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Editor’s note: This is one in an occasional series about how artists are responding to this unprecedented time of pandemic and civil unrest.
It was the anguished declaration of a grieving daughter that inspired artist De Andre Drake to pick up his airbrush one day in late May.
While sketching out some new ideas, Drake had the television playing in the background. On the screen were news reports on the death of George Floyd at the hands of police officers in Minneapolis, and the ongoing protests that sparked a reawakening of civil justice that continues to this day.
“Daddy changed the world,” Floyd’s 6-year-old daughter, Gianna Floyd, had said. And suddenly, Drake imagined his daughters grieving his death. He wanted his life to matter as well.
“At first I thought about doing a community give-back,” Drake says, “but then I decided I want to give my art.”
That one moment of resolve resulted in Drake’s most recent work, a powerful and beautiful rendition honoring the Black men and women who, like Floyd, were killed by what many see as systemic racism in this nation.
The images and names of almost 60 dead Black men and women, as well as the faces of people involved in the struggle, cover a gleaming white coffin. Drake named the artwork “My Skin Color Is Not A Crime.”
The piece is on display through the end of August at the Joyce Gordon Gallery in Oakland, a city that has become home to a Black Lives Matter artistic renaissance. Artists have been moved, as Drake was, to create protest art. Many of the murals remain, splashed on building facades and boarded over windows as the Black community works out a way to preserve them.
The Black-owned Joyce Gordon Gallery showcases the art works of people of color, and Drake found it the most appropriate place for his creation.
The choice of a coffin was not an unusual one for Drake, but it was chosen for a reason. The artist works in many different media and on different canvases, but the airbrush is his favorite art tool and he has done memorials on coffins before.
“I wanted to make a statement,” Drake says. “I wanted people to see the correlation of death and racism; that these people died for no reason.”
Drake, born and raised in Oakland, says he might be guilty, as many are, of becoming numb to the killings and injustices in the world. He’d always listened to what was going on, and listened to the community about residents’ thoughts, frustrations and anger.
“George Floyd was the spark,” Drake says. “I’ve seen a lot of ups and downs, but this is the first time I’ve seen real changes and progress. This is the time, and I wanted to know the stories, to tell the stories, of these people.”
In Oakland, Drake says, he believes he has a voice, and he wanted to use it.
“This casket is my voice and the voice of my people,” Drake says. “Not everything on the casket reflects my personal politics or thoughts, but I’m expressing what is being communicated to me by my community. My art gives voice to my people.”
On the day it was installed in the gallery, “My Skin Color” arrived by hearse accompanied by a procession that included the uncle of Oscar Grant, a young Black man killed by a BART officer, and the family of Nia Wilson, a young Black woman who was stabbed to death by a stranger at the MacArthur BART station. Police have not identified a motive for the killing.
Drake has had his own struggles, his own stories to tell. He spent 9 years in prison on a drug conspiracy conviction. He admits he was dealing drugs, but he also says he was one of many Black men caught up in the 1990s’ war on drugs.
Prison, however, gave him his life. People had always told him he had talent — he had been a rapper before being arrested — and he wrote poetry behind bars. But then, taught by other inmates, he learned to draw.
Drake got so accomplished at photo-realistic pencil drawings that other inmates began asking him to make drawings for them. He also sent his pencil drawings to friends and family, who all recognized a talent and encouraged him. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had a purpose.
“I never really had a plan,” Drake says. “I’ve had ups and downs, but when I started drawing, it gave me a reason to get up in the morning and to focus on doing right (in prison) so my art and my time wouldn’t get taken away.”
His family sold some of his pieces and a few of his works were featured in a gallery. From that moment, he knew what he was going to do for the rest of his life.
Once out of prison, he expanded his talents to the airbrush, customizing cars and motorcycles. Then someone asked about a mural, and he added that skill to his repertoire. He’s been commissioned for global brands including Jean Paul Gaultier and Fiat.
“The airbrush is my primary art,” Drake says, “but I’m fluent in all of it.”
Drake has given back to his community as much and as often as he could, but recognizes “My Skin Color Is Not A Crime” represents his best opportunity to date to make a difference, to change the world.
Drake hopes to collect sponsorships to send the piece around the country, visiting cities, colleges and Black-owned galleries.
He’s already managed to impress his two daughters, 10 and 28. The 10-year-old, Kaya, is a budding artist and not easily impressed by her dad, but she was by this work. “This could be history,” she told him.
“I just want everybody to see it,” he says.
