In her West Farms studio in the Bronx, multidisciplinary artist Laura James lives by a simple yet powerful philosophy: "Make work." This concise mantra, displayed on a poster in her studio, reflects the influence of Marcus Garvey's industrious philosophy and guides James's relentless approach to creating art that confronts America's most difficult histories.
James, who was raised in Brooklyn by Antiguan parents and has lived in the Bronx for decades, has become a beloved figure in the borough's cultural community. Beyond her artistic practice encompassing painting, illustration, and sculpture, she manages a thriving community garden in West Farms and founded BX200: Bronx Visual Artists Directory. Her work weaves together themes of race, gender, class, history, and spirituality with remarkable clarity.
At the heart of James's practice is her ongoing American History series, which began in 1999 after she learned about the brutal 1998 killing of James Byrd Jr., a Black man murdered by white supremacists in Texas. Byrd endured horrific torture when his killers chained him to a truck and dragged his body for three miles. This tragic event sparked James's commitment to documenting America's history of racial violence through her art.
Two recent paintings from the American History series, "Not Even Past" and "Inheritance" (both 2024), serve as bold artistic interventions that directly resist recent right-wing backlash against critical race theory and the teaching of racism's history in American schools. These works arrive at a time when progressive education faces increasing attacks and fascist ideologies resurge.
"Not Even Past" confronts the dismissive sentiment that Black people should simply move on from slavery and systemic racism. The title references William Faulkner's famous quote: "The past is never dead. It's not even past." James makes this concept visceral through brutal and unforgettable imagery. A large tree dominates the center of the painting, its branches bearing the bodies of lynched Black people.
Below the tree, a dense crowd of plain-clothed white spectators gathers on the right side of the composition, while Ku Klux Klan members in pointed white robes stand to the left. One figure hangs from a branch, engulfed in flames. At the bottom of the composition, rows of gravestones bear the names of murdered Black people: Sandra Bland (1987-2015), Breonna Taylor (1993-2020), and Sonya Massey (1988-2024), among many others.
Some names, like Trayvon Martin (1995-2012) and Tamir Rice (2002-14), are immediately recognizable to the public because their murders galvanized the movement for Black lives. Others, like Lizzie Dur (1882-95), whose death sparked protest at the time, have faded from broader public memory. At the top of the painting, scenes of police brutality unfold, showing Black people wounded and dying on the street as onlookers film, and others being shot while fleeing.
The painting also depicts a group of incarcerated men in black and white striped jumpsuits chained together while a guard holds a shotgun to their heads—a clear reference to chain gangs and the exploitation of imprisoned people for labor. A jail cell nearby underscores how mass incarceration remains linked to ongoing histories of racial oppression.
In contrast to the outdoor scenes in "Not Even Past," James's "Inheritance" (2024) takes place within a domestic interior. The painting depicts a wealthy white family's living room with light green walls, where a fraught racial encounter unfolds. Black people labor within the home while white homeowners enjoy their leisure, reflecting James's larger practice of representing Black women domestic workers to honor their labor and expose the relationship between Black labor and white leisure.
The domestic scene already evokes discomfort due to the racialized history of domestic work, but closer inspection reveals disturbing details rooted in slavery's legacy. The woman cleaning the window and the man tending the grandmother's feet are shackled with ball and chain. A man serving drinks wears a muzzle, and another woman, missing a foot, balances precariously on a chair to clean a mirror. These surrealist elements connect to histories of enslavement and plantation abuse.
At the top of the canvas, wallpaper panels depict slave ship imagery, with Black bodies tightly arranged in the ship's hold. The painting suggests that the past of exploited labor is not yet fully past, compelling viewers to confront this inherited scene of racialized domesticity.
James draws inspiration from folk art traditions rich in vibrant color and storytelling. Similar to Ethiopian devotional painting, her compositions feature multiple narrative scenes simultaneously in different parts of the work. Her simplified figural forms, bright palette, communal scenes, and unapologetically political themes also align with the legacy of Mexican muralism. These visual storytelling strategies powerfully convey Black American histories while connecting them to global struggles, making even the most painful narratives accessible to broader audiences.
Speaking about her work with urgency, James explains: "The paintings serve as a record of what happened. And we do not want this to happen again." She continues, "I do not have all the answers, but I refuse to look away. I am bearing witness to what happened." Many scenes James paints come directly from history books she reads, including "Lest We Forget: The Passage from Africa to Slavery to Emancipation" (1997).
As educational curricula face increasing whitewashing, James's paintings insist on remembering and reckoning with the past as a living and necessary part of American history. Her works serve as visual anchors for discussing how anti-Blackness remains inextricable from U.S. history, providing accessible entry points into conversations about race, memory, and justice that are actively being suppressed in schools and institutions during an era of political censorship.
James doesn't seek institutional permission for her work. Instead, she makes art relentlessly, owns the means of production, and lets her work sustain her community. In times of political upheaval and educational suppression, she does what the moment demands: She makes work. As she demonstrates through her powerful visual testimonies, there can be no such thing as neutral painting in a world indelibly marked by racial violence.
