Free Jazz Series
The collaboration between drummer André Martinez-Reed and pianist Cecil Taylor represents a fascinating and often overlooked chapter in the history of avant-garde jazz. While Taylor is rightly celebrated as a towering figure of the genre, the contributions of the musicians in his ensembles, particularly during the 1980s and early 1990s, were integral to the realization of his complex musical vision. This essay will argue that the relationship between Martinez-Reed and Taylor was a profoundly synergistic one, with each artist significantly influencing the other's creative output. Martinez-Reed provided a unique rhythmic foundation that anchored Taylor's aural explorations, while Taylor's improvisational philosophy and holistic approach to art inspired Martinez-Reed's subsequent work as a painter and photographer.
André Martinez-Reed's tenure as a drummer in the Cecil Taylor Unit, which spanned from 1981 to 1992, was a period of remarkable artistic productivity. During this time, Martinez-Reed's drumming style, characterized by a relentless, groove-driven energy, served as a powerful counterpoint to Taylor's dense, atonal compositions. This rhythmic intensity is particularly evident on albums such as Nicaragua No Pasaran (1983) and Winged Serpent (Sliding Quadrants) (1984), as well as on the critically acclaimed Music From Two Continents – Live at the Jazz Jamboree in Poland (2021). Recorded in 1984, this album features a legendary transatlantic lineup and has been lauded for its "unbelievable, strong, and magnificent music" and "great sound," which allows listeners to fully appreciate the intricate interplay of the musicians. On these recordings, Martinez-Reed's drumming provides a foundational pulse that, far from being a simple metronome, creates a dynamic tension against Taylor's improvisational flights. This anchor was crucial for maintaining the cohesion of the ensemble amidst the controlled chaos of free jazz.
Beyond his percussive prowess, Martinez-Reed's influence extended to the very structure of the Unit's performances. He is credited with introducing innovative performance elements, such as percussion intros, that allowed Taylor to incorporate other artistic forms like poetry and dance. This expanded the scope of their live shows, transforming them into multi-sensory experiences.
This is a subtle yet significant contribution that has often been overlooked in the broader narrative of jazz history. By creating space for these non-musical elements, Martinez-Reed enabled Taylor to more fully realize his vision of a holistic artistic expression, one that transcended the confines of traditional jazz performance.
Furthermore, Martinez-Reed's background in Afro-Cuban and Brazilian percussion enriched the Unit's sound with diverse rhythms and syncopations, aligning with Taylor's own interest in blending various musical traditions.
The influence, however, was far from one-sided. Cecil Taylor's avant-garde philosophy had a profound and lasting impact on Martinez-Reed's artistic development. Taylor's rejection of conventional musical structures and his emphasis on pure improvisation challenged Martinez-Reed to view rhythm not as a rigid framework but as a fluid, expressive force. This approach to music-making served as a crucial lesson for Martinez-Reed, one that he would later apply to his work in visual arts. His paintings and photography often exhibit a synesthetic quality, where the bold colors and improvisational textures seem to translate musical rhythms into visual forms. This is evident in his Spirit Hunter photography series, which mirrors the exploratory, narrative-driven nature of Taylor's performances.
Taylor's holistic approach to art, viewing it as a spiritual and philosophical endeavor, also resonated deeply with Martinez-Reed. Taylor's performances were not merely musical; they were poetic and conceptual, often pushing the boundaries of what was considered acceptable in a concert setting. This influence is reflected in Martinez-Reed's own multidisciplinary practice, where his work in painting, photography, and music converge. The improvisational ethos of Taylor's music is mirrored in Martinez-Reed's visual art, where he employs a similar sense of freedom and authenticity. This shared commitment to artistic liberation and cultural expression created a powerful synergy, with Martinez-Reed's drumming providing a grounded counterpoint to Taylor's abstract piano work, and Taylor's mentorship fostering a holistic and multidisciplinary approach in Martinez-Reed's art.
In conclusion, the collaboration between André Martinez-Reed and Cecil Taylor was a dynamic and mutually beneficial exchange of artistic ideas. Martinez-Reed's rhythmic innovations and performance-altering contributions were instrumental in shaping the sound and structure of the Cecil Taylor Unit during a prolific decade, as documented on seminal recordings like Music From Two Continents. In return, Taylor's avant-garde philosophy provided the intellectual and spiritual foundation for Martinez-Reed's subsequent career as a visual artist. Their shared commitment to freedom and cultural expression created a legacy that extends beyond the confines of their immediate collaboration, demonstrating the profound and lasting impact of their synergistic relationship on both of their respective artistic careers.
The Greatest Pleasure
The greatest pleasure for me comes with the final stroke of a painting—regardless of the style. I always step away once it feels complete, often returning days, or even years, later. Yet every time, the soul of the painting speaks to me, as if no time has passed. That connection, that quiet conversation between artist and creation, is worth more to me than anything else.
Let The Imagination Wonder
I've always let my imagination wander through music and art, taking me to mystical places I’ve never actually been.
Strange lands, distant countries—some real, some not.
But somehow, I can feel them. Sense them.
Even if my feet have never touched the ground there, something in me has.
And maybe that’s the magic of it all.
As We Celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month
As we celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month, I find myself reflecting on a thought that has been with me for a long time—one that comes from my own lived experiences and observations. This is simply my perspective, my feelings, and my understanding of something that I believe needs to be said.
Latin artists have made profound contributions to global culture, yet too often their work is sidelined, tokenized, or reduced to stereotypes. Some of this comes from the fragmented identities within the Latin world; some of it comes from institutions that tend to elevate Euro-American traditions as the cultural standard. But I believe that the very diversity that sometimes divides Latin art also holds the key to reshaping the global narrative—one that is more inclusive, expansive, and deeply human.
Fragmented Identities, Shared Strengths
The term "Latin art" cannot be boiled down to a single story. It’s a tapestry made of many threads: Indigenous, African, European, Caribbean, diasporic. Its complexity resists easy categorization. Institutions often respond by labeling it as “regional” or “other,” while promoting certain marketable stereotypes—be it folklore, color, or political struggle. Yet, this diversity is also a source of strength, a reminder that unity doesn’t mean uniformity; it means solidarity in our differences.
But if I may be honest, one of the challenges I’ve noticed within the Latin community itself is the way in which we sometimes divide ourselves. “I’m from here, you’re from there.” The pride in our origins, our countries, and our regions is natural, but at times it becomes a source of division. The world may see us as one—Latinos and Latinas with shared histories of struggle, resilience, and transformation—but too often we fail to see that in our fragmented identities, we weaken our collective power. If we could set aside those divisions, if we could embrace each other with the respect and solidarity we deserve, our collective strength would be immeasurable.
And perhaps the most important thing I’ve come to realize is that the art itself should be seen for what it is. Not through the lens of who made it or what culture it represents, but simply for its value as art. It should be judged for its message, its beauty, its innovation, and the emotion it evokes—nothing more, nothing less. It deserves that respect.
History Rewritten, Voices Overlooked
Latin artists have always been central to modern art. From the Mexican muralists and Brazilian modernists to Venezuelan kinetic innovators and surrealist visionaries like Roberto Matta, they’ve redefined the relationship between art, politics, space, and imagination. Artists like Rufino Tamayo and Gerardo Chávez blended Indigenous memory with European modernism, creating something both new and universally resonant.
Yet, despite these contributions, many Latin artists remain invisible— “re-known unknowns”: muralists in Puerto Rico, printmakers in El Salvador, sculptors in the Andes, digital artists in the diaspora. Their exclusion isn’t due to lack of talent, but to lack of access and recognition
Gatekeeping and New Pathways
Traditional art spaces—auction houses, museums, biennials—decide which artists get to tell their stories on a global stage. Often, Latin art is branded as exotic or politically convenient, which risks overshadowing the true innovation behind it. The pressure to perform an identity rather than express oneself freely can stifle creativity. However, in recent years, there has been a shift. Independent galleries, artist-led initiatives, and digital platforms are beginning to connect Latin artists across borders, bypassing the old gatekeepers and creating new pathways to visibility.
Toward a Shared Narrative
I believe that the challenge of fragmentation is also an opportunity—a chance to rethink how we view Latin identity and Latin art. Born from hybridity, resilience, and reinvention, Latin identity can offer a model of unity across difference. This unity doesn’t require sameness; it requires respect for each other’s unique stories and experiences. Curators, critics, and institutions must move beyond tokenism and place Latin contributions not at the margins but at the heart of global art history.
Yet we, too, as artists and as individuals, must be willing to move beyond seeing one another through the narrow lens of ethnicity or national origin. Art, in its purest form, is about expression and connection—it should not be defined by the background of its creator. It should be celebrated for what it is: a reflection of the universal human experience. The digital era offers artists the freedom to share their stories directly with the world, bypassing traditional barriers and elevating the art for what it brings to the conversation, not the label attached to it.
Conclusion: Repainting the Global Canvas
Latin art, in all its forms, is not about fitting into someone else’s narrative—it is about transforming the narrative itself. When we recognize the fullness of Latin creativity, we see that no culture is peripheral, and no voice is expendable. It’s time for all of us to step back and see Latin art for what it truly is—an essential part of the global cultural landscape.
This is a deeply personal belief. On November 10, 2004, I was honored at BMCC in NYC as curator and director of the Henry Gregg Gallery in DUMBO with the plaque El Hombre Latino De Hoy. I spoke then of unity, inheritance, and the responsibility of artists to imagine a collective future. What was once imposed through conquest—the legacy of Spanish blood—has been reshaped by Latin artists into a palette of resistance, transformation, and hope.
Still With Life
“Still with Life”
An homage in brushstrokes…
to those who’ve departed,
yet left their warmth behind.
Each petal, each shadow,
whispers the names we still speak in silence.
They are not gone —
they have simply become light,
woven into the quiet corners of our days.
May their memory bloom eternal,
still with life
in the garden of our hearts
Artist Statement & Declaration
Artist Declaration & Statement
I no longer refer to my paintings as abstract. They move beyond that definition, existing as “mysterious entities” — alive in their own right, each with a presence and purpose that extend far beyond my imagination. They do not merely represent ideas or emotions; they embody them.
These works emerge through me, yet they are not mine alone. I serve as a conduit for something unseen — a current of creative force that guides each gesture and decision. Every brushstroke feels like an act of surrender to a greater intelligence, a divine intervention that animates color, form, and even the spaces between.
In this process, painting becomes less about control and more about revelation — an encounter with the unknown, where the canvas becomes a mirror of the infinite.
I Never Know
I never know where my photography or paintings will take me when I begin experimenting. It feels like I’m simply a conduit, channeling something beyond myself. I capture everyday objects, and when I develop the images—using just basic tools, no tricks, no Photoshop—the message begins to reveal itself. That’s when it clicks for me. I start connecting the dots between what I see, what I feel, and what’s happening in the world around us.
The state of things is unsettling. It feels like so much is spiraling out of control, but there’s a quiet hope: we still have time to take some action before it’s too late. Once something is lost—like the dinosaurs or ecosystems in decline—it’s gone forever. Yet, I rarely hear conversations about the future generations we are leaving behind. What will their world look like? What responsibilities do we owe them?
As individuals, we are more divided than ever, each of us just trying to stay afloat. We’re like the hamster on the wheel, spinning endlessly without ever getting anywhere. But amid all this, I find that my work can be both uplifting and thought-provoking. It’s a reflection of a world where we are constantly striving for happiness, sometimes at the expense of deeper reflection. For me, that's just the way it is. A delicate balance between joy and reflection, all while the world keeps turning.
Greatest Joys
One of my greatest joys in life is marveling at nature and the changing seasons in the forest I drive past every day. Watching it transform—season after season—has become a quiet practice of study and reflection.
To see and experience these changes is one thing; to translate them onto canvas requires time, contemplation, and patience. I sit with what I observe, letting it settle, until it’s ready to be released through paint. And then, like the forest itself, I rest—until the next season arrives.
The Return of Litha
We’re happy to announce the release of one of our songs, “Song for Seekers” — a song of peace, offered as a gift to all.
This release comes from The Return of Litha, a band that formed over twenty years ago and has recently reunited, bringing back positive vibrations and renewed creative energy. We’re excited to be back at work, releasing and producing more wonderful music for your listening enjoyment.
We hope this song finds you well and brings a little peace your way. Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season and a hopeful New Year — God knows we need it.
Meditation
Meditation.
My journey in painting has been a long and searching one—an ongoing question of how to make a painting reverberate with feeling, with love, with rhythm, and with color. For years I tried to force the answer, until one day it came quietly and simply: relax, let go, and trust the movement. Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the ride. Let yourself fly.
Every color has a purpose. Every rhythm has a place. And when we truly understand that, we begin to see beyond the turmoil and into possibility. In that understanding, wonders unfold—not only on the canvas, but within us.
In Life
In life there are musicians and artists who touch your soul and never truly leave. Even after they’ve journeyed on to some mystical place beyond our reach, their sound lingers in your ear. You can never forget them. In so many ways, they are still here.
They become legends, myths, and memories woven into who we are. I’m forever grateful to have shared even a moment of time with them. Tomaso was one of those rare spirits—a magical, effervescent presence whose sound digs deep and echoes through your soul. No matter the style—and he played them all—his music continues to resonate. His spirit was, and remains, a masterpiece.
Still inspiring us all.
We Flock to The Old Masters
We live in a time when our eyes grow tired—
not from seeing too much, but from seeing too much that looks the same.
Images blur, trends repeat, and originality feels rare in a world built for speed and forgetfulness.
And no—this didn’t happen by chance.
Powerful forces now guide culture: institutions, corporations that profit from predictability, platforms that promote the familiar, algorithms designed to keep us scrolling instead of seeing. Together, they decide what rises, what repeats, and what society quietly learns to call “good.”
All one needs to do is look around to see what has happened:
a world of mass-produced aesthetics, quick-hit ideas, and creativity streamlined into marketable patterns.
But here is what matters most:
The human spirit is not programmable.
No matter how strong the systems are, people still long for what feels real. We still pause for beauty. We still recognize truth when it appears—softly, unexpectedly. Deep down, we all feel the difference between something alive and something merely loud.
And this is where hope returns—
where the artist’s role becomes not only relevant, but essential.
Artists remind us that meaning takes time, that beauty grows in silence, and that truth often lives in places algorithms overlook. Their work is a quiet rebellion, a gentle insistence that the world can still be surprising.
Every authentic creation—whether a painting, a poem, a melody, a film, or a single honest thought—is an act of resistance, a spark that refuses to be standardized.
And perhaps this is the great promise of our moment:
that even in a landscape shaped by repetition and noise, genuine creativity still breaks through. It always has. It always will. Because every time someone chooses to make something true—something risky, something tender, something only they could make—the world widens a little.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, those small sparks gather.
They inspire others.
They remind us that culture is not a machine but a living conversation—one we are all invited to shape.
So take heart. The sameness won’t last.
Authenticity is contagious, and sincerity has a way of outliving every trend.
As long as there are people willing to see differently, to create bravely, and to share what they’ve found, the future will hold more color than the present ever could.
Hope is not an escape from reality.
Hope is the quiet, steady belief that we can still make something better— and the courage to begin.
Downtown Brooklyn
I grew up in Downtown Brooklyn — a place that truly felt like a melting pot. Cultures, languages, foods, and music from every corner of the world lived side by side. That environment shaped how I saw people, how I connected, and how deeply I appreciated the beauty each culture adds to the world.
It’s hard not to notice how differently things feel today. Without variety, the world loses its color. Just think about children: put kids from any background together, and they’ll show you how naturally humans can connect before the world teaches them otherwise. There’s a lesson in that.
Sometimes I look around and wonder how we arrived at so much chaos, division, and noise. But if you pause and really look, you start to see patterns… and maybe even the pieces that have been lost along the way.
My love for music was born from that rich mix of cultures — I blended the sounds I heard from everywhere because that’s what felt natural. But not everyone understood it. Some people have palettes, or perspectives, too limited to see the bigger picture.
I’ve always seen the world like a painter. Basquiat once got asked, “Are you a Black painter?” He said, “No — I use every color.” That’s the spirit I grew up with. That’s the spirit the world could use a little more of today
Grateful
I am grateful, Lord—yes, I am,
So grateful, Lord Almighty.
For a time, I thought You’d forgotten me,
Yet You stood beside me so quietly.
And today I thank You for every soul—
Those we love, both past and present,
Those who walked with us in joy and pain,
Whose kindness left a mark so blessed.
To every heart that showed support,
In whispered prayers or helping hands—
Thank You for sending them my way,
For weaving love into my days.
It’s been so long since I said “thank You,”
So from the deepest part of me—
Thank You, Lord, for all of it,
For every step, for every mercy.
Even when I turned away,
Even when my faith grew thin,
You held the light before my feet
And gently led me home again.
Yes, it was a long and winding road,
But somehow, Lord, we made it through.
Step by step, up every mountain,
You kept me strong—You always do.
I lift my hands in gratitude
For every breath, for every day.
You gave me love, You gave me truth,
And guide me still in every way.
The world may shake, but You stay true—
Yesterday, today, and forevermore.
With thankful heart, I walk with You,
Blessed by the love You've placed before.
Lyrics - André Martinez-Reed ©2025
If You Understand
"If you understand your painting before you paint it. You might as well not paint it!” Dali
People often ask where I found the inspiration to paint. I tell them it began in childhood, watching my aunt Myrna paint a mural of a lion on our foyer wall.
Did I ever take lessons? No—never. It was all trial and error. I’ve always loved lectures, but I don’t like being lectured to.
When did I start painting? It truly began the day I went to a show at MoMA in Queens to see a Picasso and Matisse exhibition with friends. I had an epiphany right then. I told myself, “This is it. I can do this.” And now, I could fill several museums with my work
.
I learned more from listening to discussions about the great masters—Picasso, Miró, Dalí, Renoir, John Singer Sargent, Manet, and others—and from studying their works than I ever could have learned in a classroom. I also learned from hands-on experience building homes from the ground up with my dad a master craftsman and his crew, and from my music career—learning from the titans of music about freedom, expression, and spirit.
Some of the most valuable time I ever spent were the years I worked as a gallery director, studying the works of the great artists and photographers whose shows I curated, in those long, silent hours that shape the everyday life of a working gallery.
There is never a right or wrong time to change your life and begin doing something you love. What matters is that when the moment arrives, you have the courage and the will to follow it through and keep going.
In the end, people often ask where spirit, beauty, or inspiration truly come from—as if they can be taught like steps in a lesson.
But spirit cannot be taught, and beauty cannot be diagrammed. They are the natural conclusion of a life fully lived—the sum of every experience, set free from constraint. What I create now is shaped by every memory, every mistake, every sound, every stroke—by everything the world has whispered to me rather than anything I’ve been instructed to do. When the mind is unbound and the heart is allowed to move without fear, inspiration arrives on its own terms, and art becomes the echo of a life finally set free.
Once you grasp that, you become unstoppable in everything you choose to do
When Eyes Grow Tired
We live in a time when our eyes grow tired—
not from seeing too much, but from seeing too much that looks the same.
Images blur, trends repeat, and originality feels rare in a world built for speed and forgetfulness.
And no—this didn’t happen by chance.
Powerful forces now guide culture: institutions, corporations that profit from predictability, platforms that promote the familiar, algorithms designed to keep us scrolling instead of seeing. Together, they decide what rises, what repeats, and what society quietly learns to call “good.”
All one needs to do is look around to see what has happened:
a world of mass-produced aesthetics, quick-hit ideas, and creativity streamlined into marketable patterns.
But here is what matters most:
The human spirit is not programmable.
No matter how strong the systems are, people still long for what feels real. We still pause for beauty. We still recognize truth when it appears—softly, unexpectedly. Deep down, we all feel the difference between something alive and something merely loud.
And this is where hope returns—
where the artist’s role becomes not only relevant, but essential.
Artists remind us that meaning takes time, that beauty grows in silence, and that truth often lives in places algorithms overlook. Their work is a quiet rebellion, a gentle insistence that the world can still be surprising.
Every authentic creation—whether a painting, a poem, a melody, a film, or a single honest thought—is an act of resistance, a spark that refuses to be standardized.
And perhaps this is the great promise of our moment:
that even in a landscape shaped by repetition and noise, genuine creativity still breaks through. It always has. It always will. Because every time someone chooses to make something true—something risky, something tender, something only they could make—the world widens a little.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, those small sparks gather.
They inspire others.
They remind us that culture is not a machine but a living conversation—one we are all invited to shape.
So take heart. The sameness won’t last.
Authenticity is contagious, and sincerity has a way of outliving every trend.
As long as there are people willing to see differently, to create bravely, and to share what they’ve found, the future will hold more color than the present ever could.
Hope is not an escape from reality.
Hope is the quiet, steady belief that we can still make something better— and the courage to begin.
Thanksgiving Metaphor for The Real World
This Thanksgiving, I found myself thinking about a simple trip to a big-box store—a place known worldwide, a place we all visit without thinking. I went in early, just to pick up a turkey. Something simple. But instead, I was told I couldn’t enter until 10 o’clock because I didn’t have the “right” tier of membership—even though, in life, I am an executive in ways no card can measure.
They called over a guard. They told me it was “policy.” They asked if I wanted to upgrade. I said no. So, I waited outside, and in that moment, I started seeing clearly: the shrinkflation, the upsells, the subtle ways they train people to accept less while paying more. People herded like Pavlov’s dogs toward convenience, toward brand loyalty, toward whatever keeps the money flowing upward.
Corporations act like they are divine entities—untouchable, almost holy—but at the end of the day, they’re just humans making choices. And some of those choices are driven more by greed than by service.
But here’s the Thanksgiving truth—the real metaphor:
One pencil breaks easily. Two are harder. Ten together are nearly impossible to snap.
People are no different. Alone, we’re told to wait outside. But together, we can walk through any door.
This holiday isn’t just about gratitude for what we have—it’s about humility, awareness, and the power we share when we look out for one another instead of feeding the greed machine. If we choose wisely—if we stand together and refuse to be manipulated—those who profit from control and scarcity will be the first to lose their grip.
So, this Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for clarity.
I’m grateful for community.
I’m grateful for the reminder that humility builds, while greed breaks.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.
And thank you—for the support, for the awareness, and for standing as unbreakable pencils in a world that needs strength.
My Mind
My mind as an artist has always been deeply observant of the world around me, driven by an endless curiosity about everything I encounter. Because of that, I could never confine myself to doing just one thing—one style, one genre of music, one form of art, one type of food, or one culture. I find beauty in all of it, especially when it contributes to something greater than myself and serves the collective good. Variety keeps my creativity alive—it keeps everything exciting, evolving, and forever fresh.
I Never Know
I never know where my photography or paintings will take me when I begin experimenting. It feels like I’m simply a conduit, channeling something beyond myself. I capture everyday objects, and when I develop the images—using just basic tools, no tricks, no Photoshop—the message begins to reveal itself. That’s when it clicks for me. I start connecting the dots between what I see, what I feel, and what’s happening in the world around us.
The state of things is unsettling. It feels like so much is spiraling out of control, but there’s a quiet hope: we still have time to take some action before it’s too late. Once something is lost—like the dinosaurs or ecosystems in decline—it’s gone forever. Yet, I rarely hear conversations about the future generations we are leaving behind. What will their world look like? What responsibilities do we owe them?
As individuals, we are more divided than ever, each of us just trying to stay afloat. We’re like the hamster on the wheel, spinning endlessly without ever getting anywhere. But amid all this, I find that my work can be both uplifting and thought-provoking. It’s a reflection of a world where we are constantly striving for happiness, sometimes at the expense of deeper reflection. For me, that's just the way it is. A delicate balance between joy and reflection, all while the world keeps turning.
Through Out History
Throughout history…long before the Renaissance and far beyond any single era…artists created in conversation with something greater than themselves. Their paintings were offerings, gestures of devotion, attempts to touch the sacred through color, form, and spirit.
Today, that sense of the sacred can feel dimmed. In a world overwhelmed by noise and haste, art is too often treated as a commodity—packaged, priced, and speculated upon in systems shaped by decades of distortion. What once carried reverence has been pulled into the marketplace, stripped of its deeper purpose.
I stand here to break that spell.
My work is a refusal—an invitation to remember. A reminder that art can still be a vessel of light, wonder, and truth.
So when people ask, “How much is your painting?” I answer, “Priceless.” Not out of arrogance, but because anything born from a moment of genuine inspiration resists being reduced to a number.
And when others caution, “If you share too much, someone will steal your ideas,” I say: let them try. Even I cannot recreate my own paintings. I could not name the exact colors I reached for or retrace the steps that revealed themselves only in that unrepeatable moment. Inspiration is a visitation, not a formula.
You cannot imitate the sacred.
It is either present—or it is not.