The Art of Memory: Mildred Howard’s Long-Awaited Moment
There’s something profoundly moving about an artist whose life and work are so intertwined that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Mildred Howard is that artist. Her first major retrospective, Poetics of Memory, opening at the Oakland Museum of California, isn’t just a celebration of her 50-year career—it’s a testament to the power of persistence, the weight of history, and the resilience of the human spirit. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how Howard’s art doesn’t just reflect her experiences; it is her experience. Her sculptures, installations, and even her living space blur the lines between creation and existence, challenging us to see art not as something separate from life, but as its very essence.
One thing that immediately stands out is Howard’s ability to confront uncomfortable truths. Her Untold Histories / Hidden Truths series, for instance, reimagines monuments to colonizers like Junipero Serra, wrapping them in what she calls ‘Make America Great Again red.’ It’s a bold statement, but what many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just about critique—it’s about reclaiming narratives. By binding and blindfolding Serra in her garage, Howard forces us to reckon with the legacy of colonialism. It’s not just a sculpture; it’s a conversation starter, a provocation. If you take a step back and think about it, this is the kind of art that doesn’t let you look away. It demands engagement, and in a world where historical erasure is still rampant, that’s more important than ever.
What makes Howard’s work even more compelling is her deep connection to place. Her move from South Berkeley to West Oakland wasn’t just a change of address—it was a displacement rooted in gentrification. Houses, as she puts it, ‘hold memories,’ and her obsession with them in her art isn’t coincidental. From her glass bottle houses to her larger installations, she’s constantly exploring the idea of home as a vessel of identity. In my opinion, this is where her work transcends the personal and becomes universal. Who hasn’t felt the ache of losing a place that shaped them? Howard’s art captures that feeling, but it also resists it. She rebuilds, reimagines, and reclaims—not just physically, but emotionally.
A detail that I find especially interesting is Howard’s relationship with her materials. Her use of glass, for example, isn’t just aesthetic; it’s symbolic. Glass is fragile, yet it endures. It reflects, but it can also distort. In her public works like Three Shades of Blue, she uses it to honor the past while inviting us to see it anew. This raises a deeper question: How do we preserve history without being trapped by it? Howard’s answer seems to be through transformation. She takes the broken, the discarded, and the forgotten, and turns them into something beautiful. What this really suggests is that memory isn’t static—it’s alive, evolving, and always open to reinterpretation.
From my perspective, Howard’s ‘moment’ in the art world is long overdue. The Guggenheim Fellowship, the honorary doctorates, the retrospective—these aren’t just accolades; they’re acknowledgments of a lifetime spent pushing boundaries. But what’s most striking is how she’s remained true to herself. Her studio-home in West Oakland is a testament to this. It’s not just a workspace; it’s a living archive, a kitchen where she cooks with the same creativity she brings to her art, a dining room filled with works by friends and loved ones. This blending of life and art isn’t just a style—it’s a philosophy. It reminds me that creativity isn’t something you switch on and off; it’s who you are.
What this really suggests is that Howard’s success isn’t just about her talent; it’s about her tenacity. She’s been making art for decades, often without the recognition she deserved. Her story is a reminder that the art world, like society, has its blind spots. But it’s also changing, slowly but surely. The fact that her archive is now at UC Berkeley’s Bancroft Library and her work is being celebrated in a major museum feels like a correction, a long-delayed acknowledgment of her contributions. Personally, I think this is a moment not just for Howard, but for all the artists who’ve been overlooked because of their race, gender, or the narratives they choose to tell.
If there’s one takeaway from Howard’s story, it’s this: Art isn’t just about making something beautiful; it’s about making something true. Her work challenges us to confront the past, reclaim our stories, and imagine a future where everyone’s voice is heard. As I reflect on her journey, I’m reminded that the most powerful art isn’t just seen—it’s felt. And Mildred Howard’s art? It feels like a lifeline, a bridge between what was and what could be.
