Rigoberto Gonzalez
Born in 1973 in Reynosa, Tamaulipas, Mexico, Rigoberto lives in Edinburg, Texas. He holds a B.F.A. from The University of Texas at Pan American in 1999 and an M.F.A. from the New York Academy of Art in 2004. He currently teaches drawing and painting at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Gonzalez's work has been exhibited at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery, Washington, DC, the Konsthallen Bohuslan Museum, Uddevalla, Sweden, the Museum of Contemporary Art: Branch of the National Museum in Wrocław, Poland, and the Guildhall Art Gallery, London, England. Rigoberto has participated in artist residencies at the Roswell Artist Residency, Roswell, New Mexico, and at the Santa Fe Art Institute Artist Residency Program, Santa Fe, New Mexico.
This interview is a long read with Rigoberto Gonzalez.
It is the first in an ongoing series of interviews with artists on censorship in the arts.
The Rest on the Flight Into Egypt, oil on linen, 5’ x 6’
Hugh Leeman: You were born in Reynosa, Mexico, and grew up across the border in San Juan, Texas, in what Gloria Anzaldúa termed the "borderlands." This has clearly influenced your art, but what's the genesis story of how you came to discover art growing up, and who encouraged you on this artistic journey?
Rigoberto Gonzalez: There were different factors. I grew up in a small farming community outside of Reynosa. Today, Reynosa is a big city with a population of over a million people, but back in the 70s, it was a farming community with no museums. It took me years to realize where my interest in art came from, but it all goes back to my family, especially my mother. My mother was a very talented artist, even though she had no formal training. She could draw very well. When I was in my 20s, I saw her taking care of and entertaining her grandkids. My mom would sit the little girls on her lap and draw for them simple flowers and birds just to keep them entertained. I remember she used to do that with me. At that young age, drawing seemed like magic. I used to think the little flower or the little cow she drew would come out of the tip of her pencil. That really made me think of art as this incredibly beautiful, magical, and creative thing.
I've written notes on this thing I witnessed because I thought it was so beautiful. She did that with me and my siblings. I think also, being the youngest, you get a lot more liberties. You don't have the same pressures, like having to get a job. You're always the "baby," even at 50. I think that was a big influence. Being the youngest, there was no pressure to pursue a "serious" career. A lot of artists struggle with their families. I remember in grad school, classmates would talk about their parents wanting them to study medicine or finance. I never had that. I don't come from money, but I had the absolute freedom to do what I wanted. My brother could also draw very well.
I remember seeing fine art on calendars in Mexican restaurants. I'm sure it happens in San Francisco, too; they give out a calendar with a picture of Jesus or Mary. My mom had one with a depiction of the Sistine Chapel, including all the nude figures. As a child, I felt a calling. My wife says I'm very intuitive, so there was a premonition. I asked my mother what it was, and she said, "It's a painting," and talked about the story of Adam and Eve. I think in that ranching community, if you're aware or intuitive, you already have your purpose from a very young age. I remember things that were influential, like becoming inspired at four or five, seeing plants and crops sprout. The beauty of that green. Later, when I read Robert Frost's poem, "Nature's first green is gold," it reminded me of that childhood experience. I would do simple drawings with colored pencils of corn as it started to grow. Even colors, I remember the mulberry tree. The berries go through a spectrum of colors as they mature: pinks, reds, purples, violets, and then black. I remember admiring the beauty of those colors as a very young child.
Se Los Cargo La Chingada Beheading 2010 Oil on linen 7 x7ft
HL: That's beautiful. Connecting the calendar you mentioned to the baroque art of the Final Judgment in the Sistine Chapel is incredible. The magic of the pencil, and then connecting that as we move forward to what you're well known for, the Baroque influence in your art, and using its historical depictions of violence inflicted on saints and Christ in biblical times to engage 16th and 17th-century audiences emotionally. You use similar elements in your art practice. What do you want audiences who are engaged by your art to know?
RG: People often ask me, Why are you so drawn to Caravaggio? I think it's because in the farming countryside where I grew up in Mexico, when the sun goes down, my parents used to bring out the lamps, those lamps were the light we had, and they would bring out the dark contrast in people's features; it was dramatic light like Caravaggio.
These stories that I'm depicting about immigration and the drug war get a lot of press, but I don't think a lot of artists were dealing with it until recently. When I started back in 2005-2006, there wasn't a lot of awareness of "border art." It was about exposing people to these stories, which are incredibly dramatic and important. So many factors go into what's happening. Why are people migrating? Why are they moving from one country to another?
The geopolitical forces that move people are often overlooked. People are usually drawn to the portraits and figures in my paintings, but they often don't look at the background or the ground, which are just as important. For example, in the painting, The Guide, there's a landscape of Ciudad Juárez behind the family as they're crossing the river. It's a shanty town, or what they call colonias in Mexico. This urban sprawl is a result of geopolitical forces. The landscape is like a dystopian western landscape. I want people to become aware of those backgrounds in my paintings. Those shanty towns grew very quickly in a short period because of incentives from the Mexican government in the late 70s and early 80s. To draw businesses to the border, they offered incentives for companies to build factories, get cheap labor, and have very little environmental oversight. As a result, many people from the interior of Mexico traveled to the border, and these towns became populated very quickly without adequate lighting, plumbing, or electrical services. I want to make people aware of those places. I spent some time living there. My older sister worked at an assembly plant. All these stories you hear now about the femicides, even though we didn't live in Juárez, it was the same culture. I want to make people aware of the conditions that lead to the murders of women and young men getting drawn into the drug trade.
I present these issues with an artistic vision to make it more attractive, to seduce the viewer into the painting. If you just do a documentary, it's like, "Oh, the border is dirty, it's filthy, there's crime." But if, as an artist, you're able to seduce the viewer by arranging the colors and the composition, maybe they can learn a little more about the border.
Refugees Crossing the Border into South Texas, 2020 Oil on linen 6 x5 ft
HL: In a previous interview, you said that the goal of your art is to start a dialogue. Clearly, your art, in particular the painting Refugees Crossing the Border Wall into South Texas, is rattling the doors of power, as President Trump recently spoke specifically of your painting that had shown at the National Portrait Gallery as evidence that the Smithsonian is "out of control." If you could have a long-form conversation to start a dialogue with President Trump, what would you like him to understand about your art?
RG: That would be something to enter into a serious dialogue with. Ideally, you would ask someone like that to put themselves in other people's shoes, but I don't think he's capable of that. There's a disconnect in social classes, a disconnect in the way we experience life. I remember a friend in grad school who was a successful financier and a millionaire in his early 30s. He was a very nice guy, but he would ask me to go to dinner, and I'd say I couldn't because I had to cook for the rest of the week. He would just laugh, "What do you mean?" He'd never had to struggle financially or spend a day preparing meals to spread his finances. So of course, he didn't understand people who live on the Mexican side, where a family of five lives on something like $5,000 a year. It would be a huge challenge to have that conversation, especially with President Trump. It's hard to tell what's real with him. Is it all an act, or is he just performing? I don't know how to bridge that gap. I don't know how to square that circle.
I think the issue with immigration is that it gets oversimplified. They want to come here because of crime, or for safety, but it's a very complex issue. Someone should make him aware of that. Sometimes he comes across like he doesn't understand complex issues; he just wants a simple history lesson. The immigration issue is complex. During World War II, the U.S. government promoted worker programs to bring workers from Mexico. There is a tradition there. Also, American interventionism throughout Latin America is a big factor. Nobody becomes president in Latin America without the approval of the U.S. Those that are democratically elected but not approved by the U.S. either face pressure to get rid of them or are assassinated. This intervention in other countries' politics because of the financial interests of American companies creates economic instability, and people will seek a better life. There has to be an acknowledgment of what the U.S. has done. It's not just Trump; it's U.S. foreign policy that has been doing this for generations. I would try to give him a more thorough understanding of what's happening in Latin America and why people are coming. For example, he wants to intervene militarily against the cartels. Well, why don't they stop sending guns to Mexico? They could do something about the gun shops, but they don't. It seems like a simple way to fix some of the problems.
Crotalus 2018 Oil on linen 30 x 36 in
HL: In a recent CNN interview about your artwork, Refugees Crossing the Border into South Texas, you mentioned a discomfort with the potential for intimidation from ICE and the possibility of it targeting your job. Amidst those fears, you continue to have the willingness and courage to speak out. What's the importance of sharing the stories you're telling me and the importance of speaking out?
RG: I grew up with heroes like Zapata and Che Guevara, who were incredibly brave. Their words are inspiring. I remember in third grade in Mexico, I read a quote that's like, "It's better to die standing up than to live on your knees." It's also tiring to listen to all the lies being told by right-wing media on television and radio. This propaganda has even gotten to some Mexican Americans I know, who are starting to believe all those lies. We have to stand up against this disinformation. It's sad to see so many politicians just fall in line. Very few have any spine. I was watching a senator from Tennessee who seemed to be standing up to Trump, and he wasn't even invited to a party at the White House because of his criticism. Everybody else just falls in line and has no spine. They're dismantling constitutional rights, and even if there's a ruling against them, they say they'll do what they want. It's an incredibly dangerous time.
Levanton 2010 Oil on linen 7x 9 ft
HL: As your work has been the focus of the Trump Administration's anger at the Smithsonian, beyond your art, you are a professor at University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. What are you telling your students about the current administration's restrictions on the arts and censorship of artists?
RG: We've been off for the summer, but when I teach, I focus on my methods in painting and gathering ideas. I tell them that art has to make a statement. It can't just be decorative. Art has to speak the truth and make people uncomfortable. It's not always about something beautiful. It has to stir up people's emotions and minds. I suggest a lot of readings. I've always have been attracted to socialist ideas not communist, but an awareness of the needs of the poor and people who are not as privileged. I think it's just common decency to be worried about everyone.
HL: You speak of storytelling, folklore, and mythology in your art. One such legend in Mexico that is very well known is that of La Llorona. [A woman who drowns her children in a jealous rage over her partner's infidelity, her spirit wanders the countryside, weeping for lost children as a tale of social oppression.] Considering the dark and heavy nature of this myth, it becomes particularly interesting that you had your wife and two nieces pose for the painting. How did that conversation go to convince them to pose?
RG: Actually, it's my ex-wife now, but oh, you know it was just a painting. However... It could have jinxed the relationship, as is often said about getting someone's name tattooed, because it supposedly brings bad luck, as the relationship ended badly after that. But they were supportive of me doing the painting when we did it.
La Llorona,” Oil on linen, 6′ x 5′
HL: Beyond art history and sociopolitical dynamics, you rely upon music for inspiration, namely, corridos, the traditional Mexican songs that employ storytelling, which became popular during the Mexican Revolution. Can you talk about the cultural significance of these songs and how they influence the imagery in your artworks?
RG: Some of the work I did about the border, especially the violence, was clearly influenced by some of the corridos. I remember how the music makes you feel and how you enjoy it, and then you start to listen to the lyrics and realize what they're singing about. I thought it was very well done in its ability to seduce the audience into dancing and having a good time without being aware of the message. I thought that was very clever.
The Roman poet Ovid's The Metamorphoses has also been a huge influence. It's a foundational work of literature that has influenced many artists. It's poetry that beautifully describes incredibly violent and gruesome acts. I found a human tradition in telling stories in a beautiful, seductive way. I found that in common with corridos and the way art can present gruesome images. The corridos' influence was to use verse to make a gruesome story pleasant to the ear. I'm not doing work that's as violent now. At a certain point, the drug war never got better, and it was a dark world to look at. I would do a lot of research, and it was just too much. Things are the same in Mexico, and I had to move away from it. I might go back to it, but I just got tired of it.
HL: You have mentioned previously that everyone, even the cartel narcos, are victims of the drug violence and the dynamic situation at the border. Amidst all of this violence and its countless victims, how do you see yourself in this drama?
Perseus with the Head of Medusa Female Member of the Zeta Cartel Beheaded by the Golf Cartel Muler Zeta Decapitada por el Cartel del Golfo 2014 Oil on linen 79” x 66”
RG: I think I'm just a little bit more aware. There's a total lack of self-reflection in the general population. I don't know if it's the education system or choosing not to be self-aware because it's too painful. I think I've had certain luck. People say I'm detached and aloof, but I think that's made me reflect on the situation. I always thought what passed for entertainment was ridiculous. Even sitting down to watch a Mexican soap opera with my family, I thought the storyline was stupid. But my siblings would just keep talking about the simple storyline. I already had it all figured out: the pretty girl ends up with the handsome guy. This kind of simple storyline educated Mexico and made people very superficial. It made them not question things. Those soap operas were like fairy tales, which were popular in medieval Europe because people were poor. The only way for a girl to have hope for a better life was if a prince fell in love with her. In those novelas, the only way a poor Mexican girl could have a better life was if a rich Mexican man fell in love with her. That archetype of people being poor led me down a path of looking for art and literature.
There was a show on Mexican TV called Para Gente Grande, which means "for grown-ups." I was nine or ten, and I would watch it. They would have poets recite poetry and interview great writers like Carlos Fuentes and Octavio Paz. From a young age, I was like, "That's what I want to do." I had that calling. Then you discover Dostoevsky. Reading his books changed my life. I tell people I spent my teenage years in St. Petersburg, Russia, because I felt like I did from reading his books. There's life before Dostoevsky and life after. It's a shock that makes you aware of so many things.
La Guia The Guide 2015 Oil on linen 48 x 60 in
HL: Your painting, La Guía, which you mentioned in passing, showed at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. It depicts a teenage girl who smuggled immigrants from Juárez to El Paso. What is the reality of these people, their lives, and these border crossings that you aspire to convey to audiences who live far away from the border?
RG: The story came from a delivery nurse I met in New Mexico who was very active in advocating for immigrants. She saw my paintings and told me that when she was a teenage girl, she would help her father smuggle people, guiding them from El Paso to Albuquerque and other places. I thought it was a very heroic story. She said that at the time, they would charge very little money. Nowadays, it has been taken over by criminal organizations, and there's a big fee. I've spoken to immigrants who said they had to raise $15,000. They sold everything, their house, everything, to come here.
The effort that goes into coming here is incredible. When I came to the U.S., I spent some time doing farm work and talking to a lot of the farmworkers. In the 80s, a lot of them were what they now call "military-age males," and they all had these incredibly heroic, dramatic stories of crossing the desert or the river. I would talk to them when I was 11, 12, and 13. What happens in your childhood marks you tremendously. That's what I try to do with those stories: bring awareness to the struggles of a group of people who are just lacking opportunity.
Having said that, some of those guys I met couldn't go back to Mexico because they had killed somebody. They were here because they didn't want to be prosecuted or killed by someone's family seeking revenge. So I'm not going to sugarcoat it and say all immigrants are saints; they're not. My view of immigration isn't entirely pro-immigration. I feel for the people, but my dad, who was a U.S. citizen that grew up in Mexico, brought us over the right way. He saved money, got a lawyer, and had all the paperwork. We came through the immigration offices. He would watch the news and say, "I can't understand why those men would put their families through that." He would never have put us through those dangers. So, my view of immigration is complicated.
I think it's also fascinating how populations change because of migration. A year or two ago, there were a lot of Haitians waiting in Reynosa to cross over. A good number of them stayed, got jobs, and married into the community. The dynamics of migration are incredible.
Perseus with the Head of Medusa Female Member of the Zeta Cartel Beheaded by the Golf Cartel Muler Zeta Decapitada por el Cartel del Golfo 2014 Oil on linen 79 x 66 in
HL: In El Día de 17 de Febrero, can you walk the viewer through this artwork's cultural significance that implies a power struggle?
RG: I am often asked. "In your work, who are the victims?" Who are the good guys, who are the bad guys? The villains are not present in my paintings. We don't see the bad guys (they are hinted at only). The cartel gunman, the heavily armored soldiers, the family deciding to flee Mexico, the little girl looking at us. Everyone here is a victim. I ask, "Who profits from this misery?"
It's the transnational corporations that lobby for free trade, who profit from the low wages paid in the assembly plants in border towns. The military industrial complex that profits from the military aid sent to Mexico to fight the drug cartels. Again, the transnational corporations that run the for-profit prisons and detention centers where immigrant families are held. The villains are also the many corrupt officials inside the Mexican congress and state governorships who serve only their greed and ignore the needs of the people they are supposed to serve. Men such as all the ex-governors of the state of Tamaulipas and the Former Mexican Secretary of Public Safety, Genaro García Luna, who is currently undergoing trial for drug trafficking charges in a U.S. Federal Court in New York.
Ancla Anchor 2008, Oil on linen 3 x 4 ft
HL: What is the symbolism and sociopolitical significance of Ancla/Anchor as it relates to immigration and the current border dynamic, and what inspired you to paint this?
RG: The sublime beauty of the West, of La Frontera, its beauty hides many tragedies. From the genocide inflicted on its indigenous people of past centuries to the modern victims of our current immigration policies, this is what this painting grapples with. The painting literally depicts an infant in the desert. Where is the mother? She, too, like him, is one of the people who were an obstacle, like so many others. Perhaps Comanche, Apache, or Kiowa. But at the same time, it is an image of the modern West. No longer a victim of the Henry rifle or of the cavalry, but a victim of the border fence of the surveillance drones and all other obstacles that our modern immigration policies have set in place for the new others, the Hondurans, Salvadorans, Haitians, Guatemalans, or Mexicans.
Contrabando y Traicion Contraband and Treason 2007 Oil on linen 7 x6 ft
HL: Interpretations of art tend to change over time. At one time, your work was awarded for its excellence at the National Portrait Gallery for its technical acumen and storytelling. And then later, with President Donald Trump, it's being derided for being "woke." Once this situation that you're currently in comes to pass, what do you hope comes of all this, and how do you hope people see your art?
RG: It's interesting, the term "woke." When all this comes to pass, I think some things are inextricably connected to who I am. The concerns that I've dealt with in my work will continue to be there. The term "woke" has received a bad reputation, and I don't consider myself woke, but if it means just being aware of history, then I am.
For example, I have many problems with Texas, but this whole worship of the Alamo is one of the big ones. It's the quintessential Texas story: a group of guys fighting for freedom. It's been so sugarcoated. So many professors write papers and speak about the Alamo, but the reality is that the sole purpose of Texas independence was to bring slavery into Texas. Now, you can't say that because you're "woke," but it's the reality. It's like saying you have a purple shirt; it's a fact. Trying to silence you is because they want to take the country in a certain direction.
Ultimately, as an artist, when this is all over, I want to make paintings that I want to look at. If it continues to make people uncomfortable, so be it. I would be equally against the Democratic party. I think there's very little difference between both parties, and I think Trump has won because of such bad candidates. They seem almost complicit because of the bad quality of the candidates they put against him. Hillary, give me a break. I don't know. Sometimes they put people in certain positions that are incompetent so that a problem doesn't get resolved, and I think that's what happened here. Let's put someone who's incompetent and can be easily beaten by Trump because they might also agree with some of the things that have to be done for certain groups.
Para que Aprendan a Respetar So that They Lea to be Respectful 2009 Oil on linen 16x 18 in
HL: I appreciate the breadth and depth of your perspective on this. Let's take that a little further. You have spoken in previous interviews about your aspirations to disturb the comfortable. Clearly, you have. As Trump has singled out your artwork, if there is anyone who, as a person, comes from a comfortable life, it is Trump, as he was born extremely wealthy. Clearly, you've disturbed the comfortable here. By disturbing the comfortable, let's say you can press a magic button and make any outcome happen. What do you want to have happen?
RG: I don't know. The best we can hope for, realistically, is that in the midterms, the Democrats take back Congress. It's so ridiculous. He's sending the National Guard into cities, and Congress is like, "Okay, that's what he wants to do." It's so ridiculous, so unbelievable. And they were saying, "After 30 days, you have to ask Congress." But he doesn't give a damn. He has demonstrated he doesn't give a damn. He's just going to do whatever the hell he wants. I don't think people understand it. Look, he's doing whatever the hell he wants, and his supporters still think maybe he'll do better... He's not going to do better.
All that is Beneath The Heavens La Ribera del Diablo 2018 Oil on linen 5 x6 ft
HL: Rigoberto Gonzales, thank you very much for sharing your art, stories, and thoughts.
RG: Yes, I really enjoyed this, thank you.
