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Michelle Browder’s “The Mothers of Gynecology” remembers Black women who endured surgeries without anesthesia, or consent.

The Latinx Research Center's Revista N'oj hosted a round table discussion on Decolonial Aesthetics titled, "Decolonizing Art & Praxis in the Time of Covid-19." The talk included Jesus Barraza, Dr. Guisela Latorre, Dr. Mauricio Barros de Castro, and Dr. Laura E. Pérez. The panel was moderated by Revista N'oj editor, Abraham Ramirez.

Ce travail vise à montrer deux choses. La première, c’est de saisir toute l’importance du tournant postcolonial/afro-décolonial dans la construction d’une contre-épistémologie propre au sujet culturel colonisé africain. En d’autres termes, pour le sujet colonisé, cette contre-épistémologie sert à décoloniser les imaginaires, à partir d’un questionnement de la colonialité de l’épistémologie et du savoir donnés pour universels par l’occident. La deuxième chose, c’est que ̶ à quelques mois de la commémoration du centenaire de la naissance du prolixe et polygraphe auteur africain-colombien Manuel Zapata Olivella (1920-2004) ̶ cet article puisse le situer à sa juste place. Celle d’un sujet culturel colonisé africain des Amériques dont l’abondante production culturelle et la pensée, portées et révolutionnées par le concept de Muntu africain, participent de la décolonisation des imaginaires et de l’épistémologie

Pairing Dominican-born artist Firelei Báez with Kenyan-born artist Wangechi Mutu, this article meditates on relational black and brown aesthetic strategies by reading femme gestures performatively across individual works, as well as the exhibition spaces within which the artists draft practices of informed and resistant engagement. Working with both theories of brownness that emerge from Latinx studies as well as scholarship of the black radical tradition, the author follows a sense of shared aesthetic gestures in Báez and Mutu’s work toward an indictment of pervasive Global North racial epistemologies. Focusing on the performative gesture as the basis for relation, this article ultimately hones in on the chimeric figures—amalgamations of flora and fauna—that both artists deploy, arguing that these present a model for imagining an otherwise arrangement of the social.R Poniendo en diálogo a Firelei Báez, una artista nacida en República Dominicana, con Wangechi Mutu, que nació en Kenia, este artículo invita a una meditación sobre las estrategias estéticas relacionales negras y morenas mediante una lectura en clave performativa de gestos femeninos en obras individuales y en aquellos espacios de exposición en que las artistas elaboran prácticas de participación política informada y de resistencia. Trabajando tanto con las teorías de lo moreno (brownness) que emergen de los estudios Latinx como con el trabajo académico de la tradición radical negra, la autora rastrea gestos estéticos presentes tanto en el trabajo de Báez como en el de Mutu para denunciar las omnipresentes epistemologías raciales del norte global. Centrándose en el gesto performativo como la base de la relación, este artículo se enfoca en última instancia en las figuras quiméricas – amalgamaciones de flora y fauna – que ambas artistas despliegan en su trabajo para sostener que estas presentan un modelo para imaginar otra manera de organizar lo social.

As a teenager during my first internship at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, a diversity initiative for inner-city youth, the education curator enthusiastically asked, “Who here would like to be an art historian!?” Like all the other Black and Brown inner-city kids, I laughed inside. My response was not due to a lack of art appreciation; I grew up in a family of refugees who were all self-taught artists back home in El Salvador, who taught me to draw before I learned to read. Nor was my response rooted in apathy for creative expression, for I was involved in art and theater from my elementary through my high school years. Art was such a natural part of my life that the idea of studying it seemed wasteful to me. The truth was, the internship was one of two jobs I was working to financially help my family and pay for my first year of community college. Hidden even deeper, though, I believed the museum world was not my world. I was a guanaca (the appellative given to people from El Salvador) whose family fled war and remained invisible in mainstream US Latinx history and culture. I was also from the hood—in my case Compton, California, a city made notorious by gangsta rap and police brutality. I believed that people like me guarded the art on the museum walls, cleaned the floors and bathrooms for visitors, and served the food at the high-priced café. People who looked like me, who came from where I did, did not determine what art could be, nor could we afford to buy it. We certainly did not write the history of art, for if we had, we would see ourselves represented on the walls.

When E. Carmen Ramos organized Our America: The Latino Presence in American Art (2013) at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington, DC, art holdings of Latinx artists at the institution were minimal and unbalanced. The museum lacked works by foundational figures; entire groups like Dominican Americans were missing, as were genres like abstract art; and with a collection dominated by colonial and folk art and work by Mexican Americans, it was impossible to produce any comprehensive exhibition of contemporary Latinx art, much less one that represented the diversity of artists and trends. Ramos was one of the few Latinx curators hired in the aftermath of the infamous 1994 “Willful Neglect” report documenting a historical pattern of discrimination at the Smithsonian Institute and calling for the hiring of Latinx curators to help direct the Smithsonian’s priorities in research, collections, and exhibitions.1 Twenty-five years later, this pattern of exclusion continues apace. In 2018, a study by UCLA’s Chicano Studies Research Center found that while the Smithsonian’s Latinx workforce grew from 2.5 percent to 10.1 percent, this growth falls short of representing the growth of the Latinx population, which since 1994 has doubled to 17.8 percent of the total population. In sum, the task of putting a dent in a mostly white canonical art history and collection was a daunting one, and whatever Ramos did would be a politically charged intervention. This would be the first major scholarly survey exhibition of Latinx art, a statement to insert it as central to US art history, and the first major show of its type in a major North American museum in decades.

Stemming from Grosfoguel’s decolonial discourse, and particularly his enquiry on how to steer away from the alternative between Eurocentric universalism and third world fundamentalism in the production of knowledge, this article aims to respond to this query in relation to the field of the art produced by Latin American women artists in the past four decades. It does so by investigating the decolonial approach advanced by third world feminism (particularly scholar Chandra Talpade Mohanty) and by rescuing it from—what I reckon to be—a methodological impasse. It proposes to resolve such an issue by reclaiming transnational feminism as a way out from what I see as a fundamentalist and essentialist tactic. Following from a theoretically and methodological introduction, this essay analyzes the practice of Cuban-born artist Marta María Pérez Bravo, specifically looking at the photographic series Para Concebir (1985–1986); it proposes a decolonial reading of her work, which merges third world feminism’s nation-based approach with a transnational outlook, hence giving justice to the migration of goods, ideas, and people that Ella Shohat sees as deeply characterizing the contemporary cultural background. Finally, this article claims that Pérez Bravo’s oeuvre offers the visual articulation of a decolonial strategy, concurrently combining global with local concerns.

There was no meaningful attempt to counter the black aesthetic with conceptual criteria for creating and evaluating art which would simultaneously acknowledge its ideological content even as it allowed for expansive notions of artistic freedom. To re-open the creative space that much of the black aesthetic movement closed down, it seems vital for those involved in contemporary black arts to engage in a revitalized discussion of aesthetics. In part, a radical aesthetic acknowledges that the people are constantly changing positions, locations, that their needs and concerns vary, that these diverse directions must correspond with shifts in critical thinking. Innovative African-American artists have rarely documented their process, their critical thinking on the subject of aesthetics. Certainly many of the revolutionary, visionary critical perspectives on music that were inherent to John Coltrane’s oppositional aesthetics and his cultural production will never be shared because they were not fully documented.

Searching the critical work of post-colonial critics, the author found much writing that bespeaks the continued fascination with the way white minds, particularly the colonial imperialist traveler, perceive blackness, and very little expressed interest in representations of whiteness in the black imagination. Some white people may even imagine there is no representation of whiteness in the black imagination, especially one that is based on concrete observation or mythic conjecture. Stereotypes black folks maintain about white folks are not the only representations of whiteness in the black imagination. Yet it is this representation of whiteness in the black imagination, first learned in the narrow confines of poor black rural community, that is sustained by the author travels to many different locations. Theorizing diverse journeying is crucial to the people understanding of any politics of location.

In the 1960s, topless entertainment became legal in San Francisco, although cross-dressing continued to be criminalized. This article documents queer Latina/x visual and performance cultures of San Francisco’s strip club industry during this critical moment. It employs visual and performance analyses that draw from ethnographic interviews and archival research about three Latinas who performed as exotic dancers during this period, two of whom were out transsexuals: Roxanne Lorraine Alegria, Vicki Starr, and Lola Raquel. Engaging Marcia Ochoa’s notion of “spectacular femininities” and Juana María Rodríguez’s theory of “queer gesture,” the article maps out a queer Latina/x herstoriography about the early days of topless entertainment in San Francisco. It demonstrates how the transgressive practices of these Latina performers enrich genealogies of queer and Latina/x performance and visual cultures since the 1960s. It thus contributes to the expansion and intersection of the fields of performance studies, Latina/x studies, and feminist, gender, and sexuality studies. These fields and their intertwinings offer critical tools to resist the sexism, homophobia, racism, transphobia, and whorephobia that pervade every level of society, as well as the cultural amnesia to which San Francisco has been increasingly prone due to its incessant gentrification and growing technocracy since the early 2010s.RESUMEN Este artículo documenta las culturas visuales y de performance latinas/x queer de los clubes de striptease de San Francisco durante un momento crítico en la historia de la ciudad. En la década de 1960, los shows en topless se legalizaron en San Francisco, aunque el travestismo se continuó criminalizando. Otálvaro-Hormillosa emplea análisis visuales y de performance que se basan en entrevistas etnográficas e investigación de archivo sobre tres latinas que actuaron como bailarinas exóticas durante este período, dos de las cuales reconocían públicamente que eran transexuales: Roxanne Lorraine Alegria, Vicki Starr y Lola Raquel. En diálogo con la noción de “feminidades espectaculares” de Marcia Ochoa y la teoría de “gestos queer” de Juana María Rodríguez, Otálvaro-Hormillosa describe una historiografía latina/x queer propiamente femenina sobre los primeros días del entretenimiento en topless en San Francisco. El artículo demuestra cómo las prácticas transgresoras de estas intérpretes latinas enriquecen las genealogías de las culturas visuales y de performance queer y latinas/x desde los años sesenta. Al hacerlo, contribuye a la expansión e intersección de los campos de los estudios de performance, estudios latinas/x, y estudios feministas, de género y de sexualidad. Estos campos y sus entrecruzamientos pueden ofrecer herramientas críticas para resistir el sexismo, la homofobia, el racismo, la transfobia y la putafobia que permea todos los niveles de la sociedad, así como la amnesia cultural a la que San Francisco ha sido cada vez más propenso debido a su incesante gentrificación y creciente tecnocracia desde principios de los años 2010.RESUMO Este artigo documenta a cultura visual e de performance na indústria de clubes de strip-tease de São Francisco, durante um momento crítico da história da cidade. Nos anos 60, o entretenimento topless se tornou legal em São Francisco, embora a prática do cross-dressing continuasse criminalizada. Otálvaro-Hormillosa emprega análise visual e de performance baseadas em entrevistas etnográficas e pesquisas de arquivos sobre três latinas que se apresentaram como dançarinas exóticas durante esse período, duas das quais eram transexuais: Roxanne Lorraine Alegria, Vicki Starr e Lola Raquel. Engajando a noção de “feminilidades espetaculares” de Marcia Ochoa e a teoria do “gesto queer” de Juana María Rodríguez, Otálvaro-Hormillosa mapeia uma herstoriografia queer latina/x sobre os sobre os primórdios do entretenimento topless em São Francisco. O artigo demonstra como as práticas transgressivas dessas artistas latinas enriquecem as genealogias das culturas visual e de performance queer e latina/x desde os anos 1960. Deste modo, contribui para a expansão e intersecção dos campos de estudos da performance, estudos latinos e estudos feministas, de gênero e sexualidade. Esses campos e seus entrelaçamentos podem oferecer ferramentas críticas para resistir ao sexismo, homofobia, racismo, transfobia e putafobia que permeiam todos os níveis da sociedade, bem como a amnésia cultural para a qual San Francisco tem sido cada vez mais propensa devido à sua gentrificação incessante e crescente tecnocracia desde o início dos anos 2010.

In 'Eros Ideologies' Laura E. Perez explores the decolonial through Western and non-Western thought concerning personal and social well-being. Drawing upon Jungian, people-of-color, and spiritual psychology alongside non-Western spiritual philosophies of the interdependence of all life-forms, she writes of the decolonial as an ongoing project rooted in love as an ideology to frame respectful coexistence of social and cultural diversity. In readings of art that includes self-portraits by Frida Kahlo, Ana Mendieta, and Yreina D. Cervantez, the drawings and paintings of Chilean American artist Liliana Wilson, and Favianna Rodriguez's screen-printed images, Perez identifies art as one of the most valuable laboratories for creating, imagining, and experiencing new forms of decolonial thought. Such art expresses what Perez calls eros ideologies: understandings of social and natural reality that foreground the centrality of respect and care of self and others as the basis for a more democratic and responsible present and future. Employing a range of writing styles and voices-from the poetic to the scholarly-Perez shows how art can point to more just and loving ways of being.

À la suite d’une série d’évènements historiques de grande relevance sociopolitique, les années 1990 ont connu une montée d'initiatives menées par les artistes autochtones nord-américains visant à une récupération et une divulgation de leur l’héritage culturel, et, de ce fait, à une revendication de leur visibilité dans le panorama international. De cette résurgence, l’artiste multimédial autochtone canadien, Kent Monkman, constitue l’une des voix plus actives et plus emblématiques. En créant un dialogue épistémologique entre les études postcoloniales et l’art autochtone, cet article interrogera l’œuvre de Kent Monkman au prisme d’une notion dont sera proposée une définition, à savoir le « Painting Back ».

Bringing Latin American popular art out of the margins and into the center of serious scholarship, this book rethinks the cultural canon and recovers previously undervalued cultural forms as art. Juan Ramos uses "decolonial aesthetics," a theory that frees the idea of art from Eurocentric forms of expression and philosophies of the beautiful, to examine the long decade of the 1960s in Latin America--a time of cultural production that has not been studied extensively from a decolonial perspective. Ramos looks at examples of "antipoetry," unconventional verse that challenges canonical poets and often addresses urgent social concerns. He analyzes the militant popular songs of nueva canción by musicians such as Mercedes Sosa and Violeta Parra. He discusses films that use visually shocking images and melodramatic effects to tell the stories of Latin American nations. He asserts that these different art forms should not be studied in isolation but rather brought together as a network of contributions to decolonial art. These art forms, he argues, appeal to an aesthetic that involves all the senses. Instead of being outdated byproducts of their historical moments, they continue to influence Latin American cultural production today.

The development of Global Renaissance art history has had an undeniable impact on the field of colonial Latin American art. Some of the earliest manifestations of this disciplinary partnership can be found in exhibitions, monographs, articles, and edited volumes produced around the quincentennial of Christopher Columbus’s 1492 voyage. Exhibitions such as Circa 1492 at the National Gallery and a wave of scholarly publications addressed the cataclysmic impact of the European invasion and subsequent colonization of the Americas at an epistemological, linguistic, political, biological, and aesthetic level. The year 1992 precipitated an outpouring of critical reflection on the history of colonialism in the Western hemisphere and its enduring legacies both within Latin America and its diasporic communities.