The Art of Memory: Mildred Howard’s Long-Awaited Moment
There’s something profoundly moving about an artist who, after decades of quiet perseverance, finally steps into the spotlight. Mildred Howard, an octogenarian whose work has long been a whisper in the art world, is now shouting—and the world is listening. Her first major retrospective at the Oakland Museum of California isn’t just a celebration of her art; it’s a testament to the power of resilience, memory, and the unyielding need to tell untold stories.
A Garage, a Sculpture, and a Reckoning
One thing that immediately stands out is Howard’s 10-foot-tall sculpture of Junipero Serra, the Spanish missionary infamous for his brutal treatment of Native Americans, bound and blindfolded in her garage. Personally, I think this piece is a masterclass in subversion. By wrapping Serra in what she calls ‘Make America Great Again red,’ Howard isn’t just critiquing history—she’s forcing us to confront it. What many people don’t realize is that art like this isn’t just about the past; it’s a mirror held up to the present. Howard’s work challenges us to ask: Who do we memorialize, and why?
Home as Studio, Studio as Home
Howard’s 15,000-square-foot warehouse in West Oakland is more than a studio; it’s a living, breathing archive of her life and work. From my perspective, this blurring of boundaries between art and life is what makes her so compelling. Her kitchen, for instance, isn’t just a place to cook—it’s a creative space where she crafts meals with the same care she puts into her sculptures. This raises a deeper question: Can art ever truly be separated from the artist’s daily existence? For Howard, the answer is a resounding no.
Houses as Vessels of Memory
What makes Howard’s work particularly fascinating is her recurring theme of houses. From her glass bottle houses to her large-scale installations, she uses architecture as a metaphor for memory. In my opinion, this is where her genius lies. Houses aren’t just structures; they’re containers of stories, histories, and identities. When Howard recreates them in her art, she’s not just building—she’s preserving. This is especially poignant given her own displacement from South Berkeley, a neighborhood her family called home for over 50 years.
The Long Road to Recognition
Howard’s recent accolades—honorary doctorates, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and now a major retrospective—feel both overdue and inevitable. What this really suggests is that the art world is finally catching up to her vision. But it’s also a reminder of how many voices like hers have been marginalized or ignored. Personally, I think this moment isn’t just about Howard; it’s about the broader reckoning happening in art and culture. Who gets to tell their story, and who gets to listen?
A Legacy Intertwined with Life
What many people don’t realize is that Howard’s art isn’t just about her—it’s about her community, her family, and her roots. Her grandson, Lamar Brown, describes a tight-knit family that lived within a four-block radius in South Berkeley. This sense of place and belonging is woven into everything Howard creates. If you take a step back and think about it, her work is a love letter to the people and places that shaped her.
The Future of Memory
As Howard’s retrospective runs through 2026, I can’t help but wonder: What will her legacy be? From my perspective, it won’t just be her sculptures or installations—it’ll be the way she forced us to remember. Her art isn’t just about the past; it’s about how we choose to carry that past into the future. A detail that I find especially interesting is her use of everyday materials—glass, keys, locks—to tell monumental stories. It’s a reminder that history isn’t just in museums; it’s in the objects we touch every day.
Final Thoughts
Mildred Howard’s art is a call to action, a reminder that memory is both personal and political. Personally, I think her greatest achievement isn’t just the art she’s created, but the conversations she’s sparked. As we walk through her retrospective, we’re not just viewing art—we’re engaging in a dialogue about history, identity, and the power of storytelling. What this really suggests is that Howard’s moment isn’t just hers; it’s ours. And it’s long overdue.
