John Wilson’s name first appeared to me as an apparition — my father’s name, my beloved father, who stood as a defiant beam of light against the suffocating stereotypes America imposed upon Blackness. To see the same name inscribed upon canvases, prints, and bronzes was to recognize the continuation of that defiance—an inheritance of fire. Wilson’s art, forged across decades of upheaval, did not merely document history; it bent history into form, forcing the viewer to confront truths too terrifying to remain invisible. Wilson came of age in a century unraveling itself. Born in 1922 in Roxbury outside Boston, his...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
