Roy Ferdinand died of cancer at age 45 on December 3, 2004. Virtually broke, he had spent the last two years of his life alone in an apartment, trying to escape the culture of crime, drugs and alcohol that plagued the black community of New Orleans. Paradoxically, it was the raging subculture of gangs and guns that aroused his artistic instincts and got depicted brilliantly in his work.
“Death was a continuing fascination for Roy and a major theme in his art,” explained Andy P Antippas, owner of Barrister’s Gallery in New Orleans, and Roy’s long-time supporter. “Much of his work has a gothic sensibility and this may have become more prevalent after his first brush with cancer (in 1998).”
A prolific artist who graphically documented the tragic, treacherous yet colourful character of New Orleans’s neighbourhoods, Roy never had the luxury of a personal studio.
He made thousands of drawings and paintings on poster boards using simple material such as pens, coloured pencils, ink markers, and small sets of children’s watercolours. His limited palette and minimalist style never came in the way of depicting the moods, pathos and spirit of his subjects: be they the street kids, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes and other victimised men and women often seen amidst abandoned buildings and fearsome alleys of his crime-ridden city.
As gritty and tough snapshots of his time, Roy’s images reflected the events he personally witnessed and/or took part in. He also used elements from disparate media (including local newspapers), cultures and histories, to creatively piece together compositions which were at once stark, realistic and incredible.
Critics have observed that Roy’s dark subject matter evoking themes of power, sex, cruelty and politics brought to mind the paintings of Francisco Goya (1746 – 1828) and Hieronymus Bosch (1450 – 1516). Some even nicknamed him as the ‘Goya of the ghetto’ for his utterly honest depictions of inner-city decay. While much of his work dealt with the harsher elements of life, Roy also painted the gentler side of the city, adding bits of humour and satire from time to time. Graffiti was a recurrent motif in his work; walls and fences are seen covered with signs and symbols of a spiteful underworld.
“Much of Ferdinand’s work has a noir-ish or even Gothic sensibility, often seeming to involve his own search for monsters, both within and without,” observes Bill Sasser, freelance journalist and independent scholar in New Orleans. “An obsessive fan of science fiction and horror films, he uses horror as a metaphor in some imaginative pieces... The drawings he left behind stand as a singular vision, a body of work that turns the mean streets of New Orleans into art, by turns sweet, sardonic, tragic, bizarre and horrific.”
Dreams & ambitions
Roy’s interest in art began early in life. While in high school, he would spend most of his time drawing comic strips in his spiral notebooks, and flunking all his art classes. After he dropped out of school, he allegedly spent several years with a street gang, before joining the Army for a while. He later on took a variety of jobs — as a morgue assistant, a sign painter, and as a guide for a voodoo walking tour. His career as an artist began only in the late 1980s.
“When I was maybe 15 years or so younger, I had a great many ambitions and dreams,” he recalled in his sketchbook. “How I came to lose many of them is my own fault. In some instances the blame went to others. One or two were people I truly trusted. I can make no claims to being a writer even though that was one of those ambitions that I aspired to; mostly science fiction and horror which as a child were my favourites.”
While Roy recognised himself as a battlefield sketch artist, his sister Powell feels that as an intelligent guy he could have made a successful career in any field, had he so desired. “Roy could have been book-smart if he wanted, but chose not to — he was street-smart instead,” says Powell. “When he dropped out of high school and took the tests to join the Army, he scored so high they thought he cheated and retested him twice. Roy was a genius. Since he’s died, we’ve found out so much about him that we didn’t know.”
Roy was known to have a strikingly contradictory personality; he could be funny and charming in one moment, and fiercely demanding and self-destructive in another. He left an indelible impression on those who knew him; and his circle of friends extended beyond New Orleans.
Outlaw image
Bob Roth, erstwhile publisher of the Chicago Reader, and co-founder of Intuit, the non-profit gallery dedicated to outsider art, was one of his avid collectors. “I like Roy’s work immensely, but can’t precisely tell you why,” he once revealed. “His subject matter is morally askew, and what often makes his style so powerful is that it’s also off-kilter... He was something of a legend in his own mind and created this outlaw image for himself — proud to be a scoundrel — which, of course, has a long tradition in New Orleans.”
Martina Batan, former director of Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York, was another great admirer of Roy’s art. She not only collected his paintings meticulously, but also dreamt of documenting his work and creating an archive of written material on him. Sadly, Batan is now in a rehabilitation facility, having suffered a stroke.
American filmmaker David Shapiro’s evocative documentary Missing People (which was shown at the recently concluded Mumbai Film Festival) traces sections of Batan’s incredible life journey. Himself a practising visual artist, Shapiro spent four years shooting with celebrated cinematographer Lisa Rinzler to make the film. The compelling narrative of the 79-minute documentary not only highlights the work of Roy Ferdinand (as seen through Batan’s collection), but also deals with a host of other issues such as love, loss, memory, regret and nostalgia.