Wrong Is Not My Name: Notes on (Black) Art

by Erica N. Cardwell

A dazzling hybrid of personal memoir and criticism, considering the work of Black visual artists as a means to explore loss, legacy, and the reclamation of life through art. At the age of twenty-one, Erica Cardwell finds herself in New York City, reeling from the loss of her mother and numb to the world around her. She turns inward instead, reading books and composing poetry, eventually falling into the work of artists such as Blondell Cummings, Lorna Simpson, Lorraine O’Grady, and Kara Walker. Through them, she communes with her mother’s spirit and legacy, and finds new ways to interrogate her writing and identity. Wrong Is Not My Name  weaves together autobiography, criticism, and theory, and considers how Black women create alternative, queer, and “hysterical” lives through visual culture and performance. In poetic, interdisciplinary essays—combining analytical and lyrical stream-of-consciousness—Cardwell examines archetypes such as the lascivious Jezebel, the caretaking Mammy, and the elusive Sapphire to formulate new and inventive ways to write about art. Pioneering and inquisitive,  Wrong Is Not My Name  celebrates Black womanhood, and illuminates the ways in which art and storytelling reside at the core of being human.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Art, Writing

224 pages, Paperback

Published March 12, 2024

Reviews

[Robin · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a lot that Cardwell does in this that I don't think I have the words to summarize properly but I will say her voice is so clear and I'm glad that I had the opportunity to witness it. The portion on Kara Walker was especially well approached, which amazes me, because I can't even begin to summarize the visceral reaction I have whenever I see some of her work.

Thank you to Edelweiss and The Feminist Press for the ARC. I look forward to buying it on release and gifting it to a number of people in my inner circle.

[Annaya · Rating 5 out of 5]

After reading this, run don't walk to watch The African Desperate

[Mel King · Rating 5 out of 5]

An astonishing debut! Cardwell balances the personal, political, and criticism with deep feeling without ever veering into sentimentality. At times, it feels like dishing over a delicious meal in the kitchen. At other points, it's like listening to your smartest friend explain their favorite literary, cinematic, and artistic works. Reading Cardwell's mind at work on the page is a privilege. I cannot wait to watch the career of this brilliant writer!

[Steffany .O (coffee over apples) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to feminist press for an arc in exchange for a review! This was my first 5 star read of 2024.

There is an interesting, almost liminal space, when creating or critiquing from within a diaspora. A sense of consistent searching, awareness of the space one takes up and knowing that one body is not a monolith. Cardwell captures this in her exploration of self after the loss of her mother in the 2003-2021 art world of the east coast with NYC at the center. A sense of grief and imposter syndrome follow Cardwell through this memoir as she unpacks her identity around black woman hood and queer acceptance. All the while asking the narrative framing question of "Was my mother an artist?"

This question stems from discussions around the politics of blackness in the white institution. Cardwell draws from examples of artists and writers such as Mark Bradford, Carrie Mae Weems, Kara Walker, and Blondell Cummings; each artist calling to material of the black/brown body in varying amounts of shock and awe. Cardwell describes moving through a social climate that is transitioning from "is everything art?" to "is all art political?"

At the center of this, Cardwell describes being in a black queer body which simultaneously is used for capital gain by larger institutions to express a wokeness that finds its limitations at preservation of the individual and protection of the artist's integrity- especially when bodies of color are deemed most palatable when expressing rage, vulnerability or displaying exceptionalism [ The scene where Cardwell is publicly pressured to sing Whitney Houston and experienced an amalgamation of feelings when not fitting the white Gaze expectation of musical prowess made my blood boil.]

Cardwell clearly describes the issue with the 21st century educational climate: Everyone wants to show work and talk about people of color- few want to hire one. The relinquishing of power and trust that comes with investing in the POC experience without holding an expectation of immediate external validation [i.e Look at all these black children we helped complete a huge project or get a major award (all the while ignoring the importance of the singular experience/exploration of art)] is evident in the low number of POC professors, educators, art directors and other influential positions of power. Bodies of color can speak to the experience and actively address concerns of working under white institutions by making change from within, when given the chance to do so. Cardwell lays herself bare to the reader with personal anecdotes that speak to the importance of LISTENING to black artists more so than simply asking for their experiences to be spoon-fed through their work. This poignant yet small book left me feeling hopeful and emotional. I will be screaming about it to everyone I know.

[Jacqueline Nyathi · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don’t know if I should read this again at some point in the future, because so much of it felt like it went over my head. I got quite lost in Cardwell’s style, which tends toward the lyric essay. Many of the pieces in here feel like she’s writing to herself, including the ekphrastic ones—which, fair enough, but I didn’t feel like I was being carried along. Other readers may make better mileage with it.

There’s of course lots of profundity in the subjects Cardwell brings up: death, grief, queerness, her relationship with her father, the work of art in her life and Black life, and so much more. That’s the stuff I’m left thinking about, and that I’ll keep referring to (I made notes).

Thanks to Feminist Press and Edelweiss for DRC access.

[Tash Nikol · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cardwell’s section on Women’s Work by Maren Hassinger hit me hard. The way she moves through the performance piece mirrors her own process of “thinking on the page,” where writing about the work becomes an awakening in itself—a knowing. She ties this to a moment from her childhood, crying out in church, not as some clichéd queer self-awareness but as something deeper: the body demanding to be heard. That raw need to release, to express, to let something rupture before it turns into pain, into illness, into something we can’t control. The way she frames that moment is still lingering on me.

[Megan · Rating 5 out of 5]

A tremendous debut - full of wisdom and feeling and elegantly cerebral prose that made me slow down and think and reflect. These are linked essays about grief and New York and family; about Blackness and art; about queerness and love. But the book is more than a collection - it's cohesive and entirely itself. I especially loved reading about Erica's formation as an art critic. I've never read a book quite like this and I know I'll be studying it for years to come.

[Jenina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Words spooled knowingly; restored my belief that language can be wholly sufficient

[Teddy Sandler · Rating 4 out of 5]

Less criticism and more self descriptive awareness that empower a certain type and kind of art that Cardwell is primed and eager to engage with. Referential that is specific and affectively relevant

[Jeff · Rating 2 out of 5]

'I consider my writing to take on a mélange of an identity. Words like ''scattered'' or ''all over the place'' are an easy description, and ''hard to follow,'' which is slapped onto Black abstraction.' - Erica N. Cardwell

[Bee · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 stars. Erica Cardwell weaves memoir with art criticism in a philosophic, meandering fashion that questions art criticism to its core. Through Black artists including Gabrielle Civil, Blondell Cummings, Adebunmi Gbadebo, and Kara Walker, Cardwell sifts through her own memories and musings on Black queerness, womanhood, and life.

Framed by the passing of her mother, Cardwell's narratives explore the ever-changing landscape of grief and how it affects her views of art. Her criticism brings the art closer to the viewer, the receiver, the interactor. Every word is like a calming drop of water, thoughtfully chosen and lyrically structured to bring about peaceful, philosophical reflections.

This is a beautiful volume of thoughtful observations and reflections. Cardwell's gift for writing is apparent from the first page and deftly carries the reader through visuals of multimedia exhibits so vividly, I cannot remember which I have already seen photos of and which I have not.

Disclaimer: Thank you to the Feminist Press for an ARC in exchange for my honest review.