Immoral Until Profitable

I made Immoral Until Profitable because I wanted to educate myself about the history of jazz.

I have always loved the music. There is something fascinating about the way jazz can communicate so clearly, even when there are no lyrics. But before making this exhibition, I was really just a casual listener. Living in Upper Manhattan had given me some exposure to the Harlem Renaissance, but I knew very little about the larger story of how jazz developed and how it became such an important part of American culture.

The more I researched, the more I realized that the history of jazz wasn't just a story about music. It was a story about race, American culture, politics, nightlife, commercialization, and the people who were willing to keep creating even when the culture around them told them they shouldn't.

That discovery became the beginning of this exhibition.

Show: a photo of you, your initial research, maybe early sketches.

THEN I FOUND THE WORD “IMMORAL

The moment that really changed the direction of the project was discovering how much backlash jazz received in the early 1900s.

I came across a Chicago newspaper article that repeatedly described jazz as “immoral.” The article warned readers that this wasn't really music at all, but noise that was creating chaos in the minds of children. I was fascinated.

I knew that rock and roll and hip-hop had been criticized as dangerous or corrupting. But I had never realized that jazz had faced a similar reaction.

Religious organizations and other critics were describing jazz as the “devil's music.” The music wasn't simply being criticized, it was being treated as a threat. That newspaper article became the starting point for the painting Immoral Until Profitable. The painting is intentionally simple: a trumpet player set against the actual newspaper article that sparked my research.

But that painting ended up creating the entire exhibition. I started asking myself: If jazz was considered so immoral, how did it eventually become one of America's most celebrated musical forms?

Show: the actual newspaper clipping prominently.

Then introduce the painting Immoral Until Profitable.

This is the moment the entire project begins.

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BUT THE MUSIC KEPT PLAYING

One of the things I found most interesting was that all of the criticism didn't stop people from listening. The music kept spreading.

The Night Kept Swinging is about that idea. Despite everything being said about jazz, the parties continued. People kept dancing. Musicians kept playing. And jazz kept becoming more popular.

Prohibited looks at another part of that story: Prohibition.

Prohibition was supposed to apply broadly across America, but jazz clubs—many of which were owned and operated by minorities—were disproportionately affected by enforcement. The places where people gathered to hear this new music became targets of policing and regulation.

The more I researched, the more I saw that jazz wasn't developing separately from American history. It was developing inside American history.

The Great Migration, Prohibition, segregation, nightlife, changing attitudes about race—all of these things shaped where jazz was played, who was allowed to hear it, and how the music evolved.

And still, the night kept swinging.

Show: historical photos/newspaper clippings alongside the paintings.

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THEN IT BECAME PROFITABLE

Eventually, I started seeing another side of the story. The same music that had been criticized as dangerous was becoming increasingly popular. And once there was money to be made, the music industry found ways to package jazz for a mainstream audience.

This is where Paul Whiteman became particularly interesting to me.

Whiteman was a white bandleader who became enormously successful performing and popularizing jazz. To me, his story represents a larger pattern: music created by Black Americans could be viewed as threatening, but putting a more familiar white face on that music could make it easier for mainstream America to accept—and sell.

That contrast is where the title Immoral Until Profitable really came from.

First it was immoral. Then it became acceptable. Then it became profitable.

That pattern isn't unique to jazz. It made me think about the way America has repeatedly reacted to new forms of music and culture created by people of color.

And it made me wonder how much has actually changed.

BUT THIS IS ALSO A LOVE LETTER TO JAZZ

I didn't want this exhibition to only be about the ways jazz was rejected. I also wanted to celebrate the music itself.

That's why the exhibition includes legends like Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Miles Davis. They didn't necessarily need a complicated historical justification. They are simply some of the people who made jazz what it is.

Chick Webb gave me an opportunity to connect both sides of the story. Webb was a legendary drummer who played at the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem. The Savoy was unusual for its time because it allowed Black and white people to dance together.

That story felt particularly personal to me.

I'm in an interracial marriage, and it made me think about how many of the racial barriers that once seemed permanent were challenged by people simply creating spaces where those barriers didn't exist.

The four cities represented in the exhibition—New Orleans, Chicago, Kansas City, and New York—help tell that larger story.

New Orleans is widely regarded as the birthplace of jazz, where African, Caribbean, Creole, and European musical traditions came together.

Chicago became a major center as musicians migrated north.

Kansas City developed its own culture of late-night jam sessions and extended performances.

Lastly, New York eventually became one of the defining centers of jazz, helping turn the music into a national and global art form.

Jazz didn't come from one place. Its story is America's story.

The Savoy

Acrylic in Custom Marquee Frame 48 x 24 inch Chick Webb led the Savoy Ballroom’s legendary house band, helping define Jazz’s Swing Era, the rise of the Lindy Hop, and American dance culture. As one of the first major racially integrated dance halls in the United States, the Savoy became a rare space where Black and White audiences shared the same dance floor, showing how music and movement could push against the racial boundaries of the era.

Noise, Not Music

Gouache, Oil Pastel, Newspaper Tracings in Custom Frame

48 x 36 inch

Jazz was initially met with resistance, criticized by older generations and authorities as immoral “devil’s music” because of its association with red-light districts and its unconventional sound. Many viewed early Jazz as chaotic and a threat to traditional values. Newspapers, churches, and social critics warned that the music encouraged rebellion, excess, and moral decline, while its free-flowing style and cultural roots challenged long-standing ideas about what American music and society should sound like.

Born & Raised

Acrylic, Oil Pastel, Newspaper Tracings, Custom Frame

57 x 96 inch

New Orleans is widely regarded as the birthplace of Jazz, where African, Caribbean, Creole, and European musical traditions merged into a new improvisational form.

Chicago became a major hub for Jazz during the Great Migration, as musicians traveled north in search of new opportunities. In the city’s fast-paced urban environment, the music evolved into a sharper, more energetic, solo-driven style.

Kansas City developed a new style of late-night Jazz built on swinging rhythms and extended live performances. Its culture of musical freedom encouraged longer solos and helped shape modern Jazz.

New York City became the defining center of Jazz, transforming the music into a national and global art form through recordings, radio, and iconic performance venues.

MAKING THE WORK

I wanted the paintings to feel like they had lived through the history I was researching.

I wanted them to feel dirty, worn, smoky, and nostalgic—like they had spent years inside a late-night jazz club. That's why I incorporated newspapers, typography, collage, and other materials into the paintings.

The newspapers were especially important to me.

As a white man researching a history that isn't my own, I didn't want the exhibition to feel like I was standing outside of that history telling you what to think. Instead, I wanted to show you what history itself had said.

The newspapers became a way of bringing those voices directly into the paintings.

I also wanted the work to feel less like looking at a clean historical document and more like discovering something that had been buried for decades.

Something worn.

Something used.

Something that had survived.

The goal was for the paintings to feel nostalgic enough to transport you somewhere else—to make you feel like you had stepped into a smoky jazz club in another time.

Show: process photos, materials, details, unfinished paintings.

WHAT I LEARNED

One of the things that surprised me most during the exhibition was how differently people responded to the history. Some of the older people who came through the show were already familiar with many of the stories I was telling. A lot of the younger visitors weren't.

That made me realize how much of this history can disappear from our collective memory. And that's probably the biggest thing I took away from making this exhibition: jazz isn't just music history. It's American history.

It tells us about race. Migration. Segregation. Youth culture. Politics. Commercialization. And the ways that new ideas can scare people before eventually becoming part of the mainstream. But it also made me hopeful.

The young people who embraced jazz helped push the culture forward despite the resistance around them. We can see similar struggles happening today.

History doesn't repeat itself exactly, but the patterns can look remarkably familiar. I started this exhibition simply wanting to learn more about jazz. I ended it realizing that there was much more to learn than I expected. And if someone spends ten minutes exploring this project, I hope they leave with the same feeling I had.