Photo courtesy of Tom Chan
Paul Waters is an artist whose life story is one devoted to his craft. Born in 1936, in Philadelphia, Waters has navigated a world shaped by the aftermath of World War II, embarking on extensive travels throughout Europe, Asia, and fourteen countries in Africa, before settling in a Bowery factory in New York City, that would become his studio for decades. The original studio was located across the street from where Rothko once worked, and who was once a frequent visitor to Waters’ studio. Waters’ studio has also been visited by such luminaries as James Baldwin and Nina Simone. “When you’ve been around long enough, you meet people,” Waters says. For over five decades, Waters has dedicated himself to his art-making, often working in near obscurity, while balancing his passion for painting with day jobs, including work as a chauffeur, an administrator at a museum in Newark, a principal at Essex County Youth House, a director of the Jamaica Arts Center (now known as JCAL) in southeast Queens, starting a school there for teaching young children music and art, working at an insurance company, the United States Census Bureau, as a teacher at a middle school in the Bronx, and at New York University’s Science & Technology Enrichment Program (STEP)—an enrichment program for high-performing high school students in New York from disadvantaged and disenfranchised backgrounds—where I first met Paul and taught with him for nearly twenty years. Despite facing rejection, and the difficulties of being a Black artist in a predominantly white art world, Paul’s story is one of perseverance, driven by an unwavering love for painting and the creative process.
Recently, his exquisite painting “Beautiful Life” was featured in the exhibition Edges of Ailey at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 2024–25. His work is now celebrated for its unique blend of influences, from West African traditions to the conceptual art scene of downtown New York, and he is now represented by Eric Firestone Gallery with locations in Manhattan and East Hampton, Long Island. Furthermore, Paul has hundreds of watercolors that he’s worked on throughout the years, several of which I had the pleasure of seeing for myself (yes, there are hundreds, a treasure trove of paintings). It felt like an exclusive viewing of these beautiful works, up close at the studio where Waters now works on a daily basis. His is a story of the power of dedication through the years, the importance of finding joy in the creative process, and the enduring value of art that speaks from the heart. I’m honored to have sat down with Paul Waters at his new studio (the original studio was destroyed by a fire in 2010) to talk with him about his paintings, his process, James Baldwin, and his extraordinary journey, and to explore some of the insights he’s gained along the way.
— William Pei Shih for Guernica
William Pei Shih: Paul, your artistic journey began remarkably early. Could you speak about those initial creative sparks? What specific themes or emotions were you attempting to capture through those childhood cartoons, and how did they serve as a precursor to the more complex narratives you now explore in your later work?
Paul Waters: I started out early in life, around four or five years old, as far as I can remember. I was always working on cartoons. I did a lot of cartoons, you know, from comic books, and just simple stick figures. That’s really my earliest memory, just constantly drawing. It was a way for me to express myself, even at that young age, to create my own worlds and tell stories. I think it instilled in me a love for visual narrative that has stayed with me throughout my career. It was a safe space to explore my imagination and make sense of the world around me.
William Pei Shih: Philadelphia in the 1940s seems to have been a formative environment for you. Beyond the enriching influence of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, how did the city’s unique social fabric, its wartime anxieties, and its diverse communities, contribute to shaping your early artistic sensibilities and the themes you would later explore?
Paul Waters: In those days, Philadelphia was like a big southern town in many ways, but for me it was special. I played trumpet as a teenager with Lee Morgan; this was when I was 14, 15, 16. Lee Morgan and I were around the same age. On weekends, we would go around to different houses in the neighborhood with friends and play. This was before he left to join Dizzy Gillespie’s Big Band. I also lived within walking distance of the Museum of Art, the Philadelphia Museum of Art. That was really great because it was free, which was a big deal back then, and they had very exciting programs for children on Saturdays. Those programs really opened my eyes to the world of art and gave me a foundation that I carried with me. I saw my first Matisse. Beautiful colors. Very attractive. I’ve had a lifelong love for his art.
William Pei Shih: I can see Matisse’s influence in your work.
Paul Waters: Oh, I still adore his art. But beyond that, growing up in Philadelphia during the war years, there was a sense of community and resilience that I think seeped into my consciousness and informed my later work. There was also a palpable sense of social inequality, which I think planted the seeds for my later engagement with social justice issues.
William Pei Shih: Your preference for using your fingers instead of brushes is a distinctive aspect of your technique. Can you elaborate on the tactile and emotional connection you forge when working directly with the materials, and how this intimate engagement shapes the final outcome and expressive power of your art?
Paul Waters: Yes, it was. I used my fingers instead of brushes. It just felt more natural to me, more direct. And that’s something that’s continued throughout my career, I want to say. There’s a certain intimacy and connection you get when you’re working directly with the material, and that’s always appealed to me. It’s like a conversation with the medium, a way to feel its texture and its essence, and to let it guide my hand. It allows for a more spontaneous and intuitive process, and I think that translates into a more visceral and authentic expression.
William Pei Shih: Your travels in the late 50s and early 60s appear to have been a transformative period. Could you describe a specific moment or encounter during your travels that profoundly altered your understanding of art and culture, and perhaps challenged your preconceived notions about artistic expression?
Paul Waters: In the late 50s and early 60s, I traveled a lot. My father, who was a very insightful man, said back then, “If you want to see African art, you have to go to London.” So I went to London, and I saw a lot of African art, which was a revelation. I also went to France, to the Institute of Antiquities, and that’s where I really saw what Picasso got his ideas from. Seeing those original sources was incredibly powerful and shaped my understanding of art in a profound way. I remember being particularly struck by the power and spirituality of the African masks, and the way they seemed to transcend time and culture. It made me question the Western canon and to seek out alternative perspectives on art and beauty.
William Pei Shih: Six years of travel represents a significant commitment. Looking back, what were the most unexpected or surprising lessons you gleaned during those years of exploration, and how did they subtly or dramatically reshape your artistic vision in ways that you couldn’t have foreseen at the outset?
Paul Waters: Six years. Three and three. So that gave me a lot of information, which was very rewarding. It was like a crash course in art history and culture, and it really broadened my perspective and gave me a deeper appreciation for the diversity and richness of human expression. I think the most unexpected lesson was the realization that art is not just about aesthetics, but about communication, connection, and the shared human experience. It’s about telling stories, preserving memories, and challenging the status quo. I went to Indonesia. I went down to the Pacific Islands. Tonga was fascinating. I was amazed at how the Mormons had such far reach; they were everywhere. I had a wonderful time in New Zealand with the Māori, and then in Australia meeting the Aboriginal people near Uluru. Very spiritual. Then I went to Brazil and got very involved in ancient religion, Macumba and Candomblé, and took some courses at the University of Brazil.
William Pei Shih: You made money by sketching people during your travels. What intimate insights into human nature and the nuances of portraiture did you gain through those fleeting encounters, and how did this experience subtly influence your approach to capturing the essence and inner lives of your subjects?
Paul Waters: Oh, yes. I had a system of sustaining myself, sketching people, usually where tourists frequented. I had sketchbooks, and I found out if you stand somewhere in a popular place and sketch people for a nominal fee, you can make money to get you from point A to point B. It was a way to connect with people and capture their essence, and it also allowed me to continue creating art while exploring the world. I learned that everyone has a story to tell, and that even the simplest portrait can reveal something profound about the human condition. It taught me to look beyond the surface and to see the beauty and complexity in every individual.
William Pei Shih: You faced early rejections from galleries. How did these initial setbacks shape your artistic resilience, and how did they ultimately strengthen your resolve to create art on your own terms, independent of external validation?
Paul Waters: Right. I had a thing about going to galleries and taking my work around in shopping bags. It wasn’t the most professional approach, I’ll admit, but I was young and eager. Of course, it was rejection after rejection. I even got a letter of introduction from Romare Bearden, and that didn’t help either. After two years, I went to a gallery and got caught in a rainstorm. My bags were wet, my paintings were wet. I waited an hour to see the director. When he called me into his office, I wanted to pull out the paintings, and he stopped me. He said they were full of the artists they could carry and there was no need to show them. Well, that was very discouraging. So for 53, 54 years, I just painted and put everything in storage that I couldn’t keep in my loft. It was a wonderful experience just to paint for myself. A beautiful experience. I learned a lot about myself, about discipline, self-control, and the love of painting. I did many, many paintings. In fact, I had three storage rooms full by the time a gallery came looking for me.
William Pei Shih: The influence of African masks is a recurring motif in your work. What specific qualities or characteristics of these masks continue to captivate and inspire you, and how do you consciously translate their essence, their power, and their cultural significance into your own unique artistic language?
Paul Waters: A great influence. I still attribute a lot of my thinking to that form. The power and the mystery of those masks, the way they embody both the human and the spiritual, has always resonated with me and continues to inspire my work. I try to capture that sense of mystery and power in my own art, to create images that are both visually striking and emotionally resonant. It’s about tapping into the primal energy and the deep connection to the ancestors that these masks represent. It’s about honoring the traditions and the wisdom of African cultures.
William Pei Shih: Your childhood fascination with shadows seems to have had a lasting impact on your artistic vision. How do you consciously use shadows to create depth, mood, and layers of meaning in your work, and what symbolic significance do they hold for you in terms of exploring the complexities of human experience?
Paul Waters: Well, when I was a little boy, there was a prominent street lamp across from our house. So, if you came out of our house and you walked south, the street light, your shadow would be behind you. If you walked north, the street light would be in front of you. So, I was fascinated by that. It was like a constant dance between light and dark, and it taught me to see the world in a more nuanced and dynamic way. Shadows, for me, represent the hidden aspects of ourselves, the things we try to conceal or suppress. They also represent the passage of time, the ephemeral nature of existence, and the constant interplay between presence and absence. They are a reminder that there is always more to the story than what meets the eye.
William Pei Shih: Your role as Director of Community Affairs at the Newark Museum involved bridging the divide between the institution and the surrounding community. How did this experience deepen your understanding of the social responsibility of art and the artist, and how did it influence your own commitment to utilizing art as a tool for social change?
Paul Waters: Well, I was an administrator of the museum in Newark for a number of years. There was a lot of tension between the museum and the community, and my job was to bridge that gap. I had to tiptoe around the community in order to get them interested, and I did that by talking to various churches and going to community events, and speaking on radio and television shows about the museum. It was a challenging but ultimately rewarding experience, and it gave me a deeper understanding of the role of art in society and the importance of making it accessible to everyone. It taught me that art has the power to heal, to connect, and to inspire change, and that it’s our responsibility as artists to use that power for good. It’s not enough to create beautiful objects; we must also use our art to address the pressing issues of our time.
William Pei Shih: You actively sought to involve community members, even those labeled as “radicals,” in the museum’s mission. What specific challenges and unexpected rewards did you encounter while engaging with individuals who held dissenting views, and how did this experience reshape your understanding of the complexities of community engagement?
Paul Waters: If you looked at the attendance, there was almost no attendance of people of color, and it had a lot to do with what they were showing. The museum didn’t have a good relationship with the community, and I was supposedly there to bridge that gap. It was a very difficult job. A lot of people were turned off to the museum. I did the best I could—went around to churches, spoke at community events—but there was a lot of resistance. I got involved with different people in the community, people that would be labeled during that time as “radicals.” I tried to get them interested. I tried to get them to put pressure on the museum to move it along. I got in touch with Amiri Baraka, who had moved back to Newark, and got him interested. Politically, it was very sensitive, so I had to be very careful. I stayed there until I felt it was time to go. It was a very stressful job, this was in the 1970s. In 1971, they asked me to put together a show of their collection of Black art and contemporary art.
William Pei Shih: You were deeply involved in the Civil Rights Movement. Can you share a specific example of how your art served as a direct form of activism or resistance during that tumultuous time, and what impact did you hope to achieve through your creative expression?
Paul Waters: I was director of CORE, the Congress on Racial Equality in Vermont, while I was in school up there. Those were intense times, and I felt a deep responsibility to use my art to express my feelings and to contribute to the struggle for justice and equality. I created posters and flyers for protests and rallies, and I used my art to raise awareness about the issues we were fighting for. I hoped to inspire people to take action and to challenge the systemic racism that was so deeply ingrained in our society. It was about using my voice, however small, to amplify the voices of those who were being silenced.
William Pei Shih: You had the opportunity to know the writer James Baldwin. Could you share a specific anecdote or observation about Baldwin that revealed his character, his artistic philosophy, or his perspective on the role of art in addressing social injustices? Did you show him your poetry?
Paul Waters: I did. I don’t think he was too impressed with my poetry. He was a master of language, and I was just a young artist trying to find my voice. But even though he wasn’t blown away by my poetry, he was always supportive and encouraging, and I learned a lot from him just by being in his presence. It taught me the importance of humility, of being open to criticism, and of constantly striving to improve my craft. It also taught me that it’s okay to not be perfect, and that the most important thing is to keep creating and to keep learning. I remember him saying once that the artist’s role is to disturb the peace, to challenge the comfortable assumptions of society, and to force people to confront uncomfortable truths. That really resonated with me and has guided my work ever since. He believed that art should be a weapon against injustice, a tool for liberation, and a source of hope.
William Pei Shih: You actually served as James Baldwin’s chauffeur for a time. What unique insights did you gain into his personality, his creative process, and his interactions with the world during those intimate moments of transportation and conversation?
Paul Waters: The first time I picked him up, he was going to his house on Fire Island, which meant I had to drive to Bayshore. It was him, Burgess Meredith and Rip Torn, the actors, and one of their friends. We missed the ferry, so he had to order a private one. I had to drive back to New York, so he said, “Do you want to come out and meet my mother and stay over and go back in the morning?” I said, “Sure, after I call the limousine service.” It had been a long drive, and we had plenty of time to talk. So every time he wanted a limousine, he called for me. That went on about eleven or twelve times, and then we became friends. He discovered I had a loft on the Bowery and was an artist. He said, “Let me see your work.” This was after I picked him up from Carnegie Hall, and he was with friends. I don’t remember all of their names, but I picked up four or five people. So one day he came over and that was the start. I think he liked being down here. He was incredibly insightful and engaging, and I felt like I was in the presence of a true genius. I learned that he was a deeply compassionate and empathetic person, who cared deeply about the struggles of others. He was also a voracious reader and a keen observer of human behavior. He was always thinking, always questioning, always searching for truth. Mostly, he did all the talking. He talked about Paris, about politics. He gave me his manuscript If Beale Street Could Talk. I read all his books up to that point. Nobody Knows My Name. The Fire Next Time. A very nice person. Brilliant. I had two conversations with him about smoking. In those days, everybody smoked, Will. The owner of the limousine service didn’t like the smell of smoke in the cars. The second time was in my studio. He was upfront about his addiction to cigarettes. In fact, he laughed about it.
William Pei Shih: What specific qualities or themes in your artwork do you believe resonated with James Baldwin, and how did his appreciation influence your confidence and direction as an artist?
Paul Waters: Well, he liked that very much (points to the painting hanging on a wall, “Bird”). He liked that piece of Charlie “Bird” Parker, the legendary saxophonist. In fact, he offered to buy it and have it shipped to France, but I wasn’t able to let go of it at the time. So I still have it. I don’t think I have anything up there he wouldn’t. He had a deep appreciation for art, and he was always willing to engage with my work on a thoughtful and meaningful level. I think he appreciated the honesty and the emotional intensity of my work, and the way it grappled with complex social and political issues. His support gave me the confidence to continue pursuing my own unique vision, even when it was challenging or unpopular. It validated my belief that art could be a powerful force for change.
William Pei Shih: How was living in the Bowery? You’ve been here almost 60 years. Was there a community of artists influential on your work?
Paul Waters: Very. I knew a lot of people. They’re all mostly gone now, but I knew a lot of people. I had a good friend that wrote a book called Naked Lunch . . . William Burroughs. He spent a lot of time hanging out. Amiri Baraka was down the street. A lot of musicians. Archie Shepp. Charlie Mingus. I was friends with Nina Simone, but I knew her as Eunice. I met her at the beginning of her career. I went to her concerts. My next-door neighbor made her gowns. We hung out over the years. Oh, she loved my artwork. She had several pieces. I gave a lot of work away. I was very close to Romare Bearden. He lived on Canal Street. I used to spend Saturdays over there. He was always the same. And he and Jacob Lawrence were the only two Black painters that were known nationally and internationally. Nobody knew that he was a social worker in the daytime.
William Pei Shih: What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment as an artist, and what specific impact do you hope your work will have on viewers and on the broader cultural landscape?
Paul Waters: People imitating me. It’s a strange thing to say, but it’s true. When I see other artists drawing inspiration from my work, it’s a sign that I’ve created something that resonates with them on a deep level, and that’s incredibly gratifying. I hope my work will inspire people to think critically about the world around them, to challenge injustice, and to embrace their own creativity. I want to leave behind a legacy of art that is both beautiful and meaningful, that speaks to the human condition and that inspires hope for a better future.
William Pei Shih: You spoke about the challenges involved in creating your large-scale pieces. Can you describe the physical and emotional demands of working on such ambitious projects, and how you sustain your energy and focus throughout the often-lengthy creative process?
Paul Waters: Challenges. Yeah, many. Stretching the canvas, priming it, gluing, doing the cutouts and gluing again. It is a real physical challenge, but it is also a way for me to push myself creatively and to see what I am capable of. I sustain my energy by staying connected to my vision, by reminding myself of the importance of the message I’m trying to convey, and by taking breaks when I need them. It’s about finding a balance between discipline and intuition, between hard work and self-care.
William Pei Shih: Finally, reflecting on your long and distinguished career, what enduring message or piece of wisdom would you like to share with aspiring artists who are just beginning their own creative journeys?
Paul Waters: I would say keep doing the work. My routine is to start early in the morning after breakfast, and staying late in the evening. The most important thing is to be true to yourself, to find your own voice, and to create art that is authentic and meaningful to you. Don’t be afraid to experiment, to take risks, and to challenge the status quo. Embrace your failures, learn from your mistakes, and never give up on your dreams. Surround yourself with supportive people who believe in you, and always remember that art has the power to change the world. And most importantly, never stop creating. The world needs your voice, your vision, and your unique perspective.