THE GREAT UNMASKING

As San Miguel began understanding the real threat of Covid 19, many of us began making cubrebocas / facemasks. I have a sewing machine, I had some fabric and as usual, most of what I used was repurposed clothing. When I had enough ready for a pickup, I called Guadalupe Alvarez at Amigos al 100. After my donations were picked up by Amigos volunteer Alix Tze, I began making oversized masks to go with my large huipils, and some just to put on the wall. Do they serve a purpose? I don't know. Why am I passionate about creating them anyway? These are deep questions that I'm only in dialog with in the middle of the night, and they don't come with ready answers. 

So right now, I'm intrigued by the history of masks, and the metaphor of "the mask." What mask am I wearing? What mask are you wearing? The scientists, the politicians, what masks do they put on every day as they leave their homes to go to work, to speak to the public, to preach what may or may not be their true beliefs? Behind my mask, ie., persona, I am not my pink hair. That went away weeks ago. I don't wear the mask of a gallery owner - my space has been closed for more three months now, and who knows if there will be any need for it in the future. I don't currently wear the mask of a community activist, because I have tucked myself safely into my wee space, not in the midst of collecting, organizing, distributing to the community as many people are here in my beautiful neighborhood of Colonia Guadalupe. 

Until last week, the great conversation has been about masks, ie. wearing one or not wearing one, about where and when one must wear one. I had been thinking about the history of masks, back as far as the Lone Ranger and Tonto, because I’m of that generation. There was Zorro, Superman, Batman, and endless other superheroes. Aside from those, we have bank robbers, Halloween costumes, the traditions of Venetian masks and Mardi Gras. In Mexico and Guatemala, there is a long history of hand carved wooden masks, used for dances and ceremonies, and here in San Miguel, we have a mask museum where one can see a great variety and hear the stories about them.

Earlier when I said "until last week" I was referring to the brutal murder of George Floyd. 

The George Floyd Memorial community mural/shrine in Minneapolis

A culmination of so many injustices and wrongful murders, it rocked the U.S. like nothing we've witnessed in far too long. Because I know we've all watched the unbearable footage, I choose instead to represent Mr. Floyd in this beautiful mural created in his own community. His death and now the protests that follow, are ripping the mask off you, U.S.A. 
Your hundreds of years of systemic racism against black and brown people. 
Your silence when it comes to standing up for all your citizens, the oaths your police officers take to "protect and serve." 
Your blue uniforms are masks behind which you commit murder with impunity. 
Your politician's oaths are masks behind which you make laws that serve white citizens above the rest. 
Your white faces are showing behind the Covid masks you wear as you destroy property in the name of Black Lives Matter. 

If this is the apocalypse, let it be so. Religious connotations aside, here is the etymology of the word: 

Apocalypse: a Greek word meaning "revelation" and unveiling or unfolding of things not previously known and which could not be known apart from the unveiling."

So, here we are at the unveiling, the unmasking that we all must take a deep look at. The U.S. was built on the backs of slaves and it has not evolved since. Who are we? What mask are we still wearing? 

I have questions, and I know that I do not have answers. I see that what I am capable of is following my heart, which leads my hands into the unknown region of chaos sitting on my studio table right now. Art is my medium, my work. May we all follow our hearts in our own way, through our own work, until we recognize our human race and work for its survival.