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Cecilia Armena King
The Woman Behind the Drawings
STEPHANIE HORTON: Cecilia, please satisfy my wonder first before we get into your work. I’ve heard that you have a family connection to the abolitionist and daguerreotypist Augustus Washington. At the time he immigrated to Liberia in 1853, he was a college-educated professional artist and a political activist. His life story refutes many of the stereotypes about the early emigrants. He’d been a teacher, a crusader for racial justice, and the owner of a gallery in Hartford, Connecticut. It tells us a lot about the big dreams of the early emigrants—the broad social, political and economic engagement across borders that they envisioned—that he established businesses in Sierra Leone, the Gambia, and Senegal. His work represents a critical historical and artistic record of eighteenth to nineteenth century transcontinental black life. What’s your exact relationship to Augustus Washington?
CECILIA KING: I am the great-great-granddaughter of Augustus Washington. He was the daguerreotypist who took the famous portrait of the abolitionist John Brown, circa 1846. I wasn’t aware of my blood relationship to Augustus Washington until the year 2000, and how that came about is another story for another time. He took portrait pictures, and I was drawing portrait pictures without any knowledge of who he was or what he did. Must be in the genes (laugh). But to answer your question, Augustus Washington, my great-great-grandfather, had a daughter, Armena Estelle Washington, who was my great-grandmother. She married Charles Edward Cooper. They both had a son called James Francis Cooper, my grandfather. James Francis Cooper together with his wife Isabelle had my mother, Armena Estelle Cooper. My grandfather, James Francis Cooper, named his daughter after his mother. My mother named me after herself and my paternal grandmother, Cecilia Adeline King, who was married to former President Charles D. B. King, my paternal grandfather.
STEPHANIE HORTON: Have you always felt an artistic impulse ever since you can remember, and how were you nurtured and supported in your desire to become an artist?
CECILIA KING: At a very early age, my love of art came out on the walls of my bedroom, tables or anything else I could use as a surface to draw on. My parents, Cecil D. B. King and Armena Estelle Cooper-Hines, and my stepfather, Samuel Alexander Hines, didn’t seem to understand how ingrained the artistic talent in me was. As a budding artist, I was formally educated in many countries besides Liberia. I went to school in Germany, Switzerland, England, and the United States. Throughout my schooling, I always took the basic art courses that were offered in elementary, middle, and high school. I entered a contest in middle school to design the yearbook cover and won, though my parents didn’t see my talent as anything other than a childish hobby, not to be taken seriously.
My art portfolio of my favorite drawings from age eight to sixteen was taken from where I kept it under the staircase of the attic in our home and thrown into the garbage, as a lesson to me to stop keeping my things under the stairs. This was devastating to me. My medium was watercolors, but after that trauma, I found it impossible to pick up a brush to paint again. Each time I tried to paint, tears would well up in my eyes and obscure my vision. I decided to try fashion designing and modeling. My mother owned an African store in Queens, New York, called “Billyma.” I worked there after school and on weekends, designing earrings, and sewing clothes. I turned my back on art, feeling that I would never paint or draw again.
When I graduated from high school, I decided to major in art in college. My father said, “If you think that I’m going to spend my good hard-earned money for you to go to school and draw, you must be crazy. You'd better go draw for free!” This was the final straw for me. I refused to go to college for anything other than what I wanted. I joined the workforce without any aims. My mother got concerned and decided to take me back to Liberia. I entered the Miss Liberia Pageant and won. I went to England to compete in the Miss World Pageant, which gave me the opportunity to model, but inside of me the artist spirit wouldn’t die.
I moved out of my family home when I turned twenty. It was then, finally, in my own apartment, that I felt safe enough to draw again. I still couldn’t paint as I used to. I started drawing in pen and ink, and because I had no formal training, I bought art books and used myself as a model. I would wait until night when everybody had gone to sleep before picking up a pen. I hid my drawings from everybody. Then my roommate Rose Peyton walked in one night and caught me drawing. She was amazed. She said she could not believe her eyes. She encouraged me to continue and to try to sell some of my work, but I didn’t believe in myself, so I continued to draw just for myself.
Rose told another friend, Raymond Bright, who loved art, about my talent, and he commissioned me to do some drawings for him. Raymond was so pleased with my work that he paid cash for six pieces. That was what began rebuilding my self-confidence. My late uncle, Winston Richards, who was a gifted artist and a great leader in the architectural ranks of Liberia, also encouraged me to continue in my work. He encouraged me even more when he paid me $150.00 for just one of my prints. Today my mentors are my brother, Ronald Hines, my aunt, Mrs. Marie McBroom who lives in New York, and my cousin, Mrs. Rachel Diggs in Tennessee, and three close friends, Frances Wilson Hoff, Alhaj Azziz, and Versia Herrion.
STEPHANIE HORTON: Deep. It takes some serious inner strength, maturity, and courage to peel away the layers of pain and air those chambers of memory. What happened to you as an artist in your formative years was a kind of psychic violence. Thank you so much for sharing that. I hope that artists who feel their urge to create is not understood and not encouraged will find some inspiration in your experience, instead of just living with the misery of feeling unfulfilled, cut off from an essential part of their nature. It's deeply affecting, your willingness to submit to that organic compulsion within you, and to finally trust enough to share your own creations. That's epic. Not only that, but your story blasts to bits that big boulder and the illusion about ‘privilege.’ Who would think that the granddaughter of former President Charles D. B. King would be anything but a stereotypical pampered, spoiled princess, enh? So many of us look at people and make generalizations about them without an inkling about what shapes them, what brought them to the place they are. We could end the interview right here, but let's talk about your method. Tell us about the ‘pictures inside pictures’ style you’ve chosen, and the artists whose works have influenced you or inspires you.
CECILIA KING: My work is strongly influenced by William Gilberts’ art piece called “All is Vanity.” I remember sitting for long hours staring at that picture when I was growing up in my mother’s home. I was amazed at how you could see pictures within pictures in his work. I’ve created my own style of work that is unique to me alone using that form of pictures within pictures. I depict women in a tapestry-like design all by hand. I like to call my work hypnotic art. The more you study my work, the more you see in it. It takes me anywhere from three to six months to do a piece.
STEPHANIE HORTON: I first saw your work on Miatta Fahnbulleh’s “Blast from the Past” CD cover in 2000. That was “Cerita.” If you remember, I called to congratulate you after Tata—Miatta—gave me your telephone number, to tell you in person how beautiful I thought it was. The serenity, the self-love, self-assurance, the erotic femininity—without any taint of pornographic sensuality—is simply gorgeous. I think of the effervescence under her eyes and in her cheeks as springs that water her strength. Her ear holds a flower, her hair a breast. She's mythic. Ten different people could interpret your drawings in ten different ways. Where else has “Cerita” and some of your other work made an appearance?
CECILIA KING: Thanks for seeing all that in “Cerita.” “Cerita” is named after my daughter. My prints have made their way into galleries and private homes around the world. My portrait of the beautiful “Honorable Katherine Dunham,” the dancer, has been seen and blessed by Ms. Dunham herself. “Cerita” was published in the book called Women of the World, which is a global collection of art curated by Claudia Demonte that is on a world tour. The book’s foreword is by Arlene Raven. It was published in 2000 by Pomegranate Communications Inc. The entire exhibition, which includes the “Cerita” drawing, will be permanently housed in the new International Museum of Women being built in San Francisco when it opens in 2008.
STEPHANIE HORTON: How does an idea for a piece usually take shape in your mind?
CECILIA KING: This is the strange part. I never make my mind up before I do a drawing. I start with a general concept and build on each stoke as I proceed. I never know what it’s finally going to look like until it’s finished. It is just as exciting to me to see it come alive. What inspires me varies. Sometime a place, a person, a situation, a comment, music, feelings. I would say life. Experience.
STEPHANIE HORTON: I know “Cerita” is close to your heart. Are there others of your pieces that you feel a special love for?
CECILIA KING: My favorite creations are “Cerita,” “Tingle My Spine,” “In the Spirit,” “Mirror Image,” “Katherine Dunham,” “Unicorn II,” and “Yani.” My “Yani” drawing is very, very special to me. It is named after my dearly departed first Cousin Yanneh Sangari. I admired her so. She graced the cover of Jet Magazine in the early 1960s, hosted her own radio show, curated African art, helped young people in her community, and was extremely beautiful. I tried to capture her beauty but I only came close. No cigars (laugh). Yanneh always encouraged me. She used to say that I was a true African artist. I told her that I didn’t think of myself as an African artist, just an artist. It was she who pointed out to me that my very style of art—all the tapestry-like patterns—is rooted in African culture. She showed me a book of ancient African art. I had never seen anything like it before, but yes, there were some similarities. Then she pointed out to me that I was an African girl in America and that my artwork reflected a style that fused American and African art in one. That, of course, gave me a greater sense of worth.
The second piece very special to me is the “Katherine Dunham.” Miatta Fahnbulleh suggested that I do some portraits of well-known women of color from around the world, and Katherine Dunham was the first name she suggested. Miatta took me to see Ms. Dunham in person after the drawing was done, but when we arrived, Ms. Dunham wasn’t feeling too well, so we were told that she couldn’t receive any visitors. I was so disappointed; I really wanted her to see the portrait, so I asked that they please take it to her for her to at least see it. Ms. Dunham’s daughter was gracious enough to do so for me. Within minutes I was summoned to Ms. Dunham’s bedside. She saw the drawing and loved it so much that she wanted to meet the artist. I was so happy. Then Miatta took pictures of Ms. Dunham and me with the drawing. Now that both Yanneh and Ms. Dunham have passed away, you can imagine how precious those two drawings are to me.
“Cleo” is special to me in a different way because it was the first serious drawing I ever did in the style that I now do. It took me two years to complete, because I didn’t know what I was doing. When I took the drawing to the printer to make copies, a young lady was standing there waiting for her business to be completed. She glanced over and saw the drawing. She politely asked me if she could hold it and “read” it for me. I thought that was strange. How could she “read” a drawing? Well, I wanted to see that, so I said okay. She told me to look at the top of the drawing and see how the shape of the design on the top of the head resembled a moth. She found that interesting. In her spiritual teaching, the moth represents spiritual transformation, and it happened to be sitting on the chakra at the top of the head, which is where she said spiritual energy is channeled from. Then she went on to say she noticed that the hair was wavy underneath with straight bars on top. She said that reminded her of how people with curly hair always like to straighten it and how people with straight hair always like to curl theirs. She said that hair is like an antenna to the energy field around you, and I had the hair imprisoned. She said she noticed that there was a lot of activity and strong energy inside the drawing, but it was completely incased inside the drawing only, because I had confined all the energy. She felt that the drawing symbolized me and my true essence. She thought that I was truly spiritual, extremely knowledgeable, with great potential, but it was all being kept bottled up inside myself. She felt that I needed to free up some of my energy, have more faith in myself and share what I have to give to the world more. I asked her why did she say that, and her reply was, “look at the mouth and eyes, they are both closed.”
Now, when I did the drawing, I thought that I was just putting together some patterns and designs. My mind went blank and I just drew. I wasn’t doing it for anyone, had no deadline, so I just took my time – two years! But after that woman gave me that reading on “Cleo,” it gave me a whole new perspective on seeing it. I never saw that lady again, but I thank her.
STEPHANIE HORTON: No doubt your work has a mystical quality. Though “Cleo” seems “imprisoned,” the way you portray her symbolically unmasks the generational repression and suppression we've borne as females. She personifies a woman in her seeding time of transformation. There's a quietude about her that speaks of power brewing under the surface. But I have to say what an angel Miatta Fahnbulleh is. Our female lives are so typically messy, but she's always there with a smile, affirmation, her eternal optimism, advice, passion for life. She's a healing zone. A selfless giver. I don't think most people have any idea what a cultural activist she is, a cultural ambassador, her brilliance, how much she does outside of the public eye to build up, build bonds, and sustain connections. I love her love. Love her.
CECILIA KING: I agree with that! Miatta is my buddy. She's one of the real people in my life and she understands the artist's heart and makes me feel appreciated. I admire her talent, but even more than that I admire her kindness to people who are less fortunate. Every time I talk to her, she has some new project going to help people. God will bless her because she's magic.
STEPHANIE HORTON: In the traditional world, art is inseparable from life and it is said artists often go into a trancelike state. This happens to you, too—the trances, and it's a testament to what Yanneh reminded you about being an African artist in America, about you claiming and being aware of that part of who you are in your art. The emotional trauma you experienced, the sense of emptiness and being split off from a vital part of yourself reminds me of a passage in Toni Morrison’s novel, Sula:
In a way, her strangeness, her naiveté, her craving for the other half of her equation was the consequence of an idle imagination. Had she paints, or clay, or knew the discipline of the dance, or strings, had she anything to engage her tremendous curiosity and her gift for metaphor, she might have exchanged the restlessness and preoccupation with whim for an activity that provided her with all she yearned for. And like an artist with no art form, she became dangerous.
Who knows how many depressed or “dangerous,” frustrated and thwarted artists Liberia has betrayed in ignorance by misunderstanding, neglect, devaluation, and ridicule? It’s a haunting thought.
CECILIA KING: Even murder! Two that I've known and are now gone are Tecumsy Roberts and Wicky Padmore.
STEPHANIE HORTON: Aye, before we start crying, God bless their souls. May they rest in peace. Cecilia, thank you for the interview, for your courage to share personal truths, and for never giving up on that sweet itch to create and express yourself. You've found your space of creative liberation and it's beautiful to see you shine and be your dreamy, artistic true self. Your work is glorious, multi-layered, rich in symbolism: your own authentic truth. Before we end, do you have any words for young artists in light of your own struggles to be understood and respected as a creative being?
CECILIA KING: Yes. To thyself be true. Being an artist is a very difficult thing, because there is no readymade place for you in society. You are a creator and have to create your own sense of place in society. Many of us don’t make much money, yet we continue on. That’s because we didn’t become artists, we are artists. It is in our blood. We don’t do it for money. We do it because we can’t help it. Without it we die. So what can I say to our young? Keep on keepin’ on. Never stop. What you do is for the world. The Great Artists of the World that are remembered followed their own way. Just concentrate on being the best you can be, and the rest will take care of itself. Do it for love. Do what you love. Enjoy yourself!
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