Courtesy the Artist
Albuquerque artist Vicente Telles has been making waves in recent years with his contemporary take on Spanish arts traditions. From retablos and santos to paintings, political statements and even collaborations with perennial SFR favorite Brandon Maldonado, Telles seems to be hitting a peak point of creation, statement and, frankly, skill. Telles both curated and will show at the upcoming exhibit Son de Aqui, Son de Aca (5 pm Friday, Sept. 2. Free. Hecho Gallery 129 W Palace Ave., (505) 455-6882) alongside new works from artists Sabina Zarco, Augustine Romero, Frank Zamora, Lorena Salaz and others. We’ve been following Telles for years and simply had to learn more about what he’s been working on, what he’s hoping to say and how curating and exhibiting in one new show comes together.
What can you tell us about why you selected these artists?
I think it’s quality of work, the message that they’re saying—and that I’ve never seen them in a gallery in Santa Fe or in Albuquerque. I’ve never seen them outside of institutions. And it happened kind of organically, I think. A couple of the artists I grew up with, but before...I created art, they’ve always been doing it. They’ve done really good things, so then when I started doing my art, I also noticed that, until recently, some of these artists haven’t been exhibiting in New Mexico. This is a perfect opportunity to bring these people together. The idea of the institutions...they serve their purpose, right? But bringing these people together in a gallery, I feel, is a part of giving back to the community and recognizing those I think are amazing artists.
You think about why you don’t know these names, you think about the quality of work they do, and that’s the exact reason this kind of show needs to happen; there isn’t a lot of familiarity with these artists, and it’s an awesome opportunity for the them to create a dialogue [with galleries], to maybe get some more attention for the work that they’re doing.
You’ve been known to be political in your work—for example, pieces from a few years ago that featured gallon bottles of water, like the kind that get left in the deserts for immigrants—though, I think, there’s an argument for all art being political in some way. With that in mind, what’s up with your new stuff?
It’s political as well, and more personal. The idea of the piñata head, for example, is the idea of being Nuevo Mexicano/Mexicano/ Latino in this country: We’re always taking a beating for whatever, right? On an even more personal level, the idea of me wanting to be a professional artist or just any kind of artist, and then taking the hits like, ‘Why do you want to do that? Don’t you want a real job?’ The idea of constantly being bashed by all these negative ideas, stereotypes; taking the brunt of it and still saying this is what I’m gonna do.
You know how Mexicanos are treated. They’re OK, but as soon as something goes wrong, we become the scapegoat, somebody to bash. The little pigeon on my shoulder is my idea of how people view these living beings. I’m using the pigeon as a stand-in for the idea that there’s this creature that’s in every city in the country, that performs a function, but it’s not valued. It’s omni-present; it’s never valued. It’s still political, but it’s also about how I wrap these personal feelings with the general mood at the time I was painting. How do I create something that’s a self-portrait, but that people can see themselves in?
How did you find intersection of curation and showing your own work? Have you learned anything you’ll take with you moving forward, either as an artist or curator?
I think it kind of happened from visiting these different cities and seeing the idea of Brown creatives and contemporary art-makers, and then coming back home and not seeing that here. A few things have opened up for me since the pandemic—a show about La Milenche, becoming a part of the permanent collection at the National Hispanic Cultural Center. I feel like I have eyes looking at me, now let me bring into the fold the people I surround myself with who have a certain level of creativity, quality and craftsmanship, but who I don’t think are getting that same shine.
It’s like, you had Nirvana, and then you had the grunge scene. If you didn’t have the larger scene, would we have had more of it? Nirvana was the powerhouse, but they weren’t the scene. If you don’t create a scene, why do you think you’ll bark loud enough for people to hear? You need a bunch of badass people creating. You need a bunch of little barks. It’s at the point where I started thinking a lot about it. Artists are already getting written out, and it’s only going to get worse, but I think, why take a backseat and hope somebody is going to do this for us rather than just trying to do it. Even if you fail, you’re working toward something.
