So Tell me About Yourself...
Pay attention to the things you are naturally drawn to. They are often connected to your path, passion, and purpose in life. Have the courage to follow them.
Ruben Chavez
Interviews are sometimes hard for me, especially when interviewers ask that dreaded question: “So tell me about yourself?”
I always start talking about my education, but sometimes I get the impression that that is not what they wanted to hear about. There is just so much to say. And it is difficult for me to open up about myself because I am an introverted person, I generally don’t talk about myself. And there is so much for me to say about myself, I find it hard to know where to start.
I am the oldest of three daughters. I was born and mostly raised in Pilsen, a predominately Mexican immigrant community in Chicago to my first generation Mexican American mother and my father, a Mexican immigrant. We were raised to always remember where our roots lay, Mexico. When I was a child, Mexico was this magical, mythical land of nopales and Aztec gods. It was our mecca. Sometimes my dad would joke and tell my sisters and I that we would be going to Mexico the next day. We would get excited and start packing out bags, only to be disappointed that we were not actually going. Mexico was in our hearts like some hidden song we all knew and almost never heard.
When I was a child, I always loved to draw and paint. It was my greatest passion and it still is. I loved it because when I drew and painted, it was like I stepped through the paper or canvas into a different world all my own. I would draw different scenes and imagine the stories of the people I drew. A woman was not just a woman, she was a fairy queen. Everything had a story behind it. I would draw for hours and be enveloped in this strange, magical world. Everything was possible. Everything was beautiful and peaceful.
My art teacher, Jackie Salinas always spent a lot of time with me. She always encouraged me to draw and enter into art competitions. She was my childhood mentor. I remember her as being tall and slender, with a bright smile, and her hair in a low bun. I also remember her jean jacket and her jeep. She was fascinating to me.
I think that this was very significant for my life, because before I did art, I felt very inferior to other children. I did not feel special or particularly gifted. I had trouble relating to other children, and I did not really know how to make friends. It wasn’t until my art teacher started mentoring me that I felt good about myself. I had something special, a motivation, something to look forward to. I had a lot of family problems at home back then, and now as an adult I realize that were it not for Jackie and her mentorship, her encouragement, and the encouragement of a lot of my teachers, I would not be here now. Art set my life in motion and has propelled me to where I am now. It has guided my life and given it purpose. I also think art was an escape for me from a difficult childhood.
II remember the busy streets and the tall houses with their iron gates. I remember the hustle and bustle of everyday. There were Hispanic stores everywhere. They sold fragrant fruits and vegetables and canned goods. They also sold loose candy in rows and rows of boxes. Whenever my sisters and I had a dollar we would walk to the nearest candy store and buy pieces of candy. We all liked Duvalines, mazapan, and spicy lollipops. We all spoke Spanish. We were all brownish with dark hair and dark eyes. We all were Catholic and somewhat devout. We had Cinco de Mayo festivities and 16 de Septiembre parades. We were proudly Mexican.
Some stores sold delicious barbacoa and carnitas. I remember one place my dad used to go for the barbacoa on Sundays. I would go with him. I always felt so special on these trips. We would go in the shop and immediately I would feel the heat from the large cazuelas of carnitas and barbacoa. We would take a number and wait in line next to the other dads. We all stood close together, focused on our goal: breakfast. We all wanted a pound of the mornings juicy carnitas or barbacoa. Sometimes we would walk to Nuevo Leon, a popular Mexican restaurant and buy a couple of packages of their flour tortillas. These tortillas were absolutely delicious. Sunday was always important and special in this way. We would gather around the table and eat as a family. On Sundays, my dad would sometimes take us to a restaurant called Cuernavaca. This restaurant was very beautiful because it had tile floors and arches on the inside. They served this special family style dish called a parrillada. La parrillada was a metal grill with a fire on the inside that would be brought to the table with grilled meats. These were the good days.
My dad is an important figure in my life. When I was little, no ones dad was as smart, wise, strong and brave as my dad. He could to anything. My dad was an immigrant from Mexico. He was a soldier in the Mexican army where he trained to be a parachuter. He was the best in his group. He immigrated to Chicago to help his family in Mexico. He did not finish school, but he learned directly from life. He worked very hard and bought a large house for his mother. His hard work and efforts allowed his sisters the opportunity to become educated. His tenacity and grit inspires me everyday.
We lived in an apartment building on the corner of 18th and South Ashland. It was big and red. Some of the paint cracked and flaked off, showing rings and rings of caked on paint, like tree rings, showing the age of the building.
There was a bar at the corner of the building. My dad worked there as the manager. Later he worked as a roofer. He had this red truck with a wooden back. He called it La Colorina because it was bright red. It was the only truck of its kind. We always spotted it a mile away. The steering wheel was large and thin, covered with a fabric covering in some parts. There was only one large seat, as it was a single cab truck but we all crowded inside the truck as best we could. It was the greatest truck because it was unique.
Sometimes we would play outside of the apartment building as our apartment was the bottom most apartment and was at a corner. My sisters and I would play with a ball outside or run around across the alley way and play in the yard of Orozco Middle School. They had dumpsters next to the building and we would use them to hide behind when playing hide and seek. There was a boy our named Ruben who had a fat chihuahua named Peewee. He would play with us. He taught us how to dribble a basketball.
We didn’t play for long at night. We were always scared the gangs would shoot up the street. Some times we would see them walking the streets and howling their “oowee” call, like coyotes in the night. They prowled the streets, wary of rival gangs. They wore very specific colors and flashed hand signs across the streets. It was both fascinating and frightening.
My mom was very important to my development as a child. My mom stayed at home to take care of my sisters and me. She always helped me with my homework, especially with math. Everyday, my mom would take us to school and make sure we went into the building. Sometimes we had to walk long distances to get to school because we did not have a car. Sometimes we walked in deep snow and ice cold temperatures. Schools never close in Chicago like they do in Nashville. After school my mom would make us do our homework. She also taught us Spanish. Although we went to bilingual elementary schools, she insisted in supplementing our education by having us read in Spanish and learn to write in Spanish. As an adult I now realize that this was a gift from her. She knew how important learning my language was and how it would help me in the future. She also wanted me to hold on to my Mexican heritage and to never forget who I am. My mom supported me and my sisters everyday when she chaperoned our field trips, helped us with our homework and took us to and from our school activities. She also saved up when she could to buy me large pads of paper and pencils, markers and paints. She made a way to save money for my art supplies even though there was not much to save. But she tried anyways. She also included art supplies with every birthday and Christmas present. Some how, she always knew when I needed new pencils and erasers. A lot of my development as an artist is thanks to her.
My sisters and I participated in Aztec dance. This was another activity that I enjoyed. We had a lovely teacher called Claudia Bravo. I remember her as being short, with long dark hair and large luminous dark eyes and a bright smile. She was our computer teacher at school and our dance teacher after school. We joined the after school dance classes and then danced during the weekends at an empty art gallery. It was a very hip place. We danced with other adults and participated in presentations. I learned how to do the saumacion, a ceremony that involved creating a sacred space for dancing through the use of copal, sage, and other herbs. At the center of the circle was the huehuetl or drum and the “fire” which was held in an obsidian chalice. I was in charge of keeping the fire burning during the dance. It was the heart beat of the circle and our source of energy during the dance. It was exciting because it felt like we were doing something spiritually important. When I danced, I was not just repeating some steps, I was dancing to the rhythm of Mother Earth. I wasn’t just dancing the dance of the sun, I was Huitzilopochtli jumping into the fire to be reborn as the sun.
I remember her dance classes and her lessons about the old aztec myths and about the significance of the ‘red road’. This concept is fascinating for me because in a way we are all on our own ‘red roads’. We all have our own paths to follow, and our own lessons to learn. I know I have learned a lot of good lessons and a lot of difficult lessons.
Aztec dance class was a fascinating time for me because I learned about my culture and the beauty of our indigenous roots. Aztec dance inspired a lot of my childhood artwork.
When we left Chicago in 2004, we left because of financial problems. My dad was having trouble finding work, and this made our home life difficult. My life was far from perfect, but sometimes we have to do the best with what we have.
Leaving Chicago was very hard for me. I did not want to leave because I would be leaving my support system and my plans. I did not want to say good bye to all of the people who supported me and loved me. It was my birth place, and all I ever knew.
The day we left was very difficult as well. Our truck broke down just as we were about to get on the interstate. My parents were upset. Leaving was already very hard; having a broken down truck just made everything harder. It was very hot that day, as most Chicago summer days are despite the “windy city” hype. I remember thinking, maybe we won’t leave, maybe Chicago doesn’t want us to leave. Eventually my dad got the truck to work again and we left Chicago. I can still see the evening sky and the tall buildings in the distance. I can still feel the warm air and see the stars circling overhead, my heart heavy.
Initially we were going to settle in Texas, but we decided to remain in Tennessee. For high school, I enrolled at the Nashville School of the Arts and then attended Memphis College of Art after. I learned a lot while in college and found a lot of lessons, but this will be another blog post.
I studied graphic design and illustration because I realized that my art was about telling stories and providing a narrative. My art is also very personal, and I knew that I wanted my personal art to be free and to never be beholden to a paycheck.
Art has been my calling and my passion for a very long time. It has been a noble calling and at times it has been difficult to follow. Art is my spiritual calling. I still have a long way to go in my spiritual journey but I look forward to every step in my road.