The Art of Scandal(100)
Thomas invited me to draw my own conclusions about her work, so here are a few reflections: The collection is stunning. And offensive. And uncomfortable. And heartbreaking. It’s confronting in the ways that good art should be. They’re primarily black-and-white pieces of an unfiltered life that she’s kept private until now. A large self-portrait of a sixteen-year-old Thomas, heavily pregnant in a messy, adolescent bedroom greets the patrons when they walk through the doors. Her affection for cigars is prominently on display in photos of her college years. Unedited photographs in both suffocating shapewear and lacy lingerie are framed and displayed next to collages of nude models in borderline pornographic positions. This isn’t the polished figure that frustrated the paparazzi with her inhuman ability to hide the smallest blemish from their cameras. This is the timeline of a life. It’s a conversation about the burden we place on the sexuality of Black women. It forces us to see Thomas, and her other subjects, as authors of their own narrative, rather than objects for lust or ridicule.
My second takeaway is that while Thomas may shy away from discussing her marriage, her affair with Nathan Vasquez, the son of recently deceased billionaire Beto Vasquez, is openly referenced in her work. In one of the few pieces that has been rendered in bright, saturated color, Thomas has created a dizzying spiral of newspaper clippings about the gala and photographs of Vasquez’s work, including the nude portrait that sparked her divorce. Up close, the piece is easy to dismiss as a chaotic collection of provocative news headlines and overexposed photos. But step back far enough, and you’ll see that the oversaturated yellows, red, and oranges are arranged into a shape and pattern mimicking sun stars. The piece is called Photosynthesis, a love letter amid a swirl of scandal that requires a change of perspective to truly comprehend.
As a journalist, I felt compelled to ask the questions that are on everyone’s mind. Yes, she has been approached by publishers about selling her story, but no, she isn’t interested in doing so. According to industry sources, the offers have been substantial. But whether Thomas is taking the high road or has signed an NDA along with her divorce settlement is, again, open for interpretation. One thing she will say is that she’s ready to move on from her public life as an Abbott. Just don’t call this a second act. “I’m not onstage anymore,” she says definitively. As with art, I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.
COMMENTS:
@peepmyfishnets: Ew. SLUT.
@tokenblackknight REPLY TO: @peepmyfishnets: That’s not how you spell QUEEN. Stay mad bitch.
Rachel had laughed when Faith suggested creating a velvet-roped VIP section for the opening. Now, with a line wrapped around the building, she was grateful for her daughter’s foresight. There were no velvet ropes, but Rachel did exclude a few feet of space from the exhibit. She stood near Faith with enough room to move her arms comfortably, which was more than she could say for everyone else.
“So, obviously I have questions,” Faith said as she examined the Fast Girls collage. “Lots of questions.”
“I’m happy to answer all of them,” Rachel said, but paused, remembering that first wild night of the photoshoot, before she had forbidden the models from pregaming before a session. “Well, most of them.” Faith gave her a sharp look, and Rachel shrugged. “Some things you don’t want to know, sweetie.”
“There she is!” Kat’s squeal was loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of a hundred voices. She tugged Niles through the swarm of bodies with surprising ease for someone so small. Her daughter was swaddled against her chest with the wrap Rachel had given her. “Oh my god! Look at this. Look!” She waved her hand at the crowd. “Are you charging an entrance fee?”
“No,” Faith said, with clear disapproval. “Mom has this thing about being accessible to the masses.”
Niles chuckled. “I think we’ve all had plenty of access already.”
Kat slapped his arm. “Stop.”
“I’m just playing.” Niles rubbed his bicep, and grinned at Rachel. “You know I’m joking, right? Nathan’s portrait was fire. All of this…” He pointed to a photograph of Rachel, sitting on a classic Mustang at the beach. “Is amazing. Really beautiful. I’m proud of you.”
Rachel’s lingering doubts about the show faded. Maybe it was arrogant to center herself, but it was also her truth. It was shouting down her shame, loud enough so that anyone with a similar story could hear.
“Soooo,” Kat purred, sidling up to Rachel. “Would you be willing to do our Christmas card this year? I want something glamorous but authentic. Like disco Diana Ross meets Black Is King.”
Niles looked skeptical. “So is the baby Simba or Blue Ivy?”
“Mom doesn’t do domestic photo shoots.” Faith hitched her chin, and said, “Now that she’s a famous artiste.” Rachel nudged her daughter’s side, and Faith giggled.
“I think I can make an exception.” Rachel looked at Niles. “For family.” His answering smile warmed her insides. For years, family was the burden of deserving the Abbott name. Now, it was blood. It was the comfort of her father’s eyes mirrored in the open admiration on Niles’s face.
“Speaking of family.” Niles scanned the crowd. “Where’s Mom and Mia?”