Your paintings now sell for astronomical sums, with some pieces fetching over $100 million. What are your thoughts on this extreme commodification of your work?

Man, it’s exactly what I was criticizing in my work – the commodification of everything, including human expression. The art world has become a stock market. These collectors, they don’t see the message about racism, about power structures, about the struggle. They see dollar signs. My crown symbol was meant to elevate Black figures to royalty, not to crown the ultra-wealthy who trade my paintings like Bitcoin.

How do you feel about your work being displayed more in private collections than in public museums?

That’s the tragedy right there. Art should be accessible. When I was coming up, I was painting on the streets, making art that anyone could see. Now my work is locked away in penthouses and free ports. The very system I was fighting against has swallowed my art whole. The irony would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

What’s your take on social media and its impact on art?

Instagram, Twitter, all that? It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, young artists can now reach audiences directly, bypass the gatekeepers. That’s beautiful. But there’s also this pressure to create ‘Instagram-friendly’ art, to reduce everything to what looks good on a phone screen. Plus, the attention span has gotten so short. My work was always about layered meanings, references that you had to sit with, think about. Now everyone wants instant gratification.

And what about NFTs and digital art?

Another way to turn art into pure commodity. But I get the appeal for young artists trying to make it. The traditional art world is still run by the same elite gatekeepers. At least with NFTs, artists can build their own market. But man, seeing art reduced to speculation tokens… that’s rough.

How would you respond to AI art generators that can mimic your style?

That’s theft, straight up. These machines, they’re fed images of my work, my pain, my expression, and they regurgitate it without understanding any of the context, the struggle, the meaning. They’re like those wealthy collectors who see the surface but miss the soul. AI might be able to copy my brushstrokes, but it can’t replicate the experience of being a young Black artist in New York in the 80s.

Would you use AI tools in your art if you were creating today?

Maybe, but not the way people are using it now. I’d use it to expose its own biases, to show how these systems perpetuate the same power structures I was fighting against. Turn the machine against itself, you know? Make it uncomfortable.

Your work often incorporated text and symbols. How would you adapt that approach in today’s digital age?

I’d probably be all over augmented reality. Imagine my text floating off the canvas, transforming, revealing new layers of meaning as you move around it. But the message would be the same – questioning authority, exposing power structures, celebrating Black culture. The medium changes, but the truth doesn’t.

What advice would you give to young artists today?

Don’t chase trends or algorithms. Stay raw, stay true. The system wants to domesticate you, turn your rebellion into a product. Don’t let it. And don’t wait for validation from the art establishment. They’re still playing the same games, just with bigger numbers.

How do you think the role of the artist has changed since the 1980s?

Artists today are expected to be brands, social media personalities, entrepreneurs. It’s exhausting. In my time, the pressure was different – it was about surviving, about being taken seriously as a Black artist. Now it’s about maintaining engagement metrics and building a platform. But the real artists, they’re still doing what I was doing – telling the truth, making people uncomfortable, fighting the power.

Finally, what do you think your legacy should be in 2025?

Not as an investment vehicle for the ultra-wealthy. Not as a style for AI to copy. I want to be remembered as someone who told the truth through art, who showed that a young Black kid from Brooklyn could force the art world to confront its own prejudices. But mostly, I hope my work still speaks to the outcasts, the rebels, the ones fighting against the system. That’s who I was making art for in the first place.