Lost and Found
A few years ago, I saw something by the assemblage artist Noah Purifoy that startled me. One of the “Watts Uprising” pieces at P.S. 1 in Queens, made of debris found after the Watts riots, was so similar to the way my friend, the installation artist Abigail DeVille, works. She and Purifoy both collect discarded materials. In Abigail’s case, it’s to show how people are positioned in society; for Purifoy it was social commentary. They both have this sense of responsibility and duty embedded in their work. Objects that had no meaning, this junk, all of a sudden said something about the American experience. Abigail’s installation “Dark Day,” at the New Museum, was made out of furniture collected from Dumpsters outside her grandmother’s projects in the Bronx: The furniture was suspended upside down from the ceiling. When I saw Purifoy, I immediately saw Abigail.
Purifoy was born in 1917 in Alabama. He fought in World War II, came back and soon fled to Los Angeles. It struck me deeply, his sense of displacement. After the Watts riots of the mid-1960s, he collected burned materials that ended up in his art. Purifoy had a creative solution to dealing with injustice. Instead of evaporating or being silent, he took these things — pieces of wreckage — and turned them into works of art, a meditation on one’s life, one’s work, one’s history. This is the most powerful act.
Abigail and I wanted to make a pilgrimage and pay homage to someone who is clearly an ancestor and a predecessor for each of us. We wanted to witness our history in Purifoy’s work in the Joshua Tree Outdoor Museum. I couldn’t believe how incredibly hot it was in the Mojave — I was hoping I wouldn’t faint. It felt as if I were going through this spiritual cleansing and detox. This has been a rough few years in thinking about racial equality.
Even though he died in 2004, Purifoy is still teaching us in these 10 acres of a hundred or so sculptures in Joshua Tree. He moved there when he was priced out of Los Angeles, in a way that is so similar to gentrification today. The art world didn’t really allow him to exist, though he was offered a space in the Mojave to live and to create. It really hit me when I saw “Aurora Borealis,” a large-scale sculpture of wood, chairs and other found objects. I could understand Purifoy as a person and how he moved through life. I remember quietly looking at Abigail look at that piece, and she saw a part of her reflecting back. It was a moment that almost brought me to tears, to realize we did have an ally and a predecessor. AS TOLD TO JAIME LOWE
LaToya Ruby Frazier is a photographer who creates work about industrialism, Rust Belt revitalization and environmental justice.