What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Ones We Call _______ ”?

These art pieces, as with the several of my works I have had published, come from my heart for the African child. It is my own little attempt at storytelling. They are not just made from a place of empathy, but also, what I love to call, self portraits of myself. They are stories put out there for my African brothers to experience that feeling of belonging.

Amazingly, all works here were digitally created with mobile phone. They are drawn from that longing of being a voice in the wilderness. I hope that each work come alive with the truths emptied into them.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Ones We Call _______ ”?

These art pieces, as with the several of my works I have had published, come from my heart for the African child. It is my own little attempt at storytelling. They are not just made from a place of empathy, but also, what I love to call, self portraits of myself. They are stories put out there for my African brothers to experience that feeling of belonging.

Amazingly, all works here were digitally created with mobile phone. They are drawn from that longing of being a voice in the wilderness. I hope that each work come alive with the truths emptied into them.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Ones We Call _______ ”?

These art pieces, as with the several of my works I have had published, come from my heart for the African child. It is my own little attempt at storytelling. They are not just made from a place of empathy, but also, what I love to call, self portraits of myself. They are stories put out there for my African brothers to experience that feeling of belonging.

Amazingly, all works here were digitally created with mobile phone. They are drawn from that longing of being a voice in the wilderness. I hope that each work come alive with the truths emptied into them.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Ones We Call _______ ”?

These art pieces, as with the several of my works I have had published, come from my heart for the African child. It is my own little attempt at storytelling. They are not just made from a place of empathy, but also, what I love to call, self portraits of myself. They are stories put out there for my African brothers to experience that feeling of belonging.

Amazingly, all works here were digitally created with mobile phone. They are drawn from that longing of being a voice in the wilderness. I hope that each work come alive with the truths emptied into them.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Ones We Call _______ ”?

These art pieces, as with the several of my works I have had published, come from my heart for the African child. It is my own little attempt at storytelling. They are not just made from a place of empathy, but also, what I love to call, self portraits of myself. They are stories put out there for my African brothers to experience that feeling of belonging.

Amazingly, all works here were digitally created with mobile phone. They are drawn from that longing of being a voice in the wilderness. I hope that each work come alive with the truths emptied into them.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Accident”?

My grandma’s house is full of accidental antiques, because she cares for things so well. That’s how, when I went to visit her over a long weekend, we were able to spend our time together looking through the past.

Her paper ephemera is all in crisp condition, and she showed me those snippets of her life –report cards from the 1940s, a hairdressing license from 50s, court proceedings from the 80s, and even typewritten letters to herself from the 90s.

In one of these letters, she questions how she suffered a severe personality change and brain injury “from that car accident they say was in July of 1986.”

I remember, as a curious child, asking others about the accident. It wasn’t until reading her letters I realized that she had to ask too. The two of us have only heard stories about what happened – about how and who she used to be. In drafting “The Accident,” I’ve tried to recreate that weekend we spent together: piecing together the timeline and fallout of something incomprehensible.

I love my grandma as the kind and caring hero she’s always been to me. But when I told her how glad I was she didn’t die, she didn’t smile back. She put her papers away softly and said, “I did die. I just can’t remember.”

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Homage”?

It is two series so it has two names:

Homage to John Baldessari is a collage series that celebrates John Baldessari’s signature style. This work is a dedication to Baldessari’s conceptual art. It is an absurd collage which integrates with the food we eat and photographs while the fruit loses its function.

Homage to Agnés Varda is a joyful and angry collage that reflect women’s mind purely. Agnes Varda is not only my favorite director but also she is an idol for me. I wanted to homage her creative mind. Agnés Varda’s “I tried to be a joyful feminist, but I was very angry.” quote gave inspiration to this collage. It reminds me of all angry feminists who never give up on their struggles.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The American Wing collage series”?

I came across a book American Paintings of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a catalogue of a 1966 exhibition in Los Angeles, the week after my most recent trip to the Met. I am continually struck by the portrait of James Badger, the young boy in the light blue frock coat holding a small bird at his chest. This is the first image I see in the wing of the museum, and the fist image in the catalogue. I shrunk each painting into half or quarter size on the copier, with the end goal to create a two inch collage. I hoped the intimacy and distance would bring some peace of mind, some remark on lineage. The truth is, The American Wing is my least favorite gallery. I struggle each time I wander through the memories of our landscape, wondering how I fit among the pieces as an American artist. Each cut up became a way to imagine a different, perhaps, softer or more overt version of America’s making. A series of twenty two-inch images manifested in a single night. Months later, I found myself slipping words from the New York Times Magazine under the edges, creating a new layer of history, or commentary. Some of the images have manifested in surrealist stories, images of the New York I love, hanging on the periphery. A home away from home, I now realize will be quite different the next time I return.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Breathing Lessons” & “Special”?

They’ve lived multiple lives. “Breathing Lessons” began as a full-length poem called “Breathing Lessons 101” that I wrote while exploring the navigation of good girls of color. It was the first and title poem of the manuscript I was developing. For a while, a few years, the full poem lived as a photo book I shared with family and friends while I gathered material for the manuscript. The image in the piece was one I had taken in 2007. As my exploration of the “good girl” grew into a full series of collages called “Tropism,” I tried my hand at digitally coalescing the images with text—I’m a collagist at heart. So this iteration was born around 2016. “Special,” also first a collage in the “Tropism” series lived a long part of its life without text too.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.

What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “The Camels’ Apple Tree Series”?

Serge Lecomte began his life as a writer, publishing numerous poetry collections and graduating to novels. His novels could be described as somewhat surreal. Crossed realities usually yield amazing and sometimes shocking results. He works mainly in acrylics on watercolor paper but has recently begun working on canvas. He would describe his work as eclectic because he is still learning and is willing to experiment with shapes and colors depending on the mood (sometimes contradictory) of the theme he might be working on. The images are a blend of the natural world and imaginary creatures. Some of his paintings have a message (subtle), most do not. But then you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. After all, everyone has a view and take on the world around them. I am engaged with the world around him and vice versa.