Over the last decade, b. Robert Moore realized he needed something to fill a void, something besides conformity and assimilation, something besides violence (sanctioned or otherwise) and addiction. He found art. And he realized he needed it. Now that he’s been digging deep for years, digging into his heart and mind, and honing his research and painting/sculpting skills, the world needs it—b. Robert Moore’s art—also.
Moore’s exhibit cannot be broken down, but it can be viewed through a few modes of storytelling. His representational work is so much more than figurative—take yourself out of the language of art terminology, and one can see clearly that Moore’s figures, in fact, REPRESENT. They are images that tell harrowing but hopeful stories, and they, like the people represented, need to be seen.
The dirt that makes the foreground of many of these works is more than a foundation from which to rise, though it is that. It is also the soil that grows us and feeds us. It is the beginning of something vulnerable, strong, rejuvenating, and precious. The works listed here, with the artist’s own words in accompaniment, are still available. Don’t miss the opportunity to be able to dialogue every day in your own home with a work of contemporary art that frames the story of the past and present by resisting it for the future.
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“I Don’t Know What I Want to Be When I Grow Up, But I want to Be Alive” View
Coming out of high school is rough (becoming an “adult”). Not sure what you are going to do, especially when your options are limited. Growing up Black in America Feels like you’ve already been in war your whole life, so joining the military or a gang seems natural. Maybe even going to prison seems natural. Cuz it gives you a sense of purpose, belonging, part of a family.
This work and the show is about the Rite of Passage being Black in America.
The coming of age journey. Unsure of what to be as an adult, but forced into war your entire childhood.
Born a casualty of war. Somehow, We Rise. Out The Mud.
“Kin to War” View
What set you claim when you from both hoods?
Growing up, British Knights or “BKs” were a clothing brand but also a cultural gang reference. “Blood Killers.” I remember knowing you better not get caught in the wrong area wearing it.
In this work, I’m referencing world war history, and the role the Black American has played. Both as voluntary and involuntarily sacrificing of their lives. Often fighting a battle for two sides of historical colonialism.
Kinda messed up actually.
Reminds me of Medgar Evars. Evars served in the United States Army during World War II from 1943 to 1945. He was sent to the European Theater where he participated in the Normandy landings in June 1944.
Only to return home to continue fighting another war, a civil war here in America.
As a Black American, many of us have both African and European lineage as a result of Rape and Derogation of the Black community from our colonizers. I’m also biracial so I have direct connection to both European and African lineage equally.
“Brother in Arms (I Got Your Back)” View
Strays from the same shade, ni**a we on the same team!
Till the death of me, I will die for mines. I love my family, and I have 3 younger brothers. I am someone they have always looked up to and we forever have each other’s backs; in all forms.
Then the LORD said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?”
As a former veteran, of the ARMY, you are assigned a battle buddy in combat zones. This battle buddy does not leave your side. They are your brother in arms and they got your back (also known as your “six”). Brothers protect brothers, blood or not. My wish is we as a race can prioritize each other and work as hard to protect and uplift as we have been programed to compete and tear down. This is family, we are born into the same bloodline.
We came up out the same mud, together.
My Brothas and My Sistas.
“Dialogue of a Soldier” View
Letters from soldiers don’t usually detail much of the terrible news or trauma. Usually soldiers internalize those emotions; they suppress their trauma like a silencer on a weapon. The lethal element is there but you cant hear it until its too late.
In this work, it is a letter to myself. A letter like a weight of my pain.
Black men are soldiers of a war they didn’t sign up for. They are filled with residual and inherited trauma. Yet often not given the education, examples, leadership or courage to share those emotions and vulnerability to heal. We don’t let our emotions out or seek therapy and the words on the letter just stay … they fade but are forever there. Never shared.
Much of why the letter in the background of this work is washed away.
A memorial of a soldier who didn’t get to share his letter but holds onto its words like the poppy flower in his hand … A forever memorial carried.
“Pressure” View
(Referencing Michelangelo’s Hand Of God)
When you become successful you can take care of Mama.
Sometimes a sport is just playing a game to provide for your loved ones. Even a game you may not love.
You ever been the provider and risk taker? (Rhetorical)
Talk about pressure.
“Concrete Jungle: Panthers, Tigers, Niggas, Oh My” View
Some of us are byproducts of a concrete jungle.
Growing up in the city is rough at times. We gotta be amongst other animals and threats every day. Gotta blend in or fit into our environments for survival, but we always adapt. Even making it home every day was a rite of passage of sorts.
The Black community leans on faith as a powerful tool. We are a spiritual people with roots in African mythology and spirituality. Faith in America means Faith in the idea of reaching adulthood or surviving. Faith and trust that people will protect and love us genuinely.
Like the faith of a mustard seed. Mustard seed is also understood as the size of life of an unborn child. A mustard seed of faith isn’t all we need, IT’S ALL WE HAVE.
When people see us, they see animals but really if you looked at the conditions we have systematically been placed in, you’d see the real animals around us are the real threats.
To them I say, Ye of Little Faith.
“MIA (Missing in Action)” View
You know when them street lights come on, your a** better be home.
Some mothers are calling for their babies who are never coming home. Casualties of a war in America they didn’t sign up for. They were just born Black and in public.
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Stop in to see these works soon; the exhibit is on display until Saturday, July 15th.
Exhibit Images
