Q&A with photographer Rashod Taylor

There’s a photo in Rashod Taylor’s Little black boy photo series titled “LJ and his Fort” in which a young boy lies on a carpeted floor under a makeshift blanket. Shirtless, the boy stares darkly at the camera, resting his head on one arm while the other remains close to his chest.

It would be difficult to miss the fact that one of the sheets that make up the boy’s fort is an American flag – sometimes a symbol of freedom, and other times simply the illusion of it. It looms over not just his playing time, but his entire childhood, a constant reminder of the uneasy relationship between Blackness and belonging to a nation built on the exploitation of Black people.

Little black boy is an ongoing black-and-white photography series that features portraits of Taylor’s son, LJ, and meditates on what it means to grow up as a black male in America. By PhotoMidwest contributor Andy Adams, ten photos from the series are currently on display in the Arts + Literature Workshop‘s on the 2nd floor of the Mezzanine Gallery as part of PhotoMidwest’s 13th biennial exhibition, which also marks Taylor’s photography debut in Madison.

To conclude this year’s festival, which has been running since the end of September, Taylor will speak at PhotoMidwest closing receipt on November 2nd at 6pm at the Arti+Literature Laboratory. The Illinois-based photographer will also lead a free workshop earlier in the day to explore portraiture.

Madison365’s Rodlyn-mae Banting spoke with Taylor before the event.

Rodlyn-mae Banting: How did you get into photography and when did you realize that this was the medium you primarily wanted to work with?

Rashod Taylor: My first memories related to photography were of family albums, photos of my mum and dad on holiday. So I really got interested in that way. In high school, I was [involved with] the school yearbook and the school newspaper, [and I was] the photo editor of both. My interest was simply taking photos, mostly portraits, but also more event coverage. It continued through college and beyond.

RB: Much of your work has political undertones. It grapples with these issues of race and heritage, and what we’re told is the American dream. Do you believe that photography is an intrinsically political medium?

RT: I think all art, in one aspect or another, is political whether the artist intends it or not. I think photography specifically follows that line. It could go either way. I think for me my work is obviously so political. Simply being a black male in America, making art is political. It depends on what level you look at it, but I think on a lot of levels, I want to talk about it in the work and I think some of it is just inherent to who I am and who my son is.

RB: Speaking of your son, I know he’s the muse of your series Little black boy. I was looking at the photos that were both on your website and those that are in A+LL, and I noticed that there is only one photo [where] your child’s expression is one of pure joy, where he giggles and laughs. Is this intentional for the series?

RT: I mean, I don’t know. I guess I always see him smile, and I’m just used to it. And I think so [Black joy] it’s very important, this idea of ​​living your childhood happy and free. This work is really personal, so I always see it that way. So it’s more about wanting to have a different view of children in general, because we always see them smiling. This is what they do. So for me it’s simply about showing these in-between moments, these thoughtful moments, these moments of reflection and lightness with his expression. This is what I go for with editing, because I take photos and smile, of course, but the photos I choose to show tend to be more serious.

RB: Was your goal always to have your son as the focal point? Little black boy? Were you thinking about focusing on other young black kids? How did it materialize?

RT: It really started from this need and desire to photograph my son because [he’s] my only son. And it all came out of the fact that I was a first-time father and wanted to document everything. And then it turned into something more, right? It turned into more of, “What do I want to say with these images?” I wanted them to be more than just snapshots. So that’s where I included myself in some of it, because some of [it is about] paternity and vulnerability.

[There’s a] photo of him with the police badge on. He has a “Dream Big” t-shirt. And there’s like a little white girl in the background. You can’t see his face. And I thought, “Man, that’s an interesting juxtaposition of things and people. What if I purposely constructed the images more to actually say something about growing up black in America, about fatherhood, about family, things like that? That’s where it comes from. When I started making photos, I saw these elements in the images that I wanted to explore more.

RB: You mentioned those photographs [that have] you on the other side of the lens. And then there’s also the photo of you holding your child in “Protector.” I was wondering if you could talk a little about the function of tenderness in your work.

RT: The function is really to be as authentic as possible and to show that in the work. I think being a black male is something that gets lost. I think a lot about the media and how black men and boys are portrayed. You don’t really see these positive, loving, kind stories in the media. And I think showing tenderness goes back to my childhood and my upbringing where I experienced that. I wanted to show that this is what [my son] LJ did. This is important. It’s important for the development of the little boy he has [tenderness] Why [for men]it’s not really encouraged [in our society] to show your feelings and to be vulnerable or tender. It’s really the opposite.

RB: Legacy is something you play with, question and fight in your photographs. Is there a legacy you hope to leave with your photography?

RT: I think every artist wants to leave some kind of legacy, right? At least with these photos specifically, it’s about leaving something for my son first and foremost. I really made these photos for me and for him. When I’m gone, they’ll still be around, and that means a lot. And just recording this part of our story that will live on is really special to me – knowing that people will be able to see me and him and our relationship and his mother, that’s important. And then I, personally with him, [being about to] bestow these ideals of love, faith and kindness and how to treat others. I hope he learned this from his family and takes them [values] to be a great human being and citizen.