Black Creativity as Living History

To close out Black History month’s 100th year, Elevate Gallery in Santa Barbara’s La Cumbre Plaza hosted the Art Salon Images with a Global View featuring Toni Scott, a multi-disciplinary artist who weaves ancestry through photography, painting, sculpture and digital ingenuity, and Rod Rolle, a freelance photographer and photojournalist whose social portraiture has appeared in 250 media outlets in 36 countries.  

Both Black Santa Barbara-based artists, the two hosted Images with a Global View to center ‘Black creativity as living history — work that carries ancestral wisdom, personal vision, and bold possibility forward.’

The event featured an introduction by local entrepreneur and founder of Coffee with a Black Guy, James Joyce III, as well as a special artist talk moderated by author and Santa Barbara Independent’s Social Media Manager, Maya Johnson.

Opening Remarks by James Joyce III: 

We gather during Black History Month, yes. But more than that, we gather in a moment when culture is contested. A moment when history is debated. When the very idea of whose stories matter is, once again, up for public debate.

So today’s theme — Images with a Global View — is not casual.

It is consequential.

Because images shape imagination.

And imagination shapes communities.

Communities make up nations.

Last year, reflecting on a similar gathering that Toni convened, I wrote that art is a weapon we need.

Not a weapon of destruction.

A weapon of construction.

I now have a deeper understanding of that:

Art disrupts erasure.

Art interrupts silence.

Art insists on presence —being seen and experienced.

When oppressive regimes and shifting systems narrow our humanity, art expands it.

When rhetoric, misinformation and lies flattens us, art adds texture.

When fear builds walls and drives chasms of divisiveness, art sketches doors and constructs bridges to greater understanding.

Black people have always understood this.

From the walls of ancient Kemet to quilts stitched with coded routes to freedom. From spirituals sung in fields to murals rising on city corners after tragedy. From jazz improvisation to hip-hop production. We have used image and sound not just to express ourselves — but to survive, ourselves.

Art has never been extracurricular for us.

It has always been essential.

What I appreciate about this gathering — about Toni’s curatorial spirit and Rod’s photographic eye — is the refusal to be constrained; by space or by labels, yet remain authentic to who they respectively are.

Salon’s like this have a rich history in Black creative liberation movements. A time for people of similar mind to connect and plan to create, to build.

Black history is not a sidebar to Santa Barbara history, nor American history.

And American history is not the center of the world — despite recent actions.

A global view reminds us that Blackness has always been a diaspora; layered, transnational.

Rod Rolle’s lens has captured humanity across continents—conflict, celebration, resilience. Distributed globally. Published widely. His images remind us that suffering and joy both travel.

So does he, evidently. Yet, somehow he finds a way to remain a constant presence behind the lens here in our community. I have seen the man in action all throughout the 805, from Santa Maria to Camarillo and more.

And Toni Scott’s multidisciplinary artistic expression — sculpture, painting, installations. Her work carries ancestral memory forward while pushing form into the future. (Wait until she tells you about the “audio-infused” paintings).

As a citizen of the Muscogee Creek Nation and of African American heritage, Toni Scott’s work embodies intersection. It resists narrow identity boxes. It says: we are more than one story at a time. Multiple truths can be true, and they often are.

A global view stretches empathy.

It forces us to see that injustice in one place echoes elsewhere. That beauty in one culture enriches another. And that liberation movements speak to each other across oceans.

In a time when some would prefer that we dull our shine and shrink our lens — tighten borders, narrow curriculum, sanitize history — art insists on us brightening the light.

Clearly, being an artist is sacred work.

Look. I know, firsthand, that we are living in a period where conversations about race, equity and belonging — even Black history itself — are being reframed, rebranded, and resisted.

Some want “merit” without the context of perspective.

“Unity” without truth.

“Patriotism” without the complexity of accountability and challenge.

But from what I have experienced, art does not deal in denial.

Art can hold contradictions in the same frame.

It can show aspiration and hypocrisy together.

Beauty and brutality together.

Grief and gratitude together.

And that is why art is dangerous to the weakness of authoritarian impulses.

Because imagination and innovation are difficult to control.

When George Floyd was murdered, murals appeared before policy shifted. Artists responded before committees convened and resolutions were presented. Communities gathered around painted color and concrete because art gave us a language for what we felt, but could not yet articulate.

Artists are often what I like to think of as second responders. The California Legislature seems to agree as there was a resolution in 2021 declaring just that.

Artists arrive after the sirens — but before the healing.

During my era, growing up, that was the airbrush artists bringing the white memorial t-shirts to life.

Artists help us metabolize reality.

Many of you are aware of my work through Coffee With a Black Guy.

At its core, that project is about story. About sitting across from someone long enough for caricature to dissolve.

Art does something similar.

It bypasses argument and goes straight to recognition. Being seen. Experienced.

You stand before one of Rod’s photographs, encounter one of Toni’s sculptures, you absorb a canvas; something in the soul whispers: I see you.

And sometimes, and perhaps more importantly, you may hear: I didn’t know. And now I do.

That shift — that bridging — is civic work.

So as you move through this space today, I’m gonna put on my docent jacket real quick and invite you to resist passive consumption.

Don’t just ask, “Do I like this?”

Ask:

What is this image asking of me?

What history does it carry?

What future does it imagine?

What discomfort does it expose?

What possibility does it offer?

I implore you to support artists. Not just with your gaze and applause — but with investment.

Bring young people into spaces like this. Cause like Whitney said, “I believe the children are our future…”

Fund creativity the way you fund infrastructure — well, we can do better there too.

But culture is infrastructure.

I firmly believe that if we want healthier communities, a healthier democracy, we need a healthier cultural ecosystem.

Black History Month, in its centennial arc — 100 years, is not merely about looking back.

It is about recalibrating vision. Adjusting our lens.

Images with a global view remind us that Black creativity has never been confined to one geography, one genre, one struggle.

It has always been expansive.

And in expansive times, we flourish.

In constricted times, we create anyway.

So may we continue to paint.

To photograph.

To sculpt.

To witness.

To imagine.

Because art is not simply what hangs on the wall.

Art is how a people can tell their story and remember themselves.

Art is how a society rehearses becoming better. And damnit, we definitely deserve better!

I appreciate the opportunity to share a few ancestrally-informed words in this sacred creative space;

Thank you for your time.

Your ears, your attention.

And your hearts.

Thank you very much.