Moving between clichés and stereotypes, it would be easy to not glance twice at the site-responsive work that Justin Favela is currently showing at the Contemporary Art Museum in St. Louis. In the heart of the city, in the middle of the country, fastly secured on the map of the Mother Road, we are faced with a giant wall full of colorful post-it look-alikes. Ruta Madre (9/8/2023-2/11/2024) prompts us to interrogate our relationship with a different side of American culture. “Ruta Madre” is a play on words: in translation, it gives the common nickname of Route 66; it sends us looking Gipsy Rose up – the ur-lowrider, iconically painted by Jesse Valdez in East LA (1964); it makes us exclaim, in wonder, “Puta Madre!”, positively/negatively, with our fellow Chicanix citizens (from the Gallery Guide). Favela, with Mexican and Guatemalan roots, plays with more than words in this spicy showing with a side of piñata. He aims to warm up the has-been glory of the Gateway to the West. He tacitly references the 2019 movie of the same title, in which the main character, a broken-hearted American singer takes a self-discovery road trip to Baja, to find his roots and reconnect with his Mexican side of the family.
St. Louis has seen better days: this is a city with a rich history, known for its role in westward expansion, and for its architectural heritage. The desiccated urban landscape is attempting to spruce itself up: there are three universities here; musical culture is still here; the Pulitzer Foundation, the Contemporary Art Museum, and the rest compete in their showings, if not grandeur, with some of the world-famous galleries in New York or Los Angeles. St. Louis barbeque, followed by ice cream cocktails, washed with whiskey flights are all part of the industrially hip experience. And yet… St. Louisian culture is exclusionary: what you usually hear is that it’s a place full of danger, steeped in the nefarious aura of the ghetto. Favela goes to the heart of the problem and actively works at changing our racist perception of reality. His art is political; it is weighty; it brings into sharp, concrete view, the ephemeral quality of the mixed media that he uses. Change is possible, even though it comes slower than many of us would like. As Favela says, “As a queer person of color working in the United States, I believe that expressing joy, making art accessible, and taking up space can be a political act” (from the Gallery Guide). He “paints” with piñata, in a signature technique that requires painstaking attention to detail.
In Ruta Madre, thousands of hand-cut pieces of tissue paper arrange themselves in the image of a giant purple low-rider, whose original color is run over with “stickers” – abstract symbols and road signs from Route 66. Low-riders have their roots in Chicano and Mexican-American community, where they emerged as a form of self-expression and cultural identity. These cars are the embodiment of customization, characterized by lowered suspension and often intricate paint jobs and decorations. Favela’s bidimensional piñata low-rider comes to life against a rainbow background. The effect is one of getting a bubble bath for our eyes. We become absorbed in the immersion; we can almost hear the triumphant roar of the ‘64 Chevy Impala.
What is more American than a Chevy? What is more exciting than breaking a piñata and running around looking for treats in the wreckage? Favela’s work warns us to not take everything at face value. He is concerned with shallow interpretations that gloss over the discriminatory dynamics that shaped American culture over time. Notions of colonization and cultural appropriation are at the forefront of current discussion regarding the very role of art museums throughout the Western world (interested readers could find out more about a case that made the news, here: https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/09/world/canada/canada-art-museums-colonialism.html). Historically, museums constituted themselves as institutions that would steal, borrow, or indiscriminately use elements from a particular culture, often a marginalized or minoritized one. Favela belongs to several such minoritized communities and, as such, he attempts to repair the injustice by placing the blown-up image of an iconic car in the unfamiliar context of an art museum. He, thus, invites his visitors to reconsider their understanding of American history and culture. His work plays with our unfiltered reactions: people may have mixed feelings concerning American car culture. Favela consciously caters to them, by adding depth to the seemingly mundane; taking up something that is still seen as “low-brow” entertainment and changing it into “high art”.
His work highlights the arbitrariness, and often silliness, of clinging to rigid notions of defining art and culture. Favela wants to emphasize that low-riders and piñatas are manifestations of the mosaic of different traditions and influences that constitute contemporary American culture. Above all, Favela’s art expresses the pure joy of belonging, of partying with our friends, participating in art, Chicanix culture, and in the dismantling of some of the stereotypes that keep us apart and estranged. To fully achieve this, the artist, together with members of his family, host the Family Fiesta, thus activating the mural in an offering of food, music, games and real piñatas. This completely takes down the “fourth wall” that sometimes exist between the art world and the general public. Favela’s art bridges this gap, by instigating viewers to become participants and to engage with art on a more personal level.