Volume 37 | Issue 3 | 2018-2019 by Metrosphere

VOLUME 37 / ISSUE 3 / JULY 2019

arts + literature + culture

mario zoots

carlos fresquez

eriko tsogo

1 0 TH B I E N N I A L M S U D E N V E R ART DEPARTMENT EXHIBITION

CULTURE CLUB

BILINGUAL FAMILY DAY

Tuesday, June 18, 6 - 7:30 pm $10 | FREE for members

Saturday, June 22 12:30 pm - 2:30 pm | FREE

965 Santa Fe Drive, Denver, CO 80204 Tues - Fri 11 am - 6 pm â&#x20AC;¢ Sat 12 pm - 5 pm www.msudenver.edu/cva

M AY 24 T H R U J U LY 2 0 , 2 0 1 9

REDUCTIVE WOODCUT DEMO WITH JAVIER FLORES Friday, July 19, 6 pm | FREE

STAFF

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Estevan Ruiz

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

ISSUE 3 FEATURED ARTISTS Finn Baker

Joseph Hatfield

Carlos Fresquez

MEDIA DIRECTOR

Booby Hill

Alexandra Stefanec

COPY EDITOR

Richard Ingersoll

Paige Pakkebier

Miryam Nissan

MET MEDIA STAFF

Anthony Sandrin

DIRECTOR

Eriko Tsogo

Steve Haigh ASSISTANT DIRECTOR

Mario Zoots

Ronan O’Shea

Jolene Yazzie

PRODUCTION MANAGER

SPECIAL THANKS TO

Kathleen Jewby

Brie Mondragon

OFFICE MANAGER

Elizabeth Norberg @metrosphere

mymetmedia.com/metrosphere

COVER ART Mario Zoots This, metallic print on Dibond, 2018—19

© 2019. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior permission of Met Media, except in the context of reviews. The opinions expressed within are not necessarily those of the University and/ or members of the University.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editor’s Note

SUBMISSION:

Jolene Yazzie

SUBMISSION:

Richard Ingersoll

Miryam Nissan

—Alexandra Stefanec

Mario Zoots

Public Art in a Growing City

SUBMISSION:

MSU DENVER ALUMNUS —Estevan Ruiz

Finn Baker

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Anthony Sandrin

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MSU DENVER STUDENT

Eriko Tsogo

MSU DENVER INSTRUCTOR

Carlos Fresquez

—Estevan Ruiz

134

SUBMISSION:

Booby Hill

PICK US UP AT Buffalo Exchange 226 E. 13th Ave 51 Broadway Center For Visual Art 965 Santa Fe Drive DATELINE Gallery 3004 Larimer St. RedLine Gallery 2350 Arapahoe St. Mutiny Information Cafe 2 S. Broadway

Auraria Campus Arts Building Auraria Library Emmanuel Gallery Immigrant Services Tivoli Brewing Co. Tivoli Station, 300 Level The Market at Larimer Square 1445 Larimer St. Tattered Cover Bookstore 1628 16th St. 2526 E. Colfax Ave.

P.O. Box 173362, CB57 Denver, CO 80217-3362

PRINTED BY

Frederic Printing

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PRIDE by Estevan Ruiz 2019

JULY 2019

EDITOR’S NOTE

ISSUE THREE We’ve come to our final issue for volume 37 of “Metrosphere.” This school year felt like an eternity, filled with stress and anxiety along the way. There were good challenges along the way though, like running this magazine with such a small staff and creating a number of artworks to supplement all the content we’ve provided so far. As Creative Director Joseph Hatfield would put it, each issue we’ve produced consists of many small art projects. We’ve obsessed over the details to make these issues as good as they can be, Joe and I are designers after all. There were some unfortunate events along the way though. We had problems with our printer early on, a couple of people bailed on us and I had to fire a good friend, which wasn’t fun (don’t worry, we’re still good friends). Ultimately, we overcame the odds and have managed to put together a quality product that we’re proud of. We’re glad that Media Director Alexandra Stefanec joined us for this last run and for Copy Editor Paige Pakkebier lending us her talents. I’m grateful for all the artists who allowed me to interview and photograph them. They provided us all with many insights into who they are and what they do. A big thanks to all the submitted artists too. They’re the life-blood of “Metrosphere.” We wanted to showcase the best that MSU Denver had to offer and I believe we achieved that, but there are many more emerging artists to look forward

to. We’re not sure what “Metrosphere” will look like for volume 38, but we wish the incoming editor-in-chief and their staff the best of luck. Joe and I have since graduated, but we stuck around to bring you this last issue that we’ve been anticipating for a whole semester. I just want to say that if it wasn’t for Joe helping steer this ship, I’m not sure this magazine would have succeeded the way it has. We pushed each other and endured a lot. This experience has shown us that we work really well together and are capable of so much. We want to keep this energy going, so we’ll see what we come up with. There’s been one common thread I’ve noticed throughout all the interviews I’ve conducted. It’s that MSU Denver provided a second chance for new beginnings. Some settled here after going through other schools, while others were given the opportunity to pursue a higher education after dropping out of high school. This resonated with me personally because this was also my second chance and it panned out. Now we’re off to begin our careers. Here’s to second chances and new beginnings!

Editor-in-Chief Estevan Ruiz

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SISTERS OF WAR ARTWORK BY JOLENE YAZZIE

One, digital illustration, 2019

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My name is Jolene Nenibah Yazzie. I am Diné. My clan is the Black Streak Forest People born for One Who Walks Around. It is through my artwork that I’ve managed to play a leadership role not only in my community but outside it as well. I’ve used it to express a strong conviction that challenges the modern conventional definitions of the role of Native American women.

Untitled, digital illustration, 2019

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Larry, oil on wood wood panel, 13 x 13 In., 2019

JOLENE YAZZIE

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TATS

I strive to express in my artwork the beauty of creation and the inner warrior found in all women that is not often appreciated nor recognized by the euro-centric society that has transformed ancestral values. It is in this way that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve not only been able to develop confidence in myself, but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been able to show other women how to recognize and appreciate the strength that is present inside them as well.

Sisters of War, digital illustration, 2019

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JOLENE YAZZIE

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Every piece that I create has a hidden story in it. Each time I create a new piece, I push myself to uphold my moral values and convictions and test the limits of my comfort to convey a deeper message to those whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll see my work.

Yei Bi Cheii, digital illustration, 2019

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JOLENE YAZZIE

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PUBLIC ART IN A GROWING CITY WORDS BY ALEXANDRA STEFANEC PHOTOS BY ESTEVAN RUIZ The recent growth in Denver is by no means an untouched subject to locals and visitors alike. The city has seen a significant rise in residential and commercial development, which concerns many of the original communities that were formative to the Denver culture we know today. According to the “Denver Post,” the city population has grown by 101,403 people since 2010, making the 2018 population 704,621. The city’s development organization Downtown Denver Partnership, is committed to building 18,000 new housing units by the year 2027. It’s safe to say these developments are not for original communities, but accommodations for new members who are entering the city with preconceptions about our community and lifestyle. Whether it be the weed culture that informs the state’s reputation, the surge of new business opportunities, or simply Colorado’s natural beauty, there are many factors that contribute to the intrigue that compels new residents to call Denver home. Depending on who you ask, this development has either elevated the city to become a desired place to live or has marginalized many who, for decades, have raised families and ran local businesses. “My neighborhood is

not for sale,” has become a mantra for displaced locals, most of whom are unable to afford their homes due to the increase in property value of gentrified areas. It’s through this development that I’ve noticed an increase in new public art in areas under development. In a city with a thriving art community such as Denver, it’s important to consider the intersection between city expansion and new mural commissions. How might public murals be used to reflect the changes happening within our city, while also communicating with new and old community members? The homes and businesses of those who occupied areas like Five Points and RiNo, have now become the landscape for new developments, as property values increase. As it relates to a growing city, graffitied streets and illegal murals are emblematic of lower-income and underserved areas, which typically deter visitors and new residents. This might be true because graffiti comes into the streets without permission, making them difficult to manage in a city that’s trying to present its public art with intention. I believe developers recognize that graffiti and murals are declarations of community spaces throughout the city and simply cannot leave the

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streets without art that reflects them. As a result, a surge of murals have surfaced allowing the art community to continue Denver’s street art legacy, but doing so through the endorsement of commissioners who are likely attempting to enhance traffic to the area through the presence of art. So how does the recent trend of new murals connect with old and new members of communities? Newer murals were probably commissioned to compensate for the old graffiti and street art that’ve been wiped out. When developers “erase” an area, they must rebuild and replace what was there with what’s considered an improvement to its past life. They do this by replacing the original street art with an intentional mural by commissioned artists, recognize that Denver is already highly saturated with public art, but they don’t want to evoke any alienation that comes with development. It’s important to remember that gentrification frequently leads to an increase in homelessness, who are not permitted to exist around public art for very long, which contradicts the supposed inclusivity of public works. Maybe muralists are attempting to depict a vibrant and “diverse” city, while overlooking truly low-income and underserved communities. By identifying specific locations that are iconically Denver, they make an attempt to remind viewers that no matter how much development overtakes the city, Denver will still be Denver. Across the street from Argonaut Wine and Liquor on Colfax Avenue there’s a mural, by Denver’s Vision Zero Coalition, depicting a varied group of people crossing a street. We

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can assume the street is local either by the Colfax script written on one of the pedestrian’s skateboard or the view of the city’s skyline. This was probably included so viewers don’t feel as though city developers disregard the context of building projects, but this mural comes up short in connecting the community with their location. In other words, even though we can pinpoint certain details that make this mural appear as though it depicts the city, it’s hollow in saying nothing about the local community nor the history that raised Denver into the booming city it is today. Murals are meant to excite communities, probably as a way for city development to gain approval from the locals who know the city best. Nigel Penhale’s untitled mural on the Cherry Creek Trail states, “DENVER RULES EVERYTHING AROUND ME,” along with the year of the city’s establishment. This is a clear promotion of an enthusiastic attitude of Denverites across time, conveying future happiness even through spurts of change. Something I strongly consider is whether the newer murals that ‘represent Denver life’ are representing the past, present or future lifestyles of a community. As I already mentioned, newer murals are most likely a commercial replacement of old graffiti, so they at least acknowledge Denver’s history of street art by continuing the legacy through them. In this way, these murals are certainly engaging with the past, but in a different sense, they remind us of the present because we can actively observe these paintings coming into existence through our daily commute, becoming

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familiar parts of the city. That being said, these works remind us of what’s happening in Denver right now.

This mural, circa 1999, embodies the positive representation of the city’s cultural diversity.

As we move forward with new residential and commercial developments, the future of Denver might reach the point of longing for the original culture and communities that existed pre-development. We’re then faced with multiple questions. Will public murals that depict Denver life become pastiche? Are they going to depict anything authentically Denver, or represent a shell of a culture that once was?

I believe it’s the responsibility of artists and commissioners to consider how future murals will represent the current status of Denver that doesn’t exploit the original culture and communities who are being pushed out by these very developments. Public art and city development walk hand-in-hand. Artists run the risk of contributing to processes of gentrification by merely creating murals that represents themselves and their communities, as they become focal points of the city and desirable areas to live in and work around. It’s important to consider the implications of public murals at this time and how they contribute to the erasure of original communities.

One successful mural that tracks the progression of Denver communities is “Confluent People,” by Emanuel Martinez, located on the Little Raven Street underpass at Speer Boulevard. Depicted are a number of portraits that meet the viewer’s gaze, with the figures themselves looking out onto the Colorado landscape that’s seen in the reflection of their sunglasses. Each figure represents an area that was fundamental to the Denver’s original communities, which is evident through the embellishments on their hats and culturally specific attire.

While it’s necessary to support local artists, I invite you to think critically about the power of cultural and historical representation within new Denver murals, and also consider the understated impact of public art in a growing city.

Denver Vision Zero Coalition, Streets are for the People, mural, 2018

Nigel Penhale, Untitled, mural, 2017

Emanuel Martinez, Confluence People, mural, 1999

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FRAGMENTS ARTWORKS BY FINN BAKER

Self Portrait as Minotaur, woodblock print on mulberry paper, 12 x 12 in, 2018

SHADOW PHOENIX

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“Fragments” is an ongoing body of work that investigates the parts of a person that culminate as a whole. This series is fueled by my interest and identification with the minotaur in Greek mythology. The minotaur in my work is a placeholder for my own feelings about my identity and how I feel I’m seen in society.

Fragments 4, etching and chine colle, 12 x 12 in, 2019

FINN BAKER

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My minotaur is not the same minotaur from the island of Crete, this minotaur exists somewhere between the mountains of my new home in Colorado and the sprawling prairies and farmland of Nebraska, the place I was born. This body of work expresses my feelings surrounding being a Queer woman in the rural midwest lacking a community.

Fragments 1, etching and chine colle, 12 x 12 in, 2019

FINN BAKER

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The minotaur is half-human and halfbull; I also feel like half of one and half of another, something that doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t quite belong. By exploring the use of repeated imagery and alternative compositions I am learning to understand myself, the world around me and my place within it.

Fragments 2, etching and chine colle, 12 x 12 in, 2019

FINN BAKER

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If there is no space for me, then I will create it myself.

Fragments 3, etching and chine colle, 12 x 12 in, 2019

FINN BAKER

ERIKO

TSOGO INTERVIEW AND PHOTOS BY ESTEVAN RUIZ

There are many factors at play when thinking about the struggles artists face when it comes to making art. For MSU Denver grad student and artist Eriko Tsogo, identity and longing are pivotal for her inspiration and output. As a displaced Mongolian American living undocumented in the U.S., she’s found refuge and autonomy in art making. It’s been Eriko’s saving grace, connecting her with her cultural roots and enabling her to engage with and help others. I had the privilege of speaking with Eriko in Auraria Campus’ art building on Feb. 15, where we talked about cultural clashes with her father, living in uncertainty and how to stay optimistic when living on the periphery.

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Estevan Ruiz: You’ve experienced many adversities, being a displaced Mongolian American on the periphery of society, a DACA beneficiary living in uncertainty and having to contest with the disparages of also being a woman of color. With all that, would it be fair to say that your artwork are projections of those experiences? Eriko Tsogo: Absolutely. I would say that beauty is born out of pain, which is the motif of the lotus because they’re born in the mud, that beautiful flower. I think my work is nothing new that art history hasn’t already revealed. What I advocate for through different social labels is that hardship only makes you stronger and you have to have the dark in order to have the light. I am living proof of that. Of course, I aspire to get wiser as I age and more calm and encompassing. Still to this day, I’m very grateful for this insight because I live with this mantra every day, not just preach it. I’ve witnessed the benefits of it. You’ve gone through a lot to find solace with regards to your spiritual wellbeing during your undergrad. Art seems to have provided you with an outlet, I would even say that it saved your life. Is this also a message you’re trying to convey, to use art as an outlet or platform to deal with the various quarrels in life? Absolutely. I would encourage anybody to consider trying art, even the people who think they’re not creative, there is creativity in you. The way that you’re dancing through life, that’s creativity. Whatever it is, I think it’s important for people to have some type of outlet, even if it’s just speaking. Everything is art because art is just beauty and it surrounds us. It’s sad that some people are asleep to it, they’re not

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conscious of this reality that’s right next to them. But if they can tap into that, they will see that we’re all one. That’s the great power I get from art. It’s nonjudgmental, it doesn’t talk back (Laughs). Visual arts in particular is one sided, there’s a very selfish aspect to it. Especially in creating, because maybe some people are motivated by concepts or some other ulterior motivation, but mostly it’s always for release. When you practice it for so long it becomes a part of you, your best friend, like your right arm, where you have to go through that. If not, you start getting sick or clogged. My practice is me. It’s routine, which is why I’ve literally created various versions so I have no avenues of escaping, and I can be surrounded by creativity all the time. You also come from a family of artists. Your father Tsogo Mijid is a prominent Mongolian American artist, having been commissioned by the Dalai Lama and has the accolade of being the first Mongolian American artist to create a public sculpture in the U.S. Your younger sister, Jennifer, is also an emerging artist herself. I’m curious to know if you all share the same sentiments with regards to your respective practices? I would say we’re different people. Even our practice shows that. I can’t speak for my sister, but my artistic, social and family identity is in retribution with my father (Laughs). I found myself in contrast to him. He’s coming from a school of abstract expressionism and he’s a very binary character. He’s skillful, but I think all nomads are skillful. You have to be, it’s part of our culture. He does these extreme traditional drawings.

ERIKO TSOGO

He got his BFA in Mongolian arts, got his masters in Ukraine, then became this radical abstract expressionist. In Mongolia during the early nineties, when I was a baby, he tried to introduce this new wave of art and with his group of friends, they created “Sita Art,” a collective kind of like Rhinoceropolis. Along with other groups like the “Green Horse Society,” it became a radical anti-government DIY art collective. They received funding through the Open Society Foundation and had an exhibition in 1998 called “Sureg,” which consisted of modern art from Mongolia. For the first time in Mongolia, there was video art, performance art and installation art. My father has been a member of Pirate Gallery, for like 17 or 18 years now. He’s more into big three dimensional kind of works now. He’s also very much a community man. He had a very prolific role as the president of the Mongolian Community Association of Colorado

for years, he’s very connected to community work. But also, there’s this strong unwillingness to assimilate. That’s what I find very intriguing between three of our generations because we’re all creative people. There’s the zero generation, the 1.5 generation and then full blown U.S. citizen, and I don’t know what she’s [Eriko’s sister] going to become. She’s still trying to find herself, but she said she’s interested in digital arts.

overleaf left Quiet Awakening in Pieces on Terrestrial Land Without Falling Apart, gel and micro pen on paper, 12.1 x 18.5 in, 2018 overleaf right I Still Dream of Flying, gel and micro pen on paper, 12.1 x 18.5 in, 2018

Between you and your father, as far as art is concerned, it seems there is a contrast and clash of cultures between East and West. For me it really springs from clarifying or owning my identity in front of my father. I mean, of course, there’s a separate avenue where I always will respect my father. I love my father, as a Mongolian person and as a daughter, and for all the sacrifices that my parents have made to provide this life for us. But, I do think it’s a separate

Sentimental memorabilia from Eriko. Items featuring sheep ankle bones used for games, a snuff bottle for offerings, a bar of Irish Spring soap, various minerals and a Jew’s harp. The photographs from left to right depict, Eriko’s mother Baja and her grandfather, her grandfather Mijid and Eriko with her grandmother in Mongolia.

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category when it comes to artistry because you’re equals. So there is a lot of clash there that I’m not afraid to hide, still to this day. Contrast and duality are key words you use a lot to explain your artistic method. You also experiment with contrast through your technique. I’m curious to know how has such multi-disciplinary experimentations, and these concepts of contrast and duality, pushed your output in art making? I would say dualities or binaries are an integral unconscious theme in my work. I’ve just put it into a word, but it’s the feeling that I feel inside, so it just comes out naturally. Aesthetically, I like when things vividly contrast, like when you have colors but you also have the pencil. It just inspires research into different mediums. Also, not saying that I follow trends or anything, but I just really like the minimal style. I think that’s psychological too. I like the careful curation. It’s very conscious, deliberate art making, drawing the viewers in, but using this binary tension. I think in nature binary exists everywhere. There’s this unconscious lure to it. I find a lot of audiences pulled into these drawings with a lot of narrative. The more I use contrast, they think it looks wrong or maybe it’s the very wrongness of it, the fact that certain elements are not supposed to go together, but they are together. You have talked about your struggles with your own identity, being of a marginal Mongolian ethnicity, while also being deemed in the U.S. as an “illegal immigrant.” You reside within this complex gray area of identity,

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but are incredibly resilient. Does your practice as an artist, give you a sense of sovereignty? Yes, absolutely. Art is my power, it’s an infinite power source. Every other label is disempowering and I felt art empowered me. Of course, the reason I’m doing activist work is because it gives me power. All this advocacy work and everything, it gives me an opportunity to reclaim everything that was lost. I get even more emphasis and joy out of helping other people. If I can touch at least one person through my story. It’s like all the wounds are still here, but they heal by helping people. I do want to highlight something that I feel artists never talk about. I think art is a beautiful visual medium, but it’s also a very selfish medium, it can be one sided. But ultimately, the question is, who does it serve? That’s what I’ve been questioning myself since last year. Now that this attention is coming, I want my art to be something greater than my selfish needs. Of course, it suffices something inside, but I want it to be more than that. The intention is really important. I’m still a developing artist. I think I can only get stronger from this point on, but I want to get to a point where there’s absolute submerge, where it has a direct impact on society and community, that they need it. It’s not just optional, only for people who visit a gallery, the white wall spaces. It has nothing to do with business or marketing, it’s really about the intention of how many people I can reach. That’s also why I diverged into film because it’s one of the strongest mediums that can do that.

ERIKO TSOGO

Sophrosyne, transfer, gel and micro pen on paper, 12.1 x 18.5 in, 2018

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Atelophobic Sublimation Aporia, chalk, gel and micro pen on paper, 12.1 x 18.5 in, 2018

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ERIKO TSOGO

You’re also very interested in social engagement with communities through your practice and cultural background. You’ve created workshops, one known as the “Dream Yurt” in association with the Mongolian Culture and Heritage Center in Colorado, and you have a new one entitled “Bridging Cultures: Where Has Your Shoe Been?” What are your goals with these workshop initiatives? Social activism and civic engagement have been common threads. I did a lot just helping people and I love the aspect of direct contact. Art is a very hidden medium, you never know who the creator is or what is behind it, but I’m able to touch people and see the change so instantaneously through these short workshops. We came up with the civic engagement projects last year and it took off. There’s this great opportunity right now in Colorado with its celebration of culture, inclusivity and diversity I think there is opportunity for activists and social leaders in communities to do projects, to actually bring people together. That’s what the “Dream Yurt” series is dedicated to. “Bridging Cultures” was a project that was birthed from the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition (CIRC). I’m one of the few artists working with them, and we incepted this idea together, which uses the model of the shoes you wear and how where you step dictates your life. As immigrants we’re all nomads, in fact, the world are nomads. There are no walls. We’re connected by this infinite sky, in this infinite mother earth. I never believed in borders or roles. All the messages are the same, bring everybody together through these

unusual methods of artistic intrigue. People are just coming because they’re intrigued about the models (Laughs). It’s interesting, using this weird shape of a Mongolian yurt. You’re using the yurt as a space for this experience, with the yurt acting as a vehicle of solidarity? It’s like a conceptual safe haven in a sense. The point of the project is, in a kind way, to destroy structured oppression. It erases all labels. When people are in that dome, they’re so connected to their dreams, writing them down and aspiring for something higher, focusing only on the sameness. In that moment people don’t care about the differences, they’re overwhelmed by the sameness and that’s really the power of the project. You have certainly established yourself as an artist here in Denver. You’re represented by Leon Gallery and have been exhibited nationally and internationally as well. Currently, you’re a member of a collective of women artists known as “Women of Many Colors: A Glorious Collaboration” and are planning on putting on a group show this year. What is the mission for this collective and what does it mean to you as a woman of color? This group, it’s very strange, we just gravitated towards each other last year. Moe Gram was the one who asked me when it started as an idea. She does a lot of community projects and works as an art teacher. She’s going to have a show at Alto Gallery this year too. It was a beautiful time last year, with Leon Gallery and these women popping up, like Kaitlyn Tucek who I want to highlight for example, she’s

overleaf left Secrets of a Wounded Healer: The Story of Existential Paralysis, chalk transfer, paint marker, graphite, gel and micro pen on paper, 18 x 24.5 in, 2018 overleaf right Virtue of Chastity and the Tragedy of Malformed Mensters, print transfer, gel and micro pen on paper, 18 x 24.5 in, 2018

overleaf both In the Inner Side: Songs from a Different Level, gel and micro pen on paper, 12.1 x 18.5 in, 2018

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in the group. It’s nice because these women all have different identities. There’s a mother, there’s different races and we all have different stories, but we’re bonded with intention. We’re not a very intense, aggressive or angry group of feminists, we are just artists who just happen to be women. I don’t want to say too much because we don’t have a mission statement or anything (Laughs). It’s very DIY, but when we do get together, which is seldom, we get so much out of each other just by talking about our lives, the struggles of women, what we go through and the stuff we want to do. And to be honest, also about some of the patriarchal domination, the unfairness that is going on in local communities. In fact, one of our artists has been assaulted within the art community. I think we have a safe harbor, a connection, but also this desire to

Eriko flipping through one of her sketchbooks filled with notes and drawings.

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make magic. Thankfully, things spring up and unfold organically. We’re definitely going to partake in MCA’s “Fem Fest” this year, making a pop up. I know it’s going to turn into something official, but I kind of like how it is now, where we only meet when we can. Ultimately, our goal is to have a collaborative show because we’ve been individually talking and making sketches, emailing them to each other. It’s all tied together with feminine identity. We wonder, what is this changing contemporary feminine Identity in today’s society? How can we express this from our own personal experiences as a collective? Aside from your visual and spatial work, you alluded to this earlier, you’re also working on an animated documentary film that’s set to be released in 2020. What is the film about? The precursor to the film is actually

ERIKO TSOGO

premiering at the Dragon Film Festival in March. The Dragon Film Festival is the first Pan-Asian film festival of its kind in the U.S. and it’s part of the Dragon Boat Festival. This year, their theme is focusing on women in film. What I’m debuting is a silent black and white short animation and it’s a precursor to the film. The actual film is a feature-length, heavy documentary with dreamscapes of animation. The animation stands in place of things that you can’t really capture with real footage (Laughs). Things that have past, things that happened in dreams. It chronicles my years of struggle and exploration in search for the truth with shamanism. Through it, there is a universal message and an anthropological lens into human consciousness. The journey is very simple, with the protagonist going from point A to point B. Back into her room, back into her home, in search of her true self. It’s heavily based on my immigration status and the inability to reenter the U.S., so I just go back to my country. In all of this, I do have the eye of the spectator, of the Western Eriko. I think through that, my audience can relate to me because I am Mongolian, but I’m a universal person. You’ve expressed your desire for more diverse and inclusive institutions. How has your experience been so far in such a diverse and unconventional environment at MSU Denver and the Auraria Campus? I think that such an institution exists. That’s the first thing I want to say to MSU Denver because that was the number one thing I gravitated towards coming here as an adult student. I quickly figured out that they have such

a welcoming hand to immigrant and DACA students specifically. I would say based on my research, more than CU or DU, it’s the only highly inclusive school. They have beautiful clubs and departments dedicated to making students, like myself coming from such a colorful background, feel welcomed. But, I think the other side to that is that it’s such a vast school, with such a diaspora of narratives and people that there is absolutely a lack of individual attention. It’s almost like you have to fight tooth and bone to be heard. In the beginning I thought, even though this school is so inclusive and that’s how they pronounced themselves, it seems like when you’re in, you’re in, and when you’re out, you’re out. It was so hard to come in as a transfer student because of the process, being thrown around here and there, I was going crazy. I was crying and wanting to complain. From the transfer coordinators at the student success building to the lack of communication between departments, it’s just like, oh my God! To be honest with you, I did not want to come here because of that process. I was so angry. I was just like, forget it! But, the only person who distilled me, who calmed me down and showed me the way, even when other people wouldn’t give me that attention because I was just one out of the pile of hundreds, was Gregor Mieder! I want to write a letter to the dean before I leave this school or before he leaves, praising him because he is a person who just makes you feel heard. That’s it! He dedicated that extra effort. He heard my life story and knows where I’m coming from, so his heart is always there to help. That’s so beautiful. He’s

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the only place of comfort to this day. It sounds bad, but instead of going to my advisor, I go to him for everything! You’ve expressed this longing that you have for Mongolia, a place that you are unable to visit at the moment, but are able to experience through what you call “mindscape” and through cinema. Although you’re immigration status restricts you from traveling, once you are finally able to visit your country of origin, what are some of the first things that you would like to experience? I think there’s gonna be uncontrollable tears. There’s going to be a period of emotional habit, where I have to be guided, someone has to hold my hand. I just want to pour, let it intuitively blanket over me before I start thinking about anything. Ultimately, my goal is to pursue the film because for me the film, to be honest, is a safe haven. It’s a container because I’m not just going there to see my relatives, which is scary. To see all these new cousins, all these people I don’t know and don’t know me either. But, the film gives me a purpose or a shield, so I can come in that way. It’ll give me a lens to see the culture in another way.

right Nu: Pagadi!, transfer, mechanical pencil, gel and micro pen on paper, 16 x 20 in, 2018

The biggest thing I know I’m expecting, and I’m still getting ready for it mentally, is disappointment. Because it’s been so long, at this point I’m scared of Mongolia. I already know I can’t survive there. I’ve become foreign to my own home. I can only be visitor. I know that my home is America because here are the people, the language and the food that I’m used to. My most impressionable years of adolescence and adulthood were spent here. My mind is informed by Western psychology and I accept that very openly. I know

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I’m going to feel that disappointment from the first instance. It’s going to be this great yearning and fulfillment, then this great disappointment. That was actually a question I was going to ask, how do you think you would be received? I’m going to be received as, and this is a very bad notion in Mongolia, as ‘that’ American Eriko. She’s a Twinkie, yellow on the outside, white on the inside. They instantly won’t want to understand you. They’ll think, oh, it’s one of those new breeds. A lot of the visual art and music from Mongolia have these messages about betrayal. That we’re betrayers and left the country so willingly. It’s not betrayal. The whole world are migrants. We’re all emigrating and ultimately submerging, making one human race. I think there’s always two sides of the story. My father was initially a very prideful man, I mean he still is. Before 9/11 it was easier to obtain documents, people would even lie and say they’re being persecuted to get a Green Card. My father didn’t want to sell out his country. He would say, “No, I’m not going to betray my country! I’m a true Mongolian!” So we all lived under that. That instilled a cultural pride in me, but I think cultural pride is very artificial. It’s a concept that can be dangerous when left in the wrong hands. But, it’s funny over the years how people change because now, my father says, “It’s survival of the fittest. Everyone is out for themselves.” Marriage was something I never wanted to tap into. I respect my womanhood and my integrity, it’s very valuable. But I stooped to that level at the epitome of my desperation. Wanting documents

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and to make this film, just hurrying in a rush. I thought, OK, I guess I’ll do this. And I did it, but it didn’t work out. Thank God! That was the final nail in the coffin because I would much rather keep my sanctity, keep my dignity because I’m human. I have human privilege, we all do, and I didn’t want to sell myself. It’s easier to live with a clear conscience. Everyone is different though. Some people can do that, but I’m the person that can’t do that (Laughs). What advice or message you would like to give to undocumented artists and students who can relate to you? I would say believe in yourself. I see you. You’re worth it. You’re valuable no matter what. You’ve been born into this world having a chance, having this breath. This is all a destiny. Don’t be a prisoner to your social labels. Once again, be limitless only within limit. That’s really the aiming message. It’s easy to talk about different barriers because everything is a barrier. The moment I step out of this room there is a barrier, but you can always overcome anything. I think initially, you can have

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good intentions, but you have to love yourself. I’m not advocating selfishness, I’m saying to value yourself with your flaws. With your black and your white. There’s that saying, “Kill off all my demons, and my angels might die too.” That’s true because they do come together. But that’s the dance of life. You have to figure yourself out, but you should see that as something beautiful and adventurous and exciting. You have nothing but opportunity at your fingertips. In my culture they say, “As long as you’re alive, there is a way.” You have to believe in yourself, even when nobody believes in you. The fact that you have a chance, that’s enough! The fact that you failed, that you tried, that’s good! That’s a start. Everything is temporary too. I really want to emphasize that. Things change and we need more warriors for the good. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

erikotsogo.com

ERIKO TSOGO

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GUISE ARTWORKS BY RICHARD INGERSOLL The most fun thing about creating paintings to me is the balancing act between approaching a project with zero preconceived ideas of what I want to do and telling a story that is entertaining or meaningful to me. I don’t want to go into a painting with too much “oh I want to tell this specific story or paint this specific thing,” as opposed to seeing what narrative starts to arise as I try to form the subject of a piece without any decided initial direction. With these pieces there was a common theme present that started to come out: a lack of empathy. Most of these characters don’t know how to give it while another never receives it because of how they look. And a lack of empathy can grow into some scary things! Psychopathy, sociopathy, narcissistic personality disorder. All traits of real life and fictional characters that horrified and fascinated me as a kid and continue to today. Sometimes you see a hero in a comic book, a movie, or on the news and the acts of bravery and courage inspire those qualities in you, but sometimes you see the contrary, grotesque opposition to a hero and it has the same effect because it speaks to exactly what you don’t want to be. Some heroic qualities aren’t born of heroic things at all, but instead are born under the guise of a dark and distorted mind.

Invitation, oil on wood floater panel, 11 x 14 in, 2019

RICHARD INGERSOLL

Cliff He’s the most likely candidate to be the actual hero in this story. But he’s a self absorbed crybaby hell bent on feeling sorry for himself and Hollywood approved stardom. He’s 38, yet despite the excessive use of hard drugs, his face remains baby smooth and has never even attempted to show signs of facial hair. Though he’ll deny it, he can often be found ignoring the crimes of the area to perform fellatio in the back alley of “the strip club” off of Hollywood Boulevard in exchange for super hero film auditions. He’s never gotten a call back and always falls asleep with the taste of shame in his mouth, but he’s got a smile that doesn’t quit. He recently witnessed a suspicious happening at a potluck

that’s held at the strip club the last Sunday of every month. He can’t shake this event from his mind but being a self-absorbed “actor,” he has no motivation to care unless it serves his agenda to climb the Hollywood ranks to stardom. Fun fact: he believes he’s destined to replace Joaquin Phoenix as Hollywood’s cleft lipped heartthrob, though has always been jealous Joaquin got his lip fixed as a boy. He dawns the suit because he’s a method actor who only wants to play a blue superhero. Favorite song: New York by Alicia Keys (but he pretends it’s about L.A.)

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Cliff, oil on wood panel, 13 x 13 in, 2019

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Charles “Fugrat” Finster At around 12 or 13 years old his mom came out to him and his father about being sexually consumed with women, and she left them to pursue her truths. Charles’ father always knew this in the back of his mind, so he wasn’t horribly surprised, but his petite and nonexistent physical frame (which reflected his psychological body perfectly) couldn’t handle the heartbreak of her absence and he literally blew away in the wind. With no adult influences in his life at such an impressionable age, Charles became an opiate addict and a walking manifestation of crippling anxiety that led to him losing most of the hair on his head by age 17. He found a home in a yellow latex suit and at a strip club off Hollywood Boulevard.

He liked that there were other aimless skag freaks like him there and his anxiety quickly transmuted into narcissism, compulsive lying, backstabbing and being an all around shit (with sprinkles) eating rat who serves no one and can’t be trusted. He loves laughing at Cliff when he walks out of the back alley crying and wiping his mouth. Fun facts: You can find him at the strip club bar having drinks with Gollum from LOTR and Skurge from Thor. He despises Nickelodeon for taking up time he could have spent with his parents as a youngster. Favorite song: Whoever’s got the skag’s favorite song is Charles’ favorite song.

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Charles, oil on wood panel, 13 x 13 in, 2019

RICHARD INGERSOLL

Greta She’s a boss ass bitch. A lot of people think she manages the strip club off Hollywood Boulevard because she is there so much (never on the pole though to be clear) but she is an extremely successful drug lord and the strip club is her headquarters. She loves to make men cry as one of her main hobbies, alpha and beta types alike, it doesn’t matter. Cliff is one of her favorite targets. She has seen enough abuse at the club that it’s stained her perception of men in general and she’ll never trust them. Ironically, the only man she loves is her father who hasn’t shown real interest in

her, her sister or her mother at any point of their lives. The only love he gave attention to cost $250 a night and he called her 8 ball. Fun fact: She’s been looking for her sister who’s known as the “Potluck Kitty”. She’s been missing for 2 days and it’s not like her not to get ahold of her and she can’t shake the looming guilt for selling strip club regular, Larry, an 8 ball. Favorite song: Any chopped and screwed remix of Britney Spears’ club banger, “Toxic”.

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Greta, oil on wood panel, 13 x 13 in, 2019

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Ladykiller Larry Swallows No father. His mother, who immaculately conceived him, didn’t know when she named him that. He would go on to abuse, murder and eat women. Even so, he likes to go by his middle name, Larry. His behavior is his mother’s fault though, as she loved him so much that onlookers often called it abuse. She rarely let him out of her sight and legend has it she may have even taken his virginity. Her death, on his 18th birthday, finished off and locked in a nice sturdy psychological coffin of paranoid schizophrenia in Larry’s mind and he witnessed her soul enter his body and lie in the coffin in the central lobe of his brain. He took on the red latex suit to keep other people from seeing her because he seems to think people can see her moving around in his face. Larry is a prick and borderline a wild animal after a few shots coupled with key bumps. This combination makes him feel like it’s his dead mother who is truly behind the mask and, if you asked him, his excuse for consuming women would be to appease the soul of his mother. Despite his shameless drunken gloating of his crimes and

lack of care to hide evidence, Larry has never seen prison time. He’s the most likely suspect for the disappearance of Greta’s sister as her hand seems to be in his mouth. Fun fact: He fucking hates when people compare his psychological issues to Jason Voorhees and Norman Bates, they aren’t the only two killers with mommy issues. The problem: Cliff saw him leave a recent potluck at the strip club with the Potluck Kitty, Greta’s sister. Fugrat saw a police officer zipping up his pants after accepting fellatio from Cliff in exchange for overlooking his possession of narcotics. Charles then overheard the officer tell Cliff that in exchange for any useful information he had about Larry and Potluck Kitty from the other night, he might be able to get him a walk-on role on “The Tick” as the Tick’s meek younger cousin. Cliff wiped his mouth and eagerly jumped at the offer. This is all alleged but poses a huge threat to Larry. He needs to get the fuck out of town, but has a hard time moving quickly while digesting.

*** Larry, oil on wood panel, 13 x 13 in, 2019

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POLKA DOTS & MOONBEAMS ARTWORK BY MIRYAM NISSAN The history of polka dots is stippled with copious connotations and symbolizations. These infamous dots are automatically feminine, associated with the prim and demure, crooned about by Frank Sinatra in his song â&#x20AC;&#x153;Polka Dots and Moonbeams,â&#x20AC;? and a depiction of both past and present, change and stagnation. In addition to the polka dots partnership with the genteel and effeminate, they are also a representation of brawn, fortitude and an evolution toward homology.

#1, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

MIRYAM NISSAN

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MIRYAM NISSAN

#2, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

#3, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

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MIRYAM NISSAN

#4, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

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MIRYAM NISSAN

#5, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

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We see Minnie Mouse as the personification of dainty girlhood adorned in polka dots, but additionally Rosie the Riveter is iconically decorated with her spotted headband which became the emblem of feminine autonomy. This series distorts and complexes the form of these distinguished ornamentations. The work negotiates between the shifting realm of these associations. From feminine to masculine to submission and rebellion.

#6, screen print on paper, 22 x 30 in, 2019

MIRYAM NISSAN

MARIO ZOOTS INTERVIEW AND PHOTOS BY ESTEVAN RUIZ

I’m sure at some point you’ve heard the name of MSU Denver alumnus and artist Mario Zoots. Known for his intricate collage work, he’s made quite a name for himself in Denver and beyond. Hate him or love him, Mario is as real as they come and knows how to get what he wants out of life. In the 2012 film “Prometheus,” David the android says, “Big things have small beginnings.” There couldn’t be a more fitting metaphor for Mario’s career and ambitions to grow bigger in scale and notoriety. I met with Mario at K Contemporary on May 21, where we talked about graffiti, the ambiguity between art and design, collaboration and what it’s been like teaching high schoolers.

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Estevan Ruiz: You entered the arts through graffiti, how did you get into that and what led to the shift into the fine arts? Mario Zoots: Growing up off of Federal and Alameda Boulevard, there was tons of graffiti within blocks from my house. One of my first projects in middle school was, to go take pictures of my community with a disposable camera and I shot nothing but graffiti. I remember my parents drove me around to go get pictures of them, I was like 12 or something. I think my interest in art started around then. I met some hoodlums that I went to school with, and their older brothers were taggers. They would teach me these little tricks on how to sneak markers and spray paint into school. I always thought that was so cool, these little secrets that nobody knew. I always loved the mysteriousness of seeing the names, but never knowing who they were. Thinking, who is that

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person, what do they look like? Is it my neighbor or some guy that I go to school with? I think that was my attraction to it, the anonymity and the popularity at the same time. I met these guys walking through my neighborhood and they had a crew called SWS. This guy, Voice [from SWS], he lived a few blocks from me and I’d see his garage painted all the time. When my parents and I drove by we’d see them hanging out. I thought they were so cool. I made it my mission to know who these people were. We’d hear these guys were painting a wall, so we’d all go over to hang out and just watch them. So, I got to know those guys and spent about eight solid years doing graffiti. I had my son in 2003 and I thought, oh man, I need to go to school. I had gotten my GED from Emily Griffith in 1999 and was working for TIAA-CREF [now TIAA] at the time. They offered

MARIO ZOOTS

to pay for me to go to college, and I wanted to do graphic design. So I started taking classes at Community College of Denver [CCD] and I loved it. I loved school because I had missed out on high school and did graffiti instead. I started out taking foundation classes and loved it so much. I was learning about Dada and was like, “Wait, art could just be something you cut up like a collage? That’s crazy!” I loved European artists like Picasso and Marcel Duchamp, and these ideas of conceptualism that I was being introduced to. That was the shift for me. It didn’t take me until years later when I looked back to realize that the whole time I was doing graffiti, I was also practicing art. One of my friends early on gave me a sketchbook and told me I had to draw in it every day. It was the only way I was going to get better at graffiti. Those guys showed me how to use colors too. We were talking color theory and I never knew it. Same with composition and how to use space. All these things I was learning in art school, I had been doing for a long time beforehand. I just didn’t know what it was called. You had an interest in photography when you were a teenager, documenting your work and surroundings. Why haven’t you incorporated that into your collage work? Definitely. When I was 19 or 20, we would go steal 35mm film and just pull it all into a bag. This was back when you could drop your rolls off at Safeway. We’d use fake names to get our rolls developed and would steal those too because they were just out on the edge of the counter. I have thousands of negatives, I shot a lot of photos.

When you’re doing graffiti, you’re going into a lot of sketchy buildings. You’re kind of urban exploring, going down alleys and running into crack heads. There would be some crazy guy trying to talk to us and I’d take his picture or we’d be in this building and there’d be blood all over the floor, so I’d take a picture of that. I liked things that were off a little bit, that felt uncomfortable and it was just because I was trying to go do graffiti in these types of spaces. I’ve tried photographing people and using my own pictures [for collage], but I keep going back to found images because there’s something I like about the disconnection. I like that it’s not super personal. I like to take a step back and let the work just happen. Also, I don’t make work about being Mexican American because it’s too personal. I don’t feel like I need to tell that story so much. It’s just art to me. It’s not about me, it’s about the world around me. I don’t like personal work really. That’s interesting. It sounds like art was a form of escapism for you. How did that form your identity? As a graffiti artist, you don’t go walking around writing your real name, someone usually gives you a name and you just go with that. The first time I showed in a gallery was in 2001 and I was showing a bunch of my graffiti on canvases. You still couldn’t use your real name, so you’d sign the work with your graffiti name. I went to Boston and got put into this crew called MZ, Mad Zoots. I really liked their rock star lifestyle and their graffiti was really abstract, so I wanted to be in that crew. They put me on and afterwards I thought, why don’t I be Mario Zoots. I wanted to start with a

overleaf Mario’s exhibit “Gentle Distortion” at K Contemporary. left to right Boy of Stone, UV printed collage on birch, 60 x 43 in, 2018–19 Collage Still Life, metallic print on Dibond, 24 x 36 in, 2018–19 Hard and Soft, print on nylon, 58 x 38 in, 2018–19

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good name, so that was the name I decided on before my art got good. I never told anybody that it wasn’t my real name for almost my entire career, until I started teaching. When I started making money and people were giving me checks made out to Mario Zoots, I was like, “Fuck, I can’t cash this check!” (Laughs). I tell people Mario Zoots is just the name I work under and they’d be so confused. Even now, I’m getting married and my wedding invitations say Mario Zoots. But Mario Sanchez is this very Latin name and I wanted something that felt more abstract and mysterious. Like what is Zoots? Nobody else has that name. When you Google it, I’m one of the only things that comes up. If you Google Mario Sanchez, there’s a famous Mexican painter, there are actors and all these people. I wanted to really stand out, so the name was a big part of it.

right Boy of Will, UV printed collage on birch, 60 x 43 in, 2018–19 overleaf left Untitled (Dafen 7) (EU), oil on canvas, 20 x 15.5 in, 2018–19 overleaf right Untitled (Dafen 3) (EU), oil on canvas, 36 x 30 in, 2018–19

Also, I don’t really like getting put in shows that are about Latin American artists. That’s not why I make art. I’ve gotten some shit from people because of that, like if I’m afraid to be who I am. But I’ve always felt this way. I’ve never been to Mexico, I have no family from Mexico. All my family grew up in either Denver, New Mexico or Los Angeles. I don’t really have a connection to Mexican culture besides my mom’s green chili, which is not even Mexican, it’s very Colorado. My mom didn’t make Mexican food, she made Westside Denver food. I’ve always felt I was in this middleworld of not belonging. I wasn’t really connected to the Mexican people I met because I don’t speak Spanish, and I didn’t fit in with the white kids because

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I don’t look like them. I wanted to be my own person and that’s why I don’t want to make my work about me because I don’t really want to talk about that. I want to just make stuff, play with color, composition, shapes and nostalgia. That’s what I’m interested in, having a style. You work with a lot of found imagery. I’m curious about this “luring” quality of images, why is that important to you? For me, where I choose to go with my materials is very important. I think there’s this inherent psychology that’s built into material. Like these books that I have and these magazines, they’ve been touched by a lot of people. They have stories that they’ll never tell. What I do is take that, arrange it, cut it up, take it apart and put it back together, then show it to people. I feel that people are connected to it because it’s charged with energy already. So that’s the lure. I’m also interested in the gaze, specifically the female gaze. It’s something I’m actually trying to get away from now. It’s always been about the female figure and the lure of the gaze, but I wanted to block it with something else. Taking something organic like the body versus some kind of machine, breaking that gaze up or sometimes just entirely removing it. That lures people in because it’s a focal point and when you remove the focal point, it makes the viewer shift to look at something else instead of somebody’s eyes. So it’s a mixture of the charged material and also the way I place it. Those are the two things I try to put together and where I try to lure people in.

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With your current exhibit “Gentle Distortion” here at K Contemporary, you mentioned to me how you want to challenge the notion of what constitutes a piece of art. Do you think there needs to be a new disruption with these types of presumptions? Well, it’s not a new concept at all, but it is for me. When I was in undergrad at Metro, I would get tore up during critiques. People would get angry with me and say, “This isn’t even an art! What is this!?” Some guy would spend two months doing this photorealistic painting, which I think is beautiful, I know I can never do that, and I have these heads cut out of a magazine glued to a piece of paper and people are like, “Did this take you two minutes to do?” (Laughs) It’s not about that [how long you labor over artwork]. The thing is, I have a lot of these. The whole thing together is the collage. A collage by itself is whatever, but then you see the body of work. I just know that I’m in this for the marathon and not a sprint. So I’d tell people, “I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t give a fuck because this is good!” I knew that I just had to refine it and keep doing it. And the thing is, if you don’t ever stop doing something, you can gain respect from that. Getting to this show, I wanted to try to reinvent myself a little bit. I wanted to keep doing the collages, but wanted to know how I can take these pieces of paper and make them more sculptural. I wanted to transform the two dimensional work on paper because it’s very ephemeral. People at galleries don’t like to buy works on paper, they want paintings. So I figured I’d try to make some paintings then, but I don’t know how to paint other than graffiti

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and flat geometric shapes of color. Is this how the fabricated reproduction idea came about? The idea started about a year ago when I was asked to make a proposal for public artwork. It was going to be a collage that would be on the facade of a building, but it needed to be 30’ by 40’, a huge collage. They wanted to know if I could paint it, vinyl wrap it, or if it could be made out of wood or metal. I had been struggling to figure out how to make these little collages bigger. So I started calling around to get stuff priced out. The vinyl wrap was going to be very expensive, more than my budget, then I talked to this guy who said he could cut and make them out of metal. I was thinking about this for months and I thought, what if I could just design stuff and then have people fabricate it. I haven’t done that before. Michelangelo had all of these apprentices who he taught how to make the art. Andy Warhol had the Factory, he was just orchestrating things. Jeff Koons doesn’t touch shit! I also heard that Kehinde Wiley has a studio in China and paints like 60 percent of his paintings. I started to think, do people really care? Is it just artists that care about how much I touch my work or if it looks good does it matter who made it? You look at it and it looks like one of my collages so it’s mine. Is it my art if I don’t make it? What about architects? They design a building, but they don’t put one nail into any piece of wood, they don’t lay one brick, they hire a team of people to do it, but it’s their name on the building. Nobody who built it is credited with that building.

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Since Trump has been president too, there’s been fake news and misinformation. I’ve always liked that because of the mysteriousness and the anonymity of who makes what. That’s interesting to me. So what does authentic mean? What is real? I have no idea. I like the fact that my paintings were all painted by anonymous painters in China. Artists have been doing this for a long time. I knew it wasn’t super original because I had gotten the idea from a friend who did it. I had always wanted to see what my collages looked like painted. There’s a couple of questions I had to ask myself though, did I accomplish what I was trying to do? I think I did. Was it worth it? It was expensive, but I think it was worth it. Do I want to continue to do it? I don’t think so. So that’s where this idea came from, getting into fabrication, collaborating with others, and also becoming more of an established artist in the city. I have been making proposals for public artwork a lot, so this was a good way for me to get into that realm of working with other people and not trying to do all the work by myself. Are these aspects, especially the notion of designing art, an evolution in your way of thinking regarding your own practices? Yeah, like what if I don’t want to be an artist anymore and I want to be a designer? I’ve always had this artist life, where I have a DJ gig here and a show over there, I’m trying to make money any way I can. But now, I have a full time job and I feel more like an adult, so I thought, maybe I should focus on being

a designer. But it all starts with my sketches, with my collages. I want to do some fashion stuff and collaborate with somebody. I want to make these kinds of sculptures, like 20’ tall, out of steel. I want to make some big stuff and I have some ideas. This is my first time being represented by a real gallery. It feels like a natural progression to be here. It wasn’t super intentional, it’s just where I’m at in my career. It’s like, OK, I guess we’re doing this now. So I imagine in the next 10 years, I’ll be more at that level of doing bigger projects. I hope. As you reflect on your career and where you’re at now, how do you think higher education has helped to develop your practice as an artist? Immensely! Once I started going to school, the people I knew started to really change and I didn’t realize education could do that. I’m in the same classes as some millionaire’s

Mario showing the detailed qulaity of “This,” as a result of having the smaller collage printed large on Dibond.

Series for NINE dot ARTS, collage on paper, 17.5 x 14 in, 2016

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kid or who I thought was a millionaire, but maybe they’re just a regular middle class person. I’m coming from, not poverty, but the wrong side of the tracks. But anyways, being in school I had to go to a lot of art shows. I love meeting people and talking and drinking with them. I met a lot of art people and they would invite me to parties. I’m coming from living with my family in the Westside, eating bean burritos, then going out with these people dressed like a kid, hanging out in lofts downtown. I’m like, “Where the fuck am I? I cannot believe I’m hanging out with these rich people.” Education did that for me. I became smarter and learned how to talk to people through public speaking classes. I didn’t know how to talk to people, I couldn’t really explain my thoughts fully. You learn to wear different faces too. When I’m with the crew it’s one face, when I’m hanging out with collectors it’s another face, when I’m with my son I’m a different person. School taught me how to be academic. Critiques, talking about people and their work, being professional, being on time, showing up, those kinds of things I learned really helped me. I don’t think I was going down the right path and school helped me ride that edge and not fall over completely.

right Installation pieces by Hardly Soft in “Night Cream” at Understudy in downtown Denver.

“Gentle Distortion” showcases the integration of other mediums you’ve explored throughout your career. Because you dabble in other disciplines, like music and photography, how do you balance all of these multifaceted aspects while staying consistent with your style?

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I had to stop doing music and trying to be a photographer to focus on this. I was in school for 10 years, so during that time I was exploring a lot of different mediums. I decided I wasn’t going to do music anymore because I needed to focus on grad school more. I had to stop DJing because it takes up too much time when I could be in the studio or with my family. I tried to be a jack of all trades at one point, and I was really into that because the music was informing the art and vice versa. The reason why I did that is because I didn’t want to get too stuck into one thing. What if it doesn’t work out after I spent 10 years doing that one thing, it would be a waste of time. So I thought strategically, I’m going to do everything that I can and I’m going to see which one sticks. The collages were always popular and I thought I was a better artist than anything. After getting published in a few books during undergrad, I knew I should focus on this. John Baldessari said it best when he said, “Talent is cheap.” You have to be at the right place at the right time and be obsessed with what you do. As a Denver native and graduate you’re giving back contributing as an instructor yourself. You’ve been a faculty member at MSU Denver and Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design (RMCAD), but now, you teach a class at 5280 High School. What has the experience been like going from instructing adults to teenagers? It’s very different. I think the high school students are way more honest with me than college students. They don’t really have a filter yet, so I get a lot of feedback if the lesson isn’t going

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well. I like working with adults though. I was a young instructor at Metro and at RMCAD, my students were a lot younger, all of them right out of high school. But at MSU Denver, a lot of my students were my age or older than me and it felt weird to instruct them or to be critical. I was like, “I don’t know, you’ve lived a lot longer than I have so I can’t tell you if this is good or not.” I’m not an amazing teacher though, I’m more of an artist. I’m an artist who tries to inspire and pull the artist out of people. You need people that are going to bust your ass and tell you that it sucks and you also need to have people that are encouraging. Teaching is one of my newest ambitions. I like working with kids more because we can just be real with each other and not have to be so academic. I started to feel like teaching college wasn’t the right fit. Maybe it was the wrong time to be there. I needed a steady job though because adjunct life is hard. When you’re in a college setting, you’re working with all of the high school success stories, everybody that finished high school and made it to college. I’m trying to help people just get through high school, which is a challenge. I didn’t realize that a lot of inner city students have so much trauma, but you take that on. I thought I would relate to them because I didn’t grow up with a dad, my family didn’t have a lot of money, but my mom wasn’t an addict and there wasn’t a lot of violence in my home. So I started to really think, man, my life was very different than these kids that I work with. It’s not all of them, it’s just the ones I really feel

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sorry for and that I want to help. My students love the class I teach. It’s a multimedia class in a Mac lab, so we come in and treat it as a studio. I tell them, “This is my studio, I’m the creative director and you all work for me.” (Laughs) We have goals, we have an exhibition, we have things to get done, there are skills to learn. I give them a lot of freedom. I never took a class on how to be a teacher, but I’m trying to figure it out, so I’m very nontraditional. I try to learn from my students a lot, and I always tell them, “When you come into my classroom, I’m not a teacher and you’re not a student. We’re all artists and together, we’re going to make art.” That’s something I heard John Baldessari would say at CalArts. He said, “The only difference between you and I is that I’ve been doing this longer than you have.” You have another exhibit on display at Understudy entitled “Night Cream,” under the project name Hardly Soft, which is a collaboration between both you and your partner Amber Cobb, who is also a successful artist. How did you two complement one another with this collaboration? We moved in together over a year ago and when you start living with somebody that you’ve been dating, you start to see what they’re like in a more domestic setting. She always puts cream on her face at night and I’ll see her without makeup and she’ll say, “Don’t look at me!” She makes these efforts, but now it’s like, does it matter? So we were thinking about things like that and also, there’s a sexual reference to the name

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too obviously. We help each other out a lot too because we’re both exhibiting artists. We started to collaborate naturally, but it’s more like we assist each other. We decided to collaborate for the Gala at RedLine, which we’ve done for the past two years now. It’s very difficult for two people who are well-known artists to let their egos go a little bit and allow collaboration to happen. It’s difficult because we both have our ideas of what is good or what a successful piece looks like. We’re trying not to make it look too Amber or too Mario, there’s that balance, but sometimes I think one of the collaborators can shine more than the other. Amber has her serious pieces in there that I helped paint and assisted in making. There’s one piece I made that I was really proud of, but she painted it a certain color, then I went and painted it back. After the opening, we went out for drinks and I was like, “Yeah, that was my piece, my one contribution to the show.” She was so mad and said, “That was a collaboration dude!” I kept thinking about our collaboration and how we are these two figures, male and female, holding hands but not seeing eye to eye, like one of the pieces in the show. It’s this little sculpture with two people holding hands, a tube in the middle that’s blocking them from seeing each other and a concrete ball with the chain hanging right above it. I realized with collaboration, making those distinctions of who made what isn’t really fair. I wouldn’t have made that piece unless her and I were collaborating. It’s not about who does what, but just being open to the

process. I don’t collaborate a lot, but I pissed her off and I realized that that wasn’t nice to say. But everybody loved that piece and I was really proud of it (Laughs). With Hardly Soft, Amber’s work is very soft. It’s silicone, feminine, they hang and drape, it’s rubbery and gooey. And then, my collages are hard-edge shaped, more geometric and hardlined with the paper. So we thought of hard and soft, we liked the contrast of it. We thought it was a funny name too. We also think we’re very immature, even though we’re both teachers [Amber teaches at RMCAD] and I’m a parent, we say that we’re ripened with immaturity. We try to keep things very fun and we’re trying not to get old. Are you hoping to do more together? Yeah. Amber made this furniture set for “Untitled Art Fair” in Miami and everybody loved it. It looks like “Peewee’s Playhouse” type of stuff. It’s

left Mario explaining the process of using concrete for this particular sculpture by Hardly Soft. This is the same sculpture Mario referenced as a metaphor for his collaboration with partner Amber Cobb. overleaf Mario Zoots and Amber Cobb at the closing party for their exhibit “Night Cream” at Understudy on May 25.

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very playful with bright color, but it’s functional. We live with this art and sit at it every day. It’s like the first art I’ve ever had that’s very unique. It’s one of a kind furniture. Every time people come over, they ask if we can make them something like it. We’re both represented by galleries [Amber Cobb is represented by Gildar Gallery], but we want to have something that’s ours that can be fun and playful and experimental. We want to apply for grants through this, so Understudy was the first thing we did as Hardly Soft. This isn’t commercial art, it’s not made to make money, it’s about having an experience. We could make furniture or even do a set for a play. I feel like this opened up a lot of areas that we haven’t been working in. We could do whatever we want with this project! I haven’t had this kind of excitement about a collaboration in years. right Mario standing next to three of his framed collages at K Contemporary. from top to bottom Boy of Stone, collage on paper, 19.5 x 15.5 in, 2018–19 Boy of Will, collage on paper, 19.5 x 15.5 in, 2018–19 Boy of Will 2, collage on paper, 19.5 x 15.5 in, 2018–19

What’s next for Mario Zoots? I’m closing the studio up for a couple months. Amber and I are getting married this summer, so we’re planning that. We were like, “If we could get through this installation, we could get through a marriage.” We’re going to Mexico for our honeymoon for a couple of weeks. I think we’re going to travel around and look at a lot of art. I’ve been going to Mexico City every year for about four years now. I first went in 2010 for a show, but I’m starting to make a lot of

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friends there and I really love it. We’re just trying to be there a lot. That’s our goal and it’s been influencing my work a lot too. I’m trying to bring what I see down there, up here, but it doesn’t translate the same way. For me, it opens up what I’m doing and it’s making me think differently about what art could look like. I have no idea what else is going on next though. Maybe some public artwork stuff, but I want to apply to bigger things and work towards bigger shows. I want to really try getting better at teaching too. I was looking at my five year and 10 year plan from grad school at the University of Denver, I just found them the other day. My five year plan was to get through grad school and get represented by a gallery in Denver. That was five years ago and now I’m represented by K Contemporary. My 10 year plan was to be doing research and practice in a city outside of Denver. That’s five years out now, but I don’t know, Denver’s been really good to me lately. I think five years ago, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be here. I felt like I wanted to leave, but now, I just want to stay here and travel as much as I can. Plus, I have a kid I have to teach how to drive soon. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

mariozoots.com @zoots @hardlyeversoft

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INTERVIEW AND PHOTOS BY ESTEVAN RUIZ

With so many transplants residing in Denver now, it’s common to hear their amazement when meeting native Denverites. If they were to meet and hear about the legacy of MSU Denver alumnus, instructor and painter Carlos Fresquez, they’d probably drop dead. With indigenous roots that span generations and growing up in the area where he’s taught for 30 years now, Carlos is Denver through and through. He’s a humble and proud Chicano who’s made it his life’s mission to share with others through his instruction and visual artworks. I had the honor of speaking with Carlos in the painting studio of Auraria Campus’ art building on June 3. We talked about his Westside legacy, the empowerment of the Chicano Movement and the current status of murals in the city.

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Estevan Ruiz: What I find incredible is that you grew up nearby in Denver’s Westside, graduated from MSU Denver back when it started as a college and became an instructor here too. Carlos Fresquez: We lived off of 11th Avenue and Galapago Street by West High School, and then a couple of other places before my family moved and bought a house in Southwest Denver. I was baptized here at St. Cajetan’s back when it was a functioning church. The school was going to tear everything down, all the old buildings, but luckily they left 9th Street Park here. I was in high school then and decided to go to Metro, which was off campus. The campus wasn’t even built yet and I honestly didn’t even know that it was going to be built here. We were in 10 different buildings, the southernmost one was at 11th Avenue and Cherokee Street, then we’d go up to 15th Avenue and Tremont Street. We’d have to run back and forth between buildings, go up elevators in high-rises and others that were warehouse type buildings. The school rented all these office spaces and made them into functioning classrooms. That’s why we’re called Road Runners because we were running around town. I heard the campus was being built here and all of a sudden, the next semester we were on this new campus. My first painting class was in this room [the painting studio in the arts building]. There was pristine concrete, fresh paint, everything had that new car smell. We were just amazed from what we had to what we now shared with two other schools. I graduated from here in 1980 and then in 1989, I got invited to teach. My professor Charles “Bill” Hayes wanted me to substitute for him for

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10 weeks because he was having back surgery. I told him I didn’t want to do it, that I didn’t feel comfortable doing that, but over the phone he said, “Let me put it this way, you’re going to do it! I’m going to hang up on you and you’re going to get a contract in the mail.” I was like, oh my gosh, I have to teach! He had the syllabus and attendance all ready to go, so I just took attendance and walked around to help the students. It wasn’t too daunting of a task and I enjoyed it. I just taught the class, and when it was all said and done, the chair called me up and said, “The students loved you, would you teach another class?” I don’t know why I feared teaching, it was so natural for me. I hadn’t made the connection that I was baptized here. It wasn’t until I started working full time in 2005 that I looked out my office window, saw St. Cajetan’s and was like, oh my gosh, I haven’t moved at all (Laughs). I have all this life I’ve experienced and I’m still in the same spot. What kept you here? Well, having two children, I wanted to make sure they knew their family and all my family’s here in Denver. I could have tried to apply for a full time job elsewhere, but as an artist, I realized that Denver and the state are pretty much in the center of the country. If I travel somewhere, I can get to the West Coast or East Coast in pretty much the same time. It’s a great place to start a career as an artist. At the time rent was inexpensive, so I was able to get large studios for $75 a month. I was able to make a living as an artist pretty easily. I liked the central location, and as my kids grew up, my

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parents helped watch our children. I would work here, do my artwork, and my wife was working full time and part time, so they would help with the kids. We’re a really close family, that’s important to me, so that kept me here and I’m really glad I did. I always questioned, what if I were to have moved to Los Angeles? What success would I have had there? I don’t know, but I chose to stay here and build a career that’s regional, national and even international. You’ve come to really appreciate your role as an educator. You’ve mentioned that you like the idea of sharing and how your teaching is a form of it. Why is sharing so important to you? I went to my first demonstration in 1969, after the Civil Rights Act passed in 1964. I was in middle school, and my friend Sidney Martinez and his father were involved with The Crusade for Justice here in town. The leader of that group was Radolfo “Corky” Gonzales. My

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friend told me that we’re Chicanos and I had heard the term before, but I had never claimed it. He told me his dad was very active with the group, so he invited me to go [to demonstrations] and I went a couple of times. I was like 13 years old and just heard all this stuff coming at me. There was one thing that really resonated, that we as Chicanos come from a strong culture that’s been here in Colorado. A lot of other people that have come here are later immigrants. We’re from here as indigenous. We were the first people here. When you come from this proud people, you have to be proud, share that with others, get your education and improve the lives of yourself and others. The word share always stood with me. I noticed when I first started exhibiting people would ask me, “Why did you put that there? What does that symbolize?” I’m always describing symbolism or

Students of Carlos’ summer mural class in the process of painting a three-tier mural on June 6 behind Curious Theatre Company in Denver.

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Obsidian Ranfla Series #1, spray paint, screen print and oil on panel, 18 x 24 in, 1999

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what this or that meant. So I’m really educating someone about our culture because at the time, I was painting a lot of work about who we are as Chicanos. I realized my art is actually educating people, so I equated sharing to educating. I figured I’m going to share for the rest of my life to whoever wants to listen and make that part of what I do. When I got asked to teach, it was a formal classroom and I’d never done it before, so that was daunting. But I found out it’s just sharing anyway, so it made it easy to do. Once I finished those first 10 weeks, I was like, wow, all I did was share what I know. Based on your experience, what are some of the challenges you’ve faced as an educator? I think the toughest is working with students that have a mental illness. The toughest student I’ve ever had had a mental illness. He would get in fights with other students in class and we had to call the police once because he didn’t want to leave. It was horrible and probably the worst experience I’ve had in a classroom. The student just didn’t get enough help or forgot his medication or something. It was unfortunate. He got kicked out of school for six months and then he came back and I really tried to work with him. He did something somewhere else, so he got kicked out permanently. I think of the sadness of that in trying to educate, the student trying to grasp and maneuver in life how best they can. But usually, I have no issues. It’s a joy because I’m teaching something that, to me, is very spiritual.

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Painting is a spiritual act. There are students that challenge you, like with attendance. But other than that, I get to teach painting and that’s pretty much all I’ve taught for the past 14 years. It’s just this joyous thing. You put things in students’ minds and educate, then you have them digest and translate it through their heart. I can’t teach that though, how to work from your heart. There’s no “Spirit 101” or “Entry to the Soul.” You just have to encourage them to come from the heart and paint their truth. “Paint what you feel,” that’s what I hook with and how I connect with students. That’s never a challenge because you’re dealing with their truth. So you pull that out of them, what more is there? Painting has been a part of your life since you first experienced it in kindergarten. But, you’ve also utilized a number of different media throughout your career. Do you challenge students to also try new things and experiment? I always expect that of my students and never limit them. I take that on myself as well. I look at it like life is open, so I’ll take on challenges. I’ve always wanted to do public art, so I’d look at proposals or call for entries, but I wouldn’t be sure if I could do them. About 10 years ago, I found one and felt that I could really respond to it, so I went for it. It was the first time I applied for a public art project. I just knew it was right and I ended up getting it! I proposed a steel sculpture, but I didn’t know how to weld. I was like, how am I going to do this? They told me I’d have to get an engineer, have to get a

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Missing You, acrylic on canvas and panel, 60 x 80 in, 1990

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Madre Cosmica, acrylic on groomed canvas, 72 x 48 in, 1999â&#x20AC;&#x201C;2016

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Por Vida, oil, spray paint and screen print on panel, 36 x 24 in, 2000

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Cool Couple Series #10, spray paint, acrylic airbrush and collage on paper, 48 x 39 in, 1985

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million dollar insurance policy because I’m working for the city, I’d have to do this and that. I just hired a fabricator, somebody that could make it and install it, but I painted it. I realized you just find people that can help you through your community. Don’t let that stop you because there are others that can do it and do it well. I came up with the concept, I designed it, made the maquette, the art, and then handed it over to someone that built and installed it. Had a ceremony and took my bow (Laughs). I really didn’t make the thing, but I did make the thing. Some people don’t know that Denver was on the front lines of the Chicano Movement back in the 1960s. You were active in it as well, participating in a walkout when you were in middle school. Was this movement the catalyst for your art career, with many of your motifs and themes surrounding Chicano culture? That’s it exactly. I heard Corky Gonzales, it was September 16th, 1969, I was 13 years old and I remember being in lower downtown and we marched up 15th Street towards the Capitol. It looked like a river of Chicanos, only seeing black hair as you marched forward. When I got to the Capitol, that’s when I heard certain words of empowerment like, “Be proud of who you are.” That was something that stuck with me there. I wanted to know my history, so I started what I call, a culture quest. I remember going to the school library as a kid and looking for “Chicano” in the card catalog, and there was nothing. I searched “Mexican/Mexico” and found some things, but nothing

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really interested me on art. But then I remembered my mom and dad told me that our family’s from New Mexico. So I looked up “New Mexico” and found a book on the art and architecture of New Mexico. On the way home, walking from school, I opened some pages and saw this santero, a saint maker, and looked down at the name and it read, “Pedro Antonio Fresquis.” I got home, opened the book and asked my mom, “Who is this!?” She said she didn’t know who he was, but I thought, we’re probably related because the name’s similar. So I hung onto that. When I got to college, I started investigating a little more and found out about my last name, Fresquez, and how it came into New Mexico. All Fresquez’ are related because it was invented there. It’s a New World name. I know I’m related to this artist, I don’t know if I’m a direct descendant, but I know I come from that. I started taking on the format of the retablo in my work, where there’s a centered saint and usually curtains that embellish the sides, or a crown or corona on top. I came to find through my research that, Pedro Antonio Fresquis is the first identified New Mexican santero. I would take that same principle and format of the retablo, but make a contemporary version. That history inspired me and it relates back to the Chicano Movement because I come from this proud culture. We were no longer fearful to speak up once the Civil Rights Act passed in 1964. This explosion of culture was all about identity. Identity isn’t that important

overleaf Un Corrido para la Gente, steel sculpture, 2009 This was Carlos’ first public art piece.

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in art making right now, it’s not as strong as it once was. It may come back, but back then, it was all about identity. You’d see art centers popping up in the late 60s that were focused on Black art. In Denver you had CHAC [The Chicano Humanities & Arts Council] that started in the late 70s. These were the ways we were going to show our work, by creating our own spaces so we could take care of ourselves. When I was a student here, our professors told us to send out slides to galleries for the experience because we were going to need to do that once we get out of school. It was probably my senior year and I sent out a sheet of slides to this gallery in New York. I went through either an “Art in America” or “Artforum” magazine and I found an ad, showcasing an expressive painter. I thought maybe they’d be interested in my work. I sent these slides off to them blindly with a cover letter that we had to put together and months later, I got this rejection letter and it said, “We are only looking at American artists.” Because my work was so ethnic, so Chicano, so much about our people that they didn’t see it as part of America. Granted, they may not know the history of the Southwest, but still, how are they determining that I’m not part of the U.S.? right Zoot Suit en los Rockies, spray paint and airbrushed acrylic on panel, 68 x 52 in, 1984 This was Carlos’ contribution to the historical 1992 exhibition, CARA.

The Chicano Movement just empowered me. People ask me where I get my confidence from. I get it from them. I know I can do this and I’m not going to let anything stop me. If I get a no, that’s fine because there’ll be a yes somewhere else. In 1992 you were an exhibitor

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in “Chicano Art: Resistance and Affirmation” [CARA], the first dedicated Chicano arts show that toured in the U.S. How was that experience? The epitome of the major exhibit, they looked at the years 1965–1985, the key years of the movement blowing up. Those 20 years were huge because it was all about identity and the Chicano experience. The University of California, Los Angeles [UCLA] put that show together. Six or seven people came out to my little house in the Westside, looked at the stacks of work I had, and were interested in quite a few of them. They took some pictures and ended up selecting this one piece I made in 1984. That was probably the most important Chicano art show that ever came about. I was fortunate to be included and I was actually one of the youngest, being in my 20s then. I wasn’t one of those old timers that was in the heart of the Chicano Movement, they were in the middle of it creating the change, I was on the peripheral. I wasn’t a leader, I was a warrior in it, so I felt very lucky to be included because it was a big deal. It was the epitome of Chicano art exhibits, el mer mero [the best of the best]! Having been influenced by this political background with the Chicano Movement, it would make sense for your work take on a more serious or confrontational form, but your work is more satirical and there’s a lot of humor involved too. Where does that come from and how did you make that balance? I did this painting, it was one of the earlier pieces I did, showing this kid being killed by gang violence. It was bloody and gory. People looked at it

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Tiempotrippinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, Krylon on thriftstore sunstone, 11 in. diameter, 1997

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and thought it was powerful, but it was almost like they expected that kind of thing. I started looking at “Zap Comix,” underground comics, and how they were able to subvert. I would look at the humor and word play they’d use. So I thought, well, let me go a different route because there are people doing work this other way. With comics and the color they used and how they were handled, you could actually say a lot, like political cartoons for example. I’ve always been a clown too, always joking around, and I knew I’d rather be lighthearted and jokey than serious and heavy. So I started using humor. I wanted to be witty with it. There’s one particular image of a Colima pottery from ancient Mexico, it was a dog clay figure wearing a human mask. I always loved that image because it looked like an actor dog, it had culture. I kept that image by my workspace, just pinned on the wall for 10 years probably. I knew I had to do something with that.

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a little Japanese anime character, and I had an assistant write in Kanji, “Buy me now!” This painting is about 6’ x 4’ and I had it in a show. This man came up and he just stood there looking at it and all of a sudden, he turns to me and says, “You just sucker punched me!” He saw what I did by having the British blondewhite-dog against the Mexican dog. He thought it was smart. That’s one example of how like to play. I could have someone with a gun pointing at a face or a bunch of kids being killed, but I’d rather play it a different way. I love humor. Murals typically function as a way to memorialize certain events, people and or histories. How do you see the role of murals shifting now, is the narrative still just as important? Murals exploded in Mexico because the people were putting their country back together after the Mexican Revolution. A lot of people were illiterate then, so

One day it hit me and I figured I could pair this dog that has culture with a dog that’s a thug, like a British Bulldog because they usually have a spiked collar and a mean look on their face. If you look at cartoons, the Bulldog is always the dog that’s chasing and devouring. I used cartoon thought bubbles and simply paired the two together. I put the Colima pottery dog with a thought bubble that said in Spanish, “Cultura,” and then I painted the Bulldog yellow and put a bone with radiating lines above it. So it’s like, this Mexican dog has culture and this British Bulldog doesn’t. I have this other little dog on the lower corner,

Carlos in his office standing next to a painting of his wife Lynn.

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it was a way to teach. If they didn’t know how to read literature, they could read the images. It’s like the wall had a tongue, it was speaking to them and teaching them. They were able to share that information to get educated. I think it’s more challenging today because we have the internet and we’re bombarded with imagery. Everything has an image. You open up a website and there are images and advertisements selling this and that. It’s just over overly saturated. I think if you do your work smartly, you’ll be able to filter through all that. It’s a unique time though.

right The Cubist Cholo, pastel and color pencil on paper, 40 x 42 in, 1992 overleaf left Alley Freshener, Happy City art project, sculpture, 2018 overleaf right El Vaquero, painted mural, 1996–7 This is Carlos’ last standing mural, which has now been obscured by neighboring development.

I say I grew up “B.C.,” before the computer (Laughs). I was able to build my career without all that saturation and establish a lot prior to the computers we use today. I think that’s the challenge now that students and artists have. How do you get filtered through? But again, if you work smart and do something interesting and unique, somebody will probably take a picture and post it somewhere and they’d be helping filter you through. I made these gigantic car fresheners for the “Happy City” art project on 16th Street Mall. People hashtag that and send me messages. If you Google #CarlosFresquez or #AlleyFreshener, there are so many pictures. People are just posting it on their Instagram or tweeting it to each other, so they’re doing it for me. I don’t push my work, I never have. I’m just lucky that people are seeing it and they’re helping me out (Laughs). The past few years, there’s been an ongoing trend of commercial murals and sanctioned street art

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running through the city. Some say it’s a way for the city to combat graffiti, while others are seeing it with more cynicism, saying it’s a way to target development and reinforce gentrification. What are your thoughts on the matter and how do you think it’s impacting the city? Well, it’s taken another direction compared to the historical. The early Chicano murals in the 60s and 70s were looked upon as folk art, trashy, having no class and low brow. But now, within the last 15 years, murals are booming everywhere, as you said. It’s a hip thing to do now. When we did it as Chicanos, maybe it was because we’re Brown people, they saw it as something less. Today, I see both sides and, to me, if an artist is working and they can get a paid gig out of it, I think that’s great. With more art on the wall, I look at them as gifts to the community. But for the purpose to bring up an area to gentrify, yeah, that happens too. I don’t know how to respond to that, but I’m just grateful there’s art in neighborhoods. I’d rather see more than less, but I’m that way. The pendulum’s swinging this way now, but at some point, all of a sudden, they’re going to be out of fashion. It’s going to swing the other way and all of them are going to weather out and not hold up. Maybe there’ll be no money to do it anymore and then we’re back to blank walls because they don’t hold up. All the murals I’ve done, except for one, have faded or been painted over. I think it’s just trendy now. But I just have to laugh, maybe I shouldn’t laugh, because I wonder why we were seen as folk artists or less than and now, all of a sudden, the mural is important.

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Do you think artists from local communities should be favored over national artists, who may have more notoriety, for commissioned murals and street art projects? Not really. I mean, I’d rather have all local artists get the gig, but at the same time, what if we didn’t have the Denver Art Museum and get to see international artists come in and showcase their work to see it firsthand? Daniel Richter had a show here about 10 years ago or so and it was amazing. I couldn’t have flown out to Germany, where he’s from, or to a show in New York, instead, they brought it here to our community so we could see the other possibilities. It comes to us instead of us going to them. So I think it’s good personally, but part of me is on the flip side. Yeah, I prefer all the money stay here and to hire local people, but I think it’s good to bring in outside artists because if their works are stellar, then that helps local artists to see and understand what high quality is. They can up their game and it’ll put that pressure on them to get better. I think it’s important to have other artists come in here. It’s just a different flavor. I know a lot of artists here and I know what they do. It’s nice when

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someone from out of state or another country comes in because they bring something unique, and then we have that here. You want to retire from teaching within the next three years. As an alum and instructor at MSU Denver, what do you hope to leave behind here? I don’t think about that. I’ve been here as long as I have, more than half my life has been here (Laughs). I honestly don’t think about it. I just do what I do, I’ve done what I’ve done and I’ll just move on. I’m not here to leave anything behind, I’m just here to give right now. What’s next for you? I’ve been working on trying to get a studio outside my home again because I moved it back into my little closet of a space. The minute I retire from teaching, I’ll just get back to hitting art like I used to years ago, making every day. I’ll spend more time with family too. I don’t spend enough time with them, having two full time jobs as an artist and professor. It’s a lot sometimes. But that’s the future. Hopefully I’ll still be making. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

carlosfresquez.com

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SUBMISSION

LAUGHING GIBBOSITY ARTWORK BY BOOBY HILL

THROUGH THE BUSHES, pen on paper, 11 ½ x 10 ¾ in, 2019

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SPACE JIZZED, pen on paper, 14 x 14 in, 2017

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BOOBY HILL

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The typical portrait examines the sitter; proportions and human expressions remain important for identifying origin, emotional tendencies, health qualities and social standing. This perception contributes to an individualâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s understanding and interpretation of the face. In contrast, my drawings emphasize an intentional sophomoric confusion in this construct. Composed with haste, and executed through obsessive minutiae, an abject fragmentation occurs in these portraits that nears a level of naĂŻve biomorphism. I act as a surgeon, equipped not with a scalpel, but a technical pen that allows for precise exactitude.

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ANXIETY pen on paper, 12 ½’ x 9 in, 2019

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BOOBY HILL

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ESCAPE FROM THE FORTRESS, pen on paper, 12 ½ x 9 ¼ in, 2019

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PUS POINTS FOR ALIEN, pen on paper, 11 ½ x 8 ¾ in, 2019

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BOOBY HILL

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NIGHT SINS, pen on paper 14 Â½ x 11 in, 2019

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COLONY COLLAPSE, pen on paper, 9 Â¾ x 9 in, 2018

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BOOBY HILL

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Discoveries occur through this process; lines, shapes, values, and forms emerge suggesting facial morphologies going through a physiological flux of meaning. I disregard a direct narrative for ambiguity, and thus seek an immediate eye-popping sensation. These faces illustrate themes regarding the abject, the grotesque and the uncanny. Their expressions capture the liminal, the fantastic, the ordinary, the ripening, the decaying. Through these visual manifestations I traverse through depiction of the inner and the outer parameters of psyche and body to rectify the tribulations of this mortal coil.

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WEIGHT OF HISTORY, pen on paper 12 ½ x 9 ¼ in, 2019

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BOOBY HILL

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HIS FINGER WAS A CIMABUE, pen on paper, 12 Â¼ x 9 in, 2019

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TUBE TOP DILEMMA, pen on paper 19 x 11 in, 2019

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BOOBY HILL

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THE WHIMSY KING, pen on paper, 15 ¾ x 8 ½ in, 2019

arts + literature + culture

LOOKING FOR AN OPPORTUNITY TO SHOWCASE YOUR WORK? Metrosphere is currently accept ing submissions for the 2019/202 0 school year! We encourage all genres and mediums of literary works and visual art. We are par ticularly interested in showcasing series of works! Get your work published and be featured as par t of MSU Denver’ s emerging art scene!

Please include an artist statement with all submissions, including your name, major and year in school. Send all submissions to submission

.metrosphere@gmail.com

If you’re in need of guidance or have any questions, please reach out to us. We’re here to help!

For a detailed list of submission guidelines and requirements, please visit

mymetmedia.com/metrosphere and click on GUIDELINES

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51 BROADWAY - DENVER (303) 866 - 0165

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226 E 13TH AVE - DENVER (303) 886 - 0164

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1813 PEARL ST - BOULDER (303) 938 - 1924