Adrian Octavius Walker On THE NECESSITY OF Black and Brown SPACEs
The award-winning photographer talks teaching his first semester at Stanford, shaking up the status quo, and finding his voice as an artist.
Photographer Adrian Octavius Walker
On my first day of class at Stanford, I remember setting an alarm for 4:15 p.m to make sure I made it to the Zoom meeting on time. Even if I had to listen in my car, I knew it was worth it. Signing into the Zoom classroom was really weird for me for a few reasons: One, I graduated two years ago, so this pandemic-induced virtual education thing is thankfully not my daily reality; but what was even more foriegn was opening up the chat message a few minutes before class to see so many Black and Brown faces. People from all across the US had tuned into this lecture, which was directed by Black people promoting our excellence. People from Boston, Chicago, Ohio, Los Angeles, the Bay Area—so many of us joined together to listen and reflect on our experiences as creatives or artists. From the moment Brandon Middleton, one of the four lecturers, came online to introduce two Grammy award-winning music artists and described the class as a way to break down the ivory tower of Stanford...I was hooked! The energy of the class felt like when you go to a family get together and they tell you stories, and everything clicks and you know you are always understood, no matter your age. That exact energy made me feel more seen than I had ever felt in my visual arts department in college, where I was one of a handful of Black students. Here my art and experiences mattered.
The class was Community College: Designing Black and Brown Spaces, and it was being offered through Stanford University’s d.School, or more formally, the Hasso Plattner Institute of Design at Stanford. During the 10-week course, enrolled Stanford students would learn “alongside Black and Brown community members that live, work, and play outside of the Stanford University experience.” That was me. The class was dreamt up and led by a trio of creatives: Brandon Middleton, Marvell Lahens, Nari Gathers, and Adrian Octavius Walker. Walker, a photographer and Outwin Boochever portrait competition finalist, was the main reason I was here. His photo series “We Matter” came out in 2018, and celebrated Black American beauty traditions of Black men and was widely celebrated. One photo from the series even appeared in the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery. “We Matter” actually inspired me to create my own work that explores Black masculinity and beauty and expresses how our rich history is connected to our hair and traditions. Walker’s latest work, a series entitled “Mortal Man,” is a collaborative piece with the self taught tapestry artist Basil Kincaid and is currently on exhibit at the Eve Leibe Gallery in London and explores death, self-destruction, and the emotional and physiological resurrection of Black men.
Black Virgin Mary from “We Matter” by Adrian Octavius Walker
In a way this has all come full circle, at least for me. This man has inspired my work, and has helped me understand the constant questions I’ve had as a Black art student: how can art programs and schools in general make better spaces for Black and Brown People? How do we restructure these spaces that try to make students a product of how the staff creates work versus how students want to view the world? Walker, along with the other lecturers and guest speakers helped me see that there are people who want to help and see us grow in our craft, and make us feel heard.
It was a pleasure to get to sit down with Walker to talk about his photography journey as well as his contributions to the Stanford Community College: Designing Black and Brown Spaces.
Bréana: So, how did the Stanford class come about?
Adrian: So, a good friend of mine—his name's Brandon (Middleton)—he works over at Stanford at the d.school. The d.school is an institution on Stanford's campus. It basically creates these opportunities like the one I'm a part of, for individuals to like teach, or co-lecture classes and stuff like that. So I would just literally ask, hey, I want to teach a class at Stanford, in the d.school.—but I don't really care to teach photography, not even at least. So what we're doing is basically teaching individuals how to build Black and Brown spaces. And it's a lecture course because we're bringing in people from our background—from our core groups—who are successful at what they’re doing. The doings of being a worker in the field, and bringing them in to have conversation with folks who potentially want to do what they're doing. So, basically having a strong network is how it came about.
Bréana: I actually sat in on the last lecture, and I wrote down a note. So, Brandon Middleton brought up that this program (the course is named ‘Community College’) is trying to help destigmatize the idea of community college. Can you talk a little bit about how it's doing that?
Adrian: When it comes down to it? Yeah. So, basically, y’know, Stanford is a predominantly white institution. So, we just try to bring more people, Black and Brown people into the space where they believe it can't be. That's why we open it up to the community of people, and allow outsiders to be a part of these conversations, because it's just as important for them to hear and be a part of this as a Stanford student, y’know. And so that's pretty much what that is. And I hope that you continue to jump in the different ones. It’s free, y’know I'm saying, so why not?
The description of the class introduces itself as,“Each week, students will be led in a series of participatory lectures and active provocations by Black and Brown creative misfits, leaders, and voices in photography, design, music, activism, tech, education, and entrepreneurship. They’ll share their work and passions, and insights on how they’ve navigated, created, and advocated for the inclusion of Black and Brown voices and spaces within the halls of power. Each class, lecturers and guest speakers will challenge students with a course of action aligned towards creating space for us, by us. At the end of the 10-week course, students will be armed with the frame of mind, confidence, community, and tools needed in order to continue doing so.”
“Stanford is a predominantly white institution. So, we just try to bring more people, Black and Brown people into the space where they believe it can't be.”
Bréana: Do you know how many students are in the program?
Adrian: Oh, enrolled? We have 13 students officially. Each week is always a different number of people who are in the conversation depending on who's running the conversation. Last week, we had about 98 people on the Zoom call. The first week, we had 189.
Bréana: So what do you hope that this program will achieve? Both for individual students taking it but also the creative industry as a whole?
Adrian: I hope the students definitely get a lot out of it. Considering they are paying for this, the actual d.school programs, I have to check in on it. Even if they aren’t, I hope that they walk away, just inspired. And just basically uplifted—I know, sometimes, college can be boring as hell. So if anything, like I hope what we're doing is enlightening. And helping them get through this weird ass time being a college student. And I hope that one of the lecturers or one of us co-lecturers can help them out, y’know, in any shape or form, you know. So, that's what I hope for the students and for everybody else, I just hope that they know that they ultimately can be a part of something like this. And I hope that this program sets the tone for other schools to allow stuff like this to happen, you know. I understand institutions don't have a lot of money, but at the same time, they're making a lot of money. It's so expensive, at the same time. So, especially during this time, you know, I’m saying make the shit nice, make it cool.
Because honestly they were trying to like, control our narrative and what we were doing; so now it's just like, “oh, wow, this is actual success”, like DUH Black people run it you know, I'm saying it's not gonna fail. We've got to make everything that we do tight you know, I'm saying as much as possible. Yeah, just give us a damn space, give us a space. Stay away. And let us roam free.
“Like DUH Black people run it you know, I'm saying it's not gonna fail. We've got to make everything that we do tight you know, I'm saying as much as possible. Yeah, just give us a damn space, give us a space. Stay away. And let us roam free.”
Bréana: How were they trying to control the narrative at the beginning?
Adrian: Yeah, because folks started calling us “professors” so some of these white uptight people were like, I can't believe they're calling you all professors yada yada yada. I've worked really really hard with this. But some of these people were mad that people were calling us professors—that didn't really sit well with them. And I'm like, that's not like a personal problem to me. I mean, first off, I didn't coin the term professor like for them people to call me that. That's a choice. I didn't say call me Professor Walker. Never said that a day in my life. You know just...white people, they're just white. You know I'm saying they just this mad for no reason. They always feel like they're entitled, entitled-ass people. And it just shows, you know, it shows too much. Because obviously they're paying attention to the wrong shit. That's not even what you should be paying attention to. You should be paying attention to what we're actually trying to put out.
Bréana: How does the class counteract the narrative of art being super elite, or like inaccessible or whitecentric?
Adrian: I mean, I just felt like we're at home, you know, everything always works better when you are amongst people that you know, and close to. We get a lot of great feedback. And those white folks who are in on the class they're not saying much, they're learning. I'm saying like, they should be, pretty much.
Bréana: Do you think before all the BLM stuff like picked up, especially this year, these types of courses would have been accessible to anybody?
Adrian: I'm always skeptical. I mean, I feel like some of the people who scream BLM at a flag—the windows, the yard signs—I feel like sometimes it's just a cop out. In all actuality, they probably don't care. Oh, I hope they care. But at the same time, it's like, if anything, I hope a lot of people are learning this year in the years to come, not even just this year, just period, you know I'm saying. It's just like, we just want to be left alone. And we want you all to educate yourself. That's it. So I hope things change. It's just a big hope.
Bréana: So now that the first course is wrapped up, is there anything that surprised you during the classes?
Adrian: I mean, no surprises. I just feel good that people actually messin’ with it. Pretty much so no surprises. Let's just keep the good energy going.
Bréana: What have you personally learned from being a part of the class?
Adrian: I mean, just learning how to engage an online audience more like, and amongst four or three other individuals that are co lecturers. It's been fine, just kind of learning to find that balance. I work different from all other folks who are lecturers and stuff like that. They all have full time jobs versus...I guess you could say I have a full time job because I'm trying to get my photos. At the same time, they kind of work around the clock. I don't like to work around the clock. What's the right time to stop working? So I'm learning that I want to make my own schedule.
Bréana: So how did you get into photography?
Adrian: Basically I got into photography because I was always a curious child. Definitely a product of my environment, and being around different places and different spaces. I really want to just capture the scenes, versus having to explain what I saw to the person who is putting that into writing. I’m not really into writing. I've gotten into writing, recently. But mostly because, you know, I always felt that I have like high attention to detail when it comes to photography. I like taking portraits—basically just taking photos of people and getting to know them. And like vibe off their energy that's there when I'm speaking to them, and make something out of it.
Bréana: What was the process of finding your voice?
Adrian: Word. Oh, for me and my boys, I would just say honestly, it's the person that helps me find it. The energy is there, sharing that experience with another individual is very helpful. Say for instance, I take a photo for you, you're allowing me to take photos helps me—you're literally allowing me to get a piece of your time, energy, power. So finding my voice is being able to talk and carry a conversation, and make someone feel comfortable. I would say that's pretty much it. Once I pass that test, I feel like I'm eligible to take a photo of a person.
From “Mortal Man” by Adrian Octavius Walker
Bréana: Can I ask what inspired the exhibit in London right now? (“Mortal Man” at Eve Leibe Gallery) I really enjoyed the textural and colorful contrasts of the portraits. I would like to hear a little bit more about that.
Adrian: Yeah, so that photo work is inspired by the guy I photographed, Basil Kincaid. That particular outfit that he was wearing—he makes those quilts—that is his frame of reference. When it comes down to art, he makes quilts and those quilts are from past friends, family members, found objects. Just fabrics pretty much from all over. And what inspired me to take those photos was basically just the vibe of Basil. It was a little bit his artistry, him liking my portrait work, and we just kind of wanted to collaborate and make work with each other, passing off each other's ideas in this particular work.
From “Mortal Man” by Adrian Octavius Walker
He created those quilts called Shaman’s Death. And that work is based on experiences, and experiencing close passing relationships with people physically in like, you know, just like in the physical sense. And also just like those people still being around, but he just doesn't necessarily have those relationships with them anymore. And his artist talk reminded me of a song by Kendrick Lamar called Mortal Man. And it basically talks about survivor's guilt. I was really into that, it picked my brain a lot, because I'm really into like, dissecting music and comparing and contrasting those lyrics to artwork in some type of shape or form. So that's pretty much what I like got me through making that work.
“Say for instance, I take a photo for you, you're allowing me to take photos helps me—you're literally allowing me to get a piece of your time, energy, power. So finding my voice is being able to talk and carry a conversation, and make someone feel comfortable.”
Bréana: I feel that! I'm working on a piece right now that I took a lyric from Rose in Harlem, from the artist Teyana, and trying to figure out how to create the work. I have like a concept, but I'm trying to figure it out from there—like, have a basic idea of what I'd like to do.
Adrian: If I mean, you ever want to talk to that...I think when it comes down to making conceptual work, it's one of those things where it's like, it’s hard for me to bounce ideas off people, because I don't want to talk out what I'm actually trying to create. It's just like, what's the end result? I don't really like the super sell like, “Oh, is this what I am really saying?” Because that person is not in my head, you know. So it's kind of like, you know, you make the work, then you think of like, some terminology here and there. And that's another thing: All your work doesn't necessarily have to mean anything, you can really just see something. It's just the photo, you know, I don't think, like trying to dig and pick up big words to make it sound more than what it really is worth it. It's kind of like one of those things where it just gives you a headache.
From “Mortal Man” by Adrian Octavius Walker
Bréana: Yeah. And I feel, I don't know, maybe it's just because of how my program was—it was very experimental. So it felt like you always had to explain yourself when it's just like, what the piece was. Can you talk about some of the barriers that you’ve faced in your creative career?
Adrian: Um, talking myself out of things, you know? I just kind of like, don’t necessarily have a chip on my shoulder, but I typically get hit up for certain jobs here and there. Like, say, for instance, lifestyle and agency work, and they're looking for a particular style—that style isn't there for them to actually see within what I have. But for me, I'm like, I can do it, you know, I can pretty much do whatever anybody wants me to do. It's just basically, I just need the chance to do it. So what stops me is kind of like, having to explain myself to a person, you know, no matter how big the bag is kind of like, if I had to do all of that. Because I'm a more conceptual photographer when it comes down to like, making work. So, I don't really work with a lot of agencies and a lot of lifestyle folks and brands and stuff like that. So, being told how to work, how to do something, it's really hard for me. So at times, I talk myself out of doing certain things.
Bréana: So, there are some tensions between formal art education and actually being a working artist. And how do those tensions look like for you and how do you address them in the overall class?
Adrian: Are we speaking about school, right? Because for me, when it comes down to schooling, especially art school, since I haven’t been to art school, I only hear stories. It's really hard for me to have somebody telling you how something should look, when it’s coming out of your brain. So for art school, as a whole, it's a space where it's just a bunch of opinions you know. I don't see how that can help the person. And I could be wrong because I never went to art school, but at the same time, I don't think I would be able to deal with it. Especially if I'm talking to white people or something like that, about making Black work. I personally don’t understand how a white person can tell the other one how to make work.
From “My Lens Our Ferguson” by Adrian Octavius Walker
I photographed some stuff in Ferguson. I'm from St. Louis. So during the Ferguson uprising, I was photographing free will. I don't go out to photograph protests. Literally. That's the only time I ever did this. And that’s because I am connected with Ferguson and the city of St. Louis. I went to school in Ferguson, I got my hair cut and got burgers and have friends and family in Ferguson. I eat in this area, like I know the area well. And it was just kind of crazy to see what was happening at the time. And so I went out and took some photos, and I didn't know what the hell I was going to do with these images at all. And so I ended up making a book. I self published my own photo book ‘My Lens Our Ferguson.’ And a friend of mine, her name is Kendall, shared with me this contest called Paris Photo-Aperture Foundation PhotoBook Award, which happens every year. And the PhotoBook Award is basically a contest for people who are making photo books, obviously. And this is my first time making a photo book. So I went in for the photobook prize. Willy nilly, not even thinking I was gonna win. I just did it. And they end up hitting me back, I was like “oh shit that's crazy.” So my book was shortlisted out of, I don't know, thousands of people. I was one of the shortlisted artists for the first PhotoBook Prize, I think it was out of like, five other people, something like that.
I didn't win first prize. But I still was able to go to Paris to represent my book, and it was a great experience. But a part of that experience was that your work was critiqued by artists from Aperture—they have a publishing company. And it's like a bunch of Aperture artists out there, right? And these are folks who pretty much photographed all their lives, predominantly white. So I get this critique about my work, the Ferguson work, right. And the whole time, I'm like, literally rolling my eyes because this woman, this white woman, she told me—I took a picture of this guy standing next to a stop sign, or something I can't really remember—basically, she was trying to say, if I would have positioned this person over here, versus where he was, it would have been a better photo. And I'm thinking in my head: This is a goddamn protest. I'm literally not putting people anywhere, you know, I'm letting them be where they are. And I'm just taking photos, because at this point, nobody even wants anything pointed at them during this time. So, I feel like if you're going to critique work, know the situation first. You know I'm saying, don't just try to give me the dirty ass photo words, positioning all of this, when you know, you're not in the field, you know.
From “My Lens of Ferguson” by Adrian Octavius Walker
That's another thing—like, I'm not an opportunist when it comes down to making work. Like you see a lot of these uprisings happening right now. You see a lot of white bodies out there taking photographs and people from all over the damn place, Europe and Philadelphia and all these places, and they come into Oakland, like, why are you here? Are you looking to get a Nobel peace prize? Are you trying to get that photo when these people are literally hurting? And so like, that's what my book was on. It was on a perspective of what was actually happening during these uprisings and stuff like that. And I was hit up by NBC, CNN, Fox News, all these people are trying to take my photographs, to use them in articles. I turn everybody down because I didn't want anyone to control my narrative, you know, and so I think that's the thing. It's like controlling your narrative, investing in your work and trusting it can go further than anybody else can take you, you know, because they don't know. It's like me telling you to not wear this shirt today. Don't wear that shirt during this interview, because Adrian hates dairy—what shit is that, you know I'm saying? It just doesn't make sense. And so, to go back to your question, when it comes down to education, it's hard to say, because there are really good professors out there, and then you may have a professor who doesn't get it, you literally dread his or her, or their class because they're going to just make you mad the whole time. You know, like, why am I here? I'm literally paying. I'm paying thousands of dollars for this. For somebody to tell me something they don't even know. About my experience. Yeah, it's weird?
Bréana: I totally understand that. I was in my last class, my senior year was with an older French woman who's like, really well known for experimental filmmaking. But she didn't understand my last piece and questioned why I didn't do certain things or add a Black person into it. It was basically recreating the Doll Test with college students. And she asked me why I didn’t include any Black students. When I felt that many Black students have to talk about race all the time, I'm not going to force somebody to be like, go back and do the test, I'm going to point out different races that already don't talk about race and make it uncomfortable for them. I haven't been to any protests in a little while. But at the beginning, I saw so many different, like, white photographers especially people who weren't even from the area come out. And I was just like, do you even know the situation? Like, why are you here? And why are you on the front lines? I had a classmate go at the front where the tear gas is like, what was the point of you going in the front?
From “We Matter” by Adrian Octavius Walker
Adrian: Exactly. Exactly. I just want to be out there, you know. We can talk and talk about white people being white— it’s like, what was the point of you going out there? You know, just to save face. That's pretty much what it is, you know? Because I'm not going up. You know, like, for obvious reasons. I know what the hell is going to happen at night. It's not the eternal at nighttime. You know I'm saying, it's nothing literally gonna be peaceful about both. It turns out to be peaceful until corrupted ass cops and all these other people show up. We know what's happening.
Bréana: Like all the ones in Oakland that happened after Breonna Taylor's verdict, my friends were like, let’s go. And I'm like, you do realize I'm like Black, and I can't be out there super late because people get arrested. Also, my family's going to be like, where am I at?
Adrian: Right. Right. You did what you needed to do. Stay up at home.
“Like you see a lot of these uprisings happening right now. You see a lot of white bodies out there taking photographs and people from all over the damn place, Europe and Philadelphia and all these places, and they come into Oakland, like, why are you here? Are you looking to get a Nobel peace prize? Are you trying to get that photo when these people are literally hurting?”
Bréana: I guess going off of that, how do you make genuine work in an age of like social media, where everyone kind of acts performative.
Adrian: Yeah, social media, it's pretty hard. At those times where you might have it, you don't want to be really on there. I don't typically get caught up in what everybody else is doing. Because everybody is doing something. Like, as long as everybody is making work and making money and making a success story for themselves. That's their success story. I don't want to live under it, put myself in a position of “damn that should have been me.” Because you know, my time will come or the type of photographer and person that I am and work that I create. And so for me, it's just kind of like keeping a balance, just kind of having to keep up with it, it's all about balance. It's also about like, basically, I don't know, having that circle of people, where you can just kind of like lean on, you don't have to go to everybody, you know, I'm saying have that. Two or three people that you trust, where you can talk to him about work and just keep pushing because there's got to be somebody there that does something that you wish you could have done all the damn time. But just you have to trust and know like, it's going to come to you. Like it will.
Bréana: I know you talked about how you didn't attend an art school. So what did your education look like? And is there anything you wish differently about your experience?
Adrian: Yeah. So I studied sociology and photography, I graduated in 2012. So I'm 32 what are you 22?
Bréana: I'm 23.
Adrian: 23? So yeah, so I got, what, nine years on you. Which doesn't mean anything. I know folks that are super younger than me that have photographed Beyoncé, y’know what I’m saying, so it's just like, whatever. I learned. I feel like it was a good time for me, because I worked in a dark room a lot. And I was like, always into film photography. So, I kind of liked learning to experience that, like where my heart was at. I also studied Women's and Gender Studies. I was really getting to the best of all these worlds of my favorite things. Women, Black women, I just kind of like being part of this whole Gender Studies class, so not really ignorant towards you know, when it comes down to gender, Iike sex and all this type of stuff, y’know, language barriers. Sociology, study of people, y’know, study of social issues. And then photography. So it all worked out for me. What would I have done differently? I don't think I would have done anything different. Because I feel like the alignment with what I'm doing now, I serve for the people I’m around. It just kind of worked itself out. You know?
I mean, the experience of going to HBCU sounds fun, always, because you see so many Black people, y’know, so I always wonder what it would have been like to go to Howard. But I didn't go to Howard, y’know. I do have friends that went to Howard. And I am super close with them. And so I think that's where we differ, you know, you just went to a different school, you had this different experience, and I have mine. I wouldn't necessarily trade what I did for anything. What I would want to change was learning and sticking with a second language. That's what I would change, straight up and down. That's one thing I wish I would have done, paid attention to Spanish class!
From “We Matter” by Adrian Octavius Walker
Bréana: We somewhat touched on this one, when you were talking about your Ferguson book. But do you consider yourself an activist?
Adrian: No, I don't know, I'm not against that term. But no I don't. I don't think like calling myself an activist is the way to do it. I never said that. I was so whatever. Like activism—it's like, not just doing one particular style of work. It's just kind of like being 100% in and that's not what I meant. I'm not 100% into it. Just mostly like voicing my opinion, right?
Bréana: I definitely feel that. My family, they were like, you're an activist, even though you don't want to call it that. I was like not really, I'm just making work that addresses social issues and identity.
Bréana: What stories would you like to see covered in the media?
Adrian: More success stories with Black people versus trying to bring people down. More stories of Black women makers, Black women entrepreneurs, Black women in general. Black women never get the pat on the back that you all need. Seeing folk doing the work. They're out there, including myself, and I've thrown photo shows of just Black women, twice, in St. Louis and Oakland. There's the Instagram @Blackwomenphotographers there’s @seeblackwomxn. I want to see more than that energy.
Bréana: In what way are you reimagining institutions and how do you think your work relates to this?
Adrian: institutions need to listen to us versus you having to listen to them. It's almost like, let's figure out what the students want to learn versus what you're teaching. And then we'll kind of pick up from there. I don't know how long that will take but it's possible. I feel like there needs to be some type of restructure when it comes down to the typical college classroom. And I do see that, because people are literally creating their majors. So, I wish that I would have done something like that. At the time I was in school, you know, I'm saying that was like many years ago. I feel like folks these days, like you all, have like the experience just seeing things shaking, really, really fast. You know, you all definitely have like, what it takes to really change the game.