Maiz. soul.

Today's class was one in which I felt.
For one, the violinist in the youtube video Tony showed us, touched me so deeply I could only stare at the screen and be in awe. Maybe something in my younger years as a violinist awoke when he played. The tone of the violin, though crackly because of the age of the recording, settled, gently sinking comfortably within the deep pool of my soul. It may sound exaggerative but I was in awe.
I loved the comments on my painting this week:
Ariel talked about how it looked like the fence right next to the ocean (river?) next to the border of Tijuana. The gray/ greenish things looked like a fence to him and to others as well. It reminded me of a story my dad told me: A man in his twenty-somethings fresh to America jogged casually across the border. He suddenly realized a line of Mexican people following him (who were trying to cross the border). The cop obviously asked what was going on, and let my dad who barely spoke english go, as the rest of the people had to stay on the border line.
Doja spoke about how it reminded him of the Cenote which is associated near the Yucatan. Mayans once believed that it was connected to the afterlife. I loved the idea of this. The idea that this painting looked as if it connected this life and the afterlife.
My take on it is that the maiz, is connected to the water, dripping into the water as if falling into it. But once the painting is flipped upside down, the water turns into sky. The significance is one of the maiz, which is the soul of the people (referred to the video) connects both water and sky as one. From Doja's take, it is comprehensive to connect this life and the afterlife as well.
This painting also has another part. I wanted to depict the transcendence of the people from maiz, and natural land into the cities. It is the migration into the "modern". The blocks are actually buildings, growing in size and importance as the people move away from the maiz. Their soul. This is where the mask kicks in, where people at first try to keep their culture, but then slowly move away into the city life, almost integrating completely into a gray block. But then, at the biggest blocks (the ones who are totally invested in the city culture) they realize that their own identifying culture is very important. So the people in the city who are most involved in the culture are the ones that are incapable of returning, but also the ones who try to bring their culture back. That is my take on it.
I also have a comment on Tony's comment about me but i shall right later. I have to catch a flight! see you :)

look for updated pictures in other posts! 

Masks and masks and masks...

A pinwheel is a combination of many blades one upon the other all connected in the center, the axel, where it spins by.
Each of these blades are a chapter in my life, different masks in which I accumulated one upon the other, acting based on the situation, and the different groups of people I interacted with. I frequently got lost in the combination of so many masks asking whether I was truly myself at home or at school, in the face of the crowd or alone. Each time, I used the various blades, switching from one to the next, trying to be one but not completely one and switching to another and not completely another. It was a whirlwind of colors, pausing momentarily, blowing the various masks from one to another. Eventually the pinwheel spun faster and faster into one blurred color. The color that suits me. I am a combination of all these faces I tried, and finally I rest somewhere closer to where I am supposed to be.
The mask Paz talks about, reminded me of my mask. Paz talks of the one that "we" Mexicans use, using this mask as a shield, always aware, perhaps seeming like "we" are sometimes laughing, sometimes bowing but never ever backing down. It was a mask that seemed to assimilate with society, but in reality just guarded that inner self that doesn't fully agree with one or another.
Patty asked me what the significance of the chopsticks were for the handle of the pinwheel. Honestly, I just chose it because it was the first thing that came to mind, that I had, was dispensable, and that was perfect for the shape.
I guess it says something of my cultural influences, that I had so many at my house and immediately thought of this material among so many materials. Now that I think of it, I could have used a straw.
I do not make the assumption that chopsticks are a marker of Japanese culture (especially since other asian cultures and abroad where I probably don't even know of, tend to use this form of a utensil to eat).  However, I guess sometimes even though we try to hide, some cultural influences show without meaning to. 

Raiz

I have so much on my mind that I have not yet posted.

Raiz. Pila de Bautismo.
When I read Paz, and even Francis Toor, I got the sense of the struggle that it took for religion to become integrated within a society. I might ramble a bit, but it reminded me of when Christianity was introduced in Japan in the sixteenth century. It was difficult at first for the missionaries introducing Christianity. However slowly it seeped into the lifestyles of the people and became a part of the pattern in Japan's society and eventually became such a growing deal that the feudal system sought to destroy the rising number of Christian believers.
Going back to Raiz.
What I am trying to show with this artwork is that the religion is like the huge sun, dominating the culture and the mindset of everyday life that weaves underneath the image of this huge sun.
I guess something I could have done better was to integrate the sun within the patter underneath which is society's complicated and diverse field.
However, underneath all these chaotic and flashy images dominating the surface of society- where it meets peoples eyes- there is the base. The raiz.
It is the base of society built upon the work and backs of the workers and (way back when) the slaves who worked to build and piece together ripped pieces of fabric into one piece of surface so that the rest of society could survive.
This piece's focus is not the front but the back. The focus is between the 'plain white' ripped fabric and the societal structural lines and squares of color under the huge sun dominating the scene. It is where the ripped fabric rubbed over and over by brown and black acrylic paint lies hidden. 

Flash of a Knife

 "In ours, with their brief, aggressive, electric syllables, resembling the flash given off by a knife when it strikes a hard opaque body, we condense all our appetites, all our hatred and enthusiasms, all the longings that rage unexpressed in the depth of our being" (74, Paz)

5th project. 

I'll be going out of order.

The flash of a knife reminded me of the brilliant spark of a rock hitting another rock. It is momentarily too bright that it darkens everything out of sight. These red hands, covered in the same black color that it comes from and struggles to show, threatens to cut a hole in the system that covers the heart- the system that captures the heart in a metal contraption only shown through the glass that contains it within. It has triangle warning signs to show that this heart cannot be revealed in the system. It is too dangerous to handle.
That is why the heart and struggle hides behind a beautiful flower tapestry. People from the outside wonder why would anyone ever want to protrude their red hands covered in black, ruining the beautiful look they have? But they don't understand that the hands are trying to show something deeper, deeper than the system already engraved under the beautiful flowery mask, way deeper into the soul of one who still stands strong.