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Music has always been in my life. I have never lived in a home without a piano as part of the living room landscape along with a host of some misguided family members convinced of their own respectable voice and instrumental musical talent. Music was always equivalent to joy whether experienced through the humming and singing of my relatives around the house, or through the radio, or via records on the stereo. Music is like a bright light for me. And, although I saw jazz as a child as a more subdued blue light, I learned very early that Jazz was something very special. Jazz records were always in a special pile, and it was simply understood that there would be hell to pay if the surface of one of these treasured records got damaged or scratched. This thing called Jazz music also stirred something in my parents that was very different and I got use to the sequence of events that led to their periodic transformation. My mother or father (usually my mother) would carefully remove the records from the album covers and sleeves and gently stack them on the shiny metal rod in the center of the turntable. And by the time that the first record hit the turntable platter, my parents, either individually, or together, were sitting on the couch, heads back, with a lit cigarette holstered in the ashtray waiting for the soothing sound of Coleman Hawkins breath latent tenor sax or unpredictable harmonic shock of a Count Basie opening. Jazz listening was sometimes accompanied with alcohol usually scotch or a beer. This seemed appropriate since many of the musicians on the album covers looked as if they were doing the same. I especially remember a Coleman Hawkins album and noted how much more relaxed he looked than Nat King Cole or other more mainstream musicians on their albums. The blue tint effect of the black and white picture along with Colemans casual and somewhat disheveled look just said Cool. Another favorite was their Big Beat on the Organ album by Jimmy Smith. I must have been about 6 or 7 at the time and my brother had to explain the metaphor from the picture of a huge red beet lying on the keyboard of an organ. Now that was really cool. Jazz was one of the bright joys in my parents lives that helped them decompress from the dull, dim darkne ss of oppression and racism that they faced EVERYDAY while they struggled to carve out a good life for their family. And, it should be no surprise that I have been walking into the light of jazz some part of my entire life through listening, performing and capturing the images that represent those joyful moments of freedom that I watched my parents cherish and enjoy so much to help them deal with the dark side of being Black in America. My photographs convey only a mere portion of what I felt when the image was captured. What is missing is the music produced by the subject, in that space, in that moment in time, never to be heard again the same way. I want to make people feel the music through that one instant from the musicians expression and body language. I want people to experience the joy and freedom that these musicians feel through their expression of music.
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
I am well beyond my shameful and traitorous thoughts of longing for White Privilege and have grown in to becoming a Proud, Black Man that is extremely proud of my heritage. But, this has been a long journey marked with a mixture of failures and accomplishments. And I am very fortunate that the scales tip heavily on the accomplishments side. The roots of my success can be attributed, primarily, to the development of my Emotional Intelligence that facilitated my ability to communicate, interact and navigate through many culturally diverse worlds. I was blessed with very strong and proud parents who knew who they were and they put NO limitations on what I believed I could do. In addition to my parents, I was raised by The Village comprised of friends and extended family that had HIGH expectations and a lot of love that was clearly needed to transcend all of the ignorance and nonsense that was in my way. The charcoal figures in two of my pictures, Juliette and Blute are my interpretations of the beauty that I see inside of my beautiful, Black People.
Juliette
Blute
Throughout the past 25 years, my journey into genealogy has had an incredibly positive impact on my psyche as I discover more and more about the incredible lives and accomplishments of my ancestors as far back as the mid 1700s. And I thought I had problems!
This Underground Railroad narrative was written by my great-great Uncle Abraham Howard Wallace, a Conductor for the Underground Railroad.
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Me & Dr. Tom Delaine My HS Band Director
Academics are certainly important, but I am sure that our brilliant leadership of our public schools can figure out a way to leverage The Arts to help students pass their No Child Left Behind Tests. I am certain that I would not be as successful as I have been today without these experiences that enhanced my skills and shaped my values through my exposure to The Arts in public school. Thanks to Mrs. Ruby Gill, Mr. Sturtevant, Dr. Delaine and Dr. Stone! And also, a special thanks to my photography teacher, Mr. Wallace Baden who shot the Marching Band picture at the top of the page, in 1973!
Dr. Reppard Stone and Dr. Thomas Delaine My Douglass High School Band Directors
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
This photo on the left can, in no way, capture the essence of the spiritual connection shared by these three wonderful women. It was apparent that they had not seen each other for some time. I can still feel the energy from this meeting that occurred in 2004. So, I chose to call this photo, Joyful Elation.
Joyful Elation
L to r: Ms. Malaak Shabaaz, Dr. Maya Angelou And Ms. Attallah Shabaaz
RAYMOND W. LUCAS
Aunt Linnie holding Melanie, while I get my cheeks pinched by Charlotte, in Fremont OH 1963
I was always amused in the summer months as I watched white people bake in the sun, basting themselves with suntan lotion to darken their skin to make them feel more beautiful. I often wondered how dark their skin would have to get before they would lose their White Privilege. How does a Black child interpret this madness without questioning their own value, based on the shade of their skin? I worked with a white guy that was very comfortable comparing his suntanned arm to mine and bragging how his was darker. I just told him to get a copy of the movie Watermelon Man, where a white man mysteriously woke up as a Black man. I was certain that this would offer him a different perspective in a Black mans shoes. I dont know if he ever saw the movie, but he never compared his arm to mine again. Feeling the Freedom of Melanies improvisations reminded me of the hope that I have, not only for the reconciliation of my family around this subtle, dark secret, but for all African Americans who continue to
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possess this divisive, color affliction. I have always loved Jazz, but I didnt really know why until nowJazz is FreedomFreedom is Jazz.
Juliet
Whats in a name? What do you hear when the waves of sound born from each syllable pushes the air to tweak your ears? How do you interpret the nature of those rarefactions pain, irritation annoyance, or pleasure, beauty, joy. How do these feelings come together? Do they remain by themselves? Do they keep their original identities until their schizophrenic dance at the speed of thought, births a new experience never felt before from the combination of such diversity? Will your light speed evaluation render points for the plus or minus column .pleasure or painjoy or sadness. You never remember having to make a conscious choice. You always know. The vibrations that translate to what we believe we know as Juliet, has new meaning for me. No longer is my mind cluttered with thoughts of Romeo, Shakespeare or a feuding family destroying a natural bond between two lovers. I see her face, I hear her music, and I feel the beauty and joy from an instant, a mere instant in time with respect to my lifeline that has changed me forever. Something is different about me because I heard her music, saw her face, and shook her delicate hand. Whats in a name? A Rose by any other name is truly, STILL a Rose.
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Scape Series
Significance 2009
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My collection will continue to grow as I continue my journey through life, meeting new people, seeing and learning new things. And, I truly believe that: