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Basquiat Our Patron Saint

In 2011, we rented an apartment (not a condo; everyone wants to make it a condo) in New Orleans. On the walls lived Jean-Michel Basquiat. For a while, the building had been abandoned and inhabitants used the walls for murals. The developer who bought the dilapidated building leaned into the graffiti and made Basquiat our patron saint of the Rice Mill Loft.

On the first floor was Basquiat’s portrait. I did not know him before we moved into the loft. This was before 2017, when Basquiat’s work became the most expensive US-produced painting ever sold. $110.5 million. Back then, he was just Basquiat, our patron saint. Basquiat was 21 when he painted this record-breaking painting. He died at 27.

On our second floor in an empty lobby sat a collection of eccentric chairs. Basquiat’s work adorned a long wall, its meaning just as inexplicable as the chairs. The painting was full of the written word. Recently, I asked the boys what they remembered about the Rice Mill Loft. They remembered the chairs. I didn’t prod them on Basquiat.

Basquiat, the street artist who became the darling of the Sotheby’s set. He had something to say, and he said it exactly the way he wanted to.

A self-portrait (I think) of artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, our patron saint.
Basquiat, our patron saint

(The almost end of my Black History Month sharing of famous Black Americans who have intersected with my life.)

2025 Black History Month, Black History Month, Famous Black Americans, Jean-Michel Basquiat

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