HOMECOMING, the art and poetry of Danny Simmons

HOMECOMING the art and poetry of

DANNY SIMMONS

HOMECOMING the art and poetry of

DANNY SIMMONS

FEBRUARY 5 – JUNE 24, 2022 Artwork and poetry © 2022 Danny Simmons Catalogue design by KMW studio © 2022 Essay © 2022 Dianne Smith All rights reserved.

IN CELEBRATION OF THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE JAMAICA CENTER FOR ARTS & LEARNING (JCAL)

FORWARD The first time we ever spoke together to Danny Simmons, in 2020, it was via Zoom–the perfect symbol of a dramatically imperfect time. George Floyd’s murder wasn’t only fresh in our minds, it was raging in our hearts. It might have been understandable if part of us worried that by inviting Danny to be our artist-in-residence–in honor of the 50th anniversary of the Jamaica Center for Arts and Learning–we might be inadvertently passing by the art that comes of revolution and justice.

Danny, who is always as wise as he is creative, took a breath.

With warmth and affection in his voice, he confided that the first time his work as an artist had ever been included anywhere was right here at our institution. Given his accomplishments as a pioneering NeoAfrican abstract expressionist, visceral and well-grounded poet, and philanthropist and author, everything suddenly jelled. For as Dianne Smith’s essay in this catalog observes so acutely, the entirety of Danny’s career has represented the vanguard of that revolution–to the powerful deployment of art in pursuit of justice one day being served.

The battle waged outside. Inside, on Zoom, we grasped the arc of a journey coming full circle–yes, that same arc that bends toward justice. Danny’s residency at JCAL, and his poetic and powerful Early Days & Latter Days exhibit, thus ties past to present to future exquisitely.

Its message, of course, being timeless.

To which we must say–warmly and affectionately: Welcome home.

Leonard Jacobs Executive Director

Courtney Ffrench Artistic Director

DANNY SIMMONS

THE RUSH OF INFINITE POSSIBILITIES

Amid The Black Lives Matter movement, there is a focus on diversity, equity, and inclusion in most industries today. The artworld is no exception. As a result, we have seen a rise in Black-owned galleries, residencies, curators, and artists. New York Dealers like David Zwirner have opened a commercial gallery with a Black director and all-Black staff catering to the representation of Black artists. Nicola Vassell opened her Black-owned contemporary art gallery of the same name in New York City’s Chelsea art district.

Artist residencies founded by Black artists have also popped up in Dakar, Maine, Detroit, and New Haven. While these new spaces are timely and significant, it is essential to provide historical context. For decades, Black dealers, curators, and gallerists such as Danny Simmons have provided a haven for underrepresented artists of color. In 1995, Danny Simmons opened Rush Arts in Chelsea, followed by Corridor Gallery in 1997, located in Brooklyn, New York.

The tradition of Black artists and other cultural workers creating spaces for themselves is nothing new. Artists of color have a long history of creating a presence for themselves in an exclusionary world. Simmons belongs to a group of extraordinary visionaries who have made their mark on art history despite the art world’s discriminatory practices. Whether it was to have representation,

preserve a particular aesthetic, genre, or political view, artists of color have always had to create opportunities.

Early examples of Black artists and cultural workers creating space for themselves includes the Highwaymen 1950s through the 1980s, The Spiral Art Collective 1963-1965, and The Brockman Gallery in Los Angeles founded in 1967, after which came Africobra Chicago, 1968. That same year, a group of artists, activists, and philanthropists founded The Studio Museum in Harlem, followed by Gallery 32 in 1969, and New York City’s, Just Above Midtown, also known as JAM, in the 1970s.

It is important to note that as we celebrate Black artists and other cultural workers today that are opening artist residencies, hosting retreats, and incubator spaces, we don’t leave Danny Simmons, Rush, and Corridor Gallery out of the discourse. Referencing Rush is essential for historical context and accuracy in conversations surrounding what I call “The New Negro” interest within the current mainstream art market. When I think of art as social practice, Rush is at the forefront.

Simmons has always been a warrior for the arts, particularly for those that are marginalized and underrepresented.

Besides being a visual artist, Simmons is a community builder, poet, novelist, collector of art, comics, jewelry, and antiques. In addition, he is a producer, entrepreneur, mentor, and philanthropist.

As the photographer Renee Cox, one of Rush’s early board members, puts it, “Danny has always been a visionary and ahead of the curve, particularly when it comes to real estate. For example, he bought a building on Grand Avenue in Brooklyn, which housed the Corridor Gallery, making that kind of investment in that neighborhood before it was chic.”

Simmons split the property in half, creating his living space and opening Corridor Gallery when Brooklyn was considered risky and foreboding. The gallery focused on older and emerging artists of color and functioned as a community art space for after-school and weekend art programming. Few would argue that Simmons, through Rush and Corridor, developed an art scene in New York that

cultivated artists of color. Many of the artists we know today, like Simone Leigh, Kalup Linzy, Mickalene Thomas, Kehinde Wiley, and Wengechi Mutu, had their first exhibitions at Rush.

Just as many of these artists got their initial group or solo shows at Rush, many writers, curators, underground musicians, and poets received their first opportunities. For many of us, Rush and Corridor was a kind of Utopia. Master Black artists like Richard Mayhew, Ed Clark, and Gordon Parks were mixed with an eclectic group of beautiful Black creatives of all ages. Non-creatives, collectors, aspiring writers, curators, and so on filled the openings. It was all exceptional. I don’t think I’ve experienced that kind of synergy since Rush and Corridor Gallery closed their doors.

Once an artworld outsider, Larry Oessi-Mensah, Curator and Co-Founder of ARTNOIR, has grown into one of the most prolific and influential voices within that world. His work has a global focus on including artists of the diaspora in exhibitions and collections, both privately and institutionally. ARTNOIR is a non-profit collective that offers a collaborative platform for creatives of color to produce outside the traditional arts narrative. Oessi-Mensah was at the onset of his career when he was first introduced to Rush and Corridor. He was looking for spaces where he’d feel welcomed and a sense of belonging, and Rush provided him with that foundation.

Simmons was always encouraging Oessi-Mensah, giving him his first c uratorial e xperience. “ Rush r eally k ind o f p ut t heir a rms around me, allowing me to curate, to be part of the advisory board, to help them with the residencies they started, and to be part of the event in the Hamptons. So, I really had an opportunity to see how an arts non-profit, that’s truly community-based worked from many perspectives. So, I think that has informed how I work in terms of always ensuring that when I do an exhibition, it’s something that creates a sense of belonging, it’s something that is a catalyst for conversation but also for diversity,” Oessi-Mensah remarks.

Almost a decade ago, New York-based curator, anthropologist, and writer Niama Safia Sandy came to New York from Washington

D.C. with a plan. On an afternoon art outing, Simmons’s impromptu question, “what do you want to do?’’ helped launch her curatorial practice with her first show at Rush. Since her exhibition, Black Magic, at Rush, her curatorial projects include The Circle of Trust at BLDG 92, Brooklyn, and Boundless at Brooklyn Historical Society and Black Magic: AfroPasts/AfroFutures, on view at Honfluer Gallery, D.C. Her writing is also included in the publication Mfon: Women Photographers of the African Diaspora.

I have fond memories of the Corridor Gallery and Rush; I believe the two existed in tandem.

A Sunday afternoon at Corridor in Brooklyn is what a Thursday evening at Rush was to Chelsea. Although the crowds were multiracial, you couldn’t help but notice many intergenerational Black bodies, with dreads, natural hairdos, fashion, culture, and style that encompassed everything Black people are throughout the diaspora.

They were creatives, intellectuals, and non-intellectuals. Yet, they found common ground to communicate centered around art.

The aesthetics of the Black culture and how the aesthetics fed the community were and continue to be necessary. African Artifacts Collector, Eric Edwards, is Simmons’ longtime friend. He comments, “Corridor Gallery for artists was leading-edge, for Black artists but it wasn’t just for Black artists, it was for all artists, but it had a focus on Black artists. It was the leading-edge, you know, people who were interested in art, they all came to Corridor Gallery, or some came to hang out—to make a statement.”

Edwards also recalls the epic July 4th parties at Corridor, “They were incredible! I remember one party in particular. You were probably there, it was one of the hottest days of the year, and Danny had a ton of people in his house, downstairs and up on the roof of the house. I remember people were dancing on the roof and everything, and you could see the ceiling shaking. So, after this, I told Danny, I said, you know, the roof was vibrating, and the thought came to me, I said, if this ever came down, I said it’s going to make one hell of a story.”

I will dare say it’s still “one hell of a story” without the roof collapsing. Hundreds of people came to Grand Avenue in Brooklyn every year not because it was July 4th but because it was a celebration of the African Diaspora. The parties were legendary, but the art and artists were always at the center of everything. The soirees always included an exhibition. One of the fantastic things I can say about it all is that hundreds and hundreds of people from all over the Tri-state area would come through to not only the gallery but his home.

On a Sunday afternoon, figuratively and literally, we were in Simmons’ house. Even though the gallery was upfront, the building was wide open. You could walk through his home covered with his private collection of African Artifacts, a Wilfredo Lam and Ed Clark painting, photographs, sculptures, and countless other fine art collectibles. The guests had free reign from his studio to the living room to the spiral staircase up to the roof. Which was a whole other massive space with a band on stage, pumping out live music, dancing, and tons of food and drinks.

What was phenomenal is that his hospitality was unwavering with all the valuable art in his home, exposed to the public. Simmons truly believes that if you treat people with kindness, respect, and dignity, they will respond in kind. He felt then, as he does now with Rush Arts Philadelphia (RAP), if you offer people the proper venue with the appropriate spirit, the adequate amount of love and outreach, they will respond in turn, and they always did.

Brian Tate is a cultural curator, collaborator, and dear friend of Simmons. Tate remembers conversing with Simmons during one of his soirees at Corridor Gallery when an older Black woman walked in. He watched as Simmons got up out of his seat and went over to personally greet her. After Simmons thanked her for stopping in, she stated I was just walking by and wondered what was happening. He replied, there’s an art show, let me tell you about the work on the walls, and he spent a good deal of time with her. Tate noted this, thinking how natural it was for Simmons to engage with a stranger

or perhaps not a stranger but someone he treated with familiarity simply because she was a member of his Brooklyn community.

Tate describes Simmons’s actions as “natural as drinking a glass of water.” Which prompted him to ask, why did you do that? Simmons replied that Black people, particularly older Black people, often feel unwelcome in specific spaces.

Tate juxtaposes that memory with one of being out in the Hamptons at an Art For Life event. There were all these celebrities in attendance. He recalls looking around, and there was Bon Jovi, Alicia Keys Mos Def, and David Chase from The Sopranos. All these folks were brought together in service of a more extensive community, which extends to an older Black woman stumbling upon a gallery in her Brooklyn neighborhood and feeling welcomed. Tate and Simmons’s relationship is rooted in a shared understanding of culture and building bridges in underserved communities, thus using art to spark economic development within those spaces. They have worked on numerous projects together, including Curate NYC. Curate NYC is one of the earliest examples where the idea of exhibiting artwork moved beyond only using the traditional white box space. Instead, they used the internet to create a platform for New York City-based visual artists such as myself to be seen by international galleries, dealers, and curators they may not have otherwise had access to. As a result, two thousand artists submitted work, 100 of those works of art were exhibited in five local galleries, and the top 150 results were shown as postcard reproductions at Rush in Chelsea. The objective was to increase exposure, garner career opportunities for artists, and build community among artists who may never have met, thus heightening the City’s cultural ecosystem.

My earliest memory of Danny Simmons was around 1994 when I returned to New York from Europe and Los Angeles. I was a naive 20 something-year-old that thought I traveled the world; now, I will take on the New York art scene. By this point, I’d heard about Danny Simmons, the artist, and poet, from numerous people about

town. New York Under Cover was a major television show shot around the City. I recall reading the credits and seeing Danny Simmons’ name as the Creative Director. Although naive to the art world, I recognized Simmons’ significance in a national T.V. show’s credit as the art director.

Shortly after, I saw my first Danny Simmons artwork in person.

I was at the home of the late music mogul Andre Harrell on New York’s Upper West Side when I noticed a huge painting on the living room wall. The bold earth tone imagery of a Black female figure with her hands and feet bound to what appeared to be two parking meters was arresting. In retrospect, that may have been the first time I understood the magic of being an artist, a Black artist, and being in someone’s private collection.

I didn’t know then what I know now that Simmons has a way of showing up in people’s lives long before you meet him. For over a week, at every social event I attended, someone said you need to meet Danny Simmons. For more than twenty years now, he has been a dear friend and mentor. He is, in part, responsible for my artistic development, thus my practice today. He took a chance on that once naive twenty-something-year-old by including me in one of my first group shows at the Corridor Gallery. He made sure I attended every opening in New York and continued to give me sound advice.

The goal was for me to learn everything I could about the art world. Simmons’ generosity, approachability, and genuine desire to preserve, uplift, and share art, Black art, and success align with what makes him unique. Unfortunately, the elitism and hierarchy within the art world don’t always allow for accessibility. There are few people in this business that you can introduce yourself to, and they become instant mentors or conduits for your dreams.

Fiber artist Xenobia Bailey introduced herself to Danny Simmons at the Black Fine Art Show in Soho’s Puck Building. She first heard of Corridor and Rush Galleries through friends who frequently attended their openings. One day she followed and was in awe of what was happening in her Brooklyn neighborhood. Bailey states,

“I didn’t care what they were doing; I just wanted to be a part of it.” She knew that Rush Gallery would be a window of opportunity for her work to be shown and understood. Even though they were fine arts, she appreciated the grassroots approach of Corridor and Rush Galleries. At the time, her “White Chelsea dealer” wanted her to change direction because he couldn’t understand the “Aesthetic of Funk.” Rush gave Bailey her first solo exhibition where she could have autonomy over her work.

The mainstream art world was a very different beast; before, all these artists were doing what they’re doing now. Bailey remarks about her experience, “They were coming out bold like graffiti on the wall, you know, like, we’re doing this gallery, you know. What the artists say they’re doing, that’s what we’re showing.” For many Black creatives, Rush provided a safe space for creative freedom and expression, as well as a sense of community. The mainstream art world did not govern their practices. Seeing themselves represented on the walls of a gallery in Chelsea permitted every artist to have agency over their Blackness.

For Simmons, Rush was an outgrowth of not being able to show his work. In the early 90s, he found himself unsuccessfully walking around SoHo, searching for a gallery to exhibit. The experience prompted Simmons to mount his own exhibition along with sculptor Howard McCaleb. To not have a place to show meant thinking outside the realm of a traditional white-box gallery. The first exhibition was mounted in the management office of Rush Productions, later known as Def Jam. Russell Simmons formed Def Jam, and soon after, the annual Def Jam Art Show came about.

The exhibitions were never solely about Simmons and his work; he figured if he was having difficulty finding representation, so were other Black artists. Walking around SoHo, he didn’t see Black artists in the galleries. While putting on the shows at Def Jam and other spaces, Simmons began developing a name s for himself.

Meeting Manu Lawrence, the son of Outsider Art Dealer Roger Rico, presented the opportunity for a permanent home. Manu offered

Danny space, and he jumped at the chance.

Simmons’ brilliance is in always seeing the big picture. Once the location was secure, he needed a name for the gallery. It made sense to him to borrow from his brother, thus calling the gallery Rush Fine Art. His goal was to generate such a buzz about the artists and exhibitions to gain interest from the media, television, magazines, etc. In addition, Simmons was interested in exposure for the artists he showed. Leveraging his title as Creative Director on New York Undercover, he created possibilities for Black artists to exhibit their work.

Exposing artists of all disciplines to new audiences has always been an essential part of Danny’s practice. At the time, there wasn’t a profound interest in the art world to represent Black artists or even show them. Building an audience for the visual arts was even more challenging, so it was necessary to have intersections between multiple art genres with broader interests. Curating shows that included spoken word, music, and fashion was a way to bring people together. The openings were different from white-box spaces with work on the walls and a little wine and cheese. Exhibitions like Sankofa on Houston and Greene Street in Soho, where Lauryn Hill and the Fugees performed, were all the rage. Rush and Corridor Galleries were born out of all the early trials and eras, from the Tribeca and Soho exhibitions to Sanctuary Gallery in Bed-Stuy.

Rush Philanthropic arose out of necessity. Simmons states, “the reason I did that was that people didn’t want to give us space for free, you know if we weren’t in a non-profit. So, I said, OK, let me go get my non-profit status. Debra Collinwood was the first executive director, and she helped find the space at 526 West 26th Street in Chelsea. I asked Russell to host the first fundraiser and Run DMC to be the headliner, and we had Eartha Kit raise $250,000.00 that year.”

It would be another ten years before the event was called Art for Life.

Although new to the Chelsea neighborhood, Rush couldn’t help but notice the dividing line on 10th Avenue. The galleries sat on the west side of the avenue, and the Chelsea-Elliott Houses sat

east. It was immediately apparent to Rush that they must show up differently by not perpetuating the metaphoric barrier between the Chelsea galleries and the Black and Brown community across the avenue. So, they went over to the housing projects knocking on doors introducing themselves, letting parents know, “Hey, we’re a Black-owned gallery across the street.” They asked, “if we have art programs on Saturdays, will you bring your kids?”

Around that time, in 1996, while finishing his art education degree at Pratt, Simmons’s cousin and multidisciplinary artist Derrick Adams began working at Rush. He started as an intern assisting the executive director, then eventually became gallery manager and curatorial director. Simmons is vehement that there can be no discussion about Rush without talking about Derrick Adams. Adams reflects, “Having kids from the Chelsea-Elliott Houses coming to the gallery for Saturday art classes was a unique thing in terms of social practice. The kids worked in the same space as the artwork.

Typically, art programs exist in different spaces than where the artmaking takes place.” The focus was on accessibility and a sense of belonging for a community otherwise ignored in Chelsea.

Kids from first graders to high school had an immersive art experience; they were exposed to and did all kinds of work. The High Line was still abandoned when they partnered with the gallery to have the kids imagine the new space. They met regularly with the designers, and most of the kids conceptualized a sort of a garden or some type of natural space. Artist, curator, and former project director of the children’s program, Elissa Blount Moorhead likes to say the kids at Rush “designed the High Line in Chelsea.” Rush made sure that the kids got real art training.

It was their first exposure to an art gallery, a Black-owned gallery for many of the kids. And most significantly, they were exposed to working artist that looked like them. Blount-Moorhead believes, even though the Hudson Guild was there, Rush demystified these big white boxes that were aggressively crowding up Chelsea and gentrifying a community of people that had lived there for

many years. “With Rush, the community knew that at least one of them in there was interested in them, and at least one of them in there was filled with Black and Brown people and Black and Brown art,” states Blount-Moorhead.

Simmons’s approach was always and continues to be in service of community, specifically communities of color, however, not to the exclusion of others. What continues to make Rush unique is that it is a welcoming place for all while focusing on uplifting artists of color and marginalized communities. His commitment to the arts has always been rooted in social practice way before it became a thing.

Rush was doing the work for the artist and the community long before the terminology became part of contemporary vernacular.

Their grassroots practice extended from going door-to-door at the Chelsea-Elliott Houses to Adams making their presence known in the Chelsea art scene.

Adams routinely went around to the other galleries letting them know that Rush was the place to be, and if they wanted to know who the next big thing was, they’d better come to the next opening.

Part of being a visionary is having an organic understanding of how and when change needs to happen. Simmons realized Adams had proximity to younger artists whose needs and desires surrounding exhibitions differed from the older artist. They were not as interested in the happenings that had been a part of Rush’s fabric for much of its inception.

As Rush’s curatorial director Adams began focusing on exhibitions incorporating more younger artists without leaving out the mid-career and older artists. Just as artists of color were not being shown in mainstream galleries, art historians, writers, curators, and even new collectors did not have a place to call home before Rush; it became heaven on earth for us all. However, things were changing; more Black artists were coming out of grad school and spending more money on their education. As a result, Black artists wanted to have their work represented differently; Adams understood the younger artists had different expectations than the previous generation.

Rush began focusing on marketing from postcards to press releases and giving opportunities to writers like Oessi-Mensah mentioned earlier. They started writing essays about the burgeoning Black artists of the time. As this was happening, other dealers in Chelsea began to pay attention. Soon Adams realized just how essential the shows at Rush had become to the art world. It indeed became the place everyone came to see the hot new talent straight out of art school.

Yet, so often, when these artists are asked about their first exhibitions, Rush is left out of the discourse. For those of us who were there, it seemed to be a natural progression for most to go from an exhibition at Rush to Artist in Residence at the Studio Museum in Harlem. Yet, Rush is arguably how many careers in the arts began.

It was the end of an era when Simmons sold his Brooklyn brownstone and moved to Philadelphia. I, like so many others, was heartbroken. But, in retrospect, it was a natural progression for his vision of Rush having a presence outside of New York City. The City and the art scene were expanding, and Rush was at the forefront of that expansion. Simmons is nothing if not ingenious; knowing when to make a move has always been his strength and key to his success.

Philadelphia called him, and he responded. Simmons wasted no time entrenching himself in the arts community. Another of Simmons’s longtime friends and former Museum Director at Philadelphia Museum of Fine Arts (PAFA), Brooke Davis Anderson, was thrilled when she found out he had transitioned to Philadelphia.

She met Simmons in the late 1990s to early 2000s and was enamored by all his work with Rush and Corridor Gallery. Shortly after meeting Simmons, she started volunteering at Corridor and worked on a few projects with him. So naturally, once she found out he was in Philadelphia, Anderson couldn’t wait to get him involved with PAFA. “Simmons is now a vital voice on the collections committee,” says Anderson. But, in typical Simmons fashion, he also turned his attention to an area in Philly called Logan. It is a community very similar to his Brooklyn neighborhood before its gentrification.

Simmons believes so strongly that art changes lives and

communities. So, in 2015, he purchased a building in Logan and opened RAP. One year later, RAP opened its doors with its first exhibition, Power, Protest, and Resistance: The Art of Revolution. The inaugural exhibition showcased both New York and Philadelphia-based artists.

The intersection of social action and visual arts was at the center of the exhibition focusing on the Black Lives Matter and Occupy movements. The show empowered the artist to speak freely through their work on how the language of aesthetics informs protest ideas, giving permission for change and cultural shifts.

The building is dedicated to an exhibition and program space.

Using the success of Rush and Corridor Galleries, RAP’s aim is to nurture a community art space that provides opportunities to local artists and curators while focusing on community development. The educational component of RAP is at the center of why it exists. “Things are a little different here in Philly. Instead of the priority being empowering artists, my job is more about community empowerment through the arts.

Artists will be empowered by just the action of them being there, and I’ve learned that over the years. I want to do this for a larger reason than to just give somebody a career. I want to give our communities a chance, and I think art helps to do that,” Simmons states.

Initially, RAP’s Director, Noah Smalls and a few of his friends, being from Philly and chased out of Logan numerous times as kids, questioned why anyone would start a business there? He states, “there’s not a lot of upsides to starting a business here. The people in the community don’t spend money on art; they just don’t have the disposable income to do so. It’s a working-class community, and then there’s just the general Philadelphia struggles and whatever else.”

At the top of the pyramid for Smalls was the idea of shining a light on the community and bringing in people from downtown to support the gallery. However, since working at RAP, what he’s discovered is the more significant part of this is the actual transformation of Logan.

He recalls mentioning to Simmons, “Logan is rough.” Simmons responded I don’t really care about that because this is exactly what I saw when I first moved to Brooklyn. At that point, Smalls realized

Simmons saw Logan as a place “thirsty for something to flourish, and that art has this unique power to transform communities and change people’s hearts and that he was solid that the need existed just for the platform for people to come to express themselves, and that was a kind of social service,” Smalls commented. Like so many of us, Smalls looks at Simmons work for the arts, culture, artists, and underserved communities as an extension of his master’s degree in social work and very early career as a social worker in New York City.

Pre COVID, I had the chance to visit RAP. It was my first time in Logan, and it was reminiscent of the Bronx neighborhoods I grew up in the 1970s and 80s and the Harlem community I moved into in the early 1990s. During those days, nothing stood out except for perhaps buildings in disrepair, empty lots, and so forth. In Logan, on the corner of Old York Road, RAP stands out almost like an anchor on the corner. Directly across the street from RAP, one can’t help but notice the vibrant mural by Danny Simmons, entitled Kuba Kingdom. Just looking up at the mural itself confirms that art can revitalize a neighborhood. Being there for a few hours, I understood how the space had already become part of the community.

Imo Nse Imeh’s work was on view, and I was lucky enough to get a private tour. Throughout my time, people from the community wandered in and out. One such person was a young artist in high school carrying a portfolio of his work. He was eager to share his work and receive feedback. I looked on as Imeh and Smalls took their time with him, going over each image as if we were at a grad school critique. They were kind, thoughtful, and generous, and he was appreciative. I later had a conversation with Imeh. He recalled being about the same age as the young man, and every day after high school, he would walk past a gallery on his way to the subway in New York City.

He loved looking at the elaborate, lavish portraits in the window and wanted to go in to see the work up close. One afternoon he tried to open the door to enter the gallery and realized it was locked. At that moment, he noticed other things. The expression on the faces of the

adults inside sent a clear message he was not welcome. Listening to Imeh’s story is yet another confirmation of why spaces like RAP must exist in our communities. To be mentored in a Black-owned gallery in your community by two Black men is empowering to say the least.

It will be beautiful when more Black and Brown kids have similar experiences in their own community instead of the one Imeh had.

During COVID, RAP continued to serve the community online, providing much-needed programming for young people and families.

Through these perilous times, it was essential for them to remain connected to the and explore new ways of engagement. Unfortunately, like so many institutions, the crisis is taking a toll on the organization.

Nevertheless, Simmons continues to use his resources, auction items donated by artists, and social media fundraisers to keep RAP running.

The exhibitions are ongoing, along with the educational programs.

Lavette Ballard’s solo show opens in October 2021. For Ballard, RAP is one of the few not for profits she will always support.

Ballard states, “Rush is a magical place. So often, when you go into a gallery, you get the sense it’s about making money. But, when you go into Rush, you don’t get that feeling. It’s not that people don’t want to make money, but you get the feeling it’s all about service. You get the feeling that it’s about the culture and it’s almost like stepping into a home.” In writing this essay, I have spoken to so many people.

Some were around in the early 1990s during the Gallery Annex days like Darryl DeLoach, and others arrived on the scene much later.

However, the sentiment for all is much the same as Ballard describes.

As I stated previously, Rush was a kind of Utopia. As Simmons’ longtime friend DeLoach says, “it was a very special time for many young Black artists, and Danny was the drum major, and the beats were kicking like Shaolin Monks!

Dianne Smith Artist

WINDS OF CHANGE America sent a volley of hate and bullets screaming skyward blocking out all sunshine and hope that was once come hither sexy now grown old and long in the tooth/ or a toothless apple sauce eating crone cackle/ The drones can’t see me in the shadows/at the bottom of the poisoned well/ in my naked shame of poverty and ineffective representation/ and I can’t see the drones but they are there/ they are there laughing and searching.

3 6 9 the goose drank wine the monkey choked the boy ran with fear on his heels and was shot in the back...and the new nursery rhymes aren’t fun and flighty/ nor are the marching songs my dad left in legacy with balled tissues wet with tears of generational hopelessness/ Keep cadence keep cadence march and bandages aplenty/ keep cadence marching and protesting with signs for your children and theirs....and theirs 3 6 9 pass the wine and barrels of ammunition there’s a war hovering above the drones/ above the bullets descending /above the vicious wind thats coming.

BEAT NECK Superhero Saturday saturation fit kit haunted hardware/ I fell b4 I flew thru the heart of enraged zydeco cat call harping/ thru ur rescue from sputtering villainy and hard hearted Hanna and her freakish hoard of lacless sneakers syncophant remorse.

The harbor whores are wary of smiling white men that dance.

The cha cha The lindy hop To the Beatles The hustle The electric slide To Queen To the Doors To holy Hendrix To the beat The twist Call me please don’t text.

WHEN THE REVOLUTION CUM Great greasy gravy came sliding up to the revolution hand out looking for tonight’s hook up and chicken dinner party he eased up to bomb the place tagging po-lice ve-hicles and Blasphemous false allies who thought this was a cock fight/ it aint right and neither wuz cuzz cause we talking bout our freedom here ...and there ...and everywhere.

Fast forward to the who done it ball and apple cider stomp romp where daisy mae lost her golden slipper gripper and fell face forward onto the menagerie of America’s hand basket of lies.

Hacking up flem and shame she wasn’t right for the fight and surrendered gaped open and exposed for her true self an American harlot looking for a sneak peek of life on the other side of the track marks. So here’s where greasy gravy smacked that ass left rehab put down the spike grabbed a gun and went underground.

The revolution gonna come The revolution gonna come The revolution gotta come due Cause the bill is still sitting on the table.

NEVER MORE My bruises lay down in the middle of the road obstructing heavy traffic having temper tantrums weepy wailing pork rind breath dangerous/ stabbing sidewalks rumble ragged and rabble..I am seen from a side eyed black gaze a jazz rift drifting slowly away / shopping thrift needy in second hand shops. I’m all the time sweet dizzy and dream drunk / I must compose myself i/m all over the place in side places and basements. Settle down good fellow into your shimmering reflection. Sit lotus and chant breathe breath until breathless no more.

We rise marching cresting hill top Black lives mattering with pipes & guns and break out in distractful two step historical rhetoric like a first poem flying.

The burning of downtown black business still smoldering nigh on a century more as the tales are told. The smell of burnt bodies have been added to my DNA trigger memories that mock the black ass raven never more never more.

DEAD NEGRO HOLLOW, TENNESSEE I drove through a town named “ Dead Negro Hallow” Tennessee and caught the shivers/ got them happy feet pushing da pedal to the metal boss... holla at your boy to make sure I’m alright/ white hoods spring from behind poplar trees spouting Bible quotes and carrying burnt negro gasoline cans/ holla at your boy that i’m gonna be alright / red sirens roar pressed my foot tight / and I zoom zoom zoom staying on lit well road no sundown clown gonna catch me sleep at the wheel/ white fire and brimstone stalking me/ holla at your boy I’m gonna escape from this great American mistake movie cause I ain’t the one to fill dead negro hollow graves and tall tales with more zoom zoom zoom in the boom boom boom... A freedom riders run to a dead negro border... freedom freedom I gotta get me sum freedom on my mind.. I’m a blue streak fast good groovy gravy gone.

Shot dead at a Chicago gas station stick up/ Dead Negro Holler ...holla at your boy.

BROTHERLY LOVE AND SISTERLY AFFECTION Skip skip skip to my Lou over the cracks that broke mama’s back past Jimmy cracking corn and not caring winds blown down Philadelphia alleys clogging them with weed and neglected possibility/ I’m all over the place freestyle jack legging preaching the heresy of false history chest pounding echoing bile spewing channel streaming America...

The Minute men came marching late crossing town from Old City to North Philly killer diller Erie Ave where the cheese steaks taste better late night after the shooting stops and the stripper fun begins/ That’s where I met round butt injected baby mama drama who thought I once loved her dearly/ but then she did a bid and left the kid to grey grandma church lady who brings me $15 plates with buttered rolls on the side.

I settled in from Bklyn well steering south from the quiet riot of the deep nod Kensington dumpster fire slow foot dancing machine/ the hill slopes down into pools of river run off and head bash/ bring cash and a fresh canvas...we gotta get this painting done before dawn breaks wild.

BLACK CAT STRUT We do be roll up armed like claws on chalkboard grating the tiny tenders as America acts like gossamer joke jingles/we are witness the hell from stank hidey places where waste piles deeper and wider than the spreading damages of white rage militia. Pissed off in the homeland at the thought of equal access to American poverty cycles/and bicycles peddling Karens into the Oz like hurricanes of our offensive Black uppity long hot summers/ we burn baby burn into looters dream night darkness.

I remember when my creases were silk and pressed tight for ladies with big afros combed every hour on the hour. They sure shook and shimmied into my teenage imagination beating heart. The music saved me from the alleyway desperation and the tears of generations of kindred ghosts who moaned in my inner ear like lullaby heroin nursery rhymes. I covet you my deep dark Blackness magic. I wont step on no cracks I wont break my mammas back..i wont walk under no ladders or cross step a Black cat and we know how the dice are loaded.

DOG BARK My blisters won’t break or run from the rivers of lashes and bristling reckless eyeballs that roam my every inch that sweat me for intention/ when my black dog barks i’m a biting being and a reckless broken side step /I can’t bridge the chasm to run or slam into you full speed ahead when black life matters when I’m trending when I’m sexy when i’m sweet/when I am a safe distance mirror fetish/ breathe me deep endless rolling rivers of race and murder and salty tears/ and my salt disposition/ at the ATM at the teller at the end of my wit and clever.

Who stole my good luck juju and left this screaming shrunken white man’s head nailed to my door/ who stole my book of existential no exits from rape poverty and pillage/ from heretic ruined row houses filled with mounds and mounds of ivory white bones.

My trick baby american negro legacy was ten sneakers deep/ reaching and leaping for true grio tales of ancient negroes who took no shit and hunted and was not hunted/ who had uncompromised riches and stayed free free free and never stolen.

When my black dog barks you better listen... when this black dog barks you better run.

COUSIN IT I’m the risky black felony itching 4 a cutting a bloody bruising a rude awakening with hot breath/ a mumbling indecipherable rap lyric with undertones of violence and a indiscreet face full of tattoos and glitter hoodoo gold teeth. I’m bitter showing my ass to regular hours speed limits and passing gas quietly. No BBQ manners in my arsenal just bullets and explosions of anger and jealousy of your shit that came from stoic daddy limp dripping genitals.

Didn’t go to Howard Morgan Morehouse or Hampton but stole daughters in spring break chaos quizzed about grading my complete otherness & ignorance to rule & regulation/ I don’t demonstrate I loot and riot and play loud music that blares from an endless stream of stolen cars. Shopped and chopped.

I never got adopted and ran these streets ragged and always hungry. I’ll never complete a poem with an acceptable resolution...

I just am so get use to me/ walk quickly and clutch your purse. That deep purple curse clinging until u do right by me.

PHILADELPHIA FREEDOM I fell into a crack on American street in Philadelphia down by the riverside where I lay my body down cop shot dope sick blue black blazes singing my diddy wah diddy cup in hand/ off in far downtown old city they crawl off buses to squeeze themselves into the liberty bell ass crack pirates for pictures and flag songs hungry for parses of history and negroes running North to Philadelphia freedom in big buckle cobbler click clacking cobble stone shoes/ driving weary horses winding back to painful dung filled stables.

Here i found the American Revolution lauded along the row houses filled of crushing poverty/and musket shots ringing out and finding warm torn Black bodies.

Here the declaration of independence is on display/ the proud/ the free/ the brittle paper of American dreams. The home of weary horses pulling carriages of broken America to tourist buses headed to all points of tangents from this center of burden. Philadelphia freedom the song that blares from roof top speakers as we plan for the new American revolution as we come to the congress of hell or high water.

BACK WHEN WAS THEN AND THEY WERE HERE I saw my homies great greasy & gravy dripping from a gun barrels in front of the dope spot/ we wuz third grade friends ducking deeper dizzy dreamscapes on rough ridden roads hell bound singing freedom songs like they was motown... trying to make it home before street lights and the wine swilling yellow moonlight.

We grew apart like tree limbs reaching on their own towards the morning light... they crept like moss on blight and I embraced a dream revolution and my first pair of combat boots. Bullets, berets and thrusting fist hunger had me begging on street corners for all power to the people... swimming against the current black angry and defiant/ late for class brilliant busted with duji stalking my every step..... mindblown gone and weepy ‘til the long distance run and the fun was over.

I came home no worse for wear after long hot summers of wanting and waiting to only find you lost to children’s memory and first slap fives... its no shame to miss you like we did/it holds me together in moments of despair when I sit and stare into the abyss of those graves that shouldn’t have been.

THE PRAISE SONG CHOIR Welcome to the church of the brown booty barbed wire cheeseburger immigration way station and the juggling red cap preschool/ black blistered sister high holy Sainted Maria grape stomped from door to door holding once stolen rugrat truck stops salvation bibles and zip locked beads bangles and bows.

The Alamo Joe Rio grande crossing practice wading pool baptism was full/ America’s dream slithered from nook to cranny vile deformed broken and maga pledging eye witnesses to the revelation ascension into border camp heavens and youthful hostel hostility. The coming pinata urban revolts whispered future promise and gringo ice ice baby rap songs.

The dreamed deferred negroes had seized hotel Harlem without bloodshed or in sync r&b dance and song. Jigaboo waltz white shoe chorus line stretched from 8th ave to the border wall as afro wigs and alligators shoes brokered veiled deception like loose ammo. We rose up disguised as bye bye American pie and picket fences/ wild wonderful and bloated with years of violence on our minds.

THE BORDER CROSSING BEEF BRISKET Alamo Joe grew like weeds in the garden center at homeland depot security boxed caged secured howling funeral psalms off key lamenting taco bell 2 hell buckshot banging bags of shredded beef burritos/ and spicy sauce/Super size me into the war zone ridicule race riot tent revival... they pay more for virgin Maria still born jesus lapel pins/ Mexican dash board savior deliverance harlots and whore son Sammy mammy jammy...

The juju pot seafood boil and beach party bingo rio Grande water slide right into Texas town tumble weed all day special border crossing dice game/ snake eyes... you crap lose lost and tossed away after crippling crops and hops.

When the Saints came marching home in black rosary clutched tightly clerical robes bigger brighter wishing well coin toss futures... sangria soaked American bandstand and bullet ridden sombreros frayed drowned and discarded.

They met the devil at the crossroads and they never had a chance.

ABOUT

DANNY SIMMONS

Danny Simmons is a published author, poet, painter and philanthropist. He is a leader in the art world with his philanthropic ventures, artistic talents and creative mind and drive.

Danny Simmons played an instrumental role in the conceiving of and co-producing the hit HBO show Def Poetry Jam, and won a Tony Award for the Broadway version of the show.

Simmons is co-founder, along with his siblings, Russell, and Joseph “Rev Run” Simmons, of the Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation, and founder of Rush Arts Philadelphia and RAP Gallery II, a new solo exhibition/arts education gallery that opened in 2019.

He is a former board member of the Brooklyn Museum, the Brooklyn Public Library, the New York Foundation for the Arts, the National Conference of Artists and former Chairman for the NYS Council on the Arts.

Today, his works appear in Brooklyn Academy of Music, Brooklyn Museum, Chase Manhattan Bank, Deutsche Bank, Schomburg Center for Black Culture, The Smithsonian, United Nations, United States State Department Collection, David Driskell Collection, Petrucci Family Foundation, PAFA Collection, and, on an international scope has shown work in France, Amsterdam and Ghana. In 2019, he was appointed to Philadelphia Museum of Art’s African American Collections Committee.

Danny Simmons holds a Bachelor’s degree in social work from New York University, a Masters in public finance from Long Island University, and is the recipient of an honorary PhD from Long Island University. He continues to thrive at his ‘home gallery’ in Philadelphia, PA.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Jamaica Center for Arts and Learning has been an intricate part of the social service and cultural life of the Jamaica Queens community.

So many people who have gone on to make major marks in the field of the arts started or had early career tenure there. I had my first inclusion in a professional art exhibition there. I mark that show as the first step of my path into the arts. Over the years my connection to the what was once called the Jamaica Arts Center has only deepened over the last 35 or so years. I am so honored and proud to be the artist in residence that represents its 50 years of commitment to the arts and community. It’s hard to describe the impact this organization has had on my life and the lives of the thousands of people that the center has nurtured over the years. I can only say that JCAL has left an indelible imprint upon me and the community where I was raised.

Thank you of course to the memories and life of my parents Daniel Sr. and Evelyn from who I got my passion for the arts. Then there’s my brothers Russ and Joey who have always backed whatever plays

I made. Without their support Def Poetry and Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation would have only been ideas in my head. I have four published books of poetry that without Mike Warlow and Kiersten Armstrong would have been either scraps of paper or words buried in a computer cloud. Thank you for believing in my spoken and written word. There are of course my many life long friends starting with my step brother Chris who before he became my bro we were best friends since the second grade and have been through so much together our whole lives. Then there’s my close buddies art collector Eric Edwards, Tom Richardson, and my cool ass dapper Bill Hudgins, my super talented artist cousin Derrick who has held me down and helped shape the legacy of Rush Arts, my somewhat newer but equally as deep buddies Raphael Tiberino and Noah Smalls my Philadelphia homies who have been strong loyal deep friends since I moved from NYC and I cannot forget Big Al Crosby a friend from my youth who literally ushered me into recovery from active addiction thirty years ago and has been my good friend and ally ever since. Many many thanks to Todd Agostini who introduced me to my wife and helped me find my wonderful home in Philly. I could go on and on and on but we only have so much space. My Thank you’s start and finish with the woman who has changed my life, Keia Carter now Keia Carter Simmons who has been a huge support by my side since the day I met her and who has completed me and watches over me ensuring I am safe, sound, loved and whole. She is the light of my life and my fantastically fly wife.

Oh yeah I better not forget Eli our Lab /Beagle who adds so much to this life and makes sure I’m up to feed him at 7am sharp every damn morning.

Peace y’all Danny

Jamaica Center for Arts & Learning (JCAL) 161-04 Jamaica Avenue, Queens, NY 11432 www.jcal.org