![]() “We used to bring in the actual art because I didn’t want to hear anything about, ‘Yeah, but I can’t see it. “We never showed books or slides,” Ringgold told me one morning in her studio at her home in Englewood, New Jersey. ![]() ![]() The artist’s second husband, Burdette Ringgold (everyone calls him Birdie), went along too, carrying her paintings, as he always did. Nevertheless, as Ringgold tells it in her memoirs, We Flew over the Bridge (1995), she was unrelenting in her search, and one day she had a meeting with Ruth White, who ran a gallery in Manhattan on 57th Street. To say that it was difficult for black artists to find gallery representation at that time would be a gross understatement. ![]() In 1963, Faith Ringgold was 32, the mother of two daughters, and on the hunt for a gallery to show her work. ![]()
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