Saturday, September 23, 2017

Manuel Gonzalez - Poesia es Medicina






This week, Blogistas, I have the honor of interviewing the current Poet Laureate of Albuquerque, Manuel González. This is a writer passionate and generous in word and deed. His efforts to deepen and broaden who hears and makes poetry makes him one of my favorite poet/organizers. 


What is also worthy of note is his commitment to educate communities about poetry's capacity to transform and heal. I have personally experienced the kind of heart salve his writing and performing offers.

You can reach Manuel via his email - xicanopoet@yahoo.com 


Manuel González is the Current Poet Laureate of Albuquerque, NM. A performance poet who began his career in the poetry slam, Manuel has represented Albuquerque four times as a member of the ABQ Slams team at the National Poetry Slam. Manuel has appeared on the PBS show, Colores: My word is my power, and is one of the founding members of the poetry troupe The Angry Brown Poets and People of the Sun-Performance Art Collective. Manuel teaches workshops on self-expression, through poetry, in high schools and youth detention centers. He has also facilitated art therapy programs, to help at risk and incarcerated youth find an outlet through art.

Manuel has coached and mentored multiple youth slam teams throughout northern New Mexico. Manuel’s connection to his poetry and culture helps him connect with students. By teaching poetry, his students are given the opportunity to explore their own culture. Building up self esteem, finding something to say, figuring out how to say it eloquently, and letting their voice be heard. These are just some of the benchmarks in Manuel’s workshops.


Manuel was born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico. His mother’s family is from the historic Barelas neighborhood in Albuquerque and his father’s family is from the small Northern New Mexico town Anton Chico. Manuel’s father (Manny González) was the founder of the band Manny and the Casanovas, pioneers of traditional New Mexico music. Manuel’s Chicano roots, history, culture, and spirituality are among his inspirations for his work and poetry.


"I'm proud to be from New Mexico!” says Manuel. “And to me, it's more than just green chile and desert. It's seeing the value of our familas, our community, our traditions, and our culture. It's the Rio Grande valley and Santuario de Chimayo. It is feasts, dance, poetry and prayer."









Talk about your journey as poet. You have an upbringing with strong roots in music, particularly, New Mexican music. Talk about that influence on you personally and in your work.  Do you feel there is a musicality to your poetry? 

My father was leader of the band “Manny and the Casanovas” which was one of the originators of New Mexico Music. I never really got to know my father, because he passed away when I was 18 months old, but I feel the music of his blood that pumps through my heart. Music has helped me figure out who I am and has helped me learn how to feel. I have and do use music to get me through some of the hardest and joyous times of my life. It makes the pain, heartache and struggle that we go through on a daily basis bearable and the beauty, magic and joy we share unforgettable.

I am not a trained musician like my father and his family are, but I did find my light in spoken word poetry and performance art. I know the power of self-expression and how much emotion can be used to move and change people in deep personal ways. Poetry and music  help you connect with people to raise vibrations!   

You are the current Poet Laureate of Albuquerque. What do you see as your central responsibilities? What would you say are your accomplishments, and what impact would you like to make? 

Being Poet Laureate of Albuquerque is more about our beautiful city’s accomplishments than my own. I want to be the “ambassador” for an artform that most people overlook or have never been exposed to. I try to do more writing workshops than strictly performances because in those workshops we write together, cry together, and see each other as beautifully imperfect human beings.  Albuquerque is a unique and magical place where culture and history are at every corner in this city. Poetry is a means for us as a community to tell our stories, heal our wounds, and show Albuquerque for the magical place that it is.  With the three volcanic sisters to the west and that majestic mountain to protect us on our East and this river carries our dreams to the sea.  Poetry abounds here in Albuquerque we just have to look and nurture the future generations of this legacy.

Who do you like to read/hear and why?

I guess the beginnings of metaphor that I heard growing up were the “dichos” or mexican sayings I would hear.  People would always say things like “El que con perros se acuesta con garrapatas se levanta.” (He who lies down with dogs wakes up with fleas.) Or, “El que con lobos anda aullar se enseña.” (He who goes around with wolves learns how to howl. These sayings taught me to see the world in a different way.  When I reached adolescence I got into hip hop.  That’s where I first found my love for words and rhyme. 

But hip hop was like cotton candy.  It tasted good, It just didn't have any the nutrients I needed in it.  It wasn’t until I went to my first “Poetry Slam”  did I get my first real experience with poetry.  So when I started to get serious with this artform I was obsessed with spoken word poets who are still alive.  

I’d say my first influences were the poets from Albuquerque who changed the way I looked at what was possible with words and emotion.  Poets like Kenn Rodriguez, Maria Leiba, Danny Solis, Matthew John Connely, and Sarah Mckinstry Brown.  These poets danced, sang, and bled on the stage with their words.  They shared and connected with the audience in deep and personal ways.  I was hooked.  Then i got to go to my first National poetry slam ane I met some of the most incredible spoken word artists in the world.  Poets like Shane Koyzcan and Saul Williams,  or Amalia Ortiz and Joaquin Zihuatanejo.  Some performance poets who have influenced me are Guillermo Gomez Pena, Gil Scott Heron, The Last Poets, The Taco Shop Poets, and Culture Clash.   These poets helped shape my performance style and the energy I bring on stage.  

As far as “written” and “classic” poetry goes  my all time favorite poet is Pablo Neruda.  I also love poets like Federico Garcia Lorca,  Audrey Lorde, Naomi Shihab Nye, mary oliver and especially Rumi.

I guess I look for art that touches me deep in my soul.  It has to be more than beautiful, more than tragic, more than flowery language.  It has to move me and leave a lasting mark on my heart.


There is a lot of discussion about slam/performance poetry vs. poetry for the page. How do you see those distinctions? Do you feel there is a bias at work against performance poetry, and if so, how would you characterize it?  What you feel is the relationship between performance poetry and community? How do you see development as a poet/writer in this context?

My first introduction to poetry came from hip hop and spoken word.  I approach this artform from the perspective of someone who was not brought in through academia, or the written word.  My experience comes from the way I’ve felt sitting in a huge audience and feeling like the poet was speaking directly to me.  I’ve shed tears and found forever stains on my soul from poetry.  I’ve also been the poet on the stage and saw time stop and words hang in the air similar to the feeling of “duende” that flamenco dancers attest to.  I think we lose out on experiences like this with the written word.  When we add the energy of our voice, the movements of our bodies, and the expressions on our faces poetry comes alive.  In those instances it can ignite fires and change lives.  We come together to share our innermost thoughts, emotions, ponderings, and tragedies.  We support each other and cry together.  I think that’s why our community here in Albuquerque is so tight. 

Through my journeys I found the “authentic” people.  “Genuine” artists and people who actually love and appreciate culture and art in this way.  Poets like Levi Romero who gave me words of encouragement when I really needed it at the beginning of my career.  
Danny Solis who mentored me and introduced me to spoken word poetry.  People who understand that art is the best way for marginalized people to express themselves and find their voices.  People of Color, LGBTQ, people with emotional scars, socially awkward, and people who feel outcasted find open minded acceptance in our poetry community here in Albuquerque.  

It wasn’t always that way though.  Poetry used to be the sole property of ivory tower academics who had rigid definitions of and elitist interpretations of this artform.  The “old guard” loved their Frost, and Shakespeare, but poets of color, poets who are still alive, and poets from those marginalized groups were mostly overlooked.  I think that is what stifles the growth of a living breathing artform that needs our blood and tears to survive.  

There is definitely a rift between “academic” poets and “performance” poets.  

I’ve been in audiences where there was a famous academic poet on the stage, and i was thinking. Wow, I really enjoyed this poet’s books! Too bad they can’t recite their own work. And i’ve seen poets on the stage who are just telling a story or making a speech.  
Calling it “poetry” doesn’t always make it so.  


Your practice is rooted in bring groups and people together. How would you describe your experience community building with what I would characterize as the the Anglo/Old guard? 

Being Chicano I found myself  the “token” in many poetry events.  I’ve had to do the “dog and pony show” for rich Anglo donors in mansions in Santa Fe, with my culture all over the walls and a huge Buddhist fountain in the back.  I’ve sat in the audience when Anglo poets get up and recite poetry riddled with my slang.  Codewords we used to identify “real gente.”  It’s always disconcerting to hear someone talk like your uncle in jail, or using the words we only hear when the men drink by themselves.  They are not meant to give you more street cred, or show how down you really are.  You have to be where we’re from and do what we do to use the words that are ours. “¿Que no?”

But our poetry community here in Albuquerque is “All inclusive”  The only prerequisite we have is that you are honest, sincere, and respectful.  I think the two APLs before me and I have done a lot of work to cross pollinate the different poetry scenes and communities we have here in albuquerque.  I’ve gone to events for the transgender community, the New Mexico Poetry Society, the United Way, UNM Chicano Studies, and I try to bring poetry into our communities and invite the people to begin creating, writing and speaking their truth.  That’s how we build community, fight racism, homophobia, and misogyny.  This is how we push the gospel of poetry throughout the barrios and pueblos of New Mexico.


Not  a lot  of people know that an indigenous Mejicana healer, Maria Sabina, profoundly influenced the Beats - Kerouac, Ginsberg, Waldman.  Her "poetry" was, in fact, her sacred prayer chanting. How do you see poetry as a tool for healing?  For empowerment?

Poetry heals.  When we express ourselves with genuine sincerity, the metaphors we use can become like prayers, or better yet incantations.  

We can speak these worlds into existence.  When we look within ourselves and confront our inner demons and convert the pain we carry into art we heal the wounds and bruises we all have on our hearts.  I’ve seen performance poets whose movements and gestures become dance and the metaphors make the room vibrate with magical intentions.  Some poets conjure when they’re on the stage. Creating moments that leave marks on us.  

They wrestle themselves with words and win. They publicly heal themselves and giving us permission and example to heal ourselves. Once we go through the journey of mending our scars we can then begin to work on society.  We use our words to expose injustice when we see it.  Give greed, racism, and misogyny an emotional face.  Holding up mirrors to the powers that be hoping to change the way they think by forcing them to feel.  This is how we heal our world.  The artists, shamans, poets, dancers, and creators must become louder than the constant drone of negativity that bombards us from every direction.  That’s why my favorite places to run my workshops are the jails, foster care centers, detention centers, homeless shelters, and places where people really need healing.  I give them a paper a pen an ear and a heart. 


Describe the creative life in your own family, particularly as the parent of a young poet. What words of advice do you have for her?


Sarita grew up in the poetry community.  She was at poetry slams before she could talk.  I remember her first attempt at spoken word poetry when she was five years old.  It was a long and meandering freestyle about her adventures with her best friend Sam.  

I tried to be sure not to push poetry onto her.  I wanted her to find her own path, but the poetry came out of her naturally.  She titled her first chapbook “Solita”  because she wanted everyone to know that she wrote all her poems by herself.  She’s growing up to be a radical Xicana feminista poeta and I couldn’t be more proud of her.  Her politics came from listening to all of Burque’s best poets and a few nationally renowned poets have taken the time to mentor her. They’ve coached her on her writing and her performance so now she’s an unstoppable poetic force to be reckoned with.

Where do you see yourself creatively ten years from now?

I’m very interested in incorporating spirituality into my poetry and performance.  I’ve witnessed poets and performance artists who almost conjure on stage.  They take their art to the level of ceremony and ritual.  I’ve only experienced this  a few times in my life. Times when I’m in an audience and it feels like the poet is speaking directly to me and saying exactly what I need to hear.  
And I’ve been on stage when it feels like time stops and the audience goes on a journey with me.  Flamenco dancers call it “duende.” That moment when we connect with our ancestors and orishas and the spirits that whisper to us when we quiet our thoughts.  I want to figure out what it is and how to make it happen.  I’m sure that it begins with authentic and genuine expression.  After that I’m still trying to understand.  I’ve also seen the healing powers of poetry.  When we write something real and sincere about the pain we carry it helps to heal those bruises on our hearts.  When we stand up and share that poetry with others that healing can become contagious.  I want to spread the healing powers of poetry and create magic when I perform.  

Duende.


What's something not in the official bio?

Something you don't know about me: I graduated high school from New Mexico Military Institute in Roswell, NM. I went all 4 years of high school. No comment, lol!


Friday, September 22, 2017

Art Is All We Need

Melinda Palacio

  
Panelists Stacey Balkun in flower dress, Maddie Stratton, Margie Perez (hidden), Christopher Romaguera, Francis Wong



Wednesday's panel, sponsored by One Book One New Orleans, featured four diverse artists, five if you count Clint Smith in asbsentia, whose book, Counting Descent, was meant to inform the panel. Counting Descent, an incredible book of poems, is this year's One Book One New Orleans read. If you don't know this poet, stop what you're doing and read one or more of his poems. The four panelists included painter and visual artist Francis Wong, aka the Asian Cajun, painter and sculptor Maddie Stratton, Singer and Songwriter Margie Perez, poet and writer Chris Romaguera, and moderator poet Stacey Balkun. 

One of the more common themes that kept circling back to the panelist was the question of how the creative process is so unique to each individual person. Maddie discussed the need to create in her studio. Sure she allowed herself access to her sketchbook and could carry that to different places, but when it came time to create her masterpiece, she needed to be in the space of her studio, with access to all of her tools, especially her blank canvas. She enjoyed the element of surprise a blank canvas gave her.

Whereas Francis, the Asian Cajun, sometimes prefers a muddied canvas. One of his favorite mediums was water damaged paper or canvas that he salvaged post Katrina. As an undergrad artist, he scavenged items and repurposed artifacts and materials from derelict houses that would have gone to the landfill. He found beauty in some of the water damaged paper that he found. Some of the items Francis scavenged  and turned to art were pieces of wood to paint on, as well as blueprints. He considered himself an "urban explorer." However, there are times when he prefers a blank slate, such as when he is doing his "rain paintings." He says he has to develop a relationship with the material first and have a dialogue and history with it. To get an idea of his range of art exploration, see his Instagram account: goodtimefrancis. 

Both artists shared their love for music playing in the background as they worked.
Personally, I cannot have music on while I work. The distraction is overwhelming for me. I have such a strong relationship with music. I find it difficult to concentrate on my own rhythm and story because I easily get caught up with a song's rhythm and story. This is why writing in coffee shops doesn't work for me. I end of observing and daydreaming rather than writing.
The panel took place at Peaches Record Shop, formerly a Woolworths. 
Something that all the panelists shared was how they replenished or fed their creative soul by delving into other forms of art. In other words, just as energy creates energy, art begets art, a concept that makes much sense to me. When I feel frustrated because a story or poem is not leading me to the last lines or words of the work, I try do something different. I'll take a walk and try to get outside my head.

Lately, I've returned to learning how to play the guitar. I am the shower singer's version of a guitar player and if it were possible, I would limit my guitar practice to the shower and spare Steve's musically attuned ears. I'm always impressed when poets are natural musicians, like panelist and poet Chris Romaguera. Chris wears a tiny silver four-hole harmonica around his wrist that I thought was a razor turned into a bracelet, but he played it for me and with the sampling of a few notes, I could tell he is a fine musician.

Speaking of musicians, the highlight of the panel was meeting New Orleans singer and song writer Margie Perez. She is a musician with a voice that cannot be boxed in. I first heard her four years ago at Cafe Istanbul. She channeled Grace Slick's "White Rabbit," in a rendition that blew the roof off the building. In addition to writing original songs, she has an amazing ability to cover songs and make them her own. She has one band dedicated to performing songs by Celia Cruz. I wasn't surprised when I learned that she also performs sets that cover songs by Madonna. She performs Blues, Pop, and Latin with a New Orleans funky touch, is the band leader of Muevelo, and performs with six other bands. It's no wonder she's hailed as one of the hardest working musicians in New Orleans by Offbeat Magazine. I enjoyed hearing about what motivated her work.


A happy fan moment with Margie Perez.
Margie mentioned she sometimes loses ideas in the great creative backburner. She told the story of visiting the homeland of her parents, Cuba, and being inspired to write a song. The lyrics and melody came to her so easily that she was she would remember it. However, when she returned to New Orleans that beautiful song sprung wings and flew away. A lesson to all creative people, keep pen and paper with you at all times.

Thursday, September 21, 2017

A Past Reflection

        A Past Reflection
        Daniel Cano                                  

                                 From LAX to Jose Marti Airport, Direct

     August 2000. It was difficult boarding one of the first authorized flights direct from Los Angeles to Havana. Hours of waiting in long lines, standing, sitting, leaning on walls, U.S. customs officers’ interrogations, rummaging through my bags and suitcases, questioning my friends about extra towels or too many clothes, then the x-ray machines, and the agents’ suspicious eyes. Even the balding Cuban grandfather on his way to visit his family shook his head and whispered to me over his shoulder, “Absolutamente absurdo.”

    Finally, we made our way up the ramp and onto the plane, twelve in my group on a cultural excursion, including teachers, counselors, and an independent book store owner. A few weeks before, a colleague at work, upon hearing the U.S. government was allowing direct flights to Cuba, asked me if I wanted to join him and his friends. How could I refuse?

    The people from the travel agency told us we couldn’t visit for pleasure or even as tourists, so we had to claim some type of cultural-educational mission to appease the U.S. Treasury Department, so my friend coordinated a full calendar of lectures and tours.

     “Save your documents, in case the U.S. government questions your trip later,” the travel agent had advised after we received approval for our trip. “I know Americans who travelled illegally from Vera Cruz, Mexico, just for the fishing. When they returned, the feds hit each of them with a $20,000 fine.”

    I walked alongside the Cuban grandfather and asked why he was going to Cuba if he was so anti-Castro. He said he was taking clothes and money to his wife and children. He also hoped the family would be reunited within a year, before the newly elected Republican president clamped down even harder on Cuba. He told me the U.S. current law allowed him to visit his wife and child once every three years.

     I said, “I thought Americans couldn’t visit Cuba or take anything to the island.”

    “No, no. People don’t know the laws. They just believe what the television tells them.”

    As we waited to board our flight, he told me how he had left Cuba because of trouble with the government. He didn’t elaborate. They let him take his two oldest children but made his wife and youngest child to stay behind. He spoke bitterly, accusing both Cuba and the U.S., especially the Miami Cuban-American lobby, of cold-hearted political tactics. “Now that things are getting better,” he said, “this new president could ruin everything for us.”

    “So, you want the U.S. to normalize relations with Cuba?”

    “No, no. Castro is a beast. I still want the Americans to punish him, make him pay for his sins. But, they could make it easier for us to visit our relatives.”

    And there was the contradiction. I didn’t know how to answer. “Good luck,” I said, “and have a nice visit with your family.”

    After passing through Customs, we gathered outside Havana’s Jose Marti terminal. Lines of vintage Chevrolets, Fords, Chryslers, and Pontiacs filled the parking spaces along the sidewalk. At first, I thought it was a promotion for tourism, as if Cuba knew tourists expected to see old American cars, so the Cuban Department of Tourism hired drivers to show off the classic autos. But no, the old American cars were everywhere, picking up family and friends. Between them came the sputtering, drab compact cars from Russia and Eastern Europe, like exotic metal insects, cutting through traffic.

     An hour later, a van pulled to the curb. We loaded our suitcases in the back and onto the roof. I perspired heavily, yet, the evening tropical air invigorated me. In Southern California, there was no equivalent except, maybe, the dry, warm Santa Anas, but they aren’t sultry like the Caribbean breezes.

    Our van moved onto a lone highway. I wasn’t sure what I expected to see, perhaps, a land under siege, military barracks, and checkpoints along the way. But no, nothing like that, only our van’s headlights lighting the road, and an occasional building with a marker Escuela or a sign Hasta La Victoria Socialismo.

     Weeds and tall grass grew along the roadside. A few scattered lights dotted the landscape, random settlements, mostly in darkness. I looked for signs of torture or brutality, a dead body hanging from a lamp post, an official whipping some poor soul, or hungry people tearing at a fallen animal? Instead, I heard the laughter of our driver as he made jokes about my companions’ sad attempts at Spanish. He corrected them, patiently, like a teacher. Someone pulled me from my reverie and asked me to translate.

     The driver dropped us off in front at our hotel, the ultra-modern Habana Libre. After checking into our rooms, we met outside, and hit the streets. It was Carnival.

     Cubans danced and sang, crowding the streets. Youngsters lined up to get onto the rides. Young men shared plastic half-gallon containers filled with beer. I might have been in Africa or Brazil. I saw some light-skin and white Cubans but most were black. How could this be? In the U.S., the Cuban actors, musicians, and business people who railed against Castro were white. Castro himself, of Spanish lineage, is white. So, had a white man led a revolution of blacks over whites? Was the Cuban revolution about race?

    We walked along the famed Malecon, the ocean waves surging against the ancient concrete wall. Young Cuban men approached us and offered us beer. They placed their arms over our shoulders and asked from where we’d come. Unsure of my U.S. standing in Cuba I said, “The United States” but quickly added, “My grandparents were born in Mexico.” To the Cubans, it didn’t seem to matter.
                                     

     They asked about rock music and American movies, baseball players and hip hop. They asked if we wanted to buy Cuban cigars or eat a traditional Cuban meal in one of their homes. They followed us along the Malecon until we excused ourselves and told them we’d just arrived and wanted to move on before it got too late. “It’s already too late,” said one laughing, his white teeth gleaming in the night.

     It was after midnight. I studied them through my writer’s lenses, a hard-to-break habit. Though dressed mostly in simple tank tops, t-shirts, and shorts, they all appeared healthy and vibrant, thin but not skinny.

    We entered a bakery, young Cubans crowded in. The shelves behind the counter were near-empty, but the waiters served plenty of coffee and cool drinks. Salsa blared through the speakers. Many of the Cuban women, caramel skin and light eyes, a mix of European and African features, were stunningly beautiful. I looked at one. She saw me and confidently held my gaze until I uncomfortably turned away.

    Around 4:00 A.M. and tiring, I excused myself and headed back to our hotel, the streets still bulging with life. Men sat on benches under lamplights and played guitars as couples danced around them. I passed a jazz club, La Vela, a line of people, speaking German, Dutch, and Italian, waited outside for the next show. I saw a policeman, a baby-faced young man, leaning against a building, a lowered carbine strapped over his shoulder. He was talking to two young women. They stood in the shadows. I moved close to eavesdrop. Their Spanish way too fast for me to understand. They nodded as I walked up the sidewalk. I made my way to the room. I undressed and showered. I fell into bed. Outside, the carnival showed no signs of letting up soon.

     What I would see and experience in the next week confirmed the adage that, as always, the truth lay somewhere in between.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Family Poems for Every Day of the Week/ Poemas familiares para cada día de la semana


By Francisco Alarcón
Illustrated by Maya Christina Gonzalez


  • Age Range: 7 - 12 years
  • Grade Level: 1 - 2
  • Hardcover: 40 pages
  • Publisher: Children’s Book Press
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0892392754
  • ISBN-13: 978-0892392759




The first day                                        
of the week is                                      
dedicated to the Sun—                      
with family around                             
it’s always sunny                                
on Sunday                                          


El primer día
de la semana fue
dedicado al Sol—
con familia alrededor
siempre hace sol
el domingo

So begins this bilingual collection of poems that takes us through the week day by day. Children spend Sunday visiting their grandparents, play with school friends on Monday, daydream on Tuesday, eat popcorn at the local market on Wednesday, and more, until we arrive at Saturday, when they get to play nonstop all day. Along the way, we also learn how the names of the seven days came to be.

Partly based on the real life experiences of Alarcón’s own family, this festive, celebratory collection of poems highlights the daily life of children while also honoring the experiences of the poet’s Latino family in the United States. With her vibrant illustrations, illustrator Maya Christina Gonzalez has created a loving tribute to childhood, to family, and to Francisco Alarcón, who passed away in January 2016.


Francisco Alarcón was a renowned poet and educator, and a three-time winner of the Pura Belpré Author Award Honor for his bilingual Magical Cycle of the Seasons series of poetry for children. His many other honors include the American Book Award, the PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award, the Chicano Literary Prize, and finalist for state poet laureate of California. Alarcón was also the author of several poetry collections for adults and textbooks for teaching Spanish. In addition, he directed the Spanish for Native Speakers Program at the University of California. Alarcón passed away in early 2016.


Maya Christina Gonzalez is a widely exhibited artist renowned for her vivid imagery of strong women and girls. She has illustrated nearly twenty children’s books, and her artwork has appeared on the cover of Contemporary Chicano/a Art. My Colors, My World was the first book Maya both wrote and illustrated. Books that Maya illustrated include Laughing Tomatoes, From the Bellybutton of the Moon, and Angels Ride Bikes. She lives and plays in San Francisco, California.


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Whelmed By PST:LA/LA. Hurry Up, Please, There's Time To See A Lot



Magulandia Stops Time in Pacific Standard Time Exhibition
Michael Sedano

I wish I knew what Southern California did to deserve PST:LA/LA (link), so we could do more of it. Some possible answers: Maybe it’s a reward for being a sensible electorate. Maybe it’s global warming. Maybe it’s beyond fathoming.

Ni modo. The Getty Foundation, among the world’s richest-endowed museums, recognized it didn’t want to continue being an outpost of European civilization planted on the American west coast. Located in the heart of a region whose aesthetic character is sharply defined by its Latino and Latin American culturas, except in the fine arts, the Getty decided to open big doors to raza arte.

Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA represents a multimillion dollar investment into the local art community. With PST:LA/LA Getty offers its Los Angeles regional audience a spiritedly intensive survey of Latin American arte with emphasis on Chicanarte.

Per the Getty’s P.R. for PST:LA/LA:
Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA (PST: LA/LA) is a far-reaching and ambitious exploration of Latin American and Latino art in dialogue with Los Angeles, which takes place from Sept. 2017 through Jan. 2018 at more than 70 cultural institutions across Southern California. The presenting sponsor is Bank of America. 

You can see a list of all the grants awarded to LA/LA by the Getty Foundation at the organization’s website at this link.

Vitrine at Magulandia
With Fall a season of plenty, PST:LA/LA fits right in. From Ventura to Irvine, from the Westside to the East Side, PST:LA/LA’s cup runs over with some of the best events ever to happen for Chicana and Chicano artists, among numerous artists from both Americas. Dozens of Chicana and Chicano artists will find not only deserving audiences but also access to established art marketplaces, where museums and collectors go when they acquire work. Chacun à son goût and budget time, gente.

So many events, so little time. The first week of PST:LA/LA I was able to join two widely dispersed events. The week started down in Orange County. There was no way I would not attend the opening reception at UC Irvine for Aztlán to Magulandia: the Journey of Chicano Artist Gilbert ‘Magu’ Luján.  Magu is a good friend and I miss him, qepd.

In a different way, there are lots of reasons to attend the opening reception in Camarillo, California up in Ventura County of El Museo de Historia, Arte Y Cultura Latina Revistado (1995-2000), featuring work by Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin, Oscar Castillo, and Leo Limón. And that was it for me and my camera the first week of PST:LA/LA.

These, plus all the events I missed last week and am going to miss next week, have continuous runs, so visitors can plan leisurely visits strolling galleries, taking time as each piece deserves. Many are near enough to one another that visiting several can be an all day art holiday for familia or a group of compañeras and compañeros.

Vitrines and walls at UCI Magulandia

A reception is a time to become the audience the artists painted for. Taking in a work that resonates brings a reaffirmation of one’s sense of cultural space. By triangulating the spirit of the event with the arte and one’s own spirit, the experience renews while it excites the soul. The wine and gluten-filled foods offer a measure of value, too. It is “A” list treats for Getty-granted events.


The artist’s spirit attended. Magu totally dug the excitement, the energy, all his friends who showed up, and the attention to detail UCI devotes to his career retrospective.
Cameras are ubiquitous, as are reminiscing people, laughing up a storm while others concentrate on a work.

UCI's marketing materials are deluxe. A postcard, a full-color 8-page gallery guide, a button saying “There will be an orange dog hugging a man,” a top-notch web page, a detailed lList of Works. The curators, Hal Glicksman and Rhea Anastas, published a scholarly book to serve as a catalog to the exhibition, documenting curatorial energies and Magu’s life and career. Magu took his MFA at UCI, and worked with Glicksman.

The Clare Trevor School of the Arts opened two generous spaces for Magulandia. The gallery’s P.R. believes its goal that viewers forge a link between movimiento concepts and history, results from its:

focus on creativity and invention in Luján’s work in a myriad of sketches and drawings, paintings, and sculptures. Luján combined two world-making concepts, Aztlán, the mythic northern ancestral home of the indigenous Mexican Aztecs that became a charged symbol of Chicano activism; and Magulandia, the term Luján coined for the space in which he lived and produced his work, and for his work as a whole.

In this heady academic setting the opening was good times and old home week. Magu’s friends told stories about the artist, recalling him working on one or another sculpture on exhibit, laughing about times they pushed aside a particular monumental sculpture so they could gather in his cramped living room, commenting on their own original Magu at home. One couple at the opening own Magu's final paint-spotted easel, but it isn't in the exhibit.

Engaged people, Sergio Hernandez, Mario Guerrero, Barbara Carrasco

Photographer Gil Ortiz reminisced about staging a portrait of Magu seated with companions at a Mental Menudo in Mario Trillo’s garage. Ortiz is tickled that people call it “the last supper” without irony. It is a fabulous portrait with an inescapable echo of Da Vinci’s pose and the rich tonality of a Gilbert Ortiz photograph. It's not a Magu, so it's not in the UCI gallery.

Sculpture display U-line

The sculpture hall layout reflected ingenuity. To display a dozen individual small scupltures  could eat lots of floor space and create navigation hazards. The curators created a U-shaped table that encourages visitors to stroll along the outside for one perspective, then back through the inside for a second.

There’s a frustrating yet encouraging detail in the explanatory note on the show listing of the 90 works:

All works courtesy the Estate of Gilbert “Magu” Lujan. When no collection appears on the final line of a work entry, the work is loaned by the Lujan Estate. Works in this exhibition are also loaned courtesy Robert Berman Gallery, Rob Biniaz, Therese Hernandez-Cano, Barbara and Zach Horowitz, Mardi Luján, Cheech Marin, Dennis Lisinsky Montoya, Pablo and Mary De La Rosa, Roger and Susan Rousset, and The Los Angeles Metro.

Frustration arises that many of the works on display remained unsold in Magu’s studio, and how he could have used the money. Encouragement arises from Estate ownership of so many beautiful examples of the spirit of Magulandia. This means some of the works at UCI are available to hang on your walls or place on a horizontal surface where you can touch it. Inquire via magulandia.com.

Exhibition postcard and souvenir button


Channel Islands Puts On Gala In Opening Reception for El Museo de Historia, Arte Y Cultura Latina Revistado (1995-2000), The Latino Museum of History, Art, and Culture.

Normally I avoid appositional translation as above, but consecutive translation was the order of the day at California State University Channel Islands, where the U’s picturesque setting against ten- million-year old volcanic mounds makes a dramatic setting for a ceremony.



Permanence occupies the plans of a majority of students here. They are farmworker kids, a montón sin papeles. I learned the students don’t want to be called “dreamers” They are sick and tired of dreaming. They want their rights now.

CSUCI has a stunning campus. A retrofitted state hospital for mentally disabled and psychologically impaired people, spacious patios and a gorgeous central promenade cut through white stucco red-tiled buildings that now serve as classrooms, laboratories, studios, and galleries.

The opening of the Latino Museum show filled the entry terrace of Broome Library. The PST:LA/LA event is underwritten by local berry grower, Reiter Affiliated Companies (link), whose president was speaking as I arrived. Not CPT. CSUCI is a long way from Camarillo city where I rented a room, and once at the campus, finding parking can be bedlam. But find it we did, within sight of Broome Library.

My wife and I missed the opening speeches by Denise Lugo and campus leaders. I am especially dismayed to miss student performances by a string quartet and folkorico.

Lugo introduced artists Oscar Castillo and Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin and Leo Limón, who didn’t attend. The trio were featured in exhibits at the defunct downtown LA Latino museo. Aparicio-Chamberlin read a poem that I can share here, along with a portrait of her father, Elias Aparicio, done in Polaroid transfer, hand stamps and xerography.

Vibiana's multi-talented arte on display included paintings, altar constructions, and her book,

This Latino Museum exhibit draws from Broome Library’s holdings of historic materials. I was especially interested to talk to Associate Curator Julianne Gavino. Professor Gavino is the mind behind the media. She works with students and digital materials; together they make rare documents universally available.

Associate Curator Julianne Gavino
CSUCI holds extensive materials from the historic movimiento magazine, Con Safos, along with numerous special collections (link). Perhaps one day, digital media will make “rare” a little-used word among book users. In the meantime, a visit to Camarillo for hands-on research will reward the scholar with genuinely rare materials, like a nearly-complete collection of C/S magazine.

Professor Gavino has been nurturing the C/S collection in the best academic fashion. She plans for long-term development across several generations of students. Her goals for students include innovation. For example, she works with three students in the process of developing a present-day Con Safos magazine. This generation, or perhaps a future team of students, will bring back C/S.

I referred to the students as "kids" and Professor Gavino noted that CSUCI welcomes the "nontraditional" student. Some of her "kids" are 30+ years old. In my eyes, that's quite young. In the student eyes, they're taking advantage of opportunity and taking as long as it takes. Slow but steady wins that degree.


Elias Aparicio by Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin. Polaroid transfer, hand stamps and xerography. 

Con Ciega Pasión
Poetry by Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin

Dicen que los muertos se refugian en calma.
Que no hay sufrimiento en la otra mansión.
Que si el cuerpo muera,
Jamás muera la alma.
Y ella es la que te ama,
Con ciega pasión.
Prayer by Abuela Emilia Rodríguez Aparicio

They say that the dead find refuge in calm.
That there is no suffering in the other mansion.
That if the body dies,
never will the soul.
And it is with my soul that I love you
with blind passion.

And so I dream.
I dream that I will be with you while I breathe,
while I am losing my breath,
while I have but a bit of breath
in a breathless place which is the today,
the yesterday, the tomorrow and the
always of our souls’ together place
beyond
the yearning touch,
the desperate touch,
the barely touch,
the tender touch.

I dream that I will be with you in the bodiless,
painless, yearnless,
spaceless place.
In the place of dreams, where all dreams
are so full of the eternal love of the souls
who love with blind passion.

Con ciega pasión.
I will be one of the souls who love in
a fleshless place.
Who love eternally in
the breathless place.


This Profesora organizes student danzantes as elements of their study in Chicano Studies. She explains her work and objectives in English and Spanish. The IT staff were so anxious to wrap they pulled the plug and la profa had to shout her barely audible inspirational message to the front row's honored guests of farmworkers.

After the dance teacher's remarks, the danzantes wrap the program in a procession across campus to the Napa Gallery, where Aparacio-Chamberlin, Castillo, and Limón show their work.






Napa Gallery thunders with danzante drumming and Chachayotes rattles as danzantes inaugurate the PST:LA/LA sponsored exhibit of sculpture, painting, drawing, and photography. Oscar Castillo, center, and Vibiana Aparacio-Chamberlin, fourth from right, enjoy the spectacle. 

Leo Limón's walls display the spirit of his work. Good that each invites a conversation with it, the artist is unable to attend.

Oscar Castillo exhibits family photographs and a selection of fine art fotos, including a copy of his Smithsonian-collected '47 Chevy in Wilmington, California

Enjoying art as the artist narrates its creation and spirit is why people attend art openings. Lavish treatment of guests is not the only other reason to attend.


Below, Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin, left center, Jose Antonio Aguirre, right. Aguirre is nearing completion of a mosaic mural at the Azusa Gold Line surface rail station.

Outside the Napa studio gallery, the patio was alive with student performers and a happy audience snacking on sugar beverages and snacks.



Technical glitches cut off their music, but unfazed, CSUCI's folklorico dancers knew the steps and whirled and clacked their heels in synchrony with unheard music. The silence enhanced the beauty of their performance.

No visit to Camarillo is complete without at least a cursory visit to the huge outlet mall conveniently just off the 101 Freeway at the edge of town. My wife dashed in and out at my insistence and scored a couple of bargains and a bunch of no thanks. Stuff in the outlet is here because no one bought it in the retail world, either.

Our spirits continued soaring as we wrapped up a week’s worth of art--Tuesday in Irvine, Thursday in Camarillo--- and drove east toward home. Even the horrendous congestion in the Valley couldn’t dampen spirits nourished by friends, art, the youth and future of the gente at CSUCI, and the ongoing wonders of PST:LA/LA.