Does political art work?
Meaning, does it change minds? And if not, does it at least embolden the true believers?
Those questions passed through my mind recently at three excellent art shows now staged at two Austin museums.
All three deal, to some extent, with Latino artists who dig deep into cultural and political patterns of thought.
Marking two eras at Mexic-Arte
“MX 21: Resistance, Reaffirmation and Resilience” at Mexic-Arte Museum hews closely to the three themes laid out in the show’s subtitle. Although all three multisyllabic concepts remain rather vague, without them the art on display would not exactly cohere.
The ideas are made all the more pointed by the fact that, in 2021, we are observing two significant anniversaries: 500 years since the fall of Mexico-Tenochtitlán, and 200 years since Mexico gained independence from Spain.
At the entrance, we are met by an enlarged version of Leopoldo Méndez’s “Cuahtemoc” (circa 1950), by now a familiar figure. A giant Indigenous warrior who brandishes a weapon — a whip? — hovers over a fallen Spanish soldier dressed in armor. A third, less distinct figure crouches behind the Spaniard.
It’s a sharp way to introduce the first stage of the show: how the Indigenous peoples of Mexico resisted the conquistadors and missionaries. We see workers struggling to accomplish impossible tasks, clergy bandying heavy chains that look like rosaries, enslaved Africans in shackles, along with fires, fortifications and mythological figures.
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Several images in this first room bear the red, green and white of the Mexican flag. They are distinguished by heavy outlines that define boldly ornate figures.
Museum co-founder and director Sylvia Orozco is represented by several pieces of her own, two of which depict the scourge that smallpox brought onto Indigenous peoples, who, after all, had vastly outnumbered the Europeans. (If you are interested how this kind of tragedy took place worldwide, the book to read is Jared Diamond’s “Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies.”)
Moving into a second room, one sees extraordinary photographs of Indigenous peoples, before turning the corner for a one-of-a-kind, wall-sized piece by Michael Menchaca. He plasters what look like modern political posters with repeated images of Gov. Greg Abbott along with slogans such as “He Kills Texans.” Leaving no place for the eye to rest, Menchaca adds screenshots, emojis and three monitors that show clips from news programs.
What a delight to see on the central monitor an interview with Monica Muñoz Martinez, the University of Texas professor whose research informed an award-winning show at the Bullock Texas State History Museum as well as her superb book, “The Injustice Never Leaves You: Anti-Mexican Violence in Texas.”
I was a little bit confused about where the section on resilience started, but I lingered over the modern reshapings of mythical figures, as well as the alternative landscapes, timelines and figurines by Angel Cabrales, who imagines a universe where Spain never conquers Mexico.
A third room is reserved for reaffirming pictures. Images of Mexicans of different ethnicities in social and cultural proximity allows the viewer a little more freedom to put together a coherent feeling out the vague concept.
Aside from resisting Spanish and American dominance, are the images in this show political? If you believe all aspects of life are in some way related to power and its abuses, yes. If not, then “MX 21” might speak to you more clearly on a cultural plane, and thus the three themes join as one.
More information: Through Feb. 27, Mexic-Arte Museum, 419 Congress Ave., 512-480-9373, mexic-artemuseum.org.
Pop goes political art at the Blanton Museum
Although one of the two new shows at the Blanton Museum of Art contains the word “political” in its title, I was left instead with thoughts about the astonishing breadth and depth of UT’s art holdings, from which both shows were derived. I am also in awe of the museum’s curators, who can put the museum’s growing assets into fresh contexts time and time again.
Don’t be discouraged by the full title: “Pop Crítico / Political Pop: Expressive Figuration in the Americas, 1960s-1980s.” This is really a fun and fulfilling show. Staged in just three rooms without crowding, it proves that, not only did political content inform pop art, but that the style was far from restricted to the U.S.
All through the show, one notices the borrowings from mass media and pop culture, the enlarged, sometimes distorted figures and bright colors, as well as the tongue-in-cheek sensibilities associated in popular memory with Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschenberg and others.
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One room is devoted to feminism. Another highlights satirical treatments of religious and political leaders. Yet another is dominated by two very large, paired paintings by Peter Dean and Luis Cruz Azaceta. In both cases, the artists build up layers of paint that radiate pain and violence among grotesque and, yes, expressive figures. This is not the only pairing in the show, nor the only one that puts together artists from different parts of the Americas.
The image that continues to stay with me is Eric Avery’s skeletal treatment of George Washington that recalls X-rays and the Day of the Dead. As with other works here, Avery asks the viewer to look behind and beyond the myths and hero worship.
Is that always critical or political? I’m not sure. At more than a few stations on this circuit of art, I had to question the artist’s intended political meaning. I’m more than happy with that state of affairs — art that makes you think, but doesn’t tell you what to think.
More information: Through Jan. 16. Blanton Museum of Art, 200 E. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., 512-471-5482, blantonmuseum.org.
Seeing the Southwest through a clear lens
One could argue that there is little explicitly political in the work of the late Luis Jiménez, who studied at UT and took the Borderlands as his broad, lifelong canvas. Yet, as one of the preeminent artists associated with the Chicano movement, many of the images come with an undeniable political edge.
The two rooms at the Blanton devoted to Jiménez are not terribly large, but some of the art is overwhelming. I’ve already gone ga-ga for his “Cruzando El Rio Bravo (Border Crossing)”, which formerly stood upstairs, then, at least temporarily, in the museum’s atrium.
Now planted on a substantial new pedestal, the painted fiberglass sculpture of a man carrying a woman on his shoulders towers over guests and the other art in the room. Better lighting brings out the details, especially the weary, pained looks on the migrants’ faces and the weariness of their bodies.
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As big as that sculpture is, the ecstatically pronged “Progress II” is even more powerful: It completely overtakes the entry gallery. Also painted fiberglass, it consists of a small launching pad for, on one side, a leaping longhorn, and on the other, a man on a horse pulling back just as dramatically on a rope.
Like other Jiménez art, it defies gravity in an unsettling way. On a small piece of fiberglass that serves as the earth, as well as the sculpture’s structural anchor, the artist scatters some carefully chosen objects — a skull, a spearhead, an owl — but what they mean is not entirely clear.
This spectacular piece was given to the museum by an anonymous donor. It should be on permanent display somewhere on campus. Can we get Landmarks, UT’s nationally admired public art program, involved in such a project?
On the walls of the second room one finds lithographs and oils on unframed canvas, along with smaller sculptures. Jiménez was drawn to the wildlife of the Southwest — wolves, snakes, alligators, etc. — that can menace humans while existing in states of muscular beauty.
He likes strong lines and streamlined movement. Jiménez also likes to pair ennobling images with scenes that create contrast. Thus, it makes complete sense to hang figures in fantastical Aztec settings next to social underdogs that he relished, such as avid low riders or dancers in a dive.
In this way, Jiménez can be seen as political. He celebrated the heroism of labor and survival, as well as the dignity of shared dreams and simple pleasures.
More information: Through Jan. 16. Blanton Museum of Art, 200 E. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., 512-471-5482, blantonmuseum.org.
Michael Barnes writes about the people, places, culture and history of Austin and Texas. He can be reached at mbarnes@statesman.com
