Black Poet c. 1987

David Driskell created this small painting, *Black Poet*, on a sheet of paper with luscious strokes of layered oil paint and pastel. There’s this face at the top, right? It's kind of totemic, like an African mask, or maybe something from a dream. I imagine Driskell building it up slowly, adding layer after layer. He's scraping and smearing, pushing the colors around until the face emerges. The marks remind me of Twombly’s scribbles, you know, how the hand just seems to be feeling its way across the surface. And I can see Driskell trying to channel something deep within himself, reaching back to his roots, his history. Below the face are these vertical strokes, like bars or maybe even standing figures, each one different. They are separated by lines, a collection of vibrant shades; blues, reds, yellows, fighting for attention. Artists don't work in a vacuum, and there’s a deep conversation going on here. Driskell is talking to the past, to other artists, and to himself. Each brushstroke is a question, a response, a way of keeping the conversation alive.