A ROLLING CONVERSATION WITH STEVE PRINCE: THE EXHIBITION AT MIDTOWN ROW
Matney Gallery is honored to present A Rolling Conversation With Steve Prince, an in-depth exploration of the life, practice, and philosophy of one of the most compelling cultural voices in contemporary American art. Prince, a native of New Orleans and currently the Director of Engagement and Distinguished Artist in Residence at the Muscarelle Museum of Art at William & Mary, has long stood at the intersection of social justice, spirituality, and community through his dynamic visual language.
A master printmaker, sculptor, and educator, Prince’s work is rooted in the visual and sonic traditions of the Black South, particularly the transformative ethos of the New Orleans Jazz Funeral. His imagery—layered, symbolic, and spiritually charged—speaks to collective struggle, resilience, and redemption. Through woodcuts, drawings, performances, and participatory installations, Prince has consistently bridged the gap between fine art and public engagement, often turning viewers into co-creators.
This conversation—rolling in spirit and movement—dives into the rhythms that shape Prince’s work: the cadence of faith, the improvisation of jazz, the echoes of history. In sharing this dialogue, Matney Gallery offers audiences a window into the artist’s process, his commitment to healing and dialogue, and his belief in the power of art to transform both individual and community.
We invite museum professionals, collectors, and fellow artists to consider not only Prince’s formidable artistic accomplishments but also his role as a cultural connector—whose work transcends the studio to activate spaces of listening, making, and shared transformation.
Ezra:Reparations Groove, Linoleum Cut, 24 x 36 in
STEVE PRINCE DISCUSSES HIS WORK ON EXHIBIT AT MIDTOWN ROW
Lee Matney: Discuss your work in our current exhibition at Midtown Row
Steve Prince: One of the pieces I have on display is called Ezra: Reparations Groove. It shows a couple sitting at a table, listening to jazz music. In the background, I’ve included references to different eras of music: I have Sidney Bechet, the Rebirth Jazz Band, Kermit Ruffins, and Ellis Marsalis. There’s also an image of a poster by John Scott titled Congo Square. John Scott was one of my professors during undergrad, and I have a deep connection to that piece. As a student, I helped assist with a professional edition of that poster: a company was hired to screen print it, and a few of us students were brought in to help number the prints while John Scott signed them. We then rolled them up and packed them into tubes.That piece was sold, and I still remember working on it as a student. So, Ezra Reparations Groove is also an homage to a man who was instrumental in my journey to becoming an artist. Within the image, I trace a historical line of jazz musicians who had a major impact not just on music, but also on the social fabric of New Orleans. The setting where the couple is listening to music is symbolic too: it's Preservation Hall, located on Bourbon Street, a space known for preserving musical history. In that way, the piece also speaks to the preservation of culture through both music and visual art. There's a kind of layered storytelling happening in the work.
Guard My Heart, Linoleum Cut, 18” x 24”, 2024
Guard My Heart is one of newest pieces . I created it while I was in residence at the University of Chicago’s Lab School — a pretty famous school, notably where Barack Obama’s daughters studied before he became president. The woman depicted in the piece has a scripture verse running down her body: “Peace, which surpasses all understanding.” The idea of “the Word made flesh” is something I was trying to communicate compositionally The piece also pays homage to some of the great African American artists who have influenced me over the years — artists people may or may not know. John Biggers, Charles White, Elizabeth Catlett, Charles Alston, and I would also add Lois Mailou Jones. These artists often exaggerated anatomy in their work, and I reference that tradition: in this piece, the woman’s hands are oversized. Of course, I understand correct proportion, but that's not the point — the hands are exaggerated to symbolize vessels of protection, nurturing, and knowledge. Enlarging the hands enlarges her praise. Her eyes are closed, suggesting a spiritual protection that envelops her body. The hands also reference the historical labor of hands: hands that worked the fields, raised children, chastised, fed mouths, created art, communicated, sang, lifted up, pushed down, fought, and protected. All of that is intentionally woven into the image.
On the Line, Linoleum Cut, 18” x 24”, 2024
Another recent piece of mine is called On the Line. It’s a simpler image, but it connects to the tradition of quilting — something I’ve long admired: the idea of creating something beautiful from discarded materials. In the piece, a woman is hanging a quilt out to dry. The quilt is composed of patches, each alluding to a different historical reference — each patch carrying its own story. The title On the Line plays on the literal and figurative meaning: the woman is putting her quilt on the line, but she's also putting her life, her survival, her protection of her family on the line. This piece is an homage to the extraordinary women in my life — my mother, my sisters, my wife, and so many others who have supported, challenged, lifted, and protected me. They’ve shown courage and strength, and exemplified the power to bring new life into the world — something I’ve witnessed firsthand, even if only from a supportive role. That awe for the life-giving power of women is a consistent thread in my work. It goes back to my graduate thesis, Images of the Invisible Woman: Definitions of Black Womanhood and the Struggle for Equality. Honoring women, particularly Black women, has been a throughline across my career.
The next piece is called Job: Take Me to the Water. This work is a nod to my upbringing in New Orleans. Behind the couple in the image, there’s an insignia marked with an X and various notations. At the top, it says "6/15" — June 15th. On the right side, it says "NA," meaning no animals were found inside. At the bottom, it reads "1DB" — one dead body. On the left, "CATF 8," indicating the team that inspected the building after Hurricane Katrina. After Katrina, teams marked structures this way to show whether living beings — animal or human — remained inside. I made this piece in response to the devastating loss I experienced after Hurricane Katrina — losing four aunts, an uncle, and later my mother. Although her passing wasn’t directly caused by Katrina, I believe her sorrow over the destruction of her beloved city hastened her death. If you look closely at the man sitting on the porch, you’ll notice a reference to Andrew Wyeth’s famous painting Gulfstream. In Gulfstream, a man sits alone in a boat surrounded by shark-infested waters after a storm. Though the tempest looms, he survives — and in the far distance, a ship appears, suggesting rescue. I invoke Gulfstream to symbolize survival against overwhelming odds. I titled the piece Job to allude to the biblical Job, who endured unimaginable losses — family, health, everything — yet never broke his faith. In the painting, the woman's legs cross in the shape of an X, her hands are clasped in prayer, and the man’s fingers gently pull at the strap of her dress — symbolizing the fragility of life (the thin red line of the bloodline) and the strength it takes to survive.Job: Take Me to the Water references both the literal floodwaters of Katrina and the spiritual waters of rebirth — the idea of baptism, of dying to the old self and being made new
Lee Matney: Thank you Steve, I appreciate your genorosity and commitment to the arts here in Williamsburg. Thank you for sharing your work and insights with our audience
Steve Prince: I truly appreciate these moments to come together with you, Lee. I appreciate what you're doing — not only collecting art for future generations but also building community around it. I see that as an extension of the kitchen table tradition — bringing people together across differences, amplifying diverse voices. I’m grateful that you find my voice meaningful in that effort, and I’m honored to share these stories with you and your audience.
STEVE PRINCE DISCUSSES “PEACE QUILT”
Mural Location: On the side of FedEx, 200 Monticello Ave, Williamsburg VA
The Virginia African American Cultural Center has brought this Steve Prince Mural to life in Williamsburg as part of statewide effort to raise awareness for black history.
This mural has been named “Peace Qult”.
Artist statement: “The mural features a woman quilting the history of our nation from the south to north, and east and west. The fragments and piece create a communal quilt that bespeak of the fragments that formulate all humankind from the past to the present. The woman is carrying the weight of the issues of our nation in her hands that stem from North to South, East to West on the quilt. She is the mother that washed the clothes, that birthed the children, that cooked the food, that tended to the sick, and protected the family by any means necessary. The colors of the mural amplifying the beauty of a patchwork quilt, deftly stitched together by generational hands. The woman is strong and sturdy and she has seen a lot in her journey. She sews with the hope that we will remember and find a way together to mend the broken places and promote healing for a true communal body.”
Steve Prince was assisted by artists Maria Emilia Borja, Lien Day, Alison Pariso, Antoine Prince Jr., Rosalind Wade, and Donald Wilson
The mural is brought to you by the Virginia African American Cultural Center, ViBe Creative, The City of Williamsburg’s Public Art Council, and Midtown Row.
INSTALLATION/ WORKS ON PAPER 2023/ AN INTRODUCTION TO STEVE PRINCE AT MATNEY GALLERY
Steve Prince
True Vine, 2020
Woodcut on paper
48 × 96 in | 121.9 × 243.8 cm
Hello, my name is Steve Prince and I'm a visual artist living here in Williamsburg, Virginia. And I primarily do drawing and printmaking as my media. The works that I've, I'm put into the show here at Lee Matney Gallery. It was, has been some of my, my relief work in terms of linoleum cuts and woodcuts. And it's a process that I started when I was in undergrad at a University of Louisiana. And then I continued on into grad school and I went to Michigan State, and it's one of the processes that I've done for the bulk of my career. And I chose it because of the, the, the meaning different possibilities in terms of the marks and mark making that you can make with the medium. But I also chose because I had the ability to make multiples I can send out and disseminate to multiple people.
My work at its core has, is very much fixated upon messages or stories. It's fixated on history and the ways in which I'm able to take the stories around me and encapsulate them within the work to not just make a social commentary, but also to begin to use the work as a means to speak about this human condition and basically point us in a direction where I think that we can collectively go beyond the constraints of stereotypes of the ways in which these constructions of black and whiteness has been made and the damaging affects upon in terms of just the repercussions of slavery and, and what this has done to our, not only our nation, but what what has it done to our planet. So my work is very much fixated upon speaking about those past ills but also pointed us towards a more collective and more unified body.
Steve Prince
Sow, 2020
Linoleum cut
84 × 36 in | 213.4 × 91.4 cm
Edition of 1 + 1AP.
Steve Prince, Hallelujah Anyhow, 2021, Linoleum, 36 × 24 in | 91.4 × 61 cm, Edition of 40.
So I think about this idea of the kitchen table often, and I think about the privacy of that in terms of people's homes and in what takes place there. It is a space that is necessary in terms of our everyday growth because we need food to live by, but it's also a site where stories are shared, where history is shared, stories that shape us stories that inspire us, stories that many times may make us angry, but but ultimately it's a space where we, we really live down our hair, where we really are speaking from a casual tone and is not one, is so fixated upon this kind of constructed narrative voice that we purport to the world. So I'm really pushing forward, how can we create more spaces of authenticity where we can share and and then really look at each other through the lens of being a family and being one communal body.
The piece, True Vine that I put into the exhibition it was an image that I created when I was in residence at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. And I was there during the pandemic, and it was a really, you know, beautiful time, but also a very challenging time before our, for our nation, for our world. And so I was on the campus, they put me up in a trustee house by myself, and I would walk across campus about two blocks away, and I would carve at this piece, and I did it in about a week. And so I laid it on top of a table and I'd just be in the carve at this piece, you know, every day for about three days. And then the porn completion of it you know, the art department, you know, printed the piece and printed a small edition off of the block.
But one of the things that I did before I got there, you know, I did my research about the community and one thing I looked at was checking out the black community that was there, and I wanted to learn more about it. And there was a street called Vine Street that was in the community. And Vine Street was a site where it was like the black mecca, you know, it was where the barbershop, the beauty salon the convenience store, the movie theater you know, all those different things that are, that make up the community that everyone goes to, the tributaries to. And so that was at, that was the main strip in that particular community. And I think about communities all across the country. There is these main spaces where it may be the black community or the Latino community, or the Italian community, and they attend the cluster there.
And and then they kind of, they kind of create a world within the world. And so that's one of the things that I researched about the aerial. And so I began, I wanted to create a piece that paid homage to that, but also look back that looked at the present, but also looked forward. And if you interrogate that piece, you'll note that on, on the right hand side there's a Vine Street sign. And right below it you'll see a series of musicians that were playing a song back in the 1940s, I believe. And it was called Vine Street Rag, also known as Vine Street Drag. And those musicians are playing, and one of the musicians has a one of those tub basins that you will watch clothes in, and he has a pole from the bottom and he's playing a bass, and the musicians are playing ILO Jam, and you can find the song I am referencing.
And I thought about the foundations of hip hop. And hip hop has taken those songs from the past and recycling and making them into the present. So they're taking the old and made it new. And so I have this guy on the wheels of steel, and he's mixing. He has a creative albums down beneath the table, but beneath the crate, I also have the floorboards in the room. And they have bodies on the tops of those floorboards alluding to the transplanting slavery. One of those boards is lifting up and it's lifting up in such a way that is, it's meandering of like a spirit and has a spirit of love of heart on its body. And it's wrapping around and it's conspicuously creating the shine of a cross on the pole. And there's a little feather, not a feather, but a little leaf that's stemming out the side of the body.
And that leaf is alluding to the idea that it's the true vine. And if you think about Christ's first miracle, it was his miracle of turning water into wine. He was the true vine, and that his blood was, the, was, was the, was the answer to the, the, the spiritual answer that cracked open the, the whole foundation of Christianity. And so in that image, as I move, as you move through it, you also see there's a couple dancing back and forth, and it embodies I moving in such a way. It's like a calm response. It's a very sensual dance that they're doing between them. As you see the woman's bodies pushing forward, the male's body's pushing back and he's gonna recall and come back at her again, and you'll see her, you know, her leg is kicked out and his legs are kicked out, and they're kind of intertwined as if they're kind of almost making a pretzel like configuration.
If you look at his hand in his right hand, that's casting behind him, he has a handkerchief in it and is alluding to my upbringing in New Orleans. When you see the white handkerchief, the white handkerchief has a symbol of the Holy Spirit. And the way it happens is, is that in the black community it got expensive for them to have doves released at their funerals. And typically they're released three doves and one will represent the God, the follow. So in the Holy Spirit at weddings, they'll release one dove because it was symbolic of the two becoming one. And so that idea, like I say, got expensive, so it got translated into a white handkerchief. So you see them dancing with the white handkerchief and wheeling them around. That white handkerchief, in essence is a dove and it's embodied within them in their movement.
And so if you look at the very edge of that handkerchief in his hand, it actually, I made it look like a bird beak or bird's head off the edge of the handkerchief. And then if you keep moving behind them to the left, you'll see a couples dancing and a two people dancing represent again, the bodies as protests as you see signs coming emanate from their hands. And their movement is about resistance to conformity, resistance to those kinds of construction. And it's this idea that our bodies resist conformity. And the way in which we move goes against these constructions that try to put us within the box and beneath their feet, you'll see that there's an arc of a globe. On the right side is a continent of Africa. Moving to the left is North America and South America and the Caribbean is on top of the globe in which you're dancing on.
And so I'm just speaking again of the global effects of that vine street, the global effects of that true vine, the global effects of that v and connectedness. And if you look very carefully, you'll note that every single thing inside the composition is touching the next thing. It's all connected. And that, again, speaks of that true vine and the interwoven or interwoven nature of the composition that I was trying to put across to my viewers. So it's again, what my, what I'm trying to do is I'm trying to tell these stories. I'm trying to tell a story that's specific, but yet universal specific in terms. It speaks a lot about my upbringing, but it also speaks of way in which we all have been raised and that we all can find some space, some wrinkle, some facet that ties to our lives, that connects us. It doesn't matter who you are because we all live in this human experience.
STEVE PRINCE DISCUSSES “PEACE QUILT”
Mural Location: On the side of FedEx, 200 Monticello Ave, Williamsburg VA
The Virginia African American Cultural Center has brought this Steve Prince Mural to life in Williamsburg as part of statewide effort to raise awareness for black history.
This mural has been named “Peace Qult”.
Artist statement: “The mural features a woman quilting the history of our nation from the south to north, and east and west. The fragments and piece create a communal quilt that bespeak of the fragments that formulate all humankind from the past to the present. The woman is carrying the weight of the issues of our nation in her hands that stem from North to South, East to West on the quilt. She is the mother that washed the clothes, that birthed the children, that cooked the food, that tended to the sick, and protected the family by any means necessary. The colors of the mural amplifying the beauty of a patchwork quilt, deftly stitched together by generational hands. The woman is strong and sturdy and she has seen a lot in her journey. She sews with the hope that we will remember and find a way together to mend the broken places and promote healing for a true communal body.”
Steve Prince was assisted by artists Maria Emilia Borja, Lien Day, Alison Pariso, Antoine Prince Jr., Rosalind Wade, and Donald Wilson
The mural is brought to you by the Virginia African American Cultural Center, ViBe Creative, The City of Williamsburg’s Public Art Council, and Midtown Row.
