HENRY TAYLOR (B. 1958)

Both a candid group portrait and a profound historical statement, Henry Taylor’s C&H is one of his most masterful canvases and an exemplar of his emotive figuration. The artist presents a monumental scene at approximately five-and-a-half by six-and-a-half feet, and yet it feels almost like a family portrait, as does much of his work. Here we have a group of men, women, and children (largely women in their Sunday best) dressed in fabulous monochromes with occasional bursts of color. While most of the figures wear white and black, one woman has a red jacket that draws our gaze to her. Surrounding the party Taylor has gathered the pigments that give each person shape: pink, yellow, orange, and a swath of earthy green that is reminiscent of an Impressionist landscape. As writer Zadie Smith observes, “Taylor thinks primarily in colors, shapes, and lines—he has a spatial, tonal genius. Form responds to form” (Z. Smith, “Henry Taylor’s Promiscuous Painting,” The New Yorker, July 23, 2018). Presiding over the scene is a giant figure, said to be the artist himself in overalls and a white shirt, who looks on in paternal fashion. Interestingly, he is the only figure with facial features included, and yet each person in the portrait has their own unique pose or outfit that makes them an individual.

As Taylor remarks, “When I’m painting from life the colors seem more alive and apparent, because it’s real—I mean, whatever real is…A human being is never in black and white, even if I’m colorblind” (H. Taylor, quoted D. Lawson, “Deana Lawson & Henry Taylor,” BOMB Magazine, September 15, 2015). Taylor includes the iconic C&H sign representing the California and Hawaiian Sugar Company, whose refinery is located in Northern California, and a subject that resonates deeply with Black America and the all too present history of slavery and colonialism. The present work was painted well before Kara Walker’s now-famous exploration of slavery and sugar production in the United States at the former Domino Sugar Factory in Brooklyn. Taylor’s revelers continue to enjoy their afternoon despite this heavy history, perhaps representing a moment of joy and respite.

C&H could also be connected to modernist icons of self-portraiture, such as Paul Gauguin, an artist Taylor has cited. Gauguin famously painted himself in Self-Portrait with the Yellow Christ (1890-1891), and, like Taylor, he looks out from the surface of the canvas. However, Taylor’s gaze is not confrontational, but rather one of benevolence. Interpretations of found material like the C&H sign often make their way into Taylor’s work, so the present work could be said to intersect with Pop artists like Andy Warhol, whose use of brands was likewise ambivalent. C&H could be considered alongside Warhol’s Coca-Cola bottles with their shared use of a sweet confection. Yet what sets Taylor apart is his focus on community, rather than using advertising as a faceless symbol, as Warhol does. C&H was included in Taylor’s acclaimed 2012 exhibition at MoMA PS1, New York, where the The New York Times wrote “He paints roughly the rough world of his own experience, but he does so with a rare spirit of generosity and love” (K. Johnson, “A Visual Equivalent of the Blues, in Warm Shades,” The New York Times, February 2, 2012).

C&H exemplifies this love. Though we cannot know who these figures are exactly, we can guess, given the hallmarks of Taylor’s oeuvre, that there is mutual care and respect. With an unmatched handling of paint and an innate sense of empathy, Taylor shows us worlds both quotidian and spectacular. C&H is above all a joyful portrait that does not stand apart from us, but rather with us, as we consider the important people in our own lives.