Inside the Studio: Yashua Klos on Identity and the Cities That Shaped Him

Artist Yashua Klos works from his Bronx studio creating large-scale wood block prints that explore Black identity, family history, and urban transformation. His monumental portraits and subtle Art Deco motifs reflect a deep connection to his roots and the cities that shaped him, including Detroit and Chicago. Klos draws inspiration from artists such as Charles White and Elizabeth Catlett while developing his own physical and intricate carving techniques on massive wood blocks. Reconnecting with his extended family in Detroit added new layers of meaning to his work, influencing pieces that address themes of migration, racial injustice, and resilience. Historic events like the 1967–68 Detroit riots also inform his art, with text and eyewitness accounts woven into his imagery to bring context and complexity. Klos’s work reveals how personal and collective histories intersect with the environments we inhabit, highlighting identity through both intimate and monumental visual narratives.

Inside the Studio of Yashua Klos

WHITEWALL: Where are you working from these days?

YASHUA KLOS: I’m in my studio in the Bronx. I’ve been here for a while now.

WW: How do you find studio space in the Bronx compared to other parts of New York?

YK: It’s a real puzzle with real estate—so expensive everywhere. But the Bronx still feels like the last place where you can get studio space at a somewhat decent price. It’s expensive, but not like Brooklyn or Manhattan. I like it—it’s super industrial, and a lot of artists are moving here. We’ve got a tight-knit community, which is really cool.

WW: How far is your studio from where you live?

YK: Not too far—I’m uptown, so it works out well.

WW: What prompted your move into a larger studio space?

YK: I wanted to scale up and make larger work. This new space lets me do that. It happened just as this show opportunity came up in a large warehouse in downtown L.A. It felt synchronistic—finally having the space and platform to go big. In New York, space is tight and you don’t always get to work large scale, so this has been a new moment for me.

“Carving, inking, printing with my whole body,”

-Yashua Klos

WW: Will you be working at a scale as large as your 40-foot mural for the Wellin Museum of Art again?

YK: Probably not that big again—that was a special case during the pandemic when I poured everything into it. But I’m going bigger than my typical 60- to 70-inch works. Some pieces are now 8-by-8-foot squares. I’m really grateful and excited to have this platform.

WW: What inspired you to start working at a larger scale?

YK: Initially, it was about how Black identity hadn’t been portrayed in monumental or statuesque ways. I wanted to see and make images larger than life. Then it became about the physicality of working large—carving, inking, printing with my whole body. It became a space I felt comfortable and committed to.

WW: How did you first get interested in woodblock printing?

YK: I’m from Chicago. Before leaving for grad school in New York, someone showed me a Charles White print. Seeing a woodcut print in person was like seeing an action—a carved, sculpted surface turned into an impression. It reminded me of drawing and sculpture at once. Then at Pratt, I took a class where we carved huge woodblocks and printed them with a steamroller in a kind of block party. That blew my mind and got me hooked.

WW: Without access to a steamroller now, how do you print such large blocks?

YK: I figured out a way to print by hand using a wooden kitchen spoon to apply pressure and pull prints. It’s all by hand in my studio.

Where Influences Converge

WW: Who are some artists that influence your work with woodblock printing?

YK: Elizabeth Catlett is my hero in woodblock print. Charles White and she were married, and they feel like my grandparents. I revere them and try to take what they passed down and push the language forward.

WW: You mentioned Art Deco influences. How did that interest develop?

YK: It deepened through reconnecting with my family in Detroit just before the pandemic. Detroit’s mix of revered and neglected Art Deco buildings reflects disparities in city upkeep and identity, which fascinated me. Plus, Art Deco’s sleek, futuristic look is just gorgeous.

WW: You describe the Art Deco elements in your work as “haunting.” Can you elaborate?

YK: Yes, I use Art Deco patterns wrapped in Japanese rice paper, making them pale and ghostly in the background. They feel like a spookiness — something that still wants to be part of the city’s identity, leaving an impression on the places we live and our bodies. We can’t fully separate ourselves from our environments.

WW: What has family meant to you growing up and in your art?

YK: I grew up as an only child with my single mom. Family was the community—my mom’s friends were like aunts, their kids like cousins. That was my “family.” Later, reconnecting with my father’s large biological family revealed a powerful DNA connection, even though we had different upbringings. We share laughs, mannerisms—it felt natural, like hitting the lottery.

WW: How did reconnecting with your family influence your art?

YK: At first, I didn’t think I’d make art about it. But after visiting them and seeing Diego Rivera’s Detroit Industry Murals, I had a eureka moment. I wanted to create a huge mural that honored the family members left out of that history, many still working in Detroit’s auto plants. Portraits have always been my love language—showing care and attention.

WW: How did your family respond to your portrait project?

YK: During the pandemic, I connected with them through Facebook photos, asking permission to include images. They loved it—some even sent me photos. It became a way to bridge gaps, share stories, and learn about family. I was lucky; it could have gone differently.

WW: What scale are you exploring now in your work?

YK: I’m experimenting—alongside large pieces, I’m making smaller, more intimate works to complement them. Changing scale shifts everything: space, materials, implied narratives. It’s an exciting challenge.

WW: You also reference the 1967–68 riots and the Kerner Commission Report in your work. How do those histories inform your art?

YK: Those uprisings revealed racial injustice and inequities. I’ve been studying the Kerner Report and eyewitness accounts. I include quotes and statistics in my work to add context to images that might otherwise look peaceful, like flowers. The work has elements of fire and figures resting—notes of disruption and resilience.

WW: What’s your approach to incorporating research into your art?

YK: At first, I didn’t expect to be a researcher. I just wanted to draw people. But out of respect for the subjects and history, research enriches and fortifies the images I make. I also use text as subtitles or captions to bring more context.

Creating in Today’s World

WW: Tell me about your studio practice.

YK: I live in Harlem, a 20-minute bus ride from my Bronx studio. It’s a big space, still a happy mess—I keep the floor covered in paper and muslin scraps that become my palette. I work on the floor and walls, pulling from the collage materials around me.

WW: What do you listen to while you work?

YK: Blues music—it’s calming and rooted in African American work traditions and storytelling. Sometimes instrumental hip hop. I avoid lyrics that distract; I like to get into a trance-like state where the work almost makes itself.

WW: What projects are you focused on right now?

YK: Mainly the L.A. show. I also just finished a print collaboration with the Nieman Center at Columbia College, debuting in December. And there’s a work going to Art Basel Miami Beach with my gallery Sigma Jenkins. Otherwise, it’s all about the show.

“I prefer seeing art in context—museums, biennials, exhibitions,”

-Yashua Klos

WW: How do you feel about art fairs like Art Basel Miami Beach?

YK: I don’t love fairs. Parties can be fun, but I prefer seeing art in context—museums, biennials, exhibitions. Still, Miami’s not a bad place.

WW: People often ask about woodblock printing. How do you explain it?

YK: The images are all carved from wood. I sometimes bring blocks to exhibitions to show that the lines are carved, inked, and printed—not painted or drawn. Carving someone’s face is an intimate act, a way to know them and myself. It’s a tradition I honor and try to expand.

WW: What personal connections do you feel to woodworking through your family?

YK: My father was a carpenter and builder—a 3D sculptor of furniture and homes. My work with wood is different—I carve surfaces rather than build objects. It’s a way to connect to him and express the distance between us. That distance drives much of my work about family and history. It’s given me a second life.