Resonance and Reverence: Guiding Through Giants

A personal reflection on the power, pride, and presence found in Giants, a groundbreaking exhibition of Black artists from the collection of Kaseem Dean and Alicia Keys.

As a guide who’s experienced the exhibition Giants: Art from the Den Collection of Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys in three different cities, I can say without hesitation: This is a major moment for our museum and for our community. The collection, curated from the Deans’ private holdings, is a deeply personal one—and yet, in its scope and intention, it speaks to so many. This show, in every way, lives up to its name.

Portrait of Alicia Keys Dean (left) and Portrait of Kasseem Daoud Dean, 2024

Kehinde Wiley • Oil on canvas Photos courtesy of the Dean Collection

Giants showcases Black artists who are, in the Deans’ eyes, titans in their field. Many are already collected by top-tier institutions like MoMA and the Brooklyn Museum but remain relatively unknown to the broader public. On my tours, I often see visitors learn about artists like Titus Kaphar or Deborah Roberts for the first time, their expressions shifting from curiosity to deep connection. And for this, I credit the Deans, who aren’t just collectors but modern-day patrons. They visit artists’ studios, consult with them on how works should be framed or installed, and advocate for both established and emerging talents who haven’t yet received their due.

There is extraordinary power in the way this collection honors Black artistic vision. The Deans collect work that speaks to them personally. As I guide visitors through pieces by Amy Sherald, Hank Willis Thomas, and Kwame Brathwaite, I witness how they, too, light up.

What sets the Mia iteration of Giants apart is its clarity and cohesion. We first see this with the elegant and striking red-on-red, Adinkra patterned wall facing the Deans’ portraits by Kehinde Wiley; this wall was conceived by Mia’s head of design, Bobby Rogers, and sets the graphic tone of the exhibition. I am particularly impressed with our lighting design—especially with the black-painted walls in the gallery of Botswanan artist Meleko Mokgosi's Bread, Butter and Power, where the work glows as if it’s on a light box.

Touring this exhibition has sparked rich, necessary conversations. One moment that often catches people off guard is a discussion around leisure: the ability for Black families to enjoy public spaces like pools or beaches without fear or exclusion. In front of Derrick Adams’ Floater, I see older Black visitors nod with lived understanding. It’s a strong example of how this show reaches deep. As well, discussing Hank Willis Thomas' You Shouldn't Be the Prisoner of Your Own Ideas collaged "painting" of prison uniforms speaks to physical incarceration and also, that of the mind and heart.

The photographic portraits of Kwame Brathwaite, particularly those of his wife, Sikolo, celebrate the “Black is Beautiful” movement in a way that resonates profoundly. These women were not navigating white media. They were unapologetically themselves—dark-skinned, natural-haired, powerfully posed. In my groups, I see women smile, nod, and say, “Yes.”

Of course, not every piece is easy. Nick Cave's Soundsuit, 2016 stirs conversations about protection and visibility, how Black men (and women) often feel they must “wear the mask” to succeed. Titus Kaphar’s A Puzzled Revolution reflects on identity, celebrity, and the omission of Black figures in history while Mokgosi’s meditations on colonialism (and the freedoms attained) invite many layered discussions.

The show is a testament to the Deans’ dedication as Black collectors. They are not curators by trade, but they are deeply committed. They uplift, they support, they respect, and they are making it their mission to spotlight the work of Black artists in meaningful depth.

Yes, I personally would have liked to see more abstraction—a Sam Gilliam or more from Julie Mehretu, perhaps. But what’s here is exceptional and representative of the Deans’ taste and mission. Their Gordon Parks collection alone is remarkable and singular–the Deans own the largest private collection of Gordon Parks photography. And with artists like Deborah Roberts and Jordan Casteel featured, the figurative work is rich, layered, and deeply meaningful.

My hope? That this show helps pave the way for a permanent Black American gallery at the museum. I see how people respond—how they beam with pride, feel seen, and recognize the significance of this moment. I’ll be bringing more visitors, more community groups. Because Giants is more than an exhibition. It’s a conversation, a celebration, and an honoring of the art—and artists—that have too often gone unseen.