Futura Reimagines a Midcentury Icon With His Signature Abstraction
The legendary NYC artist talks group shows with Keith Haring, rapping on the Clash records and collaborating with Noguchi.
For GOAT’s Radical Design Exhibit, hand-painted and individually numbered FUTURA2000 x Isamu Noguchi Akari light sculptures are made available alongside select prints.
Leonard Hilton McGurr, better known as Futura or FUTURA2000, has a career that reads like something out of a novel: graffiti pioneer in the ’70s, a spell in the navy, part of the ’80s NYC gallery scene with Keith Haring and Jean Michel-Basquiat, and rapping on the Clash records. He’s also enjoyed time as a bike messenger, turned his hand to graphic design for record sleeves and in more recent years, experienced something of an art world renaissance, showing across the globe while collaborating with Supreme, Off-White, Louis Vuitton and Nike.
Futura’s latest work demonstrates his total ascendancy to the world of design, sprinkling his unique magic across Isamu Noguchi’s iconic Akari lamps and a series of corresponding prints. For GOAT’s Radical Design Exhibit presented in collaboration with Capsule Plaza, the legendary artist and the Milanese design magazine dive into the experiences that have molded Futura’s signature approach.
Given your breadth of work across so many spheres and genres, do you still feel like the artist who came up in the New York graffiti scene?
My emotion and my heart is still with street art, especially the way of looking at things that it taught me. But I’m not active—at least not in a real way—in that world.
You’re not climbing around on train tracks any more.
I can still paint a wall, but I’m almost 70. I'm not going to break the law. But if someone wants me to paint a wall, do some public art for them, I’m happy to do that. I love to give my art away like that.
Do you still feel connected to the process of graffiti when you’re working?
I love to work on a wall over a weekend with some friends. Jamming with some peers gives me a lot of pleasure.
Noguchi’s work is all about its engagement with space, whether it's his work in design, sculpture, or gardens. They are very different forms, but there are parallels between that and your work as a street artist, which is also about an engagement with space. Both a garden and a mural are a gift to the city in their own ways.
I saw these similarities as I got to know more of Noguchi's catalog and the work that he had done. His sculptures are in public spaces and parks. It has that ability to touch not just an art fan, but anyone passing by. Anybody on the street has access to these artworks. It's a connection in some way.
It's funny because Noguchi and I also share the same birthday. I learned that when I first hooked up with the Noguchi Museum for my exhibition that led to the lamps a couple of years ago.
How was it spray painting the Akari lamps?
Spray painting is an aggressive medium. It’s full of carcinogenic chemicals. I was worried it would damage the paper because I didn’t want to destroy his incredible lamps. I had to find this super organic spray paint without any of that shit in it.
How did you approach it aesthetically?
The prints were amazing but even more delicate than the lamps. The lamps have a little bit more body to them whereas the prints are really fragile. We made them in Noguchi’s old studio in Queens. It was an amazing experience to make the work, channeling and understanding it like, “Damn, I'm in this man's space.”
You've been making more sculptural work over the past few years as well.
It started with smaller-scale pieces, but the only direction to take those things in is up, bringing in different materials. I got into 3D printing during the pandemic and recently I’ve been working with Carrara marble from Italy. It’s amazing. If I rewind a tape from 40 years ago, there's no way I thought I'd be in Italy, working in the same quarry where Michelangelo made David. Now, I’m making these big sculptures. I’m off to Hong Kong to do one soon which makes me think of Noguchi.
Oh, wow.
I can relate another story. I recently discovered invitations to group shows in New York City from 1983-1985 that were orchestrated by Keith Haring. He was always active with various political things and wanted to do art benefits. I found my name on a list with Noguchi. At the time, there were many group shows with 30 to 40 people and I didn't know every artist who was showing. I'm in the show and I'm hanging with my guys and my people, but then there’s this connection that we had in his life that I wasn't even aware of.
I’ve read that, around the time when you started entering the fine art world, it came with some anxiety for you about your place within it. But in the last decade or so you've had a real renaissance among fine art circles. Are you more comfortable with your work in this context?
Back then, comparisons to Kandinsky—or whoever they were trying to connect me with so that art lovers might find more commonality visually—was overwhelming and intimidating. For one, I'm not from an art school background. I didn’t have that kind of education. My art education was looking at ads by Peter Max on the bus, so I had to learn. I learned about Kandinsky. I learned about Malevich. I learned about Bauhaus. I had to educate myself. I often think, “Wow, how the hell did we make it with really no tools at our disposal?”
You had the most important tool, which is your brain.
You're right. And you know what? I'm still pretty fond of that brain.
You’ve done work with Louis Vuitton, Supreme and Nike in recent years. How have you found that process of applying your style into this more collaborative world with people like Virgil Abloh and James Jebbia.
My creative diversity is pretty strong. I'm not just a one-hit wonder or one-trick pony. I was always trying to do different things because I noticed when I got into the art world that everybody was doing the same thing. They do what they do, and god forbid if it sells, because then they won't let you do anything else. I hated all of that. I don't want my creativity to be directed and I like having creative autonomy. I pick and choose, and people come to me with offers of collaboration and a lot of those have to be based on friendship.
For example, I was with James Jebbia at the birth of Supreme back in the mid ’90s, so all these things are genuine and organic. Money is the last thing. Back in the day I didn't have any money and I was struggling, but I kept my integrity. I didn't want to be bought.
Same with Virgil. He was very generous with me. He respected me knowing that I'd crossed over into a few genres, streetwear and street art, or this kind of hybrid culture that we have now.
From very early, you had such a distinctive style of graffiti and your style of work is very recognizable as your own regardless of the context. Has your process changed much?
I was never lacking the ability to create. I was always more frustrated by having to put it in context for the art world. My safe space was always that abstraction. I love colors and movement. I love to collaborate. I love sharing creativity.
Some artists get very precious about being recorded, but you might be one of the most documented artists working today, whether it’s a wall in ’80s New York or this beautiful film they made of you working on the Noguchi series.
If anything, I think the documentation is actually helpful when you look towards the future because all of that content becomes important with time. I recently ran across some old footage. I used to run around with a Super 8 camera making films, whether I was in Tokyo or Milan or Moscow. I wasn’t trying to be Spielberg, I've just always been passionate about communication and creativity.
I think I first came across your work as a teenager via the Clash, which is a great example of that.
Thank you for bringing that up! Those guys were very important to me. Joe Strummer was one of the most unbelievable people I’ve ever known. He was such a great man and I'm so grateful for the friendship we had.
Not many fine artists get to rap on a Clash record.
Yeah it was “Overpowered by Funk.” I'm so proud of that. But the Clash did music for my own rap record called "The Escapades of Futura 2000," too, in 1982. Mick Jones, Joe Strummer, Simonon, Topper… I had the boys behind me, playing music for me. How cool is that?
Tracing your work from then to now, you’ve always had a very modern way of thinking. Now artists work with musicians. They do performances. They work with fashion. Fine art wasn’t so cross-disciplinary then, your generation kind of changed that.
Years ago they were quite elite. They didn't want you coloring outside the lines. It was a case of stay in your lane and do what you do. Back then I was throwing out crazy things that weren't really sticking. But I don’t mind being a bit ahead of my time. I like all my periods. Whether it’s working with the Clash, showing in the New York gallery scene or designing record sleeves. There are a lot of rich experiences.
Now it’s more about balancing creative and commercial stuff. It’s a dance I'm still learning to do. But the priority to make good paintings is the same as it’s always been. I look at my artwork from the early ’80s that sells for 200 grand, and I'm like, "What?" That sold for nothing back then. It’s pretty incredible—but if the work isn’t good, it’s not going to transcend time like that.