Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Chicano Power!
I have something in mind to write, but I forgot to bring the document I intend to make fun of, so it gets to continue germinating in what passes for my mind these days, sprouting either moss, wings, or that weird grey mold you get on the tomato sauce in the fridge that you thought you’d finished three weeks ago but it actually wound up behind the big container of leftovers that sort of scares you, so something has formed a colony in it that wants to be penicillin but will never cure anything but “edibility of tomato sauce.” Upshot: no essay today about the drone investments. Maybe that means it’ll be better when I do get around to it; maybe that means I’ll realize there’s nothing to say there and I’ll find something else to grouse about down the line.
However, I have a spare few minutes right now and since the world of domestic bliss has been so damn full of vacuuming, groceries, trips to the laundry and a little bit of fun with a wild child of my acquaintance, I’m going to make this an easy one. For me, anyway. I can’t imagine how you read this crap, but it seems increasingly likely that you don’t, so there’s my answer. But my point is, as if I had one, that I’m going to share a few words about the exhibit of Chicano art I saw a few weekends ago at the De Young.
The museum itself has not grown on me in terms of how it fits in with the surrounding parkland – it’s an unadorned brown box with a big squared-off tower sticking out of one end. Sure, the tower is provocatively twisted and the big brown box has some nicely-worked copper cladding, but when you consider the other serious pieces of architecture already in the park, or being built there, it’s as aesthetically-inspirational as a pizza box on a bus bench. Except, no bonus cheese scraps.
However, the landscaping around the museum, especially the garden on the east end, is really nice, and the interior is beautifully designed and laid-out. Plus, it’s free to go up in the tower and get a view of the western part of the city from nine stories up. So, summing it up, I’m okay having the main fine arts museum in the city a few blocks from my own personal abode. And that’s especially true when they’ve got a cool exhibit that’s being shown for free, which is how they were showing the Chicano art exhibit on the day it opened.
K, Z and I all went for a few hours and were roundly entertained in the lobby by Dr Loco’s Rockin Jalepeno Band. (Zak is a dancing fool. It’s fun to watch him shake his moneymaker, which in his case is some very small change.)
Lunch was taken al fresco (i.e., with Fresca) in the sculpture garden, where we were serenaded by a more traditional Mexican polka band, and then we wandered through the exhibit itself. I’d seen an exhibit of Chicano art years ago in LA, and it had really impressed me. However, this one was better. There was a lot of multimedia, lots of poster art and lithos, and buttloads of really powerful canvases.
Items that particularly struck me, in a positive way:
· The perspectives and colors in many of the canvases were fantastic. Some of them looked convex, some looked concave, and some seemed to undulate. That’s no excuse, of course, for the older lady who sort of dragged her hand along them as she walked past. Everybody was looking on, aghast, but no one said anything. That old broad looked pretty tough, and not very amused.
· The faces in the paintings and posters were exceptionally powerful. I lost myself in several of them. Whether painstakingly realistic, hyper-realistic, simplistic, or abstract, they seemed to be imbued with amazing energy and intensity.
· The painting “Heaven and Hell” featured an upper section with several men and women, nicely dressed, dancing at a garden party – in the center of their chests, each bore a gold corazon. Below them was a rocky ledge, under which labored several men and women in a dank cave, each burdened with a unique torture device – rocks, cages, barbed-wire suits… they all dragged and carried boulders. In the ceiling and one wall were portholes into the world they did not occupy – so they never forgot where they were. And instead of a gold heart, they each had a dark hole punched through the center of their chests.
· Many of the paintings had titles in spanglish, with some words in English and some in Spanish. The cards that described the artwork were written in English and Spanish, too, and it was interesting to see the spanglish translated into Spanish: all words were translated, so what I’d understood before was now foreign, but the foreign words were now familiar. Cool.
· Many of the pieces on display were from the collection of Cheech Marin ("Hey gargoyle, more art!"). One of the patrons, seeing a wall of work attributed to his collection, said disparagingly, “I bet nobody here even knows who he is.” Dude, he was on a tv show with Doc Johnson! He was in a movie about a hippie! Do you think I’m entirely without culture?
· One of the multimedia displays featured some artistically-replicated lowrider cars under glass, with buttons to activate hydraulics and make them bounce. Z and I watched a few folk work the knob and bounce the chevys, and then I let the little man give it a try. HE IS A NATURAL. That sucker was humping the pavement like nobody’s business. Zak-a-ree – is a little higha....
And now, my question for the wide, wide world of blog: as part of our free admission to the exhibit, Kel and I got commemorative bandanas. They’re brown, with a pattern of red concentric circles (familiar to patrons of Target, the corporate sponsor of the exhibit) and white script that, if you fold it in half corner to corner, repeatedly says “chicano power” on one side, and “chicana power” on the other side. I happen to be a robust user of bandanas, because they keep me from sweating painfully into my own tender eyeballs when I exercise, and furthermore protect my gleaming pale brainlid from Sol, bringer of scalpscald. However, I don’t know if my pale jewish self can get away with wearing a “chicano power” headrag. What do you think, multitudes? Is it patronizing or supportive? Or does it not even make a goddamn difference? Pending your advice, I’m sticking with the regular green, blue, and black bandanas I usually wear. I would hate to offend. And with that, I’m done with you. Begone.
