On a rainy night at the Santa Clara County fairgrounds, artists from Gilroy, Santa Cruz, San Jose, and beyond came together inside the Fairgrounds Fiesta Hall to celebrate the release of Issue 17.1, “Discover.” The issue connected elements of street art, graffiti, dance, fine art, and music.
This production culminated in a nearly year-long thought partnership with 1Culture Gallery in downtown San Jose. Conversations led to an interest in spotlighting the graffiti and street art culture and paying tribute to the “O.G.s” of South Bay graffiti, whose significant contributions to the area’s artistic culture have only recently begun to receive the recognition they deserve.
The Fiesta Hall featured a weekend-long art exhibition in which 12 artists produced original works on 12 18-foot panels that lined the walls of the building. The floor space displayed an additional 13 pieces on pop-up mural walls fabricated by the team at 1Culture. After a week of long nights and installations, the artists returned Friday night to engage with the community.
Food trucks curated by Feast Mode, a project by Culture Night Market, wheeled up to the southern patio of the hall, the bar was stocked with seasonal brews from Foxtale Fermentation Project, the stage was strung with lights, and guests began to arrive. The night started with time for guests to walk the gallery and examine the larger-than-life murals to the sounds of DJ Garlic Soul of featured collective Shades of Brown Alliance (SOBA) from Gilroy. Artists’ tables were surrounded by guests who asked questions about their work and wares. Around 7:30p, the Content team took the stage to thank the partners, artists, and community that made these events possible before introducing the breakdance crew, Elephant Graveyard. Elephant Graveyard performed a technical routine of breaks, spins, and freezes surrounded by audience members.
The night continued with the soulful selection of vinyl records while folks chatted at cocktail tables, wandered the hall, and grabbed last-minute bites. For a cold and rainy night the week before Thanksgiving, there was a tangible warmth emanating from connections, new and old, as guests discovered the essence of South Bay art and graffiti culture. The interactions between artists and enthusiasts at a venue that, for many, contained fond childhood memories created an atmosphere of family and thanks.
THANK YOU, Partners
Santa Clara County Fairgrounds | 1CULTURE | Foxtale Fermentation Project | Feast Mode SJ by Culture Night Market
Join Content Magazine for Pick-Up Party 17.2, “Connect,” on Friday, March 14, 2025, at The Rotunda at San Jose City Hall. The night is produced in partnership with The City of San Jose Office of Cultural Affairs and will showcase the contributions of Vietnamese-American creatives in the South Bay.
Issue 17.1 Featuring:
DJ – Brotha Reese | Muralist – Cameron “Camer1” Moberg | Breakdancer – Vicki “La Vix” chang | Painter/muralist – Scotty Greathouse | Textile Artist – Jaya Griscom | Grafitti Legend – King157 | Mural – “The Grand Strike,” Juan Velazquez, Analyn Bones, Miguel Machuca, Jordan Gabriel, Eddie Romo, and Melissa Manuel | Grafitti Legend – Nexus | Painter/Illustrator – Fabricio Ponce | Graffiti Primer – Joey Reyes | Shades of Brown Collective – Joey Castaneda, Jade Castaneda, Louie Andrade, Edward Valdez, Isaiah Kittles, Angelica Jimenez, Desiree Villescaz, Taylor Cherry, Itzayana Silva, Julian Torres, Sarah Cassandra Guizar Retana, Darlene Cordova
Join Tara for the opening of her solo exhibition, “Mining the Plastocene,” at Felix Kulpa Gallery in Santa Cruz on Friday, November 1, as part of First Friday Santa Cruz.
Tara de la Garza’s art finds beauty and meaning in discarded materials. As a sculptor and artist in residence at the Cubberley Artist Studio Program in Palo Alto, she approaches themes of environmental justice through visual storytelling. Tara began collecting plastics while pursuing a sustainable lifestyle and later found artistic potential in the often vibrant or semi-transparent commercial byproducts. Her work centers on both reuse and upcycling while inviting viewers to consider a future increasingly defined by the saturation of synthetic plastics. In de la Garza’s upcoming solo exhibition entitled “Mining the Plastocene,” opening on November 1, 2024, at Felix Kulpa Gallery in Santa Cruz, she continues to explore the inclusion of plastic within the sedimentary and archaeological record through the eyes of history. As part of this solo exhibition she will also host upcycling workshops and release a book showcasing the evolution of her work from collage to sculpture.
Tara’s artistic journey began at a magnet theater arts high school in Australia. She nurtured a passion for performance by studying film and television in college. The filmmaking process led to her love for computers, and she later spent a decade as a graphic designer, thriving on client projects but eventually yearning for a deeper artistic expression. She grappled with her message and intentions as she transitioned to fine art. She would experiment with various mediums, ultimately focusing on large-scale collages that explored humanity’s connection to the environment. A pivotal moment came when she encountered a haunting image of a dead albatross, its stomach full of plastic, which sparked a visceral response and prompted her to investigate the profound impacts of pollution.
Tara’s work resonates with sustainability and environmental advocacy. She credits the Australian sensibilities she grew up with for her belief that even one person can make a significant impact. In her youth, Tara saw people in her community of Fremantle, Western Australia working towards sustainability; composting, thrifting, and making do with what they had. Consciously or subconsciously, those experiences have inspired her current body of work.
In tandem with her solo artistic endeavors, Tara seeks to make tangible impacts through her nonprofit, Inventurous based in Palo Alto. Inventurous focuses on recycling plastic in innovative and community-oriented ways. The nonprofit aims to educate communities by taking in locally sourced plastic waste for creative reuse. A recent public art project facilitated by Inventurous used 3D printers to create papel picado from upcycled plastics in honor of Dia de los Muertos. These art-based community engagement initiatives open up conversations about where our waste goes and demonstrate circular economies and the potential for plastic waste.
In this conversation, Tara discusses finding her voice as an artist, the duality of plastic–its danger and potential, and the opportunity for one person to spark meaningful change.
Russell Brown began working at Adobe in 1985 as a graphic designer, art director, and the company’s 38th employee. His journey to that role began with a creative spirit that traces back to his youth. Growing up in Kent, Washington, Brown was more interested in painting and photography at home than studying for A’s in school. His passion for creativity led him to earn a degree in ceramics at the University of Washington before he was encouraged by his father to pursue a second, more ‘practical,’ BFA in package design, filmmaking, and photography from ArtCenter College of Design.
Brown worked in industrial design in San Francisco before moving to Atari, designing packaging materials for the popular video game Pac-Man. When his Atari office closed its doors in 1984, Brown spent some time at Apple, where he was introduced to the Macintosh computer, PostScript, and the LaserWriter. Brown’s creative journey solidified once he was hired by John Warnock and Charles Geschke, founders of a newfound startup, Adobe, whose PostScript page description language would later be licensed by Apple for use in its LaserWriter printers.
Since 1985, Russell Brown has ridden the wave of technological innovation, having first witnessed demos of a new digital editing software in 1995 and ushering in the acquisition of Photoshop by Adobe from the Knoll brothers, becoming Adobe’s first “evangelist” (an expert in Adobe software who shares their knowledge of Adobe products through instruction, tutorials, and live events.) and training generations of Adobe employees and industry creatives in the potential of Photoshop.
Brown continues to push the limits of creative expression using Adobe technology, such as Photoshop AI. His photography, taken exclusively on iPhone, has gained an extensive following on social media. His work demonstrates the power of modern technology and photo editing.
Brown is also known as the boisterous host of live Adobe training courses. In 2024, he will host a hands-on course entitled Les Cirque Galactique designed for art directors, designers, and illustrators to learn advanced digital imaging techniques within a real-world project. Brown and a team of distinguished creative instructors will provide a class of 80 students the chance to work with some of the best artists in the industry and master new skills in advanced workflows using Adobe Photoshop, Illustrator, and Firefly. This preconference course precedes the annual Adobe MAX creativity conference inaugurated in 2003.
While 2024 Adobe MAX will be hosted live in Miami, guests can join for FREE online and still benefit from all the learning and inspiration in sessions, keynotes, and Sneaks. Online attendance is free and unlimited. Register here.
In this conversation, Brown traces the origins of his creative eye and reflects on the use of AI in the creative process. We discuss his transition from traditional analog mediums to digital and what the future may hold for Adobe Photoshop and the world of AI Photography.
Under the light-strung trees of Mexican Heritage Plaza in East Side San José, the South Bay arts community celebrated the release of Content Magazine issue 16.4, “Profiles”, and 2024 Content Emerging Artists Esther Young and Elba Raquel. The August 22 Pick-Up Party was an event only San Jose could cultivate–a meeting point for diverse cultures, technological optimism, and a collective commitment to the community.
The School of Arts and Culture at Mexican Heritage Plaza hosted a living issue of Content Magazine with nearly all 29 featured creatives in attendance. Starting at 6:30 p.m., guests and featured artists mingled. DJ Hen Boogie kicked off the party with his genre-blending beats. Artists from the issue shared their prints, fashion, writings, and music. Guests could even take home dried sage to plant. The plaza’s indoor gallery was activated with support from Works/San José and exhibited photography, mixed media, and sculptural works directly from the magazines’ pages.
Even the food and drink at the party reflected the South Bay’s creative diversity. Mama Roc’s Kitchen brought a variety of Puerto Rican flavors, and Sushi Roku Palo Alto offered a sampling of their high-quality rolls and sashimi. Goodtime Bar, located at Fountain Alley in Downtown San Jose, also popped up and had a selection of local natural wines for guests to taste.
As the sun set, a crowd gathered to watch a belly dancing performance from House of Inanna. Afterward, The Cultivator of Content Magazine, Daniel Garcia, stepped up to the stage to announce the recipients of Content’s 2024 Emerging Artist Award. Musician Esther Young and painter Elba Raquel accepted their awards, each designed by Local Artist Joe Miller, to camera flash and applause. The Content Emerging Artist Award recognizes early-career artists and provides $5,000 in unrestricted funding to support their creative work. After accepting her award, Young took to the stage, opening her set with an ethereal cover of Adrienne Lenker’s ‘Anything.’
The party provided a space for artists to forge connections and set the foundation for future collaboration. The School of Arts and Culture at Mexican Heritage Plaza is a communal hub for celebration, organization, and art. In that way, the atmosphere reflected Content’s mission–both open and intimate, a true celebration of San Jose’s community and its commitment to the arts.
Join Content Magazine for Pick-Up Party 17.1, “Discover,” on Friday, November 22, at The Santa Clara County Fairground Fiesta Hall. The night is produced in partnership with San Jose-based 1Culture Gallery and will be a showcase for street art and culture in the South Bay.
Exploring the intersection of reflection and light, attraction and repulsion, and the soft and raw power of feminine forms.
Pink is a loaded color for Stephanie Metz, a San Jose–based sculptor whose artwork often grows out of her desire to explore meaning in the everyday things around her. She remembers going to toy stores as a little girl and resenting all the pink, girly toys she saw. She explains, “Pink always seemed like it was derogatory or diminutive—like a way to make something overly cute and helpless. I felt like that was so often paired with ideas of femininity, and I just didn’t like that as a little kid.”
Over the years, though, Stephanie’s relationships with many things—including art, sculpting, femininity, and the color pink—has changed. “I remember I was taking a walk with my dog, and we came across a bougainvillea bush that was so intense,” she says. “I stood up really close to it, and I was so overwhelmed by it. But it also occurred to me that what I was actually experiencing was the light reflecting off of those bright pink flowers.”
This experience inspired Stephanie to experiment with placing bright pink pigment against stark white walls to see if she could elicit any reflections. She then developed a series of hand-stitched felt panel sculptures that play with the concept of bounced light. For each piece, viewers think they’re seeing a bit of pink-tinted felt. What they’re actually seeing is the reflection of hidden fluorescent pink paint off of white felt. “I love the fact that the pieces make you think of the effect. What does it even mean to see that bright pink?” Stephanie muses. Throughout this project, the more that she thought of pink, the more it felt to her like a strong and decisive color that could be reclaimed for its strength.
Another of the color’s strengths comes to Stephanie in a more subliminal form. In various projects, Stephanie plays with the idea of push-and-pull. For instance, she has made sculptures that pair wool felt with porcupine quills. The soft warmth of the felt draws the viewer in, but the danger of the quill spikes pushes them back. She also works with silver metal mesh, which gives her sculptures a snaky effect that’s both threatening and entrancing. “I love dancing in the middle between drawing you in and repulsing you,” Stephanie says. “The color pink has become that for me. The more I play with different tones of really bright pink, the more I love them and the more I am overwhelmed by them.” It was this dance between reflection and light, pushing and pulling, love and overwhelm that Stephanie decided to explore more when she was offered a solo show at the Triton Museum of Art.
Stephanie has been a sculptor most of her life, and her work has been featured all over the world—from touring exhibition across Europe and Australia to the Rijswijk Textile Biennial in the Netherlands, the Institute of Contemporary Arts Singapore, and the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles. In 2020, she had a solo show at the de Saisset Museum at Santa Clara University called Stephanie Metz: InTouch, which featured large, touchable felt sculptures that she’d spent over two years creating. Stephanie’s new show, In the Glow, will run from September 14 through December 29, 2024, at the Triton Museum of Art, a Santa Clara–based contemporary art museum that seeks to enhance critical and creative thinking through art. The exhibit, which took her 14 months to create, will feature a single, gigantic centerpiece and several additional supporting sculptures, all of which play with reflecting color and light.
Stephanie views her artistic practice as an extension of her experiences observing the world and learning from it. When designing for In the Glow, Stephanie wanted to push herself to try things she had never done before. “I really wanted to challenge myself to make a large-scale exploration,” she explains. “To experience a sculpture, you have to move around it with a human body. And the larger the piece, the more you have to be aware of your physical relationship with it.” This was a challenge that Stephanie met head-on: the central piece will be a 16-foot-tall and 20-foot-wide sculpture made of pieces of white industrial felt meticulously stitched together. The sculpture will hang like a multidimensional curtain of writhing, body-like, and serpentine forms. A neon-pink wall will stand about 10 feet behind the curtain and reflect the light of the room onto the white felt. Viewers will have the opportunity to walk around the sculpture, immersing themselves in a pink, glowing space.
Size is not the only boundary Stephanie hopes to push with this piece. Stephanie feels that a lot of her work is already perceived as “feminine,” and she wants to examine the full spectrum of what feminine and female forms can mean. “I’ve been in a female-identified body all my life,” Stephanie explains. “I’ve had children. I’ve had a miscarriage. I’ve had all these life experiences. With the female body, it feels culturally okay to share certain experiences, but other things are hidden away.”
Stark among these experiences for Stephanie was having children and the changes to her body that she did not anticipate. “It would have made me feel a lot more sane to have been warned of some of the more uncomfortable, grotesque, and fascinating parts of what a body goes through,” she reflects. This pushing between the pretty and the grotesque, the attracting and repelling, the familiar and unfamiliar, is part of what Stephanie wants to evoke from this piece. She explains, “I wanted to focus on the strength and the raw power of feminine forms, but also leave space for the idea of soft power—like leading through cooperation and collaboration as opposed to leading with force.”
For a long time, Stephanie didn’t feel comfortable talking about the feminist aspect of her art because of the pushback. Now, though, she’s trying to be more vocal, without being heavy-handed, so she can raise awareness for a range of experiences and realities. Even the monumental size of the central sculpture plays into Stephanie’s relationship with womanhood and speaking out. “I’m really excited to blow these forms up to be huge and really take up space,” she says, “because that’s one of the things that has always been an issue for me as a woman. I’m always aware of everybody else’s space and trying to make sure they have what they need, but sometimes at the expense of myself.” Stephanie continues to play with the idea of femininity with the smaller freestanding sculptures and wall pieces also included in the exhibit. “Some of the pieces are playing with these organic and intriguing forms. They’re almost menacing because they look kind of familiar but are also mysterious,” she says.
Playing into this element of mystery is the fact that Stephanie is not positive what her pieces will look like in their final form—particularly the show’s centerpiece, since a lot of science and engineering go into making a free-hanging sculpture. “In the Glow is very experimental for me, which is exciting,” Stephanie says. “I keep repeating to myself that I am making something that has never existed before. No one can tell me if it is right or wrong. This project is going to be what it is. And that’s really freeing.” The opening reception for In the Glow will take place on September 28 from 2pm to 4pm at the Triton Museum of Art in Santa Clara.
Much like releasing the need to control the final physical form of her sculptures, Stephanie has also embraced the idea that different people will have different responses to her art. She says, “People can be uncomfortable with abstract forms because they want to know what something is supposed to be. You can have whatever reaction to these pieces you want. There is no right or wrong in what you see or how you respond to it. I hope people will find what resonates with them.” To Stephanie, art comes back to this very concept—that it is all about making connections and finding meaning in one’s own life. She concludes, “The highest sort of thing art can do is make me feel connected to other people or ideas. I love finding kindred spirits through my art. It makes me feel like maybe I’m not so alone in the world.”
Santa Clara, 8/26/24– The Triton Museum of Art presents Stephanie Metz: In the Glow, an exhibition debuting a series of evocative fiber sculptures. Wool felt and body-like forms combined with reflected color explore themes of soft power, aesthetic perception, and the paradoxes of female life.
The free-standing and wall-mounted sculptures and immersive installation transcend stereotypical notions of textile art as decorative and domestic. Metz uses a nuanced abstract visual language to allude to the contradictions of a woman’s experiences— vulnerability and resilience, internal and external perceptions, and working within and against gender biases and expectations. The felt material used to make the sculptures reflect these contradictions, embodying both the tender and the tough by being supple yet durable.
Sculpted from wool fibers compressed into freestanding dense shapes or sutured from pieces of thick, smooth industrial felt, Metz’s visceral organic forms incorporate carefully placed pink pigment. Pink, a color loaded with cultural and symbolic significance, highlights both conformity and resistance to gender binaries. Optical interactions between the white sculptures and reflected pink light reveal lines and contours and draw attention to the very act of seeing color.
A monumental stitched industrial felt sculpture at the center of the gallery invites visitors to immerse themselves ‘inside the glow’ created between the 16- by- 20- foot ‘curtain’ of undulating abstracted figurative forms and a wall of fluorescent pink paint. Stephanie Metz: In the Glow expands conventional definitions of the feminine and explores how edgy softness can hold space, command presence, and provoke thought.
The exhibition will be on view from September 14 to December 29, with an opening reception on Saturday, September 28 from 2 – 4pm.
Join us on Thursday, August 22, for Pick-Up Party 16.4, “Profiles,” at The School of Arts and Culture at Mexican Heritage Plaza. This magazine in-real-life experience celebrates the creatives featured in the issue and 2024 Content Emerging Artists Elba Raquel and Esther Young.
Featuring Performances from Hen Boogie, Ripplings, House of Inanna Belly Dance, and Esther Young, food from Mama Roc’s Kitchen, a gallery exhibition showcasing work from SJSU Photo 125, Elba Raquel, Stephanie Metz, Theo Mendoza, and Alyssa Wigant.
Issue 16.4, “Profiles,” captures a cross-section of Santa Clara County’s diverse creative culture. Once the magazine was sent to print and the team received the first proof, we recognized a thread of community connecting each article. Whether the many stages of Hen Boogie’s artistic career, the inspiration behind JUBO clothing, or the concept behind Theo Mendoza’s brand, community is at the forefront of what inspires the work that these creatives bring forth to the world.
In this conversation, Daniel Garcia and David Valdespino Jr., the Cultivator and Developer of Content Magazine, trace back to the creation of this issue through Pick-up Party 16.4 at the School of Arts and Culture at Mexican Heritage Plaza. They spend time laying out who will be featured at the event, sharing some of their favorite stories and insights on select articles, and giving a behind-the-scenes look at what goes into the production of this print publication.
Thank you to our wonderful contributors. This magazine is only possible with your words, photos, and keen editing eye.
Thank you to our event partners: the School of Arts and Culture, Sushi Roku Palo Alto, Goodtime Bar, Filco Events, Works/San José, and Heritage Bank of Commerce.
Hip-Hop artist/DJ – ‘Hen Boogie’ Henry Alexander III | Interdisciplinary artist and Poet – Rosanna Alvarez | Liminal Space Collective – Weston Mossman, Wendy Frances, Taylor Royan | Graphic Designer – Stay Brown – Theodore Mendoza | Mexican Heritage Plaza Expansion | Middlebrook Center: California Native Garden Foundation – Alrie Middlebrook | Sculptor – Stephanie Metz | Jubo Clothing – Jason Nemedez, Averill, & Brian Nemedez | House of Inanna ATS Belly Dance Classes – Petra Pino | Painter and 2024 Content Emerging Artist – Elba Raquel Martinez | Math Rock Band – Ripplings – Anna Macan, Sean Bautista, and Jeremiah Ruperto | San Jose State University Photo 125 – Aahliya Mcelroy, Eric Luu, Jesus Sanchez, Josefina Valenzuela, Regina Joseph, & Stevie Salcido | Hair Stylist – Skittzz | Muralist – Alyssa W. | Singer/songwriter and 2024 Content Emerging Artist – Esther Young
MAKING SPACE FOR ART IN LOS ALTOS
Art Los Altos, Content Magazine
If you are lucky enough to connect with mixed-media artist Maddy McBirney, she may be inspired to create an art piece for you. McBirney explains, “I was always the kind of artist that just made things for other people. I didn’t sell or market my work. If I visited someone abroad and connected with them, I would make them a painting and ship it to them. Same with family. I do things like that. It’s kind of an emotional, inspirational way to work.”
Born and raised in Los Angeles, McBirney became interested in printmaking during high school and later studied graphic design at the University of California, Davis. Inspired by teachers she encountered throughout school, McBirney pursued teaching for a short time before professionally practicing graphic design and settling in Los Altos to raise her family. During that time, her passion for art never faltered, and much like with her personal art, she became inspired to bring art to the community with which she felt a deep connection.
As a long-time resident of Los Altos, McBirney has been a persistent arts advocate for the city, volunteering as an arts educator with the Los Altos Art Docents, collaborating on grants to secure specialized arts education in elementary schools, and serving on the art commission for seven years. During her tenure, she facilitated the implementation of artistic bicycle racks downtown despite falling short on percent-for-art initiatives and systemic funding for public art. While progress within city government was slow going, her time in the arts commission connected her to the community and local business and taught her much about public art. She explains, “I started attending public art conventions in cities like Chicago and Nashville, and it was enlightening to see people creating spaces and public art and placemaking.”
“I started attending public art conventions in cities like Chicago and Nashville, and it was enlightening to see people creating spaces and public art and placemaking.” -Maddy McBirney
After resigning from the art commission, feeling like she could only achieve her goals related to public art with legislation, McBirney was determined to spend more time in the studio.
However, it took only a short time before friends and members of a newly formed downtown coalition encouraged her to attend meetings, citing her enthusiasm for public art. In her first meeting, members inquired about what it would take to bring art downtown. McBirney forged ahead, working with that coalition to devise a plan to use private property and private funding to facilitate public art installations. She recalls, “I asked my friend, Karen Zucker, who was on the commission and now codirects with me, if she would be interested in starting a nonprofit to create public art and placemaking on private property with private funding. It was inspiring because there was interest, and it was something we were asked to do. It wasn’t like we were looking for these projects ourselves.”
The tree-lined village of Los Altos has served as a residential community in the heart of Silicon Valley since its incorporation in 1952. While Los Altos may not be the first city that comes to mind when considering a destination for arts and culture, there has long been an undercurrent of art appreciation exemplified by institutions such as the Los Altos Art Docents, Gallery 9, and the city’s Art Without Walls, a sculpture loan program. Volunteer-led Arts Los Altos, co-directed by McBirney and Zucker, was formed in 2020 to elevate the cultural identity of Los Altos to the front of mind. The arts nonprofit is working to implement public art that creates connections among diverse community members and local businesses while creating space and drawing visitors.
In the three years since Arts Los Altos was founded, the organization has facilitated over 12 public art projects, including the California Birds, Stewards of the Environment mural by Roan Victor on the Comerica Bank on 3rd Street and the HYBYCOZO Mandahlia sculpture located on the corner of State and 3rd Streets. Arts Los Altos hosts public art walking tours on the first Friday of every month, meeting at the Mandahlia sculpture and leaving at 5pm sharp. When asked what the future holds for Arts Los Altos, McBirney immediately discusses plans to transform a small private plaza and recalls a separate augmented reality project. McBirney hopes to balance volunteering and spending time creating her own art by keeping public art projects to a manageable one to two per year. She recently held her first solo art exhibition at the Los Altos Library, and when asked how her work with Arts Los Altos has impacted her artwork, she shares, “It’s not changed my work, but it’s made me realize that I want to do more of it. I work with other artists, and seeing their work inspires me to create my own.”
Images: 1 – (L to R) Maddy McBirney and Karen Zucker 2 – 200 Main Street [An Inventory of Time and Place] by Martha Sakellariou 3 – Apricot Blossoms by Roan Victor 4 – Main Street Movie Theater Remembered by Emily Fromm
*The article originally appeared in issue 5.1, “Sight and Sound,” 2013
From his 90s exploits at Ajax to the more recent Naglee Park Garage, Chris Esparza’s impact on downtown San Jose has come in many phases. He looks to take his next step with Blackbird Tavern.
Long-time downtown ambassador Chris Esparza remains one of the most connected people in San Jose. He’s built his Rolodex organically after having a hand in several local ventures past and present, among them Ajax, Naglee Park Garage, Giant Creative, Fuel, and soon-to-open Blackbird Tavern.
Though a local, Esparza was never able to call one particular neighborhood home growing up. Attending five different schools over seven years, including a two-year stint up in Auburn, California, the frequent moves never allowed him to settle in. “It was five years of never knowing where my class was, of being new and uncomfortable,” Esparza recalls. “In a lot of ways, that probably led me to producing events and hosting people.”
After graduating from Gunderson High in 1985, Esparza spent time at both West Valley and De Anza College, though he admits he had no direction at the time. A year later, he got a job working at Santa Clara club One Step Beyond. It proved to be the job that changed his life.
“It was my first exposure to the young twenty- and thirtysomething alternative life—the goths, the skinheads, the mods, the punk rockers, the death rockers, and everything in between,” he remembers. He saw the club present everything from metal to English soul and rockabilly, witnessing sets from The Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Ramones, Megadeth, and Fishbone. The work inspired him to move to San Francisco, where he worked for two years.
However, when his mother passed away, he felt a need to get away. “I took the opportunity to be somewhere else at Christmas time,” he says. Buying a one-way ticket to Europe, he traveled through Spain, Belgium, and Scotland, picking up work wherever he could. Upon his return, he decided he wanted his own club.
In 1991, Esparza and business partner Chris Elliman opened Ajax. During its mythical four-year run, the venue hosted the likes of The Fugees, The Roots, and Ben Harper, establishing itself as a destination for forward-thinking cool. It attracted all pockets of the downtown scene during San Jose’s “Four Corners,” 90s nightlife heyday. Esparza admits he was the social creature of the group. “In a way, I was a natural doorman,” he says. “I liked greeting people, getting them excited about what we were doing, and telling them when to come back.”
Looking back, Esparza sees his Ajax period as a time when he and Elliman could seemingly do no wrong. Arriving at a time when the area was just starting to become Silicon Valley, the low cost of living fostered plenty of nightlife. Ajax was championed by local creatives. “I think they trusted us to curate night after night,” he says. “We said, ‘Look, I know you’ve never heard of Ben Harper, and no one else has either, but we heard this guy’s cassette tape, and I’m telling you, don’t miss this.’ And they would show up.”
Sadly, the club’s four-year run came to a close after negotiations with the space’s owners fell through. Esparza was effectively locked out, with the space maintained by the owners. In nine months, the space was vacant.
Two years after the demise of Ajax, Esparza and a similar cast of partners returned with Fuel, an international café in the current Blank Club space. It showcased a similar vibe, though it wasn’t exclusively a club. “It was for an adult that wanted a beautiful space that wasn’t as easily defined as a café or nightclub or restaurant,” Esparza says. “It was literally all of those things.” Boasting a painted globe on the ceiling, it was conceived from the ground up and seemed primed to tap into the same crowd that made Ajax such a success. Yet, where Ajax could do no wrong, Fuel’s four-year run was mired in constant, needless self-reflection. The message was the same, but somehow, the crowds had dried up.
After coming back to the fold with much more business savvy than he had at Ajax, Esparza struggled to understand why Fuel was failing. “It was a business learning experience,” he says. “You can be good, and you can be the smartest guy on the block, but if you don’t have a little bit of luck and timing on your side, it doesn’t matter who you are.”
“YOU CAN BE GOOD AND YOU CAN BE THE SMARTEST GUY ON THE BLOCK, BUT IF YOU DON’T HAVE A LITTLE BIT OF LUCK AND TIMING ON YOUR SIDE, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO YOU ARE.”
-Chirs Esparza
In retrospect, Esparza ties in the trouble with the economy. In conjunction with the tech boom, rent skyrocketed, stealing spending money from the venue’s target audience of local creatives. At the same time, the steady rise of illegal downloading significantly changed how artists toured. Suddenly, a $300 show became a $3,000 show, and Fuel couldn’t keep up with the discrepancies. It closed its doors in 2001, an unsung gem that was never able to find its niche like Ajax so easily had.
During his days at Fuel, Esparza began to be approached by organizations to serve as a creative consultant, leading to the creation of Giant Creative. Going twelve years strong, Giant is now responsible for KraftBrew, Winter Wonderland, and the Great Glass Pumpkin Patch in Palo Alto. The outlet became a necessity when Fuel was struggling. It’s since become his main gig, allowing him to help anyone from small businesses to the city of San Jose.
In the restaurant realm, Naglee Park Garage has been Esparza’s latest success. He lovingly calls the 30-seat bistro “the tiniest restaurant on the face of the Earth.” Despite its limitations, he, business partner Brendan Rawson, and head chef Louis Silva have made it a signature downtown eatery.
After the space, a former service station, suffered a series of failed business ventures, its owners decided to wait until the right offer came around. They were envisioning an Americana-themed restaurant with a great selection of beer and wine. As luck would have it, that was exactly what Esparza, Rawson, and Silva were looking to pitch. Luck returned years later when Guy Fieri’s Food Network show “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” called. Their segment led to national exposure, and repeat showings now result in a spike of emails requesting the location’s fabled ketchup recipe.
Still, Esparza sometimes has trouble making sense of their subsequent success. The show didn’t change their formula; it only got the word out. As he maintains, “We were great before ‘Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.’ Why does it take national television to tell you to go eat there when you live in this town, and there aren’t many choices?”
Yet even with his string of successes, his best conception may have yet to officially begin. Esparza and Rawson are ready to bring their savvy to downtown’s epicenter with Blackbird Tavern, a restaurant and café located along Paseo de San Antonio that looks to appeal to out-of-town business folk and locals alike. Much like Ajax and Fuel, he wants the venue to offer great food, music, and conversation for patrons.
Patio seating is set to spill out onto the Paseo. Plans are in place to serve wine from vineyards in the Santa Cruz mountains, and their bar will offer a well-curated selection of craft brews and California spirits. Esparza even hopes to pair food with music. For him, the value in the idea goes both ways—patrons get an all-encompassing dining experience and those behind the scenes remain on their creative toes.
Some speak of the Blackbird space as cursed, the speculation stemming from a string of franchise failures over the past decade. To counter the talk, Esparza offers a history lesson, noting that a taqueria lasted in the space for twenty years, making it through massive downtown light rail development before those three failed. He attributes the failures to bad business strategies. “I know why they closed and I know what they did wrong,” he says. “I won’t make those mistakes.”
A lot has changed since his first days working at One Step Beyond in the mid-80s, when he discovered a wealth of alternative culture. He’s learned plenty in the process, but what rings loudest for him remains the people he’s helped bring together. As a teen who constantly struggled to find his place, Esparza finds comfort in the fact that he’s been able to create spaces where others can find theirs.
The article originally appeared in issue 5.1, “Sight and Sound,” 2013
*We post this with a heavy heart at the passing of my friend, mentor, and fellow progenitor of culture, Chris Esparza. Content Magazine and I personally have received so much from the friendships and connections that Chris created. I will miss him. We will miss him. But the world, and especially Downtown San Jose, is better because of his life and work. We respect and thank him, say goodbye, and rest in peace, my dear friend.
Daniel Garcia, Aug. 2024
Content Magazine and The Cilker School of Art & Design at West Valley College in Saratoga are not just partners, but a community united in their support for South Bay Artists. Over the past few years, this community has grown, coming together during the changing seasons to celebrate emerging, established, and student artists. Each year, the Cilker School of Art & Design graduation Expo has expanded, with their new visual arts building becoming a keystone fashion show. In 2024, the expo reached new heights, expanding to include the School of Science & math and culminating in their inaugural STEAM’D Fest.
The 2024 collaboration featured campus-wide activations that included physics and chemistry demonstrations, birds of prey raptor show, a visual arts student gallery exhibition, [a diverse collection of artworks showcasing the talent and creativity of our students], and a fashion show in tandem with the Content Magazine 16.3 pick-up party. The show opened with performances from the alumni ensemble “Hearts Matter,” gallery tours, food, and drink, along with featured creatives The Coterie Den and visual artists RC and Xiaoze Xie.
Guests gathered at 8 pm for the fashion show, hosted under a hundred-year-old oak tree at the new second-story visual art building courtyard. Opening remarks recognized esteemed professors who would be retiring at year-end, and a member of the Muwekma Ohlone tribe provided a land acknowledgment that recentered guests. Models took the stage, strutting the runway adorned in student designs and accompanied by projectors and a lights show produced by engineering students.
The end of the evening was marked by performances from Ambervox, which had guests dancing in the street. Even as the teardown commenced, guests lingered, connecting around the evening’s events. Your presence and participation made this event truly special, and we appreciate your support in making it a success.
This ongoing collaboration with West Valley College is a beacon of aspiration and inspiration, bringing together creatives of all skill levels, genres, and walks of life. It’s a testament to the vibrant and diverse local art community, a community that Content Magazine has long been dedicated to fostering and celebrating. Join us in this celebration of local talent and inspiration.
Get ready for our next Pick-Up Party, 16.4, “Profiles,” which is set to take place on August 22nd at The School of Arts and Culture at the Mexican Heritage Plaza in Eastside San Jose. This event promises to be a thrilling celebration, showcasing the 2024 Content Emerging Artist Award Recipients. We can’t wait to see you there!
West Valley Colleges CILKER ANNUAL ART+DESIGN EXPO ’24 at West Valley College in Saratoga, California on May 16, 2024. (Stan Olszewski/SOSKIphoto)
Zoë Latzer is the Curator and Director of Public Programs at the Institute of Contemporary Art San José (ICA San José).
Growing up in Loomis, California, on the outskirts of Sacramento, Latzer became familiar with the concept of underrepresented narratives. Specifically, she became familiar with Loomis’ history with Chinese workers and a Chinatown that no longer exists. That experience with lesser-known history, her lifestyle, which includes practices from the Vedic cultures of India, and her passion for art history are all infused in her curatorial practices.
In primary school, Latzer received a Waldorf education focused on integrating art with interdisciplinary learning. Latzer later received a Bachelor of Arts in History of Art and Visual Culture from UC Santa Cruz and studied abroad at Sotheby’s Institute of Art in London. These experiences were foundational in her understanding of art in relation to culture and society and its potential for social commentary and reckoning with the past. Latzer also recalls visiting Michelangelo’s sculpture of David while visiting Florence, Italy, with family as a formative moment in her understanding of art history. That visit taught her the power and sublime quality art can have on culture through aesthetics and architecture.
Latzer’s curatorial practice involves world-building by installing immersive exhibitions that provide audiences with sensory experiences. Her approach is influenced by an openness gained from practicing Ayurveda and Yoga, sister sciences from the Vedic Culture of India related to tuning into one’s environment. That approach to well-being is reflected in curation that balances empathetic conversation and art history. Latzer tries to step out of the dichotomy of “I know” and “I don’t know” when approaching art, instead prioritizing care for the artists she works with.
Latzer hopes to facilitate a platform for underrepresented artists who address narratives that provide a more complete representation of history. Approaching curation with a focus on humanity, Latzer views a successful exhibition as one that uplifts the voice of an artist and creates space for the audience’s voice, creating a blend of conversation, proximity, dialogue, and community.
In this conversation, we discuss Latzer’s love for nature, her favorite artworks, the science of sad songs, and her current exhibition at ICA San José, a collaboration with Montalvo Arts Center.
Check out “P L A C E: Reckonings by Asian American Artist,” from March 23 through August 11, featuring eleven California-based Asian American artists and two artist collectives at the ICA San José in downtown San José.
Born in Mexico City and currently based in Silicon Valley, Taryn Curiel’s passion for art has been with her since early childhood and has culminated in a body of work filled with sensation and enigmatic energy.
Techniques involving texture, lines, and a muted color palette help her in her signature use of the figure with abstract elements. Her medium is watercolor, but in her own way. With continued experimentation, she is always learning and exploring but remains true to her overall mission: to intrigue the viewer.
Silicon Valley Open Studios 2024 takes place the first three weekends of May and showcases the studios of over 200 Silicon Valley Artists. Weekend three, May 18-19, will be hosted in the South Bay. Thirty-three artists at The Alameda Artworks in San José, including abstract watercolor painter Taryn Curiel, will open their studios to guests on May 18 and 19.
Come closer. Try not to look away. Be confronted, be comforted, hold the question that has arisen between two bodies.
Artists are revered for their emotional vulnerability. Solorio takes it a step further as her chapters evolve from form to form: the outpour of feeling into a journal instigates a ceramic that holds its weight; the finished ceramic asks to be casted into a story; the performance ties all the messages together. By working in different dimensions, Solorio layers the weaknesses of one medium under the strengths of another.
In 2020, Solorio published a performance titled Fruit of Knowledge. In the video, she stands alone in a cage. Naked and blindfolded by choice, she has invited her own body to join her mind in exploring a question together: What if Eve’s choice to eat the fruit was favorable? Above the cage hangs an apple—the symbol of freedom, awareness. At the sixth hour of performance, Solorio reaches up and eats of the forbidden fruit.
What an audience perceives can spark a beautiful exchange of prompt and perception. And yet, what the audience rarely sees is the labor for the art to exist. For her seven-minute video, Solorio received three days of migraines from dehydration and exhaustion. Yet, when the time comes to channel another question through performance, Solorio will gladly do it again. “I don’t feel protected while doing my work,” she shares. “I get stronger from doing it.”
She is driven by the intrigue of self-discovery. Strength grows through the pain of shedding the social constructs pressed upon us since birth. In another performance created during the pandemic, Perpetual Cycle, Solorio filmed herself again. The video shows her running—which, true to life, is a practice she keeps six days of the week. The following scene shows her eating, but chewing away at excessive amounts of food. Then, a toilet: Jackelin heaves and vomits orange liquid into the bowl. At long last, she stands, sucks in her stomach and smiles at the mirror.
The idea for this performance came during a run: “I asked myself, ‘Why am I running so much? Am I addicted to it?’ ” After all, when she started running at 13, her goal had been to lose weight, pressured by unrealistic expectations. Though her daily run evolved into a life-giving ritual, she continues to hold herself accountable through her art. “This came from a real space,” Solorio emphasizes. “I really did binge. It was hard, but necessary.”
Solorio challenges the male gaze and the patriarchal arm of religion in her physical art forms as well. The body, bare under the gaze of other eyes, speaks of attraction as much as it does repulsion. Sculptures of clay and human hair, such as Solorio’s ceramic vagina collection, are as wondrous as they are shocking. In a recent series, a photo documentation of The Last Supper creates an alternate history: The female body, recast as the pope or as Jesus Christ herself, reminds us all to ask why. Why are things the way they are, and what keeps them that way? “I researched,” Solorio says. “I found that a woman could be pope, but the current pope needs to declare it. And no one will go against tradition.”
What once protected now provokes. Solorio was about six or seven, living with her grandmother in Mexico, when she was first punished by gender tradition. Her grandmother chastised her for playing on the soccer field—a place for boys and men, not girls—and sent her to her room. There, she kneeled and prayed to the Virgin Mary and Jesus while her grandmother disciplined her. “She left some welts. Then I had to go to catechism school.” Solorio went, but she purposefully donned a pair of booty shorts that revealed the marks.
Before arriving fully in her role as artist, Solorio taught preschool for 10 years and served as a preschool director for five. Currently, she is a caregiver of three girls under five years old. “I give it my all. Being around children so much, you can become like them,” she laughs. “I lack a social filter sometimes; I don’t want to be contained. I want to be childlike and free.”
The common threads of playfulness and honesty are woven through all her endeavors, especially her artmaking. Solorio rejects a strictly linear approach to self-reflection. “I’m always connecting to my old self,” she says. “We’re all intertwined.” The first version of herself, the dreamer, holds hands with the pessimist born in hindsight. “My very first love was murdered, and I was trying to find this lost love,” she shares. “Looking into the past…I grew up very poor. With not a lot of great male figures in my life. You start thinking about all the bad things, you know?”
But she has also opened herself to hope, which frames her defiant spirit. “I’m in a good state of life where I know myself,” she smiles, “And I will not stay quiet now.”
The first thing you may notice about Stephen Longoria is his gentle Texan accent. In his friendly manner, he’ll be quick to tell you about the craft of printmaking, his love of drawing his cat—or a one-eyed version of it—or his affection for his Texas hometown just north of the Mexican border.
While he doesn’t display anger on the outside, he says it drives his creative process. “Sometimes I get angry, and I just need to draw.” His stark black drawings tell the story about the sardonic state of mind in which he creates his art.
Today, Stephen is the San Jose–based owner and operator of Skull on Fire Studio, a printmaking shop downtown specializing in producing T-shirts and totes for artists and musicians. He describes his business as a punk rock business that operates more like a tattoo shop than a print studio, and he keeps his prices low to support his clients. “I try to keep it non-commercial,” he says before checking himself. “I guess that sounds pretty hipster.”
Screen printing is a complex process and supplies are expensive. It involves applying a photosensitive emulsion to a fine mesh and repeating the process for each layer of color added to a print. One mistake can cause your profit for a project to shrink drastically. Because of its cost, it’s a dying art in the Bay Area. On-demand digital printing is cheaper and faster, but it lacks the craftsmanship and vibrancy of hand-screened prints. The craft, he says, motivates him more than the money.
While his business takes up most of his time these days, Stephen still finds time to draw and make prints of his own art. His Instagram feed reveals his stylized approach to snakes, eagles, and ancient warriors. There’s no real inspiration behind his art—he just draws what he feels. “I try to draw what makes me happy. Sometimes I wake up and say I’m gonna draw snakes today, and that’s what I do.”
There’s a fantastical style to Stephen’s art that’s reminiscent of both Aztec pictographs and traditional Japanese illustrations. While he doesn’t actively emulate these styles, it makes sense that a kid who grew up in a Texas border town in an age in which pop culture was dominated by anime may subconsciously blend these aesthetics. In one drawing, a sharp-cornered cactus grows from a clay pot. In another, a roaring Godzilla emerges from the sea.
What he is actively trying to create is art that resonates with music from his teenage years. He says bands like All-American Rejects and Death from Above were defining for him as a young artist, and the feeling of that music is something Stephen tries to capture in his art.
His drawings—at least the ones he’s shared—are mostly monochrome, which makes them easier to print. While they look like they’re drawn in deep black ink, these days, Stephen is entirely digital. “I’ve given up on ink,” he says. Now, he draws in pencil, then traces the drawings in Illustrator and prints directly onto a film that can be transferred to a screen.
While Stephen is humble about both his art and his business, he has a lot to be proud of. Making a living as an artist in the South Bay is an impressive feat, and Stephen knows where his motivation comes from. “I’m pretty motivated by resentment,” he says again with a friendly laugh. “Being told I can’t do something has gotten me to where I am today.”
René Lorraine Schilling-Sears, a graduate of San Jose State with a BFA in Pictorial Arts, has moved from oils to watercolor and pen, giving a voice to what she sees.
Was there a time when you had that “aha moment,” when you released your voice?
Yeah, absolutely. I had an instructor when I was at San Jose State who really got through to me. It was one of those things where you’re working on a painting and you finally see something that you hadn’t felt for decades. It finally just happened on the canvas.
Do you remember what that painting was?
Yes, I still have it too. I was working on my BFA show. My whole series was about body art, tattoos, piercings, things like that. That’s what I had been working on for the last two years at that point. It was a single fingernail. I was working on painting a hand. It was a single fingernail, and it was like, “Oh, this is what I want to do forever.”
When you look back at that piece, what’s your feeling about it?
I am in love with that piece so much that I feel like I’ll never be able to top it for myself. I’ve been offered a lot of money for it. There’s no way. It feels like my firstborn child, because I had such a connecting moment to it. It’s going to stay with me forever.
What was that about? Was it the type of technique that you used?
That’s hard. That’s a hard thing to put into words. At that moment, I felt I finally believed in myself with the title of “artist.” I was satisfied with the work that I’d done to the point where I felt like I could finally own the title artist, because that is always a struggle.
When you grow up in the Bay Area with a lot of amazing artists, you see so many paintings and artworks and people really making it happen. You think, “How am I ever going to compete with them?”
You have three different styles in your portfolio: oil, pencil, and watercolor. Which is your favorite?
I prefer watercolor and ink, which is crazy, because when I started painting, I never thought that I would do watercolor or watercolor portraits. It was the furthest thing that I thought I would ever be interested in. I was always just an oil lover and a canvas lover, but I think there’s something very intimate about sitting down with watercolor and ink, something that seems more personal. I like that. Oil is fun, too, but at this point to me…I’m just not personally as connected to it anymore.
Your watercolor ink portraits have a very unique aspect, with the subjects’ faces missing. I hear it is because of a degenerative eye disorder, is that right?
I have neurological issues. I have a cyst in my brain that causes balance issues and visual disturbances. The left side of my temporal lobe fires at half the rate that the right side does. There’s some disconnect there. Also, I have holes in my vision.
Some days, it’s like I’m looking through a wheel of Swiss cheese. It started in 2011. The doctors still are not really sure what it is. The holes in my vision, they’re not really sure where it stems from. They think it’s related to the other things that are happening. It’s really difficult to explain to people and hard to convey what I am going through, so I really wanted to put that on paper.
Why are you choosing this particular medium—pen and watercolor—for these portraits?
One of the reasons I do pen and watercolor in the same piece is because I feel a lot of times when I can’t see very well, it’s hard to feel grounded. I use the watercolor to show and convey that whole feeling that things are happening. When you work with watercolor, things will just happen that you can’t pick up off that paper. You can’t wipe it off. That’s how I feel with these spots in my eyes. They’re not going away. I can’t wipe them away. The hard lines that I use, that are more pencil or Micron pen, are my way of conveying those moments that are calm, that say “Everything is in place.” That’s how I’m trying to meld both of those together.
How does it feel then, when people are attracted to your work and find out your story? Is there a little bit of insecurity or concern? Are you wanting to share it?
Personally, I feel that things are less scary when you talk about them. On the one hand, I wouldn’t put the story out there, but on the other, when I did the show here, I titled it with the condition that I have. It gave me the chance to talk to 30 people—strangers—about it.
Putting it out there is easier because when I talk about things, I feel like they’re less scary. They don’t seem as crazy. At the same time, I don’t want my work to be all about my condition. I don’t want people to only pay attention to it because the story has a really personal health issue involved.
I imagine you don’t want your health issue to be the reason people notice your work, but it is part of your story. I was very attracted to your work, knowing that you had neurological issues.
It’s hard. It’s a hard balance. I think, for the most part, people…like you just said, you liked it before you knew the story. I hope that continues, but at the same time, it’s also really cool. I’ve met some cool people who have similar conditions. They can see that within the art. They can relate to it.
You’ve had this current series. What are you working on now? What’s next for you?
I’m still expanding this series, but I want to bring more medical devices and machinery into it. I have a show coming up in the fall in San Francisco, so I’ve got about eight months or so to finish this body of work, or at least a couple new pieces. That’s what I really want to do. I want to bring the medical equipment side to it, just to evoke more of those feelings, and get more people to be able to connect with the pieces. A lot of times a portrait is a portrait, and you need something else in there to show or help along the thought process. I think the juxtaposition might be just right.
What’s the greatest lesson you’ve learned in life through your painting?
What I always come back to is a moment in college, where a professor told me to eliminate something from a painting, and I did it without even thinking. I hated that painting from that moment on. I could never get that piece back to what I wanted it to look like.
I always go back to that moment, in all sorts of experiences, and remember to always stop and think and not take somebody else’s opinion without really figuring out if it’s right for you. It’s interesting that I learned that through painting.
Every year, 12,000 people travel from all across America to hear music by over 1,400 performers during a four-day period. With more than 80 venues from which to choose, listeners have the opportunity to see a host of new faces and acts. The event is heralded by musicians and fans alike. It began as the dream of Austin’s music lovers, a dream that eventually became “South By Southwest.” It took years to become what it is today, but with patience and dedication, South By Southwest became one of the country’s biggest music festivals. The dream lives on, but this time it does not reside with southerners in a town that was virtually unknown by the music industry just 20 years ago. The dream is occurring right here in San Jose.
Last June, more than 5,000 people made the pilgrimage to downtown San Jose to attend a five-day event known as “Left Coast Live.” The festival’s theme was “The Sound Of Things To Come.” Monday through Thursday featured discussion panels on the future of the music industry, an outdoor cinema, and free concerts. Left Coast Live culminated on Friday night with performances from nearly 100 bands at 35 different venues in downtown San Jose. The festival was well received by music lovers and festival-goers alike. Founder Chris Esparza felt the pressure of managing such a huge endeavor for the first time. “About a month out, I kept having nightmares,” said Esparza. “We have this five-day event. There are over 500 band members involved. Forty businesses were personally invested. The city was invested. I kept wondering if anyone was gonna show up. If I let them down, I might as well move.” Esparza did not disappoint. The festival was a huge success. Esparza is no stranger to the music scene. After spending some time in San Francisco and traveling the world in the late 80’s, Esparza decided to return home to San Jose. It was here that he opened the Ajax Lounge in 1991. Ajax Lounge hosted some of the greatest acts of our day — the Fugees, Ben Harper, Cake, The Roots — well before they were internationally known. Anyone who attended one of these shows in the early 90s can attest to the energy, creativity, and well-attended concerts during that time.
It was also a time when San Jose’s music scene flourished. “If you were in your twenties, you lived in an apartment for $300 a month,” said Esparza. “You rode your bike everywhere downtown. There were no cliques at these shows. You would see the business guy next to the hairdresser next to the punk rocker. They all hung out together.”
But all of this changed during the economic boom in the late 90’s. Rents shot up, but many incomes remained stagnant. The affordability of the live music scene during the weekends began to decline for the twenty-something set. “The cost of living is tough on a 25-year-old,” said Esparza. “It’s tough to buy a beer and see live music. Big houses and crazy busy lives don’t make for cramped apartments and time for art anymore.” The Lounge Bar closed, and Esparza opened up Fuel. But instead of bringing the energy that Ajax encompassed in the early 90s, Fuel operated more for private parties and corporate business functions. “There was a desert of an interesting creative crowd that dried up,” said Esparza, who later sold Fuel (now occupied by the Blank Club) in 2001.
Then Esparza opened Neglee Park Garage in 2006. He also began Giant Creative Services, which puts on events like “Winter Wonderland” and “Big Band And BBQ.” It was at this time that a local music organization called South Bay Live approached him. “They wanted to address the dying ecosystem of live music in San Jose,” said Esparza. “We agreed that we wanted to create a festival unlike anything that’s been in town before.” The goal was to initiate a musical renaissance. But the only way the festival could work was if people supported the vision of community and economic development through arts and cultural events. After two years of communications and 15 volunteers on board, “Left Coast Live” was born. The festival was a huge success. Planning has already begun for this year’s event. “We’re going to make it a six-day event this year,” said Esparza. The festival will retain the theme of “The Shape Of Things to Come,” offering panels and free concerts throughout the week. Instead of one huge night of music, the festival will stretch into Saturday. “We are asking the question of how do we blow people away but have a lot of fun while doing it,” said Esparza. With creative components like a beer garden and the main stage residing in the Ramada Inn Hotel parking lot, this year’s festival is rising to a whole new level. “It’s going to be a big spectacle,” said Esparza. “We’ve got a lot of interactive pieces.”
The future of Chris Esparza and Left Coast Live looks promising. But Esparza knows San Jose needs more venues. “There is a definite need for a venue that holds 500 to 800 people,” said Esparza. Currently, the Civic Center holds 2,800 people, and the California holds 1,000. “I would love to see five more venues open,” Esparza noted passionately. “I want it where on Tuesday, you can have four choices on where to see live music, and on Saturday, you have seven.” We can only hope for such a dream to come to fruition. In the meantime, we can take what is given to us: a great music festival this summer that promises to hold many surprises. Left Coast Live will take place from June 21-26 in downtown San Jose.
In this follow-up to Podcast #81, we reconnect with Marcus Lyon, artist, photographer, and founder of A Human Atlas, after completing his Silicon Valley project entitled De.Coded, which launched in October 2023.
In our conversation with Marcus, we talk about what he learned from his time with Silicon Valley change makers, how this project differed from previous experiences, the philosophy and design elements of the physical book, and what is on the horizon for A Human Atlas.
Some key takeaways from his time spent with the 101 Silicon Valley change-makers featured in De.Coded are the importance of Latino/Chicano culture and history in shaping the region, the rich diversity of cultures that have come together among various waves of immigration and migrations, themes of belonging, and a constant emphasis on refining the process behind A Human Atlas with a focus on context, equity, and authenticity.
Having completed A Human Atlas of Brazil, Germany, Detroit, and now Silicon Valley, Marcus Lyon is still grounded in what inspired his first project. As an Englishman married to a Brazilian with “Brazinglish” children, his initial concept, Somos Brasil (2016), which told the story of 104 extraordinary individuals creating social change across Brazil, was intended to develop a deep cultural immersion for his family. Originally intended as a one-off endeavor, Marcus began receiving requests for similar projects after its publication and recognition.
Currently, Marcus and his crew, including Joe Briggs-Price & Camila Pastorelli, are working on a new A Human Atlas project based in Los Angeles, entitled Alta / a Human Atlas of Los Angeles.
Human Atlas projects are research-based, interdisciplinary explorations of the people of a specified geography. They are built on extensive nomination processes. A carefully curated group nominates individuals who are championing and driving social impact in all its forms: from public servants to entrepreneurs, from non-profit leaders and activists to artists and scientists. The projects then map these remarkable humans through photographic portraits, app-based oral histories, info-graphic mapping, and ancestral DNA. Human Atlas projects take on many digital forms but always begin as a published limited edition book and an interactive exhibition.
Check out Episode #81 on our blog or Spotify for full background on Marcus and his Career
Pictured: (L to R) Marcus Lyon and Camila Pastorelli
Book images provided by Human Atlas.
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San Jose Taiko Roy and PJ Hirabayashi
Not many folks can say they have evolved—if not created—a new type of art. But starting in 1973 when Roy Hirabayashi cofounded San Jose Taiko, a professional performing company, Roy and PJ Hirabayashi have cultivated a new Asian-American art form. Taking the traditional rhythms of the taiko—a type of Japanese barrelshaped drum—and infusing Western and other musical influences, San Jose Taiko pioneered the American taiko sound, which has since been met with traditional Japanese approval. The Hirabayashis have performed around the world, receiving countless commendations both for their efforts in cultivating and showcasing a new art form and for consistently advocating for San Jose’s Japantown. These awards include arguably the highest arts honor awarded in the United States—the National Endowment for the Arts National Heritage Fellowship in Folk and Traditional Arts, in 2011—as well as the highly prestigious City of San Jose Cornerstone of the Arts Award, in 2016, for enduring and effective leadership in the arts.
“In the early ’70s we worked with the Buddhist temple in San Jose, and the minister there was really interested in doing something to bring more youth back to his temple. He suggested we look at using the taiko—the Japanese drum—as perhaps a way to do that. So we started with the intention of involving the youth, but it rapidly became more of a community group because people in the area heard about what we were doing and wanted to come check it out and participate. We use the taiko as a tool to organize people, but it has also given us a chance to learn more about our heritage.”
Brandon “BQ” Quintanilla is a San Jose-born entrepreneur of Nicaraguan descent who founded media company EMLN (Early Morning Late Nights) to produce projects such as Any Given Bars YouTube Channel, San José’s Culture Night Market, and FeastMode. BQ has created a business and brand around his vision for San José.
In this conversation, BQ and introducing Content guest host Troy Ewers, @trizzyebaby, discuss BQ’s rise as an entrepreneur, the development of EMLN, organizing events, and personal growth. Listeners gain insight into what it takes to start and scale a business, difficulties with organizing events, and how to hustle through adversity.
Follow BQ, @bqallin, and EMLN, @emlnexclusive , on Instagram to keep up to date with what he has cooking for Silicon Valley.
“Five, four, three, two…” Standing in his living room, where bright teal couches and dark walnut cabinets complement cerulean walls, Paul counts down to his own interview: “Are you ready for launch? Let’s go!”
In the world of artist and designer Paul J. Gonzalez, possibility is as limitless as outer space. No conversation is ordinary, and no day is without surprise. So, one should always dress for—and anticipate—the possibility of splendor. Even to buy groceries, he’ll sport a one-off steel bracelet or flat top sunglasses or a metallic jacket.
But if a blur of futuristic inventions and astrological predictions is what you’re envisioning of his world, you might be surprised to learn that all his clothing and accessories come out of a color-coordinated, space-optimizing closet. In fact, he may be one of the most organized and self-analytical creatives you’ll meet.
Inside his home office, a small but well-lit room boasting groovy shelves he built himself and wide dual monitors—one of which he places sideways like a long scroll—he regularly takes stock of his life: body, mind, and soul are assessed as though they are pillars of a business (and arguably so for a full-time artist).
Here, Paul files away his receipts, categorizes his spending, and tracks personal data. The daily work certainly serves financial accountability, but he aims to cultivate improvement. “There are three Pauls: past, present, and future,” he declares. “All Pauls have to relate to each other.” Present Paul tallies interpersonal interactions and inventory alike: “Maybe, I got a little too drunk at the Cure concert,” he ruminates. “But it was Robert Smith!” he weighs. “But still,” he concludes, “I’ve got to check myself. I spent a little too much on alcohol, and I can put this money towards a new tablet.” Then the emotional check-in: “Did I have any breakdowns? Did I have any arguments? Why did I have arguments?”
Few may manage their daily lives so closely, but these routines feed his artistry. Health fuels work and rest, feeding not only into great ideas and the execution of them but, ultimately, more time for his family.
“By handling different mediums, you’re able to overlap the multiple skills and sometimes create something new that you never thought would happen.”
-Paul J. Gonzales
“Appreciating what you have,” he stresses, “is key.” Rather than crediting knack or discipline, he pinpoints gratitude as the primary engine of his self-managed, independent lifestyle. He recalls one low period of his life when he had just lost his job: “All I’d been doing was working and coming home with no time to create. I was depressed for years.” But inertia struck while watching a PBS documentary about a survivor. “I’m watching the show in my room, depressed, probably drinking a beer,” he recalls. “This guy climbed mountains and had to hunt his own food. I was sitting at home thinking, ‘I have nothing to complain about.’ It’s all in my mind.”
So, he began to move. He ran and rode his bike. He packed himself lunch. He went to work, and repainted vandalized buildings with San Jose’s Graffiti Removal program. He did push-ups in between lifting cans of paint. “I started figuring out ways to work out my time,” he recounts. “So then I had time to draw.”
As a kid, he knew he wanted to become an artist. For that very reason he fought to get into art school and then didn’t complete the degree. His program was setting him up to become a teacher or professor even though he signed up with the expectation of being an artist, completing projects, and learning from each piece along the way. So he sought education elsewhere.
“I needed to learn about business, marketing, finances, and management.” He found mentors and picked the brains of those he calls his “elders.” “If you want to really learn more about yourself,” he recommends, “talk to these elders who are already done with their work—anyone who’s willing to share the honest truth, because they’ve lived it.”
About to turn fifty next year, he’s ready to offer the same—such as how writing down experiences to look forward to can alchemize stale energy. “I’m looking forward to my mom, the calls, her visits. I’m always looking forward to adventures with my wife: Burning Man, Machu Picchu in the fall,” Paul shares. “I’m looking forward to cleaning my house and the yard. I’m looking forward to building the fence.”
Before the list is exhausted, he’s on his feet. There are many projects, murals, and presentations that he’s in the midst of at this very moment—but the process of each one, ironically, keeps him from succumbing to overwhelm. They will all be completed “so that I can either move on with it or critique it,” he says.
It sounds far-fetched, but it’s working. Over two hundred murals deep, he’s still excited for what he hasn’t yet done. “By handling different mediums, you’re able to overlap the multiple skills and sometimes create something new that you never thought would happen,” Paul remarks. From designing costumes to creating games for events, from woodworking to ceramics, he finds joy in both the start and the finish.
Whether someone wants to purchase a piece or he has to move out of his home, he sees it all as a chance to “start all over.” He can leave behind the custom fence, the teal walls, and the toolshed floor he laid down brick by brick in exchange for a whole new experience. After all, who’s to say that any part of his past didn’t have his future in mind? His life today is the dream of a shy kid who hardly spoke up but could definitely dress up.
As a child, Paul remembers being picked on for his soft-spoken nature. But in fifth grade, he discovered the Cure, and in sixth grade, he heard the Sex Pistols, and by middle school, he had found his voice through the sounds and fashions of punk rock. Standing out with bleached hair and leather jacket in the ’80s, “I was picked on even more then,” he recalls. “They’d call me gay, this and that. But the LGBTQ kids would hang out with me, and we’d have a blast.” Paul followed his crew to the gay bars and clubs, where all hues and textures of hair and fabric flourished, and he did too.
He is the only son of a young mother who raised him along with his grandmother and aunt. Her handy resourcefulness crafted a home that was eclectic and wondrous, with sculptures like King Tut’s head and his uncle’s live piranhas in the living room. “It was a small house on 25th Street near San Jose High,” he shares. “We were a low-income family, but I didn’t feel like I was without. She was always designing from a thrift store perspective and fixing things. So she would also help me with my costumes, too.”
He mentions breezily, “We’ve been winning costume [contests] in my family since the ’50s.”
These days, he likes to have his mother climb on the scaffold and paint with him. “She’s on her fifth mural,” he says proudly. As for his vast collection of art in every medium, “I don’t want to be a master,” he says, “but I definitely want to have a good time playing.”
CONTENT MAGAZINE: How has San Jose influenced the artistic endeavors in your life and career?
GIRAFA: Born and raised in the city of San Jose, Girafa has been writing graffiti across many Bay Area neighborhoods. It wasn’t until his conviction three years ago that he was forced to take time off for self-evaluation. Since then, he has been exploring different mediums and coming to terms with himself on a personal level. Born and raised in the city of San Jose, Girafa has been writing graffiti across many Bay Area neighborhoods. It wasn’t until his conviction three years ago that he was forced to take time off for self-evaluation. Since then, he has been exploring different mediums and coming to terms with himself on a personal level.
CM: How has San Jose influenced the artistic endeavors in your life and career?
G: an Jose is home base. I was raised here and influenced by local graffiti crews that run this city. Times have changed and with the relentless buff (term used to describe the attempts of city workers to paint over graffiti) and strict laws and punishments for graffiti artists, San Jose pushes you to work harder and take on more risks. I’ve taken what I’ve learned on the streets and applied it to my indoor work ethic.
CM: To some, you are the most infamous and most beloved graffiti artist in the Bay Area. Do you feel a certain responsibility to the kids and your fanbase?
I feel honored that people enjoy my work. Being an artist, I spend a lot of time in solitude and don’t notice how it affects others since I’m so focused on what I’m doing. If anything, I would want them to follow their heart in whatever they feel passionate about and overcome any obstacles that stand in their way.
CM: Who were your role models when you were growing up?
G: First off, my parents. My father taught me never to give up and to apply yourself. My mother took care of a lot of strays and pets, showing me and animals unconditional love. I watched a lot of cartoons growing up, so…definitely William Hanna, Joseph Barbera, Chuck Jones, Tex Avery, Bob Clampett and John Kricfalusi, Mestre Waguinho and, last but not least, my old friend Buckethead.
CM : Would you say your parents were supportive of your artistic endeavors?
G: My parents have always been supportive, now more so than ever. (laughs) I kept it a secret as much as I could when I was painting on the streets, but when the news broke about my arrest I remember them saying “We knew you painted graffiti, but not to this extent.” Now my mom says “You found a way to turn lemons into lemonade.”
G: I believe my parents always knew I’d do something creative with my life. I was always playing [with my] imagination, locking myself away in my room drawing and I was definitely the black sheep of the family. I’m really thankful they let me be me.
CM: Do you think that your work on the streets limited your full artistic vision, or was it just a different part of it?
G: Yes, working illegally on the streets can be very limiting; that’s where I became very fond of repetition. You want to get in and out before anyone notices or the police show up. I got bored with painting the same icon and started to migrate into other areas, still remaining within the giraffe theme and never veering away from it.
Some graffiti writers are about style, where I was more about a theme. I made it a point to primarily use the colors black and yellow which is the strongest color combination used for street signs to get your attention. Now that I work inside my studio, not feeling rushed or having to look over my shoulder allows me to explore what I did in the streets and grow from that. So yeah, it’s different. There are things that I’d rather do in the streets and not in my studio, and vice versa.
CM: Why the giraffe?
I was given the nickname Girafa which means giraffe in Brazilian Portuguese because of my height. It stuck amongst my friends. I’ve always been fascinated with alter-identities so when I was given the nickname, I took it seriously and later developed a character to go along with the name.
Before the giraffe, I was all over the place with my art. But once I discovered the character, it felt right. Giraffes are such unique creatures. Also, it’s fun to pretend to be something or someone else. I’m able to get back in touch with my inner child, which some of us tend to lose sight of as we grow older.
CM: On a deeper level, what do you think it is about alter-identities that fascinates you so much?
G: I was adopted at a very early age, which leaves a lot of questions about who I am and where I came from unanswered. I needed a way to fill in the blanks so creating alter-identities gave me the ability to create my own story—which became my personal way of dealing with my past. The thing that fascinates me the most is the mystery that surrounds the person. Graffiti is all about that, which is part of why I was attracted to it.
CM: Do you think you’ve learned more about who you are with your experiences and through art?
G: Yes, but I’m always a work in progress. I don’t regret any of my choices. I’d say in the last few years, especially my time spent on house arrest, I did a lot of reflecting, searching, and reading as to what’s my purpose for being here. I strongly feel each of us has a purpose to fulfill whatever it may be.
I don’t believe in bad circumstances, only lessons to learn and grow from. It’s crazy how you can trace all the steps that led you to where you are today, and the signs the universe will present to you so know you’re on the right path. When I’m in my studio alone creating work, it’s definitely therapy. Even though my work is fun and colorful on the surface, I spend the whole time working shit out in my head.
CM: Ultimately, how do you want to be remembered?
G: What an awkward question for me to answer. Honestly, it’s really not up to me. I’m only responsible for myself, and I have my own expectations to live up to. It’s hard to already come up with how I want to be remembered when I’ve just begun.
Originally Appeared in Issue 5.0 Underground – SOLD OUT
The 10th Anniversary of Content Magazine issue 14.2 Pick-Up Party was an exciting evening of culture and community that celebrated many talented artists and passionate art lovers. Live music, laughter, and happy chatter filled the air of San Pedro Square Market and brought the night alive as new and familiar faces came to celebrate together.
BAUNFIRE’s photo-booth and Content specialty drinks specially prepared by the San Pedro Square Market Bar for the event both left behind fond memories to be treasured for years to come. To date, our largest Pick-Up Party featured artists from around the South Bay Area with hundreds of guests, including California State Representative Ash Kalra, who presented Content Magazine with a Resolution the ten years accomplishment of highlighting local creatives.
Daniel Garcia, Founder and Cultivator of Content Magazine, and Juan Sanchez, Founder and Creative Director of BAUNFIRE, toasted the success of Content Magazine and looked to the future with raised glasses from smiling guests of the South Bay’s key creatives.
We at Content Magazine are grateful to all the artists, partners, members, and community for your support in this project to give visibility to the artist of Santa Clara County.
Thank you all for ten years! Here’s to (at least) ten more.
Event Musicians: @bennettjazzkeys, @lidiapeacelovesax, @the408collectivemusic. Featured Artists: @caiakoopman, @alexknowbody, @farrantabrizi, @ezramara1, @nicolastela, @j.duh, @teejay5992, @benjamin_dobbin_art, @mrharada, and @gmrartstudio. Event Partners: @baunfire, ABIERTO, @spsmarket, @stuarteventrentals, @voyagercraftcoffee, @soskiphotobooth, and @sanjosejazz
#69 – Conrad Egyir Conrad is a Ghanaian artist based in Detroit, working in figurative narratives of the African Diaspora. His work blends religious and West African folk iconography within domestic scenes, portraying a deep understanding of the history of portraiture. He utilizes shaped canvases and relief elements to reference stamps and postcards as metaphors for migration; journals, books, binder tabs, and chapters as metaphors for time and the archiving of ideas.
In our conversation, Conrad discusses his process, the inspiration to this current series as well as his guiding life philosophy.
His exhibition will be on view in the ICA San Jose’s Main Gallery in conjunction with Conrad Egyir: A Chapter of Love, a Facade Project at the ICA San José through February 20, 2022.
Conrad Egyir: A Chapter of Love and Conrad Egyir: Chapters of Light are generously supported by program partner Facebook Open Arts, The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Pamela and David Hornik, Tad Freese and Brook Hartzell, and Applied Materials. Follow Conrad at @conrad_egyir and conradegyir.com On view at Institute of Contemporary Art San Jose (https://www.icasanjose.org)
This episode’s music is “408” by Jack Pavlina. read more about Jack in issue 14.1 Winter 2022, released Date Dec. 9, 2021 Follow Jack at @jackpavlinamusic Spotify: https://bit.ly/jackpavlina
It’s one of those slow afternoons, and a few lowriders from the Low Conspiracy Car Club have gathered at the garage of current head Sergio Martinez. Surrounded by vintage car prints, show trophies, and shelf upon shelf of model cars, members reminisce over slices of pizza on the organization’s 40-plus years of history.
These memories are bittersweet, reflections trigged by the recent loss of José “All Nighter” Martinez, president during the club’s first decade, and later in life, a regular judge in Lowrider Magazine’s car shows. Last week, the club honored him with a memorial cruise down Santa Clara Street. Now, as they pass around old photos and magazine clippings, a few of the older auto aficionados reflect on the club’s deep impact on their lives.
“It starts out as a hobby and turns into a lifestyle,” muses Abel Hernandez (a retired member of the club, but one of the 10 original high schoolers who first brought it to life back in the ’70s). Sergio smiles his agreement, the Impala symbol tattooed on his arm proof to his friend’s statement. That same mindset holds true across the club. It’s evidenced in the matter-of-fact way club members can rattle off the painters and modifiers behind their cars with the level of pride art collectors reserve for listing the masters framed on their walls.
There’s no argument that these cars are drivable art. “You’re not going to take a family vacation with those,” Abel comments with a chuckle. Sergio nods, “I kinda made mine a trailer queen and chromed everything.” If you’ve witnessed members’ painstaking attention to detail, you’ll understand why. For starters, there’s the handmade Zenith wire wheels with plated spokes in chrome and gold. There’s the big-bodied builds (practically with a couch in the backseat). There’s the hydraulic suspension (some with the power to raise up on three wheels or jump). Occasionally, there’s hidden murals tucked inside the door jams (ready to flash whenever the driver enters or exits the vehicle).
“It starts out as a hobby and turns into a lifestyle.” – Abel Hernandez
And of course, don’t forget the wild paint jobs—a factor which happened to be José’s specialty. “Anybody can paint,” José’s wife Lisa Martinez says. “But you have to be an artist for it to really come out. They used to call them rolling canvases.” It’s not an exaggeration. If you want to win a car show, you play for keeps. Flashy flourishes of sparkles, patterns, and pin-striping get you on the podium. Or as Lisa puts it, “Go big or go home…Make it so that when it drives down the street, it gives people a headache it’s so bright.”
At times, lowrider painters have been known to take a little creative license. “Sometimes you tell them what you want, and they know that’s not going to look good,” Sergio explains, gesturing at his ’78 Grand Prix’s sunset-style two-tone fade from tangerine to scarlet, a coat accented with crisp yellow pinstripes. “I didn’t want orange on there—but he put it on there. When he told me, I wasn’t happy. And then I saw it…and I went back to him and said ‘Put more on.’ ”
“Carlos [Lima] did that to me, too, with my truck,” Sergio adds. “I wanted different colored flames—and he put a kind of magenta. And first thing I thought was ‘Pink. You painted pink flames on my truck?!’ But every truck show I went to with that truck, I won best flames.”
Judges not only look at the paint but scrutinize all the hidden little details, Sergio explains, describing the spotlights and turntables used to reveal every last facet and angle. And for rides with engraved undercarriages, you better believe their owners bring out the mirrors to capture those beautiful underbellies.
Fittingly, these cars with their loud personalities have an equally memorable origin story. It all started with young Chicano lowriders in post-World War II Los Angeles.
Tired of whitewashed cultural norms in the States, Mexican Americans expressed pride in their heritage with their own counterculture. So, in response to the nation’s obsession with speedy hot rods and raised trucks, Chicanos embodied their new motto, “Low and Slow,” by cutting coils, lowering blocks, and even adding sandbags or bricks to their trunks.
Unfortunately, apprehension of minorities ran rampant in the ’50s and the media stoked irrational fears of gangster ties. The result was police harassment as well as a 1958 California law that banned lowered cars. Rather than conform, lowriders met this with a cheeky response: hydraulics. Repurposing aircraft landing gear, they could now elevate their ride height to “appropriate levels” at the flip of a switch.
East San Jose was arguably the hub of the lowrider golden age during the late ’70s and through the ’80s, despite its LA roots—a period Abel refers to as the “King and Story Days.” From Friday to Sunday, Low Conspiracy (which was 80-members strong at its peak) cruised the boulevard with dozens of other clubs late into the night. Thousands of car enthusiasts milled around on the sidewalks and daydreamed themselves into many a driver’s seat.
Cruising acted as a night club on wheels, as much a social staple of the time as spending your nights at the roller rink or the bowling alley. “Once you saw another car flying your plaque [in the rear windshield] you would follow him. Before you knew it, you had a dozen club members cruising together,” Sergio explained in an interview with Lowrider Network. “That was how we met up back when no one had cell phones.”
It was the place to see and be seen. Drivers would showboat by hitting their hydraulics. They’d roll down the windows and blast Latin rock. “Good days when we were out there, huh?” Lisa says to the friend sitting beside her. “That’s when we were young. The guys were out there with their beautiful cars—looking at the girls—who were looking at the guys.”
Unfortunately, the assumption that lowriding and gangsters were somehow linked was still being made by public and police. “They always thought we were up to no good,” Abel recalls. Sergio nods in agreement, “They started fining people, and they were going after the nicest cars because they’re the ones that stood out.”
José, however, was determined to overcome that stigma. “He would approach the chief of police and say, ‘Yo, this is an event we want to do,’ ” Lisa recalls. “He didn’t want them to be hassled.” José and the club also collaborated with local firefighters on toy drives. The message was clear: we’re not here to cause trouble. “You have to give back to your community and show that you’re part of the community,” Lisa states. “You’re not the problem.” These gestures earned them respect among law enforcement.
“Some people are scared of [lowriders], but, nah, it’s all families nowadays,” Sergio verifies. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. I’m older and I got a couple of little grandkids too…the whole family gets into it!” In fact, on more than one occasion, the club has chauffeured young ladies and their quinceañera courts to party venues. “They get a kick out of it,” Abel smiles.
At the end of the day, the club is one big family. Again and again, the Low Conspiracy guys refer to the special brotherly bond shared by members. “When I first started going with them, we happened to park all of the Martinez’s together, just coincidentally,” Sergio recalls, “and somebody noticed and said, ‘Hey, are you guys all brothers?’ And José pops up right away. ‘Oh yeah, we’re all brothers.’ ”
“And he loved being the big brother,” Lisa shares. “He was always referring to Abel as ‘my little brother.’ With everybody. Even the younger guys that were starting, he’d say ‘Oh that’s my son.’ And people thought he had all these kids!” She chuckles at that. Though José retired from the club for a time, it was Lisa who encouraged him to rejoin a few years at the end of his life.
As the group returns to the present from this trip down memory lane, conversation steers toward the upcoming car show at History Park. It’s going to be in July, just in time for the club’s 45th anniversary and will reward a scholarship to a kid who wants to go into auto painting (in memory of José, of course).
Sergio sits back and watches his friends refill their plates with pizza. He gives a contented glance around at his patch of paradise, brightened with tools and trophies. “I’ll be in the club forever,” he declares. “You’ve seen my garage. I’m not going nowhere.”
Article originally appeared in Issue 13.4 Profiles (Print SOLD OUT)
Sawyer Rose is a sculptor and installation artist who has been working on a project called the Carrying Stones that is currently on display at the NUMU through January 23, 2022.
The Carrying Stones Project is about inequities that women suffer from in the workplace, society, and home. So what was the impetus to begin the Carrying Stone project? When I started the carrying stones project, I had a toddler and an infant at home. And I was drowning under the weight of both my paid work and my unpaid domestic labor. And I tend to be a researcher. So, I thought, you know, if I’m having this much trouble with the advantages that I have, this must be a story that goes a lot deeper. So I started researching and found that Yeah, it is. And that’s how the carrying stones project began. When did that begin? That was in 2014 when I started the research, and the first piece was in 2015. And what was the first piece? The first piece is not here; it was a 20 foot long 1000 piece sculpture that recorded the working hours of 47 different women in the workforce who also had children. Not all my work is about women with children, but that one was 1000 out of 1000 tiles representing 1000 women’s work hours.
And so the idea of stone or the weightiness, what are you communicating with that? The title carrying stones comes from a Portuguese expression that I heard in Brazil. And sometimes, when you ask a woman what she’s been doing, she’ll say, oh, I’ve just been carrying stones. And that means she’s been at work at our paid job all day. And then she comes home and is the pillar that holds up her family. So, I thought, oh, wow, that’s really fitting for this topic. That was very much in my mind at the time. And so, when I did begin this project, it seemed the perfect name.
So, then your own personal journey and period stone were when you were working at a professional life and domestic responsibilities and stuff like that.
What some of the different kinds of stories and research that you found that were similar, but then other stones that other people were carrying the two, were surprised at or say, overwhelmed you? As I started looking for different women’s worth stories, I learned how many similarities there are and how many vast differences there are both at the same time. And so, the topic began to feel really juicy to me because it is very multi-layered. So, what I learned was that women who have caring responsibilities either for children or for elders are affected, across the board, by many different age groups. But I also learned that women of color disproportionately affected women in low-paying jobs are significantly affected by women’s labor inequity.
And, and I started learning about just, you know, out of my interest, like, what could be done about that, you know, once we knew these facts, and we told these stories and put a face to these facts.
What can be done? You know, what can be done to kind of, like, take some of those stones away, right? So, certainly, within your household, redistributing the labor, that’s, you know, seems the obvious first step. Still, on a broader level, engaging girls from the time they’re young in leadership programs is essential. You know, if you can see it, you can be it. And in the workplace, true allyship is really important. And when I say true allyship, it means paid maternal leave, paid paternal leave – that is just as important if you’re asking people to divide the work. It also means rearranging things for women in low-paying jobs, like, you providing health care for less than 40 hours a week jobs, providing childcare, or, you know, help with elder care for people who need that, you know when you’re making very little. Then you have to miss because of family responsibility, that you’re making less still. So.
Talk about your work as an artist. Do you see yourself as a catalyst for change in society or a mirror? How would you even describe “Carrying Stones”? A commentary? You know, yes, it’s a commentary. Yes, it’s a mirror. But my particular interest is in education because when I started this, I was only dealing with one audience member, and that was my husband. And really, myself, and I thought, well, these are all fascinating statistics. But statistics are numbers, and they don’t have names and faces and stories. How can I humanize these numbers and really build bridges to people who don’t know anything about the topic yet? So for me, it’s bringing awareness.
When I build my pieces, I purposely build them to be aesthetically pleasing, and they attract you visually because I want you to come up close. And then I want you to look at the wall text and go, Oh, wow, I had no idea that that’s what this was about. And now I’ve learned something, and I do get that reaction all the time. And that, to me, is winning.
Would you say that your art practice is driven to educate? Would you say that’s kind of like your personal voice and mission? It always has been. I can’t stop giving people my opinion on things, it seems. Before I started the scaring stones project, the series of work was about California native plants. And when endemic plants, you know, there were only found in California, we’re going extinct. And that all started because, you know, I had this amazing plant in my front yard, and I looked it up, so again, it led from research to Hey, I found out something, too. Oh, y’all gotta know this.
Let’s talk about a couple pieces in particular. Yeah. Okay. So, the way the sculptures in the show work is, I first find a woman with an interesting work story. And mainly a story that has some sort of angle that I’d like to share with people. So, this woman, Lauren, is a professor of African American and US history, but she’s also the mother of an elementary school-aged child. And the thing that I find interesting is that women in academia are very, are typically undervalued; they’re promoted less often, they’re paid much less. And she feels that. So, what I do once I find the woman whose story I want to tell, I developed a timekeeping app that they can just have on their phone. And, over two weeks or so, they tell me hour by hour, how much paid labor they’ve done, how much unpaid work they’ve done, and when they’ve done anything else, other than sleep. So I translate that then into one of these large-scale sculptures. And in the case of Lauren’s piece, I made it look kind of like books because you know, she’s in academia, and that really worked with her personality.
In this particular piece, the brown books are her paid labor, and the white books are her unpaid labor. And the very few spaces that you see in the matrix are the hours where she was doing anything other than work. And so, you got to remember that anything other than work means you see your friends, but it also means getting your exercise going to the dentist. It’s anything, so the whole rest of her life is in those very few spaces.
So, that personal work is like brushing your teeth? And exercise isn’t considered as personal work; that’s just other survival.
Describe what the categories of personal work are there? Well, so there are really only three categories. There’s working for pay, working for no pay, and then everything else, including brushing your teeth taking your shower.
This is Darlene. She’s a educate. She works like six jobs. Darlene is an absolute powerhouse. She is a teaching artist. In addition to her own studio work, she has taught in the Oakland schools. She teaches at a nonprofit she teaches to adults with disabilities. She you know, at the time when I made this piece, she was working six different gigs.
Just to both follow her passion and to make ends meet. And one of the things that interested me in this piece was taking a deep dive at volunteerism because volunteerism statistically falls disproportionately to women. You know, it’s work. It’s caretaking work for the larger community. It’s work that has to get done. And Darlene is one person who takes it on. And doesn’t get paid. And so, her sculpture works the same way that they all do.
The gold sacks represent her paid labor, and you can see that there’s a rock inside each one like she’s collected that piece of money. The Silver sacks that looked like the bottoms have ripped out are her unpaid labor, and you can see the stones on the ground underneath. Like she hasn’t collected that money. And the spaces in the matrix are the hours when she was not working.
This piece is called Tracy, and she works full time as an attorney and mother to an eight-year-old daughter at the time, who is a budding martial arts star. So, you know, she has that responsibility to get her to all the practices, training schedules, and tournaments. And I thought that was a really interesting work story, not one you hear every day.
The reason I chose the forms in this Tracy, her personality is very hard to say. She’s rather stage she’s very calm, her Demeter demeanor is grounded. I chose the mortar forums for her work because she is a fairly serious, grounded person, and that seemed to fit, and then the metal wireframes are her unpaid labor. But again, geometric, regular. She is the steady hand on the wheel. So, her piece reflects that in the aesthetics I’ve chosen, the way I think about it is I can choose anything. So, you know, how do I justify it against the personality of the person?
Each piece has little easter eggs in it about the woman that’s about. So, it’s nothing that you would know, maybe unless I told you, but I put little details in that reflect each woman’s personality. She told me her favorite color was this beautiful, bright blue. And I said, Alright, I can work with that.
In the Lauren piece that I was talking about before, I made the sizes of the books. The brown books are the sizes of academic publishing standards. And the white books are the size of children’s books, publishing standards. So, there’s each piece has little things that, you know, besides the larger things like the materials and the colors that I use, you know that every choice that I make, I try to make it reflect the personality of the woman that the piece is about.
Ever been so drawn to a piece at an art museum that you’ve wanted to submerge yourself in it? Dive through the canvas and swim around in the paint? At Beyond Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience, you can.
Beyond Van Gogh takes 300+ masterpieces by Netherlands’ most famous painter, then renders them into a 35-minute multimedia experience that traverses the artist’s career. It’s certainly surreal, seeing Vincent van Gogh’s paintings pour off the canvas and wash across the expansive floor and walls of the San Jose McEnery Convention Center. As the projected performance unfurls and the artwork fills the entirety of visitors’ visions, it soaks them in the feeling of the colors. It allows them to appreciate all the details, down to the individual brushstrokes (which often stretch longer and wider than guests themselves).
“We want to show a contemporary audience that van Gogh is still relevant today,” says Fanny Curtat, the art historian consulting on the project and a vital part of the exhibit’s creative team. She points out that the painter’s life of hardships resonates with those who have suffered their own difficulties during the pandemic. After all, “van Gogh painted Starry Night while he was in the asylum!” she points out—and yet, despite the pain, he created something exquisite.
“So you have somebody that can show you that even though you’re struggling, you can transcend all of your struggles into works of art,” she says. “He helps us look at things in a beautiful way and focus on the colors, the power that they have, the joy that the world can bring.”
Recently, a few high-tech Van Gogh experiences have been making the circuit across the nation and the world (NOTE: This exhibit is different than the one that came to San Francisco this summer, called “Immersive Van Gogh”), but each and every exhibit showcases their own angle, highlighting different facets of this complicated man. San Jose’s exhibit chooses to honor the bond between brothers, presenting a series of letters van Gogh wrote to his beloved brother Theo. The show also highlights the progression of the painter’s palette—from the dark shades of van Gogh’s early work to the addition of color after his move to Paris and his introduction to the impressionists, to the golden yellow hues after his consequent move to the South of France, to the intensely vivid colors of his most recognizable pieces during the final years of his life.
Curtat says that Beyond Van Gogh also leans into the remarkable movement of the artist’s brushstrokes by causing his portraits to blink, his flowers to bloom, and his landscapes to swirl into shape. “You don’t have to do much to animate his work—it’s already moving,” she notes. “We remember Starry Night’s twirling sky more than anything.”
Of course, the question everyone will ask is, “Is it worth it?”
We think so. Especially if you slow your pass to not only grab a few nice “grams”—if you pay attention and let yourself be fully immersed. You will be tempted to bypass the three switchback hallways of letters and quotes, but that section gives van Gogh’s work a greater context. And we encourage you to take it in rather than hurry through to the main immersive hall.
When asked if projection-mapped exhibits are the art museum of tomorrow, Curtat is adamant that digital experiences by no means replace a trip to the Musée d’Orsay. “To me, it’s complementary to a museum experience. Scale is one of the most important things in art. So when it’s something huge and immense, you feel overpowered. But when you have art on the wall, you have the aura of the original, and you have a more intimate feel about it,” she explains. “I encourage everybody who has a chance to go see a true van Gogh on the walls to do so because that’s magical.”
In the meantime? Come stroll among van Gogh’s brushstrokes.
Beyond Van Gogh opens on September 24th and concludes November 14th. Complimentary beverages from the exhibits’ partner, Keurig, are included with entry.
Self-taught artist and parent Jonathan Crow discovered that quarantine actually resulted in less time in the art studio. Crow experienced a shift in priorities, mainly preoccupied by the insurmountable task of keeping his six-year-old educated and entertained. Like many of us during this time, Jonathan checks social media—especially Twitter—and finds it hard to cope with the frustration of a world that appears “maddening and sickening.” The reality of COVID-19 and the BLM protests, however, have inadvertently bolstered Jonathan’s conceptual focus in his artwork.
In 2017, Crow released the coffee-table art book, Veeptopus: Vice Presidents with Octopuses on Their Heads, a collection of 47 vice-presidents hand drawn with octopuses on their heads, accompanied with esoteric and curious facts about each Veep. After the project’s success, including being recognized by the Huffington Post and New York Times, he turned his attention toward oil painting. Vintage photographs snapped between the 1950s and 1980s inspire him to create paintings that explore the suburban dream juxtaposed with the fears and anxiety “lurking at the root of America’s subconscious.”
During quarantine, Crow created two companion pieces that illustrate the amplification of current circumstances: Irene and Her Bugs and Tuesday 2pm. Both pieces use a muted palette of blues and whites, recalling the nostalgic hues of old Polaroids. The neat and tidy homes feature the clean-lined designs of the 1950s, a time when the suburban promise was to solidify the American dream. Crow’s use of color and negative space, however, creates scenes that are purposefully stark, alluding to the emptiness of that promise and dream. In Tuesday 2pm, the subject sits in her seemingly empty kitchen with three drinks poured in front of her, as if waiting for company. She appears to have finally given up on her pipe dream and contemplates drinking alone. In the second painting, Irene poses outside, face mask on, with her dog, Bugs. Her posture and dress color hint at a lightheartedness that is contradicted by the reality of her mask.
Jonathan Crow’s stylistic theme fits into the context of current events, but our quarantine and global pandemic increase the emotional potency for viewers. His art may reveal hard truths while also offering a catharsis that brings you back from the void. “Art can bring intellectual and emotional clarity to all the chaos and toxicity. Art can also tune into the subconscious currents of the zeitgeist and articulate them in a way that is beyond words or really even rational thought.”
Jeffrey Lo’s high school crush wanted him to audition for a show. He had no fear of speaking in front of others, and he enjoyed making people laugh. So at 16, he walked into his first theatre. His confidence and willingness to learn on his feet have helped him succeed there ever since: acting, directing, and writing plays.
While Lo was a senior at Evergreen Valley High School, the class was given an assignment to write and direct their own shows using the Drama 1 students as their cast. Lo wrote a 30-minute play called “All I Have.”
Describing himself as a “smug 17-year-old,” he decided to write and direct a full two-hour play. Banding together with a close group of friends, they managed to nab the high school’s theatre for the summer before college, washing cars to raise funds. His play was about a psychologist and a troubled teenager whose mother is dating a drug addict. It nearly sold out its one-night run. Admitting the play had its imperfections, Lo said, “It was one of those things where we just didn’t know any better. We were going off pure adrenalin and emotion – all twelve of us.”
Lo still returns to Evergreen Valley High every other year to write and direct a show with high school students. He enjoys finding kids that are not too sure about performing. He said, “They don’t take it super-seriously, but they have that raw skill there that is not disrespectful, but ‘Oh yeah, I’ll do it – which is kind of like I was.” The last show he did there was about a Filipino high school basketball star. Although audiences enjoyed the play, “they laughed about the fact that there was an Asian American high school basketball star that was going to play in the NBA,” said Lo. “Six months later, Jeremy Lin proved me right – a Palo Alto boy.”
The wry humor that naturally flavors his work comes in part from his upbringing. “I’m Filipino, right? So my mom is a nurse.” As the only member of his immediate family born in the U.S., he admits to a childhood that involved not knowing much about his hometown of San Jose beyond the “coffee shop down the street.” His parents emigrated 25 years ago, and except for the occasional trips downtown for Christmas in the Park, his world was fairly insulated. With two older sisters, Lo is relieved that one of his siblings will be going to medical school, which “makes my mom happy.”
Receiving the Arts Council’s 2012 Laureate Emerging Artist Award also pleased his mother. The $5,000 award is not tied to any specific project and doesn’t require any reports, it is just intended to help an artist live. “None of my family is really involved in the arts,” he said. “So it was at least one gauge to let them know I wasn’t completely wasting my time.”
It is difficult to see where Lo could have wasted any time. He went straight to UC Irvine as a journalism major, but he then doubled and added theatre because he found that he “couldn’t escape it.” However, he still did theatre on his own terms, founding his own company, the Pipeline Players, rather than participating in University productions. “We did our shows the way we did it that one summer, and we did it for three years.” Fascinated by the craft, Lo also continued to read all the plays he could get his hands on.
At first, he was intimidated by the length of experience of most people working in the theatre department. So he quietly soaked up knowledge while beginning to embrace his own identity. “I came to realize that it was a huge advantage coming from a very different background. There’s a certain perspective that I come from that not a lot of people can write [about].”
Despite finding success down south, Lo came straight back home. He knew early on, although he wanted to go somewhere different for college, “San Jose was where I wanted to be.”
But college really paid off for Lo, especially his love of reading. A week after returning to San Jose, he was working as a soundboard operator at TheatreWorks. He was eating dinner in the green room when he overheard the director, Leslie Martenson, talking to some of the actors about her next show, “Superior Donuts” by Tracy Letts. As luck would have it, Lo had read every one of Letts’ plays because his college professor had compared the playwright’s style to his own.
As soon as that evening’s show was over, Lo ran up to Martenson and introduced himself, saying, “Hi, I’m Jeffrey. I overheard that you are directing “Superior Donuts” by Tracy Letts – I love his work, and I have read all his stuff. If there’s any way I can be of any help or be involved or assist you in any way, I would love the opportunity.”
So she said, “Go ahead and email me your resume and stuff and we’ll see if I can contact you.” Thinking fast, Lo said, “Well, actually, I have my resume in my backpack – give me one second.” He ran back to the soundboard and grabbed a copy of his resume and handed it to her. Ever since reading about Eugene O’Neill running away from home with a suitcase full of clothes and a suitcase full of scripts, Lo has always walked around with a backpack full of scripts and resumes. Hitting the books paid off for him again.
Martenson, who is now Lo’s mentor and number one champion, later told Lo it was the fact that he mentioned specific works by Tracy Letts that made it click for her that he really knows his stuff. He credits her as a “most remarkable woman who has done everything” for him, including nominating him for the Arts Council Laureate.
Although he is only 24, Lo has already written three plays – eight actually, counting his early stuff. But, like some of his favorite playwrights, he prefers to determine where we start counting. Lo explained that in Edward Albee’s foreword to one of Eugene O’Neill’s lost plays, he described his first play as “Zoo Story.” “The thing is,” Lo continued, “he wrote six plays before that. But he considers “Zoo Story” his first play. So I would say, for myself, I’ve written three plays.”
Fortunately, there are plenty of opportunities to see Lo at work in the Bay Area. He just directed a world premiere called “The Strange Case of Citizen De La Cruz” at San Francisco’s Bindlestiff Studio – where his play, “A Kind of Sad Love Story,” will have a month-long run in March. His newest play, “Angel in a Red Dress,” just had a staged reading at the Impact Theatre in Berkeley. Lo said, somewhat sheepishly, “It all kind of came all at once.”
In December, the ’06 Ensemble, where Lo serves as artistic director, will return with a second installment of the Bench Project. The first one was a series of four short plays that were all set on a bench. The one-night-only event packed the Dragon Theatre in Palo Alto. This December, the Bench Project 2 will feature seven plays. The venue will be the Pear Avenue Theatre in Mountain View, and admission will be warm jackets for the homeless.
Some major Asian American playwrights are participating in Bench Project 2. Philip Kan Gotanda and Julia Cho both wrote for the project. How did he manage to get them to donate their time? Having worked with Cho and Gotanda before, Lo simply sent an email saying, “Hey, we’re doing this project, and we are trying to get ten-minute plays set on benches – are you able to write one? I am upfront with them. I say we have no money.”
Eager to help others make their work known, Lo is willing to read scripts from anyone who is interested. “I am always looking for new people to do readings or workshops. The point of the ’06 Ensemble is to give people an opportunity to express their voice.”
No longer a smug teenager, Jeffery Lo has indeed begun to develop his own voice. Playwright Philip Kan Gotanda once sat down for coffee with Lo, and they talked about the Filipino American story. “In terms of theatre and poetry, it is one of the Asian American stories that hasn’t been explored a whole lot. My generation of people is starting that. We are starting to build a voice and tell our story.”
Falling in love with theatre has given Lo a powerful platform to tell that story. Perhaps he owes that girl a cup of coffee.
Martha Sakellariou is a 49-year-old artist who began her journey earning multiple degrees from the Athens School of Fine Arts in Greece. She went on to obtain her MA in printmaking from the Royal College of Art in London. In 2005 she worked as the Creative and Art Program director for a climate change awareness program for Friends of the Earth, London. In 2013, her family moved to the Bay Area where she now holds a studio space as an independent visual artist with the Cubberley Artist Studio Program in Palo Alto.
Sakellariou’s work has strongly focused on the concept of home and the tensions, realities, mythologies, and allegories of everyday life—the rituals and relationships which shape what we consider our shelter. The shelter-in-place order has certainly challenged the process by which she composes her art, as the dynamics with family and her own internal dialogue reshape what “home” means. The concepts that had previously brewed and steeped internally have now played out in a myriad of forms, manifesting with new meanings. The very act of quarantining at home brings an unprecedented emotional toll, especially in the face of ongoing uncertainty. While intense, the situation has led Sakellariou to moments of profound creativity and learning opportunities. In her mind, reality is “a dichotomy—dream and nightmare scenarios overlapping—so I understood the significance of that moment not just empathetically but tautologically.”
“Nobody should direct what art should be, where it should take place, when and how and by whom it should be done.”_Martha Sakellariou
At the beginning of the pandemic, Sakellariou was in survival mode, shifting her attention to recalibrating home life and observing the world in transition. During her daily walks, however, her artistic instincts called to her, creating a need to communicate something significant. She came upon a serene and beautiful home, envisioning the image of a woman blowing a balloon projected onto the house. After introducing herself to the homeowner, she created a photo mural on the house of the woman inflating a balloon. “The balloon represents a bubble—a place of safety, protection, and containment, but also implies life in an echo chamber, isolated, disconnected from reality.” This beautiful overlay of realities speaks powerfully to many in their current situation. Even in isolation, Sakellariou has found a way to engage an audience and the wider world. She has since created a total of six temporary photomurals on various houses in her Palo Alto neighborhood, which just goes to show that art can be created anywhere. “Nobody should direct what art should be, where it should take place, when and how and by whom it should be done.”
Collaborative artist duo t.w.five works exclusively with adhesive-backed vinyl, using the medium to create everything from small canvases to large-scale wall art—colorfully depicting people, environments, and abstract shapes at festivals, in public spaces, and brightening the environment of numerous office complexes around the Bay Area.
Both immigrants (one from Brazil and one from Sweden) graduated from San Jose State University (at separate times). They met through the tight-knit South Bay arts community and soon began an informal collaboration that would eventually lead to their artistic partnership. Now based in San Francisco, t.w.five has had residencies at the de Young Museum, Headlands Center for the Arts, and the Kala Art Institute, among others; has exhibited work worldwide; and produced commissions for offices, billboards, and recently at the UCSF Precision Cancer Medical Building. They are now based out of a studio in San Francisco.
Can you describe a little bit about your background and your journey into becoming artists in the Bay Area? How did you find each other to become collaborators, and how did you wind up working in vinyl, specifically? Both of us graduated from San Jose State, but years apart, so we first got to meet through some common group of artist friends from the South Bay. Our collaboration started without us knowing it, with a trip to New York City, with only one Canon camera between the two of us. We spent our time walking around neighborhoods all over the city and taking some photos that we thought were pretty nice pictures. We both have different art backgrounds, but we realized that we shared the same aesthetic in how we viewed things around us.
When arriving back in San Francisco, one of us needed to use some of the photos from our New York trip for an upcoming show. From that, the idea of us collaborating came up. But [it] was alien to both of us, since we both have always created art in solitude. We were also aware that our personal art styles are very different from one another, as well as our material choices, one of us being photographer/screen.printer of urban culture, [the other a] painter that practiced expressive, mostly figurative/landscape paintings. Needless to say, we decided to give the collaboration a go, and it was the first time we introduced adhesive rolls of vinyl as our primary material.
Who and what are some of your biggest influences and inspirations? That’s the thing. Since we both came from different backgrounds, we also have different artists that we liked and shared between us. We will say, anything that came out from the Bay Area figurative movement from the ’50s and ’60s—David Park, Richard Diebenkorn, Elmer Bichoff, Nathan Olivera, and Joan Brown, also a HUGE inspiration from Andy Warhol that we can never get enough from, and the Bauhaus movement of combining craft with art. We also love looking at architecture, design, street art, Pop Art, Brazilian concrete art and poetry, Japanese contemporary art, Cy Twombly, photography, music—lots of it—film, and filmmakers like Wes Anderson, Neill Blomkamp, Lukas Moodysson, sci-fi…
What are some of your favorite pieces you’ve created or experiences you’ve had creating and exhibiting large-scale art works? Tough question—it is hard to pick out favorites. But we have a special love for a 44-foot piece we did for the Headlands Center for the Arts benefit auction in 2016. The piece is called it’s all fun at 2:15 am and was based on the dynamics and a moment being in an art studio. We used multiple images from Warhol factory, which we made into our own composition and colors. This piece is now part of the Facebook collection.
We love so many. Making each one is a unique experience that we dive into completely.
We finished a six-floor commission at UCSF’s new cancer wing at Mission Bay. That commission was a year and half of meetings with the board, the architects, and designers. It was a lot of learning. Every single step of the way had to be looked at and approved because we were dealing with a sensitive audience: the patients. It was a beautiful journey for us.
You’ve also been commissioned to create works for some of the tech giants of the area. How did these come to be, and what were your experiences like? Yes, we have done artworks for Google, Facebook, GoDaddy, Checkr. The GoDaddy piece was the only one that we did at the company and straight on the wall. All the others, we did the majority of the work in panels at the studio and then installed at the headquarters and did some add-on there. That is the part we love, because we get to interact with the workers and hear their opinions and feedback—and be part of their culture, too.
Usually, once [companies] contact us, we go to meetings to exchange ideas about what they envision. We always try to bring to the table our ideas that we can see it incorporating into what they want. With some, we have absolutely had freedom to do what we wanted, and those are super fun.
How would you describe the way you conceive of and create your pieces? How does your collaboration work? Do either of you focus more on specific elements of the creation process? The ideas come from things we are interested in or something we see that inspires us. We both bring our ideas to the studio and show them to one another and feed on each other’s ideas and inspirations.
Once we are set on the subject, we start to look for images on the internet, read and research a lot about it. After we find the images, we work on them a bit on Photoshop—adding colors or subtracting things in the image we don’t want, etc. Then, if the work is big, we project [onto a surface] just to get the basic outline of things, then turn off the projector and improvise everything. We do everything in vinyl, and it is all hand-cut. The only tools we use are an Exacto knife, scissors, and ruler.
We work on different parts of the artwork together and then we switch. When we step back to look at the work, we always like and dislike the same things. It’s incredible how our minds work together in such harmony.
How has the time of COVID-19 and shelter-in-place changed your process or perspective as artists, if at all? First, it was a bit of adjustment, but then we both turned to our studio as much as we could and started to work all the time. It was actually what kept us sane to navigate through these new, different times. All our exhibitions and commissions got either canceled or postponed. So, we had to figure out other ways to promote our work or apply for new projects. But it turned out that we found a lot of inspiration and ways to communicate with fellow artists or our collectors via Zoom.
Article originally appeared in Issue 13.1 Discover (Print SOLD OUT)
Chris Elliman moved to the US from England in his teens when his father landed an industrial design position at Apple in 1985. Through his creativity, talent, and persuasive persona, he finds himself thoroughly linked to the creative culture and history of the South Bay and Downtown San Jose.
Disregarding high school, Chris landed in the middle of San Jose’s skateboard scene and began hanging out with Corey O’Brien, Steve Caballero, and Ray Stevens II (Faction and Los Olvidados). The latter was one of the first people Chris met when he came to San Jose.
In the early 1990s, Chris found himself working as a decor designer at the now-defunct nightclub One Step Beyond, occasionally DJing with records he had acquired while a display artist at Tower Records on Bascom Avenue in Campbell.
Moving on to Metro Newspapers as a graphic designer, he met Chris Esparza (owner of Naglee Park Garage and Giant Creative). The two of them developed underground parties called the “King of Club,” which they used to co-found the club Ajax (pronounced “Ai-yax”) in 1991. Named after the Dutch football team, the now legendary South First Street club, formerly located above Cafe Stritch, closed in 1995.
Searching for what to do next, Chris nearly headed to Portland, Oregon, but was offered a warehouse space in the American Can building on South 5th and Virginia. He has both subleased it as an artist collective and used it as a studio himself for the last 30 years.
In his studio, lightly littered with a design and visual history of San Jose and framed by shelves of albums, Chris speaks about his paintings. (We’ll save his cycling and graphic work for another time…)
“Life cycle”
I think I have the courage to make many mistakes, which allows me to grow from those mistakes. What I paint is life—my surroundings, what I see, people. I like to think that, in every one of my paintings, I am communicating about culture…I think paintings should say something.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with aesthetically pleasing paintings. Aesthetics is a great thing. It’s got its place. I’m OK with that. Sometimes, I do things that are strictly aesthetic, but I like to think that most of what I do has a social or political charge to it, a psychological charge.
I’m looking at society and what is almost an illness or a psychological situation. I feel like I’m trying to paint a little bit of that into each piece, so there is definitely something behind every piece.
I like to say that most of these paintings—maybe all of these paintings—are like portals.
There’s a flat surface that you see, but what is really taking place is what is behind that surface. There’s a story.
With abstract painting, abstract art, you bring your story to it and it completes the paintings. I feel like everyone has a story and these paintings get completed with their stories.
It’s like truth. Everyone’s got their own truth. Truth’s ever-changing…
“Systematic Deconstruction”
This particular painting is not actually completed. My concept of finishing this painting is when someone purchases it, we’ll go to a target range and we’ll shoot. I’ll allow them the choice. They can shoot holes through it, which would be ideal. That way, they have now become a part of this piece. Or we’ll allow the instructor or whoever it is to do the shooting [laughs] if they don’t feel like doing it.
“America: Stars and Strikes”
The Mickey Mouse and the figures, which were a couple of friends who modeled for me, represent for me…what was behind this is “American Apparel.”
You’ve got two young models, fairly innocent in their attire, which is just underwear, yet provocatively posed.
In America, everyone’s trying to be a celebrity or successful, so there’s a fine line in Hollywood between starting out as an innocent Disney character star and then moving over into pop music or movies. Those who “make it” are the stars. Those who don’t are the strikes.
The innocence is in the Mickey and Minnie Mouse. It represents what is behind this American Apparel. There’s a fine line…that goes down the path of, “I didn’t make it in Hollywood but I became a porn star,” or “I became a sleazy magazine advertising model.”
For me, it’s just a hard hit on Hollywood and the media and what drives people.
“A Visual Discourse in Non-objective Cageian Randomness”
Right now, I have moved on to what is a “Cagean” philosophy, from John Cage, the composer, who was a Buddhist practitioner and who studied “randomness.”
I’ve been exploring John Cage and his thoughts about randomness in a few pieces. He composed music randomly because he felt that was more natural, and I felt like that’s what I was doing. I read this book on John Cage so I could understand him better. I felt like there was a great connection. I was actually doing what he was talking about through some of these pieces. Then I thought I’d explore it a little bit further.
Then the X’s. Yeah, I created the X’s, so they’re all the same size. I cut them out and threw them down, and allowed them to land randomly. There are 27 X’s because I’m very fond of the number three. Those X’s were thrown down randomly, and wherever they land, that is the serendipitous part, the randomness. They just land, and I’m not going to dictate that.
Those colors aren’t my favorite colors. However, I did have those colors. I had at some point chosen those colors. Since I have these pots of paint, I decide to randomly select this bunch of paints and looked at them and said, “OK, I’m going to use those.”
As a designer, I’m fighting it a little bit, thinking to myself, “Oh, I wish I hadn’t had that color.” [laughs] But I’m going to go along with the experiment, exploring, and I’m going to allow that color to stay because that’s what Cage was doing.
“Serendipitous Deconstruction no.2: Pussy Riot”
I had loosely called it “Serendipitous Deconstruction” because I was deconstructing what I was building. Serendipitously finding interesting things in the piece, and allowing what I thought was interesting to remain.
Each time I did something, I allowed the interesting portions to remain, so it was serendipitously deconstructed.
“The World is Flat But It’s an Un-level Playing Field”
This is geographical. It is all the countries of the “round of 16” of the World Cup, placed geographically. Russia, Japan, Korea, Australia, Argentina, Chile, the United States, and Mexico—all connected to the nations they played against. Each game is strung up together.
I changed the colors in the spaces, but all of these shapes were created because of the outcome of the games. I mean, anyone could have won the World Cup, right? Random.
That’s the eye of the artist—you recognize what could potentially become art.
RRedemption Boutique owner Tammy Liu has watched the items we buy become increasingly disposable. While a low-priced tee from your local big box might work as a one-off, she believes, a beautiful garment made by hard-working, passionate hands can become a keepsake to treasure forever.
Liu’s mother was a maker. When she and her husband moved to the US from Taiwan for her husband to attend college, they brought everything she had made with them: clothes, curtains, an entire household. They didn’t have the luxury of discarding their belongings to later replace them; nor could they ever replace what Liu’s mother had lovingly made.
When Liu was two years old, her mother made her a plaid velvet dress with lace tulle lining and a Peter Pan collar. Liu says, “The dress that my mom made me—it made my year.” Over time, Liu became more conscious of the meaning behind the items her mother made—this appreciation for scarcity became the root of her buying mantra.
Inspired by her mother’s craft, Liu’s been determined to work in fashion and open her own store since she was a child. After graduating from Cal Poly with a business degree, she began working in a small Bay Area–based boutique as a sales associate. She was soon managing several stores and ready to break out on her own.
“It had always been a solo mission,” says Liu. But then Liu spent a year in Australia, where she met Dave MacGregor-Scholes. Connected by their mutual love of “thrifting,” they discussed Liu’s ideas for her dream clothing store and expanded the concept into a lifestyle emporium, one that would promote quality over disposability and offer ethically, locally made goods instead of generic products.
Back in the US, Liu had to find the right location to make her and MacGregor-Scholes’s vision a reality. While Liu was considering how much capital would be required to launch a startup given pricey Bay Area rents, the downtown Campbell space practically fell into her lap: 1000 square feet of shop space in a prime location on Campbell Avenue.
Liu’s customers endorse her ideals and support local, handmade goods. Says Liu, “The majority of my customers are just like me: 30-somethings who want to feel good about their purchases.”
Documentaries about poor working conditions in clothing factories inspired Liu to research production methods. Wanting to reach artists who could produce merchandise for her space, she started looking for creative craftspeople in California. “I wanted to design a collective space that showcases the talent all around us,” says Liu.
Liu made it her mission to personally meet every artisan and visit his or her workshop. By being selective, she hoped to find people who shared her passion for quality.
When she finally opened in May 2015, she had 40 vendors—now the total is closer to 60. Many of these artists donate a portion of their proceeds back to the community.
All of the bath and body products are fair trade; the display fixtures in the shop were made from reclaimed wood. The unfinished edges and stark geometric shapes echo the simple message of finding value in all kinds of materials.
During her thrift adventures in Australia, Liu developed an eye for good recycled clothing, too. “I don’t shop in department stores,” she says, “because I don’t want what everyone else has.” Her store features a section for recycled clothing that she’s sourced from antiques and estate sales. The racks are filled with men’s and women’s lines that are manufactured in California, using local materials and fabrics.
The positive response she has received from the community so far reinforces why she opened the shop. One customer emailed to praise her excellent sales associate. Liu laughed about this as she’s the only employee, working seven days a week.
The longer the shop has been open, the less research she has had to do. Customers bring in products and vendors. While Liu would like to take some time off occasionally to take her dogs to the beach or catch up on laundry, running Redemption has never felt like work.
“This is the happiest I have ever been,” Liu says. “I am exactly where I wanted to be.”
Growing up in the Bay Area, newspaper readers got to know Herb Caen and Leigh Weimers over their morning cup of coffee. That’s how it was. Regular columnists became old friends or the source of a good argument. Relative newcomer Sal Pizarro is only forty years old and just six years into the job, compared to Weimers’ forty year tenure. Pizarro is still finding his voice, both in print and through new forms of social media. Published six days a week, his Around Town column for the Mercury News is witty but never opinionated. When will he bring on the funny or unleash the grumpy old guy in the corner?
“I have been doing the column for six years, but I don’t feel like I have earned the right to be that crotchety yet,” asserts Pizarro. “It is being encouraged at the paper for me to insert more of my own voice into the column. I didn’t want it to be that suddenly you’re going from Leigh to this guy, and we don’t know who he is. I feel more comfortable making comments about what I perceive going on in the city. Taking what people tell me and sort of throwing it through my head and saying, ‘Here’s the word on the street.’”
So how will Pizarro make the column his own? Could he become a gossip columnist? He answers, “That’s so funny. I ask people who say they wish my column had more gossip in it, ‘What do you think is gossip? Do you want to know who’s dating who?’ Because no one really cares. It’s just not that kind of community.” Just by talking to so many people, Pizarro knows the local community well. “People are very comfortable telling me things because they’re pretty sure I’m not going to print it. And that’s something Leigh taught me: always know more than you write. So I sometimes know things that I really can’t write.”
But he still comes across as someone with a genuine desire to get positive news out there again. “My goals are to be entertaining and informative, and a lot of times that translates into being the person who writes about the good things. I happen to love that idea because I’ll say, ‘If I don’t write about this, no one else is going to.’ A missing girl in Morgan Hill is going to trump a lot of things I write about. It’s going to take up three reporters that aren’t going to be able to cover the Boy Scouts Character Awards. So I like doing that.”
He also likes being a stay-at-home dad with an 8-month-old son and a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Pizarro does diapers and daycare from 7am until 3pm when his wife comes home from work as Public Relations Director for Presentation High School. They chat together and do a little download of the day’s events before he sets off for his job, which he will work at until late. His parents chip in and watch the children two mornings a week, which frees him up for the occasional morning interview or charity luncheon. Most of his writing is done at night in his converted office in the garage. His daily deadline is noon, so he can edit and read through his column the following morning during naps. “Not mine,” he quips.
The social butterfly lifestyle is not so easy when combined with caring for children all day. “Some days it’s really exhausting. I can be with the kids for basically nine hours, and then I’ve got to go to an event. But, on the plus side, after nine hours with really small kids, it’s nice to be able to talk to adults and have a glass of wine,” Pizarro says with a grin. “I get to spend a lot of time with my kids, so any time I think about complaining about my job and my hours, I just think: I get to spend all day with my kids and how many guys do I know who get to do that that aren’t collecting unemployment checks?”
When Pizarro gets dolled up for a Saturday night event, his daughter Mia often asks him if he is going to a wedding. “I don’t know where she picked that up. No,” he says. “Daddy’s going to work. I feel especially guilty because before we had kids, my wife used to go to a lot of these things with me, and it was great fun, and now we pick our spots carefully. It’s partly her choice, too, because she says if we’re going to use up a babysitting chip, then she doesn’t want to be going to work. Let’s go to a movie or dinner.”
While he relishes the flexibility of his job, Pizarro also misses the structure of his thirteen years working as an editor at the Merc—starting work at 4pm and clocking out by midnight. Many of those years were spent as Leigh Weimers’ direct editor. “Those years really prepared me. I’ve learned how [Leigh] took something and made it briefer. That’s the challenge of writing in this space. I have about 450 words a day. I try to fit as much as I can in. I will spend a lot of time trimming things down, and sometimes an entire item will go away because it’s sort of like doing surgery: once you’ve had to cut off both legs and both arms, what do you have left?”
Some of what Pizarro writes about comes directly from real people who call or e-mail and say, “I know about this thing that happened. It’s kind of a funny story. Chances are, if I’ve got room, I’ll get it in.”
A big chunk of his work concerns deciding which event to attend. His record is four in one night. “I don’t recommend that. It was crazy—downtown San Jose, Palo Alto, Mountain View. Driving all over the place and then stopping in at an event for an hour, and then moving on to the next thing. Politicians do that all the time, but it’s a little easier for them because all they have to do is shake a few hands, and then they can leave.”
Unfortunately, Pizarro has no entourage driving him around or sorting his mail. “If I had dreams, it would be to have an assistant of some sort. I always read about how Herb Caen had somebody going through his mail, taking his calls. Having the same general type of column, people make that assumption. Clearly you must have a staff. No, I don’t.”
Driving around is not so difficult because he knows the area like the back of his hand—Pizarro grew up in San Jose. “Being downtown in San Jose in the 1970s was, well…dangerous is a kind word. One of the reasons I transferred from San Jose State to Santa Barbara was because downtown San Jose wasn’t really there yet. The Jazz Festival, Cinequest, and Music in the Park all started in the ’90s because there was nothing to do. Now it’s changed with Sofa District getting going, cool places to eat. Eventually, San Jose grew on me to the point that I did not want to leave.”
But the future is uncertain for Pizarro—at least in print. Pointing at the paper, he says, “I think you will be surprised if we have that ten years from now. If you had said that to me when I started in 2005, I would have laughed and laughed and laughed, but now it is where we are. We have a point where we need to figure out how to make money digitally. It’s not just online ads; it’s a whole host of possibilities which aren’t just print advertising. That’s the joke. If Fry’s or Macy’s goes out of business, we’re in a lot of trouble.”
Pizarro’s tenure began during the recession, and he admits, “It’s strange thinking that I’ve only really done this job during hard times. I’d be really interested to see what things are like when the economy is up because it makes people a lot happier. I can’t imagine how many times I have written ‘despite the current economic woes.’ I might as well have that saved on a copy-and-paste.”
Many of the colleagues Pizarro began working with twenty years ago at the Merc are gone. “When I started writing this column, we had an art writer…a philanthropy writer, a dance writer. We had more education and theatre writers, and all those positions have gone away. And so everything eventually found its way to me. The reason I am saying this is because during all these bad times, these agencies need more help, and I am trying to get the word out. When things get good again—and I am counting on that they will—the agencies won’t need me as much. Wow, I am going to have some space to fill.”
But Pizarro has a new audience, and it is online. Social media allows him to express himself more freely, without space limitations. He can even crack jokes. “Twitter and Facebook are interesting,” agrees Pizarro. “This is maybe where eventually the crotchety old man will come out one day, but I still feel like it’s better for me to get in someone’s event or an extra few names than to make some joke that I’d have no problem making on Twitter or Facebook.”
Take last Friday night, for instance. Pizarro was covering a fundraising gala. “I was one of the few guys wearing a tie because it was all venture capitalists and they are all in shirts and sport coats looking hip. That’s what I was tweeting about. ‘Man, I am the only one wearing a tie.’ Or ‘MC Hammer’s here.’ So I am tweeting all these things, but none of that got into my column because that’s not about their organization—it’s just me making funny asides. I hope at some point we have someone covering their event and writing a story about what they do, and then I don’t have to carry that weight, and I can say okay, here’s what was fun about that. They had the most crazy expensive scotch I’ve ever seen at an event. They made fun of Jack Dorsey for wearing jeans by pointing out that Reed Hoffman from LinkedIn didn’t.”
“I don’t miss writing about gossip that much, but who knows, if I do this job for another twenty years, I may have a lot more bile,” says Pizarro. “I may just start writing about all these youngsters who are who knows doing what…I can’t imagine what this place is going to be like twenty years from now.” With any luck, he will be a little more crotchety but still bringing his positive message to a new generation of readers in San Jose and beyond.
Article originally appeared in Issue 4.2 Vacation (Print SOLD OUT)
Lacey Bryant’s curiously innocent demeanor, cloaked in an army jacket and paint-spotted boots, does not convey the depth of her talent or the grandeur of her paintings. San Jose is privileged to have Lacey and her work so accessible. For art enthusiasts, she is someone not only to watch but also to get to know.
Your work has been described as “cute and creepy.” How did that style come about? I guess I like the contrast. I think things are more interesting when there is a duality to them. If it is just one or the other, I would be done thinking about it pretty quickly. I like that kind of tension between things. I am not necessarily trying to make things hyper-cute. I like drawing things that are pretty, but at the same time, that’s so boring to me. The “weird” is always something that I have been interested in, and it took a while for that to come out in my work because I thought, “Oh, no one wants to see that.” But since I have been putting out more of the things that I think are great and weird and cool and I don’t care, people have actually really responded to it.
Your painting includes innocent characters and then things like birds flying out of their faces or berries that resemble blood. What’s your creative process in doing that? Oh, dang, that’s a hard one. A lot of them are just images that sort of pop into my head at random. I use a lot of imagery over and over again—things that I think are interesting or kind of symbolic of many things at the same time. It makes it more interesting, I think. The more things something can mean, the more interpretations the painting can have, and the more people are going to think, “Oh, that’s me.” So I like birds a lot; I like fruit a lot. Fruit is so cool. It means so many things to me, but when you combine these things in certain ways, they just become so much more interesting.
How intentional are you in that? Are you trying to say that you want the contrast, or do you think, “I enjoy this”? Where does that little nugget of inspiration come from? Or is it art school? Haha, no, it’s not that. It kind of evolved naturally with things that I like, but at the same time trying to make paintings that say a little bit about life and emotion. My paintings are very emotional. A lot of times, it’s just about a feeling of expressing some sort of longing or mourning and changing or shifting, just different feelings. A lot of things are hard to put into words. I try to put them into pictures instead. People can see the picture and get the words for themselves.
So the images communicate more of the emotion but not necessarily a story. Yeah, but they feel like a story to me in a way. You can look at them and wonder what just happened, what’s about to happen, what’s going on in this image. You have all you need to say, “Okay, I could leap from this to this.” It’s more interesting and reaches more people if they can bring their own context into it.
So when you come to a painting, you’ve got your canvas, and you’ve got your paints, and you’re sitting down…do you have a story that you are coming into it with, or is it more like how different artists talk about how the canvas brings it out? How do you come to that? I usually spend a lot of time in my sketchbook. I draw a lot of little tiny drawings. I will fill a page with just a whole bunch of things, and I’ll have an idea. Right now, for instance, I am interested in things with two figures. I’m interested in their relationships and how they are interacting; a lot of them end up looking like two of the same person. I’m not sure if they are twins or if they are just different aspects of the same person or if it’s all in their heads. I guess I usually don’t really know what’s going on because I don’t want to pin it down. But I’ll draw a whole page of something and pick out the ones that I think would be really interesting to take further. And with paintings, too, a lot of the time, I’ll make a small painting, and it will really work, so I’ll make it bigger so I can get more into it.
So you go down a path of noticing that something is interesting and then go on from there. I definitely notice things a lot. I go hiking once a week with a couple of friends, and I’m always out there taking pictures. I have a huge fascination with crawling things like little bugs, so they make it into my work a lot.
Do you think in your paintings it is just a curiosity that you have or a fascination or a longing/searching…or all the above? Yeah, it kind of goes back to the whole contrast thing because there are so many bad things that happen. The world has so much horribleness in it that we focus on that a lot. But if you get down to these tiny little crawling things, you get this sense of awe like, “Oh my God, there are these little teeny tiny things that survive somehow and are really magical.” And even things that are often thought of as ugly—for instance, cockroaches—I think they are fascinating. I think spiders are really cool. People think that’s the creepy stuff, and I think it’s really cool. There is this whole other side of things.
I love that about your work. It is full of emotion and tugs on so many different levels. There is such playfulness. Do you find yourself returning to some of those figures out of security, habit, or a desire to grow in that area? Usually it’s about taking an idea as far as I can take it. Then once it gets a little stale, I will move away from it. If I really like a painting, I will want to do it again but in a slightly different way to see if it still works. A lot of times I will repeat it on a larger scale so I can get more detail. A lot of ideas that I had and did in a simpler style, I want to bring back and try with a better background. You can change the mood so much with just changing the setting behind someone.
I have actually been doing the people in my paintings a lot older lately. I did the kid thing for a while and now am more interested in a slightly older mentality. The commission piece I am working on now was actually a guy who came in and saw a bunch of my paintings and said he would really love me to paint him as a kid, so he brought in a picture of himself as a kid. Most of the time when I paint people, I don’t have a model. I usually just make them up, and, for the most part, I can kind of fake a face, but they all end up looking like me a little. So I have been trying to explore other faces. I have actually been bothering people that I meet and asking them if I can get a picture of them.
You are exploring. What are you proud of recently? And then what do you want to explore more? I am not sure. Adding background and adding space, paying attention to the whole picture and not just the subject, has been a big step for me. It’s really something that I think has made my work more interesting to me and hopefully to others. I am using more actual people. A lot of the times when you are making people up, you still have to go to the mirror and see “how does the elbow bend like this?” and see how things actually work. To some degree, I like a bit of distortion in my images. So if you go and measure them, they are not quite right. But I like for things to be a little off sometimes. It’s interesting to me, and it gives it a bit of character when you let things be more exaggerated. But I am starting to move in the direction of using actual people. It’s kind of hard for me because I’m not super outgoing about going up to people and saying, “Hey, can I take pictures of you?” But I am getting to where I am doing it just to bring in more faces and more people.
I want to keep going in that direction right now. I am really interested in pushing the humanity of my characters a little bit so that they feel even more real. Not necessarily “real” as in realistically painted, but just real emotions.
