Barnes, Albert C. "Negro Art and America." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 128-33. Print.
This essay goes out of its way to homogenize the black race, and in doing so makes itself a pathetic waste of paper. The artists and great minds of the Harlem Renaissance do not, implicitly, represent black culture as a whole. They were a select few who, through riches or contacts, managed to rise above the rest in order to live whiter lives. I do not in any way see how these deviants represent all black people, but rather represent how a few people in every society get lucky once in a while. It is like George Carlin preaching about the evils of wealthy white men when he himself was one of the wealthiest white comedians in the world (as a disclaimer, Carlin is one of my all-time heroes and favorite performers): it’s a caricature, or a low-budget television reenactment, of the horrors and woes of a suppressed race.
The line that struck me the hardest was Barnes’ claim that America’s only great music was black spirituals. A very simple, honest response to this is: no, it isn’t. I do agree that spirituals, particularly blues and jazz, hold a special place in American art and are very exemplary forms of music, but they are not the only American music that is worth something. For example, several contemporaries of the Harlem Renaissance are considered the voices of America to this day: Igor Stravinsky, Aaron Copland, and Leonard Bernstein.
I’ve noticed this attitude in other essays that we’ve read for this class, and every time it comes up I have to scoff. Claiming that black culture is important doesn’t bother me, but claiming that is it the only importance America has ever had is ignorant and childish, like a young teenager convinced that their band is the “best ever period”. It isn’t. Putting things into perspective, such as referencing black culture against American culture as a whole, would make essays like this a bit less frustrating and, perhaps, a bit more meaningful.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Aaron Douglas Chats about the Harlem Renaissance
Douglas, Aaron. "Aaron Douglas Chats about the Harlem Renaissance." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 1118-27. Print.
It’s interesting to get a glimpse of what someone involved in the Renaissance felt and thought during their time producing art and literature therein. I hadn’t really considered the notion that many people of the Renaissance weren’t particularly aware of the Renaissance as we are today. Obviously, now that it has been mentioned, the effect is obvious; much like with World War I, which was not known as such until much later, many of those involved had no idea that the war they were fighting was to be a “World” war. The association that I’ve made subconsciously throughout this class of the Harlem Renaissance is one of a university or profession: it is easy to define where and what you are when you belong to organized institutions, such as saying “I am a teacher and such an such school in such a such district,” but the institution (or organization) of the Renaissance did not really become a construct until after the fact.
Douglass’ reflections on his time during the Renaissance make the whole thing a bit more humble. He was just a guy getting by and trying to make a name for himself, much as many others do every day. He took jobs that appealed to his artistic desires as well as ones that paid well, and just sort of did his thing unaware of his contributing to what would later be known as the Harlem Renaissance. I suppose my last few posts have been somewhat negative, suggesting that many of those in the Renaissance were selfish and did not represent black Americans but rather a select few. I still hold this to be true, but rather than for the selfish reasons I had stated earlier, I now believe that the individuals in the Renaissance were just doing what they did naturally and, through no real fault of their own, later became associated with the progressive movement.
It’s interesting to get a glimpse of what someone involved in the Renaissance felt and thought during their time producing art and literature therein. I hadn’t really considered the notion that many people of the Renaissance weren’t particularly aware of the Renaissance as we are today. Obviously, now that it has been mentioned, the effect is obvious; much like with World War I, which was not known as such until much later, many of those involved had no idea that the war they were fighting was to be a “World” war. The association that I’ve made subconsciously throughout this class of the Harlem Renaissance is one of a university or profession: it is easy to define where and what you are when you belong to organized institutions, such as saying “I am a teacher and such an such school in such a such district,” but the institution (or organization) of the Renaissance did not really become a construct until after the fact.
Douglass’ reflections on his time during the Renaissance make the whole thing a bit more humble. He was just a guy getting by and trying to make a name for himself, much as many others do every day. He took jobs that appealed to his artistic desires as well as ones that paid well, and just sort of did his thing unaware of his contributing to what would later be known as the Harlem Renaissance. I suppose my last few posts have been somewhat negative, suggesting that many of those in the Renaissance were selfish and did not represent black Americans but rather a select few. I still hold this to be true, but rather than for the selfish reasons I had stated earlier, I now believe that the individuals in the Renaissance were just doing what they did naturally and, through no real fault of their own, later became associated with the progressive movement.
Monday, December 7, 2009
A Long Way from Home
McKay, Claude. "A Long Way From Home." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 157-72. Print.
Perhaps it is because I am reading these essays and excerpts one after another without any breaks, but they’ve all begun to flow into one big stream of the same stuff. McKay is saying much the same in these excerpts that Johnson and Wright said in their essays, and further affirm my growing dislike of Du Bois. I wonder if this inner-circle fighting and back talking is part of what led to the downfall of the Renaissance – it certainly is growing old in my mind. It is funny, too, that the equality and unification that all of the players of the Harlem Renaissance preach so fluently about is only an illusion to their social group.
I can’t help but shake the feeling that the talented tenth/literati/whatever were really just a group of friends who liked to play favorites and pat themselves and each other on the back. The more we read these articles, the more I see the authors talking less and less about the racial problems and more and more about how they feel and relate to other famous people. It is almost becoming a game of “who can name the most famous names,” and it is stupid, like a high school clique. It is no wonder, then, that the Renaissance failed so completely and that it did almost nothing for the betterment of black society. My guess is that most blacks outside of the clique did not much care for these people, and I don’t think that I do now either.
Perhaps it is because I am reading these essays and excerpts one after another without any breaks, but they’ve all begun to flow into one big stream of the same stuff. McKay is saying much the same in these excerpts that Johnson and Wright said in their essays, and further affirm my growing dislike of Du Bois. I wonder if this inner-circle fighting and back talking is part of what led to the downfall of the Renaissance – it certainly is growing old in my mind. It is funny, too, that the equality and unification that all of the players of the Harlem Renaissance preach so fluently about is only an illusion to their social group.
I can’t help but shake the feeling that the talented tenth/literati/whatever were really just a group of friends who liked to play favorites and pat themselves and each other on the back. The more we read these articles, the more I see the authors talking less and less about the racial problems and more and more about how they feel and relate to other famous people. It is almost becoming a game of “who can name the most famous names,” and it is stupid, like a high school clique. It is no wonder, then, that the Renaissance failed so completely and that it did almost nothing for the betterment of black society. My guess is that most blacks outside of the clique did not much care for these people, and I don’t think that I do now either.
Black No More
Schuyler, George. "Black No More." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 655-66. Print.
Three references came to mind when reading this excerpt: Catch-22, the third X-Men movie, and the Dr. Seuss book where the creatures have machines to give them stars on their bellies. The second two references are obvious, and Catch-22 comes to mind simply because of the overtly sarcastic satire. I really enjoyed reading this except, and I plan on getting the full novel soon. My favorite satirical image in it is the Marcus Garvey character (who would have thought), with the Du Bois reference coming in a close second. Schuyler really hits the nail on the head in his depictions of the NAACP consisting of white and mostly white men who are trying to aid and assist blacks that they have no contact with. The readings for this week have been leading to this kind of realization, and I have to agree that much of the work done during the Renaissance was a load of hot air. My previous post goes into a lot of detail about how I feel about this. I’m curious to learn more about how whites and black reacted to this novel, and particularly how the Harlem literati reacted to the caricatures of themselves.
Three references came to mind when reading this excerpt: Catch-22, the third X-Men movie, and the Dr. Seuss book where the creatures have machines to give them stars on their bellies. The second two references are obvious, and Catch-22 comes to mind simply because of the overtly sarcastic satire. I really enjoyed reading this except, and I plan on getting the full novel soon. My favorite satirical image in it is the Marcus Garvey character (who would have thought), with the Du Bois reference coming in a close second. Schuyler really hits the nail on the head in his depictions of the NAACP consisting of white and mostly white men who are trying to aid and assist blacks that they have no contact with. The readings for this week have been leading to this kind of realization, and I have to agree that much of the work done during the Renaissance was a load of hot air. My previous post goes into a lot of detail about how I feel about this. I’m curious to learn more about how whites and black reacted to this novel, and particularly how the Harlem literati reacted to the caricatures of themselves.
The Negro Renaissance and Its Significance
Johnson, Charles S. "The Negro Renaissance and Its Significance." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 206-18. Print.
This article makes me wonder about the actual relevance the Harlem Renaissance had on furthering black society in America. Rather than discuss the impact of the Renaissance or how average Joe Black viewed the writings and artwork of those famous for the Renaissance, Johnson discusses the careers and lives of the select few who are notable during this time period. While this was obviously his case on the outset of this essay, it still brings up the question of impact. Was the Renaissance really about black society uprising, or was it more about the 20 or so people who are now remembered as playing a part in it? As we finish this class, I sadly am beginning to think it is more of the latter. This is particularly evident as we read some of the later essays by Du Bois, Washington and even McKay that deal almost solely with themselves and their opinions rather than the facts of action and life of blacks in America. Although the literati did a good job of maintaining the ostensible role of voices for societal change, I think that they sold out fairly early on in the Renaissance. This is probably why the Renaissance died out before it probably should have, and why there was not a lot of change in society until Rosa Parks and her lot began to actually do something about segregation thirty and forty years later.
The last part of this essay discusses briefly the books of black writers, and it brought me on a bit of a quest to find one black author in today’s world who does not write about black this and that. I read a lot of science fiction, thrillers, and drama, and not one of the authors I am familiar with is black. Interestingly, only one of the 20 or so authors that I religiously follow is anything other than a white man – women seem to be just as ostracized in popular fiction. A Google search for any black science fiction writers resulted in only one name that I am familiar with, Octavia Butler, who I consider to be a disastrously bad writer. I read Kindred by her (a horrible, head-ache inducing experience marked by the fiery desire to see all of her one-dimensional, pointless and hateable characters burn in Hell), and while it barely qualifies as science fiction (I would judge it to be more of a dark fantasy), it still is entirely about black society and culture. Indeed, I could not find one single black writer of science fiction whose novels do not in some way deal with racial issues. So I wonder, then, how far have we really come with regards to integration of the races? If a black man had written Foundation, would it have been taken as seriously as it had since Asimov wrote it? I honestly do not have an answer, and that is somewhat depressing.
This article makes me wonder about the actual relevance the Harlem Renaissance had on furthering black society in America. Rather than discuss the impact of the Renaissance or how average Joe Black viewed the writings and artwork of those famous for the Renaissance, Johnson discusses the careers and lives of the select few who are notable during this time period. While this was obviously his case on the outset of this essay, it still brings up the question of impact. Was the Renaissance really about black society uprising, or was it more about the 20 or so people who are now remembered as playing a part in it? As we finish this class, I sadly am beginning to think it is more of the latter. This is particularly evident as we read some of the later essays by Du Bois, Washington and even McKay that deal almost solely with themselves and their opinions rather than the facts of action and life of blacks in America. Although the literati did a good job of maintaining the ostensible role of voices for societal change, I think that they sold out fairly early on in the Renaissance. This is probably why the Renaissance died out before it probably should have, and why there was not a lot of change in society until Rosa Parks and her lot began to actually do something about segregation thirty and forty years later.
The last part of this essay discusses briefly the books of black writers, and it brought me on a bit of a quest to find one black author in today’s world who does not write about black this and that. I read a lot of science fiction, thrillers, and drama, and not one of the authors I am familiar with is black. Interestingly, only one of the 20 or so authors that I religiously follow is anything other than a white man – women seem to be just as ostracized in popular fiction. A Google search for any black science fiction writers resulted in only one name that I am familiar with, Octavia Butler, who I consider to be a disastrously bad writer. I read Kindred by her (a horrible, head-ache inducing experience marked by the fiery desire to see all of her one-dimensional, pointless and hateable characters burn in Hell), and while it barely qualifies as science fiction (I would judge it to be more of a dark fantasy), it still is entirely about black society and culture. Indeed, I could not find one single black writer of science fiction whose novels do not in some way deal with racial issues. So I wonder, then, how far have we really come with regards to integration of the races? If a black man had written Foundation, would it have been taken as seriously as it had since Asimov wrote it? I honestly do not have an answer, and that is somewhat depressing.
Blueprint for Negro Writing
Wright, Richard. "Blueprint for Negro Writing." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 194-205. Print.
I’m not sure how to understand Wright’s position. On one hand he is arguing for a reduced focus on the black world seen through the eyes of the Harlem bourgeoisie, yet on the other he is urging the writers of Harlem to unite under a common culture. Wright does not really understand (or at least does not articulate) what this culture should be, other than an overarching generalization of the “magical wonder” Negro life has (according to Wright, anyway). I agree with Wright’s bottom line: unification of all blacks in order to gain credibility in the eyes of white society, but I do not believe that Wright really thought through his argument before having it published. Do the literati change their writing, or should they disband? Do they disband or unite? What exactly are they writing about, and who is to judge what is or is not a generalization (Wright throws this term into his essay in an ironic generalization of the generalization of black literature)?
I also am unable to reconcile Wright’s views on Black Nationalism. He seems to suggest that blacks should assimilate as Americans under one nationalistic pride, yet to me this entails the necessity of accepting white culture – since, in the 20s, American culture and white culture were synonymous. I believe that Wright was trying to get at a culture revolution where blacks across the country unite and alter the worldwide conception of Americanism to include black culture. But if this is true, then, again, who is going to decide what cultural norms are American and which are ethnocentric? Or are all cultural norms ethnocentric, even within the term “American”? I do not think that Wright addresses or even understands these questions, which is why his hopeful essay is a load of hot air. The effect is actually somewhat in tune with Marcus Garvey, who I can’t help but continue to reference. Although Garvey pushed for nationalism based on African traditions and for the relocation of blacks to Africa, his way of creating nationalistic pride at least make more sense than Wright’s idea of combining white and black tradition into one American culture (of course I’m speaking in the time of his writing, not as the world is today).
One further point that I want to make is that Wright does not understand economics. He urges the black literati to forgo writing their generalized versions of blacks as well as their pleas to be taken seriously in lieu of writing more to the unification of blacks under one umbrella culture. Yet, at the same time, he notes that black writers relied on white publishers to be heard. So how is it, then, that these same black writers are supposed to discontinue their expected writings and begin writing about something that white culture does not want to read? It simply cannot be done, and, as Du Bois pointed out in the previous essay we read, white publishers would just not have it. The black literati may have been selfish and generic, but, given the bad situation of blacks, they at least were able to live comfortable lives. I would not put it past many of them, too, to be conscious of the little good they did to better black condition. After all, you have to look out for yourself before you can look out for others.
I feel bad destroying Wright’s ideas and arguments like this; they are hopeful and, in a way, very beautiful. However, they are simplistic and naïve, and, I suppose, naivety, despite its warm friendliness and the subsequent desire to give it some credence, will get you nowhere.
I’m not sure how to understand Wright’s position. On one hand he is arguing for a reduced focus on the black world seen through the eyes of the Harlem bourgeoisie, yet on the other he is urging the writers of Harlem to unite under a common culture. Wright does not really understand (or at least does not articulate) what this culture should be, other than an overarching generalization of the “magical wonder” Negro life has (according to Wright, anyway). I agree with Wright’s bottom line: unification of all blacks in order to gain credibility in the eyes of white society, but I do not believe that Wright really thought through his argument before having it published. Do the literati change their writing, or should they disband? Do they disband or unite? What exactly are they writing about, and who is to judge what is or is not a generalization (Wright throws this term into his essay in an ironic generalization of the generalization of black literature)?
I also am unable to reconcile Wright’s views on Black Nationalism. He seems to suggest that blacks should assimilate as Americans under one nationalistic pride, yet to me this entails the necessity of accepting white culture – since, in the 20s, American culture and white culture were synonymous. I believe that Wright was trying to get at a culture revolution where blacks across the country unite and alter the worldwide conception of Americanism to include black culture. But if this is true, then, again, who is going to decide what cultural norms are American and which are ethnocentric? Or are all cultural norms ethnocentric, even within the term “American”? I do not think that Wright addresses or even understands these questions, which is why his hopeful essay is a load of hot air. The effect is actually somewhat in tune with Marcus Garvey, who I can’t help but continue to reference. Although Garvey pushed for nationalism based on African traditions and for the relocation of blacks to Africa, his way of creating nationalistic pride at least make more sense than Wright’s idea of combining white and black tradition into one American culture (of course I’m speaking in the time of his writing, not as the world is today).
One further point that I want to make is that Wright does not understand economics. He urges the black literati to forgo writing their generalized versions of blacks as well as their pleas to be taken seriously in lieu of writing more to the unification of blacks under one umbrella culture. Yet, at the same time, he notes that black writers relied on white publishers to be heard. So how is it, then, that these same black writers are supposed to discontinue their expected writings and begin writing about something that white culture does not want to read? It simply cannot be done, and, as Du Bois pointed out in the previous essay we read, white publishers would just not have it. The black literati may have been selfish and generic, but, given the bad situation of blacks, they at least were able to live comfortable lives. I would not put it past many of them, too, to be conscious of the little good they did to better black condition. After all, you have to look out for yourself before you can look out for others.
I feel bad destroying Wright’s ideas and arguments like this; they are hopeful and, in a way, very beautiful. However, they are simplistic and naïve, and, I suppose, naivety, despite its warm friendliness and the subsequent desire to give it some credence, will get you nowhere.
Criteria of Negro Art
Du Bois, W.E.B. "Criteria of Negro Art." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 100-05. Print.
Although I can appreciate Du Bois’ points and style, I can’t help but feel he began beating a dead horse after the third or fourth essay. The points he is making are much the same as the ones in previous essays, particularly Hokum, and therefore reading on becomes an act of tedious review. I felt that, by the end of this essay, I could have written something that resembled whatever it was that Du Bois actually wrote simply by virtue of his unnecessarily repetitious language. There are only so many ways to say the exact same thing before people begin looking the other way. Perhaps it is not a dead horse, but a bored one.
In this essay, Du Bois is arguing that, yet again, all aspects of black life in America is merely the reflection of presumptions and assertions made by the dominant whites. While this is true, I do not believe Du Bois gives white society as much credit as they deserve. Nor does he give his fellow blacks the credit they deserve. In his continued argument for distinguished black art, Du Bois manages to segregate further the blacks and the whites in society. Rather than speak of humanity as a whole, he reinforces black and white. While pointing out that black art is good in its own right without the acceptance of white minds he is further underlining the racial divide. Instead of writing on the merits of black art, he writes on the supposed propaganda inherent in art and art acceptance and how black art must reflect white expectations. It is getting old, and, as I said, Du Bois needs to find a different topic to preach on. We get it: move on.
Although I can appreciate Du Bois’ points and style, I can’t help but feel he began beating a dead horse after the third or fourth essay. The points he is making are much the same as the ones in previous essays, particularly Hokum, and therefore reading on becomes an act of tedious review. I felt that, by the end of this essay, I could have written something that resembled whatever it was that Du Bois actually wrote simply by virtue of his unnecessarily repetitious language. There are only so many ways to say the exact same thing before people begin looking the other way. Perhaps it is not a dead horse, but a bored one.
In this essay, Du Bois is arguing that, yet again, all aspects of black life in America is merely the reflection of presumptions and assertions made by the dominant whites. While this is true, I do not believe Du Bois gives white society as much credit as they deserve. Nor does he give his fellow blacks the credit they deserve. In his continued argument for distinguished black art, Du Bois manages to segregate further the blacks and the whites in society. Rather than speak of humanity as a whole, he reinforces black and white. While pointing out that black art is good in its own right without the acceptance of white minds he is further underlining the racial divide. Instead of writing on the merits of black art, he writes on the supposed propaganda inherent in art and art acceptance and how black art must reflect white expectations. It is getting old, and, as I said, Du Bois needs to find a different topic to preach on. We get it: move on.
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