Jessica C. Neal I (Jes) is a Black, queer, millennial archivist, memory worker and writer from Mobile, Alabama. In addition to rendering the history of communities within the African Diaspora, Jes is passionate about documenting student and community-led action toward social justice, organising, and protest. She currently resides in Williamstown, Massachusetts, where she cares for the Sterling A. Brown Collection and maintains a cosy home place dedicated to Black aesthetics and culture. In this interview, she shares her journey into art collection, highlights her most beloved objects, and relays her thoughts on Black cultural production.

Jessica C. Neal: NDSA

How did you begin collecting Black art?

I always enjoyed museums, and I wanted my home to feel like a museum. I remember my first job where I had a little money. I bought a Stanley Clarke piece in New Orleans. The way it felt to own something that a Black person created to put out into the world…I just wanted to continue to recreate that feeling for myself. Plus, it has always been an ambition of mine to support Black cultural production.

Why do you think it’s important to own Black art?

I think it’s important for Black people to own Black art. Black Art, in my opinion, doesn’t get the space it deserves because museum spaces are often so marginalising. By having Black art in your home, you can make that space while also inviting folks to be curious about Black artistic possibility. I’m fortunate to be in a space to have more flexibility to invest in art. I look for pieces that really stir me, that are timeless.

What does it mean to be “stirred” by a piece of art?

Things that stir me inspire thought and make me feel something physically. There are certain pieces in my house that I had that connection with like “Persian Nights” by CrwnLeak. I saw this piece on Instagram. When I first encountered it, the figurations captured me before the colour, which is unusual. I’m usually more compelled by colour.

Tell me more about the red portrait. 

This is a painting by Naderson Saint-Pierre called “Le Marron”. It represents a statue of ‘the unknown maroon’ created by Albert Mangonès which is currently located in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. It’s a symbol of Black liberation. The unknown maroon may or may not have been a part of the Haitian Revolution. When I saw it online, I was really attracted to the textures. I like to observe brushstrokes, the process that goes into its making. I also like the intention behind the colour, as well as the distorted face; that could be any Black man. I like that it’s unknown. I was drawn to that. Overall, this painting stands for revolution. Having this painting in my home is important because that’s what I’m about: the revolution.

What is revolution to you? 

Being in my body in a white space, which I occupy daily, outside of my home, is a revolutionary act in and of itself. I don’t want to call myself a revolutionary. I’m cautious and respectful of that term. However, being a Black Woman is revolutionary. That might be simplistic, but when I think about what being a Black Woman entails, one has no choice but to be righteous, upstanding, brave. The way I show up in the world, the way I care for my family and my friends. The way I love myself.

 How did you become an archivist?

Until college, I didn’t know about the archivist. I don’t think that’s something young, Black kids grow up believing they’ll become. Librarian? Sure. But archivist? No. I was completing my senior thesis at the illustrious Dillard University (haha!), and the university archivist, Michael Campbell, told me:

“I think you would be a really good archivist. You’re a good researcher. You’re intellectual. You could still teach if you wanted to, but you could also be a part of something that is bigger than yourself, which means preserving these historical documents on behalf of Black people, Black culture and Black heritage.”

That’s something I had never thought about.

Why is your work with the Sterling A. Brown collection, and generally as an archivist, important?

Archiving work is important to me because I can help people who have been historically marginalised and who come from minority communities gain a sense of autonomy over their histories and their legacies.

Too often, predominantly white institutions silence these stories.

Sterling A. Brown would’ve been highly upset if someone Black didn’t organise his collection. I think about my identities – Black, Woman, Queer – and how our philosophies and ideologies mostly align. Spiritually, I am uniquely positioned to do this work.

Now, your book collection. How did these books become the centerpiece?

I appreciate the work that Deborah Willis has done as a Black Woman in the art industry. She’s a pioneer. She was one of the few Black Women accepted into a graduate-level photography programme during a time when that wasn’t common, which is groundbreaking. Through her leadership, she’s created many avenues of opportunity for Black people. She mentored Tyler Mitchell, the young dude who photographed Beyoncé. My personal favourite photograph by her is Self Portrait in Mirror.

How do you feel about the relationship between Black artists and these larger institutions, whether it be museums or Versace?

I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I wonder how we can pool resources and cut our attachment to these larger entities. We’re not there yet. Therefore, it’s a matter of partnering with who you need to partner with, as long as their ethics and morals are right, in order to create space for more people who look like you to do that same work.

I don’t know another way right now. On some revolutionary tip, let’s dip up out of this country and go to the African continent where we can afford to make these types of moves happen with people who look like us.

What is your legacy?

Still trying to figure that out. Ask me that in thirty years.

Written By: Akhir Ali (she/her) – a writer from Washington D.C. who writes fiction, personal essays, and queer erotica. Her work centers contradiction, disembodiment, natural environments, and intimacy. Check her out on Instagram

Header Image: Jessica’s apartment (used with permission).