And yet, as the works in the exhibition demonstrate time and again, Hendricks’s portraits embody - I use this word in its literal sense - a politics that transcends the Black Power era and specific issues of injustice. “It shows rather than tells,” Ng goes on, “almost in the way that Seventeenth Century Dutch still life paintings of prized, imported objects show us the pathways and structures of colonialism.” Indeed, the absence of identifiable activism in Hendricks’ work left him open to criticism from both the Black and white art establishment - “outside of his time,” as Ng says. Painted in 1969, “the year Fred Hampton was assassinated,” as Frick curator Dr Aimee Ng reminded me in an interview, “Lawdy Mama,” like most - or all - of Hendricks’s portraits isn’t overtly political. And while “very” gets a bad break because of its hackneyed overuse, it’s worth remembering that the word has its roots in Latin, in veritas, meaning, simply, “truth.” The immediacy in the works demands an immediate response. Hendricks - Portraits at the Frick” isn’t an occasion for breaking out the thesaurus. I see the word “very” three times in those first four sentences - which is unusual as I try to find adjectives and adverbs other than “very” when I write, especially when I write about art. “Lawdy Mama,” however, blew my mind, as we used to say in the 70s when I was very young and trying very hard - and failing even harder - to be cool. The first Barkley Hendricks painting I ever saw was “Lawdy Mama.” The portrait was part of an exhibition of diverse artworks by a variety of American luminaries, from early portraits to quilts and installation pieces. NEW YORK CITY - I wanted to start this essay in some erudite way, but the truth is really very simple. Hendricks and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York City. Hendricks courtesy of the Estate of Barkley L. gift of Stuart Liebman, in memory of Joseph B.
Hendricks, 1969, oil and gold leaf on canvas, 53 ¾ by 36 ¼ inches.
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