Arlene Dávila on the Complexities of Latinx Art

Join us on June 10 for a Duncan Phillips Lecture featuring Arlene Dávila, who will discuss her book Latinx Art: Artists, Markets, and Politics (2020), as well as The Latinx Project at New York University, an interdisciplinary center that promotes Latinx culture.

Arlene Dávila is Professor of Anthropology and Social and Cultural Analysis at New York University and Founding Director of The Latinx Project at NYU

In her book Latinx Art, Arlene Dávila poses this question: “What is Latinx art? How does it relate to American art? Why don’t we know more about Latinx artists, and why should we care?” Particularly important questions given that “these artists have been central to the artistic vitality of the United States thought they remain largely eclipsed from its history. They are the largest majority missing from most museum collections and commercial gallery circuits, a self-perpetuating omission that affects the evaluation of Latinx artists into the future.”

The term Latinx refers to artists from a Latin American background in the US, whether they are first generation or have a longer history of living and working in the country. The term also points to an openness to gender, sexual, and racial inclusivity. “I define Latinx art as a project, not a fixed identity,” writes Dávila, “a project of culture making.” Furthermore, “Latinx points to the urgent need to raise questions and to call attention to the silencing of Latinx artists and communities.” Dávila considers herself part of this movement and calls for greater Latinx visibility. Dávila explores how Latinx artists are overlooked and marginalized because of their lack of “national privilege”—they do not have citizenship to a Latin American country, but instead are living as diasporic artists within the United States. These artists are often confused with Latin American artists and because of that often experience erasure. Dávila explains:

“Latinx,” “Latin American,” and even “American” art are not fixed, homogenous, or universally accepted terms. These categories are specially contested in the art world, where any hyphenated art has long been regarded as less genuine, less creative, and of generally lower quality and value, than “unmarked” art. Art and aesthetic are ruled by their own set of blinders. Essential here is the idea that matters of identity and history are irrelevant even when they are intrinsically involved in the creation of value. Hence, we seldom recognize race in categories such as “American art” and “Contemporary art” that index whiteness, while “Latinx art” or “Black art” cannot be read apart from signifiers of race. All the while, “contemporary art” and “American art” remain uncontested, made-up, and homogeneous categories that hide more than they reveal. The sale of Leonardo da Vinci’s five-hundred-year-old painting Salvator Mundi at Christie’s 2017 postwar and contemporary art sales, on account of its “contemporary significance,” is a perfect example of the market-driven malleability of the category of “contemporary art.” Still, the dominant art world regularly accepts these made-up determinations and categories. By contrast, “ethnic” categories such as Latinx art are always bemoaned, supposedly for “erasing complexity,” especially when used to identify and gain recognition for artists of color. The racial politics of the art world become normalized through these unequal assessments and through the racialization of selected categories while “the mainstream” continues to signal “white” as the norm. This explains why many curators and artists of Latinx, African American, Caribbean, and Latin American art bemoan these categories as “necessary evils.” Everyone recognizes that these categories ghettoize artists into sectors apart from the white-dominant center, yet at the same time they have opened up spaces that would have otherwise remained even more exclusive and inaccessible.

Seeing Differently: Bruce Davidson and Horace Pippin

The Phillips Collection engages with local voices by asking community members to write labels in response to works in the collection. Read some here on the blog and also in the galleries of Seeing Differently: The Phillips Collects for a New Century. How do these perspectives help you see differently? What would you write about these artworks?

Bruce Davidson, Large Family in Kitchen (East 100th Street series), between 1966 and 1968, Gelatin silver print, 11 in x 14 in., Gift from the Collection of Michael and Joyce Axelrod, Mill Valley, California, 2013

Not knowing anything about this piece when I initially viewed it, I was immediately struck by a sense of place and connection among a family who appears to be striving for formality in front of the camera. I was first struck by the objects. In the small kitchen, everything seems to have its place. Even the ceiling seems to gleam. Only then did I start to be drawn to the faces—placing each one in what I think is their role and age. Though the photo transports you to a different time, it is ageless, from the teenager at the back who is removed and somewhat sullen, longing for independence, to the apparent Daddy’s girl, refusing to leave his side.

Later, I read a bit more about the artist, Bruce Davidson, and the critique of how his work reflected Harlem—some feeling too negatively, others feeling too positively. What I appreciate is how Davidson places himself in the work. Though you can’t see him, everyone else is looking at his lens. They are aware of his presence and impact on their existence for that moment. It brings an authenticity that doesn’t center the artist but doesn’t ignore him. He is not a fly on the wall, but rather a disruptor, truthfully acknowledging his role in creating the moment.

—Anika Kwinana, Manager, National Partnerships at The John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts, Centennial Community Advisory Group Member

Horace Pippin "Domino Players" 1943, Oil on composition board, 12 3/4 x 22 in.; Acquired 1943

Horace Pippin, Domino Players, 1943, Oil on composition board, 12 3/4 x 22 in., The Phillips Collection, Acquired 1943

Dominoes is synonymous with macaroni and cheese, peach cobbler, and candied yams. Guaranteed to find its way at most traditional gatherings, alongside trash-talking, and a good game of spades. If you were smart, you sat next to grandma and watched her play, over time, memorizing her moves. She had mastered the game. Nothing written down, the oral traditional is strong. Some call it an old folks games. I call it a rite of passage.

—Sunny Sumter, Executive Director, DC Jazz Festival

 

Alexander Calder: Great Yellow Sun 

A Phillips Collection Fellow in the Field: Ariana Kaye, The Phillips Collection Sherman Fairchild Fellow 2020-2021, on Alexander Calder

The Phillips Collection has four works in the collection by American artist Alexander Calder (1898-1976): Only, Only Bird (1951), Hollow Egg (1939), Untitled (1948), and Red Polygons (c. 1950). Recently, I visited a retrospective of Calder’s work at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. The exhibition is titled Great Yellow Sun after a gouache drawing of the same name by Calder from 1973. At this exhibition I had the opportunity to learn more about Calder’s entire oeuvre and expand on the knowledge I gained about Calder’s works that are in The Phillips Collection.

Alexander Calder, Great Yellow Sun, 1973, gouache and ink on paper, 74.6×109.5 cm

The title of the exhibition reflects the emphasis on an overlooked aspect of Calder’s production, his gouache paintings. This is an art form that he began experimenting with in 1940 and stand on their own—not preparation drawings for his famous kinetic sculptures, but artworks in their own right. The gouache works provide a painterly compliment to his three-dimensional ones and show us that through his work, what is on the page comes to life and becomes flat again. His act of creating gouaches was his “morning exercise” as he walked across the street from his house in Saché, France, to a building he bought and called his “gaucherie,” where he experimented with his paints.

Ariana Kaye at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art

Calder was trained as an engineer, awakening his interest in making art that incorporated movement. His first attempt at moving art was a circus, where he created different small sculptures that could flip and turn like acrobats titled Cirque Calder. He then turned to make his famous “mobiles,” a term that artist Marcel Duchamp gave to his works when he visited Calder’s studio in 1931, referencing their mobile quality: they move as the wind does, creating different imaginative shapes in space as light hits a mobile and creates shadows. At first, his mobiles had representational shapes, but then became more abstract. The shadows and movements of the sculptures create unique and imaginative characters, such as the fish skeleton I see when I look at Red Polygons. The abstract shapes both in his sculptures and in his gouaches are usually painted in primary colors, reminiscent of the geometric primary colors seen in paintings by Piet Mondrian. The primary colors are indeed a reference to Mondrian, who was a longtime friend of Calder’s.

The sun in Great Yellow Sun refers to another one of Calder’s interests, the solar system. His sculptural works also remind me of the three dimensional diagrams that children have in their classrooms to learn about the rotation of the planets in space. In the text for the exhibition written by curators Ronili Lustig Steinmentz and Shahar Molco, they mention exactly that, that Calder’s work “can be seen as an exploration of energetic forces that combine aesthetics and the fourth dimension with scientific knowledge of physics, mathematics, and mechanics.” When Calder himself was asked how he makes his art, he also emphasizes a scientific artistic process, that his art is created “out of volumes, motion, spaces bounded by the great universe.”

Exhibition view, Alexander Calder: Great Yellow Sun, Tel Aviv Museum of Art

Calder’s interest in science, movement, primary colors, and the universe all come together to make dynamic works of art that all kinds of people can find various points of connection to. They are playful, childlike, and dreamlike while also representing the keystones of modernism—straight lines, no clear narrative, and elementary colors.

Exhibition view, Alexander Calder: Great Yellow Sun, Tel Aviv Museum of Art