Deborah Roberts wrote to Samaira Wilson about the social critique that underpins her practice.
On view until April 25, 2026, The FLAG Art Foundation presents Consequences of being, an exhibition of new work by Deborah Roberts. Composed of large paintings, works on paper, and a first-time-ever ceramic sculpture, the exhibition signals an expansion of Roberts’ practice and her concentration on the history of colonialism.
Roberts works within the space between a feeling and an image, where paint and disparate images come together to form layered narratives of Black identity. Drawing on the information embedded in an image, she employs collage to develop a visual language that reflects both personal and larger hegemonic histories. Roberts’ modus operandi is to balance beauty and horror, weaving together histories of resilience and trauma, while using the multiplicity and splintering of an image to construct and disrupt ideas of being. The paintings operate almost cinematically, with intersecting storylines as she constructs her subjects with imagery drawn from the social and economic worlds they must navigate, addressing how these worlds impact racial stereotyping and human agency. Grounded in research and dialogue, Roberts engages with histories of marginalization and dehumanization while affirming presence, interiority, and endurance.
With the hustle and bustle of everyday life, Roberts and I became pen pals. We wrote to each other about the exhibition and the impetus of her practice.
Samaira Wilson: When you’re approaching a new piece, do you begin with a feeling or an image?
Deborah Roberts: A feeling, or an item from the news.
SW: Does one lead you to another?
DR: Yes.
SW: What defining moment in your life led you to realise the capability of collage and develop a strategy to present your ideas?
DR: It was a CNN clip of Ron Artess fighting at an NBA game when a fan threw water in his face and he went into the stands. CNN played that at least 50 times over the course of a weekend. Sending this singular act across the world as an angry Black man out of control into a crowd of innocent white spectators. It fed into the stereotype of Black people.
SW: Your practice depicts the layered realities of black identity. How have children become a protagonist in your pursuit of that?
DR: The short answer is that children are where it first starts. It’s the talking too loudly, the inability to control themselves, the over-sexualising, the adultification, and so on, and so on. The longer version is that children are central to my work because they represent both innocence and possibility. They remind us that ideas about identity and difference begin forming very early. By placing children at the centre of these images, I’m asking viewers to consider how we see them.
SW: Could you speak to the power of the gaze?
DR: The gaze is very important in my work, very. Historically, images of Black people were often created without agency; they were observed, categorised, or objectified. By having the figures look directly at the viewer, I’m shifting that dynamic. The gaze becomes a way of reclaiming power. It asks the viewer to recognise the humanity of the subject and to understand that the person in the image is not simply there to be looked at, but is also looking back. That exchange creates a moment of accountability and reflection.
SW: Your love for patterns ranges from plaid, floral, stripes, tartan, quilted pleats. How do you process dressing the figure?
DR: I think it’s what I am feeling at the time. There is no rhyme or reason to it most of the time.
SW: What’s your ethos behind balancing beauty and horror?
DR: Beauty can invite you in, but the horror asks you to stay and think. I’m interested in that tension, how something visually compelling can also carry difficult histories and truths.
SW: In terms of using the multiplicity of images to construct / fracture ideas of being, how would you say, painting acts as an agent? How do they go hand in hand for you?
DR: Yes, it is an effective act, historically it has worked in the past during Dada when artists used collage or fracturing images to show a multitude of injustices. The act of collaging allows me to show that Blackness is not singular.
SW: I compare your work to the feeling of watching a film. You know, many images at once, intersecting storylines. And if a picture holds a thousand words, your paintings have hundreds of thousands. How do you wield all that information?
DR: Very carefully. It’s not my job to shame anyone, but it is my job to be honest about pain, about what has happened in the past, what is happening now, and how those things have hurt me and limited my ability to be seen as a full person in the world. So yes, I absolutely feel a responsibility to that.
SW: Dr. Philip Townsend, who is a curator / writer / professor at UT Austin, spoke fondly about your travels together to Berlin, and the many visits to archives you have together. How important is it to have an educator and an art historian by your side?
DR: Working closely with someone like Dr. Philip Townsend, who approaches the work as a scholar and curator at University of Texas at Austin, has been incredibly important for me. For the type of collages I make, engaging archives and historical material requires careful context. Properly placing the body, especially the Black body within those historical frameworks strengthens the work and deepens its meaning. Having a scholar’s perspective alongside the studio practice allows for a more rigorous conversation. Artists and historians often approach the same material differently, and that tension can be very productive. It pushes the work beyond intuition and into a broader intellectual and historical dialogue. In terms of nurturing each other’s practice, it really comes down to curiosity and exchange. When we travel to archives or museums, we’re constantly asking questions, challenging assumptions, and sharing discoveries. That kind of back-and-forth keeps the conversation alive and helps the work evolve in ways that might not happen in isolation.
SW: I currently do my MFA in Painting and Drawing at Pratt, and something we face often is how to locate ourselves in our work and how to canonize ourselves at the same time. How would you describe your journey to figuring that out for yourself?
DR: That’s a great question, and honestly, it’s something that evolves over time. For me, locating myself in the work came from paying close attention to the things that shaped my life like history, representation, and how Black bodies move through the world. Once I understood that those questions were central to who I am, they naturally became central to my practice. As for canonizing yourself, I think that can be a trap if you focus on it too early. Your responsibility is to make the strongest, most honest work you can. The canon is something that forms through time, dialogue, and the institutions that choose to engage with the work. What you can control is the integrity of your practice and the clarity of your voice. For me, the goal has always been to create work that contributes to a larger conversation—about identity, beauty, and how we see one another. If the work is strong and it resonates, it will eventually find its place in that broader history.
SW: It’s a loving act to see and reveal the dimension in yourself and others. What in your life made you realize you had a knack for that?
DR: I really don’t have a good answer for that question, I guess we are who we are. Also, I think that comes from my mother, she was a very giving and kind person and I had the pleasure of witnessing this through her interactions with others.
SW: What about your younger self has stuck with you until now?
DR: Don’t settle…persistence and patience are key.
