The End

At the onset of this course, I had a false perception of my life as being distinct from that of my family living in rural Mexico. Having been born in the U.S., I thought my life to be too tech driven, consumer oriented, and busy to compare with the life of my family in Mexico. However, reading and listening to the songs in our cancionero reminded me of those timeless values, sentiments, and experiences that we share--the underpinnings of Mexican culture.

The songs we sang were plain in structure, but rich in meaning. They used common letra and were accompanied by simple instrumentals. Their themes, however, were not so simple: love, death, betrayal. Learning traditional takes on these themes and applying them to contemporary life was the biggest takeaway from the course. Specifically, learning to be honest with my thoughts and emotions for the sake of relief, for the sake of solace, for the sake of love.

Tony helped us understand the context in which songs were written. We then engaged in the exciting process of creating a historical narrative and tracing it to 2015. I had great fun figuring out what things have changed, what has stayed the same, and what needs to change

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Towards the end of the semester, I discovered an affinity for gold. I started using gold spray-paint in all my projects. And every time I used it, I laid out the same tarp. By the end of the semester, the plain plastic tarp had acquired its own unique aesthetic, it was covered with the paint used to complete past projects. Like everyone one of us, it caries the markings of past inspiration. And for this reason, I have kept the tarp and framed it. Its construction was simple and organic, but the process was planned and time-consuming. 

The Start

Below is my statement of interest in this course. In my last post, I'll touch on how far I've come from this start point.

This class interests me because it is an opportunity to discover and, more importantly, engage with my family’s Mexican culture. Both my parents were born in a rural town, Tepelmeme Villa de Morelos, in the Mexican state of Oaxaca. Growing up, we did not have the money to afford expensive means of entertainment. An old cassette player was the main source of life in our home. The music of artists mentioned on the course website, e.g. Pedro Infante and Cuco Sanchez, was constantly playing in the background of my childhood. Although folk music is familiar to my ears, its rich history and underpinnings are still foreign; I want to lessen this disconnect.

During difficult times away from home, I find myself seeking solace in old songs, photos, and letters. Attached are two photographs I took that inspire comfort, the first was taken with a digital camera 6 years ago and the second with a disposable camera 4 years ago. These are the only two pieces of artwork I can take credit for at the moment. While my background in art is limited, I accept the challenge to express myself through new mediums.

Week 8: Mujeres Divinas

Men, it seems, have masked their objectification of women under the guise of adoration. This became apparent to me while reading Octavio Paz's "El laberinto de la soledad" and the letra to Vicente Fernandez's "Mujeres Divinas." For the sake of time, I will focus on the song.

Fernandez, at his song's start, categorized women in the same category as betrayals. They belong in the same conversation,  "Hablando de mujeres y traiciones." And after lamenting the wounds they have inflicted upon him, he ends with "no queda otro camino que adorarlas." Not once does he acknowledge his role in provoking these wounds. Fernandez effectively denies women the agency to react to circumstances. He paints women as objects whose assigned role is to be a man's loyal companion. And when they deviate from this assigned role, it occurs at the expense of men, their creators.

In the Mexican culture, Paz explains, men hold women in high regard. Religious piety toward the Virgin de Guadalupe shines light on this sentiment. Fernandez affirms the idolatry of women, saying "mujeres o mujeres tan divinas." By denying women agency and assigning them a divine role, men soil their inherent capacity to grow and nourish. They do not let women bear their own fruit.

This week's piece depicts the tragedy of holding women as idols. I opened up two fresh pomegranates and tore them into pieces. Some pieces had their skins painted gold. Others had their seeds removed, painted gold, and reinserted using super glue. The gold paint symbolizes the gratuitous adoration that men bestow upon women. Although the paint makes the fruit more aesthetically pleasing to the eye, it renders the fruit inedible. Likewise, by objectifying women as idols to be adored, men cannot enjoy the true potential of a women who is allowed to fully ripen.

Week 7: Cancion Mixteca

This week I wanted to create a piece inspired by the painfully beautiful feeling of nostalgia for simple times in simple lands. My parents are both from the rural state of Oaxaca. And the song that brings them both to tears is "Cancion Mixteca" by Cuco Sanchez. When I ask them what they miss the most, they never fail to dedicate a moment to the natural landscapes of their childhood, especially the sembrados de maíz (fields of maize). 

I abstracted a field of maize stalks into a line of hanging strings. But these were not just any strings. The strings were covered in gold rice. The materials used: gold spray paint, uncooked rice, wrapping string, spray-on glue, a hot glue gun, and a stick of wood. 

I alluded to the notion of space-- the space created when two things are separated by an unnatural force. And although maize is a staple in the basic diet of many rural people, I wanted to make sure it was represented in way that conveyed the nutritional and spiritual richness it feeds my parents. Thus, I covered the plain string with gold-covered rice to mimic the warm color of maize.

Week 6: La Vida es un Sueno

Arsenio Rodriguez's "La Vida es un Sueno" starts with the warm tones of lightly tapped bells, we're in a dream. Then the piano gently introduces the upbeat melody. The brass and percussion follow- they take over the melody and strip it of its initial delicateness. And then the lyrics hit you with a very raw and rather unpleasant truth:
Despues que uno vive veinte desenganos que importa uno mas?

This song is my favorite so far. It models the paradox it presents: it is both tragic and beautiful. Life, according to Rodriguez, is devoid of happiness. And because (not in spite) of that fact, we are responsible for filling it with the happiness we think we deserve. Further, our attempt at doing so is ultimately inconsequential because the attempt is eternal. People have tried it before us, and people will continue to try it: to fill their lives with joy.

I painted a circle using various hues of blue, yellow, and white acrylic paint. The circle represents our never-ending pursuit to find happiness. The white middle initially represented the void in life where happiness should be, but isn't. Once the circle was finished, I decided to splatter it with different colors. That decision, I later realized, was a direct response to Rodriguez's call to action: the splattered spots of paint represent the haphazard happiness that we allow into our lives.

Hay que vivir el momento feliz, hay que gozar lo que puedas gozar.

...

Todo no es mas que un eterno sufrir, el mundo esta hecho sin felicidad.

Week 4 + 5: Paloma Negra

This week's open-ended theme mirrors the ambiguity and subjectivity that surrounds its key element: love, amor.

While flipping through magazines at Urban Ore (the ultimate manifestation of the saying "one man's trash is another man's treasure"), I came across an old copy of the National Geographic. As I ruffled through its pages, my eyes were caught by a statement laid out in an italicized, bright red font:
Love and obsessive-compulsive disorder could have a similar chemical profile.
Translation: Love and mental illness may be difficult to tell apart.
Translation: Don’t be a fool. Stay away.

The words reminded me of Chavela Vargas' "Paloma Negra." In the song, Vargas wrestles with the conflicting feelings of wanting to simultaneously capture and release her love, she says:
Y aunque te amo con locura ya no vuelva
Paloma negra eres la reja de un penar

The problem is simple enough: you desire something you should not desire, you need something you cannot have. But the simplicity of the problem renders it timeless and subject to infinite manifestations.

Vargas looks at the problem completely unmasked; in its raw form, it stems from the desire to maintain self-respect. It is her problem and the solution is hers to be defined. However, in the National Geographic, the problem is medical in nature-- it is a disorder to be fixed. The complicated feelings of love become a series of chemical triggers and responses that are difficult to control without external aid (e.g., drugs).

The songs of Vargas and other rural artists reminds that there is value in confronting our problems with simple truths. Not everything needs to be abstracted and embellished with numbers and equations. It is ok to need. And it is ok to ask ourselves for the things we need.

In week 4, I made a collage of the different ways in which love can manifest itself:

- My parents walking hand in hand,

- A bride sitting in a park, looking at her husband,

- Concrete streets that birth vegetation,

- A game subject to change and luck,

- Free-flowing clouds caressing the tops of mountains, etc. 

At the center of the collage is a cutout of the excerpt from the National Geographic that inspired my musings.

In week 4, I painted two facing black objects with a white space in between them. The two distinct shapes represent the things we want (love and affection) and things we need (self-respect). The dividing white space represents the space in which we act, it's ambiguous and can be filled with either and/or both the things we want and need. 

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2006/02/true-love/slater-text

Week 3: Arrieros Somos

This week's key words were: casa y recuerdo. La casa- el vientre de recuerdos que nos siguen para siempre. Recuerdos- cada uno viene siendo casa para las experiences que nos marcan.

Today, I am fortunate to have a place that I call home. On the border of Montebello and East L.A., in the middle of a street with a frustratingly high car-to-parking space ratio, nestled between an empty house that has been foreclosed and another that is filled with the activity of three generations of family, behind a rococo black gate with signs of rust on its edges- that is the place I call home, mi casita. 

We, mi familia and I, moved into the casita the summer before I began second grade. Before I continue, I should present to you the members of mi familia. You know those nuclear families that inhabit suburbia America- the "Jones" families of the world? Yeah. Well, we're not one of those. Up until sophomore year of high school, my family included not only my biological mother, Juana, father, Fidencio, y dos little traviesos, George and Fidencio Jr. (every family has at least one Jr.- right?) BUT also my tia Tere, tio Chava, and their three children, Leonard, Jose, and Salvador Jr. (of course). My family of 10 was more than double the size of most families on TV, four people. And you know what? We had more than twice the love, support, and respect for one another that any family I had seen on a TV screen.

However, for all the great things that came with having such large and loving family there were also some not-so-great things. A big one: housing. A family of 10 with four adults and six children had difficulty finding affordable housing. As a result, my family and I shifted from apartment to apartment. A few months here, a few months there. But all the time, we remained within the city of Los Angeles. Why we didn't move to a more affordable place is beyond me. But, I'm glad we didn't. Now that I'm older, I love driving around the city because the whole thing feels like home- wherever I go, I feel welcomed: no fear of exploring previously ignored nooks, no hesitancy to rest in the shadows of its sparsely distributed palm trees.

This feeling of comfort is new. Before moving into my little casista, I felt like a foreigner to the whole city of Los Angeles. Right when I began to feel comfortable in a new space, I would be uprooted and planted in a new one. These memories have called to mind the anthem to my years of teenage angst: "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" by The Postal Service. (If you have time, listen to the song- the lyrics are great and their relevance is fairly straightforward.) But I digress.

The song in the cancionera that came to mind was "Arrieros Somos" by Cuco Sanchez. It is the song I dedicate to my once fickle, but now loyal love for Los Angeles.

  Tu me pediste 

  amor... y yo te quise.

  Tu me pediste

  la vide... y te la di.

My project this week consists of three part:
1. A sketch of Whittier Boulevard mounted on top black construction paper;
2. A black plastic ladder laid across the bottom of the sketch; and
3. Two flowers: one facing up, the other down.

The sketch is draw from the perspective of someone driving in a car. It was done hastily and with minimal detail to mimic the development of my relationship with the city of Los Angeles. Given that I moved frequently, I became vaguely familiar with everything I encountered-  nothing evoked a sense of serious appreciation. However, by the time I moved into mi casita, there was one image that had undeniably marked me: Whittier Boulevard. The massive sign was imposing: it dared you to look away as you passed under it.

The downward facing flower represents the process of being uprooted, and the one facing up represents the process of being replanted.

I mounted the sketch on top of the black construction paper to make it seem like it had been placed in a photo frame. The black ladder looked like photo film to me so, like film is used by cameras to carry pictures worth a thousand words, I used it to carry the two flowers that hold a message worth a lifetime's words.

UPDATE: Between the time I wrote this post and took this photo, the aforementioned flowers died and I lost the black ladder. Oops.