Jammie Holmes – Painting Pan-Africanism

Our first collaboration with Jammie Holmes is a window into his childhood home from the point of view of his mother. Fred connects his personal history to the wider history of Black people around the world. We spoke with him about his hometown, Black liberation movements in the US, and the politics of remembering.

You’ve said it’s where you’re from that sets you apart, what’s one thing you want people to know about your hometown of Thibodaux? 

You know, Thibodaux is an old slave town with a dark history. One of the worst labor massacres in the United States was committed there – I grew up on the street where the bodies are supposedly buried. 

What I’ve realised as I’ve travelled to bigger cities is that in Thibodaux we're a little bit closer. We have a thing about family importance. No one person is your parent, all the elders are your parents. They all could tell you what to do and discipline you. I could compare it to how my dad talks about his village.

Your father is from Sierra Leone, does that background also figure into your work?  

I always tried to stay away from it. I couldn’t talk about Sierra Leone much because my dad had left early and we only just reconnected. Before that child soldier work was my conversation with Africa as a whole, and I knew that Sierra Leone had this history with child soldiers. I felt I could relate because I was growing up in a city where you have to be an adult so fast.

You have to embody your environment to survive, especially as a young black male, you could fall victim to anything. Now, listening to the way my dad describes growing up, that’s what it’s like in Sierra Leone too – you're there to survive, and some people get to grow up to live. But he also gave me a lot of information that I never knew. He always says, “you’re Kuranko, be proud of it!”.

The connections you make between life in Sierra Leone and the experience of Black people in the US is a Pan-African worldview. The Pan-African flag also features in the print. What does it represent?

Marcus Garvey created the Pan-African flag, and then after him David Hammons created the African-American flag in the same colours. For me, it’s a sense of pride – the same sense of pride that the creators of the American flag had. I always wanted to be a part of that. That’s why I created my own flag and included it with the other flags on the border of Fred. It's motivation to keep discovering more about my own personal ancestors. 

What’s unique about your flag is that it has a pair of eyes. In your recent works, human eyes show up on butterfly wings and on flowers. What’s the significance of the eyes?

I like the eyes a lot, it's such a unique part of the body. The eyes are the windows to the soul. A lot of people always wear dark shades. It's not to even just look cool – sometimes you don’t want to share that intimacy with just anyone. I'm starting to discover that myself as I meet more and more people. You meet some people who are really in tune with the earth and the stars, and you can tell they're looking straight through to your soul.

I’ve also learned how to do a lot with my eyes. I feel like I can reverse my senses and feel with my eyes. When I'm painting I use my eyes to feel and mold certain things.

A lot of your work is based on your personal memories, is it always your eyes we’re seeing these scenes through? 

I do think of the past, but I also think of the past from other folks’ perspective as well. 

Fred, that's the point of view of my mother, the whole image is through her eyes. That's why there's a small baby picture of me, my brother and my sister on top of the TV.  When I was painting it, I didn’t know what the image would become. I started with the portrait of Fred on the TV, and from there it was all emotion – I felt for a second like I was a kid again on Narrow Street, sitting on the floor in front of her watching TV.

Even though Fred Hampton died before we were born, she's replaying a memory that she might have had at the same  time. And she's watching the same things that we're watching today. People are still fighting for justice. Kind of like when we would go to my grandma's house for Martin Luther King's birthday, and she would play his speech in hopes of some sort of change, or some type of peace and positivity. 

You’ve said before that you started painting the Black Panthers because it’s in your blood. What are your earliest memories of the Panthers and Fred Hampton in particular?

My mom and uncle were close friends with Geronimo Pratt who was in the Black Panther Party. That sparked so many conversations for me as a young kid.

Then when I was in the sixth grade my cousin gave me my first paid commission – a sketch of Marcus Garvey. I didn't know who Marcus Garvey was, so he told me all about him. I started getting intrigued and doing my own personal research and that’s how I learned about Fred Hampton. As a seventh grader I was already into political pushback movements and people I call freedom fighters like Bob Marley and Fela Kuti.

I had a studio visit recently from this guy who brought his seven year old daughter with him. This print was out and we got talking about the Black Panthers. At the end, he asked his daughter “you got any questions for Mr Jammie?” She says “what’s a Black Panther?” That’s how I was as a kid as well. So I told her about their free breakfast program, and taking care of your community to combat police violence and things like that. 

What do you think will happen to that legacy as the United States enters a second Trump presidency?  

As an artist, I don't do anything because I'm looking for acknowledgment. I use art for therapy, as another outlet. I want to talk about the things that are important to my community and shed light on what’s going on. 

Regardless of what the United  States has decided to do with Black History Month, you can't erase the past. Those people still exist. And we have to learn how to exist when people aren't acknowledging or clapping. Nobody's going to stop me from painting Martin Luther King, Fred Hampton and whoever else. Nobody's going to take away my music. 

Some people grew up great, they had picnics and went to the beach and on holidays. We didn't. We had nothing and nothing! I don't expect those people to have that same fire in their heart the way I have. My fire burns a little different and the government can’t change that. You can't take away someone's pride even if you put them in bondage, you can't take away a survivor's pride. 

In several works you show people wearing ‘rest in peace’ t-shirts that are left blank where there would usually be a name and image of the person that’s passed away. Does painting a figure like Fred Hampton, who was assassinated when he was only 21, give a public face for these private lives lost to violence that might not have made headlines? 

There's a lot of young people in my city that have passed away, and they’re still passing away. It's just one of those things that is normalised, I guess. I spend a lot of time thinking about everyday people that I’ve personally lost that are just as important to me as some of these notable figures. 

When I think about how Fred Hampton died in his 20s and I think about his impact, it gives me motivation to use art as a tool. Maybe 100 or 200 years from now, people will see my work as documentation of the past – the last thing I want to do is leave out a group of Black folks. Yes, there are successful black folks but I go home to everyday folk who are just trying to survive. I don't want to leave them out of history. 

Leaving the t-shirts blank has to do with inviting others to share a moment with me. If I include someone's face or a date, only I get to enjoy that feeling of remembering. I want people to envision their loved ones, or political figures, or whoever is of importance to them. 

Fred is a very personal memory of your home and family. How do you feel about it going to collectors’ homes around the world? 

I always said I won’t paint anybody that's really close to me – my mom, my sons, my sister or my brother. The first time I painted my mom and it ended up going to someone's house, I felt sick. But then I realised there’s more to this – they saw something in this image of my mom that they connected with, and I’m glad we made that connection. 

With this print, I feel like the people that collect it will also make their own connections. 

Everyone has a memory of watching something important on TV. It might not be Fred Hampton, it might be someone else that they remember, or their mother remembers. They might think of their brother and sister, or their childhood home. 

It's a cool experience. It’s an opportunity to bond with all these people I could never physically meet. 

Limited edition print

Our first collaboration with Jammie Holmes is launching soon. For a chance to collect the limited edition print, enter the draw before 14:00 UK time on 4 March.