Tucked away in a tiny corner of downtown Nashville, not far from the honkytonks and tourist traps, sits a small nondescript brick building that serves up asylum and fine art. The Lost Boys Center and Gallery was created by the Lost Boys Foundation of Nashville to serve the city’s Sudanese refugees as a center for financial, educational, and social support. When the Southern Sudanese Independence Referendum was held, it served as a polling place for Sudanese immigrants from all over the southern United States. During November, the center fulfilled it’s other role, as Nashville’s premiere center for African art.
The gallery’s most recent show, Africa to America: Unity in Art, sought to build a a bridge between the Lost Boys Foundation and Nashville’s African-American artists. A loose theme to be sure, but in a city whose economy is dominated by one very particular segment of popular culture, the need for broad appeal can’t be overstated. Even still, the split between the gallery’s permanent collection of Lost Boy art and its newer showcases belied the sense of solidarity implied by the event’s signature piece Unity in Art (bel0w) — created by event coordinator Benneth “Bennie” Wilson.
To Wilson’s credit, he recognizes that the need for structural support is paramount for both communities at this stage. When asked why he thought this venue would be ideal for local African-American artists, he was refreshingly candid, “I’ve had the idea for the exhibition for some time and I wanted the black artist community to have an event that would show Nashville that we were doing positive things. I had seen the Lost Boys Gallery a few times just driving by and decided to stop by and see some of the art…They had a need for funding and we could help out by using our art.”
There’s a distinction between the permanent fixtures of the gallery and the new works on display. The work of the Lost Boys leans towards sculpture: Dinka cow statuettes, masks, and stately spirit crows. The masks appear weathered, almost hewn by the elements themselves. Like their creators, they are a visage of resilience.
Among the works of the permanent collection, the paintings of James Makuac stand out. Awash with arresting pastel colors, Makuac’s work reflect sweeping pastoral scenes.There is a softness to his work that makes every painting instantly endearing. This makes images of traditional wrestling or brightly clothed women feel alive and familiar, but it wreaks psychological havoc in some of his darker work such as Long Journey to Safety and Escape to Peace. In the latter a beautiful vista of golden-yellow grass is populated by children clad in brilliant colors running against a backdrop of aquamarine mountains. This beauty is undercut by the violent swoops of fighter jets. James Makuac’s paintings are powerful because they transcend overt sentiment and abject horror. He has frozen the moments just before a fond memory turns dark.
Alongside the gripping works of the Lost Boys are those of Nashville’s premiere African-American artists. The pieces range from the curious to the grand (see slideshow of exhibit below). Sculptures of scattered eyes stare across the room at ceiling-high charcoal portraits,while a sharecropper stands worn, but determined before a retina searing background of green and pink. Michael Mucker’s The Foundation (bel0w) simmers with cultural diffusion, and exemplifies the hip-hop imbued style that has made him one of Nashville’s most gifted artists. Connections to the story of the Lost Boys err heavily on the side of tangential, but the themes emerge when given a broad enough perspective.
Elisheba Israel’s Big Brother simultaneously reflects innocence and power, and serves as a glaring juxtaposition to the lives of the Lost Boys. The works of Abshalom Waters, which include the aforementioned sharecropper painting, titled Sheeeit, I’m Goin Norf and…, show that America is not so far removed from its own atrocities. In Child Labor, which belongs to same series, the background has been swapped out for blue and tangerine, and the portrait of the sharecropper is replaced with a small child that conjours up Émile Bayard’s Cosette. A striking enough image on its own, but it’s also a testament to the idea that the space is every bit as important as the paintings themselves. It’s no coincidence this is the first painting to greet entrants into the Lost Boys Center.
Unity in Art is absorbing in every sense of the word. The works on display put the purpose of art into clear perspective. It’s at its very base therapeutic, and there can be no group more deserving of the transcendent freedom that art can bring to the human soul than the Lost Boys of Sudan. As Abshalom put it, “The beautiful thing about art is it brings things to life, makes you think beyond your immediate reality.”
- Story by OKA contributor Aaron Rodriguez
Sudanese Lost Boys In Tennessee
Tucked away in a tiny corner of downtown Nashville, not far from the honkytonks and tourist traps, sits a small nondescript brick building that serves up asylum and fine art. The Lost Boys Center and Gallery was created by the Lost Boys Foundation of Nashville to serve the city’s Sudanese refugees as a center for financial, educational, and social support. When the Southern Sudanese Independence Referendum was held, it served as a polling place for Sudanese immigrants from all over the southern United States. During November, the center fulfilled it’s other role, as Nashville’s premiere center for African art.
The gallery’s most recent show, Africa to America: Unity in Art, sought to build a a bridge between the Lost Boys Foundation and Nashville’s African-American artists. A loose theme to be sure, but in a city whose economy is dominated by one very particular segment of popular culture, the need for broad appeal can’t be overstated. Even still, the split between the gallery’s permanent collection of Lost Boy art and its newer showcases belied the sense of solidarity implied by the event’s signature piece Unity in Art (bel0w) — created by event coordinator Benneth “Bennie” Wilson.
To Wilson’s credit, he recognizes that the need for structural support is paramount for both communities at this stage. When asked why he thought this venue would be ideal for local African-American artists, he was refreshingly candid, “I’ve had the idea for the exhibition for some time and I wanted the black artist community to have an event that would show Nashville that we were doing positive things. I had seen the Lost Boys Gallery a few times just driving by and decided to stop by and see some of the art…They had a need for funding and we could help out by using our art.”
There’s a distinction between the permanent fixtures of the gallery and the new works on display. The work of the Lost Boys leans towards sculpture: Dinka cow statuettes, masks, and stately spirit crows. The masks appear weathered, almost hewn by the elements themselves. Like their creators, they are a visage of resilience.
Among the works of the permanent collection, the paintings of James Makuac stand out. Awash with arresting pastel colors, Makuac’s work reflect sweeping pastoral scenes.There is a softness to his work that makes every painting instantly endearing. This makes images of traditional wrestling or brightly clothed women feel alive and familiar, but it wreaks psychological havoc in some of his darker work such as Long Journey to Safety and Escape to Peace. In the latter a beautiful vista of golden-yellow grass is populated by children clad in brilliant colors running against a backdrop of aquamarine mountains. This beauty is undercut by the violent swoops of fighter jets. James Makuac’s paintings are powerful because they transcend overt sentiment and abject horror. He has frozen the moments just before a fond memory turns dark.
Alongside the gripping works of the Lost Boys are those of Nashville’s premiere African-American artists. The pieces range from the curious to the grand (see slideshow of exhibit below). Sculptures of scattered eyes stare across the room at ceiling-high charcoal portraits,while a sharecropper stands worn, but determined before a retina searing background of green and pink. Michael Mucker’s The Foundation (bel0w) simmers with cultural diffusion, and exemplifies the hip-hop imbued style that has made him one of Nashville’s most gifted artists. Connections to the story of the Lost Boys err heavily on the side of tangential, but the themes emerge when given a broad enough perspective.
Elisheba Israel’s Big Brother simultaneously reflects innocence and power, and serves as a glaring juxtaposition to the lives of the Lost Boys. The works of Abshalom Waters, which include the aforementioned sharecropper painting, titled Sheeeit, I’m Goin Norf and…, show that America is not so far removed from its own atrocities. In Child Labor, which belongs to same series, the background has been swapped out for blue and tangerine, and the portrait of the sharecropper is replaced with a small child that conjours up Émile Bayard’s Cosette. A striking enough image on its own, but it’s also a testament to the idea that the space is every bit as important as the paintings themselves. It’s no coincidence this is the first painting to greet entrants into the Lost Boys Center.
Unity in Art is absorbing in every sense of the word. The works on display put the purpose of art into clear perspective. It’s at its very base therapeutic, and there can be no group more deserving of the transcendent freedom that art can bring to the human soul than the Lost Boys of Sudan. As Abshalom put it, “The beautiful thing about art is it brings things to life, makes you think beyond your immediate reality.”
- Story by OKA contributor Aaron Rodriguez