Summer Olympics 2024: 10 Of The Most Stylish Uniforms From The Paris Games
Paris has always been the fashion capital of the world, the birthplace of classic trends and designer powerhouses. This year, however, the City of Light is captivating fashion critics for a different reason—the 2024 Summer Olympic Games, taking place from July 26, 2024 to August 11, 2024. This Friday, the Opening Ceremony will once again become a global runway of cultures. From the intricate details that pay homage to cultural heritage and artisanship to the innovative materials that promise both comfort and sustainability, each country's Olympic uniform is an opportunity to put itself on the global fashion map.
Here are 10 countries with the opening ceremony Olympic uniforms that have best managed to balance style, traditional national symbols and colors, sportswear trends and high fashion.
Chinese Taipei
Following the success of his designs for the Tokyo 2020 Olympics, Justin Chou, founder of avant-garde streetwear brand JUST IN XX, is back in 2024 as the official outfitter for team Chinese Taipei, an official Olympic name for Taiwan. The tailored two-piece suits to be worn by the athletes during the Olympic opening ceremony blends sustainability with the crafts of local artisans.
Chou turned the artwork “Mountain Range of Taiwan” by Taiwanese artist Paul Chiang into a beautiful printed fabric for the suits, the blue waves representing the natural beauty of Taiwan’s landscape. Adorning the Olympic opening ceremony looks are lapel pins crafted by flower-weaving artisan Lin Pei-Ying, made up of the Taiwan’s national flowers, the plum and the canola blossoms, serving as a traditional token of good luck for the athletes. Meanwhile, the belt and shoe uppers were made by Artisan Yan Yu-Ying with banana fiber woven fabric, an ancient textile tradition used in Taiwan. Chou also worked with a typography designer Kokia Lin to create a print that through an optical illusion transforms the words “Chinese Taipei” into the words “Cheer On.”
Mongolia
According to the “world’s most ruthless fashion critic” —the social media—this year’s best dressed Olympic team is Mongolia. Label Michel & Amazonka, led by designers Michel Choigaalaa and Amazonka Choigaalaa, caused a stir online when they unveiled the opening ceremony looks on Instagram earlier this month, with fans flooding the comment section with words of praise. “Absolutely stunning. Team Mongolia gets the gold for most incredible uniforms,” wrote one user.
The viral uniforms pay homage to Mongolian culture, with silhouettes inspired by the traditional Mongolian deel, a calf-length tunic. The ivory ensemble features cuffed, billowing sleeves, a pleated skirt, and an embroidered vest, offset by pops of collar in the collar, cuffs and vest. Further nods to Mongolian national symbols can be found in the intricate gold stitching of the vest, showcasing the moon, the sun, and the Gua-Maral, a mythical deer from traditional folklore. According to Michel & Amazonka, each individual uniform took dozens of hours to make–which isn’t surprising given the intricate level of detail.
Haiti
Haiti’s vibrant uniforms were created by Haitian-Italian designer Stella Jean to celebrate Haiti's culture and artisanship while sending a message of hope and renewal in a time marked by the country's political instability.
Jean incorporated the work of local artist Philippe Dodard into the skirt and trousers of the uniform—a bold, colorful print from a painting called “Passage.” For the women, the skirt will be paired with a woven chambray shirt, reflecting the country’s traditional blue-cotton spinning techniques, as well as a belted, sleeveless blazer made from recycled materials. Meanwhile, the men will sport field jackets inspired by the traditional Haitian Guayabera shirt, bearing the Haitian Olympic Emblem.
“I believe that these athletes have already won the most important medal by their very own presence in Paris. The winning category: human sustainability,” said Jean.
Canada
Athleisure giant Lululemon are the masterminds behind Canada’s chic uniforms, blending style and functionality. The brand teamed up with 14 Olympic and Paralympic athletes to ensure the kits meet the needs of the athletes set to compete. And it’s clear designers have listened; every look has a functional purpose to enhance athletic performance. The four-way stretch fabric fosters freedom of movement, while customizable drawcords allow a perfect fit. New pocket shapes and placements provide accessible storage, while SenseKnit technology and sweat-wicking material provide thermal comfort.
That doesn’t mean the brand compromised on style. The red-and-white jacquard bomber jackets are emblazoned with traditional Canadian maple-leaf motifs, reminiscent of edgy street-style pieces you’d spot on a runway. The jackets can be paired with shorts or sweatpants in the same print.
Canada will once again shine at the Olympic opening ceremony as one of the best dressed teams.
USA
When you think of sports, fashion and Americana, only one name comes to mind: Ralph Lauren. This year marks the ninth time in a row that the brand is the official outfitter for Team USA.
The preppy looks are quintessentially American and a classic Ralph Lauren: navy blazers with red and white trimming, striped Oxford shirts, and light-wash denim jeans. And naturally, each blazer features the iconic Olympic logo. Made in the USA, but created with sustainability in mind, using recycled polyester and Oregon-grown Responsible Standard wool from Shaniko Wool Company. “Ralph Lauren has once again created designs that not only capture the essence of American style but also embody the spirit and pride of Team USA,” said Sarah Hirshland, U.S. Olympic & Paralympic Committee CEO.
Sierra Leone
Adidas in collaboration with the London-based fashion label Labrum produced the official Olympic team kit for Sierra Leone. The collection features elements that pay homage to country’s cultural heritage, including windbreakers adorned with a distinctive white and blue print inspired by cowrie shells. Used in commerce as currency before, there unique shells now are often worn as the symbol prestige across many African countries.
Labrum's founder, Foday Dumbuya, has recently received the esteemed Queen Elizabeth II Award for British Design, and with this collection, Labrum and Adidas have created a unified and vibrant visual identity for the Sierra Leone team, one that honors Dumbuya's roots and celebrates the beauty of Sierra Leone culture.
France
The host country of the Summer Olympic Games in Paris will be making a grand entrance, donning custom-tailored tuxedos designed by luxury brand Berluti. “Berluti has brought together the savoir-faire and experience of its artisans to ensure that the French athletes look their very best,” reads an official statement.
Both men and women will sport midnight-blue wool tuxedos with lapels in shades of blue and red, key colors of the French flag. Suit pockets and scarves were created from fabric scraps to prevent waste, while the white shirts were made from cotton-silk blend for luxury and comfort. The expert craftsmanship of each tuxedo underscores the elegance typically associated with French fashion.
Great Britain
British brand Ben Sherman is returning for the third consecutive year to dress Team Great Britain. The opening ceremony uniform consists of a white bomber jacket with navy sleeves and a floral design embroidered on the back. Made up of the rose, thistle, daffodil, and shamrock, the design represents the four nations that make up the United Kingdom, symbolizing their unity and national pride.
The jacket will be paired with a knitted polo featuring a geometric read-and-blue pattern, crafted from an organic cotton blend, as well as oxford trousers with a Union Flag waistband. With a contemporary yet timeless uniform design Team Great Britain will be a stellar team both on and off the Olympic ceremony stage.
The Netherlands
Slouchy, orange tracksuits might be an unexpected choice for the Olympic Opening Ceremony costumes, but Amsterdam-based brand The New Originals gave us a modern nod to the centuries-old Dutch royal color from House of Orange.
The opening ceremony uniform for the Dutch Breaking (break dance) Team is both relaxed and impeccably tailored, featuring white piping detailing and a stiff collar. The tracksuits also come in white and navy, featuring orange piping detailing, a small but powerful homage to the country’s flag. “Ever since we’ve started, our mission was to make ‘performance clothing for creatives,’” wrote the brand on Instagram. They also stated that each tracksuit is unique, slightly altered to fit the distinct styles of each break dancer.
Australia
Australia’s heritage is front and center in the opening ceremony uniforms designed by Sportscraft. Made up of a green blazer with gold buttons, plus green-and-gold ombre skirts for the women and khaki shorts for the men, the country’s national colors are on full display—representing Australia’s beaches, crops, and forests. As a sweet tribute to previous victors, the names of 301 Australian Olympic champions are featured in the lining of each blazer.
Sportscraft also incorporated Indigenous artwork into the looks. The scarf is printed with the work “Walking Together” by Olympic boxer Paul Fleming, while the pocket square features the work “Ngalmun Danalaig” by artist David Bosun.
Where To watch The Summer Olympic Games In Paris Online Or On TV:
Three cheers for fashion, as we prepare to watch the Opening Ceremony for the Summer Olympic Games in Paris this Friday, July 26, 2024. Let us know in the comments which country’s national Olympic uniform stood out the most for you.
- Peacock will livestream every event of the Paris 2024 Olympics, including the opening and closing ceremonies.
- NBC and Telemundo will broadcast sole of the most popular Olympic competitions from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. ET each day. With additional sports airing on the CNBC, USA Network, E!, and Golf Channel.
‘Kidnapping Inc.’ Review: Haitian Crime Comedy Blends Politics and Thrills to Middling Effect
The abduction of a presidential candidate’s son in Port-au-Prince prompts a series of violent incidents in Bruno Mourral’s ambitious but underwritten effort.
Political unrest, economic instability and rampant insecurity have plagued the Caribbean nation of Haiti for decades. That the small percentage of mixed-race (mulatto) population holds a disproportionate portion of the wealth and power over the 95% Black majority fuels the anger and distrust of the masses. That’s the harsh reality where Haitian-born director Bruno Mourral locates his brash and muddled crime comedy “Kidnapping Inc.”
Devoted fans of rival squads in the Spanish soccer league, Doc (Jasmuel Andri, also a co-writer) and Zoe (Rolapthon Mercure), have abducted the son of presidential candidate Benjamin Perralt (Ashley Laraque) just days before the 2017 election. We don’t know how many times, if any, they’ve done this before, but their ineptitude quickly becomes evident. The pair drives around Port-au-Prince, the country’s capital, with their victim’s dead body in the drunk after Zoe accidentally killed him. Their ridiculous solutions to this unfortunate incident only escalate the irritation of the corrupt police officer at the helm of the mission.
Nearly a dozen thinly written characters, some of them not more than basic archetypes, make up the ensemble cast of this ambitious, if scattered-brained saga. There’s Audrey (Anabel Lopez), the victim’s wife, desperate to cobble together the large ransom sum with the help of her lover, Eddie (Marcus Boereau), who in turn has plans to flee to the neighboring Dominican Republic. The constant shifting between the different parties affected or benefiting from the kidnapping would be less disjointed if buoyed on the friendship of the two main buddies. But their loud and cartoonish banter, featuring a couple of homophobic jokes that are not so much offensive as they are boring, doesn’t let us into any deeper layers of them as people to keep us invested in their individual plights nor their ordeal as a team. It all hinges on their likability, limited mostly to broad fronting.
Mourral’s direction earns commendation not so much for the handling of interpersonal conflicts but the deftly executed shootouts and car chases that never once show any signs of subpar production value. The spontaneous quality that Martin Levent’s camerawork brings to those fast-paced moments of tension and sometimes unnecessarily shocking violence (namely a dog’s death) immerse us long enough to momentarily dismiss the less polished parts.
Any film from a country with as scarce an output as Haiti is cause for curiosity, especially since it’s not a subdued, social realist drama of the kind typically sourced from developing countries to pad festival lineups. On paper, the idea to address social inequality and the corrosion of institutions by way of a potentially crowd-pleasing work of entertainment is sound, even daring, and that’s why the fact that the film’s many elements don’t amalgamate is a shame.
For all the pitfalls it fails to avoid, the film’s strongest narrative virtue is adapting situations pertinent to productions with similar concepts to this specific cultural and national context, remixing the familiar to appear authentic to the daily struggles of Haitians. A chase on foot, for example, unfolds in the narrow streets of a low-income community, where the two inept kidnappers encounter not only difficult-to-navigate alleyways but locals hostile to their presence there. During another chapter in Zoe and Doc’s misadventures, after crashing their own car in attempt to evade responsibility for their precious cargo’s passing, they take a resolute pregnant woman, Laura (Gessica Geneus), and her cowardly husband, Pat (Patrick Joseph), hostage.
The inefficient criminals intercept the couple as they are about to head to the airport. Zoe and Doc need their car, but a headstrong Laura won’t surrender it unless they take her to the airport. She refuses to give birth in Haiti and wants her child to be born in the United States. Such disgust-filled rejection for her poverty-stricken homeland, as well as her privilege to leave it behind, exemplify a wide divide between classes. Even within the same vehicle, their captors don’t have access to simply start fresh elsewhere. The most compelling piece in this jumbled up puzzle of a movie are Laura’s strongly negative sentiments about Haiti, to the point that she would risk gun shots to make sure she can achieve her goal.
When Mourral and co-writers Andri and Gilbert Mirambeau Jr. steer away from trying to make overt statements, “Kidnapping Inc.” falls back on in-your-face distasteful humor, most notably a sequence turning a child’s delivery into a communal spectacle. As the plot concentrates more intently on the dirty politics at play behind the scenes of Perralt’s campaign, the balance between social commentary and bombastic fun feels increasingly off. Aside from the tonal miscalculations, the many threads spun in the early minutes lose relevance toward the abruptly wrapped ending. It’s in the final moments that Mourral reaches for heartfelt emotion through the image of Haitian migrants risking their lives at sea, which ultimately makes logical sense in the story, like few other things do.
‘Kidnapping Inc.’ Review: Haitian Crime Comedy Blends Politics and Thrills to Middling Effect
Reviewed at the Egyptian Theater, Jan. 22, 2024. In Sundance Film Festival (Midnight). Running time: 105 MIN.
- Production: (Haiti-France-Canada) A Promenades Films, BHM Films, Peripheria, Muska Films production. Producers: Samuel Chauvin, Yanick Létourneau, Gilbert Mirambeau Jr., Gaethan Chancy, Bruno Mourral. Executive producers: Julia Woolley Chatwin, Kareem Mortimer, Trevite Willis.
- Crew: Director: Bruno Mourral. Screenplay: Mourral, Jasmuel Andri, Gilbert Mirambeau Jr. Camera: Martin Levent. Editor: Bruno Mourral, Arthur Tarnowski. Music: Olivier Alary.
- With: Jasmuel Andri, Rolapthon Mercure, Ashley Laraque, Marcus Boereau, Gessica Geneus, Patrick Joseph. (Creole, French dialogue)
Pèpè, the disposable garms subculture in Haiti
In Haiti, fast fashion meets its end game with pèpè, an accidental style made from cast-off clothing from the west - but what does it reveal about our addiction to disposable garms?
“We Haitians, despite the misery, love beauty, love to get dressed up, to smell and look good,” says fashion designer David André. “So many people tend to believe that fashion doesn’t affect a society. They are so wrong. Human beings always seek change. They yearn for new tastes and new styles, and this desire is adequately fulfilled by fashion.”
André's comments reflect my own experiences travelling in Haiti over the last few years, researching a book about the country's music scene. I remember churchgoers in their Sunday best and streets full of schoolkids in pin-sharp navy uniforms, proud Mardi Gras Indians in headdresses hung with tinsel, and Vodou worshippers in paper-white dresses and head-scarves gleaming in the early morning light. In my sweat-stained t-shirts and jeans thick with road dust, I always felt like a terrible scruff. Once I even got heckled at a bus station: “Look at the state of you, mon chè. Your clothes are filthy!” Rad pa janm fè moun (clothes do not make a person), or so the Haitian proverb goes, but I guess they’re somewhere to start.
Day to day in Haiti, a lot of what people are wearing is pèpè – secondhand clothing, the majority of it from charity shops and collection centre in North America, which arrives at Haitian ports plastic-wrapped in giant bails. It's sold on street markets from the frenetic capital Port-au-Prince to the remote villages of Grand'Anse in the west. Machann (traders) sit fanning themselves under beach umbrellas sorting through mounds of coloured fabric, dried by the Caribbean sun.
Imports of pèpè began under the Kennedy administration in the 1960s (they're sometimes referred to as 'Kennedy clothes'). Since then, thousands of tonnes of unwanted clothing have found their way to Haiti. With the rise of fast fashion, the flow has increased exponentially, flooding the Haitian market. For many locals, pèpè is a godsend. In recent years the cost of living has spiralled. Civil unrest, some of it fallout from the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in 2021, and an explosion in gang violence have made life even more precarious. “I wear a lot of pèpè,” says Gilles, a musician from the town of Léogâne. “We all do, because it's a lot less expensive than buying new things.” Pèpè also gives Haitians access to brands they’ve heard about online, Gilles says, reeling off a list of labels he looks out for: “Nike, Adidas, Reebok, Lacoste. People here love it.”
But pèpè is both a blessing and a curse. As photographer Paolo Woods observed in his Pèpè series, it can exemplify many of the cruellest and most condescending aspects of the global fashion industry. Bundled in with the good-quality garments you also find the dregs – “the worst t-shirts, those that would barely be sold in the cheap gift shops of Times Square, those with the dumbest slogans”, writes Woods on his website – which end up being worn by Haitians who are often unaware of their meaning. Sometimes this can be surreal and vaguely humorous, like the time I passed an elderly woman in the mountains near Seguin wearing a t-shirt that read, “It’s not you, it's your eyebrows”. Mostly, though, it feels like an affront to the wearer's dignity, particularly when the slogan is lewd or bitterly ironic (“I Pee In Pools” and “Winning A Million Dollars Won’t Change Me” are just two examples in Woods' series). In this sense, pèpè is just another way in which the neocolonialist global economy kicks people when they’re down – particularly when you consider that some of these t-shirts will originally have been produced in Haitian sweatshops.
“So many people tend to believe that fashion doesn’t affect a society. They are so wrong. Human beings always seek change. They yearn for new tastes and new styles, and this desire is adequately fulfilled by fashion.” – David André, Haitian fashion designer
Just as imports of cheap rice and other staple foods have damaged Haitian agriculture, pèpè has had a disastrous effect on the country’s fashion industry, putting hundreds of tailors out of business. There has been talk of banning pèpè imports in the past, but powerful figures in Haitian society make big money out of it, so legislation seems unlikely.
André is a vocal critic of pèpè. He remembers how different things were when he was growing up in the 80s. “My dad used to take my brother and me to the tailor’s workshop in Port-au-Prince to have our school uniforms made, suits for special occasions, formal Sunday attire to go to church, and I remember his atelier used to be full of work. Back in the day each family in Haiti had their seamstress and tailor to create the latest fashion. We used to have lots of tailors, seamstresses, shoemakers and embroiderers who worked for export, factories that made shoes for local and international brands, fancy boutiques that sold clothes made in Haiti...” Now, all that has changed. “It's complicated to have a fashion industry in Haiti where, for a big percentage of the population, it’s a daily struggle to eat, or find water to drink,” says André. “[With] political instability, the fact that we have stopped producing locally, and the cost of living [which] has increased so much so many people have no choice but to turn to pèpè.”
With his own work, André is fighting back. In spite of the challenges, he produces all of his fashion lines in Haiti, employing local workers. He has a deep love for Kreyòl tradition: the puffed sleeves and skirts decorated with lace, the famous headscarf (the maré tèt), an indigo fabric known as karabela blue and chambray cotton, used to make costumes for dances and Vodou ceremonies. “A few years ago I created some pieces in karabela called Choucoune, that paid tribute to the elegance and beauty of the Haitian woman,” says André. “When I create costumes for a Haitian folkloric dance performance, inevitably I have to go back to the source, the roots, in order to be inspired and let the magic of creativity shine.”
“With political instability, the fact that we have stopped producing locally, and the cost of living which has increased so much so many people have no choice but to turn to pèpè.” – David André
That same magic might be the key to rethinking pèpè. One of the many inspiring things about Haiti is the culture of upcycling. You only need to look at the tricked-out tap taps (trucks) and hand-me-down American school buses rattling through the streets of Port-au-Prince to see what I mean. Some of them are like trundling art exhibits, with peacock-fans of decorative wing mirrors, luggage racks shaped like aeroplanes and custom paint jobs jostling with saints and celebrities. You have collectives like the artisans of Noailles, who turn discarded oil drums into decorative metalwork, and the sculptors of Atis Rezistans, who make art from splintered wood, rusting car parts and even a few bones.
“The best thing for me is the creativity inside recycling,” says André Eugène, a sculptor and founding member of Atis Rezistans. “You can find something good in the street, someone puts something in the garbage, and you can use it to create whatever you want, whatever’s in your mind.” The same goes forclothing. David André has noticed a trend for skinny jeans among fashion-conscious young Haitians who buy baggy pèpè jeans and modify them – a reminder that clothes can be a source of escapism, fun, self-care and self-respect.
La Baze featured in Leah Gordon's series about the surviving tailors of Port-au-Prince (there's a beautiful portrait of him sitting at his turn-of-the-century Singer sewing machine). He also worked with Gordon on her project exploring caste in Haiti, making detailed historical costumes for her models, including richly embroidered robes and a Phrygian cap worn by Eugène. Like most Haitian tailors, he finds the majority of his work making school uniforms, one of the few garments still produced locally. But he continues to reimagine pèpè, creating artistic pieces to sell overseas when he can. He enjoys the process of transformation – of turning something old into something new.
“It’s hard to be an artist in a developing country,” says La Baze over the phone. “There are lots of difficulties. Nowadays people don’t appreciate artistic clothing, and even if they do they can’t afford it. But it's an artform I love. Since the day we were put on the Earth we’ve made clothes – from the leaves of trees, from animal skins. It’s the earliest craft that we have.”
In a world in which vast quantities of clothing end up in landfill, pèpè presents an opportunity. Recycling fabric from pèpè or transforming it into high-value garments for the international market could be a boon to the Haitian economy, but to unlock its potential, the country needs change.
La Baze looks back fondly on the Made in Haiti project. “We worked a lot! But it didn’t last,” he says. “In Haiti, projects like that are handicapped. The truth is, things aren’t working here. Tourists can’t come. There's no work, no money. Art is sleeping.” He hopes there will be more collaborations in the future. “That’s the thing about fashion: you can’t do it alone.”
Ben Fountain's 6 favorite books about Haiti
The award-winning author recommends works by Marie Vieux-Chauvet, Katherine Dunham and more
Ben Fountain’s new novel, "Devil Makes Three," is a political thriller set during Haiti’s 1991 coup d’état. Below, the author of "Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk," winner of a National Book Critics Circle Award, recommends other books about Haiti.
'Love, Anger, Madness' by Marie Vieux-Chauvet (1968)
This incendiary trilogy of novellas brought the wrath of the Duvalier regime down on its author, who was forced to flee to New York after the book’s publication. Vieux-Chauvet is unsparing in her depiction of Haiti, presenting characters who are pushed to the limits of sanity by the racism, economic duress and state terrorism that constrain their lives. Buy it here.
'Moonbath' by Yanick Lahens (2014)
Winner of both the Prix Femina and French Voices Award, Lahens' incantatory novel cuts across four generations of a rural Haitian family. Their intergenerational traumas play out in an increasingly chaotic country in which Vodou is the common people’s surest source of strength and sustenance. Buy it here.
'Island Possessed' by Katherine Dunham (1969)
The famous American dancer, choreographer and Vodou priestess first visited Haiti in 1936, and this extraordinary memoir recounts her adventurous early years in the country. Dunham writes vividly about the politics, culture and religion of the island nation that quickly "possessed" her. Especially moving is her affair with the charismatic young parliamentarian who would later become Haiti’s president. Buy it here.
'The Rainy Season' by Amy Wilentz (1989)
Wilentz first arrived in Haiti in 1986, as the Duvalier regime was collapsing, and spent the next three years unraveling Haiti’s complexities. Wilentz’s blend of reportage, history and highly evocative memoir is still relevant — perhaps more than ever — 30 years after its publication. Buy it here.
'Kanaval' by Leah Gordon (2010)
One of several mind-bending books produced by the brilliant artist, curator and founder of the "Ghetto Biennale," held every two years in Port-au-Prince. Gordon’s surreal images will haunt you, the blunt truths of the text no less. Every endeavor of this artist rewards the closest attention. Buy it here.
'Haiti, History, and the Gods' by Joan Dayan (1995)
Advanced Haitianology. Dayan bypasses, blows through and tunnels beneath accepted sources and narratives to get at the truer, more troubling histories found not only in overlooked or suppressed texts and documents, but in Vodou rituals, folk beliefs, songs, and art. The wisdom and insight of this book are inexhaustible. Buy it here.
A Hunger Strike Makes Headlines Before Milan Fashion Week Begins
Stella Jean, one of the few Black designers in Italian fashion, protests her industry’s lack of diversity and inclusion.
The designer Stella Jean has often cut a solitary figure.
Since her debut at Milan Fashion Week in 2013, and with support from Giorgio Armani, the Haitian-Italian designer remains the only Black member of the National Chamber of Italian Fashion. She has often used her platform to address the need for better representation and financial support for design talent of color in the Italian fashion industry — a sector long criticized over instances of racism and cultural appropriation. In recent years, she has undertaken increasingly radical steps to encourage racial equity, co-founding a collective called WAMI, or We Are Made in Italy, after the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020.
Ms. Jean announced she would go on a hunger strike after a dramatic showdown at a news conference on Feb. 8 with Carlo Capasa, the chairman of the powerful national chamber, known officially as the Camera Nazionale della Moda Italiana, which organizes the Milan fashion shows that take place each spring and fall. She accused the chamber of “abandoning” WAMI and its promotion of young designers of color working in Italy, saying that she believed they had cut their support after a speech she made last September highlighting the challenges of being Black and Italian in the industry.
Now, she is taking this extreme step — saying she fears ongoing professional “recriminations” against her and the designers in her collective — to safeguard the less visible members of WAMI, which she co-founded with the African American designer Edward Buchanan, who is based in Milan, and Michelle Ngonmo, who leads the Afro Fashion Association. The Camera had provided financial and institutional support for WAMI members to produce and present three collections as part of Milan Fashion Week. But in an October letter sent to Ms. Ngonmo, Mr. Capasa said that WAMI was “no longer in line with the current strategy,” adding that the Camera would continue to assess support for collections or projects by the collective on an ad hoc basis. Facing a considerable reduction in funding for the project, Ms. Jean said WAMI’s operations would be suspended, citing the “health and well being” of its members.
“After we confirmed the Camera’s abandonment of WAMI without further specifications and assurances,” Ms. Jean said over a video call, “some collective members confided in me that they feared the worst for themselves and their livelihoods as they suddenly found themselves in an extremely critical and time-sensitive situation.”
She added, “I found myself holding the responsibility of the lives of these people who had relied on and believed in WAMI and who at that moment had their lives hanging in the balance. That’s why I offered to swap what little I could. I understood that if I stopped demanding equal opportunity, Mr. Capasa would, in turn, have a guarantee that nothing would ever happen to any of these designers or people working in fashion.”
In an email sent to The New York Times, Mr. Capasa said the Camera Della Moda had not withdrawn its support for WAMI. He said that he had offered the collective a free venue for Milan Fashion Week, which begins on Feb. 21, and that slots on the calendar remained available and at no charge to WAMI designers and Ms. Jean, who announced that she would no longer participate in the show.
“No step backward was taken on our part on the support we offered. Economic support for the production of collections and events for brands is not part of the core of Cameras’s activities. Any additional economic support may be one-off for new brands, especially at the beginning of their journey,” Mr. Capasa wrote. Although there was never a signed partnership, he added, “we are very proud to have always supported WAMI and the Afro Fashion Association projects, adopting different ways depending on the possibilities available at different times.”
Mr. Capasa said that two previous WAMI designers were presenting collections as part of the official calendar in Milan this season, and that there would be a new event, the Black Carpet Awards, to be held on Feb. 24, that would showcase work by Italian-based designers of color.
Ms. Jean previously stepped away from the fashion calendar in 2020, saying that she would not return until there were more Black designers on the schedule. Last season, two non-Italian designers of color — Maximilian Davis and Rhuigi Villaseñor — made debuts at Salvatore Ferragamo and Bally, partly spurring Ms. Jean’s comeback show last September. On Friday, Mr. Capasa added that he regretted that neither Ms. Jean nor several WAMI members would present during the fashion week and he hoped that would change.
While Ms. Jean praised the appointment of Mr. Davis, who is British-Trinidiadian, and Mr. Villaseñor, who is Filipino American, in European fashion houses, calling it “important and symbolic,” she also said that designers of color who might fall under the category of “made in Italy” were “completely ignored.” Talent cannot only be exported, she argued. It must also be homegrown — including by investing in and supporting young talent accessing college placements, internships, jobs or even showing collections on the mainstream calendar.
“Black made in Italy can speak to and tell so many things about the national condition and what happens in this country,” Ms. Jean said.
“I’m mindful of the fact that I arrived with a blue U.S. passport here and a Parsons degree,” said Mr. Buchanan, a co-founder of WAMI who has lived in Milan for two decades. “But if I had a passport from Nigeria or Somalia, it would have likely been a different story.”
He called Ms. Jean’s decision to go on a hunger strike “a personal one,” though he agreed with her statements about the challenges of being Black and working in fashion in Italy. “I can’t say enough about these struggles and difficulties,” he said. “I have had many of them, too, and ultimately I have been within the interiors of the fashion establishment in Italy for 25 years.”
The global fashion industry has been under sustained pressure in recent years to improve representation and racial equity both in front of and behind the camera. But several racist gaffes by Italian fashion houses, including Gucci’s 2019 “blackface” sweater with a mouth cut out and trimmed in red, and Prada’s 2018 keychain of a monkey with inflated lips, has placed Italian fashion under particular scrutiny.
Italy is whiter than most European countries — and does not collect racial data in its population census, nor does it have birthright citizenship, which means that children of immigrants who are born in the country do not automatically become Italian citizens.
In a New York Times investigation published in 2021 that attempted to track representation progress, many Italian brands said regulation prohibited companies from processing data on race, ethnicity, political opinions, religious beliefs, trade union membership or sexual orientation without explicit consent. This meant they were unable to participate in charting whether there were more people of color in their design studios, sales rooms, on their runways and in their campaigns.
For Ms. Jean, the future of minority talent in the Italian fashion establishment remains far from certain. She said her hunger strike felt like a last stand after feeling as though she and her younger peers had been professionally blacklisted for their activism.
“I’m a small independent designer, and I’m the only Black-owned brand in the history of fashion of the Chamber — this does not make me stronger than others,” she said. “I’m always aware of being a flea near these giants and of my perceived inability to put convincing arguments on the table. When I learned that my companions were in such a disparate situation, I had nothing else left to barter with.”
4 Haitian novels that beautifully blend history, memory and reality
Following the July 7, 2021 assassination of Haiti’s President Jovenel Moïse and after one Haitian official requested that the U.N. and U.S. send troops to help stabilize the nation, many Haitian activists and artists recoiled at the prospect of yet another outside intervention.
The Haitian-American novelist Edwidge Danticat is one artist who has repeatedly railed against past U.S. occupations of Haiti. In her foreword to Jan J. Dominique’s “Memoir of an Amnesiac,” she highlights a tension that exists in Haiti’s collective memory – pride over the revolution for freedom and independence from France in 1804, and frustration over continuous foreign meddling, brought to a new height with a 20-year occupation by the U.S. military starting in 1915.
“Never again will foreigners trample Haitian soil, the founders…declared in 1804,” Danticat writes. “Yet in 1915, the ‘boots’ invaded,” which meant that Haitians like the father of the narrator in Dominique’s tale would “never truly know a fully free and sovereign life, having had not just his country but his imagination invaded and occupied by the Americans.”
A specialist in Haitian literary and historical studies from the University of Virginia, Marlene L. Daut has selected four Haitian-authored novels that sit with this contradiction, along with many others.
By guiding readers through Haiti over the past century, she shows how these contemporary writers magnificently paint the entanglements of memory, history and imagination that make Haitian art, from all times, so enduring and brilliant.
1. Évelyne Trouillot, “Memory at Bay” (2010)
In “Memory at Bay,” Trouillot explores the ruthless juxtaposition that exists between Haitian President-turned-dictator François “Papa Doc” Duvalier, called “the Deceased” in her novel, and Haiti’s subjugated position in the Western world.
Many years after the death of Duvalier and the fall of his successor and son, “Baby Doc,” the Deceased’s bedridden wife tries to cast her husband as both a protector of the Haitian people and a target of the West’s quest for revenge.
“After all, how could the Western countries ever forgive or forget Napoleon’s debacle, the sorry defeat of the French army … and the rout of the French colonizers at the hands of an army of former slaves?” the Deceased’s wife thinks. The widow attempts to paint her husband as having been the only one to stand up to the “former colonialists, the one-time occupying power, and all those who wanted to use the country as a springboard for their ambitions.”
The attendant caring for her in a nursing home in France has a different memory of the Deceased and his legacy. Coming from a family devastated by the Tonton Makouts – Duvalier’s murderous henchmen responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Haitians – the nurse finds herself disgusted at having to care for an integral culprit in her country’s devastation.
“So many overlooked stories of men and women just guilty of having been alive at the wrong moment, in the wrong place,” she thinks, as she briefly contemplates whether to kill the widow. “My father, my uncle, the resister whose grandchildren will never know him, Madame So-and-So’s husband, the grocer’s cousin, his friend’s godfather, the mother of the little girl who will not be born, the boy who should have been born.”
2. Dany Laferrière, “Down Among the Dead Men” (1996)
Set in 1996, after the fall of the Duvalier regime and during the United Nations’ occupation of Haiti, this partly autobiographical tale tells the story of a never-named protagonist – a stand-in for Laferrière – who decides to come home to Haiti for the first time in 20 years.
Haiti has changed a lot during his exile in Montreal, where he was making his living as a writer. He no longer recognizes the capital, Port-au-Prince, which has seen massive migration from the countryside into the city. The result is overcrowding, famine and generalized misery.
In a chance encounter with a shoeshine man, the narrator is told that these changes mean “All the people you see in the street, walking and talking, most of them died a long time ago and they don’t even know it. This country has turned into the world’s largest cemetery.”
Such commentary encourages the narrator to write a book about “the other world.” He wonders “[i]s it here or elsewhere?” After unwittingly accepting from a powerful Vodou priest “the most terrifying offer anyone could make a writer: to take him to the kingdom of dead,” the narrator meets in succession the Vodou god Papa Legba, master of the crossroads, and Ogou Feraille, the god of war.
Ultimately, the narrator ends up as disappointed with the spirit world as he is with the mortal one. “This was hardly Dante’s inferno,” he remarks. “I’d been expecting…a universe so powerful and rich in symbols, so complex that it would have helped me… Instead, I ended up with a giggling adolescent goddess and the complaints of her father, the supposedly fearsome Ogou Feraille.”
All of this happens parallel to searing political commentary about the punitive and insulting measures forced upon Haiti by the world powers after the 1991 military coup that unseated President Jean-Bertrand Aristide. For example, along with U.N. “peacekeepers,” a comical cast of foreign investigators arrive to study why the people of the northwestern town of Bombardopolis do not need to eat for months at a time. The foreigners conclude that it is because they are all plants, and not human beings.
The irony of course is that foreign meddlers are the ones who have caused the starvation. “Hunger remains the most effective weapon,” one character wryly remarks.
Sometimes the sardonic humor stings a little too much: “When everyone starts joking in a country, you know that all hope is gone,” the narrator’s friend Manu complains. “Humor is the weapon of desperate people.”
3. Edwidge Danticat, “The Farming of Bones” (1999)
In this work of historical fiction, Danticat transports readers to the Dominican Republic, to the border town of Alegría. There, Haitian workers are living “a cane life” – engaged in the brutal work of planting and cutting sugar cane, “travay tè pou zo, the farming of bones.”
Hewing closely to the historical record, Danticat captures the horrors of Dominican dictator General Rafael Trujillo’s massacre in 1937 of tens of thousands of Haitians living and working along the border. The more fictional sections follow the escape of Amabelle Désir, who had many years before witnessed the death by drowning of her parents, both migrant herbal healers, as they tried to cross the Dajabón River separating Haiti and the Dominican Republic.
Amabelle will eventually lose her lover, Sebastien Onius, to the troops of the “Generalissimo,” after Trujillo gives orders “to have all Haitians killed.”
As Haitian characters are tortured or executed because they cannot trill their Rs to pronounce “perejil,” the Spanish word for parsley, Haiti’s glorious revolutionary past seems to fade into the background of the torturous present.
“When Dessalines, Toussaint, Henry, when those men walked the earth, we were a strong nation,” one man who escaped the massacre states. “Those men would go to war to defend our blood. In all this, our so-called president says nothing…nothing at all to this affront to the children of Dessalines, the children of Toussaint, the children of Henry; he shouts nothing across this river of our blood.”
4. René Depestre, “Hadriana in All My Dreams” (1988)
Near the end of “The Farming of Bones,” a guide taking visitors to King Henry’s famous Citadelle says, “Famous men never truly die…It is only those nameless and faceless who vanish like smoke into the early morning air.”
Beginning in 1938, just one year after Trujillo’s massacre, Depestre’s “Hadriana” trails the life, death and reemergence of a white French woman born in Haiti named Hadriana Siloé, who appears to mysteriously die while saying her wedding vows. She is then suspected of having been transformed into a zombie when her body goes missing from its grave.
During her funeral-turned-carnival, historical figures from different eras join the masked wake, as “historical memory” has gotten “mixed up to the point of ridiculousness.”
And so readers are treated to scenes of the Haitian emperor Jacques the First, who ruled Haiti from 1804 to 1806, playing table tennis with his partner, Joseph Stalin, while Venezuelan freedom fighter Simón Bolívar dances alongside King Henry Christophe, who became king of northern Haiti in 1811.
“This masked occasion had convoked three centuries of human history to [Hadriana’s] wake,” her childhood friend Patrick says. They “had come together to dance, sing, drink rum, and refuse death, kicking up the dust on my village square, which, in the midst of this general masquerade, took itself for the cosmic stage of the universe.”
In the end, it is not just history but all of life that appears to be one large carnival as the contours of death come alive on the streets of the living.
This tale has a happy ending, though. Decades later, Hadriana is revealed to be alive after all and describes how she miraculously escaped from the botched attempt to turn her into a zombie. She even gets married, not to her original fiancé but to Patrick, who has chronicled all that took place in her absence.
The true romance here may be that unlike so many of those who have disappeared in yesterday’s and today’s Haiti, Hadriana and Patrick live to tell their story.
“Madan Sara” Tells the Story of Haitian Women Both Ordinary and Extraordinary
Madan Sara is a film about the power of Black women in a global economy and their contributions that too often go unacknowledged.
The new film Madan Sara begins and ends with writing by acclaimed writer and MacArthur “genius” Edwidge Danticat. Reading an excerpt from her first novel, Breath, Eyes, Memory translated into Kreyòl, Danticat recites in her trademark measured and melodious voice:
“There is a place where women live near trees that, blowing in the wind, sound like music … These women, they are fluttering lanterns on the hills, the fireflies in the night … There is always a place where women, like cardinal birds return to look at their own faces in stagnant bodies of water … Where women return to their children as butterflies … My mother was as brave as stars at dawn.”
Like the passage that introduces it, the documentary Madan Sara focuses on the lives of Haitian women who are simultaneously ordinary and extraordinary.
“To talk about Madan Sara is to talk about Haitian women,” according to the filmmaker Etant Dupain. As the film makes clear, it is also to talk about pressing issues like structural violence, government failures and resistance to neoliberalism that resonate throughout the Global South.
When I asked him about his vision, Dupain said he saw Madan Sara as a “different way to introduce people to Haiti.” He accomplished just that in a series of bright, stunning, visually captivating images that convey an atmosphere of abundance.
The ubiquitous poverty trope regularly used to describe Haiti is notably absent from the narrative. Instead, copious amounts of produce—piles of mangoes, loads of cabbage, bunches of bright orange carrots—are present in almost every shot, disabusing the viewer of the idea that Haiti is only a place of lack. The vibrant atmosphere of the marketplace infuses the film with energy as the beauty and fecundity of the land take center stage. Early in the film, a mouth-watering variety of produce appears, as if Dupain is inviting us to sit at an exquisite Haitian table of fruits and vegetables.
Indeed, Madan Sara is a story of abundance. The documentary focuses on two “madan sara”—business women who purchase, distribute and sell food and other essential items in Haitian markets. As the Haitian economist Camille Charlmers explains, “A madan sara is a person who specializes in commerce; they are pillars of the Haitian economy.” These women have mastered their profession, understand their worth in the global economy, and take pride in their craft.
“If you aren’t smart, you cannot be a madan sara,” Clotilde Achille explains.
Madan Sara explodes many of the binaries that the media has used to characterize Haiti: urban versus rural, rich versus poor, lack versus abundance. Seemingly simple in its focus, the documentary takes on a number of broader global issues: the history of Haitian agriculture, government corruption and neglect, resistance to a capitalist system that denies the collective.
When I asked Dupain how he managed to cover such an incredible range of topics, he explained, “It is impossible to talk about Madan Sara without understanding [this broader context because] their work is a resistance movement against neo-liberal policies.”
At the film’s premier in Port-au-Prince last month, the two main subjects, Clotilde Achille and Monique Metellus, appeared alongside filmmaker Dupain and shared their perspectives about the documentary. They were proud of the film and insistent on the need for more recognition and protection for women like them in Haiti and throughout the Global South.
One of the greatest contributions of Madan Sara is Dupain’s ability to center the women’s voices, perspectives and even policy recommendations to imagine a future in which the madan sara is no longer on the margins. After all, what sense does it make to marginalize those who are so central to the economy and the function if of the small island nation? To use the words of one scholar interviewed in the film, the madan sara keep the country running; there would be no Haiti without them.
One of the most striking contributions of the film is the critique of capitalism and U.S. influence over the Haitian economy. According to Chalmers, the Madan Sara system represents a socialist solidarity economy that is fundamentally anti-capitalist. There is an ethic of social justice that undergirds the entire documentary: As an example of the global machinations of gender, power and economics, the madan sararemind us of what the world is getting wrong—especially as it concerns Black women of the Global South.
Madan Sara raises salient points about women’s contribution to the global economy and enters into academic debates about the autonomy of rural women. As the Haitian feminist scholar and author Myriam Chancy has argued in Framing Silence: “Haitian women of the rural working class appear to have some power equity due to the fact that many are market women (handling booths at the market, money, trade) while their male counterparts work the fields.”
Perhaps this is why madan sara have also been ignored by the state and targeted with violence. About halfway through the documentary, the camera pans out to a wide shot showing plumes of smoke wafting from one of Port-au-Prince’s largest markets. The fire that tore through this market was far from an isolated case, in fact in 2018 five fires blazed through Haitian markets.
Crying out for help after seeing all of her commerce destroyed in a market fire, one madan sara shouts desperately, “We are asking for justice not peace!” To Dupain, the fires are a metaphor for the structural violence and injustice these women are subject to. It is also evidence of the government’s lack of compassion for the people.
Filmed over the last five years, Madan Sara, is also unabashed in its critique of Haitian president Jovenel Moïse and the political elite. At one point, footage of the PetroKaribe Mouvement protests contrasts what up until this moment had been a film dominated by the presence of women.
This feminist film is unequivocal in making the point that government neglect of the madan sara population results in their marginalization. Or, as one of the women featured puts it, “We aren’t safe in cars, homes, in the market”—emphasizing how the lack of security has deleterious effects that are exacerbated by the intersections of gender and class. Madan Sara makes clear that the government’s lack of support, investment and outright neglect is a form of structural violence that has resulted in widespread harm.
And yet, the film showcases the ingenuity, brilliance and steadfast nature of these women in a nuanced way. Extolling the perspicacity of madan sara, another expert opines: “They really know what they are doing. They need more support, sure, but they know what they are doing.”
So as much as Madan Sara puts Haitian agriculture and markets on display, it is ultimately a film about the power of Black women in a global economy and their contributions that too often go unacknowledged.
They represent hundreds of thousands of women engaged in daily practices that the state does not support, protect, or invest in. As Madame Monique explains to the viewers, Madan Sara se lekol li ye—The madan sara network is an entire school. It is an education about empowered women in the Global South who though they are overlooked by the government continue to press forward.
Towards the end of the film, Dominique Boyer, the CEO of Fonkoze, a non-profit organization that provides micro loans to Haitian women in commerce explains the connection of madan sara to all of Haitian culture. “Every Haitian has a madan sara story in their own family.”
Personally, this point struck home for me as I recalled the story of my paternal grandmother, who spent some of her life working as a madan sara. When I told my father—a physician living in Port-au-Prince—about the film, he shared childhood memories about accompanying his mother on some of her business trips. Like Etant Dupain, he understood the importance of madan sara’s contribution to his education, development and professional trajectory.
As Dupain expressed so eloquently, and with a touch of longing for home, “Madan Sara is ours. Madan Sara is Haiti.”
How to Watch Madan Sara
In honor of International Women’s Day, and in partnership with the University of Pennsylvania, the Madan Sara Project will be hosting a free public online screening of Madan Sara on March 8, 2021 at 6:00 pm EST. Spaces are limited, so reserve your spot today by following this linkto register for the event.
For more information on future film screenings and to support the efforts of the Madan Sara Project as they work to share the film across Haiti, please visit MadanSaraFilm.com.
Daily Inspiration: Meet Annick Duvivier
Today we’d like to introduce you to Annick Duvivier.
Hi Annick, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?
Haitian-Born, Miami-based, I am a multidisciplinary artist; I started painting with the Haitian Master Ralph Allen when I was 12 years old. That’s when I discovered my passion for art and the power of color. After spending a beautiful childhood and teenage years in Haiti surrounded by happiness and lots of family, I was sent off to Miami as my cousin in Haiti had been kidnapped… I immersed myself in art as a way to cope with loneliness and all the changes; I think it was my first conscious experience with art as a positive form to express my feelings. Art became more than a hobby. By the end of my 12th grade, my self-portrait was hanging at the NSU Museum of Art with the Superintendent’s Advanced Placement studio art exhibit in 2006. They also offered me two weeks of studio classes at the Museum; I had won the arts and humanities award and the art cords for being part of the Art Honors society. I was accepted in the two year Fine Arts program at Altos de Chavon La Escuela de Diseño, in the Dominican Republic affiliated with Parsons in NY. I was reluctant at first because I would have to learn to speak Spanish; I had the best experience of my life. It was intense, but I learned to creatively see and understand head-hand communication, and I felt like a new person. My friendships from that time are still flourishing. It was an amazing experience. Soon after, I became an artist in residence at Festival arts Gallery, Haiti. Alongside Art Historian Dr. Marie-Alice Théard, I organized exhibits for more than 25 prominent Haitian artists. I learned the art business and all the different aspects of running an art gallery, but most importantly, the valuable art and culture of my country Haiti. I stayed there for five years, had my first solo show, and exhibited extensively in group shows, including a women-only exhibit at the Haitian Museum of Art “MUPANAH” as the youngest female artist; I was 22. Fast forward a couple of years, I got married and moved back to Miami; Last September 2019, I graduated with a BFA in Visual Arts at the Miami International University of Art & Design with the best portfolio award. Having learned all the mediums, ceramics, printmaking, digital programs, photography, my artwork is diverse but has recurring themes of identity, fertility, memory, nature, and a fascination for the human body. It’s been 14 years since I decided to become a professional artist and I have been actively working and creating.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not, what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
My road has not been smooth, but I am the kind of person who sees the positive in every situation. The struggles I have had to deal with were always major life-changing events that have impacted a lot of people, for example, the earthquake in Haiti in 2010. My life was disrupted. My immediate family members all have miracle stories, but we buried an uncle and many friends. I escaped, Panicked, survived. We lived for three weeks in the garden with my family. During that time, I was observing nature and learned how to be grounded in the garden. This experience has influenced a lot of my botanical artwork. I created the Consumerism collection to share my awareness, my need to protect the environment, and my love of gardening. Current events have a profound influence on my psyche and as a result, on my artwork. The current lockdown due to Covid-19 and the Black Lives Matter protest awoke in me similar feelings of deep anxiety that I had felt before. This painful experience exposed me to uncertainty and growth; I recognized it from miles away. Barefooted in my garden, I was reminded how to be grounded and the importance of being connected to nature, and for that very reason, I decided to go back to nature. The orchids were blooming despite quarantine and setbacks—Miami, Florida, another state that was really affected by Covid-19. I felt scared and really worried about the future. It was difficult to focus and blur the problems. I had to go back to basics in the studio in front of my easel to the creative place that brought me joy. I thought that if I painted a small canvas each day, it would give me a sense of completion. Each day I would only have to think only about the painting of the day. I went back to my garden, another place that gives me a sense of peace. It takes an average of 66 days to build a habit, and I saw myself wanting to be more and more in the studio, painting. And that’s how the 60-day orchid challenge was born.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I am a multidisciplinary artist and am known for my mixed media paintings. My work is a blend of my memories, my culture, nature, but this year was a trigger to bring light to traumatic events about race. I noticed that there could be a language barrier between people of various backgrounds and cultures. With this new series titled “Dialogue,” it was my attempt to use endangered species, varieties of the monstera plants to showcase the difficulties in communicating. I start by painting intuitively and then I look for references to add the details. I either have a clear idea of what I want to convey or the story comes to me as I am creating the work. When big problems are thrown my way, I figure out a way to meet the challenges. I am focused, determined and passionate about what I do. Quitting is not an option; this definitely sets me apart from other artists. I applied for an open call for MIA Galleries in August 2020, and my painting “Outside Influences” was selected out of 253 submitted artworks. My painting is now part of their permanent collection and will be exhibited at Miami International Airport. I am extremely proud of this accomplishment. I am also proud of the three exhibits during Miami Art Week I had simultaneously for the first time. It was very stressful to prepare all the pieces for the exhibition during a short period. But also so rewarding. Preparing means; the obvious finish the paintings, but also having professional high resolution images of all artwork, creating an image and price list, labeling and signing everything, taking the correct measurements, installing hanging hardware…having your biography and artist statement ready.
I learned all these steps at the Festival Arts gallery, and as an artist, it is so important to be exhibition ready. The three shows are open until February 2021: Local-Global, Global/Borderless Caribbean XII: Focus Miami, Little Haiti Cultural Center, Miami, Florida, Dec 2th 2020 to February 2021. (Painting showcase Consumerism Collection) Disperse – “What is it you don’t understand?” during the Arts and Culture Festival, Miami Urban Contemporary Experience, MUCE Gallery, Miami, FL. Dec 3rd, 2020 to February 2021. (Painting showcase Dialogue Series/ Video Performance) Art Beat Miami, virtual this year, Art Fair, Miami, FL 2020. December 2th 2020 to February 2021. (Ceramic showcase)
Where we are in life is often partly because of others. Who/what else deserves credit for how your story turned out?
Thanked these people who have transformed the student into a professional artist, as it takes communities to build an artist…. My husband and family, the professors, and mentors, the collectors, the buyers, supporters and followers, art lovers each of them play an important role in my career. • My family, my parents Reginald and Hansie Duvivier for believing in me, and my husband Jean Marie Etzwald Ligonde, who constantly encourages me and supports my crazy ideas. • Ralph Allen Haitian master painter, the first painting class, took when I was 12, where I discovered this passion; I loved drawing, but he told me that I had painting abilities. He taught me how to mix colors. • Mrs. Janet Rubinson, Everglades High school Art professor who had a deep impact on choosing art as a career. • My professors at Altos de Chavon, la Escuela de Diseño, affiliated with Parson in NY, specifically Raul Miyar, Sasha De Lemos, Marc Lineweaver. Mr. Steven Kaplan el rector, for teaching me how to see, critical thinking and creative problem solving, art mediums, and the proportions of the human body. Also, what it means to give your word and work with deadlines. • Marie Alice Théard, art historian, and Dr. Jacques Ravix for teaching me about the business of art and the history and culture of my country Haiti. But also work ethics. • My professors at The Miami International University of Art and Design specifically, the head of Visual Arts, Bryan Hiveley, Judith B. King, Mona Mandall, Rebeca Giling, and Adnan Razack, through their positive criticism encouraged and helped me discover my voice. • Ashlee Thomas and Bart Mervil Miami Urban Contemporary Experience, MUCE for giving me the space to exhibit my artwork. • The Greater Miami Convention & Visitors Bureau, GMCVB for all the opportunities and the membership prize. • My collectors, buyers, followers, I would not be here without your continuous support.
Contact Info:
- Email: annickduvivier@yahoo.com
- Website: https://www.annickduvivier.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/annickduvivier/ @annickduvivier
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annick.duvivier
Image Credits
Jean Marie E Ligonde
HAITI BABII | NEW ALBUM ‘TRAP ART’ & COMPETITION WITH HIMSELF
Haiti Babii is a go-getter in every aspect of the word. Aside from his double workouts in one day and playing the father figure to his newborn, the remaining hours are spent in the studio perfecting his craft. With his Instagram name reading “Trap Art,” the Guyanese and Haitian rapper, producer, and songwriter embodies the definition of someone who’s in their own lane, carving their own unique sound and style in today’s generation of music.
When it comes to his work ethic, he sets the bar. He states, “You may have better music than me, you may look better than me, you may be taller than me, but I’ll die before I let you outwork me. That's my mindset.”
You may have seen Haiti’s name from his viral moment freestyle on Real 92.3 (which caught the attention of Chrissy Tiegen), or maybe from his breakout single “Change Ya Life.” Either way, Haiti is proud to put Stockton, California on the map, serving as one of the first known artists to come out of his city. Beyond that, he’s followed by the likes of Rihanna and Meek Mill.
Flaunt caught up with Haiti via FaceTime, who was located in Las Vegas preparing for his lady’s birthday. He jokes, “I’m a ladies man.” Read below as we discuss fatherhood, inspo behind “Red Lights,” moving to Los Angeles, learning how to produce, a day in the life, studio essentials, going Gold, Rihanna and Meek Mill cosigns, his new album Trap Art, and more!
How are you holding up during the COVID-19 pandemic?
I’ve been doing great actually, it hasn't stopped nothing. I’ve been having time to myself, to my daughter, understand my baby. Quarantine’s giving me time to focus on me, working, and focus on my family.
How’s fatherhood treating you?
It’s great, it's an experience. Before the baby even was here, I was already motivated to go harder in everything.
What's the best part of fatherhood?
That feeling in your heart you get when you look at her smile. When I see my daughter smile… the worst thing is blown away. I don't see how professional athletes do it when they be on on the road for games. I see how they do it because they get the money but damn, the best thing is being around this person. This little human being laughing and giggling all the time.
“Red Lights” video out now, who or what inspired this one?
I always experiment with my voice and flows, I knew it was the time to give the fans what they wanted. I mastered my craft and realized it's a sample of that. It’s West Coast in it, but I'm singing in melodic ways. When I made “Red Lights,” first off shout out to my producer, Hitamadethebeat, he killed it. Shoutout to my engineer Darrius up at EMPIRE studios in Frisco. I really went home, wrote to the beat, went to the studio and laid it down.
You live in Los Angeles now, when did you leave Stockton?
I left Stockton 2 or 3 months ago. Stockton’s only 5 to 6 hours away from LA, LA’s a second home anyway so it’s not like I’m too far. It's an easy move. I got a lot of family, a lot of people in LA anyway. It's where everything is at so you have to be in LA if you're from the West Coast.
How was it shooting with the snakes in the music video?
Shoutout to DezGreat, she directed the video. She really sat with me one on one and asked me a bunch of questions about what's my ideas, what do I see, what do I want in the video? She really brought it to life, but she put her own oomph into it. The snake part, I love stuff like that because it's stepping outside my comfort zone. I'm comfortable being uncomfortable.
Were the snakes scary at all?
It was my first time with snakes. As a kid, I always told myself I'm scared of snakes. But when I got in front of one, I wasn't scared at all. If it bites me, it bites me. I don't really care. I’ma do this video, that's what my mindset was. When I step into a character, I can do whatever I want. I'm Tom Cruise! I’m Haiti Babii, I step into that mode.
What is it you want fans to get from your story?
Honestly with “Red Lights” usually I don't care what people think but this song, I really was checking out the comments on YouTube. I got a lot of positive reviews. A lot of people said “I found out because of the Riri situation. Yo, Wyclef shouted you out so this is how I found out about you and I realized you make dope ass songs.” People are respecting my songwriting skills now, so I got a lot of good reviews from fans.
What’s your creative process in the studio? (writing & producing)
I literally freestyled one song my whole life. I’ve never freestyled a song, I write everything down. I always go home, find a bunch of beats, I’ll spend hours or days coming up with the best verse, best hook. Erasing, rewriting. I go to the studio and I lay it down. I’m one on one with my producers. You know how somebody work with a lot of writers? I don't have that. I don't work with writers, I work with a bunch of producers and engineers in one room. The best thing to me is the mixing. I co-produce a lot of my tracks, most of my tracks you hear I co-pro.
Have you always known how to produce?
I started when I made “Change Ya Life,” I co-produced my hit record. I've been doing it more so because listening to people like Travis Scott and Kanye, they always say you get the best of your music. That inspires me, I gotta start co-producing so it can sound 100% me. I gotta give it my all.
How’d it feel to go Gold off “Change Ya Life”?
It feels great. I always looked at myself as a superstar artist, a person who’s looking for longevity and not success for a moment. It blew up through TikTok on a fluke. When that blew up, okay the world knows my name. Now I got a reason to keep going, I got my plaque. It’s like getting your first little trophy. Going Gold to me, the feeling was almost as equal as getting a Grammy. Only reason I say that is because I come from so much. I'm from a little city, so going Gold was huge. That’s why I can say stuff like “I’m a king where I'm from,” talk my little shit and get cocky because I'm from a little town. Only people you know from my town outside of artists are Nate Diaz, Nick Diaz, a few NFL players, but the world doesn't know then. For me to make my own name, now I have graffiti of my faces up on the walls in Stockton, it’s dope.
You say “the dream is free the hustle isn’t,” what’s the reality of the grind?
Really when I had my daughter 5 months ago, even before she was born, it’s an extra oomph in my life in general. I was less lackadaisical, I was more intuitive, more on point with everything I'm doing in life. Now I wake up at 4 in the morning to go work out. I wake up at 4 AM, I eat, I get to the gym at 5:30 AM. I go back home, I shower, eat again, play the game for a little bit and go back to the gym about 10 AM. Look I’m going crazy, nobody can stop me. [laughs]
After I go home from my second workout, I eat again but I make sure I don't eat too big. I like to snack so while I'm snacking, I’m writing. I limit my gaming time. I pick a beat or I look for a beat, and I write. I don't even have to like the beat but the fact I can make a whole song to it, I can use those lyrics and adjust them to another track I got. Always making my brain work. I call my writing time my homework. After my homework, I plan a studio session whatever day it is. If we’re talking a non-studio session day, I'm down spending time with my family. I use the whole rest of the day spending time with my babygirl. If you’re talking a studio day, I do all I just said. I leave for Frisco, get to Frisco, record. I’ll be in until 2 AM or 3 AM.
What drives your double workouts? One workout is a lot!
I'm 23 but I’m already an athlete already. I’m an artist, I look at my life like other artists. What’re they doing? Why aren't you getting up at this time? Why are people in New York getting up at this time and we’re not? What are you doing that's that special? Me waking up early makes me feel like I'm outworking the people who they call talented. You may have better music than me, you may look better than me, you may be taller than me, but I’ll die before I let you outwork me. That's my mindset.
Who are you bumping when you work out?
Travis Scott, I listen to that. Young Thug, I listen to that. Drake, listen to him. Kanye. Lately I've been slapping Jay-Z, a lot of Jay-Z on my Spotify playlist. Of course, me. When I slap my music, I critique myself. I'm listening to my old songs like “oh, I coulda said this. Oh, I coulda switched this. Oh, I shoulda turned that down.” Other than that, my workout playlist consists of those artists
Favorite Travis Scott song?
I got so many. I have a new one, it’s brand new. It’s called “WHO? WHAT!” When I first heard it, nah I’ma skip it. I kept skipping it when I’m listening to the album. When I finally played it, this shit slaps! That's my new favorite song by him, period in general. Then “Mamacita” with him, Young Thug, and Rich Homie.
Is Travis your dream collab then?
For sure, I’d call it a dream collab. Anybody who meshes well with me and my craft... I look at the game like this: if you're an artist out there and fans feel we have similarities together, we got the name game and the same flow, I don't want to work with you. You know why, because it’d be a repetitive track. I’d rather build a relationship with you and tell you “yo, your shit’s dope.” If I work with someone like Travis, he’s going to test me. I want to work with somebody who’s going to test my abilities, not just “you’re a rapper, I’m a rapper.” Because that can happen anytime. For instance Sada Baby can come out of anywhere and say “let’s work.” We both go rap on here. With someone like Travis, I have to step my game up. I’m might have to come hard, I might have to sing a little bit. It always differs. I’m a hardworking artist so I like working with everybody at the end of the day.
3 things you need in the studio?
I workout while I’m in the studio, which is crazy. No one knows that unless you’re in my session. I get these 2 little weight bags, nothing but sand in it basically. Use those to hold down light stands or microphone stands. I pick those out to put a piano room, I’ll be in the room listening. I’ll get resistance bands so I need those. As far as food, we can have some Skittles in there. And some Fiji water, need the Fiji water.
Talk about bringing your Haitian culture into your music.
It started like this: California Hatian, I call it an album but it's more of a mixtape. If people listened to it, that really showed the world okay, this is me showing you my Guyanese side. Not just Haitian because I'm more Guyanese than I am Haitan. I'm showing them that side, I can step outside my comfort zone. Stepping into this new album, Trap Art is more for my dominant fans. My original fanbase, the fans that were listening to me when I was dropping those hood tracks, those ratchet tracks. Trap Art, I’m giving them what they want. I'm giving them that street, that hood. I'm not really experimenting with new sounds. Plain and simple: I'm here, this is my year. I’ma talk my shit, I'm still a gangsta. You know what it is. That's how I'm stepping into Trap Art, 2021. Get rich or die trappin’!
Is your sound considered trap?
It’s not trap because trap to the industry is a whole different sound. The trap is where you come from. In an instance, you come from it too because trap is a mindset. Trap doesn't have to be where drugs are sold out of. If you’re trapped once in your mind, you could be in college and feeling like damn what's the next step? You’re trapped. The reason I put art is because art itself is artistic. Whenever you're feeling trapped, draw out a pros and cons list and be artistic with the shit. Be artistic with your life. Sit down and think for yourself, set goals and eliminate boundaries. Do different shit. I named it Trap Art because it's different.
What's crazy about this Trap Art album, I went back to my inspirations when I was a kid. I grew up listening to a lot of 50 Cent, that first Get Rich or Die Tryin' album. That's why I cosign the name Get Rich or Die Trappin’. A lot of Usher for sure, you can hear both of those artists in that album. You can see where I got my inspirations and my ideas. Some Thug in there. Not to disrespect but Thug got it from Wayne, like how I say I got it from some artists. You go here, gotta respect Wayne too. That Hot Boys era.
Talk about Rihanna & Meek following you on Instagram, that’s huge.
Riri found out about me through the radio, she’s like “yo this kid has the look, he has the sound. He’s going to be big one day.” That's riri’s whole impression on me. I have a track with her that's going to be on her album, called “Real High” that I co-produced. Meek found out about me through girls and other people posting me, he’s like “Ima check his music out.” He was trying to sign me, I said I still got a deal with EMPIRE. He said “it’s all good, I’ma support you from the backend. I’m watching, I’ma fuck with you. That's how Meek’s hype was, it's all love. But Wyclef’s been the biggest for me, because I can hit Wyclef right now. I can talk to him anytime, that's unc right there. He’s cool.
What’re you most excited about in the new year?
If everything opens back up, I’m excited to compete. This is a competition to me. I'm not in competition with people in a negative way, I'm using my competition in a positive way to better myself . I can't wait to perform, to shine. I can't wait for the world to see who I am, and hear my music. It’s always going to be about the money for everybody and me too, but it's about respect for me. I want respect, give me my respect because I’m working hard. Y’all see me, that’s where I’m coming from.
Anything else you’d like to let us know?
Let the world know the Trap Art album is going to be the best thing they’ve heard from me and from the West Coast in a long time.
This award-winning Dickinson professor is rethinking how Black artists show death
an Studies professor at Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pa., looks at not only how artists show death as part of life, but also how Black people experience that morbidity that surrounds them. She draws on a mix of knowledge from sociology to vodou iconography.
Philogene points to the work of Harvard sociologist Orlando Patterson, who coined the term “social death” to describe how society did not extend humanity to enslaved people. Today, Black people are still fighting for humanity, she said.
She first began her line of research after the catastrophic 2010 earthquake in Haiti.
“Basically, the camera would just pan across these multiple bodies,” Philogene recalled. “And I thought, ‘Wow, like, how incredibly disrespectful,’ but also there was a sense of displacement as if these individuals were not human. And then I started also thinking about [Hurricane] Katrina, the same issue — how these bodies that were dying, dead, or in the process of death, were again seen as just these objects.”
In this state without humanity, Philogene explained, Black people “have no soul, they have no agency, they have no authority, they exist in this liminal vacuum space.”
“We live in that kind of condition. But how do we also find that moment, that condition as empowering?” asked Philogene, who considers George Floyd’s killing a moment of social death. “How can we, even in this moment of death and trauma, think about how we live [and] the possibility of life?”
Philogene won an Andy Warhol Foundation Arts Writer grant last month. Her $50,000 award will support her forthcoming book, The Socially Dead and Improbable Citizen: Theorizing Visual Transformations of Haitian Citizenship.
The book will explore how artists of the Haitian diaspora, like Jean-Michel Basquiat and Myrlande Constant, explore depictions of death and memorial. It will also trace the influence of Haitian traditions on other Black artists, like Kerry James Marshall and Ebony Patterson. The Inquirer spoke to Philogene about her research and how she’s rethinking death and how we see it. This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.
Could you speak about how vodou theology and its perspectives on death inform your research?
There are these, what we call “lwa,” the spirits that guide you in life but also guide you through the process of death. And one of the main lwa of Ghede, which is the lwa of death, is Baron Samedi, who is the person who kind of sits at the crossroads.
He’s mischievous. He is funny. He is proud, but he’s also someone who guides you and helps you live in death. So even if your body is no longer, your spirit is still alive. So for vodouists, those who believe and practice vodou and honor Baron Samedi, he allows you to live even if you’re living in misery.
There are other lwas, but he is the main one who allows you to think about how do you live in the space of death and live in a kind of, I don’t want to say celebratory fashion, but in a fashion that renders you human, that gives you humanity.
You speak about social death and then also the condition that Black folk with enslaved ancestors around the diaspora are experiencing today. How are you conceptualizing the way that Black artists are looking at this feeling of precarity you described, looking at this feeling of living within death?
In a variety of different ways. So one of the artists I look at, his name is Jean-Ulrick Désert. He is a Haitian artist who lives in Germany. And there’s one piece in particular that I look at. It is this beautiful wall installation that is covered with 750 stars and planets. It’s the stars and how they were aligned exactly at the moment in which the earthquake happened. So, in a conceptual fashion, the piece is evoking this moment of death. But there is something incredibly beautiful about the piece, because it is this rich velvet background. It [has] these small embossed stars that have the image of Josephine Baker stamped onto the image.
This wall installation memorializes these bodies, these bodies that were at one time just left on the ground to bake in the hot sun of Haiti. In this moment of impossible pain and possible death, there is something that rises out of those ruins.
You’re thinking through what it means to be human in your work. Where are you at with that now?
So I’m still trying to figure that out. But for me, in the book, I am arguing that humanity, our humanity, as Black people is one that we take, is one that we demand. And it’s one that is our right.
Has the pandemic made you think about your work differently? And if so, how so?
In one sense, it’s made me appreciate the fact that we actually see what America really is, it has shown us that deep within the ground, there is all this discontent and hatred.
But what is more exciting for me is the way that Black people, people of color, allies have fought against some of that. We’ve seen the hatred and the discontent, the lies, but we also see the moments of empowerment, of agency, of fighting. for This is, again, what my book is about: How can we make this livable?
When Art & Fashion Collide: Coach’s Newest Collection Celebrates Jean-Michel Basquiat
One of the most recognizable American artists, Jean-Michel Basquiat, brought innovation to the art world and beyond, becoming an icon to many, especially creatives of color. Inspired by his lasting legacy, the heritage fashion brand Coach has partnered with the Basquiat estate to release a one-of-a-kind collection timed perfectly for the fall.
First appearing on the runway during A/W 2020, this exclusive capsule includes a wide array of bold bags, Ready to Wear pieces, and accessories featuring the late artist’s iconic artwork and phrases. Basquiat left a significant impact on art, fashion and music, and his influence lives on.
“Basquiat is one of my heroes,” Coach Creative Director Stuart Vevers said in a statement. ““He embodied the creative, inclusive spirit of New York and was a force for change in his community. I am proud to celebrate his work and values and help bring them to a new generation.”
“I am proud to celebrate his work and values and help bring them to a new generation.” – Coach Creative Director Stuart Vevers
For the official Coach X Basquiat campaign, Coach enlisted ambassador Michael B. Jordan, Megan Thee Stallion and an inclusive cast of rising Black and Brown creatives to honor Basquiat’s legacy. ESSENCE caught up with six of the campaign’s stars to get their take on Basquiat’s impact, Black art and their very first Coach piece.
Brenn Lorenzo
“I was first introduced to Basquiat back in high school. I was taking art history and he was one of the many artists we learned about. His life story and many of the attributes that led to his fame really stuck with me and made me appreciate him even more. One thing that always stuck out to me is that Basquiat always put out what he wanted with no regret and stood by his pieces. Even if some things weren’t received the way he wanted [them] to be, he still was behind [them] and that’s something not everyone can do. The best thing about Black art is that it is powerful. Black art is beautiful, bold and striking. Every piece is a new incredible story waiting to be told.
I love Coach because they’re not afraid to try something new and it’s shown through their many collaborations. My favorite piece is the beat shoulder bag in ivory. It has the crown on it—which was a staple in Basquiat’s work. This was actually my first Coach piece, and I feel incredibly honored to have it be in the Basquiat collaboration. There’s so much history behind the bag and the artist himself, and the fact that he was from New York makes it even more intimate.”
Brenn’s Pick:
Jules Lorenzo
“I faintly remember learning of Basquiat when I was in high school. However, it wasn’t until college that I started delving into his work and who he was as a person. In an urban studies class I had, I learned how street art and graffiti made many places that were once considered ‘undesirable and dangerous’ become super popular and interesting. He didn’t confine himself to one particular medium. He expressed himself through graffiti, painting and music. I’m a fan of the idea that it’s good to have an entire toolbox of creative talents instead of just homing in exclusively on one. I believe that you get to broaden your horizons as an artist and learn more.
I love that Coach has never been afraid to try something new with its brand and designs! Whether it’s through playful and colorful collabs or showcasing an artist’s work with a new collection. It’s like a breath of fresh air. I’m always excited to see what Coach has up its sleeves.”
Jules’ Pick:
Asia Irving
“I was first introduced to Jean-Michel Basquiat and his art a couple of years ago at Art Basel. I’d heard of him briefly before, but this was my first time seeing his work in person. Jean-Michel’s art immediately sparks thought and inspiration. It made me wonder what he was feeling or trying to express about his own experience and life as a Black man through his art…. The best thing about Black art is seeing and experiencing it. It’s an unexplainable proud moment to see and celebrate other Black artists’ stories and journeys through their art. Every work of art differs in perspective, but each perspective is powerful and unique in its own way.
Coach brings back so many nostalgic memories. I got my first Coach piece as a Christmas gift from my grandfather in middle school. It was a baby blue and white small Coach bag, and I was beyond happy that I finally got my first piece.”
Asia’s Pick:
Sarah Feingold
“I was living in Frankfurt at the time, spending the day chilling with one of my good friends. We sat together and watched old footage of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s interviews and documentary clips for hours on a video projector. His story and energy were so mesmerizing to me, and I think that’s why my first ‘encounter’ with him still stands out in my head.
I felt so classy and cute the first time I wore Coach! My mom actually wore this beautiful Coach bifold wallet in beige and cream in the ’90s, and one day, I took it to school as a little purse with a matching beige jacket on. It had some metallic elements involved and the classic Coach logo printed all over. It was so luxurious and pretty. I was always mesmerized by my mom’s style in general, but this specific piece had a special place in my heart. I felt like it brought my outfit full circle. It’s such a little thing, but it gave me such a nice feeling of completion.”
Sarah’s Pick:
Kristen Noel Crawley
“As a creative, I’d always heard Basquiat’s name referenced in relation to art or fashion, and in my twenties I finally got to see his work on exhibition in New York. It felt completely relevant to the visuals and artistry we see now that I can’t help but think he was an artist way ahead of his time. I feel that art made by a Black artist has a richer storytelling aspect to it because of the many trials and tribulations we as a people have had to endure.
I think I got my first Coach bag when I was 12 or 13, and at that time it was THE It Bag to have. I just remember feeling so excited and happy to have a fashion staple to be able to show off at school the next day. It really was the first piece in my closet that I truly cherished.”
Kristen’s Pick:
Diana Gordon
“I was introduced to Basquiat in my early twenties. Of course, I had heard of him before but in my early twenties, I was still living in New York City and was dating a painter who was really immersed in that underground New York street art scene. Basquiat was raw and chaotic.
My first Coach piece was a green faux-fur coat I wore in a music video. Coach lent it to me. It was lavish. For a luxury brand, it’s pretty accessible.”
Diana’s Pick:
Guaranteed to be a fan favorite of art and fashion lovers alike, the Coach x Basquiat capsule is available now. Shop the full collection on coach.com before it sells out.01Coach X Jean-Michel Basquiat Oversized Varsity Jacket
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available at Coach $450 SHOP NOW08Coach X Jean-Michel Basquiat Wells Backpack
Utah Symphony performs virtual duets with Haitian youth
SALT LAKE CITY, Utah – Musicians all over the world have continued to make music together, using click tracks and editing apps, during the pandemic. Chances are, few of those performances, though, have been as meaningful as a series of duets with two members of the Utah Symphony and a group of young musicians in Haiti.
Four years ago, Utah violinist Yuki McQueen and cellist John Eckstein traveled to the island nation – the poorest in the Western Hemisphere – to teach at a music camp sponsored by the non-profit BLUME Haiti.
With the help of their Symphony colleagues, they eventually started the Haitian Orchestra Institute – an annual workshop for young Haitian musicians.
“What the program has done for music in Haiti is extraordinary,” said Janet Anthony of BLUME Haiti, who helps organize HOI. “It creates another image of Haiti that’s very, very positive.”
“Our goal has never been to create virtuoso musicians,” Anthony said. “It’s more to play a small part in helping to develop their civil and civic society.”
The year 2020 marked a series of anniversaries for the island – the 10th anniversary of the 2010 earthquake among them – and it was going to be a big year for HOI. It was to include the workshop and a music festival.
Salt Lake’s Baldassin Pianos restored a donated 1932 Beckstein grand piano for the event.
But in March, with the festivities less than two weeks away, they were forced to postpone their plans.
McQueen was heartbroken, but not as disappointed as Haitian cellist Emantero Valbrun.
The 20-year-old musician taught himself to play the cello by watching YouTube videos, something which mystifies Eckstein.
“It’d be like looking at a baseball player and deciding I want to be in the MLB,” Eckstein said. “You just don’t do that.”
Valbrun is now so passionate about the instrument that he practices 10 hours a day, and last year, didn’t let a three-hour motorcycle ride with a cello strapped to his back and an armed holdup keep him from attending the workshop.
Because of poverty, political instability and physical isolation, Valbrun and other Haitians just don’t have other musical opportunities like HOI.
Isolated by the pandemic, Valbrun posted a series of solos on Facebook.
“It was like he was crying out in the wilderness by himself with his cello,” McQueen said. “I could just feel his isolation and his loneliness just looking at those videos.”
She thought maybe Valbrun and the other Haitian musician didn’t have to play alone.
McQueen arranged a series of duets – “duets at a distance” – Eckstein and herself performing with Valbrun and students John Karly Fils Menard, Jericho Pierre Noel, Berlande Alexis, Sarah Colimon, Alexandre Santya, and Getro Joseph.
Playing side-by-side with professionals, even if doing it virtually, meant a lot.
Emantero Valbrun, speaking through an interpreter, said he was hopeful.
“Yes, we still have hope. It is this hope that gives us life. Corona, the virus, is not eternal,” said Valbrun. “If we always work at home and have contact with international teachers, it will be ok.”
VENNY ETIENNE ON HIS NEW COLLECTION AND DESIGNING FOR BEYONCÉ’S “BLACK IS KING”
We can’t get enough of his edgy yet feminine designs.
Manifest has become a trendy word lately, sparking people to almost believe their dreams into existence. Fashion designer Venny Etienne is proof that if you combine that with hard work, it may actually work. The young Black creative set his sights on Beyoncé years ago, posting on Facebook in 2015, “(Speaking in existence) Beyoncé WILL wear one of my garments by 2020.” Right on target, you can catch Beyoncé in her “Already” video donning a floral jacket that looks like a cross between armor and a sundress, designed by Etienne himself.
Born of Haitian descent, Etienne grew up in Brooklyn designing clothes for church fashion shows. He counts Alber Elbaz, formerly of Lanvin and Tom Ford, as inspiration, reminiscing on watching their fashion shows on Full Frontal. “I was amazed with the effect of what garments can do and how you can have a ‘moment’ with clothes,” says Etienne. Post fashion school, he studied under haute couture experts in Paris and Milan-based designer and pattern maker Shingo Sato.
Fast-forward a few years, and after a stint on Project Runway that landed him in the final seven, Etienne has designed for clients including Cardi B, Niecy Nash, and most recently, Beyoncé. He debuted his latest Collection #003 at New York Fashion Week, sponsored by Essence magazine, earlier this year. His line LEVENITY emphasizes the contrasting nature of modern women who are simultaneously strong yet soft. The coat Beyoncé wore, which actually inspired his current collection, Etienne describes as “the summary of [his] aesthetic.”
Can you tell us a little bit about your career trajectory?
“I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. My parents are from Haiti and they migrated here. I grew up in the church, and really that’s where I started with fashion. The church that I went to, we would have fashion shows and I was a part of creating the shows. The pastor would give us funds, and we would purchase things from, let’s say, H&M that were of a modest point of view because, you know, it’s a church. We would be our own models, and once the fashion show was over, we would donate the clothes. The organizer or the one who created the show asked who amongst us wants to go ahead and do their own clothes. I knew that I kind of wanted to do something because I would look at all these fashion shows and all that stuff, so I volunteered. My mom and I went to the Salvation Army and bought a couple of sports jackets and blazers—we would deconstruct them, add some fabrics to the lapel or to the pocket. We would make these paper-bag-waist skirts, which was in at the time. The response from the audience kind of made me feel like I could actually make this into something that could be more long-term.”
What would you describe as the aesthetic of your collection?
“Sophisticated and edgy are always the two words that pop up in my head, in terms of the type of clothes that I like to create. I love architectural lines. I love sophisticated structure. I love outerwear. I love wovens. I love sportswear and separates for a strong woman who has a nice, soft touch.”
Where did the name LEVENITY come from?
“So, my name is Venny Etienne. LEVENITY is really just a mixture of my name intertwined. It has all the letters of my name except the L. The L makes it feminine. It’s basically just saying who I am encoded in the brand.”
So Beyoncé’s stylist calls you and says she wants a coat. Where did you go from there?
“I submitted a couple of sketches to see where Zerina was in terms of what she wanted. She said she wanted something strong, something with an exaggeration, whether it’s the hips, the shoulder, the arm. I’m an ’80s baby—I love the ’80s. A strong shoulder is always great. Then it was time for me to source what fabrics. Zerina said something floral, something in the lavender field. It was hard because I’m sourcing here in Dallas. New York or L.A. are much more accessible in terms of choices, but I only had like, a week. This is how fashion is—you only have like, a couple of hours. There’s no excuses.
“When I was constructing it, I still was kind of shy in terms of how extended she wanted the shoulders, but then she was just saying, ‘No, we need it bigger.’ So I kept it bigger. That’s when I reached out to a good friend of mine, Garo, who was also on Project Runway. He is much more knowledgeable in terms of garments that have this understructure that’s outside of the normal figure. It took a total of 68 hours for me and my team to complete. Those hours in the beginning, I was up 48 of those hours—like, I didn’t sleep. I used two five-hour energy drinks. I was listening to Beyoncé the whole entire time, and it was good.”
The contrast of the purple and yellow in the coat’s design is so interesting:
“If I had to summarize my aesthetic, it’s that coat to [a] T. In the beginning, when I first started as a designer, I didn’t really understand the power of color. A lot of my collections, they’re almost all black. I didn’t want to delve into the color part of creating looks because I didn’t want to mess it up. Now, for the past two years, I’ve been playing with color. I’ve been playing with texture. This particular coat is like the summary of my aesthetic because it’s a strong shoulder, it’s a very flirty, feminine flounce bottom, and it’s a floral print, but whoever wears it still feels strong, still feels feminine.”
What did it mean to see Beyoncé in one of your pieces?
“Oh my gosh—I had a couple of crying moments, of course. Any designer would. I’m a Christian, so I’m a very firm believer in faith and seeing things through. We had to submit garments [for consideration], just like when Jason Wu was waiting to see who Michelle wore for the inauguration ball. He didn’t know if she was going to wear it, so he was just waiting. That was me, too. I’m pretty sure every designer experiences that. It was amazing to realize that they aired it—that’s when the tears just started flowing. If you look at any articles that I’ve always been on, when someone asks who is the person that you want to dress, it was always Beyoncé. Always Beyoncé.”
How did your time on Project Runway prepare you for your current experiences?
“Project Runway was definitely a learning process for me. It was also amazing. The reason I loved it so much was because it showed me discipline. It showed me how I could really push myself. When you think you have all the time in the world, you use all the time in the world. But when you don’t have all the time in the world, you’ve got to get shit done. I really loved the relationships that I was able to get from the show. So me and Elaine, if ever I need advice or if I need to reach out to someone, she’ll sometimes even help me and reach out to that person for me. Brandon Maxwell, we communicate. Also, all of the contestants, we have this group text where we always check in on each other. It’s just great to have that support system, especially in this industry where it’s kind of hard because everyone’s busy trying to get there, you know, that we could have this little family.”
ONE THING By EDWIDGE DANTICAT
She is dreaming of caves and the rocks and minerals with which he’s obsessed. In the dream, he tells her that touching one of the columns rising from the cave floor could cause the stalagmite to die. She laughs and tells him that this might be one reason people no longer live in caves. He corrects her and says: “Maybe not in Brooklyn, but some people elsewhere do. Forced by weather, maybe during or after hurricanes, or during a war. Hiding, or for protection.”
He reminds her that there are breathtaking — though he’d no longer use that particular word — enviably beautiful, he might say, million-year-old caves he would love to see, caves with mile-long pits, canyons and shafts, even waterfalls, and with explosions of colors from marble arches, selenite crystals, ice pearls or glowworms, caves that are so striking they could burn your pupils with their beauty.
He can no longer speak this way, his body vibrating with each word, his fists raised in exhilaration, his head bouncing from side to side, as though he’s always trying to generate a room’s worth of enthusiasm for the high school juniors and seniors to whom he teaches earth and environmental science. At home, his sentences had grown short and clipped even before he became visibly ill. He was beginning to sound like some of her newly arrived cousins, curtly speaking a borrowed tongue, while the language they’ve been hearing since birth slowly slipped away.
This summer, they were planning to visit the grottos and caves of their parents’ birthplace, near the town where her mother was born, in the south of Haiti.
“One of the caves is your namesake,” he said when they decided to solicit honeymoon funds for the trip on their wedding registry.
The cave had, like her, been named for a nurse and soldier, Marie-Jeanne Lamartiniére, who dressed as a man to fight alongside her husband against the French colonial army during the Haitian Revolution.
“Who would I have to dress as to be able to see you, and fight for you, with you?” she asks him now. “Would I have to be a doctor, or a chaplain? Are you — the atheist — even allowed a chaplain, just in case you wake up and demand conversion?”
A recollection of his racing breath jolts her awake. What scares her most now, in this recent hierarchy of terrors, is not his silence, or the gasping beats of the ventilator, which is hours old, but when the shift changes and someone speaks into the phone that had been placed next to his ear. The exhausted female voice on the other end, a voice she imagines as a mezzo-soprano in an a cappella group, from the way her intonation rises and falls so quickly and dramatically — that voice purposely perks up and says: “Good morning. Am I speaking to the love of Ray’s life?”
How did you know? she wants to ask. Of course they take notes, on iPads or notepads, for one another to read, small details to differentiate, individualize. The night nurse might have been able to make out her words after all. He might have written down exactly what Marie-Jeanne had bawled and blubbered through: “His name is Raymond, but we call him Ray. He is the love of my life.”
“What did you two spend the night talking about?” the morning nurse asks. And before reminding her to recharge the phone so she can speak in his ear again, later that morning, and maybe in the afternoon, and perhaps again tonight, Marie-Jeanne sleepily answers in her scratchy, mostly bass voice: “Caves. We were talking caves.”
They didn’t always talk about caves. During their four-month courtship, between the new science teachers’ orientation and their New Year’s Eve wedding in the Flatbush Avenue restaurant owned by his parents, they talked more generally of travel. This was one advantage of their profession after all, their great fortune in having the summers to check off bucket-list items. He liked to describe their planned trips as though they’d already happened. He wanted them to ride a steam train between the river gorges of Zambia’s Lower Zambezi National Park and Victoria Falls Bridge, and hoped that before they had children they would climb Machu Picchu, swim with penguins in the Galápagos, gaze at the northern lights from inside a glass igloo. But first they had to go on the delayed honeymoon to her namesake cave.
As soon as she hangs up with the nurse, she imagines driving to the hospital and circling the main building. She’d park under the sweet gum tree by the front gate. In ordinary times, this street would be a conduit to a lobby where visitors sign in before finding their way inside the hospital maze. The day before, she dropped him off on the other side of that building, at the emergency-admission section. Two people in what looked like spacesuits had wheeled him inside. He could still breathe on his own then and was even able to turn his head and wave in her direction. It was not a goodbye wave.
The day before, she dropped him off on the other side of that building, at the emergency-admission section. Two people in what looked like spacesuits had wheeled him inside. He could still breathe on his own then and was even able to turn his head and wave in her direction. It was not a goodbye wave. Go on now, he seemed to be saying under the face mask, his nightshade eyes obscured by fogging aviator glasses. There is a long line of people behind you.
She wonders now where in the hospital he might be, what floor, what room. The night nurse won’t say, perhaps so she and others don’t storm the building and rush to those floors to hold their loved ones’ hands. The nurse simply says that they were taking good care of him.
“I know,” she said, much in the way he might have. “I know you’re doing the best you can.”
She thinks that tonight on the phone she will play some of his favorite Nina Simone again. Last night she played “Wild Is the Wind” 16 times — for the 16 weeks they’ve been married. At their wedding, everyone was expecting some kind of gag, a hip-hop interlude in the middle of their first dance and his abysmal break dancing interrupting the mournful jazz, but they danced the entire seven minutes of the live recording, cheek to cheek. You kiss me. With your kiss my life begins. You’re spring to me. All things to me. Don’t you know you’re life itself?
She could call back and ask the nurses to play the song for him right now, but the ward might be too busy during the day. Both words and melody might be muffled by the stream of hurried movements and rush to beeping machines. In any case, the night is when relief might be most needed from both his and her nightmares.
She doesn’t realize that she’s nodded off until the phone rings and in one swift movement she grabs it from the folds of the yellow duvet on their bed, while wiping the sleep from her eyes. She can hear the Creole news broadcast blasting from the radio that’s always on in her parents’ apartment as they thank her for the groceries she’s had delivered to them. When they ask how her husband is doing, she says, “Same.”
When his parents call, she asks if they want her to add them to her call to him later on that night. They could tell him stories, folk tales or family anecdotes, remind him of things he’d loved and treasured when he was a boy.
“Give him a reason to come back to us,” his mother summarizes what Marie-Jeanne is struggling to say.
“It’s not fully up to him, is it?” his father interrupts. He sounds distant, as though speaking from another extension, in another room, rather than on speaker on his wife’s cellphone.
“I know he wants to come back to us,” her mother-in-law says. “We’re praying all the time. I know he will.”
There’s a funeral that maybe she can help them watch online, the father says, a service for good friends who have “fallen.” He says “fallen” in such a literal way that Marie-Jeanne at first thinks his friends have slipped in the tub or on the stairs.
“We were sent a link and a password,” her mother-in-law says. She sends the link and password to Marie-Jeanne via text, along with the instructions, and somehow Marie-Jeanne manages to talk them through joining the private funeral group on their laptop. Before she hangs up, Marie-Jeanne hears her mother-in-law ask her husband, “Are you sure you can watch?”
Marie-Jeanne uses the link to connect to the service. The camera seems to be recording from a corner of the funeral home chapel’s ceiling. It’s a double funeral, a couple, married 45 years, who died three days apart. They’d been at her wedding. They contributed $200 to the honeymoon funds. They are among the oldest friends of her in-laws. The couple’s three daughters, their husbands and four of their oldest grandchildren are sitting on chairs arranged on what looks like every other square of a giant chessboard. The two coffins are draped with identical velvet purple palls. Marie-Jeanne swipes the screen before hearing a word.
Her namesake cave is three miles long and more than a million years old. The first chamber, with the ecru-colored floor, is two stories high, he’d said. Farther in, there are chambers with stalactites shaped like the Virgin Mary and wedding cakes. Inside one of the cave’s deepest and darkest chambers, which explorers have named the Abyss, you can hear echoes of your own beating heart.
Tonight she might retell him everything he’d told her about the caves. She would remind him too of how when she seemed hesitant to “plunge in” so soon after they’d met, he asked her to pick one thing about him to focus on at a time, one thing that could make her forget everything else. Today that thing is the caves. Tomorrow it might be Nina Simone. Again. The next day, it might be the bobbing of his head when he was talking about something he loved, or how she could predict his next move by looking past the nerdy glasses and into his eyes.
The phone rings once more, and her arm instinctively reaches for it before she realizes what she’s doing. The same nurse who was trying to sound so upbeat a little while ago is now carefully parsing her words.
“I intended to mention this earlier,” the nurse says. “There are a few words meant for you on your husband’s admission file. I don’t know if they were shared with you.”
Waiting for some graver pronouncement to follow, Marie-Jeanne answers “no” in such a low voice that she has to repeat the word.
“Would you like me to read them to you?” the nurse asks.
Marie-Jeanne pauses, purposely stretching the time, so if there was some other news, she might delay it for a while. Whatever the words are, she does not want to hear them in a stranger’s voice. That much she knows. She wants to hear herself reading them, or better yet, she wants to hear him saying them.
“I can email you a screenshot,” the nurse says. “Someone’s already taken a picture.”
“Please,” Marie-Jeanne answers.
When the email alert pops up on her cellphone, she knows even before she reads the words what they will be. Ray had written on a plain white piece of paper: MJ, Wild Is the Wind.
The words look as though they’d been scribbled, in a hurried cursive, with a trembling hand. “MJ” is written in a straight line, but the rest of the words glide down the paper, degenerating, in shape and size, to the point that she’s not a hundred percent sure that the last word is not “Wing.”
She remembers him once telling her that inside the Marie-Jeanne cave, sounds carry weight and travel in waves strong enough to possibly crack some of the most fragile karst. She imagines herself standing at the lowest depths of this cave, in the Abyss, and hearing again what he whispered in her ear during their wedding dance. One thing, MJ. This is our one thing.
Krewe Du Kanaval Honors The Haitian Roots Of New Orleans
It's Mardi Gras season and in North America, no celebration is more famous than the one put on by the people of New Orleans. For two weeks, local groups called Krewes organize balls, parades and dance parties. Colorful plastic beads are everywhere.
A few years ago, a new krewe sprung up with the aim of celebrating the Haitian roots that run deep through the city's cultural identity. Krewe Du Kanaval was co-founded by Win Butler and Régine Chassagne, best known as the husband-and-wife duo who front the Grammy award-winning rock band, Arcade Fire. These days, the Canadian musicians are residents of New Orleans and good friends with Ben Jaffe of the storied Preservation Hall Jazz Band.
Butler says the idea to start the Krewe stemmed from a trip he took with Jaffe to Haiti. It was Jaffe's first time in the country.
"I remember when we first got to the central plateau [of Haiti]," Butler said. "There was a brass band that played for us when we got there. Ben's almost crying. It sounded like if you got in a time machine and went to New Orleans — pre-swing, pre-jazz New Orleans — and it's pretty powerful."
And it wasn't just the music: the architecture, the food and the people reminded Jaffe of home.
Thousands of Haitians landed in Louisiana in the early 19th century after fleeing their home country's revolution. By 1809, more than 10,000 Haitians had arrived in New Orleans, doubling the population of the city.
Along with the Haitian people came their culture, establishing a deep relationship between the two places. Many locals refer to New Orleans as the northernmost Caribbean city. Celebrating this connection was the guiding principle for Butler, Chassagne and Jaffe when they founded Krewe du Kanaval in 2017.
"That was sort of the idea," says Butler. "What if we did this thing that everyone wants to do anyway, for a party? And we actually did something good with it. [We're] just paying tribute to the root of it."
Krewe Du Kanaval founders Ben Jaffe, Regine Chassagne and Win Butler.Kanaval/Courtesy of the artist
For Chassagne, the connections are also personal. Her parents are native Haitians who fled the country in the 1960s during the 13-year rule of dictator Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier. Her family first landed in the US, but eventually ended up in Montreal, where Chassagne grew up. And it wasn't until 2008, when she was in her 30s, that she visited Haiti for the first time.
But Chassagne says she inherited the Haitian culture through her parents.
"You just absorb it. You absorb the inflections, you absorb the humor, certain reactions to certain events," she says. It had always felt like an insular experience to her, but she says, "When I went to Haiti, I really realized this is why! This is all why."
Chassange has been publicly thinking about her relationship to her parents' home country at least since 2004; the first Arcade Fire album, Funeral, came out that year and included the semi-autobiographical song, "Haiti."
"And then when we realized that we were going to starting selling out venues," says Chassagne, "I was like, okay, maybe I will not work at the bakery anymore. Then I started to think about how to raise money, and how to be efficient in the gifts that I've been given and how to make them useful."
The answer came to her in 2010, when Chassagne co-founded Kanpe, a foundation that supports an array of health education and agriculture programs in Haiti. The Krewe Du Kanaval celebrations raise funds for the foundation.
The inaugural appearance of Krewe du Kanaval in February 2018.Erika Goldring/Courtesy of the artist
Paul Beaubrun, a Haitian singer-songwriter based in New York and a member of Krewe du Kanaval, says Carnival is like therapy for Haitians.
"You scream. Some people you curse, if you want, because you have to let your frustrations out," Beaubrun says. "So it's a very important tradition for us. And at the same time, it's that time where you almost begin your year. We call that "N'ap boule" — that means you're burning everything and then you start anew. So it's a very important tradition for Haitians and it's a lot of fun, you know, so it's like a win-win."
Beaubrun says at Carnival in Haiti, music hits you from all directions. It's at the center of the celebrations.
"There's this part where you put a band on the float and people are dancing, singing too, and then they have stands. And then it's like millions of people everywhere! Dancing, screaming ... so many things happening!"
Like Butler and Chassagne, Beaubrun says you can just feel the connections between the music of Haiti and New Orleans. And he should know: Beaubrun is a member of the prominent Haitian fusion band, Boukman Eksperyans, which rose to fame playing Carnival in Haiti in the early 1990s. The group brought their music to the Krewe Du Kanaval ball last year.
"It's just to that exchange between New Orleans and Haiti," Beaubrun says, "to really show that similarity, the influences. That's what Krewe Du Kanaval is. We just bring it together."
Butler says the theme of the Krewe Du Kanaval parade this year is "Merci Haiti" — simply, "thank you, Haiti."
"We're just trying to pay respect to all that we have [been] grateful for — that Haiti has contributed — and just to give back. I think that's the idea of the whole thing," he says.
This year's Krewe Du Kanaval features Arcade Fire, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, DJ Michael Brun, Jillionaire, Pierre Kwenders and Lakou Mizik. The parade, ball and party all go down this weekend.
Win Butler at Krewe Du Kanaval.Courtesy of the artist
Papa Jean Opens Up About His New Play, LES BOITES NOIRES
Coming soon to the New York Theatre Festival is Les Boîtes Noires, running February 17, 19 and 22 at the Hudson Guild Theater.
Written by Papa Jean, Les Boîtes Noires is the story of a Haitian Family living in modern day NYC dealing with everyday life. The American born children of this family must try to juggle to fit into their own lives while still trying to survive their parents' old school, immigrant ways. They all have dreams of living the American dream...
Below, BroadwayWorld checks in with Papa Jean to hear all about the new play!
Tell us about Les Boîtes Noires...
Les Boîtes Noires is French title and it is translated to The Black Boxes. Les Boîtes Noires is a captivating story about a Haitian family living in a modern day, gentrifying NYC dealing with the ups and downs of everyday life. In this comedy-drama, the American born children of this family must try juggle fitting into their own lives, while trying to survive their parent's old-fashioned traditions and immigrant ways. The American dream is very important to everyone in the household, and each person will take things to the edge to see their dreams come true in this story,
Why is this story so important now?
With the proactive movement of society today, many more opportunities have been created for more diverse voices to have a platform. Les Boîtes Noires not only culturally shines a light on a voice that is rarely heard in the arts, it depicts the stunning traditional similarities that Haitian families have to other families from a large number of diligent backgrounds.
What inspired the creation of the show?
Les Boîtes Noires is inspired by true events in my life. Being born and raised in NYC, growing up with immigrants parents was basically an ongoing day time soap opera: General Hospital with out the suspenseful instrumentals. I am not just the writer and director of the show, I also play a role in the story. After studying acting, theatre and writing in my earlier years, I took to social media with a barrage of characters, sketches, and short films. I soon gained a strong following who constantly requested live performances. So I did what I do best, took my fingers to my keyboard and wrote a story; Les Boîtes Noires.
How long have you been working on the show and how has it evolved during that time?
I wrote the show in 2017 and every scene and moment of the show has truly evolved since then. My everyday life and the lives of the people around me have helped me make new discoveries in Les Boîtes Noires everyday. Not to mention, pop culture has also influenced the show in the terms of, depending when and where we perform, making necessary adjustments and changes as we see needed.
What are your favorite plays/musicals?
My top five favorite plays/musicals are A Raisin in The Sun, The Lion King, The Piano Lesson, Freeman, A Street Car Named Desire, Antigone, and Hamlet. I love anything Shakespeare.
How hard is it to get stories out about communities that haven't been well-represented on stage?
I don't think it's hard getting stories out about communities that have not been well represented on stage, I feel the difficulties more lie in outside communities actually coming to see these shows. Although I have self produced my show a handful of times, I am excited at the opportunity to have Les Boîtes Noires at The NY Theatre Festival because it is a new platform for us and hopefully it is one opportunity for unheard voices to start helping bridge the gap of representation on stage and entertaining new communities.
What do you hope audiences come out of the show saying and thinking?
I hope the audiences say, "Wow, that Haitian family was just like ours!" Or "I want to see this again!" Or " I gotta tell my friends about this show!"
How can our readers get more information?
Les Boîtes Noires is part of The NY Theatre festival and will be going up on 2/17,2/19,&2/22 at The Hudson Guild Theater in the heart of NYC. You could always check out my website for more info and updates: PapaJeanRepublik.com or follow me on social media @iampapajean.
What else would you like the BroadwayWorld audience to know about your work and this production?
As a creative person of color and son of hard working immigrants, I just want all audiences to know that Les Boîtes Noires is not just my story and my voice, but it is the story of millions of people around America! My cast and I are very excited to bring forth this fun filled, comedy drama to the stages of The Big Apple.
LES BOITES NOIRES By Papa Jean
Story of a Haitian Family living in modern day NYC dealing with everyday life. The American born children of this family must try to juggle to fit into their own lives while still trying to survive their parents’ old school, immigrant ways. They all have dreams of living the American dream and push things to the limits at home.
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The Play is 90 minutes long
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Feb. 17, 2020 @ 9pm
Feb. 19, 2020 @ 9pm
Feb. 22, 2020 @ 6:45pm
All Shows at the Hudson Guild Theater
Haitian-inspired musical revival 'Once on This Island' comes to the Twin Cities
The 2018 Tony-winning musical is at the Ordway through Feb. 9.
A musical inspired by the islands of the Caribbean is now playing at the Ordway in St. Paul.
"Once on This Island" is tale of Ti Moune, a fearless peasant girl in search of her place in the world, who's ready to risk it all for love. Based on the 1985 book, “My Love, My Love,” by Rosa Guy, it is a retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid.
The show debuted on Broadway in 1990, and won a Tony Award in 2018 for Best Revival of a Musical. The revival was inspired by a trip to Haiti by the director and scenic designer, who witnessed the people of Haiti dealing with the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake and Hurricane Matthew in 2018.
The show includes a few unique features: materials used in set design and costumes are recycled from everyday objects, inspired by the ways the Haitian people survived and thrived in the wake of natural disasters. Also unique for this show: some audience members are invited to sit on stage during the performance, where sand and water is set up in a circle, to help provide an immersive experience.
This is the first time time this touring production of "Once on This Island" has appeared in the Twin Cities.
Performances continue at the Ordway through Sunday, Feb. 9. Ticket details can be found on the Ordway website, or by calling the box office at 651-224-4222.
CARIBBEAT: Wide range of unique, affordable products from Haitian artisans are now available from the Belmachann.com eCommerce site
The exciting and important Belmachann.com eCommerce site — selling unique, sought-after Haitian artisanal products made by Haitians in the Caribbean nation and the disapora — is coming from the HaitiNexMedia, parent company of The Haitian Times newspaper.
The products are wide-ranging — from clothes to health and wellness items, artworks, jewelry, food products and more. The concept of the site is to bring consumers and producers together, said Garry Pierre-Pierre, The Haitian Times’ founder and CEO of Belmachann.
The Belmachann Twitter page calls the business “an online boutique,” adding, “Your support helps Haiti develop with dignity.”
“The time is propitious for Belmachann,” said Pierre-Pierre, whose The Haitian Times just celebrated its 20th anniversary. “You have talented artisans in Haiti and the United States who are looking for distribution and marketing networks. With Belmachann, they can create and leave the rest to us.”
Pierre-Pierre said Haitian-Americans and others would buy handmade and artisanal crafts and goods, but too often the products are hard to find here at affordable prices.
He explained that Belmachann also works for Haitian entrepreneurs looking for markets and promotional opportunities for their many products. And Belmachann plans to branch out to other markets and sell goods from Africa and other Caribbean nations.
“In today’s media landscape, it’s not enough simply to provide information, you have to interact with the audience in a more granular way,” said Vania Andre, The Haitian Times’ editor and publisher, who also serves as Belmachann’s chief operating officer. “That means finding out what they need and offer it to them.”
Haitian American musician Nathalie Joachim pays tribute to underrepresented women of Haiti
Flutist and composer Nathalie Joachim first came up with the idea for her debut album in late 2015. She was in Haiti, exploring her Haitian heritage and wanted to know about female artists from the island. Together with her parents, she could only come up with a dozen or so.
"I was really inspired to make an album centered around the voices of female artist from Haiti largely because they're left out of Haiti's musical history."
"I was really inspired to make an album centered around the voices of female artists from Haiti largely because they're left out of Haiti's musical history," she said.
Some women on the list included singer Emerante de Pradines, Milena Sandler (daughter of Toto Bissainthe), and vodou revolutionary Carole Demesmin.
Joachim's Grammy-nominated album, "Fanm d'Ayiti," sets out to correct some of the omissions of women underrepresented in Haitian history. She thinks this is "a beautiful way to represent the women of Haiti."
"Fanm d'Ayiti" translates into "Women of Haiti." On the album, Joachim features new song arrangements and snippets from recorded interviews with some of the women. One voice heard is that of Joachim's own musical hero and maternal grandmother, Ipheta Bellegarde, because "her voice was one that was quite important to me throughout the course of her life."
The song featuring Bellegarde's voice is also one her grandmother wrote. It's called "Madan Bellegarde." Bellegarde died in 2015. Joachim says her grandmother was "criticized her whole life because she became a widow when my mother was still an infant, quite young, and never remarried. She really chose to live a life independently of her own design."
Joachim would often hear her grandmother share stories about what life was like as a single mom in Haiti in the late 1940s and early '50s. She says her grandmother wrote the song because she was being "judged by all of the sinners around her, people who committed much grander sins than being an unmarried woman, but that she knew at the end of the day she would not be judged by God. And so she wrote this song and would sing it." Now, Joachim sings it.
Joachim also recorded with a girls' choir in her family's farming village Dantan. "[It's] a very small place with just one street that has a church and a school and that's it," she said. "And I hope that any one of them, if not all of them, are inspired by how we've been able to spread their voices from this small spot in Haiti across the world."
Joachim says she hopes her album touches young women everywhere and that they will "take away the strength and the power and continue to lift each other up ... [and to] look to your elders and find strength in their stories and to be sure to leave a pathway for those coming up behind you. We're all connected."