“When Cortés was at Coyoacan, he lodged in a palace with
whitewashed walls on which it was easy to write with charcoal and ink; and
every morning malicious remarks appeared, some in verse and some in prose, in
the manner of lampoons. . . . When Cortés would come out of his quarters of a
morning he would read these lampoons. Their style was elegant, the verses well
rhymed, and each couplet not only had a point but ended with a sharp reproof
that was not so naive as I may have suggested. As Cortés himself was something
of a poet, he prided himself on composing answers, which tended to praise his
own great deeds and belittle those of [others]. In fact, he too wrote some good
verses which were much to the point. But the couplets and sentences they
scrawled up became every day more scurrilous, until in the end Cortés wrote: 'A
blank wall is a fool's writing paper.' And next morning someone added: 'A wise
man's too.' . . . Knowing who was responsible for this, Cortés flew into a rage
and publicly proclaimed that they must write up no more libels or he would
punish the shameless villains.”
Bernal Díaz de Castillo,
True History of the Conquest of New Spain (1576)
True History of the Conquest of New Spain (1576)
There’s so much to say about Oaxaca’s local graphic arts scene and community, I feel like I’m trying to haul entire city blocks and over a century of local and national history in for a quick 5 minute show-and-tell. Impossible.
Iconography
ranging from traditional imagery (human and other animal figures, chickens
& skulls, the last supper, magueys & mescal, iguanas & maize
fields, colonial & revolution-era motifs & imagery, nahua pictography,
and of course, luchadores, Frida, Cantinflas, Zapata, Guadalupe, etc.) to more
contemporary and overtly activist work (names and faces of the missing, molotov
cocktails, hacking of multinational corporate brands, and blistering visual
commentary on political arrogance-corruption-repression, GMO’s, resource
privatization, trade policies, species extinction, gender injustice, etc.), all
unfolding through proper galleries; across guerilla collectives; and countless
studios/talleres, workshops, and
other public events and projects.
Let’s start with
the typical street-front art space. Approaching from outside, there’s already something
spilling out the doorway, splashed, brushed, stenciled, hand lettered, etc., extending
the full length of an outer wall. Inside, the first/main entry room or two is
hung salon style with current work, mostly prints—lino, woodcut, MDF/masonite,
silkscreens, stencils, etc. From there, a couple back or side rooms with
working studios, presses, shelves of equipment and materials, maybe a sleeping
cot, and people constantly making things.
Taller-Galeria Siqueiros, with their namesake revolutionary muralist rendered estilo hip-hop.
And Burro Press
is a brand new gallery/studio just opened earlier this month by Ivan Bautista, Edith Chavez, Alberto Cruz, et al.
In the city’s streets, one senses that the line between public and private space is being rewritten pretty constantly. Until 10 or so years ago, murals and other street art in the centro/downtown area was not prohibited. But a lot of this changed in the aftermath of 2006, making street art, like a lot of other public speech, more fugitive, ephemeral, fraught, and if I can say it without spitting elotes into your year and keyboard, a palimpsest. One that gets painted, seen, shotandposted, instagrammed, tweetedandretweeted, paintedoverandrepainted, and so on. A neighborhood exchange and global conversation by accretion in millimeters of paint and pixels. Or something anyway. Something more than slacktivism, more than just one carefully priced exhibition being replaced by another, or another billboard being routinely replaced by anotherbillboard, and so on. Also, higher stakes and with more skin in the game, I’d say.
Ex: May 31, 2016
June 1, 2016
The new (PRI)
governor elect gets a quick public appraisal.
And much of this
from the Siquieros and Zapata art spaces—basically across the street from each
other on (ironically) Porfirio Diaz.
The last time I
went in, they were silk screening and watching a youtube where a guy goes out
at night and paints up the sides of 10-story buildings with a great big fire
extinguisher. No ladders, ropes or scaffolding. Just a guy in a hoodie working
from the sidewalk. I asked whether they knew how he’s able to get the paint—and
the tremendous pressure needed to reach all the way up the building—into the
extinguisher can. Simple, one kid explained to me, you just drill out the
pressure valve on top, fill the canister with paint, screw in a Schrader valve
(like in your bike tire), and pressurize the rest with an air compressor. Listo.
Also, a few more
articles worth checking out for background:
Jen Wilton’s2014 article for ROAR drops some good recent history, observing that, “After
all, graffiti that has been painted over simply becomes a blank canvas for
someone else to use.”
Kevin McCloskey offers 7 theories for why Oaxaca has become the center of Mexico’s visual art scene.
And here he gives
a fine historical overview and survey (as of 2012) of many of the studios and
collectives that have arisen in the last 10 years (since the state’s repression
of Oaxaca’s 2006 teachers strikes) including Shinzaburo Takeda’s great remark
that the city is “sinking like Venice under the weight of its printing
presses.” Also, some sound closing advise about brining a mailing tube on your
next visit to the city!
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related: Moose Curtis, hacking the city
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