pop-up galleries and artist studio spaces. I think that there is a young group of artists who are exciting, creative and very talented and need support and opportunities to have their works shown and collected. I implore Jamaicans to invest more in visual artists and to give artists a chance to help enrich and build the economy. Jamaicans should not wait until artists gain recognition outside of the country before they acknowledge them.

One of the things you have said is that the Caribbean has always been a place that attracts outsiders, a place to be conquered. What evidence can you offer in support of this assertion and how might this be demonstrated in the images and stories you engage with as a painter?

The history of the Caribbean is such that it was colonised by territories such as Britain, France, and Spain who were attracted to the region because of the richness in resources that these European countries plundered and utilised to build their empires. Outside of that history, presently the Caribbean region is one of the leading destinations for tourists and business investors worldwide. Even though the Caribbean has claimed independence we currently depend heavily on resources from outside the region, which include basic amenities such as food, clothing, medicine, and infrastructure for survival. Most of the businesses, for instance, in Jamaica are owned by foreign companies. This impacts our culture where a lot of attention is given to western trends and we tend to rely upon and adapt so much from outsiders that what it means to be an independent Jamaican nation is cloudy.

I aim to create stories and dialogues on Western power structures and the ongoing fight of the Caribbean region to maintain independence. In my works, I try to present the idea of dependency by integrating contemporary portraits of people placed in spaces that are from a specific era or culture such as America, various European countries, and China. By doing so, the use of objects associated with the regions that have conquered the Caribbean serve as markers of time and place and by juxtaposing the objects with contemporary women from the region I am seeking to highlight the ongoing influence of the conquerors on today’s Caribbean cultural identity.

Finally, there seems to be a sensual love of painting in your work — wonderful shading and blending and rich detailed use of colour. Firstly, have you engaged with any other medium outside of painting, as a visual artist? Secondly, can you give a sense of your personal relationship to paint and painting? How do you feel, for example, when you stand before a blank canvas or when you are finishing up a painting?

Wow, thank you for your keen observation! I am so happy to hear this. So, to answer the first part of the question, I have experimented with other mediums including pastels, ink, wax, and charcoal. From all these materials the only one I continue to use is charcoal. I love working with charcoal especially for large drawings. If I was not able to use paints I think I would work exclusively in charcoal. I am always blown away by how much you can get from a piece of burnt wood.

I am deeply in love with painting. I love the fact that painting is a language within itself; a brush stroke of paint can evoke so much emotion. The way the paint is applied, the way the paint looks and feels adds to the aesthetics. Oil paint as a medium is challenging to work with but its capabilities make it worth it. When I start a new painting I always experience mixed emotions; the blank canvas is the most daunting yet exciting thing. I get anxious, I cry and then I feel brave as I make my first marks on the blank canvas. Throughout the process of making a painting, I get obsessed with solving problems. I may get excited by a new colour or a new approach to rendering certain parts within the work. I love the fact that paint has expressive potential and exploring what the paint can do and allowing it to speak for itself is so satisfying. When I am finishing up a painting I always feel a sense of relief and accomplishment. I will sit for days and look at the painting, trying to absorb as much as I can from it before I start the next piece.

The Gymnast & Other Positions is Jacqueline Bishop’s most recent book, which was awarded the 2016 OCM Bocas Award in Non-Fiction. Bishop, an associate professor at New York University, is also the author of My Mother Who Is Me: Life Stories from Jamaican Women in New York and Writers Who Paint/Painters Who Write: Three Jamaican Artists. She was a 2008-2009 Fulbright Fellow to Morocco, and the 2009-2010 UNESCO/Fulbright Fellow.