Let My People Go

Aaron Douglas, Let My People Go, c. 1939, oil and masonite, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Aaron Douglas played a leading role in the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s. He is often referred to as “the father of Black American art…was one of the most accomplished of the interpreters of our institutions and cultural values. He captured the strength and quickness of the young; he translated the memories of the old; and he projected the determination of the inspired and courageous.”

Douglas’s works of art examine social issues surrounding race and segregation in the United States. He helped young, African-American artists enter the public arts realm because of his involvement with the Harlem Artists Guild. In 1944 he found the Art Department at Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee.

Let My People Go depicts a story in the Book of Exodus in the Old Testament regarding God ordering Moses to lead the Israelites out of  captivity in Egypt. The piece features Douglas’s signature style of flat figurative forms, clear contours, monochromatic color, as well as his interest in Art Deco design and African art.  His palette is a unique combination of lavender and yellow-gold. From the upper left a Divine light illumines the entire composition down to the kneeling figure of Moses. Behind the figure of Moses Douglas depicts the three Great Pyramids of Giza, as well as African masks that suggest slavery.

Let My People Go is an example of Douglas’s use of allegory to tell the story of the African-American experience. This Old Testament story of Moses freeing the Israelites from the Egyptians resonates with the African-American community regarding its history of slavery.

In Honor of Black History Month

John Simpson, “The Captive Slave”, 1827, Chicago Institute

John Simpson, “The Captive Slave”, 1827, Chicago Institute

History has shown us, time and again, how cruel and heartless humans can sometime be towards one another. The Captive Slave, by British portrait painter John Philip Simpson, serves as a reminder of a dark and disturbing period when more than 15 million people were victimized by the transatlantic slave trade that went on for 400 years. Painted in 1827, The Captive Slave is an abolitionist statement, an attempt to wake up the public and show, in no uncertain terms, how wrong slavery is.   

Born in London in 1782, Simpson was in his forties when he created this work, arguably his most notable. With the model’s eyes raised upwards, the pose is reminiscent of how saints and martyrs were often depicted in Christian art.

The model in the painting was Ira Aldridge, a free-born actor  Born in New York City in 1807, Aldridge broke barriers by becoming a popular Shakespearean actor on British stages. He also worked as a theater manager and playwright.

The collaboration between Aldridge and Simpson was a bold move. After his theatrical performances, Aldridge would often give impassioned talks against slavery. Could Simpson have been inspired by one of Aldridge’s speeches and sought him for this wake-up call? 

The entire focus of Simpson’s painting is on the vibrant man restrained by chains. Clothed in bright red attire, the subject looks up with deep emotion on his well-lit face. His gaze tears me to my core, bringing to life what millions who found themselves shackled and robbed of their freedom might have felt. 

What would you do if you found yourself in such a situation? Would you pray? Look for an answer or help from God? I hope you never have to find out. In portraying The Captive Slave, Aldridge struck a moving pose in Simpson’s painting that transcends time with a visceral appeal for an end to slavery, once and for all.     

Growing up in Memphis, Tennessee during the 1960s, I knew all too well what prejudice and segregation were about. I remember the separate water fountains, take-out windows, seating on buses, the mean, ignorant stares and comments made by my classmates, the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and the curfew that was mandatory around the city. None of it made sense.

I was fortunate to have parents who were open and respectful to all people, and who instilled this value in my brothers and me. I was fortunate to have Corinne in my life, the Black woman who raised me for 13 years as if I was her daughter. She was family, and she taught me about unconditional love. 

The Captive Slave may well have opened minds and changed hearts to lead to Britain’s Slave Emancipation Act in 1833. The painting haunts me, as I cannot fathom a life enslaved, and I hope nobody ever has to experience this painful, deeply wrong reality again. 

Karine and me, 1964.

Karine and me, 1964.