KD: You know, having grown up here - I grew up going to church in South Central when people still called it South Central. I’ve often wondered about whether they are imposing on or in conversation with the history of L.A. IFB: I’m very intrigued by the signs naming each L.A.

Laws are one way we are actually choreographed, like street signs, laws telling us what we can do. Design can be a form of choreography in the sense that a mug with a handle will tell you how to pick it up.” And me being interested in language, I wanted to think about language as a kind of choreography. She was, like, “Architecture can be a form of choreography in the sense that it guides you through a space. She was describing different scenarios that involve thinking about choreography. I went to this lecture by this really amazing performance artist, Aki Sasamoto. Thinking about language as a kind of choreography. KD: The Deitch show introduces new work that grew out of some work I did early on in grad school. How does this build on the work you’ve created and shown in L.A.? IFB: Speaking of “slow read” work, let’s talk about this new show that just opened at Jeffrey Deitch in New York. I just try to stay in a space of taking very little for granted and slowing down the way I draw conclusions about things and then making work that is, no pun intended, a slow read. And that’s kind of like what I’m all about now - slowing down how we draw conclusions. That impulse to do things that take a long time, I think, has then touched on the content in the work about slowing down how we draw conclusions. But I’ve always had this tendency of doing things that require taking your time.

Kenturah Davis: I can’t articulate the origins. Where does your desire to hold the gaze, to dive into a person, come from? A lot of the way we’re wired now, a lot of the way we encounter people, is through a quick swipe or a quick glance. Blair: I’m very interested in this idea of first impressions. We talked about the tradition of Black art in L.A., her ongoing exploration of the limitations of language and the diasporic connection between the foothills and South L.A. Recently, I met with Davis in Highland Park, where she lives and works. Her technique - meticulous, patient, layered - demands a sustained gaze. You might be drawn into her kinetic, large-scale drawings because her subjects look familiar - that person rockin’ the Crenshaw hat the woman holding her braids as she dances at the function - but there’s always a standing invitation to stay a while. Each encounter with her work reminds you that true sight is a discipline, a practice. The work of Kenturah Davis is a lesson in seeing. You!, the second issue of Image, which explores various ways of seeing the city for what it is.

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