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Praise Fuller

WARD: Can you introduce yourself?
PRAISE: My name is Praise Fuller. I am from Houston, Texas, and I’ve been living in New York for about three years. I’m a cyanotype artist. Anything that it’ll stick to, I’ll work with it.
WARD: How did you get into cyanotypes?
PRAISE: I always say that I was a broke and depressed college student. I didn’t go to art school, but I do have a degree from YouTube University. I was looking for a cheap way to put my foot in the printmaking door. The place I was living was really small, and I didn’t want to deal with the cost of materials or the mess of screen printing. I had a film camera, like everyone does, and researched enough to find out about cyanotypes. I started doing portraits of friends, then realized I could get more experimental with it. From there, I wanted to see what materials it could stick to, what different subject matter looked like. Then I moved into a bigger house with my own studio, and I just went insane with it.
WARD: I love the concept of YouTube University.
PRAISE: I teach cyanotypes a lot, and when I first started, people would always try to find out my credentials. People would DM me asking how I do this. Everything I know is already out there; you can either pay me to condense it all for you and hand it to you, or you can look for it yourself. Sometimes people just want to hear you say it.

WARD: Because you’re also a community organizer, there’s this sense of democratizing knowledge in how you learned your craft.
PRAISE: 100%. Traditionally, when we study artists, they’re often portrayed as very solitary. I make my best work when I collaborate. If I’m not printing directly, I’m working in the studio alongside a friend. Even just being around someone else helps me. My practice is not solitary. I need other people around.
WARD: With these works you’re making, you’re not using a UV light, you’re only using the sun?
PRAISE: Unless it’s huge, I will pretty much only use the sun. If I make a big or very experimental piece and want consistency, I’ll use a UV light because it gives me more control. That’s when I go science mode.
WARD: You’ve said your process is collaborative. Much of your work revolves around identity—personal and communal. What draws you to these themes?
PRAISE: When I think about my role as an artist, I think about how I grew up and the identities I hold: I’m Black, from the South, and I grew up really Christian. I’m in a time of life when I’m constantly challenging the values I was raised with and seeing how they mesh or clash with the values I’ve developed. I also think about what my work can mean for my community. Much of it centers on religion—why people turn to it, and how communities are built—drawing connections between organizing work I’ve done and religious practices. Discovering liberation theology gave me a framework for connecting my upbringing with my work about myself and my community. Studying those who came before me is essential to my practice.
WARD: You grew up in a Christian household. Did you always realize you wanted to become an artist?
PRAISE: Yes. My parents were always supportive of my creativity, but they saw art as secondary. My dad was a blue- collar worker but wrote poetry, my mom was a social worker but sang. They thought art was something you do to keep from going insane in your day-to-day life. Once I proved to my mom that I could make money from it, she became very invested.
WARD: When did you realize you were an artist?
PRAISE: I think it can be a self-proclaimed thing. You don’t need to accomplish something specific to call yourself an artist. Honestly, when I was a kid and got the 94-pack of crayons and oil pastels, I was like, “All right.”
WARD: Who are some artists who inspire you?
PRAISE: My main inspiration is Faith Ringgold. She merged activism and art, worked until her last breath, and experimented with many mediums. She’s your favorite artist’s favorite artist. She’s the blueprint.
WARD: I also see a lot of imagery in your work surrounding Black cowboys. What drew you to this?
PRAISE: In 2020, I started looking into it. I’ve always loved horses. The first book I checked out from a library was a horse encyclopedia. As with much history, Black people’s role in it had been silenced. That proved true with little digging. I got obsessed. I took riding lessons, read about Black rodeos, found photographers documenting them, and even worked with one, Ivan McClellan. I began creating work as an archive, making iconic images of Black cowboys. I also used this imagery to open up conversations about Southern history, farming, and organizing.
WARD: What can you tell me about the work you’re creating for the show?
PRAISE: I wanted to challenge myself technically by making a cyanotype on glass, which has always intimidated me. I decided to experiment with mirrors, thinking about what it means to place an image on one. I’ve been reading a book tracing African American history through the color blue, reflecting on that, and considering cyanotype’s original archival purpose.
WARD: The show is in Nyack, which has a deep history of slavery and liberation. How do you feel about your work existing in a forest with that history?
PRAISE: It makes me think about where I’m from. Houston, near Galveston, where Juneteenth originated. Placing an archival cyanotype on a mirror in that forest feels like opening or closing a portal, something spiritual or mythical. Being rooted in that place with the history I carry feels special.
WARD: Because cyanotypes use the sun, your work is literally created with the elements. How do you feel about the piece being in nature and transformed by it?
PRAISE: It makes the work stronger. I picture the mirror reflecting trees and light, making the forest feel more expansive, almost like using a mirror in a room to make it bigger. Light through rustling leaves is one of my favorite views, and imagining that bouncing off the mirror is part of why I wanted it to be a mirror, not just glass.
WARD: Do you have any final statements about your work or process?
PRAISE: I’m passionate about archiving, not just my own history, but also that of my community and those who came before me. Community is central to everything I do; I couldn’t do any of it without my friends and loved ones.
WARD: Can you speak a bit more about your community work?
PRAISE: I’ve worked with WAWOG [Writers Against the War on Gaza] and have done tenant organizing. I believe in contributing however I can—sometimes that’s showing up for court support, sometimes preparing meals for comrades. Community is taking care of each other and knowing our roles, stepping in when others can’t.
WARD: Are there people or groups you want to acknowledge?
PRAISE: Yes. My best friends, Astrid and Rosa, who are constant examples of selflessness and commitment. Rosa’s mother, Jude, has helped me heal deeply and has a long history of community organizing. She’s still active and fearless today. Cheryl from WAWOG opened Another World, a community space in Crown Heights, with incredible programming. Leah at Plaza Proletaria does amazing work, as does the Ridgewood Tenants Union. There are so many spaces where people can give their time and resources, and they make you feel part of the community while supporting your own political education.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "Praise Fuller",
"author" : "Praise Fuller, Gabrielle Richardson",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/heirlooms-praise-fuller",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Praise-Fuller_26A4542.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "WARD: Can you introduce yourself?PRAISE: My name is Praise Fuller. I am from Houston, Texas, and I’ve been living in New York for about three years. I’m a cyanotype artist. Anything that it’ll stick to, I’ll work with it.WARD: How did you get into cyanotypes?PRAISE: I always say that I was a broke and depressed college student. I didn’t go to art school, but I do have a degree from YouTube University. I was looking for a cheap way to put my foot in the printmaking door. The place I was living was really small, and I didn’t want to deal with the cost of materials or the mess of screen printing. I had a film camera, like everyone does, and researched enough to find out about cyanotypes. I started doing portraits of friends, then realized I could get more experimental with it. From there, I wanted to see what materials it could stick to, what different subject matter looked like. Then I moved into a bigger house with my own studio, and I just went insane with it.WARD: I love the concept of YouTube University.PRAISE: I teach cyanotypes a lot, and when I first started, people would always try to find out my credentials. People would DM me asking how I do this. Everything I know is already out there; you can either pay me to condense it all for you and hand it to you, or you can look for it yourself. Sometimes people just want to hear you say it.WARD: Because you’re also a community organizer, there’s this sense of democratizing knowledge in how you learned your craft.PRAISE: 100%. Traditionally, when we study artists, they’re often portrayed as very solitary. I make my best work when I collaborate. If I’m not printing directly, I’m working in the studio alongside a friend. Even just being around someone else helps me. My practice is not solitary. I need other people around.WARD: With these works you’re making, you’re not using a UV light, you’re only using the sun?PRAISE: Unless it’s huge, I will pretty much only use the sun. If I make a big or very experimental piece and want consistency, I’ll use a UV light because it gives me more control. That’s when I go science mode.WARD: You’ve said your process is collaborative. Much of your work revolves around identity—personal and communal. What draws you to these themes?PRAISE: When I think about my role as an artist, I think about how I grew up and the identities I hold: I’m Black, from the South, and I grew up really Christian. I’m in a time of life when I’m constantly challenging the values I was raised with and seeing how they mesh or clash with the values I’ve developed. I also think about what my work can mean for my community. Much of it centers on religion—why people turn to it, and how communities are built—drawing connections between organizing work I’ve done and religious practices. Discovering liberation theology gave me a framework for connecting my upbringing with my work about myself and my community. Studying those who came before me is essential to my practice.WARD: You grew up in a Christian household. Did you always realize you wanted to become an artist?PRAISE: Yes. My parents were always supportive of my creativity, but they saw art as secondary. My dad was a blue- collar worker but wrote poetry, my mom was a social worker but sang. They thought art was something you do to keep from going insane in your day-to-day life. Once I proved to my mom that I could make money from it, she became very invested.WARD: When did you realize you were an artist?PRAISE: I think it can be a self-proclaimed thing. You don’t need to accomplish something specific to call yourself an artist. Honestly, when I was a kid and got the 94-pack of crayons and oil pastels, I was like, “All right.”WARD: Who are some artists who inspire you?PRAISE: My main inspiration is Faith Ringgold. She merged activism and art, worked until her last breath, and experimented with many mediums. She’s your favorite artist’s favorite artist. She’s the blueprint.WARD: I also see a lot of imagery in your work surrounding Black cowboys. What drew you to this?PRAISE: In 2020, I started looking into it. I’ve always loved horses. The first book I checked out from a library was a horse encyclopedia. As with much history, Black people’s role in it had been silenced. That proved true with little digging. I got obsessed. I took riding lessons, read about Black rodeos, found photographers documenting them, and even worked with one, Ivan McClellan. I began creating work as an archive, making iconic images of Black cowboys. I also used this imagery to open up conversations about Southern history, farming, and organizing.WARD: What can you tell me about the work you’re creating for the show?PRAISE: I wanted to challenge myself technically by making a cyanotype on glass, which has always intimidated me. I decided to experiment with mirrors, thinking about what it means to place an image on one. I’ve been reading a book tracing African American history through the color blue, reflecting on that, and considering cyanotype’s original archival purpose.WARD: The show is in Nyack, which has a deep history of slavery and liberation. How do you feel about your work existing in a forest with that history?PRAISE: It makes me think about where I’m from. Houston, near Galveston, where Juneteenth originated. Placing an archival cyanotype on a mirror in that forest feels like opening or closing a portal, something spiritual or mythical. Being rooted in that place with the history I carry feels special.WARD: Because cyanotypes use the sun, your work is literally created with the elements. How do you feel about the piece being in nature and transformed by it?PRAISE: It makes the work stronger. I picture the mirror reflecting trees and light, making the forest feel more expansive, almost like using a mirror in a room to make it bigger. Light through rustling leaves is one of my favorite views, and imagining that bouncing off the mirror is part of why I wanted it to be a mirror, not just glass.WARD: Do you have any final statements about your work or process?PRAISE: I’m passionate about archiving, not just my own history, but also that of my community and those who came before me. Community is central to everything I do; I couldn’t do any of it without my friends and loved ones.WARD: Can you speak a bit more about your community work?PRAISE: I’ve worked with WAWOG [Writers Against the War on Gaza] and have done tenant organizing. I believe in contributing however I can—sometimes that’s showing up for court support, sometimes preparing meals for comrades. Community is taking care of each other and knowing our roles, stepping in when others can’t.WARD: Are there people or groups you want to acknowledge?PRAISE: Yes. My best friends, Astrid and Rosa, who are constant examples of selflessness and commitment. Rosa’s mother, Jude, has helped me heal deeply and has a long history of community organizing. She’s still active and fearless today. Cheryl from WAWOG opened Another World, a community space in Crown Heights, with incredible programming. Leah at Plaza Proletaria does amazing work, as does the Ridgewood Tenants Union. There are so many spaces where people can give their time and resources, and they make you feel part of the community while supporting your own political education."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Black Liberation Views on Palestine",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/black-liberation-on-palestine",
"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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{
"title" : "First Anniversary Celebration of EIP",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
"date" : "2025-10-14 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent Publishing",
"content" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent PublishingJoin Everything is Political on November 21st for the launch of our End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine.This members-only evening will feature a benefit dinner, cocktails, and live performances in celebration of a year of independent media, critical voices, and collective resistance.The EventNovember 21, 2025, 7-11pmLower Manhattan, New YorkLaunching our End-of-Year Special Edition MagazineSpecial appearances and performancesFood & Drink includedTickets are extremely limited, reserve yours now!Become an annual print member: get x back issues of EIP, receive the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine, and come to the Anniversary Celebration.$470Already a member? Sign in to get your special offer. Buy Ticket $150 Just $50 ! and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine Buy ticket $150 and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine "
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,
{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
}
]
}