Zeba Blay at The Museum of Modern Art, 2023. Photo: Naeem Douglas

Delight. The feeling came up over and over again during my recent visit to MoMA. There’s something to be said for how wild it is, maybe even miraculous, to walk into a building filled with inspiration from the minds and hearts of people who lived and died hundreds of years before you. It was such a cozy feeling to walk among the art, to take in work that moved, provoked, and even at times perplexed me, and to contemplate my place in it all. I hope this playlist captures that spirit of delight and introspection, finding the threads that connect one experience to the next.

Zeba Blay with Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair

Zeba Blay with Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair

Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair + Tyler, The Creator’s “I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE”

Let’s open with my bae (respectfully) Frida Kahlo. There is an intimacy to her work that has always felt like a caress or a whispered secret. Kahlo was a master at creating images that captivate and entice, images of high drama and subversion, images that alchemized vulnerability into power. That’s how I would describe Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair, a painting that to me is all about self-fashioning and defiance. Above the portrait (painted around the time of her tumultuous divorce from Diego Rivera), the lyrics from a popular Mexican song read, “*Mira que si te quise, fué por el pelo / Ahora que estás pelona, ya no te quiero.*” Which means, “See, if I loved you, it was for your hair / Now that you’re bald, I don’t love you anymore.” Tyler, The Creator’s “I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE,” in addition to repeating the same declaration, has a similar defiance and implicit tenderness.

“It was such a cozy feeling to walk among the art, to take in work that moved, provoked, and even at times perplexed me, and to contemplate my place in it all.”

Zeba Blay at MoMA. 2023. Photo: Naeem Douglas. Shown: Salvador Dalí. Retrospective Bust of a Woman. 1933

Zeba Blay at MoMA. 2023. Photo: Naeem Douglas. Shown: Salvador Dalí. Retrospective Bust of a Woman. 1933

Zeba Blay with Yagazie Emezi’s untitled works in New Photography 2023

Zeba Blay with Yagazie Emezi’s untitled works in New Photography 2023

Yagazie Emezi’s untitled works from the series #ENDSARS Protests + Fela Kuti’s “Zombie”

I’ve been a fan of Yagazie Emezi for more than a decade. Emezi’s photos in New Photography 2023, taken in October 2020 during the #ENDSARS protests in Lagos, tell a story of righteous collective outrage, but also of the vibrance, energy, and tenacity of the people who make up a protest or movement. Fela Kuti’s “Zombie” is an iconic protest song against state brutality and, I think, is engaged in energetic dialogue with these images. What I’ve always appreciated about both this song and Emezi’s work is a sense of scale, an urgency that demands all your attention.

Sol Libsohn’s Untitled (c. 1940) + Sam Cooke’s “The House I Live In”

I stared at this untitled photograph by Sol Libsohn for some time, wondering about the life of the woman in this image. With her Worker’s Alliance sash and her hopeful eyes cast upward, I couldn’t help but think about the promise of America, which it has yet to keep, and the utility of hope as a tool for protest and defiance. “The House I Live In” is a potent protest song because of its hopefulness—and no one has sung it with more care and more beauty than Sam Cooke, in my humble opinion.

Sol Libsohn. Untitled. c. 1940

Sol Libsohn. Untitled. c. 1940

Elizabeth Catlett. I Am the Black Woman from the series The Black Woman. 1946, printed 1989

Elizabeth Catlett. I Am the Black Woman from the series The Black Woman. 1946, printed 1989

Elizabeth Catlett’s I Am the Black Woman from the series The Black Woman + Sonia Sanchez’s “A Black/Woman/Speaks”

I Am the Black Woman is the first print in Elizabeth Catlett’s The Black Woman series, a visual poem of Black women’s journey in America. Catlett said that part of her goal in this series was to create images of Black women as “beautiful, dignified, strong people” instead of “invisible,” which dovetails with much of Sonia Sanchez’s work, like this poem that also operates as a declaration.

Zeba Blay at MoMA, 2023

Zeba Blay at MoMA, 2023

Archibald John Motley Jr’s Tongues (Holy Rollers) + Quincy Jones’s “Maybe God Is Trying to Tell You Something”

There’s something cinematic about this Archibald John Motley Jr. painting. I found myself watching it for quite some time, as if expecting its subjects to start acting out a narrative. I imagined what came before and after the scene, reveling in the theatricality and the full-out commitment of the holy rollers. It’s a moment of spectacle but also a moment of heightened emotion, which makes me think of the “Maybe God Is Trying to Tell You Something” scene in The Color Purple (1985). So many things, happening at once, coming together in a crescendo of faith and production.

Archibald John Motley Jr. Tongues (Holy Rollers). 1929

Archibald John Motley Jr. Tongues (Holy Rollers). 1929

Michael Jang’s Study Hall + The Kinks’ “Picture Book”

There’s something so funny, cute, and familiar about this shot by photographer Michael Jang. In 1973, Jang stayed with relatives in the Bay area of California, where he amassed a collection of family photos that reportedly ended up in a cardboard box in Jang’s home along with the work he made during his school years. What I really respond to in Jang’s work is that all of his images seem to vibrate with nostalgia, documenting not just the moment but the feeling of a moment. That’s why I’ve always loved “Picture Book,” by the Kinks, a song that manages to be uplifting and wistful at the same time.

Michael Jang. Study Hall. 1973

Michael Jang. Study Hall. 1973

Marcel Breuer. Chaise Longue. 1938

Marcel Breuer. Chaise Longue. 1938

Marcel Breuer’s Chaise Lounge + Grant Green’s “Idle Moments”

I am a huge fan of furniture design and Marcel Breuer—and of this particular chaise lounge from 1938. The sleek, easy lines of the molded plywood and the texture of the cushions make it beautiful to look at. But I really wanted to drape myself across that chaise with a dirty martini in hand while Grant Green’s rendition of “Idle Moments” played softly in the background.

Andy Warhol. Gold Marilyn Monroe. 1962

Andy Warhol. Gold Marilyn Monroe. 1962

Andy Warhol’s Gold Marilyn Monroe + Marilyn Monroe’s “After You Get What You Want”

I hope seeing Andy Warhol’s work up close never loses its novelty for me. This big, gold portrait of Marilyn Monroe was very wild to look at in person, maybe because I recently saw the movie Blonde (which I didn’t like) and There’s No Business Like Show Business (which I did), and Monroe has been on my mind. I’ve been thinking a lot about American celebrity and iconography, about the way things appear versus the way they actually are. In “After You Get What You Want,” Monroe sings “And though I sit upon your knee, you’ll grow tired of me / ’Cause after you get what you want / You don’t want what you wanted at all.” Words that, to me, feel like a commentary on or a conversation with Warhol’s portraits, with Blonde, and with every bit of Monroe iconography that’s emerged in the last 60 years.

Stills from Oscar Micheaux. Ten Minutes to Live. 1932

Stills from Oscar Micheaux. Ten Minutes to Live. 1932

Oscar Micheaux’s Ten Minutes to Live + Marlena Shaw’s “Where Can I Go?”

This excerpt from Oscar Micheaux’s 1932 film Ten Minutes to Live (you can watch it online, and you should) follows the hero, Letha (played by Willor Lee Guilford), trying to get out of town after learning that a mysterious figure is set on killing her. There’s tension and drama in this sequence that is about more than just a killer on the loose—it’s about something more ancient and intrinsic to the Black experience. It echoes the tension and drama in Marlena Shaw’s “Where Can I Go?,” which to me is about home, safety, and, most of all, freedom.

Henri Matisse’s maquette for Nuit de Noel + Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence”

These beautiful cutouts by Henri Matisse got me together in the best possible way. Stepping into the chapel-like space that holds this stained-glass maquette felt like a little pilgrimage. It was made in 1952 to be exhibited at Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Matisse once compared it to “a musical score and its performance by an orchestra.” Which makes me imagine standing alone in that chapel-like space, taking in Matisse’s colors and cutouts, and listening to Ryuichi Sakamoto’s equally colorful and even a little holy score for “Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence”—particularly the title song.

Henri Matisse. Maquette for Nuit de Noël. 1952

Henri Matisse. Maquette for Nuit de Noël. 1952

Zeba Blay is a culture and film critic born in Ghana and based in New York City. Formerly a senior culture writer at HuffPost, her work has also appeared in Allure, Film Comment, ESSENCE, the New York Times, the Village Voice, and the Webby Award–winning MTV digital series Decoded. In 2013 she coined the hashtag #CarefreeBlackGirl on Twitter, and in 2021 she published her debut book of pop-culture essays, Carefree Black Girls.