Wifredo Lam

"I thought back to Europe being invaded by the Nazi army with great sadness … For me, seeing Europe had been everything. When I came back to Cuba, I was taken aback by its nature, by the traditions of the Blacks, and by the transculturation of its African and Catholic religions. And so I began to orientate my paintings toward the African."

"In the 1950s we were all hungry for travel and new experiences. There was something in the air: the end of World War Two was still fresh in our minds and everyone needed to find an opening up, a way to discover other countries."

"I wanted with all my heart to paint the drama of my country but by thoroughly expressing the Negro spirit, the beauty of the [visual] art of the blacks."

"It was like some sort of hell…For me, trafficking in the dignity of a people is just that: hell. I refused to paint cha-cha-cha."

"I grew up with Wifredo Lam. Not in a metaphorical sense, but literally: my father, an art collector with a taste for the unusual, owned an “Untitled” Lam that hung in our living room like a gateway to another universe. It was a dense, horned, animal-headed figure—half human, half orisha, half nightmare. I spent several years trying to understand it. … As I walked through MoMA’s halls, I found myself back in my childhood living room, gazing at that “Untitled” painting and contemplating its message. I now believe it was whispering the same message Lam conveyed to the colonizers: You cannot own what you cannot see."