Tag: University Press of Mississippi (Page 1 of 5)

Scholar Phillip Gordon explores all of Faulkner’s walks on the wild side in ‘Gay Faulkner’

By Jesse Yancy. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (January 26)

In Gay Faulkner, Phillip Gordon examines Faulkner’s interactions with gay men, his immersion in gay subcultures, especially during the 1920s, and his strong and meaningful relationships with specific gay men, particularly his lifelong friend Ben Wasson. Gordon’s study concentrates on As I Lay Dying and the Snopes trilogy with particular emphasis on Darl Bundren and V.K. Ratliff. Gordon states flatly that “the question at the heart of this study is not ‘Was Faulkner gay?’ . . . what this study really seeks to address: Is there a gay Faulkner?”

Gordon seeks to reveal a gay presence not only in Faulkner’s work, but also in his life as well, establishing Faulkner’s awareness of homosexuality and homosexuals, and his acceptance and participation in gay culture. While Gay Faulkner is a solid academic work the notes are as absorbing as the text, and the bibliography constitutes a summation of Queer Faulkner studies. Gordon offers insight, information, and even entertainment for the general reader.

Gordon’s documentation of Faulkner’s stay in New Orleans explores the bohemian atmosphere as well as the writers’ community of the Vieux Carré. Central to this section of the book is Gordon’s account of Faulkner’s relationship with his longtime friend and roommate, the gay artist William Spratling, including an intriguing account of a trip to Italy with Spratling, a journey that resulted in Faulkner’s most openly gay story, “A Divorce in Naples.”

We also discover Faulkner in New York City after the publication of Sanctuary (1931) interacting with the Algonquin Round Table, and his awkward meeting with Alexander Woollcott with his gay friend and sometime agent Ben Wasson and the New Orleans-born gay writer, Lyle Saxon. Gordon describes Faulkner touring Harlem’s gay clubs and cabarets with Carl Van Vechten, where he attended a show by the famous drag “king” Gladys Bentley. This encounter as recounted by Wasson becomes a focal point for establishing the critical importance of the Blotner Papers at Southeastern Missouri State University, which Gordon calls “fascinating, complex, and, for lack of a better word, beautiful.” And despite his earlier disclaimer concerning Faulkner’s personal proclivities, in somewhat of an aside Gordon also avers that “there is evidence in the Blotner papers that suggest our understanding of Faulkner’s sexuality might not be what we have generally assumed.”

Gordon frames Faulkner within the literary milieu of early 20th century Mississippi, which by any standards constitutes the cutting edge of the Southern Renaissance in American literature and includes several prominent gay writers. The queer planter, poet, and memoirist William Alexander Percy of Greenville nurtured a clutch of writers, including Hodding Carter, Walker Percy, Shelby Foote, and Wasson. Gordon also illuminates Oxford’s fascinating and cosmopolitan Stark Young as well as the undeservedly obscure poet and scholar Hubert Creekmore of Water Valley.

In a text, Gordon and other queer critics focus on the meaning and nuances of the words used, and amplify their implications. Some readers may think Gordon is reaching to make a point, but in the end, the words and their meanings are there for any reader to understand. Gay Faulkner has a great deal to be recommended; it’s interesting, educational and, yes, entertaining. It is also a much-needed blade to cut the hide-bound conventions surrounding Faulkner and his work.

Jesse Yancy is a writer, editor and gardener living in Jackson.

Phillip Gordon will be at Lemuria on Thursday, March 26, to sign and discuss Gay Faulkner.

‘Cherchez la Femme’ shows grit, beauty of New Orleans women

By Susan Cushman. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (January 12)

Inspired by the 2017 Women’s March in Washington, D.C., New Orleans native and documentary photographer Cheryl Gerber has, in her new book Cherchez la Femme: New Orleans Women, curated an incredible collection of over 200 color photographs and 12 essays, showcasing both famous and lesser-known New Orleans women. Gerber set out to show their “grit and grace” and their “beauty and desire,” and I believe she succeeded in a big way with this gorgeous large format hardcover masterpiece.

Cherchez la femme literally translates as “look for the woman.” In his 1854 novel The Mohicans of Paris, Alexandre Dumas repeats the phrase several times. Since then the French have often used it in a sexist manner, implying that women–or “the woman”–must be the cause of whatever problem is being described. It brings to mind Adam’s reply to God’s question concerning his transgression with the forbidden fruit; he blamed it on “the woman you gave me.”

In her homage to those women, Gerber has turned that phrase on its head, inviting the reader to look for the women who have made and are still making significant contributions to their colorful city.

My use of the word “colorful” is intentional. In the foreword, New Orleans native Anne Gisleson prepares us for the tour de force that Cherchez la Femme is–a tribute to the monumental achievements of colorful women and women of color.

Beginning with the Ursuline nuns and their beloved Lady of Prompt Succor who ran the hosptials and schools for people of all races as early as the War of 1812, and later as French baroness Macaela Pontalba fought to protect and rebuild the historic architecture of her beloved city. Gisleson introduces us to Henriette Delille–a free woman of color who started her won order to feed and educate the poor, since she wasn’t allowed to join the Ursulines.

Gerber’s loving tribute to chef Leah Chase (1923-2019) and Helen Freund’s essay about Chase in the culinary chapter set a celebratory tone for the stories that follow. Gerber organized these into topical chapters: Musicians, Business, Philanthropists and Socialites, Spiritual, Activists, Mardi Gras Indian Queens, Mardi Gras Krewes, Baby Dolls, Social and Pleasure Clubs, and Burlesque. The contributors include publishers, authors, historians, journalists, and educators.

Fifty years ago, the New Orleans-born gospel great Mahalia Jackson debuted at Jazz Fest. In her essay, Alison Fensterstock hails Jackson as “an artist whose powerful creative spark and spiritual passion shaped the sound not only of the city, but also of her nation.”

In her essay, Kathy Finn says that female entrepreneurs–including Voodoo practitioners, strippers, clothing and jewelry designers, and professional sports team owners–are “helping to ensure that the city” retains its unique character far into the future.”

Sue Strachan tells us about a bevy of female philanthropists, lobbyists, social columnists, and fundraisers who have “a passion for making the community a better place.”

The city of New Orleans–named for a young French girl who saw angels and saints and led France in a victory over England, “The Maid of Orleans,”–today “serves as the cauldron where these archetypal forms simmer together: the saints, the nuns, the witches, the mambo…a distinctively feminine spirituality…that runs through the streets…” Constance Adler found her true home there through a Voodoo priestess’ “gestures, words, and smoke at the altar.”

Katy Reckdahl shines a light on many women activists, showing us that “the tradition of resistance in New Orleans is particularly strong.”

Mardi Gras Indian Queens like essay contributor Charice Harrison-Nelson, also known as Maroon Queen Reesie, is one of 16 Indian Queens Gerber photographed for the book. Did I mention this city (and the book) is colorful?

While Krewes were male-dominted in the past, women have become “the architects of a new carnival experience,” as Karen Trahan Leathem explains in her essay.

Kim Vaz-Deville goes into more depth about the Baby Dolls, offering an opportunity for black women who were previously shout out of Mardi Gras. Gerber captures 14 of these dance groups in her amazing photographs.

Social and pleasure clubs keep the tradition of second-line parades alive. Karen Celestan explains in her essay: “The kinetic procession viewed on weekend streets in the Crescent City is nothing less than liquid muscle memory….It is fresh joyfulness, majestic, paying tribute to their ancestors.”

Gerber’s final chapter features an essay by Melanie Warner Spencer, who writes about the resurgence of burlesque. Today’s stars–like Bella Blue, Louisiana native and mother of two–are often trained in classic ballet. Blue is also headmistress of the New Orleans School of Burlesque. Spencer says burlesque “promotes a message of fun, fabulousness, confidence, and body positivity…keeping alive an art farm that is as much a part of the history of New Orleans as streetcars and beignets albeit a dash naughtier.”

“Fun and fabulousness” are also words I would use to describe Cherchez la Femme, a beautiful love letter to the women of New Orleans.

Jackson native Susan Cushman is editor of Southern Writers on Writing and two other anthologies. She is author of short story collection Friends of the Librarythe novel Cherry Bomb, and the memoir Tangles and Plaques: A Mother and Daughter Face Alzheimer’s.

Barry Gifford offers writers advice in ‘The Cavalry Charges’

By Steve Yates. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (January 12)

Mississippians are especially fortunate in that we likely have more independent bookstores per capita than any other state in the union.

And one thing those bookstores do is bring in authors readers might otherwise miss. John Evans at Lemuria Books in Jackson has brought author, poet, and screenwriter Barry Gifford to Jackson many times since meeting Gifford at an American Booksellers Association meeting in Las Vegas in 1989. This was just before the movie Wild at Heart appeared, a film which Gifford co-wrote with famed director David Lynch.

Born in Chicago, Gifford is often now described as a Bay Area writer. But his writing and work have taken him all over the globe, including many times to the American South.

The Cavalry Charges: Writings on Books, Film, and Music (Revised Edition) (University Press of Mississippi) is a collection of reviews and reflections that shaped him as a writer to a wide range of books, films, television programs, and music. Within these essays, Gifford talks about his own work, his own film-making (not just with Lynch, but with Francis Ford Coppola, and Matt Dillon), and the film-making of others, including a nine-part dossier on Marlon Brando’s One-Eyed Jacks.

“The cavalry charges” is, according to Coppola, the most expensive three-word stage direction in all of screenwriting. You’ll have to read that essay. But don’t get the wrong idea. These essays are not about multi-million-dollar movie scenes in super expensive settings. They’re about art–making it, discovering it, relishing it, and ensuring that it continues.

Gifford rubs shoulders with the likes of Artie Shaw, Coppola, and Dillon, and even spots E.M. Forster shuffling to a Lenny Bruce performance near Cambridge (“wearing a cape,” Gifford observes, “[Forster] resembled a large anteater”). But his real delight is the reaction of a raw joy art can evince in the individual beholder.

In a fascinating essay about the movie Gifford and Dillon created, City of Ghosts, a Cambodian woman at a screening in Toronto admits to the filmmakers that she and a contingent of South Asians had just watched the film anticipating it would exploit her people and culture. But she found it thoughtful, even tender. Most important to Gifford’s collaborator Stellan Skarsgard was “Did you like it?” Gifford declares victory when the woman smiles and exclaims “Yes! It was very exciting!”

Gifford talks about where he was, what he was doing, who were his sidekicks or whom he was sidekick to when he encountered each book, or film, or musical figure he treats. Sidekicks, companions, and collaborators have played a huge part in every phase of Gifford’s life. And that comes through here repeatedly as he generously points them out and celebrates what friends and co-conspirators gave him.

University Press of Mississippi–which published Gifford’s Hotel Room Trilogy and Out of the Past: Adventures in Film Noir–published a revised edition of The Calvary Charges this winter in paperback.

New to the collection are four previously published essays: a brief look at the novels of Álvaro Mutis; a reflection on Gifford’s schooling at University of Missouri in Columbia under Nebraska poet John Neihardt; an essay on Hattiesburg’s Elliot Chaze and his superbly written novel Black Wings Has My Angel; and short glimpse of Gifford’s thieving, road-tripping characters for so many novels, Sailor and Lula hanging out together in Metarie and contemplating Andy Warhol, wigs, black and white photography, and Abita beer.

Time after time, Gifford says, essentially, do yourself a favor and read this, watch this, or listen to this. Follow his advice and enjoy it all in The Cavalry Charges.

Steve Yates of Flowood is the author of the novel The Legend of the Albino Farm from Unbridled Books, the Juniper Prize-winning Some Kinds of Love: Stories, and a recipient of The Quill Award from the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame.

Quintessential book reveals making of Johnny Cash’s most iconic album

By DeMatt Harkins. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (November 17)

The morning of January 13th, 1968, Johnny Cash rode half an hour from Sacramento to the granite walls of Folsom State Prison. With Carl Perkins and The Statler Brothers as openers, he played two shows at 9:40am and 12:40pm. The composite recording of the proceedings would surpass 3 million units sold.

This was not Cash’s first performance at a prison, nor was it his initial appearance at that particular location. But in Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison: The Making of a Masterpiece, Michael Streissguth details what proved to be the most important day of Cash’s career, providing the trajectory to cement his place in musical history.

If you came up during a time when Cash was already a living legend, it is natural to assume he always was one. However, Streissguth explains this was not the case. At Folsom Prison‘s namesake track was recorded at Sun Studios 13 years prior. With the exception of one outlier, Cash’s string of hits tapered off around 1963. His output became increasingly uneven and uninspired. This came as no surprise with recording sessions regularly pilfered, when not missed entirely.

Streissguth lays this rut at the feet of Cash’s drug addiction. Throughout the decade, the singer would struggle with the misuse of amphetamines. Meeting concert obligations became a 50/50 prospect. When he did make it to the microphone, it was not unusual for Cash to be deep in the throes of his habit or just returning to consciousness.

However, as the 60s drew to a close, Streissguth demonstrates two people came into Cash’s life, to great benefit. They would help set the stage for the success of At Folsom Prison. Country royalty June Carter served as a calming, supportive, and loving influence on the troubled soul. Her budding relationship with Cash spawned not only a marriage, but also a return to form in the Grammy-winning duet “Jackson.”

Simultaneously, when Columbia Records transferred Bob Johnston to run their Nashville operations, it would open doors for Cash. Although the Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel producer had been stationed in New York, the native Texan proved a Cash ally, with an equal penchant for mischief. Cash had been asking to record at a prison for years. Johnston was just the guy to ignore the home office’s warnings and green light such a project. The gamble would pay off for all parties involved.

Just as At Folsom Prison would provide Cash’s career a shot in the arm, it also rehydrated country music from its own drought of sorts. In 1968, the musical order of the day was psychedelic and soul. Streissguth argues that Cash was miscategorized as country front the get-go, since he truly played rockabilly. He contends the popularity of Folsom greased the wheels for an updated country/rock hybrid introduced by The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Byrds, and Buffalo Springfield. Going further, Streissguth credits Cash’s revival and subsequent exponential growth for paving the way to arena success for Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings, among others.

Nonetheless, Streissguth asks the question, why is At Folsom Prison rarely if ever included in the best albums of the rebellious 60s? While LPs still considered masterpieces today explored new artistic landscapes, he asserts none of them truly challenged authority like At Folsom Prison. Mocking guards and swearing in front of a thousand inmates as tape rolled was a bold move for the era.

Recognizing this, Columbia built their marketing strategy on Cash’s impudence. At the time, the company allocated their promotional budget to pop and classical. With limited resources and a seemingly countercultural message, Columbia sent the record straight to underground newspapers and free-form radio DJs. Although now considered a landmark country album, At Folsom Prison initially gained momentum with the hip set.

But as Streissguth points out, Cash went beyond merely thumbing his nose. Over the next decade he would become an outspoken advocate for prison reform. Essentially unheard of at the time, he understood that caring for prisoners would achieve more for society than brutality. For years he spoke out during interviews, and even appeared at a Senate hearing in 1972.

Without question, At Folsom Prison put Johnny Cash back on the map for three more decades. In addition to putting you there that chilly morning in 1968, Streissguth places the album in context of Cash’s career, personal life, and music as a whole.

DeMatt Harkins of Jackson enjoys flipping pancakes and records with his wife and daughter.

Will Jacks’ ‘Po’ Monkey’s’ allows one last visit to famous, shuttered Delta juke joint

By Chris Goodwin. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 27)

Becoming a famous and beloved institution is no guarantee of permanence. So with Po’ Monkey’s Lounge outside Merigold, the creation and full expression of Mr. Willie Seaberry—farm laborer by day, internationally known juke joint proprietor by night.

After decades of those-who-know-don’t-need-to-ask operation catering to locals in search of a Thursday evening respite, the establishment rose to prominence as white photographers and journalists enthralled by its authenticity brought news of its existence to their audiences, turning it into a must-see site for blues tourists traveling the Mississippi Delta.

Alas, the death of Mr. Seaberry in 2016 was also the death knell for the lounge. We’re fortunate to have Will Jacks’ moving photographic tribute, Po’ Monkey’s: Portrait of a Juke Joint (University Press of Mississippi), to document—and remind us—of what has been lost.

A trained photographer and gallery owner who grew up not far from Po’ Monkey’s, Jacks spent a decade at the lounge, connecting with the people who worked there and reconnecting with school friends who were some of its regulars. Jacks often had his camera in hand to capture the riotous, exuberant dance floor as well as quieter moments off to the side. More than seventy of those images are reproduced in black and white in this oversized hardcover edition. That color choice denies readers the full glory of Mr. Seaberry’s famous bright outfits, but it perfectly suits the fundamental nature of a vernacular structure begun nearly 100 years ago.

Jacks gives equal time to the people and the place in his selection of shots. There are women and men, black and white, young and old pictured shooting pool, dancing, or listening to music (in the tight confines of the lounge usually provided by a DJ or jukebox, not a live band), sitting together at the tables with drinks at hand, or posing for portraits outside the building in front of an improvised screen.

But equally rewarding are the images of the building. Po’ Monkey’s was located in the house where Mr. Seaberry lived for much of his life. He reserved for himself a small bedroom at the back—the rest was richly decorated with stuffed monkeys (the juke joint took its name from Mr. Seaberry’s nickname) and posters, photographs, beads, and strand after strand of Christmas lights, which transformed the Spartan interior of a sharecropper’s cabin into a joyous space where people came to forget their cares for the night.

The photographs highlight the textures of that space, from the plastic hung to keep out the rain—a pragmatic decision that became a design feature when they were tufted to the ceiling—to the corrugated tin and candy-striped handrails of the exterior. The hand-painted signs near the front door clearly laid out the owner’s positions: No loud music, dope smoking, rap music, or beer brought inside.

An introductory essay by journalist Boyce Upholt and a photographer’s statement at the end of the book tell the particulars of Willie Seaberry’s life story as well as they can be teased out, his close relationship with the Hiter family who owns the house and farmland on which it sits, and the story of Po’ Monkey’s during its years of operation and in the time following his death.

It seems unlikely that the lounge will ever reopen, and even if it were to, it would be a different place from what its patrons have known. It was the larger-than-life personality of its owner that made Po’ Monkey’s the welcoming place that it was for so many, and it is thanks to Will Jacks that we have this record of that time and that place.

Chris Goodwin lives in Jackson. He visited Po’ Monkey’s for the first time in 2007 and hasn’t danced that much since.

Author Q & A with William Dunlap

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 20)

Mississippi native William Dunlap takes a look back at folk art as he highlights his former father-in-law’s paintings and storytelling from the 1970s in Pappy Kitchens and the Saga of Red Eye the Rooster (University Press of Mississippi).

While the late O.W. “Pappy” Kitchens’ work is hard to classify, his is a style that combines visual folk art with parables that reveal moral virtue. The Crystal Springs native first picked up a paint brush after a long career in the construction business, at the age of 67. He referred to himself as a folk artist, explaining: “I paint about folks, what folks see and what folks do.”

In the book’s introduction, acclaimed art curator Jane Livingston speaks of Kitchens’ intuitive talent.

“He is remarkably uninfluenced by other artists,” she states. “It is the stories and not the form they take that arise naturally from the man’s life and the fables of his imagination.”

It was that “imagination” that Dunlap picked up on immediately when he saw for himself the sincerity and intensity of Kitchens’ “piddling” in his son-in-law’s studio.

“As a Southern visual artist, (Kitchens) employs a birthright inherent in his rich oral culture and tradition,” Dunlap writes in the book’s preface.

The hats Dunlap wears include that of artist, arts commentator, and writer. His paintings, sculpture, and constructions are included in numerous widely recognized public and private collections, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National Gallery of Art, and The Ogden Museum of Southern Art. He authored numerous publications including the books Short Mean Fiction: Words and Pictures and Dunlap, the latter published by University Press of Mississippi.

An exhibit including the paintings from The Saga of Red Eye the Rooster will be on display at the Mississippi Museum of Art in Jackson through Nov. 17.

Please tell me about your relationship with “Pappy” Kitchens.

I knew Mr. Kitchens from 1963 until his death in ‘86, because I was married to his only daughter Bobbie Jean Kitchens. We moved to the mountains of North Carolina where I taught at Appalachian State University. After Mr. Kitchens retired he and Ms. Kitchens visited us in the fall and in the spring, It was there in my studio that Mr. Kitchens begin to “ piddle,” as he called it, and made some of the most remarkable works of art it’s been my pleasure to see.

Briefly tell us about the story of The Saga of Red Eye the Rooster–which you have deemed to be Pappy Kitchens’ “magnus opus.”

Always a fine storyteller of the Southern tradition, Mr. Kitchens often ruminated on the problems of the world and spoke in parables. The official art world at the time did not embrace the narrative, but that did not stop “Pappy” Kitchens, as he begin to call himself.

His long and involved narrative series called The Saga of Red Eye the Rooster was made over a period of several years, in groups of 20 works at a time. Taken as a whole, there’s nothing in the annals of folk art quite like it.

The work includes 60 separate panels, each 15 inches by 15 inches, all polymer paint and mixed materials on paper. The artwork chronicles the pursuits, habits, and appetites of Red Eye the Rooster, who is very familiar to many of us.

How did you decide to take on the project of producing this book to showcase Kitchens’ talents and achievements in art–and why now?

It has fallen my lot to care for Mr. Kitchens’ body of work and I’m happy to do so. The idea for a book has been out there for some time. Both Jane Livingston, an early supporter of Pappy’s work; and Dr. Rick Gruber, whose scholarship on Southern Art is unmatched, encouraged me to pursue it. Craig Gill, head of the University Press of Mississippi found it compelling enough to underwrite this project. Hence, the book, The Saga of Red Eye the Rooster in all its metaphorical and allegorical glory.

“Pappy” combined his art with an incredible talent for storytelling to produce his greatest works. Please tell me about the personal influences that drove Pappy’s art and his stories.

I’m not the first to come to the conclusion that language is a birthright for we Southerners. What Mr. Kitchens was able to accomplish was to translate the oral into the visual, sometimes with the help of his handy portable typewriter.

It’s all quite seamless. Mr. Kitchens had the skill set all along to make these paintings but what he lacked was the time and motivation. With retirement and the use of the materials in my studio he was able to make up for considerable lost time.

So much of his material was not unlike other so-called folk artists, Bible stories, memories from childhood, etc. Mr. Kitchens also did research–he read widely on art history and folk art and made a very charming painting of the Venus of Willendorf, whose carver and Pappy Kitchens had a great deal in common.

William Dunlap will be at Lemuria on Monday, October 21, at 5:00 to sign and discuss Pappy Kitchens and the Saga of Red Eye the Rooster.

William Dunlap’s new book rediscovers savvy, ingenious art of Mississippi’s Pappy Kitchens

By J. Richard Gruber. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (September 22)

O.W. “Pappy” Kitchens was a distinctive Mississippi character. He was a building contractor and house mover, as well as an accomplished storyteller, who, after he sold his business and retired, discovered that he was an artist.

“I began to draw and sketch and found my experience in drafting was a big help in this adventure.” He was, he explained, a specific type of artist. “I am a folk artist. I paint about folks, what folks see and what folks do.”

In 1970, at the age of 69, Kitchens began to paint and draw, inspired by what he saw in the art studio of his son-in-law, in Boone, North Carolina. That son-in-law was William Dunlap, then a professor of art at Appalachian State University (and now one of Mississippi’s most recognized national artists).

The rapid evolution of Kitchens’ art, driven by his life experiences, his storytelling skills, his religious beliefs, and his inspired visions—all channeled through the crystal ball he consulted—brought him regional and national recognition in the 1970s.

The art and life of Kitchens (1901-1986) is the subject of Bill Dunlap’s handsome, and thought-provoking, new book, Pappy Kitchens and the Saga of Red Eye The Rooster. Kitchens staged his ambitious project in a methodical fashion, as Dunlap notes in his Preface. “This fable consists of sixty panels, each one measuring fifteen inches square, composed of mixed materials on paper and executed in three groups of twenty from 1973 to 1977.” All sixty panels are featured in the book as individual full page, full color illustrations.

The story follows the life of this mythical bird “from foundling to funeral,” as Dunlap describes, tracing the arc of his allegorical adventures and his confrontations “with antagonists of all sorts, including his recurring nemesis, Colonel Harlan Sanders. Red Eye encounters violence, avarice, lust, greed, and, most of all, the seven deadly sins, dispatching them in heroic fashion until he finally succumbs to his own fatal flaw.”

In addition to Dunlap’s lively text, the book includes an excellent essay by noted curator and folk art scholar, Jane Livingston. Livingston included the “Saga of Red Eye” in the 1977 Corcoran Biennial Exhibition in Washington, DC, the first time folk art was included in this prestigious show. By 1977, the “Saga of Red Eye” had been “discovered” by the national art world.

More than forty years later, Livingston offers this observation. “Though it has taken nearly half a century for this book to enter the unpredictable trajectory of American cultural history, it comes at a moment when its authenticity and subtly intense truth-telling are especially welcome.” And she adds that “Pappy Kitchen’s work, once seen, is difficult to forget … in contemplating other artists … who were Pappy Kitchens’s chronological peers, his images resonate for me in a way that few of them achieve.”

This, alone, should give you enough reason to buy this book. Yet, there is another, equally intriguing side to this artist’s story. It relates to his self-awareness, and to current issues in the field of folk art (also known as “outsider,” “self-taught,” “naïve,” “vernacular” and more recently, “outlier” art). These issues question the proximity of self-taught art to contemporary art, increasingly arguing for its parity with more “elite” art forms.

Kitchens was a savvy character. He grew a beard and started calling himself Pappy. He read and studied art history. He referred to specific artists in his art and writings. This historical awareness is seen in his text (he hand wrote, then typed texts), “Preface—American Folk Art “ (included in the book), where he notes that the “first exhibition devoted to American folk art was held at the Whitney Studio Club, organized and sponsored by one Gertrude Whitney, in New York City in 1924.”

Today, a “folk artist” with this level of self-awareness might well be called “woke.” To underscore this self-awareness, he continued. “I sketch, draw, paint, talk, and write what I see, hear, read, feel, taste, and smell from a concept originating and composed from expierance [sic], my crystal ball, photographs, news medias [sic], archives and history, the Holy Bible, and a general knowledge of nature.”

It is time for Pappy Kitchens, and Red Eye, to be “discovered” yet again. He may have been a man ahead of his times.

J. Richard Gruber, Director Emeritus of the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, is active as an independent art historian, curator and writer.

Author Q & A with Melody Golding

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 13)

Vicksburg’s Melody Golding spent 10 years collecting stories from riverboat pilots who shared personal tales of their careers spent on the water, spanning a 70-year period.

The resulting book from this author, photographer and artist is Life Between the Levees: America’s Riverboat Pilots (University Press of Mississippi). The volume is filled with drama, suspense and a sense of nostalgia as it chronicles the real-life adventures of men and women who have devoted their lives to the “brown water.”

Golding proudly acknowledges that she comes from a riverboat family, thanks to her husband’s 45-year-plus career in the riverboat and barge business. She also points out the incredible impact that riverboats contribute to the nation’s economy.

Her work has been featured at the Smithsonian Institute, the Department of Homeland Security, the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C., and in numerous universities and museums. Her previous books are Katarina: Mississippi Women Remember and Panther Tract: Wild Boar Hunting in the Mississippi Delta.

The Seamen’s Church Institute, a non-profit agency founded in 1834 and affiliated with the Episcopal Church, serves mariners through pastoral care and education. Golding has donated the royalties from the sale of this book to The Seamen’s Church Institute to help further their mission for mariners.

Tell me about your personal connection to the riverboat industry.

Our family has been in the river industry for decades. We have a riverboat and barge line that operates on our inland waterways. We are river people.

Life Between the Levees includes 101 stories shared by as many riverboat pilots who were born more than seven decades apart–from 1915 to 1987. You have said that putting this book together took almost 10 years. Explain the process that required such an extraordinary effort.

Melody Golding

The process of creating this book about pilots’ life on the river involved quite a bit of travel and an extensive amount of time. To interview my pilots, my journeys took me to many cities and ports, from Houston, New Orleans, of course Vicksburg, where I live, to Memphis, Paducah, and Wood River, Ill., just to name a few. I climbed on and off boats and carried my backpack of photographic and recording equipment as well as my Coast Guard regulation lifejacket and my TWIC card (Transportation Workers Identification Card) and I met them on land as well. I recorded the stories, which are first person reflections, then transcribed and presented them as they were told to me.

The book traces the progression of the riverboat industry through a time span that took navigational tools from lanterns placed on the riverbanks to today’s GPS, sonar, Satellite Compass and electronic charting software–but were there also elements of river life that the pilots indicated have pretty much remained the same.

One of the aspects of working out on the river that has remained the same throughout the years would be the “call of the river” that so many mariners experience. There is an old saying on the river that if “you wear out a pair of boots on the river you will stay on the river forever.” Many also say that brown water runs in their veins.

One of my pilots who is also a musician wrote a song about the river and some of the lyrics go, “I hate her when I’m with her and I miss her when I’m gone.” The pilots always reflect movingly on the time spent away from home because of their career, a universal reality for all mariners.

Another aspect that hasn’t changed on the river, and that has remained the same, is that there is no automatic pilot. The pilots have to steer the boat and know where they are.

You state in the book’s introduction that in today’s world, “the river is virtually an unknown territory to those who live and work on land.” Please explain how this is true, and the impact the industry makes on the U.S. economy.

The river is virtually an unknown territory to those who live and work on land largely because it is inaccessible to most people. Streets and railroads run through every town, but the river is bordered by levees and battures (the land between a low-stage river and the levees) and when travelling on the river one can go hundreds of miles without seeing any signs of life. It is a territory that is grand and vast.

The waterways and ports in the Mississippi corridor move billions of dollars of products throughout the U.S. and foreign markets. Inland and intercoastal waterways directly serve 38 states throughout the nation’s heartland as well as the states on the Atlantic seaboard, the Gulf Coast and the Pacific Northwest. The inland waterways of the United States include more than 25,000 miles of navigable waters.

The economic impact is evident as the majority of the grain that is exported comes down the river to the gulf. Over 30 percent of petroleum and chemicals moved in the U.S. today is moved on our inland waterways; and most coal and aggregates are moved by barge.

The first edition of Life Between the Levees sold out quickly. Why do you think this book has been so popular, and who should read it?

I am so very humbled by the interest in Life Between the Levees. I believe it is popular because there isn’t another book “out there” that is like it. This book is full of real-life drama, suspense and a way of life that most people otherwise would have no knowledge of. It is a fun read and can either be read “front to back” or picked up and read where the book falls open.

The photographs tell their own story if one just cares to visually experience the river. Anyone who has an interest in our inland waterways system will enjoy this book. The stories here are told by real river legends. They are the “real deal.”

Author Q & A with Will Jacks

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (October 6)

Mississippi Delta photographer and documentarian Will Jacks celebrates the life and times of the late Willie Seaberry, owner of Po’ Monkey’s blues house in Merigold for more than 50 years, in Po’ Monkey’s: Portrait of a Juke Joint (University Press of Mississippi).

Jacks extols the history of the night club that closed with Seaberry’s death in 2016, while pondering the future of the deteriorating hand-built tenant house that was once a blues hot spot.

With more than 70 black-and-white photos and an introduction by award-winning writer Boyce Upholt, Jacks highlights the cultural significance and the need to honor it with a historical record.

Among his many talents and skills, Jacks is also a curator and storyteller, and he teaches photography and documentary classes at Delta State University.

What was it about Po’ Monkey’s juke joint in Merigold that made it such a must-see stop for Blues-loving tourists and locals?

Willie Seaberry

It was Willie Seaberry. The locals definitely came over the years because of him and the welcoming environment he created. And then the locals became the glue that made Po’ Monkey’s different from almost every other space frequented by blues tourists. The mix of tourists and locals created an amazing atmosphere of sharing, and when that atmosphere was combined with the visual drama of the structure and its location in the middle of a farm, well, there was a perfect recipe for an incredibly unique experience–and a good time.

You say in the book that Willie Seaberry knew you (a regular at this establishment for a decade), but you don’t think he knew your name. Tell me about your relationship with him.

Will Jacks

Willie was never great with names, but he had an ability to hide that and make everyone feel as if he were their best friend. I saw him do this over and over and over again. Someone would enter the club–usually a tourist that made yearly trips to the Delta–and give him a warm greeting as if they were family. Willie would reciprocate, and the guest would feel as if it was just a matter of time before Willie came to visit at their home. It wasn’t that Willie was disingenuous–he loved sharing a good time with his guests–it’s just that so many people came in and out of his life that it must have been impossible for him to keep track of all those names and faces.

I was no different. Even though I visited most Thursday nights, I didn’t see Willie as regularly outside of that environment as his closest friends and family. So, I doubt he ever knew my name. I don’t recall a single time that he called me by it, but I could tell from our interactions over the years that he knew who I was. He just didn’t know my name.

He would often ask me to bring him posters I’d made. He liked the portraits I’d used for them. So, I would, and he would give them away and sometimes sell them. He gave me photo books that others had given him over the years. He didn’t much care for them but knew I would. So, he shared them with me. He liked to tease me the way a favorite uncle does. He sometimes would vent to me. He would buy me beer and let me into the club for free. I drove his truck a few times to run errands for him (and for me). I spoke at his funeral.

But we were never best friends. To insinuate that on my part would be disingenuous. I was still one of the many photographers and filmmakers that asked for his time. That was always the crux of our relationship. It just happened that I was the one documentarian that was out there the most, and the one who lived just a few miles away. Because of this, we would see each other outside the confines of his weekly party, and that helped our relationship go further than subject/photographer but not as far as close friend and family.

In what state of repair is Po’ Monkey’s at this time, and what, if any, plans are taking shape for its future?

The structure is still standing, but it’s seeing some decline due to lack of use. The exterior signs have been removed as they were sold at auction last year along with many of his belongings and interior decor.

As for future plans, that’s not my decision to make. There are others in charge of those decisions, and solutions are complicated for a myriad of reasons. I am in touch with many of those stakeholders, but it’s not my place to share whatever plans are being considered, and even then, I don’t know what all is being specifically discussed.

I can say, though, with confidence that all involved are concerned primarily with appropriately honoring what Willie Seaberry built. That seems simple enough on the surface, but when you dig into the specifics it’s much more challenging. Cultural preservation is a tricky thing. I feel certain that something will happen to honor Willie. As to what that is, we’ll all just have to be patient and trusting to until that answer emerges. And perhaps even more so, we will all need to be ready to pitch in to help when and if that time presents itself, as the best preservation is one that is led by community.

Tell me about the images in your “Portrait of a Juke Joint,” and the way you decided to present them in this book–black and white, with no identifications of people or their behaviors in the shots. Over what period were they taken, and how long did it take to produce this book?

I chose black and white specifically because I wanted the people to be the focus–I didn’t want the viewer becoming overly seduced by the colorful space. The structure was compelling, yes, but it was the people, and specifically the locals, that made it magical.

There are to titles because I didn’t want anything to lead the viewer as they look through the photos. I want the viewer to have room to imagine what has occurred before and after the image they are pondering. Sometimes with captions, the words create too much context. I felt there was enough context already in the photos, and anything more would risk the work becoming didactic, which I hope to avoid.

Ultimately, what do you hope to accomplish through this book?

I hope to show that Po’ Monkey’s was a complex place that was more than just a tourist spot. It was crafted from a complex history and became significant both despite that history and because of it.

We will never see another Po’ Monkey’s again, but we will see spaces all around us that become culturally significant without intending to be. Knowing that this is the case, how can we as communities do better jobs of recognizing and supporting those people, moments, and places?

I hope this book will help us as a state, and in particular those in positions of power, consider what we’ve done well but also, and perhaps more important, what we haven’t done well as we have consciously crafted an economy built around a very complex and often painful history.

I hope this book will help give a deeper understanding to just how difficult historic preservation can be.

And finally, I hope this book will help us ask the right questions so we can get to the right answers as to how we can share with future generations the lessons taught by Willie Seaberry.

Will Jacks will be at Lemuria on Tuesday, October 22, at 5:00 to sign and discuss Po’ Monkey’s: Portrait of a Juke Joint.

Susan T. Falck’s ‘Remembering Dixie’ raises questions about historical memory

By Jay Wiener. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (September 1)

Reverberations remain from decades during which Southerners acted as if the Civil War was not concluded with the Confederacy losing. The narrative evolved through variations on a theme, but constant was diversion from discussion of a multiracial society.

Remembering Dixie: The Battle to Control Historical Memory in Natchez, Mississippi 1865-1941 offers opportunity to rethink the narrative. Author Susan T. Falck writes, “In crafting their historical consciousness whites emphasized the gentility of southern civilization, the valor of Confederate soldiers, and the courage of female and elderly male civilians who heroically protected the home front. The memory… was selective, with little room for black experiences told from a black perspective.”

Experiences during enslavement of people of color of mixed blood and in the free black community, and hierarchies arising through differences, were overlooked by “… white Civil War memoirists who subscribed to the notion that the South was tragically victimized during the war and Reconstruction.” Fixation upon the Lost Cause crippled the South—and the country—because it begat orthodoxy as rigid as Stalinism, stopping expansive inquiries:

What other possibilities exist?
What options offer optimal outcome?
Why ignore them?

One-dimensional defense of the slavocracy—as a paradise lost—prohibited white Southerners from full appreciation of how emancipation felt for former slaves, the experience during Redemption, at which time freedoms were revoked, and the dehumanization which ensued. Remembering Dixie yields insights.

Chapter Four addresses lacunae through discussion of photography in Natchez. That examination alone justifies buying the book, in the manner that one purchases magazines without reading everything. Art History classes are likely to utilize it. Anyone interested in photography ought to consider it, given profound perspective into the “thousand words” that a picture is supposedly worth.

The author writes, “[Henry] Norman’s photographs empowered his black subjects to directly challenge the rampage of racist cartoons, jokes, articles, and pictures circulating in the pages of newspapers and consumer periodicals nationwide. As symbols of personal and collective empowerment, Norman’s portraits contested characterizations of blacks as innately inferior, simplistic, and unworthy of respect or civil rights.”

Chapter Five is no less essential. “The creators of the Pilgrimage repackaged the dramatization of a mix of decades-old southern racialized ideology and white historical memory initiated in the early postbellum period as a product for Depression-era consumption.” Slavocracy was sold as an idyll, superior to the dislocations of the Great Depression and industrialization. “Out of the more practical features of the North we may have obtained our economic status, but it is to the South that we turn for the music and romance of our yesteryears.”

Otherwise put, “… the Pilgrimage invited 1930s audiences to step inside the world of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler and experience vicariously a carefully reconstructed mythical past.”

The advertising slogan “Come to Natchez Where the Old South Still Lives” coined by “George Healy, Jr., formerly of Natchez and an Editor of the New Orleans Times-Picayune…” encapsulates the anodyne delusion.

Interestingly the women spearheading the Pilgrimage exemplified anything other than Healy’s antediluvian approach: Although they inhabited traditional femininity, they were thoroughly modern, shrewd and calculating businesswomen.

Sound business judgment ultimately created “a profound civic commitment shared by many in the community—whites and blacks—to promote and tell a more inclusive and accurate historical narrative.”

As Natchez has done so, utilizing the Historic Natchez Foundation, the Natchez Courthouse Records Project, and the National Park Service, it has instructed communities, elsewhere, struggling through challenges: “… [T]hanks to the coupling of strong and wise external and homegrown influences the healing of Natchez’s past is well underway, resulting in a flurry of innovative heritage tourism developments that while not always embracing a critically accurate narrative are more racially inclusive and historically accurate than ever before.”

Jay Wiener is a Jackson attorney.

Susan T. Falck will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, September 25, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss Remembering Dixie.

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