Karice Mitchell: Gloss, Gaze, and the Women We Watched
Karice Mitchell on 90s and 2000s beauty, claiming your image on your own terms, and being hard to define

What do acrylic nails, archival images, and 90s and early 2000s nostalgia have in common? In her debut U.S. solo exhibition, economy of pleasure at Silke Lindner Gallery, artist Karice Mitchell explores how Black feminine beauty and decorations, tattoos, jewelry, and colored wigs, become tools for care, protest, and remembering.
Your exhibition economy of pleasure marks a shift from your earlier focus on 1970s and 1980s imagery toward the early 2000s. What drew you to this specific moment in the archive of Players Magazine, and how does it add new layers or make your work on the Black femme body more complex?
When I first came across the Players archive, I was in grad school doing my thesis, and I did a bit of research into the publication and came to find out that the first editor-in-chief was a Black woman. Her name was Wanda Coleman and she stayed on for the first few issues, but really kind of determined the visual direction for the publication. So when it first started, it was an erotic magazine. It was dubbed the black Playboy, but it also intersected with conversations around politics, civil rights, and Black art and photography. It was very much seen as this cultural hub. Throughout my research I found that a lot of the writing kind of situated the 70s and 80s as the golden era, which a lot of people have nostalgia for that time. The magazine continued on after [Wanda] Coleman left, but there is this ongoing narrative that the quality of the magazine went down and started to cater to the lowest common denominator of readership. So I was interested in that moment because the 90s and 2000s is kind of where my nostalgia lies and I wanted to see what shift happened in terms of visual culture between the two eras.
When I started looking at the 90s into the 2000s and the way that women were taking up different styles of self representation, it's a little bit more bold. There were a lot more tattoos. There were a lot more piercings and colored wigs, I was very much kind of drawn to all of those forms of expression. It also coincides with the video vixen era and a time when Black culture was in the current trend a lot more. You have a lot of female rappers at that time, Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown, Missy Elliot wearing these alternative styles. So I was really drawn to some of those parallels in terms of Black culture and representation. I remember being a kid and being introduced to like all of this Black media. I also think at the time there was maybe more gatekeeping around that kind of visual culture, like 106th and Park. Now because of the internet, there’s a free for all with these representations, which is another conversation. I also think photography shifts around that time, because digital cameras are so much more accessible, so the rate at which we were making images became a lot faster. It was something that we'd never seen before. We were figuring it out at the time, which is the ground for new kinds of image making and I find that fascinating.
I remember that period in time and thinking, that's so cool. Seeing all the women in music videos or on 106th and Park or presenting at the BET Awards and looking at the way they dress and their jewelry. I would think, I can't wait to do that when I get older. It also makes me think of how they were going against the respectability politics of the 70s and 80s. It’s like the women in the 90s and 2000s realized that they didn’t have to force themselves into this box and follow the societal rules that had been forced upon them. And as you said, this is also part of a larger conversation because now that way of dressing, the jewelry, the tattoos, it's so much more acceptable but only on certain people.
In a lot of the reading I did for the show, I had to consider the constraints of these women in terms of what was being reinforced in rap music at the time that had the potential to reinforce sexism. That’s a conversation my work is parallel to because of the simple fact that those women were there. Their presence is worth paying attention to. I think that all of these adoptions of decoration are perhaps the arena where some form of independence was exercised. I'm really drawn to that.
Having more control over how you exist in the world and presenting yourself, which also, being a little girl watching those forms of representation just gives you the confidence to exist in whatever way you want. It helps you, as an easily influenced young girl, to see someone so fearlessly reject the rules that are being presented.
The word “economy” in your title suggests ideas like value, trade, and control. How are you thinking about pleasure and how it’s shared, bought or sold, or given new meaning in this work?
I was reading this book “How Sex Changed the Internet” when I was developing this work. Basically the thesis of this book is that sex and sex work is foundational to the way that we navigate modern technologies. So in terms of, like, camming and webcam technology. The development of that was dependent on cam girls doing that for work. When we think about Facebook, and what Facebook was, it was a hot or not website where we were trading or evaluating desire. There are so many instances throughout the book that have shown me that so much of our technology and the way that we navigate technology can be attributed to this economy of pleasure and desire.
I think now, unfortunately, capitalism is trying to censor those things and forbid that kind of knowledge from being accessible to the average person. What we're seeing now is a more sex negative, rigid kind of culture, which I think is the opposite to that foundation of the internet being built. Through the title “economy of pleasure", I was trying to reference some of that foundational work, because I do think it's important to credit, especially given the current state of the world now. There's so many, I mean, I'm in Canada, but seeing the U.S. constantly pass legislation to deny the autonomy of women and their bodies, I think it's so important to attribute that foundation to sex workers, and amplify the fact that what they're doing is work and deserves to be protected. I wanted to reference that knowledge.
I also was thinking, is there a potential to reclaim that a little bit, given the fact that we have all of these tech billionaires coming in and censoring voices online. Is there perhaps nostalgia for a time when we were on Tumblr? There used to be a time where Tumblr had erotic material but now it’s censored. I think the title as a whole is referencing these different moments in history online through the circulation of images and how so much of it references a time where it catered to desire and eroticism.

It's now to the point where Instagram will sometimes censor artwork, which is insane. A couple of years ago, I posted an album cover on Instagram stories and didn't even really think about it because it was a photographic piece of art and so incredibly small, but it had a woman’s bare breasts. Instagram sent me a message that they had to take down my story. I see people posting about having their paintings taken down, if it even remotely references a female body part that can be sexualized. It is a piece of art. We don’t need to sexualize everything.
My work has been taken down on Instagram a couple of times. There was a time on Instagram when they used to censor women's nipples and not men's nipples. They had little differences like that which worked to create systems of control over the kinds of imagery we deem as appropriate and not appropriate. Oftentimes, the body is the scapegoat for other issues that actually cause and perpetuate certain kinds of harm.
We're censoring women's bodies, yet, I'm sure that some of these are the same bodies that people have no issue with being in erotic magazines or seeing in pornography videos that they secretly consume. But, because someone else has control over how and when their body is presented, that becomes an issue or because it’s being made public, we're fine with exploiting someone's body, but not fine with someone else having control over how they present their body.
Your process often involves scanning, enlarging and cropping, which disrupts how images are originally framed and consumed. How do these actions work for you as ways to say no, take back control, or change the story?
Like you said at the beginning, you love photography, and I absolutely love photography. Particularly, I'm super drawn to the ways Black photographers have taken up this question of representation behind the camera. And there certainly is need for Black people to reclaim the ways in which they're represented behind the camera, because the camera was the very tool to further our unfair treatment. There is this pattern to take up the camera and create images that go against some of those historical narratives. For me, there is this tendency with photography, and I think Black art generally as well, to represent blackness as easy to understand. It's easy to read and to interpret. In these art institutions, there is also simultaneously a habit to block full visibility, because it can so easily be taken over and used against you.
I think about my institution. I teach at a university and I'm the only black woman in my department, and that opens me up to be hyper visible. And when I'm fully visible, the institution can do what they want. So I think there is power in going under the radar or not offering yourself in full as a Black person as a mode of protection. A lot of my work in terms of cropping or offering snippets functions as this refusal to give the image as a whole. I’m interested in what that does for the person interacting with the work. If you're only offered a snippet, how does it slow down the way that you're engaging with the image? How are you filling in the blanks around the image? It becomes a really nice process in the work to allow for different possibilities in the way that the image is read if I'm only offering this snippet.
I understand wanting to have full control over how Black people are represented in photographs or other visual art. But I agree there is something beautiful and protective about presenting certain parts of the Black body. When I see cropped images I think about what's not in the shot as much as I think about what's in the shot.
I also just think about what visibility has done. This heightened visibility, while it is great to see yourself represented in media, but it's like, okay, and what now? Are there real, material benefits that come from that kind of visibility? I often find that under capitalism, visibility mostly ends up reinforcing the status quo instead of creating real change for Black people and the diaspora.
This new body of work zooms in on tattoos and bodily markings, details that are often overlooked in erotic imagery. What do these hidden messages show us about freedom, style, and the different ways Black femmes express who they are? Also, as I’m thinking about it now, the aesthetics or beauty looks that were so common in the 90s and 2000s have been co-opted and are widely visible in the media. They are viewed as acceptable on some bodies and on others unacceptable. How does presenting images of women with tattoos and bodily marking turn into asserting identity and owning something that society may frown upon?
I was drawn to these modes of body changes because I'm a heavily tattooed woman and having to navigate that is a unique experience. Tattoos were something that I noticed as a stark difference from the ways in which images were being made in the 80s to the 90s and 2000s. I'm on social media quite a bit. Like I'm on Tiktok quite a bit because I love to be tapped into the discourse. But seeing these trends or these pulls towards clean aesthetics that are prioritizing clean skin feel like sneaky ways to uphold these standards that reinforce whiteness. In these images, it could be seen as the complete opposite of that. I'm so much more drawn to the ways in which women, particularly Black women, are just taking up these different forms of expression.
I’m also drawn to this because of my mother and grandmother. I often attribute them as being my first experience witnessing Black women engaging with beauty, care, and accessories. So there is a personal connection, and that's what leads me when I'm looking at these images. The kind of memories that I have associated with that is what reinforces the way that I'm interacting with these images. It is about drawing to these moments where we could see these markings as an act of independence or self-control being exercised. With erotic imagery, there is this belief that because it is erotic, that only it's keeping harmful, male-dominated systems in place. But I'm so much more interested in an alternative conversation. These women were participating in it. Is there an opportunity to see these ways that they're performing some form of resistance, despite these structures that can potentially reinforce male-dominated systems of power. I’m interested in what kinds of conversations can emerge when we start to see these markers of independence that these women are exercising and what is the possibility there?
I think in people saying it's bad and it's causing harm they're suggesting that women are being forced into it instead of women wanting to participate. If they genuinely made that decision, they are owning their sexuality, and being totally content and comfortable in that.
It connects back to this idea of continuously blaming this form of work as the bearer of all of our issues when we need to address racism and sexism. If we got rid of all the pornography in the world tomorrow, we would still be left with all of these other issues. Sexuality is not the problem.
What does it mean when people can’t really “read” or understand the Black femme body in a culture that’s always watching and judging it, especially because of race and gender?
It’s funny. I actually think that by zooming in you're actually making something super clear, but also can be seen as something that’s not clear. So I really like that kind of contradiction that happens when I am in the process of working on these images. There is something to be said about being hyper visible. Sometimes it does feel like the only forms of representation, especially when it relates to Black women, fall into this category of hyper sexualization like the Megan the Stallions and the Doja Cats and City Girls, all of whom I love. But sometimes that falls into the demand that all Black women have to be like that.
I do think that that tends to get into conversations of pushing that form of representation away. And I don't think that is a productive conversation. I think that all kinds of forms of Black representation should be supported. It's like a very kind of tricky thing to balance. I'm thinking that call to play into censorship in my work is a result of navigating institutions like universities and white cube galleries for so long. That's where I hover between clear and unclear.I can offer representations of Blackness in the self in a way that I see given these systems that are constantly trying to portray Blackness as something that shouldn't be seen in public space or as something that can be abused. I’m also thinking of it as what kind of space does the work occupy? And how much visibility am I willing to give?

How do your personal feelings connect with your work? And do you find that working with old erotic materials ever relates to your own experiences of desire, memories, or how you feel in your body?
I think exploring how I deal with personal feelings through my work is something that is ongoing. I've been working with found images for a really long time and sometimes people will ask, why found images? Why this archive? What is it for you about this archive that continuously draws you to it? And I think I'm still asking myself that question. So often, specifically with Black erotica, there's this knee jerk reaction to not engage with it as valid and important visual culture. There is this hesitation, and rightfully so, because historically Black women have been exploited in a way that centers our sexuality. So there is this doubt to engage with it. And I had that at first, too.
I’m interested in preserving this archive so other people can look at these images. I’m amazed every time I look back at some of the images. I'm amazed that I find something new to be drawn to and to pay attention to. Thinking about how I personally connect to the work, I think I'm able to engage with these images because of the way I express femininity, which is inspired by the way Black women in my life express femininity like with my grandmother and my mother. My grandparents are Jamaican, and one thing that my grandmother ensures that she does every time she goes to Jamaica is buy gold and bring it back. I just saw her in the U.K. and one of the things that we did to bond is I went through her jewelry drawer and I took things that she was willing to give up. That kind of bonding over these ways of decorating yourself becomes this way of performing care and relating to the women in my life. All of those personal memories and the way that jewelry or accessories have culturally been adopted in my life is what I think leads me to these images. I’ll look at an acrylic nail and I can hear and see my aunties.
We’ve talked about hair, nails, and changing the body. How do these visible details hold deeper meaning in your work? How do they help tell stories or help people get by?
I was thinking about this question.I think the fact that these memories can serve as the story. The fact that I can reference these moments in time, and it becomes a rich place for storytelling. I think that's how I hold on to depth. That aspect of the work that makes it relatable is the fact that these experiences do become the stories.
I think about that a lot. And then again, how all of these things become modes in which I have, like, resisted flattening in certain situations. I'll say this, I show up in a very particular way in the institution. I'm not going to quiet myself. I do think it's important to take up space. Even when I teach photography, I'll be wearing long nails and sometimes it catches the attention of the student. It takes up space but I think that is a refusal to be simplified. That's where I assert that independence, in the way that I've taken it up in my own personal life as this survival.
Speaking back to the cropping of the work, there is a gentleness in how you frame and edit the images despite the erotic charge. How does softness show up in your work, as a style, a political choice, or a way of pushing back against mainstream visuals?
This was another question that I thought hard about because I'm not sure if it's softness that I'm thinking of or that's in the forefront when I'm working with these images. I think it's more so this care., I hesitate to adopt the word softness because I'm chronically online on TikTok, and I see these Black femininity coaches, soft-life girlies. These femininity coaches are teaching Black women how to be soft, how to kind of carry themselves in a way that exudes femininity and softness. I understand the motivation around that because historically Black women have been portrayed as hyper masculine. And sometimes you just want to be seen as soft, because there are certain protections that come with that. But what I've seen is that a soft life or feminine coaching sometimes reinforces an adoption of whiteness and white femininity that I think can be potentially dangerous. But it makes sense in the age of the internet that we’re in.