Spencer, Tadeo (Week 10)

 For my final blog post, I would like to reflect upon the work of Yolanda M. López once again.

My father attended UCLA during the ‘90s, a time when López’s piece, “Who’s the Illegal Alien, Pilgrim?” was widely circulated. As such, I knew about the piece long before I took this class (I loved it so much that it became a running joke of ours). However, I never knew anything about its creator, nor the context in which it was created, and neither did my father. Although this piece took on a life of its own, we can never separate a work of art from the artist who created it. It is our duty to elevate not only the works of Chicana artists but also the artists themselves. For that reason, I am thankful to have taken this class. 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Yolanda M. López by Karen Mary Davalos because it presented all of her major works while providing significant background information on each of them. Portrait of the Artist as the Virgin of Guadalupe is now one of my favorite works of art because of the sheer joy and strength that it conveys. It is impossible to look upon this painting and not feel empowered. With it, López reminds us that ordinary people, especially ordinary women, possess their own divine power like the Virgin.

This, too, reflects my feelings as I look back on this course. We may be undergraduates simply trying to get through school, but we can also make a difference through our schoolwork. The activist project we completed for Wikipedia exemplifies this. It is our duty to lift each other up, even if it is just one person, because that single person can empower many more. It was an honor to write about Johanna Toruño and to learn about all the amazing artists that others researched. Let’s hope all our articles are eventually published!

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 9)

I thoroughly enjoyed Hector’s presentation on Martha Ramirez-Oropeza. Ramirez-Oropeza is clearly a very talented artist as she is a muralist, painter, performer, and art researcher. I did not previously know who teaches the Day of the Dead class at UCLA (it is Ramirez-Oropeza herself), but I have always wanted to take that class and am even more eager to enroll in it now that I know!

 

Ramirez-Oropeza was born in Chihuahua, Mexico and spent her early life traveling between the United States and Mexico. Her parents were farmworkers, so they constantly moved from city to city in order to find work, and many times this necessitated moving back and forth across the border. Eventually, she attended college in Mexico to study under David Siqueiros, the famous muralist. She took an interest in indigenous symbols and eventually co-founded the Nahuatl University in Ocotepec, Morelos, Mexico.

 

One piece that resonated with me was an untitled piece captioned “Mother Earth”:

 

Here, the earth literally takes the shape of a woman’s head. We can assume this woman is a representation of Mother Earth, a personification of the planet Earth. This woman is of a dark complexion, and it is possible that she is indigenous. Her mouth is open, and it appears as if she is blowing life into the plants which grow upon her surface. The plants bloom and flourish so much that they resemble the overgrowth of a jungle. If one looks more closely, however, they can see that these plants are not vines but rather rows of corn, which are often used as a symbol of indigeneity. Thus, I do not believe it is a coincidence that Ramirez-Oropeza chose to give her representation of Mother Earth indigenous features. Furthermore, Ramirez-Oropeza may be suggesting that farmworkers like her parents honor their indigenous heritage by planting corn. Farmworkers are often marginalized, but their work is essential to society. Without food, a society cannot thrive. Much like Mother Earth, farmworkers breathe life into their crops and thus give life to the wider population.

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 8)

This week’s presentations focused on artists who create public art, which means they install their work at a location accessible to the public. In most cases, this means it is displayed outside, so it must be made to last in these conditions. Murals exemplify public art perfectly.

I thoroughly enjoyed Jacqueline’s presentation on the muralist Graciela Carrillo. Carrillo was born in Los Angeles in 1950, and she moved to San Francisco after receiving a grant to study at an art institute in the city. Eventually, she became part of the Chicana art group called Las Mujeres Muralistas. She also co-founded La Galería de la Raza, an art gallery built in the Mission District.

I found it very interesting when Jacquelin explained how the work of Las Mujeres Muralistas sparked community engagement within the Mission District. The mural shown above depicts the experiences of women living in the area, and it depicts numerous allusions to indigeneity. Examples include the sun, which looks like an Aztec calendar, and the many rows of corn at the forefront of the image (corn was a staple crop for many indigenous civilizations). After the completion of this mural, many artists wanted to join Las Mujeres Muralistas. Parents would also take their children to watch artists work on the mural so they could learn more about their indigenous history.
 
This demonstrates the importance of public art. Since it is not confined to spaces like galleries which Latinxs may not be able to access (if payment is required for entry, if it is located far from their houses, etc.), its messages can reach a wider audience. In this sense, murals bring the gallery to the neighborhood, and unlike pieces displayed in galleries they can catch the attention of people who are unaware of their existence, much like an advertisement on a billboard. 

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 7: Claudia Zapata)

The advent of the world wide web (now commonly known as the internet) represented a turning point in the world of Chicanx art. In earlier decades, Chicanx artists used posters to spread their messages to the public, and they relied upon mail networks to communicate with and send their work to other artists. The internet provided more accessible methods of creating and distributing art, and Chicanx artists quickly took advantage of these changes. Claudia Zapata’s essay, “Chicanx Graphics in the Digital Age,” examines many of the new art forms that emerged during the digital age and how they honor older art forms.

 

I found Zapata’s assertion that digital forms of art have not replaced traditional forms like posters to be extremely important. Throughout the essay, Zapata illustrates how digital artists use social media and public websites to distribute pieces which speak to the Chicanx experience or support various causes. Lalo Alcaraz, for example, created a digital poster of Emma Gonzalez, a survivor of the Parkland shooting, in solidarity with her fight for gun control. He posted it on his social media accounts and asked his followers to share the poster, print it, and even bring it to protests to raise awareness. Here, we see the legacy of Chicanx printmaking. The art of the political poster has not faded away, it has simply evolved. The importance of physical prints has also not dwindled. As Zapata points out, it would be impractical to bring large screens to protests, so it is still necessary to print out such posters.

 

 

In many ways, the digital medium enhances physical works of art. Augmented reality (AR) can be used to scan an artist’s piece, and then information about its subject or an animation then appear on one’s device. This increases the level of engagement an audience has with a work of art, and in the case of art which seeks to raise awareness of Chicanx struggles, history, or culture, this makes it even more effective.

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 6: Xandra Ibarra)

Ashes of Five Feminist of Color Texts is an MFA installation created by Xandra Ibarra in 2020. The installation consists of five book covers mounted upon a wall. The five books displayed in the piece are Borderlands/La Frontera, Black Feminist Thought, Mapping the Margins, Sister Outsider, and The Bridge Called My Back. These books are considered pivotal works in intersectional feminist theory. Each cover depicts part of a funeral urn containing the ashes of the pages from the corresponding book. Beside each cover is a vase filled with flowers that invokes the image of a mausoleum. In this sense, the deceased’s plaque has been replaced by the book cover urn. In place of dates of birth and death, Ibarra includes the library call numbers for each book. On the adjacent wall hangs a picture of a flame flickering in a cave. 

By “cremating” these five renowned texts, Ibarra creates a sense of mourning. Had Ibarra shown the books being consumed by flames, it might have conveyed a message of censorship, but showing their “graves” instead implies something unfortunate occurred and she merely illuminates that tragedy. Ibarra herself says the piece is a commentary on “over-citation” that merely reaffirms false notions of diversity within universities still built around power structures which exclude POC’s. Thus, the flames on the adjacent wall do not correlate with the flames that consumed the books, but rather the dwindling flames of revolution that the authors had hoped to spark with their works. Rather than creating cascade of events that lead to real change, the institution of the university turned them into “poster children” to convince the masses they are already diverse and invalidate criticisms of its power structure. There is, however, still hope. By including the library call numbers for each book, Ibarra leaves readers a trail they can follow. Ultimately, the reclamation of these texts can perhaps rekindle the fire of revolution.

 

While I learned about this piece, I began wondering how much an artist considers the environment in which their art is displayed. Does an artist design the layout of piece like this by looking at the corner of a gallery where they will work, or does the gallery find a spot in which the piece will fit perfectly?

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 5)

Hammerhead Shark on Padre Island, drawn by Carmen Lomas Garza in 1987 (Figure 4), juxtaposes a tranquil beach landscape with the bloody image of a dead hammerhead shark. In the painting, we see families spending a day at the beach, right near the shore. The water is crystal clear, and the sand dunes in the distance are empty save for plant growths. If a viewer looks at the image from one of its edges, nothing strange seems to be happening. People play in the water, walk the boardwalk, and sunbathe. The only edge without individuals enjoying their day is the top edge, which depicts the sand dunes. 

Garza’s paintings frequently depict members of a community interacting and engaging in leisurely activities. While this piece also showcases the leisurely activities of various families spending a day at the beach, one realizes it includes something more sinister as they move their gaze toward the center of the painting. Here, we see a fisherman who caught a hammerhead shark large enough to swallow a toddler whole. Several people have gathered around the shark and stare or point at it. The shark’s mouth lies open with blood draining from it and leaving a trail toward the ocean. The trail of blood, however, stops at the shore. The people playing in the water seem to look toward the shark, but if the viewer has not yet noticed the shark itself, they would not suspect that they are concerned because they seem to be playing.

 

In a way, the depiction of the shark seems to be from a completely different painting than the details at its edges. This juxtaposition shocks the viewer even if they notice the shark before the other elements. Clearly, Garza intended to remind her audience that danger can invade any place at any time, or perhaps that there are no safe spaces. As a Chicanx, Garza may have intended this as a metaphor for the constant discrimination that minorities face. Such discrimination cannot be escaped, after all. It invades all spaces – the grocery store, the school, the beach – just like this shark that washed up ashore.

Spencer, Tadeo (Wikipedia Article Draft)

Johanna Toruño (born December 1989) [1] is a queer Salvadoran artist. She created the Unapologetic Street Series [1], a series of posters pasted throughout New York City that depicts messages of queer pride and resistance. One of her most well-known pieces, “The People’s Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez,” depicts congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez against a backdrop of white flowers. [1]

 

Biography

 

Early Life

Toruño was born in San Salvador, El Salvador in 1989, during the Salvadoran Civil War. [1] Her mother was forced to break the government curfew and pass through a war zone in order to give birth at a nearby hospital. [1]

Growing up in El Salvador during the civil war and its aftermath, Toruño often heard gunfire, and to this day the sound of fireworks unsettles her. [1]. She also encountered many different political posters and murals, and she recognized at a young age how art could be used to amplify one’s messages. [1]

A string of violent incidents convinced Toruño’s mother that they needed to flee the country. [1] Johanna would not join her mother in the United States until 1999, at the age of 9, when she immigrated with her aunt. [2] She arrived in the United States with only a few toys and her favorite Star Wars shirt. [2]

 

Life in the United States

Toruño could not speak English when she immigrated to the US and became lonely because of this language barrier. [2]. Gradually, she taught herself English by watching Nickelodeon and Disney Channel programs with subtitles. [2] While watching these programs, Toruño questioned gender roles for the first time. [2] The heteronormative depictions of romance in mainstream media convinced Toruño that she could only be allowed to marry a woman if she went to work and acted masculinely. [2] Today, Toruño’s femininity is a recurrent subject of her art, along with her relationship to another woman. [1]

            Toruño was incarcerated by the age of 15 and she spent the next three years on probation. [1] Eventually, she reached a turning point and wanted to alter the course of her life by expressing herself through art. [1] She considered enrolling in art school but ultimately decided against it because she felt it was not possibile for someone of her background. [1] 

 

Artist

Toruño was inspired by the political posters she grew up around in El Salvador, so in 2016 she began creating and gluing posters around New York City. [1] The series initially had the title The Unapologetically Brown Series, but once she realized there existed an Unapologetically Black movement, she renamed it to The Unapologetic Street Series.

Many of Toruño’s posters can be found in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. [3] She glues them to walls, streetlights, and mailboxes – any area with significant foot traffic – using wheat paste. [3] Toruño also sells her art on T-shirts and prints via pop-up shops she sets up across the country. [3]

One of Toruño’s goals is to spread her message across the United States, not just New York City. [3] To do so, Toruño has spoken at colleges and hosted workshops in California, Texas, and Illinois, along with some others. [3] In addition, Toruño uses Instagram to reach a global audience and through that medium she has garnered over 100,000 followers. [3]

 

 

Subject Matter and Style

 

Queer Visiblity

Toruño envisions a future where queer children have access to mediums that depict them (and queer romance) instead of “being othered.” [2] During her childhood, Toruño only had access to heteronormative television shows and she feels that most queer characters  depicted in the media struggle for acceptance, so she set out to create healthy, wholesome depictions of queer people and their relationships. [1] This mission led Toruño to create the Niñas Sin Vergüenza (Girls Without Shame) series, which she comprised of three photos of Toruño and her girlfriend, Amy Quichiz. Toruño pasted this series all over New York’s Lower East Side in 2018. The series eventually inspired fan art of Toruño and Quichiz. [3] 

 

Unapologetic Street Series

The posters in the Unapologetic Street Series convey messages of queer pride, brown pride, and resistance. [1] For example, one reads [3]:

 

I WOKE UP BROWN

THE WAY MY MOTHER &

HER MOTHER MADE ME

THE WAY THE GODDESSES LAID

THE EARTH ON MY SKIN AS A 

SHIELD

 

Toruño uses a military-style font written in all caps on her posters to contrast her motif of flowers, which she includes in her work as a reference to the jungles of El Salvador. [1] Toruño often juxtaposes the soft texture of flowers with bold colors. [4]

Due to her displacement from El Salvador, Toruño does not know much about her ancestors, so much of her inspiration comes from her role models. [3] She depicts many of these role models, including Silvia Rivera, Marsha P. Johnson, and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, on posters in the Unapologetic Street Series. [1] [3]

            Toruño created the Unapologetic Street Series to “take up space.” [1] In other words, she intended to promote queer visibility. Many of her works also include messages of mental health awareness and anticolonialism [4].   

 

Street Art

Toruño showcases her art in public spaces to spark conversations within the community. She believes street art well suits this goal because it is free and accessible. [3] Many of her posters are pasted in the same location to evoke the feeling of galleries. [1]

 

 

Personal Life

 

Toruño considers herself an introvert. [1] She describes her relationship with Amy Quichiz, the subject of her Niñas Sin Vergüenza series, as “ride or die.” [3] In 2020, Toruño moved from New York to Washington, D.C. [5]

 

Notable Works

 

Niñas Sin Vergüenza (Girls Without Shame) [1]

The Unapologetic Street Series:

            The People’s Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez [1]

 

References

 

[1] Cardenas, Cat. “Artist Johanna Toruño Is Brown, Queer, and Unapologetic.” Teen Vogue, Teen Vogue, 8 Oct. 2019, https://www.teenvogue.com/story/artist-johanna-toruno-unapologetic-street-series.

[2] Toruño, Johanna. “Queer Visibility & Public Art.” TED, https://www.ted.com/talks/johanna_toruno_queer_visibility_public_art.

[3] Alfonseca, Kiara. “A Day in the Life of Queer Latinx Street Artist Johanna Toruño.” HuffPost, HuffPost, 28 Sept. 2020, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/johanna-toruno-street-artist-latinx-lgbtq_n_5cc0cb3de4b01b6b3efc2911.

[4] Mantini, Natalia, et al. “Latinx Artists Explain Their Process.” The New York Times, The 

New York Times, 15 June 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/15/style/latinx-artists-designers-new-

york-los-angeles.html.

[5] “Unapologetic: An Interview with Johanna Toruño.” NMWA, 7 Apr. 2021, https://nmwa.org/blog/museum-shop/unapologetic-an-interview-with-johanna-toruno/.

 

(Note: Primary sources are [1], [3], and [4])

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 4)

Rasquachismo is the creation of something out of nothing, and it is associated predominantly with Chicanx and Latinx culture. The “nothing” aspect refers to cheap or used materials like empty candles, scraps of paper, and other mundane objects. An artist can apply this creative approach to many different art forms – writing, painting, sculpting, etc. Art that has been labeled rasquache cannot be separated from the circumstances that necessitated the use of “junk” to create it. This often makes it a product of frugality.

 

To be rasquache, a piece must have a certain quality of “thriftiness.” Cheap sculptures of santitos, bright colors (perhaps due to lead paint), and papel picado commonly appear as motifs in this style. Because of this tendency, rasquachismo is often associated with the ofrenda or altar. Take, for example, my grandmother’s altar:

 

Note the many sculptures my grandmother purchased from Catholic stores, most likely for less than $10 each. By arranging these religious elements together, my grandmother brings the church to her home, and she often prays at this altar rather than going to church. This exemplifies the essential quality of inventiveness that characterizes rasquachismo.

 

Domesticana is a specific type of rasquache that reflects resistance to both the social system grounded in racism and the subjugation of women within Chicanx culture. A Chicano is forced to use whatever materials he has before him because systemic racism ensures he receives less resources. A Chicana must also resist the lack of resources through inventiveness, but she must also defy Chicano culture itself, which often reinforces gender roles that confine women to the house. Domesticana embodies resistance against intersectional forms of oppression occurring through classism, racism, and sexism.

 

This resistance exposes the essential difference between kitsch art and rasquache art. Kitsch art is cheap, mass-produced, and often sentimental. Kitsch art is not created by a person on a budget, it is created for a person on a budget. In that sense, it lacks the key ingredient of an attitude of resilience and inventiveness embodied in rasquachismo, or as many call it, the “underdog attitude.”

Spencer, Tadeo (Johanna Toruño Abstracts)

 Source 1:

Alfonseca, Kiara. “A Day in the Life of Queer Latinx Street Artist Johanna Toruño.” HuffPost, HuffPost, 28 Sept. 2020, https://www.huffpost.com/entry/johanna-toruno-street-artist-latinx-lgbtq_n_5cc0cb3de4b01b6b3efc2911.

Abstract:

HuffPost, formerly known as The Huffington Post, is an American news outlet that covers a wide variety of topics. In this article by Kiara Alfonseca, Johanna Toruño’s daily routine is covered in detail, as is her relationship with Amy Quichiz. It also explains the origin of the name “Unapologetic Street Series,” which is one of her most well-known series, and concludes with a statement on her impact in the queer community.

Source 2:

Cardenas, Cat. “Artist Johanna Toruño Is Brown, Queer, and Unapologetic.” Teen Vogue, Teen Vogue, 8 Oct. 2019, https://www.teenvogue.com/story/artist-johanna-toruno-unapologetic-street-series.

Abstract:

Teen Vogue is an American magazine and sister publication to Vogue. This article by Cat Cardenas briefly describes Johanna Toruño’s childhood and teenage years before she became an artist. This includes the year of her birth, at what age she left El Salvador, and her time in prison. The article concludes with a discussion of how Toruño’s identity (queer Central American woman) influences her art style and subject matter.

Source 3:

Toruño, Johanna. “Queer Visibility & Public Art.” TED, https://www.ted.com/talks/johanna_toruno_queer_visibility_public_art. 

Abstract:

TED Talks is a video series that covers a wide variety of topics. The TED name itself stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design. In this talk, Johanna Toruño describes her childhood after leaving El Salvador, from the ways in which she taught herself English to her early struggles with heteronormativity. She also discusses her use of social media and concludes with a call for more queer visibility in media.

Spencer, Tadeo (Week 3)

Ever since I was a child, I have been surrounded by the image of la Virgen de Guadalupe. My mother and father are both Catholic, and they are both Latinx, so naturally they also grew up around images of la Virgen. As I look around my parents’ house, I see her in several places: a painting on the wall, the picture on my bracelet, and some solicitation letters sent through the mail, which my mother always keeps. Plus, my dad wears her image on a medallion. 

Despite this, I know very little about the story of la Virgen, and not much about Catholicism in general. As a very young child, my family attended church weekly, but then we all fell ill with chronic illness, and it became difficult to attend. Whenever I needed to step outside to puff on my inhaler or take medication, people always gave me funny looks. Judgement, I would think jokingly. Inevitably, sick people would come to church, and then one of us would be infected, and we would have to skip attending for a week or two. Eventually, it grew to be too much of a risk, we were forced to stop attending, and I never received my Holy Communion or Confirmation.

 

When I look at images of la Virgen, I feel like an outsider looking in. I understand her historical and cultural significance as a Chicanx/Latinx, the reclamation of her image by Chicanas challenging the ways her image has been used to internally colonize women, and the theory that her image was used to convert indigenous peoples who previously believed in Tonantzin to Catholicism; but I know close to nothing about her religious significance. I wear a bracelet with her image to keep away the evil eye, so my attachment to her is built more upon superstition than religion. Fear of an “other” rather than devotion to Catholicism.

 

And yet, when I see my mother pray every night, I am reminded of how important la Virgen is to so many people. She symbolizes  hope, a sign that our people – Chicanxs and Latinxs – are watched over by some greater power. That, despite all the terrible things we might endure in this racist, ableist, heteronormative, etc., society, we are not alone. Perhaps this explains why many artists choose to reclaim her image rather than remove it from our consciousness entirely – it is too important to lose.

My family's image of la Virgen, as well as my bracelet.

Toruño, Johanna

 2. Mendez, Dalila

3. Depaz, Melissa

Spencer, Tadeo

Hello! My name is Tadeo Spencer (he/him/his), and I'm a junior Computational Biology major and Chicana/o Studies minor. I work in a bioinformatics research lab, where I use computer programming and math to study the transfer of information from DNA to proteins. Scientific research requires a lot of creativity, but I've always loved doing things that require some technicality and some creativity. My hobbies include writing and playing guitar, so although I'm not a visual artist, I enjoy working on art in my free time.

I've lived in the South Bay of Los Angeles for the past six years, but I actually grew up in the Central Valley (Bakersfield and Delano). Because of my life experience in the Central Valley, I've always loved art that uses imagery from the farmworkers' movement, which took place there. I haven't been to an art exposition or museum in a long time, but I would love to visit the Cheech Marin Center sometime.

I am Salvadoran, Mexican, and white. My mother immigrated to the US from El Salvdor as a child to flee from civil war. As such, El Salvador has always felt like a fictional, almost mythical place to me - something I hear about but have never seen, and can probably never visit. I love Salvadoran culture, especially the delicious food (pupusas, anyone?), and I always seek to learn more about El Salvador. That includes art! The Mexican side of my family descends from the Tarahumara (Rarámuri, as they call themselves). Most of my exposure to Chicanx art has been through books and classes (my favorites are "Last Supper of Chicano Heroes" by José Antonio Burciaga and Judy Baca's Great Wall), and I have noticed how skewed it is toward Chicanos (male) and Aztec imagery (not other indigenous Mexicans like the Rarámuri). That's part of the reason why I'm so excited for this class! It's our duty to expose ourselves to different perspectives/experiences and elevate them.