Roberto Lugo Is Using a Greco-Roman Pottery Tradition to Tell His Own Stories
You might not have heard of Roberto Lugo, but you’ll likely know some of the people the Puerto Rican–American ceramicist paints onto his raucously colorful pottery: Evander Holyfield, Russell Simmons, and Cuban singer Celia Cruz, to name a few. In the pieces, Lugo also likes to incorporate imagery or sculptural elements that have made his heroes famous: In one example, created as part of his "Stunting" Garniture Set, from 2019, an urn commemorates Louis Armstrong with a handle fashioned after his trumpet.
Roberto Lugo poses in his Philadelphia studio with an in-progress work, an urn that he’s since completed for his new exhibition, The Gilded Ghetto, now on display at R & Company in New York. The urn is a focal point of the show and a key component of his Peacock Room installation, Lugo’s interpretation of painter James McNiell Whistler’s period room of the same name at the Freer Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.
If you have heard Lugo’s name, it could be because of the rousing part spoken-word performance, part sermon he delivered at a Rhode Island arts conference in 2015. The then-emerging artist shared how ceramics transformed his life, and ultimately gave him a voice to elevate others within the Black and Afro-Latino communities. "I realized early on that people look at you for what you are on the outside and make all these judgments… I was a brown person," said Lugo at the conference, remarking on his upbringing in Northern Philadelphia where he was exposed to hardships including gang violence and excessive discrimination. "The [pottery] wheel, however, gives me an opportunity to take all those things, all the things that happened to me, and make something out of it—make something out of myself."
Growing up in Philadelphia’s Kensington neighborhood, as his hard-working immigrant parents struggled to make ends meet, Lugo found solace in music, sports, and his first creative outlet, graffiti. His tag, Robske, a moniker he still uses today, could be found everywhere. A move to South Florida led him to take drawing classes at a local community college, where he eventually discovered—and fell in love with—ceramics, forever changing his life.
Later, while earning his Bachelor of Fine Arts at Kansas Art Institute and Master of Fine Arts at Penn State, the artist honed his skills by adopting and riffing on the ancient tradition of painted pottery he discovered in art history courses. Since then, it has allowed him to reclaim spaces society has otherwise barred his community from accessing and to suggest different historical narratives. His ability to mold clay into vessels with a message has turned him into a sought-after talent across the fine art, craft, and collectible design worlds.
Emblazoned with figures from the sports field he grew up around, The Gilded Ghetto urn combines aspects of floral motifs popular at the turn of the 20th-century and graffiti, Lugo’s first artistic medium.
Though recognition from collectors, gallerists, museum curators, and fellow artists has brought him to different parts of the world, Lugo remains rooted in Kensington. A social activist, he’s launched a number of initiatives that empower local residents to discover their own creative potential. As a professor at the Tyler School of Art, a university in the city, Lugo hosts exhibitions, lectures, and workshops, all of which have made him an important force in the American craft revival movement.
Now, Lugo has launched his first solo show in New York, The Gilded Ghetto, on view at R & Company until October 27. The exhibition includes three new bodies of work and an immersive installation, all stemming from the artist’s return to personal introspection and stories from his past that have been hard to share before, he says. Framed through his personal lens, the works are also meant to bring a fresh awareness to some of the challenges American society has long faced, including systemic racism and economic disparity. We spoke to Lugo about where he started, how he approaches the pottery wheel, and why he pulled from his own past for the new work.
Dwell: What drew you to ceramics initially?
Roberto Lugo: Because of my background in graffiti, I started out in college taking a drawing class, and eventually came into contact with ceramics. Seeing how people would always spend lots of time in the pottery studio because of the equipment needed to make the work, and how this fostered community, I was quickly drawn to it.
Starting to work in this medium instead [of drawing], I was confronted with a level of dissonance, connection, and disconnection. In one sense, working with my hands and making things felt familiar, but in another sense, the idea of being able to do so freely and make art felt like something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing. For so long, the idea of physical work for me was linked with producing usable products. Every time I was making something on the wheel, It felt like I was doing something I never imagined I could do. It opened me up to new ways of thinking, mainly the idea that ceramics could be both functional and a medium to express different ideas.
Lugo puts the final touches on one of his Orange and Black urns, inspired by ancient Greco-Roman black- and red-figure vessels. Using this technique, the artist depicts specific narratives from his own childhood experience such as seeing a Black man get assaulted by a group of white supremacists, but also the overall realities of young black and brown people being unfairly targeted by the prison industrial complex.
You often mention that the throwing wheel used to make pots reminds you of seeing your dad travel long distances by bike to go to work. Talk more about how the labor of something informs your creative thinking.
The wheel reminds me of when I worked in a Christmas-wreath factory after high school. I had to continuously wrap material around these circular decorative items. It isn’t just the literal nature of the wheel turning, but also the idea that there are people that came before me and paved the way for me to have this opportunity. This is why I’m so drawn to the history of pottery but also the history of people who haven’t gotten their dues. There are these individuals that broke down the barriers so that I could get to where I am now. In this sense, some of the pieces I’ve created incorporate or make reference to the tools or trades that made the depicted individuals so famous.
Lugo’s Orange and Black series comprises four urns, glazed stoneware artworks with depictions of systemic racism—on the left is School to Prison Pipeline—and experiences of social injustice pulled from the artist’s upbringing.
What inspired you to begin embellishing your pots and other ceramic vessels with those who inspired you?
It came from two different directions. The practice of airbrush art runs strong in Black and brown communities. Throughout Philadelphia and other big cities, you can find lots of large murals with portraits of important figures painted on billboards or the side of buildings. It’s long been a way for these communities to celebrate these legendary figures. Painting graffiti as a kid, I came into contact with this all the time, so it made sense to combine it with my new passion for pottery. Painting these types of portraits on vases and other ceramics objects became central to what I was doing.
It was when I took art history courses, however, that I was able to situate my work within a tradition that’s ancient. The Greeks often painted sequential scenes of mythical stories of war, daily life, and even parties on large round ceramic vessels. Sometimes, these artworks commemorated specific people as well. They might have been dysfunctional in terms of not being able to hold wine or serve food but they were still functional in terms of communicating key narratives and valuable lessons. This is something I’ve placed more emphasis on in my new work.
Central Park Amphora riffs on the Dipylon Amphora, a large ancient Greek painted vase from 760 to 750 BC. While the original artifact features decorative motifs, Lugo’s version depicts the landscape of New York’s main greenway, conveying the message that public spaces should be shared by different communities.
Take us through your upcoming exhibition, The Gilded Ghetto. How does it mark a shift in your practice?
It’s broken down into different parts. The first part is actually a play on the Greco-Roman tradition of black- and red-figure vessels. My human-sized black and orange School to Prison Pipeline, The Day We Had Church, Tires Were Stolen, and Stealing Cable pots will be the most personal pieces on view, depicting specific stories from my own experience. That’s something new for me. They’ll also touch on social issues surrounding the prison industrial complex, something that disproportionately targets men of color and exploits their labor.
One of the pieces illustrates the time my cousins and I witnessed a Black man being assaulted by a local white supremacist group. People forget that this was still happening just 20 or 30 years ago, and in many cases, is still happening today. These narratives are painted in the ancient style but with imagery I sourced directly from the streets of 1990s Philadelphia.
The Maribel and Child roundel wall piece from Lugo’s Della Robske series explores an age-old hand-building technique first mastered by Renaissance-era artist Della Robske. Lugo’s interpretation uses this medium—originally meant to honor religious figures—to celebrate people of color.
The second is my interpretation of the famous Peacock Room at the Smithsonian’s Freer Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., which was designed by artist James McNeill Whistler in 1923 to showcase a Chinese blue-and-white porcelain collection. With this installation, I want to reflect on the different ways people collect objects and how a single collection can represent one idea or interest. The space will include mosaic-tile accents and a selection of my existing pieces. Overall, it will include references to Taino symbolism, graffiti, 1990s hip-hop, and other aspects of my heritage.
The third is my exploration of Luca della Robbia’s Renaissance-era wall statuaries. Using the labor-intensive process of creating these two-dimensional hand-built reliefs is yet another way I’m trying to honor the lives and spirits of people of color. The use of ancient motifs like leaves and other plants reminds me of my work at the wreath factory, placing pine cones and ferns on the garlands. It’s my first time working with this type of technique and showcasing the results, which is scary, but sometimes it’s necessary to explore the areas you fear the most.
What do you hope people will take away from the new exhibit?
One of the things I really like about working with R & Company is that it shows artworks that deal with the idea of domestic space, whether it’s furniture, ceramics, or glass. Functionality is somewhere in the conversation but it’s not the main purpose of everything that’s being made. For me, it’s interesting to place my work in this context as it’s often viewed as fine art when displayed in other spaces. By presenting my ideas and the messages I want to get across through design, I hope to bring in a wider audience. I want people viewing my work to see the various objects as understandable, something they can relate to, and use that entry point as a way for them to engage with my stories, and that of my community.
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