I am a bit biased when it comes to self-portraiture because it is one of my favorite themes among artists and exhibitions. What I enjoy most about self-portraiture is that it involves deeper thinking and that artists who paint their own portraits open themselves up to larger themes of society and humanity. I can see eyes and noses — or no recognizable human features — and can still interpret feelings and conversations that may be hard to communicate. Similarly to any medium, it is a different form of communication. In the exhibition, You don’t own ME, the message is clear: twenty-two San Antonio artists hold their own image in their hands, and no one can take that away. It is an exhibition where San Antonio artists explore their identity, vulnerability, playfulness, and empowerment — as if these artists are having a critical conversation between themselves and their practice. No matter the process, no matter the time, artists have their own ritual, and it is their power in their space to do this deep, introspective work.
Installation view of “You don’t own ME.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
You don’t own ME covers many powerful, complex, and nuanced themes and is a testament to the work artists put into crafting their own image and their art-making practice. Owning their agency, limits, and larger identity within Humanity, South Texas, and San Antonio, curator Mark Anthony Martinez suggested visitors to this show can find themselves looking at these self-portraits “for purely aesthetic purposes… but there is context and opportunities to do the digging.”
Martinez pointed out, “There’s not a single selfie in this show.” Digging is the searching and interpretation of what self-portraits mean for yourself, friends, life, and surrounding spaces. We can, ultimately, get to a place to try and look for ourselves in art and simultaneously be non-judgmental, open-minded, and caring. The accessibility of self-portraiture is an entry point through which we can interpret the artist’s self rather than more complex conceptual themes and subject matter. And it is through this specific art-making that artists try to be more aware and intentional of their portraiture in a way that goes beyond a selfie.
Martinez went on to elaborate on the difference between a selfie and a self-portrait, explaining, “The selfie signals, ‘I’m here’ and is surface level, whereas the practice of self-portraiture is a fundamental activity that is not for vanity, but of using one’s image to develop skills, reflect, and experiment.” Selfies come from the demand and promotion of vanity and, perhaps, algorithms. This is juxtaposed with a challenge and exploration to get to the core of the big question: “Who am I?” To see twenty-two San Antonio artists create self-portraits in traditional formats with different concepts opens the door to conversations about the history of portraiture.
Katlyn Powell, “Burn Out.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
Burn Out by Katlyn Powell had a big impact on me. This painting is about the overwhelming feeling of burnout and the exhaustion involved in accepting it. Powell captures the feeling and moment, with the artist posed in matching blue clothing and holding a blue mug, really drawing the viewer to the artist’s facial expression, which is being stretched by the artist’s hand across their face. Their eyes are halfway open to express this exhaustion. I think there is also a degree of care that allows this piece to shine, with the artist choosing to match blue colors in a uniform and organized manner. This matching symbolizes that at the moment of burnout, there are choices to be made that ensure care in one’s burnout as a moment to reflect.
Roza Rodarte, “guided meditation.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
Roza Rodarte’s self-portrait, titled guided meditation — a cropped facial expression with their eyes closed and mouth partially open — is rendered with colored pencils. It is framed with layers of cardboard that create a frame that is not painted nor embellished in any way except the four corner screws. The cardboard frame makes the piece pop off the wall about two inches, marking it as unique among the pieces framed in this show.
chula dair, “sob your heart out.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
chula dair’s sob your heart out is an electric and psychedelic gouache painting of them stabbing their own heart, with streams of tears and flesh mixing together in the lower half of the portrait. This self-portrait emits vulnerability and alludes to feelings that can lead to internal strife. A close view of this technically vibrant piece shows hundreds of individual brush strokes and a color palette that has both diluted colors and veins of neon pinks and blues, bringing to mind colorscapes of bruises on flesh.
Wardell Picquet, “The Fan.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
Wardell Picquet’s The Fan gives a unique perspective of the viewer looking down at the protagonist while the protagonist, a black man wearing a black blazer with the middle of their chest exposed, looks up full-eyed at the viewer. The viewer is drawn to the whites of the protagonist’s eyes — a commanding pose that lets the viewer wonder if they are The Fan, and perhaps a commentary of Blackness and fandom in connection to self-portraiture.
Gabi Magaly, “Abuelita touching Gaby’s hand.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
Gabi Magaly’s photograph, Abuelita touching Gaby’s hand, is a self-portrait where the connection to love is shown intergenerationally and shows the matriarchal power dynamics within the family. The protagonist in the photograph lies on their stomach and stares directly at the viewer. Their long hair falls and drapes over their torso, and the viewer can see two hands touching each other. Here, the implication is that a grandmother is reaching for the hand of a younger child and references both legacies and family values through the simple gesture.
Another photograph in the show that stood out, The Nothing by Rafael Gutierrez, distorts the self and captures the movement of blurring the self until “nothing.” We see the artist’s hair and mouth, but in the center of the photograph, the blur effect, mimicking that of fire, distorts their facial features, questioning how much of the self can be present.
Fred Wood, “Making a big deal out of it.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
More unconventional self-portraiture pieces are present throughout the show, including objects, sculptures, and video. A drawing on a Post-it and a blown-up image of the Post-it is a big deal, literally, hence the title of Fred Wood’s Making a big deal out of it. Wood’s simple self-portrait pencil drawing on Post-it, framed underneath the larger image of the Post-it, is a message of playfulness of one’s likeness and maybe a tribute to the power of finding materials at your disposal to experiment with.
Michael Martinez, “See You in Hell.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
In a video piece by Michael Martinez titled See You in Hell, the artist positions their body within a background of flames, occasionally cracking a whip in the viewer’s direction, the sound of which echoes throughout the gallery space. Phrases in capital letters appear in the foreground, such as: “Killing in the name of God,” Killing in the Name of Profits,” and “Killing in the name of National Purity.” Martinez is relaying the message that they have the right to exist.
Oliver Lyric, “Becoming A Man.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
Oliver Lyric’s Becoming A Man consists of interwoven layers of fabrics stitched together in the outline of their body — conveying stitching and piecing together yourself, slowly becoming your authentic self. The body’s outline is highlighted with sewn-in syringes. In this case, for trans people, living your truth also means the unlearning of being accepted by blanket society and finding a community that uplifts and doesn’t judge. That process, along with pain in other facets, can be traumatizing. There is a projector and audio element to this piece that I found moving, which speaks to the larger concepts of this show. In the audio, Oliver asks the viewer/listener, “Can you see me? Can you see yourself? Can you see anything?”
Once living only on Instagram, Audrya Flores’s self-portrait collage series is finally brought to the big screens, i.e., two side-by-side vertical screens titled Glamour Magic. Flores explores playing with one’s image and expressing self-essence with glittering sparkles, photos of plants, snakes, flowers, feathers, and countless photographic images of natural elements that are fantastical and detailed. Underneath the dual screens are potted plants, purposefully placed to emulate further the importance Flores puts in their work, even though they choose to use digital collage.
A video piece by Mark Martinez, titled art/worker, is installed in front of a white wall and a clean space. It shows the protagonist in uniform performing burpee exercises on repeat. The metaphor here is in reference to the exhausting cycle of the artist as a laborer: low wages, limited space, and opportunity, limited time and resources, in a loop of menial tasks. This self-portrait is especially relevant now as museums and galleries are critiqued for their poor treatment of working artists in these fields and hostile work environments.
Andy Benavides, “Look’n at sixty.” Photo: Carlos Ferrand
A head made of wood with a camera tripod for the body is one of the few sculptures in the gallery that represents self-portraiture. Andy Benavides’ piece Look’n at sixty mirrors the artist in height and facial likeness. A small detail I enjoyed was seeing a carved-out hole in the back of the head that shows a smaller golden carved figure reaching towards the top of the head. An inscription, “Curioso,” is written underneath. Benavides’ weathered accordion, titled Be Gentle, fixated to a corner wall, extends out and down, puzzles the viewer at first, prompting one to ask, “How can an object represent the self?” The piece presents a great entry point for folks to imagine objects and things that might represent the self. Inscribed on the accordion is “Squeeze my box, push my buttons, pull my rope, please be gentle” — a gentle cadence that can have many meanings.
In the center of the SMART gallery space, we see two sets of sculptures. Life-sized figures are covered in brightly colored pastel blue and pink fabric. When the wind is just right, the fabric shimmers and the excess fabric is gently brushed around the ground. With a closer look, the viewer can see that the figures are standing or seated in peaceful positions. In Supplication, the figure is seated or on their knees, holding their hands out to the viewer. Sewn into the larger sculptural piece Evolution are pearls and jewels, subtly placed around the fabric covering three figures.
Martinez also took time to acknowledge that they “wanted this show not just to represent one category of identity but to include different bodies, artists who are queer, transitioning, disabled, mothers, and artists of all different skills and levels in their artist careers.” Self-portraiture has (and continues to have) an extensive history in art history that, in part, makes it so recognizable and accessible today. Sometimes capturing the period, sometimes capturing more themes along identity and culture, viewers can connect today to selfie culture in the way that we also see a paralleling and mirroring of self within our current worldview.
You don’t own ME continues the San Antonio artist’s dedication to practice. Although the show only ran through March 29, it had such an impact on the San Antonio community and art scene that it won this year’s Contemporary Art Month’s CAMMIE award for People’s Choice of Best Show. These spaces and the people involved center the San Antonio artist community and educational workshops. I can’t wait to see what transpires going forward. Congratulations to the artists and curators for their hard work and dedication — the first award of many.
I’d like to personally thank Leslie Moody Castro, Nina Hassele, Dr. Daniel Alejandro González, Jordan Torres, Dr. Ruben Cordova, Allysha Farmer, Michael Martinez, Mark Anthony Martinez, Casi Lomeli, Seyde Garcia, and Ashley Mireles for your encouragement, support, and kindness. And thank you to Carlos Ferrand, whose photos of You don’t own ME are fantastic.
You don’t own ME was on view through March 29 at Interloper Gallery in San Antonio.
