M. Gasby Brown

MY STORY

I started to paint.
My season of artistic creativity took hold of me by surprise, so I started to paint. Without anyone’s permission, I started to paint.

But, in an idyllic childhood that included baton twirling and ballet and tap dancing and flower arranging, I did not study art. With the exception of a still-life chalk rendering I created as an eight-year-old, which led to a few unremarkable lessons from an instructor, there was no precursory memory of what I feel has now become my raison d’etre.
Yet, for several months in 2002, vivid and recurring dreams danced in my head, first of trees then of other images. So, on the dawn of my season of artistic creativity, I told my husband, Kenny, “I’m going to start painting.” This was a declaration, not a usual “what-do-you-think-about-this?” sort of inquiry. On that day, I made a simple statement that led to a simple plan: go to the art store, purchase supplies, and begin to give life to the images and experiences running rampant through my soul.

And soon, art became an outlet----a healthy, safe and cathartic release for my expression—while my husband went off to slay the "fiery dragons" in the world of high-stakes politics.

Naturally, for any artist, painting is reflective of personal worldview and experience. In that, I’m no different. The African American experience, which I've lived and breathed, offers a poignant perspective of a people historically at odds with a country that has devalued their existence. I vividly remember stories about how, in the 50s, my father was fired for fighting a white man who called him a “nigger,” or the horrific photos in JET magazine of a savagely murdered Emmett Till, or even a related incident in which a black childhood friend--scared and confused over the tragedy-- beat up a couple of our normal, everyday--playing--with white friends. I have seen and experienced racial injustice. I abhor the insidious nature of oppression based on race with all of my being.

Despite this, my art does not reflect the ugly realities of race in America, but rather the beauty that resides in my people of color.

This beauty is reflective in images of the black church; the gatherings of family members from Mississippi to Detroit; playing “dress-up,” pretending to be Dorothy Dandridge; entertaining guests on the piano because my Mama was so proud; serving as the Sunday school pianist; and soloist before Daddy raised up in the pulpit to preach the Word as he crisscrossed the city.

My first work was a tree, a black tree against a red background…to match my Chinese red dining room walls. It was a very simplistic foray into my new world. My second piece was a blue and white abstract half-face, probably motivated by the genius of Pablo Picasso. Upon seeing it, my girlfriend laughed and called me “SACAASA,” while Kenny offered to create the perfect gallery space for me in the garage. Now, Kenny is my biggest supporter. My girlfriend later became one of my business managers. In spite of their initial skepticism, I remained unflappable; I gave myself permission to keep on truckin’! With each new creation, I step back and marvel at the work that comes from my hands. My renewed sense of what God can do—through me—is manifested via each delightful work of art. If I am to be successful in this new season, it is He who deserves all the honor and praise. To quote an old hymn:

Look what the Lord has done

Look what the Lord has done

He brought me out of darkness

Into His marvelous light

Look what the Lord has done.

With the soothing sounds of Miles Davis, James Taylor or Nina Simone, or the awe-inspiring majesty of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir, or the gospel power of Fred Hammond, or the nobility of a Don Quixote opera rendition, or a melodious aria by Kathleen Battle, or the music genius of Prince wafting in the background, I am filled with intense creative spurts—Kenny calls them my “painting marathons”—that breath life into my conscious and subconscious thoughts. For every splash of color here or shadow there or brush stroke that prompts a smile, I am blessed, blessed with a God-given yearning to create.

It is written in Ecclesiastes 3:1: “To everything, there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”

So, I started to paint.

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