Growing up in Compton, Anthony Lee Pittman looked around at the paintings during Mass and never saw any Black or brown angels. It’s an absence that never left him. The lack of representation contradicted what he knew to be true: Holiness also resides in Black and brown people. The experience galvanized his art, and from his palette, he’s crafted the divinity he always knew existed — a conviction that came from the village of women who raised him, especially his grandmother, who never made him feel anything less than divine.
Pittman is among a wave of visual artists in Compton who are filling the neighborhood spaces with work that reflects the city’s creativity and complexity, from the major rebuild underway at Centennial High School, to the new performing arts center at Compton High School and artist Mr. Wash’s plans for a $15-million arts center. On the ground, it feels like a local renaissance. Take a drive through Compton and you’ll encounter Pittman’s work: murals at Gonzales Park, A New Beginning Resource Center, Compton High School, and drawings across utility boxes along Compton Boulevard and Douglas Dollarhide Drive. He also has paintings and sketches that fill his studio. One of his acrylic paintings, featuring two angels soaring above the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. monument, now anchors a larger body of work, “Los Angelitos.” The title itself is a play on Los Angeles and “Angelitos Negros,” the poem later popularized through recordings by artists including Eartha Kitt, Roberta Flack and Celia Cruz. Black souls also go to heaven.
The first mural in Pittman’s “Los Angelitos” project features five angels painted on the wall outside Patria Coffee Roasters, facing Wilson Park. “Many of my projects can be traced back to this space,” he told me, citing the several cups of coffee he’s shared there with collaborators and curators from spaces like Compton Museum and Color Compton. For future murals, Pittman will continue to visit churches, museums and cultural sites in cities across the U.S. and Europe with predominantly Black populations “to deepen his understanding of the spiritual landscape and the evolution of street art and urban culture.”
When I met Pittman at the mural, people gathered at the park began to make their way over to interact with us. What stayed with me wasn’t just their curiosity but the way they looked out for us while we were there. Their presence felt like a stamp of approval to keep pouring into a community they love too. Together we looked at the mural, each angel holding a ribbon bearing the name of a city that catalyzed Pittman’s life and journey as an artist: Compton, Watts, Southeast Los Angeles, Inglewood and South Central, because to him, every hood is sacred.
Reflecting on my childhood, I can see creativity woven into my family. I come from a Black father and a Mexican mother, so I was enveloped by both cultures. I recall my dad also being a good artist, although he didn’t pursue it as a career. One piece I remember was his re-creation of the Stevie Wonder album cover for “Hotter than July.” On my mom’s side, artistry also revealed itself in different ways. My grandmother made holiday decorations for the house, and my grandfather worked with leather, making jackets and boots. I was surrounded by people who knew how to create with their hands.
In middle school, I took my first art class with Mr. Aguilera, who taught me the fundamentals and paved the way for me to study art at an elevated level in high school. I remember walking home from Compton High carrying my paintings when I ran into him. I had just finished a portrait of Dorothy Dandridge, and he bought it right on the spot, making it my first commission. It was also the first color portrait I had ever painted, and it reassured me I had a gift.
Over the last decade, I’ve gone through a lot of self-discovery, both in my identity and in my art. The direction I wanted to grow in as an artist became apparent. Being Black and Mexican is a blessing, but it also comes with an internal struggle. For a long time, I felt like I had to choose one or the other. This feeling came from different places, including some members of my family, society and art spaces. As much as I was expected to fit into a single identity, there was no way I could shrink one part of myself when both of my experiences are equally valid.
Within those 10 years of exploration, I had the honor of connecting with more Afro-Latinos from Compton. Meeting fellow creatives who looked like me gave me a sense of validation, mirroring what Celia Cruz did for me in adolescence. Seeing an Afro-Latina woman with a darker skin complexion achieve such a level of success was the representation I needed. As I continued to grow into myself, the art followed me. My identity and my art are parallel, not separate. It inevitably became the basis for what I wanted to paint.
I create figures who look like me and reflect my spiritual background. As a society, we’ve been surrounded by European depictions of saints, angels and other sacred figures for generations. I want Black angels to exist within the same spiritual realm. Naturally, my pieces led me toward creating for the community. It would feel disingenuous to make art that’s unattainable to the very community who inspires it. We deserve to walk through neighborhoods and experience beauty too, and the people who have always called it home should not be priced out of being able to experience it due to gentrification.
“Los Angelitos” is me evolving my process without changing the heart of my practice. I’ve been experimenting with street art, incorporating wheat-pasting because it feels true to where I’m from and the communities I create for. For this mural, I spent five days painting on site, while the angels themselves took about two weeks to complete in my studio. If you look closely at the mural’s landscape, you’ll see snowy mountains like those in “The Mission of San Gabriel, Alta California in May 1832” by Ferdinand Deppe — one of California’s oldest paintings depicting a mission, a place where Indigenous people were stripped of their land and culture. By using only part of the original painting and omitting the mission, I’m reclaiming space for Black and brown spirituality while acknowledging that this land existed long before colonization.
The love I got from the OGs in the community while I was painting reminded me of why I do what I do. They immediately noticed the angels were Black, which brought everything back to the project’s purpose. One man even told me, “I didn’t know brothas get down like this. Black men could paint stuff like this.” There was so much curiosity surrounding the mural, and people kept stopping to ask me questions. I honestly expected some negative comments or it to be perceived as “soft,” but I never got either.
It’s a privilege to live out my artistic expression on the same streets as artists before me, like Elliott Pinkney, John Outterbridge, Charles White and Richard Wyatt Jr. I hope the world begins to recognize Compton has given us more than just rap music. Its cultural influence is multifaceted and should be recognized.
Krysta Hawkins is a writer from Moreno Valley whose work focuses on culture and music.
