ian.byersgamber@gmail.com
@bamblerdander
21 January – 3 February 2025
Mason Gross Galleries

Mustering during 1921's Battle of Blair Mountain, 10,000 racially‑integrated, largely‑Socialist striking coal miners greeted each other, "I come creeping." The shibboleth distinguished and protected them from the private police, sheriffs, and strikebreakers of their robber baron bosses.

In the hypercapitalist present day, such histories of violent uprising offer fresh lessons—on the power of the people, and the means we have to liberate ourselves.

A wide view of a white wall gallery with framed photographs on the wall, antique wooden vitrines in the center of the room next to an antique book stand with a red folder on it, and a flag hanging in the top left corner above a wooden cabinet with a mirrored sign above it. A figure in all black with blue boots stands looking at one of the photographs.

I Come Creeping is a historiographic project that excavates the ongoing struggle over the memory of Blair Mountain. In the century since 10,000 West Virginian coal miners defended their lives and their livelihoods from extreme state and paramilitary violence, this history, alongside the legacy of the broader labor movement, has been forgotten, dismissed, and otherwise co‑opted. In this project, I trace current efforts by the community to preserve the miners' legacy, ideological and material, in contrast to the lacunae in textbooks and other archives of power. Taken altogether, I Come Creeping therefore serves two ends: one, didactic, to celebrate a long-silenced example of leftist uprising; and two, translative, to survey the history's continuing urgency and extend its lessons to the present.

Over the past year, I've traveled some 2,200 miles, visiting and revisiting the historic sites of the Mine Wars. On these trips, I produced on-site photographs while conducting material research, always in community with the current steward of Blair Mountain's history, the West Virginia Mine Wars Museum. I've accompanied museum workers and volunteers on two archaeological digs, both permitted and "dirty" (read: on land still owned by the same coal companies against whom the Battle of Blair Mountain was fought). Back in the studio, I produced objects, by myself and in collaboration with my partner Jinha, to push against the documentary mode's tendency to historicize.

This is important to me because the history of the Mine Wars was first shared with me as a balm against defeatism. Doing mutual aid work during Los Angeles' early COVID lockdowns, my fellow organizers passed around this history the way we shared PPE and other strategic resources. The seeming improbability of Blair Mountain to contemporary audiences reminded us of the power of the people, and the means we have to liberate ourselves. The Mine Wars is a live thing, reaching out to the present to demonstrate what is possible; this is why I made a key image in the show, Transmission, at the organizing space those comrades run back in LA. It was the last photograph I produced for I Come Creeping: a full circle, a report-back, a reorientation toward why I find this history so worth cultivating.

My project leverages historiography and museology to examine Blair Mountain in its capacity as leftist agitprop. I triangulate my subjective approach to artmaking within such a constellation, not to play artist-historian, but to turn history to art's ends: that is, to quote Toni Cade Bambara, "to make the revolution irresistible." The past decade's global slide into ultra-conservatism has only strengthened Bambara's evergreen imperative. I hope, in short, that I Come Creeping introduces the history of the Mine Wars to new audiences, who may then turn with fresh motivation to community care and defense.

An angled view of a white wall gallery with three black and white photographs in black frames on the left wall next to a doorway. Two antique wooden vitrines and an antique book stand are seen from behind in the middle of the room. A photograph of a tombstone leans against the wall on the other side of the doorway, around the corner from two long wooden shelves with small vinyl images on the wall above the shelves.

Special thanks

This exhibition would not have happened without A. Jinha Song, an incredible partner, collaborator, maker, and radical. She has contributed a huge amount of labor to this project, from supporting and guiding my efforts at community organizing; traveling with me to Matewan; helping me conceptualize the show; researching, editing, and writing; to designing and fabricating objects. I love you.

Thanks to everyone at the West Virginia Mine Wars Museum—especially Shaun Slifer, Ethan Karnes, Kenny King, Thomas Jude, and Kenzie New Walker—for your generosity and openness toward me, and for your work sharing and advancing this history.

Thanks to my comrades at All Power Books—Cat, GQ, and Mr. Mailbox, and Conqy gets thrown in here too—for your friendship and solidarity (even though I'm an anarchist). I'm in awe of all you do and the community you've built.

Thanks to my friends Rory, Boz, Juliana, Phil, Josh, Luis, Lucas, and Olivia, for the gift of your time to discuss this work. Thanks to Sojyung, tireless pinch-hitting editor. Thanks to everyone at Rutgers—fellow students, faculty, staff—who've made my time here so special, especially Randy Hemminghaus, for your labors in the print shop, and Sean Zujkowski, for your constant help in the darkroom.

Thanks, finally, to my wonderful parents, for your support and for setting me in the right direction.