Self-taught Chicano artist Ralfka Gonzalez, known for his depictions of Mexican dichos or proverbs, was born in San Antonio, Texas, in 1958 and now lives and works in Oakland, Calif. He previously lived and worked as an artist in Philadelphia and Chicago, and has spent much of the past quarter-century in Oaxaca, Mexico. While in Philadelphia in the 1980s and ’90s, Gonzalez participated in exhibitions at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Arthur Ross Gallery, Taller Puertorriqueño, Nexus Gallery, Afro-American Museum and The Painted Bride, among others. His mural “El Gran Conjunto del Fin del Mundo” is on permanent exhibit at the Pennsylvania Convention Center in Philadelphia.
Gonzalez is opening a new show Sept. 10 at the Seed on Diamond Gallery in Philadelphia. Jerry Macdonald interviewed him about his work, HIV, his love of Mexico and what brings him back to Philadelphia after all these years.
JM: “Idiots, Icons And Idols: Ralfka Gonzalez: That was then, this is now.” What has changed in your art since the last time you worked in Philadelphia, and why return now? RG: I feel that my style of art has not changed that much. What is different is that, back then, I had a very romantic native view of Mexico. Like a lot Chicano artists, I was painting about things that I really didn’t really know about just because it’s Mexican. When I met people who were not Latino that spoke better Spanish than me, they taught me about Oaxaca and things about mama Mexico. I began to understand the difference between folks that have the “Corazon de Latino” [Latin at heart], and the ones that are looking for Mexican Disneyland. Now if I paint something, I make sure that I know the stories/history/herstory behind what it is. I’m no longer the tourist; I can say I’m part Oaxacan now.
JM: A lot of your paintings are illustrations of Mexican dichos or proverbs. In fact, you co-wrote and illustrated with Ana Ruiz “My First Book of Proverbs,” which won a number of awards. What is it that originally drew you to these dichos, and are you still painting dichos?
RG: The first time I traveled to Mexico alone, I noticed how Mexicans had a saying for anything and everything. I started to recall the proverbs my mama would tell me. I began to look at art that illustrated proverbs. I do hide some messages in my work. In Oaxaca the women wear dresses or ribbons in their hair in a way that the other people know things like, single, looking 4 work, someone is dying, someone just gave birth, just by the colors they wear or how they are dressed that day. The women in markets have the best dichos: bread with love is better than chicken with grief! So, yes, I do still draw or paint proverbs, they just might not be written out somewhere in the art.
JM: A huge part of your work and your life revolves around Oaxaca. How did you become so involved with that particular place? RG: My family would go to Mexico about three times year. I remember being 15 years old and crossing the border reading Carlos Castaneda where he talks of white owl witches flying over the Zocoxoco. An art curator told me that my work looks somewhat like the art down there … I got a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, at the right time as my 10-year relationship was dumping me for a 17-year-old genius waiter. So I packed my bags for Oaxaca, Mexico. Many moons later, there is still a family of white owls that lives in the bell towers of the church near the center of Oaxaca. They fly over your head, and you can dream that they really are magic witches that can fly in the night.
JM: Part of your upcoming exhibit will display photographs that you have taken over the years at drag balls in Oaxaca. How did that come about? RG: They have a story about why there are so many queers in Oaxaca. The mangod put all the queens in bag and tells a saint, ‘These people have special powers to be able to heal, and bring good luck … you are to put one here and one there.’ So the saint flew off and circles the world three times dropping queens, bisexuals, trans folk, lesbians … when he flew over Juchtan, Oaxaca, all the queers fell out! And that’s why there are so many gay people in Oaxaca. And it’s true, in this indigenous culture, it’s not only OK to be gay, every family needs to have a gay person or the family is off balance, or even has bad luck. So much so that the family can be shunned. The queen is made to take care of her parents as they get old … It’s OK if the gay son is living with them and his lover. To make a long story short, some of the queens began to tell me about and invite me to the parties. The first few, I just thought it was a gay party … through tourist eyes. Later, I found out that queens would walk the streets with banners of St. Sebastian. Then they would go to the church for mass. At the end, the queens would come to the altar and the priest would light the velas [candles]. As long as those candles burned, that was how long the fiesta would go on. There is a gay bar that opened in 1953 as a men’s bi/gay/trans bar, and it was probably queer even before that. This is what I love about Oaxaca.
JM: Let’s talk about HIV. You have been poz for some years now and this obviously is an important part of your life. How has it had an impact on your work? RG: To get my HIV meds, I have to do things or not do things so that I can still be eligible for them. When I make money, I can get cut off. It’s insane. Art supplies, art shows, traveling to [shows and] shipping art takes a lot of cash, and I don’t have any these days. So for me, I want to do work that is healing for me, and perhaps it gives that back to the viewer. I feel that now, I don’t take time for granted, yet I will plan some artwork and wait till I have the studio space or the right materials for the project. I’m saying that I’m more aware … if I got a good idea, I’m going to use the best that I can, before I begin to do it, whether I find something on the street to recycle or some super paint I need to buy. On the other hand, when you are so sick with AIDS and you think you are going to die, and on top of that you are having your midlife crisis, you roll with the punches.
JM: Can you talk about HIV themes in your art? RG: I did do the first erotic gay safe-sex poster in Mexico! It came out about 1995. Up until I got HIV, the work did not have that much reference to AIDS, only maybe a few Day of the Dead works. When I got very sick, that changed. I put a lot of what I feel about having HIV in my work. Not all of that is about my feelings being lonely, pissed off, sad, rejected, scared or that nagging survivor’s guilt from getting it so late after losing so many pals … 30 years! So many books, songs, artworks, discoveries lost to young people with AIDS. It was my war. It still is. What I do get from AIDS is peace, courage, responsibility, living one day at a time, inspiration from nature, renewal of the body, mind, soul, the love of others and my love for the world we live in, no matter how crazy it is.
JM: Speaking of crazy, a lot of your paintings have a life is crazy/life is gay theme about them. RG: The Dutch have a proverb: Just be normal, life is crazy enough. They also say: Just be crazy, life is normal enough. As a gay Latino, my life is about being crazy enough to be out, to be smart about my choices and to not be normal. We have enough gay people that act and want to be like straight people. We need to stand up to bullies, not just for the normal-looking, and acting, but especially for the ones that don’t fit in, the ones that don’t feel loved, the freaks, the “little monsters,” as Lady Gaga calls them. Bad or good, crazy keeps the world on its toes!
JM: So, has HIV closed off avenues or options for you? RG: Yes. The sad thing is even now it’s very hard how some people will react when I say I have HIV. The most painful is my Christian sister — I don’t know what happened to her! I visited her when I was coming back from Mexico. She said to me, “I don’t feel comfortable with my family using the bathroom after you, or breathing the same air as you, or washing the dishes you use.” I was so pissed. I have not talked to her since 2002. When you get very sick, you know who your real pals and family are. It’s very easy to get sad and isolated, and not make new friends or queer family; this endless AIDS phobia makes it hard not to feel like damaged goods. It does make me be grateful for being alive, but mostly it’s a cross to carry that wish I could burn!
JM: Has HIV opened up avenues for you artistically? Have you had opportunities or seen the world differently due to your HIV? RG: When I was very sick, the young buck doctor said that I might have AIDS or cancer or both. That night I cried so hard and watched Nina Simone at this art-deco theater in Oakland. A few days later, it was take the pills or write your will. I had this truck that I began to paint. It looked like a Mexican sugar bowl — you know: the flowery, hand-painted gourds you buy at the folk-art galleries. The truck was named Eye Too Hell Ah Gay — Eye2 for short. Then on Monday, Sept. 10, 2001, I went to the doctor. My T-cells were over 100. The meds were working! I was going to be HIV-poz and not have AIDS any more. The next day me and my best pal planned to go camping up in redwoods wine country. I woke up and went to the grocery store. It was mad. People were crying and running around! I asked why are people acting so odd? With a tear in his eye, the clerk said jets are crashing into buildings; I rushed back to turn on the news. After about three hours of this, we got in the truck and went camping. Then it hit us: People were crying and waving at us. For weeks, people would hug me as I got back to my truck, telling me that my art heals them! I even got a magnet with the Twin Towers from a fireman that had just come back from Ground Zero, saying my truck made his day, and that’s what freedom is about. I never told any of them that I was healing with this art too; it is the most powerful gift that AIDS has given me. I loved that the truck, putting smiles on people’s faces. To make a long story short, the car went poof, and I did not have the cash to fix it, so I left it beside the road. I sang part of Lulu’s song “To Sir With Love” as I walked away: “How do you thank someone, that has taken you from crayons to perfume …” I’d love to have a car of my own to paint again one day.
The opening reception for “Idiots, Icons & Idols: Ralfka Gonzalez: That was then, this is now” is at 6 p.m. Sept. 10 at Seed on Diamond Gallery, 124 W. Diamond St. For more information, visit www.casadeduende.com.