American Gothic Reframed: Seeing Truth Behind the Flag

In this episode, host, artist, and educator James William Moore brings the lens inward — into the classroom, into the photograph, and into a national conversation on race, representation, and responsibility.

Building on a previous episode featuring Aneka Brown and the topic of cultural appropriation vs. appreciation, James reflects on what happened when he introduced Gordon Parks’ American Gothic to his art history students. Their reactions were raw, reflective, and deeply aware of the inequality embedded within one of America’s most iconic visual symbols: the flag.

Through student voices and Parks’ enduring image of Ella Watson, this episode explores how photography can be both witness and protest — and how the next generation is already seeing with clarity. This isn’t just an analysis of a photograph; it’s a reflection on who gets to define the American narrative, and what happens when we study the rightimages first.

Artwork Referenced"

Gordon Parks "American Gothic": https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.05809

Roy DeCarava: https://www.moma.org/artists/1422-roy-decarava

Carrie Mae Weems: https://www.moma.org/artists/7177-carrie-mae-weems

Latoya Ruby Frazier: https://www.moma.org/artists/47008-latoya-ruby-frazier

Tyler Mitchell: https://gagosian.com/artists/tyler-mitchell/

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Transcript

00;00;08;02 - 00;00;38;20
James
There's something about Gordon Parks’ American Gothic that stops you in your tracks for my students. That moment came during a class project. The assignment was simple on the surface. Analyze the composition and title of parks photograph in relation to Grant Wood's painting of the same name. But what followed that was anything but simple. They wrote about the irony, about visibility, about the gap between national identity and lived experience.

00;00;38;22 - 00;01;04;06
James
They saw the American flag not as a symbol of sheer freedom, but as a backdrop to hard labor and generational inequality. This photo of Ella Watson standing with a broom and a mop in front of the flag becomes, in their eyes, not just a portrait, but a protest, a reframing of what it means to be American when your story isn't won.

00;01;04;06 - 00;01;30;29
James
Hanging in the textbooks. On today's episode, I want to reflect on those responses, and I want to continue the conversation that began with Anita Brown about black culture, visual power, and what it means to truly CNN image. This is Lattes & Art presented by J-Squared Atelier. And I'm James William Moore your host. And today we're looking at American Gothic by Gordon Parks.

00;01;31;01 - 00;02;02;03
James
Let's take a moment and really see this image. It's 1942. The United States is at war abroad. We're fighting fascism. But at home, a different battle is raging. One that's been going on for centuries is the fight for racial equality. In the center of the frame stands lots of black middle aged women expression solemn but unflinching. She wears a simple patterned dress.

00;02;02;10 - 00;02;33;24
James
No jewelry, no embellishment in her hands, a mop and a broom. One in each fist like scepters behind her, pinned high to the wall is the American flag. That flag, usually a symbol of pride, is now a backdrop to endurance. And it looms large, perfectly framed by parts yet emotionally distant. It feels like it's hanging over the composition.

00;02;33;24 - 00;03;08;24
James
As precise, stark. Ella is centered. Her tools of labor framing her torso like armor. The stripes of the flag seem to echo the vertical lines of the mops handle. The symmetry of the shot forces you to confront her directly. She's not looking away, and neither can we. This is Gordon Parks, American Gothic, a deliberate, pointed response to Grant Wood's 1930s painting of the same name, the one we all know.

00;03;08;26 - 00;03;40;19
James
A white Midwestern farmer holding a pitchfork, standing beside his daughter in front of a Gothic farmhouse window. It was intended as a tribute to rural American values. Parks flips that narrative. He shows us a different America, one built on invisible labor, racial inequality, and quiet suffering. His photograph is a mirror held up to a country that so often refuses to look.

00;03;40;21 - 00;04;10;13
James
A little Watson wasn't just a model. She was a cleaning woman in the very building where parks worked. The Farm Security Administration, a New Deal agency responsible for documenting American life for parks. This was more than a portrait. It was a declaration, he said. I saw the camera could be a weapon against poverty, against racism, against all sorts of social wrongs.

00;04;10;16 - 00;04;44;17
James
And that's exactly what he did. What makes American Gothic so powerful is that it doesn't scream. It doesn't need to. The protest is embedded in the dignity. Parks doesn't portray Ella as broken or pitiful. He frames are with strength, with resilience. Her gaze doesn't bleed. It challenges. She stands there not as a symbol of defeat, but as a quiet monument to survival.

00;04;44;19 - 00;05;21;11
James
This is not just social commentary. It's a reclaiming of narrative, a visual reminder that patriotism, hard work, and dignity have never belonged exclusively to whiteness. And in doing so, parks redefined what American Gothic could mean not through paint and pitchforks, but through truth and a camera lens. Before we dive deeper into this image, I want to take a moment to share a little about where I'm coming from and why this conversation matters so deeply to me.

00;05;21;13 - 00;05;58;11
James
I teach the community college. And recently I was given the opportunity to lead an art history class focus specifically on photography. For me, photography isn't just technique and terminology. It's a language, a way of seeing the world and sometimes making sense of it. My hope in teaching this course was simple to pass along. My passion for love, for this medium to my students, to show them how photography is both art and history, personal and political.

00;05;58;14 - 00;06;26;23
James
I wanted them to see how a single image could hold weight, memory, truth and contradiction and hold all of it all at once. This wasn't just another assignment. It became a moment of awakening for them and honestly, for me too. Their responses to this photograph reminded me why I do what I do, why teaching art matters, why C matters.

00;06;26;25 - 00;07;04;24
James
When I assigned American Gothic by Gordon Parks, I knew it would resonate, but I didn't expect just how deeply my students would engage with it. They didn't just analyze composition. They didn't just compare it to Grant Wood's painting. They felt it. They saw themselves, their communities, their histories reflected back through Ellen Watson's steady gaze. One student wrote. The flag behind L.A. represents freedom and equality, but her job, in her expression, shows examples of inequality and struggle.

00;07;04;27 - 00;07;35;19
James
Another described this photo as a powerful visual statement that shows the contrast and irony to critiquing American culture. That phrase, the unmet promise of freedom, came up again and again from my students. And isn't that what parks captured so clearly? The space between what America says it stands for and what it actually delivers, especially to those forced into invisibility?

00;07;35;22 - 00;08;09;16
James
One student shared the flag meant to symbolize freedom becomes a backdrop to systemic inequality through careful composition and cultural reference. Parks challenges viewers to confront the gap between American ideals and the lived realities of African Americans. Another wrote this scene is deeply ironic, but truly sad, as I can see the disappointment on the woman's face seemingly feeling left out of the American dream.

00;08;09;18 - 00;08;41;24
James
These weren't just academic responses. They were acts of recognition, acts of empathy. They saw in Ella Watson what Gordon Parks wanted the world to see. Strength, endurance, truth and a protest wrapped in quiet dignity. A student noted instead of showing pride and success, parks photo shows the unfair reality for many people in America, especially black workers, and their harsh work lives.

00;08;41;26 - 00;09;18;12
James
Another reflected that his image is a proud statement that aids in shedding light on those in America who struggled to make ends meet, as well as experience racism. These reflections remind me that the work of artists like Gordon Parks isn't finished, because the work of seeing clearly and teaching others to see is still ongoing. And it affirms why black visual culture matters in the classroom, not just to study history, but to challenge it, to expand it.

00;09;18;14 - 00;09;50;25
James
To help students realize that who gets seen and how they are seen shapes everything. One of my students said it plainly. His work forces us to rethink who truly belongs to the national narrative, and whose stories have been ignored. And that's exactly it. Gordon Parks wasn't just taking a photograph. He was making space for a truth that this country still struggles to hold.

00;09;50;27 - 00;10;26;16
James
When we talk about American Gothic, we're not just talking about a photograph. We're talking about a lineage. Gordon Parks wasn't just documenting life. He was defining a visual language for black America. One that didn't rely on stereotypes or sidelong glances from white controlled media. He put dignity, complexity and humanity front and center. And in doing so, he opened a door, one that other artists have since walked through, reshaped and expanded.

00;10;26;18 - 00;11;03;00
James
Take Roy de Carova, working in Harlem during the 1950s and beyond. He captured images and soft, rich tones of black life that weren't about protesting in the traditionals, but about presence everyday intimacy. Jazz musicians bathed in shadow, mothers holding children. His images whisper they don't shout, but they say we are here. We are whole. Then there's Carrie Mae Rings, a powerhouse of conceptual storytelling.

00;11;03;02 - 00;11;49;06
James
Her Kitchen Table series flips the lens towards domestic space, where a black woman reclaims authorship of her identity and quiet, tense and tender scenes. Through her work, Carrie confronts how race and gender are performed and perceived. Like parks. She uses the camera not just to document, but to question. Fast forward to LaToya Ruby Frazier, who's black and white photographs of her hometown of Braddock, Pennsylvania, document the generational trauma of post-industrial decline, environmental racism and economic command all through the lens of her own family.

00;11;49;09 - 00;12;24;14
James
Her camera is part memory, part protest, part witness. She once said, I use photography to fight injustice. And she means it. And then there's Tyler Mitchell, whose rise marked a moment in 2018 at just 23 years old. He became the first black photographer to shoot the cover of Vogue with Beyonce. This is subject, but more than just history making, Mitchell's images offer something deeper joy.

00;12;24;16 - 00;12;58;23
James
Is the power of seeing black use and beauty without trauma. His works feel like breath, like freedom visualized. What connects all of these artists? Parks do. Carolyn Weems. Frazier Mitchell is the way they reclaim authorship. They tell stories from within, not looking in from the outside. And in doing so, they challenge the historic erasure that's plagued visual culture for generations.

00;12;58;26 - 00;13;41;14
James
Because here's the thing. Photography is not neutral. Who holds the camera? Matters. Who gets seen and how they are seen matters. When black photographers create images, they don't just fill a diversity gap, they reshape the frame entirely. They build archives where non-existent. They center narratives that were once pushed to the margins. And for my students and for anyone engaging with these works, the impact is profound.

00;13;41;16 - 00;14;16;11
James
They begin to see that history isn't just something written in books. It's something you can see. And once you see it, you can't unsee it. Black visual culture matters because it insists on being seen and believed. What would our idea of America look like if these were the images we studied first? Not just the iconic battle paint. Not just the presidents and oil in gilded frames.

00;14;16;13 - 00;14;49;00
James
Not just the photographs of manifest Destiny taken from behind wagons heading west, but instead Gordon Parks American Gothic. Roy. Decorative is soft light on Harlem jazz. Carrie Mae Weems sitting at her kitchen table facing us with knowing lies. LaToya Ruby Frazier's mother, framed by hospital walls in factory smoke. Tyler Mitchell's vibrant black joy suspended in color and brains.

00;14;49;02 - 00;15;20;03
James
What would happen if these weren't the side notes? If they weren't the Special Topics unit or the February folder? What would change in our national narrative and what we think America is? If this was where the story began, would we learn to see labor not as Doc Brown, but as center? Would we understand freedom not just as a promise, but as a pursuit still unfinished?

00;15;20;06 - 00;16;00;16
James
Would we redefine patriotism not as loyalty to symbols, but as commitment to truth? If these were the first images, maybe we grow up seeing America not just as a myth, but as a complex, unfinished portrait, one still being composed, one that needs more hands on the lens. As I've been sitting here with these reflections, my students words, the history behind Parks's American Gothic, and the incredible legacy of black photographers, I keep thinking back to the conversation I had with Aneka Brown.

00;16;00;19 - 00;16;24;24
James
If you listen to that episode, you'll remember that it started with a moment of uncertainty, a moment where I questioned whether I had crossed a line. I was working on an artwork that drew on an iconic image of Diana Ross, one of those striking, larger than life photos from the 1970s. And I wasn't sure if I was celebrating or simply taking.

00;16;24;26 - 00;16;53;10
James
Aneka, in her wisdom, didn't dismiss the concern, but she helped me shift the frame. She said, it's not that. It's not your culture. It's how you show up in it. Are you respecting it? Are you giving it context, care and credit? And that question. That difference between appropriation and appreciation has been echoing through every part of this discussion.

00;16;53;12 - 00;17;35;03
James
Because when my students engage with Gordon Parks American Gothic, they're not taking they're listening. They're learning. They're wrestling with the complexity of a country that doesn't always match its mythology. They're appreciating the image not as a static piece of history, but as something alive, something that informs their understanding of race, labor, patriotism, and just us. And for me, as a teacher and as an artist, I realize the true appreciation requires a kind of humility.

00;17;35;06 - 00;18;04;11
James
You just don't use an image because it's powerful. You sit with it. You learn from it. You ask what it's trying to tell you and whether you're ready to listen. Gordon Parks embedded protest in dignity. And I think that's what appreciation ultimately does. It honors the dignity of the culture it engages with. It doesn't flatten it, borrow from it, or repackage it.

00;18;04;13 - 00;18;34;08
James
It holds space for it. That's what helped me understand. That's what my students reminded me. And that's why this image, this quiet, solemn portrait of Ella Watson, is more than just art. It's a lesson in how to see and how to honor what we see. So where does this all leave us? A photograph from 1942. A classroom full of voices.

00;18;34;11 - 00;19;05;09
James
A conversation about culture, power, freedom, the American dream and perception. This episode wasn't just about Gordon Parks. It wasn't just about a single image or even the incredible lineage of black photographers we've explored. It was about learning to see and learning to question how we've been taught to see. It was about Ella Watson standing in front of a flag, not asking for sympathy, but daring us to look closer.

00;19;05;11 - 00;19;38;01
James
It was about how art, when we slow down and engage with it deeply, can shift something inside of us. I'm grateful to my students, whose honesty and insight remind me that the next generation isn't just listening. They're already challenging, already reframing history. I'm grateful to Anika Brown for the reminder that appreciation is an act of care, that honoring culture is about context and presence, not performance.

00;19;38;03 - 00;20;07;06
James
And I'm grateful to artists like Gordon Parks, Carrie Mae Weems, Roy De Carova, LaToya Ruby Frazier, Tyler Mitchell, and so many others who have shown us that black visual culture is American culture. It's not the footnote. It's the foundation. As we move forward. Let's ask ourselves, what would our idea of America look like if these were the images we studied first?

00;20;07;08 - 00;20;28;06
James
And more importantly, what does it look like when we start doing that now? Thanks for spending this time with me. If you like to see Gordon Parks American Gothic, or check out the work of the other photographers that we've mentioned today, you can find links to all of it in our show notes. I'm James William Moore, your host.

00;20;28;08 - 00;20;38;09
James
This has been Lattes & Art presented by J-Squared Atelier. Remember to keep looking, keep learning, and above all, keep making space for what's real.