Tomashi Jackson and I met back in 2015 when she came to Houston to work with Project Row Houses. Patrick Renner and I collaborated with Jackson on her video piece Vibrating Boundaries (Law of the Land) (Self-Portrait as Tatyana, Dajerreia & Sandra).
Jackson and I spoke over Zoom a week after the opening reception for Across the Universe, her solo exhibition at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston. The conversation below has been edited for brevity and clarity.

A screenshot of the video call between artists Emily Peacock and Tomashi Jackson
Emily Peacock (EP): Tomashi! It’s good to see you and thank you for speaking with me. I would like to approach this interview from the perspective of an artist. Two artists talking it out.
Tomashi Jackson (TJ): Well, first, I want to say, Emily, it’s great to be reunited with you. Thank you, Emily, for your hospitality, your kindness, and your openness when we first met in 2015, and thank you for the work that you contribute to the Houston art community, the community of humans, and also the work that you contribute to Glasstire as a really important local publication. It’s an honor all the way around.
EP: Thank you! It feels so long ago since we met; now I have an 8-year-old. It felt like a whole other world when I saw my image on the video; it was like, “Oh, my God! Who is that?”
TJ: Yeah, that was you opening your arms to a visitor, being willing to experiment. So, thank you for that, and thank you for this.
EP: Let’s get started. You attended Cooper Union, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Yale University, and the Skowhegan Residency, and you’ve had work in the Whitney Biennial. You currently have a traveling museum exhibition. From an artist’s perspective, you’re living the dream. Was it a clear path from the start? Were you driven from an early age?
TJ: I’ve been driven for as long as I can remember. So, I’m thinking, like, 3. That’s when I started drawing and asking to have it seen. My mother was undeniably the visual artist in my grandmother’s family of nine children, and she gave birth to me in Houston in 1980. Most of her siblings are deceased now. From what I’ve learned over the years, almost all of them were gifted in some way. I grew up thinking that my mother was the only one who was committed to visual art. However, I’ve learned over the years that I have an uncle who drew and loved creating paintings. He also enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together, disassembling machinery, televisions, and appliances.
EP: Do you take things apart, or did you take things apart as a child?
TJ: Not in a cool way like that. I broke things that I wasn’t supposed to break. In 2018, my aunt and I were walking through the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art galleries together, looking at Mark Rothko’s works along with my work on view. She told me that she had been identified as talented in visual art when she was in elementary school by a teacher she had, but already then she assumed there would be no way for her to grow up and support herself as an artist. So that was news to me.
EP: Were you raised by your mother?
TJ: I wasn’t raised by her. I was raised by a village, but mostly by her sister who was trained as an operating engineer, electrician, and plumber. She was also a prolific photographer and loved film; at one point, she studied filmmaking at our local community college. But that’s all to say that I witnessed people being obsessive about image-making, language, and communication. The people around me were watching because they knew that my biological mother was a painter; it was assumed that my interest in art was a carryover from her … the natural gifts that she gave me.
EP: And they encouraged you and nurtured that?
TJ: Yeah, yeah.
EP: I didn’t discover art until I was around 19. So, I feel like I was a late bloomer.
TJ: I would have loved to have been one of your art teachers. I feel like that makes all the difference.
EP: Did you have some good art teachers? You started doing murals at a young age, right?
TJ: That was at 19, I had gone to San Francisco to study at the San Francisco Art Institute, and I was there on a painting and drawing scholarship, but I felt guilty. I felt like I didn’t know what to paint or draw, and the spirit of the city was so exciting at the time, being among working-class multigenerational artists of all disciplines. I found myself incredibly inspired by the muralist tradition that was very much alive there. I also felt a sense of guilt. My mother was sending me $200 a month to help me pay for a small room and get food. I felt guilty taking her money when I didn’t know what I was doing.
I had already absorbed some rigid beliefs that were really fear-driven. The value of that time had to be affirmed by certainty … like, “This is what I’m doing, and where this is going to go.” Out of that guilt, I decided that if my mother was sending me money and this scholarship was only a partial scholarship, I should learn something about which I knew nothing. So, I focused on 8mm and 16mm films and experimental videos. That’s why I was there, so I could learn something that I didn’t already know. But before that the important art teachers happened in elementary and highschool.
EP: I love learning new processes, it excites me.
TJ: You know, you said earlier that I’m living the dream of an artist. I would modify that and say, for an art school kid I’m living the dream, because I had desires to do meaningful work that would exist in the world in some way, and that might contribute to art history one day. It’s so important to be in the presence of other people who take visual arts seriously, our peers and mentors, for better or for worse, because no one’s perfect and everyone is partially feral.
EP: I have the word feral tattooed on my chest.
TJ: Oh, my God, exactly! And here we are together. But, [it is necessary to be] in a community with people who take visual art very, very seriously, who can identify the signs, and know why we need life drawing courses —that drawing matters so much — even if the work that you end up producing is abstract or experimental or performative.
I really needed to be in focused communities where visual arts were taken seriously so I could start getting the dreams in my head out. That’s why I’m here, because of the working artists who taught at the public schools I attended, and who let me know that there were facilitated spaces for us. They opened doors to possibilities that existed within this national and international network of other communities of people who have taken the visual arts seriously for hundreds of years.
I asked myself at around age 7 or 8, “Why am I doing this?” That’s when I started making people pay for my work. Because that’s when my gifts revealed themselves, speaking as an adult. Now, in child terms, when I drew for people, it made them stop being mean to me. Am I drawing because I want people to stop being mean to me? Or am I drawing because this is what I’m meant to do, and then I would have to wait for a solution to come that would help me get beyond that question? So, the solution, when I was little, was charging my friends for drawings, so I stopped giving work away for free.
EP: I love that from an early age you were like, “This is worth some money folks!”
TJ: I really didn’t know what that meant, except I had to not give myself away. Really, it was in the hope that the work that would come out of me in the future would be more meaningful. But, I also wondered, “Is it just that I am doing this to assuage or to soothe a deep internal pain only? Or am I doing this because I might have something to contribute to art history one day?” I was introduced to art history by teachers who exposed us to the subject when I was 7, and I loved it.
EP: I love art history. Your work is research-based; at what point do you say, “Okay, that’s enough research, time to start making things visually,” or are you making things as you’re researching, or is it both?
TJ: I would say both. It depends on the circumstances and the timing. It depends on the deadlines. And that’s definitely an art school kid thing.
EP: Deadlines are so important. They’ll make you get shit done.
TJ: I really appreciate deadlines, and I appreciate what I’ve gotten from surviving these academic experiences. And you know, because I was out of school for 7 years, I learned how to meet deadlines. I was an apprentice for working artists, who were making huge pieces for the San Francisco International Airport Expansion. We might have funding to complete a mural by said date, and after that date, nobody can get paid and we can’t pay for the scaffolding anymore, so we had to work through the night to get the mural done. And then, no matter how tired everyone was, someone had to take down that scaffolding and have it ready to be picked up.
EP: It’s all about dealing with the practicalities that aren’t necessarily what you want to focus on. It’s not just about creating the art; it’s also about who will rent the truck and paint the gallery walls.
TJ: And that’s how the work gets made, because we can’t get two stories up without the scaffolding. There’s also this learned gratitude for all partners who make these wonders of visual language possible. Getting back to making the work, sometimes an effort begins with a question about a place. Sometimes, an effort begins with an invitation, as was the case with the works about Georgia in my show at the CAMH.
I was invited to Georgia to create a body of work and to have my first solo museum show, but to my knowledge, I didn’t have any connections in Georgia, and I had never been there before. I’d never been to Atlanta, so I had to go there and keep my eyes and heart open for influence. By going there and visiting and meeting people, I learned what the show was supposed to be.

An installation view of ”Tomashi Jackson: Across the Universe” at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston
EP: One of the things I realized while reading through your work is that there are histories in every community where you can find accounts of people being suppressed.
TJ: YES! Let me show you our dining room table.
EP: Yeah, please.
TJ: In 2013, when she was working on advocacy for saving public school transportation in Boston, this whole table would be covered in paperwork, printouts, and binders from my best friend Nia Evan’s time studying education policy with a focus on politics, leadership, and education law. She kept all the printouts from graduate school. This is why, whenever I’m visiting colleges or teaching, I urge everyone to print out their PDFs and not presume that everything will be accessible digitally forever.
EP: I like physical copies too. The titles of your pieces seem to be very important. They feel like they are a little bit of a nudge to the viewer about the histories and the research behind the piece.
TJ: You’re right. It doesn’t matter whether or not people have a preexisting understanding of the whole of all these stories. I’m not always rigid about the titles; a system will arise when I’m doing the work. For example, the cases that I was looking at, I use them parenthetically in the titles.
I had a rare and beautiful opportunity to walk through the show when it was here in Boston with some civil rights attorneys who happened to just be there as a part of the last tour. They just change everything. One of these civil rights attorneys was from McKinney, Texas and when we got to the piece Vibrating Boundaries (Law of the Land) (Self-Portrait as Tatyana, Dajerreia & Sandra), she started talking about growing up there. Those clues, as you were saying, that are in their simplest form are acknowledging what I was looking at and what I was thinking about. I have found that it advances the discourse in ways that are beyond my wildest dreams and beyond my control.
EP: Yeah.
TJ: There are titles from chapters from a book that I was reading to help me understand the history — Building the Great Society: Inside Lyndon Johnson’s White House by Joshua Zeitz. I don’t always use chapters from books as titles, but sometimes I do.
EP: I imagine it depends on the research and the resources.
TJ: Right. In Georgia, when that work was first shown at the Zuckerman Museum of Art, the people from Atlanta talked me through that piece. They saw redlining. They saw city plans. That is not what I was trying to do. I was just trying to respond to the atypical geometry that the piece presented after I put these things on the wall. And then I was like, “Okay, I guess I’m going to make a line formation that acknowledges and deals with this shape. It’s not a rectangle, and it’s not a square. It’s something else. I guess the visual language here will simply be acknowledging what this thing is.” Then people who are from that place are looking at it, seeing the red clay in it, seeing the voting ephemera, the election ephemera, and they started telling me what it was about.
EP: That sounds very rewarding. Let’s talk about your alter ego, Tommy Tonight, who is based on 90s black boy band idols.
TJ: Oh, Lord!
EP: I didn’t get a chance to sit in the video room at the opening, so I went back and watched all the videos later. I just loved them. It’s wild. They are such a significant departure from your precise, research-based work. It feels more playful and vulnerable. It started in Skowhegan in 2019, right?
TJ: Yes, I formed the group D’TALENTZ with Aryel René Jackson, Nikita Gale, and Ashley Teamer at Skowhegan, and if I had been the curator of this show, that room would not exist.
EP: Wow!
TJ: I didn’t think that work should be included. It was ultimately negotiated. This is the beauty of great curators who are true to their disciplines. Miranda Lash [the Ellen Bruss Senior Curator at the Museum of Contemporary Art Denver], who played a key role in shaping Across the Universe, is incredibly brilliant. And then there’s another curator and art historian, Rebecca K. Uchill, who works at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, who also has incredible disciplinary integrity. She was the first to force me to talk about Tommy Tonight in a way that helped me see what this was about. I really didn’t know; I was just doing it.

D’TALENTZ (Big Keto, A-Dogg, King, & Tommy Tonight), 2020, single-channel video with sound, 8:55 minutes. Courtesy of the artist and Tilton Gallery
EP: How did it start in Skowhegan?
TJ: It was my seventh time applying to Skowhegan. I finally got in. Coincidentally, it’s the year that I was in the Whitney Biennial, which is crazy. That’s never happened before in the history of that organization and probably won’t happen again. But I was in one of the happiest places on Earth, where people like us, who are obsessed with visual art, can be. I had been wanting and trying to get to Skowhegan since I was at Cooper Union in 2006. In 2019, I finally got there and, after receiving news from home about my mother being displaced to Bakersfield, CA, I became so sad.
One night, I resolved to isolate myself and listen to recorded Skowhegan lectures in bed, and I went to the bathroom, and the bathroom was filled with all of these fellow artists dressed in drag. I had totally forgotten we had a drag party at the Common House that night. They were drawing a beard onto the face of an artist who used to be based in Atlanta, Nikita Gale, then Ariel offered to paint a beard on my face. That night, Tommy Tonight was born.
As we were walking through the woods to the Common House, I started speaking in another voice at another octave and this story just emerged. “I may not be there in the morning but I’ll be your Tommy tonight.” He said he wanted to hang out with the fellas and go to a good party, have a good time, get some numbers from some cute girls, and have no problems. At the party no one else seemed to know who I was, so I really got to be someone else for a night, and then we eventually prepared a performance for the talent show that happened a couple of weeks later. Then, we started to make the videos as the boy band D’TALENTZ — a nod to Octavia Butler’s book Parable of the Talents.
Tommy has since reappeared in various locations, including Athens, Greece; Los Angeles, California; Boston, Massachusetts; and the Baltimore Museum of Art, as well as, most recently, the Great Sand Dunes of Colorado. He lip-syncs songs that explore love, liberation, and the complexities of living in a participatory democracy. I now understand that Tommy emerged out of grief for my mother’s illness and eventual passing. So, Tommy has just kind of become a stand-in. The songs that he sings are the same songs that I sang with my mother, to my mother, and that she sang to me.
EP: When I met you 10 years ago, my mom had just died a couple of months prior. I made a film and did stand-up comedy about a month after her death because death makes you reevaluate what you’re doing and why. But my friend really encouraged me to make a film. I would tell myself to keep my head down and work on the film. It kind of allowed me to process my mom’s death in more of a productive way.
TJ: Wow! You totally understand.
EP: Maybe that’s why Tommy Tonight really resonated with me.
TJ: That’s amazing.
EP: Thank you, Tomashi! Houston loves you. We’re happy to have you.
Tomashi Jackson: Across the Universe is on view at Contemporary Arts Museum Houston through March 29, 2026.
The post Art Kid Dreams: A Conversation with Tomashi Jackson appeared first on Glasstire.