Do you know that moment when you read something and all of a sudden things fall into place, finally a factual reason given that validates previous amorphous feelings? So it was when I read an essay by Brian Sawers in The Atlantic about the origins of trespassing laws, which I’ll summarize below. My inkling that trespassing signs are an expression of power structures more so than a desire to simply protect property, on land and water, was confirmed when I learned about the legal history.
Photographs today are of various fences, keeping people out, as it were.
As one might expect, the history is not pretty. But makes so much sense when you consider the consequences of the abolition of slavery. The criminalization of trespassing started in earnest after the end of the Civil War, starting in Southern states. Punishment for trespassing was seemingly race neutral, but it was very severe. Alabama, for example, applied a penalty of three months’ hard labor. Florida allowed 39 lashes in punishment for trespassing.
What was going on?
Labor control, that’s what was going on. The biggest problem, as the plantation owners and former slaveholders insisted themselves, was to force freedmen into work during the times of Reconstruction. Black Code laws, affecting the (former) slave population were suspended by Union commanders. Under them, many states required Black people to sign yearly labor contracts; if they refused, they risked being arrested, fined and forced into unpaid labor. So how would you get people to work if you lost those threats, in an economy that was based on hard field labor that no-one else wanted to do?
Simple, make it so that the former slaves had no independent access to food or others means of survival, so that they were forced to accept working conditions and substandard wages just to stay alive. Previously, slaves had been assigned small garden plots and permitted to forage and hunt on the plantation grounds, so that the owners could save feeding costs. It was theoretically possible for the 4 million freed slaves to go on living from the land, and selling surplus goods if foraging was successful. It had happened before – In the Caribbean Islands slaves from sugar plantations went to live in the hills, and the British colonialists had to import workers from Asia at great cost.
So hunting and fishing or grazing livestock on private land was outlawed, and labor laws and vagrancy statutes established that allowed courts “to sentence to hard labor “stubborn servants” and workers who did not accept “customary” wages.” The threat of starvation had to hang over laborers to force them into working the fields.
One problem? Most White people also used to hunt on plantation owners’ properties, and did not want to see their traditional rights to be cut. Racist solution:
“Planters proposed and state legislatures adopted a work-around to statewide laws where possible: Many restrictive laws were enacted county by county, singling out majority-Black ones. In some counties, the new laws had to be crafted even more precisely to limit their application to parts of the county with more Black residents. If the new laws applied in areas with white residents, advocates were vocal in calling on all landowners to allow their white neighbors to continue hunting and fishing without interference.“
Northern landowners were just too happy to follow suit soon thereafter, even though labor control was a smaller issue. They did, however, felt they needed to show who was boss and in particular felt that immigrants needed to be severely controlled. The U.S. Supreme Court, for example, upheld a 1909 Pennsylvania law specifically designed to stop immigrants from hunting. The state went a step further and banned immigrants from owning dogs in 1915.
Privatizing the outdoors is, of course, ongoing.
Here is an overview of some of the implications for all of us.
Occasionally, there are small victories. In a small community close to where I live, for example, the 400 acre lake in the middle of Lake Oswego, was cut off for decades from public access by the rich homeowners surrounding the water. This April, a judge ruled that Oregon’s public trust doctrine applies to Oswego Lake, and the public therefore has a right to access the lake through public parks, a sudden reversal in a longstanding battle. If it isn’t about economics, it’s about privilege. Let’s not have the plebs disturb our view, or come close to our gardens…
You might remember what I wrote about foraging and prohibited access in an earlier blog. Here is Alexis Nelson and her co-host, Yara Elmjouie, introducing us to trespassing laws in a quick video.
And for music today there is Wind in Lonely Fences by Harold Budd and Brian Eno. And First Light from the same album, AMBIENT 2.
Since it’s been a while, we’ll do two hikes instead of one today. Walk with me, if you are willing to brave potential flash floods or almost guaranteed heat stroke, if the warning signs of the CA governmental LA county parks website are to be trusted. We’ll do Altadena’s Eaton Canyon in the morning, and El Prieto in the afternoon. Bonus appearance by some daily wildlife sightings hopefully satisfies readers’ yearning for the obligatory nature shots…
Eaton Canyon is easily accessible, has plenty of amenities for picnic gatherings and the like at the park’s entrance and a parking lot that is so overcrowded on the weekends that everyone recommends to hike only during the week. Follow that recommendation and you’ll be rewarded by beautiful landscapes, including oak groves, a (currently) flowing stream, cacti oases, wildflowers and eventually chaparral dotted hills.
These hills are now green – a very unusual sight, I am told, related to the torrential rains coming down across the last months. The river that you have to cross to get to a longer portion of the trail could not be forded when I visited, unless willing to hop barefoot across slippery boulders and shores. I erred on the side of caution, and still had a nice walk on the southern side of the stream.
Here, and in so many other locations, birds and lizards can be found if you approach quietly.
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An equally, if differently, beautiful walk yielded some fascinating history ( I learned much of it here.) Altadena’s “El Prieto” (meaning “the dark man”) was also known as Black Mountain for its resident, Robert Owens who had bought his own freedom from slavery and came to the free state in the early 1850s. According to the census, there were only 12 African Americans in Los Angeles at the time. Someone (eventually) more famous settled on this mountain in the late 1800s, Owen Brown, son of John Brown – yes, that John Brown – a white man whose attempt in 1859 to spark a slave rebellion at the Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia arsenal resulted in his hanging for the crime of inciting violent rejection of slavery.
Owen, the only Brown son to survive participation in the Harper’s Ferry raid, was a fugitive for 2 decades before he made it out West, where his sister had settled in Pasadena. He homesteaded on the mountain, now dedicated to his father’s name and legacy, and was buried on a plot of land that was part of the homestead, in the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains, after more than 2000 people, both black and white, had paid their respects during the funeral to this staunch believer in racial equality.
Photograph from the Altadena Historical Society/
His grave site in the Altadena Meadows attracted 1000s of visitors across the years, contemplating what the concrete headstone stood for. It read, “Owen Brown son of John Brown The Liberator, Died Jan. 9, 1889, Aged 64 yrs.”
Not everyone shared the admiration, however. Private landowners hated the intrusion and tried to keep people out with No Trespassing signs, eventually losing law suits to prohibit access. Early attempts to make the site a historical monument failed as well.
The gravestone went “missing,” twice as it turns out, rolled down the ravine by vandals or opponents of the preservation society. By sheer coincidence it was found the second time around, having been missing for a decade, during a 2012 hike by artist Ian White, son of Charles White, the Los Angeles painter who had only painted two portraits of White men, Abraham Lincoln and John Brown, among his vast portraiture oeuvre.
Shown at the Charles White Elementary School, L.A.
Things have improved since then. An (independent) dispute over land rights and zoning issues for a near-by gated community of pricey homes produced unlikely allies. The developer has become a supporter of the preservation efforts, helping the community to protect the grave and access to it, getting some of his needs filled in turn. All agree that no visitor center will ever be build for the grave site or parking provided for busloads of people. You have to find neighborhood parking and hike up, which will only happen if you are really determined. The historians involved in the process, USC historian Bill Deverell and Michelle Zack are “...planning to help develop curriculum and train teachers to integrate Brown’s story into the Civil War, its aftermath and westward expansion. Charles Thomas of Outward Bound Adventure plans to develop a lesson that includes discussion of slavery and the black wilderness experience, according to the project proposal.” (Ref.)
I was hot when hiking the short but steep trail uphill. Blooming Ceanothus dotted the hills with blue clouds, the sweet smell of wild sage suffused the air. The grave marker is re-installed, and someone had spread wildflower seeds. The view over the valley was unobstructed by clouds or smog, just beautiful. You could do worse for resting places! Well deserved by a man true to justice. May his memory be a blessing.
***
Music today by Pete Seeger, appropriate for the grave site of an abolitionist.
“The most obvious contribution to social change that literature can make is simply to inform people of something they know nothing about. There are other situations where we believe we know something but don’t really know it in a visceral way, don’t really know it emotionally, to the point where it moves us to action.” – Howard Zinn in Afterword to American Protest Literature.
HOWARD ZINN’S WORDS echoed when trying to take in the riches of the current exhibition at the Patricia Reser Center for the Arts, Red Thread : Green Earth. Here I was surrounded by narratives (words as well as visual and performative acts of storytelling) offered by a collective of six African American women, telling us about their relationship to nature, history and mythology along ancestral pathways. Many of the stories were unfamiliar to me. At the same time, the work shown would make anyone who is the slightest bit interested in nature feel a bond to the artists who explore their own deep love for it. That combination of differences and similarities makes for a powerful experience, a sense of being invited into an unfamiliar circle and then discovering you belong there in bits and piece as well, easing your way into learning about all that you don’t know.
Intisar Abioto TheBlack SwanHas Landed
The women of Studio Abioto, mother Midnite and daughters Amenta, Kalimah (Dr. Wood Chopper,) Intisar, Medina and Ni offer a range of work across different media: poetry, assemblage, sculpture, film making, photography, printmaking, computer graphics, music and interactive performance are all on the menu. The different art forms do not dominate (or distract from each other) but rather enhance each other, just as the artists did in real life when I interviewed them, in warm and mutually reenforcing interactions. The art on display provides individual pieces towards the completion of a larger puzzle. Whatever the dynamics in this tightly knit family of artists might be, their work is proof positive of the old German Gestalt Psychology adage: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Each individual voice contributes, but it is the message sung by the chorus that emerges with clarity and force.
Front Row center: Ni Abioto. Right in yellow jacket: Medinah Abioto. Back Row: Second from Left Dr. Wood Chopper, Center: Midnite, third from Right Intasar Abioto, Second from Right: Amenta Abioto.
Photo Credit: Joe Cantrell
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“The Mystery Unfolds.” – Amenta Abioto, Lyrics to Plant It.
BRING TIME, when you visit this exhibition. For that matter, bring the kids, the grandparents, your Thanksgiving guests, uncle Theo, whoever you can think of. There is much to explore and much that would hold interests for everyone across generations. The informality in the display of the work – clothespins to the rescue! – immediately invites you in, curled paper creating a 3 D echo of the sculptural work in its vicinity.
There are planters scattered throughout, plant materials used in the creation of several assemblages, plants dominant in photographs, plant parts used in small sculptures. The red thread, it seems then, is nature and the artists’ relationship to it, winding its way through the gallery and in and out of the works. Dig a little bit deeper, though, and the red thread emerges as a symbol of the strength and suffering of Africans in the Diaspora: the trail of blood created by ruthless slavers, the blood lines conferred by women who brought their children into the world, and taught them the body of knowledge of their ancestors.
Midnite Abioto upper right, The Egungun upper left, details.
Two larger-than-life matriarchal figures can be found in the main gallery and in the upstairs lobby. Created by Midnite, they embody pretty much every possible symbolism representing the experience of slavery and the torturous path through a society that has yet to overcome structural racism. The artist was trained and worked as a lawyer and Civil Rights advocate in Mississippi and Tennessee before she relocated to Portland. Her art reflects both her analytic precision as an attorney and her broad knowledge of the historical backdrop. She attributes her confidence to explore ever new avenues of artistic expression to her upbringing in a Baptist church that empowered young girls to find their own way.
The Egungun Rise From the Depth of the Sea upstairs evokes the millions of lives lost during the Middle Passage, on ships, water and land. The many photographs, historical items, beads, tools, vessels and plant materials, are collaged into a statue that stands in front of a poem, The Egungun’s Song, which provides the frame for thoughts about freedom – or the absence thereof. A small mirror at eye level within the sculpture cleverly reflects the visitor’s own face while exploring the mysteries in front of us – we are drawn into a connection that implies a shared history, linked through the generations, part of the picture but on different sides.
The Forest QueenDescent in the Middle Passage downstairs, again juxtaposed with text, is a marvel constructed of foraged plant materials, pottery, fabric and written documents relating to the slave trade. Full-figured with an emphasis on voluptuous form so often ridiculed, a typical body type of Black women, she proudly lifts up new life and the memories of lost souls emerge through translucent dried leaves of the “silver dollar” plant (Lunaria Annua) also known as Annual Honesty. The concept of money and slave trade are easily understood; some of the other symbolism – river birch as protection, adaptability, and renewal, for example – need a bit of explanation. The European Renaissance tradition of symbolism in art, providing multitudes of clues that (only) the initiated understood, finds a perfect counterpart here, inviting us into a world of meaning that is new for many of us and begs for exploration. In some ways it alerts to the ways how specialized knowledge was used to separate people, historically used to keep power hierarchies intact.
Midnite The Forrest Queen Photo Credit for lower right: Joe Cantrell.
The upstairs Emerging Artist gallery also displays some of the work of the youngest member of the Abioto family, Medina. Her magical and mythological creatures are made with digital art processing programs and display throughout Black features overall still absent in the fantasy arts world. These fairies also contain a multitude of symbols associated with nature, tulips, flame lily, wisteria and, importantly, water, among them. I found them not just whimsical, maybe even enchanting for the younger kids, but suggesting a certain toughness, a brave willingness to engage the world on their own terms.
Medina Abioto, Water Nymph. Photo Credit on Left: Joe Cantrell.
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“That by sharing our love of Nature, we might call each other into a better relationship with the Earth and with each other, rather than dismissing those whose views differ from our own. That by revealing what it is we love, we honor our common ground and our common humanity.” by Carolyn Finney, Earth Island Journal, 7/2022
INTISAR ABIOTO’S PHOTOGRAPHS, hung on the walls and etherial against the windows of the Reser Gallery, embrace portraiture and nature – preferably one situated within the other. Some of the images bring the point home by a kind of double exposure – photographing a person and then photographing a print of that portrait in the forest, a crossover in time and place. Next to the beauty and vivacity she reliably captures, both in the very young and the old, the photographer documents the relationship between these women and the environment, in the woods and on the farm. The interaction between Blacks and nature in this country has been often evaluated through a White lens – one claiming that White desire and privilege of embracing, experiencing and conserving nature was not shared. Funny we should think so, given that everything was done to prevent Black citizens from pursuit of existential interaction with the land – namely farming – or recreational experience of nature, hiking in the great Outdoors.
Intisar Abioto Sidony III Photo Credit on Left: Joe Cantrell.
Historic legislation limited both movement and accessibility for African Americans, as well as American Indians, Chinese, and other non-White people in the United States. This included the California Lands Claims Act of 1851, the Black Codes (1861–65), the Dawes Act (1887), and the Curtis Act (1898). The reason to exclude non-White people from nature was a simple one: with the abolition of slavery plantation owners and former slave holders needed a way to force the Freedmen to work during Reconstruction. Their solution, as I’ve written elsewhere,
“…make it so that the former slaves had no independent access to food or others means of survival, so that they were forced to accept working conditions and substandard wages just to stay alive. Previously, slaves had been assigned small garden plots and permitted to forage and hunt on the plantation grounds, so that the owners could save feeding costs. It was theoretically possible for the 4 million freed slaves to go on living from the land, and selling surplus goods if foraging was successful. It had happened before – In the Caribbean Islands slaves from sugar plantations went to live in the hills, and the British colonialists had to import workers from Asia at great cost. So hunting and fishing or grazing livestock on private land was outlawed, and labor laws and vagrancy statutes established that allowed courts “to sentence to hard labor “stubborn servants” and workers who did not accept “customary” wages.” The threat of starvation had to hang over laborers to force them into working the fields.”
These days, access to public land is theoretically no longer tied to race. Yet the remnants of historic exclusion linger, and there are horrifying statistics about how often Black hikers, campers and birdwatchers are threatened, even though their numbers are enormously underrepresented in State parks. The range includes attacks on property and physical safety, from slashing tires and tents, to actual attempts at lynching. Publications like the Sierra Club Magazine, not known for hyped-up commentary, delivers the statistical details.
Intisar Abioto Sidney and the Amaranth
Carolyn Finney’s eye-opening book Black Faces, White Spaces: Reimagining the Relationship of African Americans to the Great Outdoors describes the historical underpinnings of this exclusion, as well as facets of the African American experience of working with the land and regaining farming expertise. One of my favorite photographs in the exhibition is a young girl handling collard greens at the Mudbone Grown farm in Corbett, OR. Thoroughly grounded, clearly in her element, the girls looks like an embodiment of a new farming generation. Mudbone Grown “is a black-owned farm enterprise that promotes inter-generational community-based farming that creates measurable and sustainable environmental, social, cultural, and economic impacts… with a five-year goal to enhance food security, reduce energy use, improve community health and well-being, and stabilize our communities.” Reclaiming green space and production still has a long way to go, but vanguards exist, and Abioto’s documentation will hopefully spread the word as much as remind us that we share common ground in our love of nature.
Intisar Abioto Mone Auset
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“I’m trying to speak––to write––the truth. I’m trying to be clear. I’m not interested in being fancy, or even original. Clarity and truth will be plenty, if I can only achieve them.” – Octavia Butler, Parable of the Sower.
LIKE BUTLER’S PROTAGONIST in the Parable of the Sower, Kalimah a.k.a. Dr. Wood Chopper, desires to present the truth as clearly as possible. She also embraces several of Butler’s recurring themes, the issue of inclusion and exclusion among them. She might not be interested in being fancy or original, but, let me tell you, original she is. Somehow the artist manages to make the deadly serious witty, and the seemingly funny descend into a dark place. The short films on display in the little projection room of the Gallery at the Reser are clever and enormously empathetic when it comes to describing how all that is “different” can be labeled in either constructive or destructive ways. The way that our gaze is directed to perceive something that might be a particular talent as something that is perhaps sinister, reveals the power of labeling, and/or othering. One video is a dire, yet extremely funny warning about climate change and the consequences of our greed undermining restorative action, again echos of Butler’s post-apocalyptic dystopia.
Screen Shots and Stills from the videos.
Kalimah has worked as a teaching artist at NW Film Center, Boedecker Foundation, Caldera Arts and others, centered around documentary and experimental video, story structure, and the technical aspects of making a short film. Take the time to view what is looped at the Reser. Much food for thought.
Amenta Abioto. Dr. Wood Chopper Photo Credit on right: Joe Cantrell.
Next to the video projection, Amenta Abioto’s lyrics can be read on the wall. Here is her music video of Plant It. She is a gifted musician and a notable figure in the Portland music scene and will perform in the context of the current show later this year. Some of her sculptures, fashioned from foraged materials and some of her prints can also be found at the downstairs gallery.
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“Say the people who could fly kept their power […] They kept their secret magic in the land of slavery. .” – Virginia Hamilton, The People Could Fly.
Since last November, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC offers an Afrofuturist Period Room named Before Yesterday We Could Fly. Afrofuturism is a transdisciplinary creative mode that centers Black imagination, excellence, and self-determination. The name of the Period Room is inspired by Virginia Hamilton’s legendary retellings of the Flying African tale, “which celebrates enslaved peoples’ imagination, creative uses of flight, and the significance of spirituality and mysticism to Black communities in the midst of great uncertainty.”
Well, the MET is late to the game. Already over a decade ago, the Abioto sisters co-produced The People Could Fly Project, a 200,000-mile flying arts expedition exploring realities of flight and freedom within the African diasporic myth of the flying Africans. Filmed in New York, Los Angeles, Cairo, Egypt; Djibouti, it traveled across the US, to Morocco, Djibouti, Jamaica, and beyond to seek the reality of this legend in the lives and dreams of people today.
Ni Abioto returns to the issue of dreaming and creating new realities for the world with her contribution to Red Thread:Green Earth, her installation of the Altar of the Emerald Ocelot. The site is intended as a portal into imagination, asking all of us to contribute our hopes and visions, written down on provided slips of paper or sent in via social media, tagged #emeraldocelot @niabioto @studioabioto.
Ni Abioto (Photo from Studio Abioto Website) Imagination Portal.
It is an inclusionary process, stressing the communal action required to imagine and then realize a better, healthier world. It really encapsulates what I took home from this exhibition in general: there should not be an us vs. them, particularly not when it comes to cherishing and protecting our earth. Love for nature is a shared enterprise, and so is stewardship, our responsibility to the planet and each other. The evil of slavery has left ugly scars on souls, bodies and access to nature alike, but these artists embrace all who are willing to work towards change and commit to conservancy. A powerful message of healing.
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THE RESER OPENED ITS DOOR IN MARCH, 2022, in Beaverton, OR, one of the most diverse places in this not very diverse state. In these short months, the Art Gallery has established itself as an important player in my book, with multiple exhibitions committed to “multicultural learning experiences” which research has shown to break down barriers between differing cultures and to encourage creative thinking. It helps to have a curator, Karen de Benedetti, who is willing to take on enormously complex exhibits and who seems to have a special radar for impressive local talent. Importantly, the shows I have seen did not sacrifice quality for message. But the commitment to message – one of common ground and shared humanity – seems to be strong at the Reser, and for that we should be grateful. This is all the more important in times like our’s when the teaching of history – ALL aspects of history of our nation – is under assault. From book banning to restricted curricula, there are powers that hope to erase, dismiss or ignore the experiences of whole populations of our nation. Learning about how non-White groups live, suffer, hope and dream is of the essence if we want social change towards a more equitable world. We have a long way to go.
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Red Thread: Green Earth
November 2 – January 7
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Art Gallery at The Reser
12625 SW Crescent Street, Beaverton, OR 97005
Saturday, November 19 | 11:30 am: All Ages Performative Storytime
Wednesday, November 30 | 6:30 pm Artist Talk & Film Screening
Friday, December 2 | 6 – 9 pm First Friday
Friday, January 6 | 6 – 9 pm Closing Reception & First Friday
All gallery events are FREE and open to the public.
If past experience is a guide, praying to win the lottery will be of little help. It would come in handy, though, given how the house-repair costs are mounting. At least there are some amazing spaces where you could spend your time praying or doing the secular equivalent, if the spaces had been transformed.
If you click the link above, you’ll have a virtual tour of some of the many transformations of chapels across the world. Given the scarcity of real estate it is no longer a theoretical question – people do use churches for other purposes.
Below is one of my favorites, including the arranging of kitchen gadgets behind former altar…. not sure if it makes me laugh or cry.
Photographs of buildings are from the web; photographs of the interior chapel from a recent visit in Tuscany. I stayed in a house at the foot of an abandoned castle. Ignoring the trespassing signs was worthwhile: amongst the ruined rooms was a small house chapel that had obviously served the family for daily ritual, saving them the significant schlepp into the nearest town. It was a forlorn place, my mood lifted, though, by the discovery of outside graffiti – some local kids must have found an outlet for their creative juices….
As I have described before, my mother used to climb over fences. Sometimes in order to take short cuts. Often times in order to snip off some seed pods that she would later propagate in her greenhouse. Frequently just for the defiance inherent to the act of trespassing.
It put the fear of God into me as a child and made for a huge dilemma. Obedience to rules and regulations was a large part of upbringing in the 1950s. So which rule scored: the one to obey your parent who with a huge grin encourages you to struggle up and over that fence, or the one that is focussed on property rights? And why did we never get caught?
I do climb over fences myself, nowadays, occasionally. It still puts a frisson into me, but also a loving memory of a woman who was caught in her age and time but willing to rebel at the tiniest occasions that opened up for her.
Fences are probably an overused photographic motif, but I figured a few of my favorites can join the fray.As can a perfect version of the appropriate song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHLr3FzgpOY
