“History is no Mystery” installation view, June 2022 at Fountain Street Gallery, Boston MA.

“We are surrounded by racial inequity, as visible as the law, as hidden as our private thoughts.” — (Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Antiracist, 22)

Expanding upon the quote above, Professor Kendi speaks of an inevitable lack of productivity in conversations about race, and we see this played out with regrettable consistency in today’s divisive sociopolitical discourse. But what if these difficult conversations are not held with others, but instead, with ourselves? The art of Shea Justice in the Fountain Street Gallery show, “History Is No Mystery,” compels us to confront our own hidden, private thoughts about race, and does so with a potent and unflinching veracity. But are we ready for that conversation?

The dialogue between the viewer and a work of art is what completes the work. We subject the piece to whatever formal and interpretive analyses we can bring to bear, using our aggregated knowledge and experience. Of course, any sort of meaningful engagement will only occur if there is some vector of meaning upon which a viewer can travel. Art that evokes the Black experience in America is more than meaningful, it is necessary — but the larger audience that needs to engage with such art often find themselves at a structural cultural barrier: The “private thoughts” about race are invariably barriers to engagement, and subsequently, meaning.

Now, more than ever, the unalloyed truths regarding racial disparity have saturated our communications, literally filling our screens with associated imagery and text on a daily basis. Portraits of George Floyd, the black fist of RESIST, and the banners of Black Lives Matter act as a mere few examples of how the discourse of racism has made its way to the forefront our contemporary visual culture. These things are not necessarily “an art” in and of themselves, but rather the semiotics of discrimination inside the news cycle. Nevertheless, Black activist artists have taken these symbols and made them into art — a decidedly different approach than traditional art methodologies. As I pointed out earlier, this often affects an impasse: one born out of disagreement, white guilt, ignorance, et al. — each of which, in truth, delineates a personal, privatized racism. But, in this new epoch of divisiveness, when signs and symbols, video reels of police violence, shameful visages of contemptuous political figures, and even the ludicrous abstract shapes of gerrymandered voting districts become endemic in our media feed, it is inevitable that we are compelled to confront them at some point without the cognitive dissonance of privilege. Although this may only happen privately at first, a sure conduit to an introspective conversation with the self would manifest in the presence of artwork that cogently, truthfully, earnestly, and beautifully renders the truth as self-evident. “History Is No Mystery” gives us a channel of opportunity for that discussion.

S. Justice — *“Constitiution: I Can’t Breathe”*

Shea Justice’s art pulls from multiple image and textual sources within American society: Politics, art, movies, tv, comic books, sports, music, and other pop culture tropes are all subject to a fine scrutiny through his discerning lens. Through these sources, he literally and figuratively unravels the “mystery” — that is, the redacted, falsely amended, and suppressed history — of how oppressive American policy impacts Black Americans. I use the term “literally,” because in his catalogue is a massive scroll that unravels to reveal a visual chronology of events across a span of 20 years, the meta-narrative being the U.S. occupation of Afghanistan. Fountain Street offers a glimpse into this masterwork with a video showing a compelling section of this piece, including a big highlight recalling the start of Barack Obama’s first term as President. Surrounding such high-impact events throughout are Justice’s notes and adjunct visuals that serve as an expansive take, offering both critical and personal insights into the mainstream news of that particular moment. Never have I seen such a crossover between dedicated visual reportage, daily sketch journaling, and political criticism contained in such a mind-bogglingly thorough document, especially over two decades. It is not hyperbolic to note its historical importance as something destined for The Smithsonian, but I’d also love to see it on full display in the Guggenheim, spiraling in a long, continuous loop up the gallery walls. The conceptual breadth and literal length of this document is astounding, and is a must-see in its own right.

S. Justice — c. 2008 section of “*War In Afghanistan Scroll”*

I would like to point out a particularly remarkable aspect of Justice’s work: his high level of skill in drawing. With the overarching concept in mind, some may easily (perhaps accidentally) take his exceptional proficiency with the craft for granted. It’s important to indicate the formal construction of his art as one of the initial vectors inviting the viewer to look, and once they are engaged, to understand. Without such expertise, that engagement might never be initiated. When I first encountered Justice’s art a little over a decade ago, it was his excellent draftsmanship (particularly in portraiture) that drew me in, and from there, I learned what he had to say inside the work. Since that time, I have been fortunate to see the power of what he expresses grow with each piece he creates. But I have never not marveled at his hand; there is a back-and-forth between the conceptual message and formal beauty that captivates. Throughout the gallery, you will see his facility stretching across a wide swath of media — from graphite to ink, watercolor, collage, and assemblage. Regardless of formal method, it is notable that the strength and delivery of conceptual content is remarkable in its consistency.

There is a layered effect in the revelatory nature of this excellent body of work. Justice clearly and fully immerses himself in the subject matter which enriches and fuels his imagery, and he employs various frameworks (testimonial, memorial, reflection, documentation) in an endeavor to present and represent that material in a form befitting its nature. Every wall of the gallery offers a variety of inflection points, applying multiple angles to the meta-concept of racial inequity, giving us a greater, expanded view.

Something as doctrinal as his Constitution series — which uses the famous document as a physical ground for incisive portraiture and collage — is balanced by the Memories series — where we get a personal glimpse into Justice himself in vanitas/assemblage form. Even within such a weighty tome as the Scroll, there is a wonderfully balanced interplay: Amongst solemn monochrome portraits of notables like Henry Kissinger and Odetta Holmes, you may catch a colorful glimpse of an inked inset featuring Hanna Barbera’s The Banana Spilts. Individual pieces are often similarly striated, with Crucified Black Man: Past, Present, Future featuring a Geordie LaForge (a Star Trek: TNG character) action doll as a sacrificial figure within an assemblage of horrifying lynch mob images. Appended to the figure is an oversized phallus, done to shock both the puritanical and those offended by the pervasiveness of the stereotype in surprisingly equal measure. Then there’s the realization that LeVar Burton is the actor who not only played LaForge, but also portrayed the enslaved African Kunta Kinte in the 1977 miniseries, Roots. The pop references are as diverse and multifarious as the cultural histories.

S. Justice — *“Crucified Black Man: Past, Present, Future”*

Justice’s comprehensive approach to his art makes “History Is No Mystery” a profound viewing experience. The show brings us to a space in which we can address truth in the face of what has for too long been an exercise in non-confrontation or dismissiveness regarding racism and the conversation around it. Somewhere in the gallery, a piece will reveal something that perhaps you didn’t know, or would rather not talk about, but it still compels you to look, and perhaps truly see. And if, by seeing through the lens of Shea Justice’s artwork, we see ourselves reflected back, then we are ready for that conversation.

Histories of Justice: A Review of Shea Justice’s “History Is No Mystery” at Fountain Street Gallery, Boston