By Theresa Rézeau

He looks directly at us.

His hair rises into the unmistakable silhouette that became part of his public image. Black paint surrounds a face crossed by red, orange, yellow and white. Lines interrupt the features without destroying them. The eyes remain clear.

This is Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960–1988), painted by Johnny Blanco.

It is not a work by Basquiat, and it should not be mistaken for one. Yet the portrait offers an important place to begin because before the crowns, auction records, retrospectives and mythology, there was a person whose life lasted only twenty-seven years.

We like stories about dreams coming true. Basquiat’s story makes that language more complicated.

Born in Brooklyn on 22 December 1960 to a Haitian father and a Puerto Rican mother, Basquiat grew up speaking English, Spanish and French. His mother encouraged his interest in art and took him to museums. 

The essay continues in the Membership Archive, where Basquiat’s rise becomes a reflection on ambition, sacrifice and the price of being seen.