I think we're going to make
some calabacitas.

Okay.

We have Oaxaca cheese.

In my region, you can't forget
about tacos and tortillas.

What do you want me to do?

We have to wash them.

Should I wash the zucchinis?

Let's wash them.

I was starting out my career,

and you were one of 
the first people who

I started painting from life,

because you were very patient and
you sat there a thousand times.

I ended up painting your 
daughter and all your family.

I think art is also a way
to gain more confidence.

It depicts a more colorful life.

I think it helps me to be in harmony.

The colors--

I think it transforms us.

There's one family, Verónica and Marissa,

that I've painted

over the years.

Now my relationship with them
has extended over 10 years.

You can sit there, more or less, 
like the face--

I'm trying to replicate
this when you were laying down

with your mom at your home.

I think that was how the face--

Is that tall enough for you?

This body of work is revisiting Marissa
and Verónica in their home in Queens.

Revisiting that couch that 
I painted Marissa in with her father

many years ago,

with her mom and their papel picado,
and all their accouterments

of their living room.

Because we live
in a one-bedroom apartment,

my parents would mostly sleep
outside in the living room

because they didn't want to let 
me sleep on the sofa.

Even though our space is very limited
and it's very small sometimes,

it's filled with a lot of joy.

The music sheet on the stand
has songs written in Náhuatl.

That speaker is my mom's best friend.

She blasts music at home,
and then she also takes it to the park

for her bailoterapia classes.

My mom really loves the bicycle.

Her mom would always criticize her,
telling her that's something

that a man does.

For her, it's also a form of resistance,
knowing that she can really go anywhere.

I feel like whenever I get together with Veronica, 
we talk about Marissa non-stop.

because your mom and I are 
both so proud of your

being in college at Cornell.

No, but I'm actually very proud of her

because she's one of my biggest inspirations.

I think one of my earliest memories
is actually drawing with my mother,

drawing dancers with her.

Her pencil moving is one
of my earliest recollections of art.

I grew up in Mexico City.

My grandfather came from Belorussia
to Mexico when he was three

and my mother arrived to Mexico
to study Art History.

There's a saying in Spanish,
"Ni de aquí ni de allá,"

which means you're neither from
here nor from there

because I was always half Mexican,
half American.

I grew up speaking English 
with my mother in Mexico.

I had the privilege of being
an American citizen.

I didn't have the fear that a lot
of immigrants have here,

that might not have papers.

I moved to the Midwest, to Chicago,
to study art at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I went through a period in grad school
where I was an abstract painter.

Then I moved to New York.

I started to make
these little still-life paintings.

They were inspired by street vendors
in Mexico with flower arrangements.

I started studying psychology.

This one philosopher, Emmanuel Levinas,
talks about how all ethics comes

from the face-to-face relationship.

The encounter with another person
that elicits an ethical demand.

That ended up coming into my work,
this idea of sitting

with somebody face-to-face
and painting them from life.

A lot of painting,
because of its materiality

and because of its gesture
and texture, almost feels like the presence

of another person.

I love capturing a moment
when a person might be lost

in their own thoughts and imagining
what their interiority might be.

Depicting people in moments
of contemplation

where they're for themselves.

I was always torn between whether I wanted
to be a social worker or a painter.

I feel like it took all my life
pretty much up to this point

where I've integrated both of 
those things in some ways.

I met Aliza through IMI,
Immigrant Movement International,

back when I was 12 years old.

It was a long time ago.

Welcome to this--

Tania is this Cuban artist.

She founded Immigrant
Movement International.

The first movement called “Prelude.”

My mom got really involved
and then started taking some classes

with Aliza.

I think it was 2012 when
I first met Tania Bruguera and

I was so moved by her project
that I told her I wanted

to participate somehow and I
wanted to teach a class.

She told me that what was most
needed were English skills,

so I devised a class that was basically
for a group of women, like English

through art history.

A lot of it ended up being
feminist art history

because it's what they were
asking me about.

I'll never forget that it was
because of the class I took with you

on how to learn English

through Frida's story.

It was through art that I began
to grasp some English words.

I got so interested in the
people's stories that I asked Tania

if I could set up a makeshift
studio in one little corner

and I'd leave my paintings overnight.

I'd come back and depict
every person in my class.

And then I started to depict
their extended families as well.

Just being able to walk into that space,

feeling supported.

My parent’s immigration status,

they would go in looking for support.

I think it was also a place that brought

a lot of hope.

Things have still continued
beyond the physical space,

like Mobile Print Power,
which is an art collective

that I'm still part of til this day.

And Mujeres en Movimiento that
my mom is still doing.

I just had this desire to learn,

never imagining that I'd be the one
to stick around afterward,

self-guiding with videos,
and then finding myself dancing there.

Fellow colleagues,
mothers who would tell me,

“You can do it, yes, you nailed it,
you danced beautifully.”

I was a little embarrassed.

I loved breaking those stigmas,
those stereotypes,

those insecurities.

Ever since I moved here from Mexico,
I've been living in Corona.

My dad and sisters were already here,

but I was sad leaving my mom
and my community

and not knowing anyone here.

Adapting was a challenge.

I feel like I started to connect
with the community

when Marissa began school.

Reach out, connect with more 
people or in places

like schools, libraries, or museums.

I don't say this thinking, 
“I've done all of this myself.”

It’s been the strength of
a warrior community.

It's very special to come back
to Queens almost 10 years

after the Immigrant
Movement International,

to be in residence at the Queens Museum.

I reverted back to the class
I was teaching at IMI.

There's a group of women 
that lead a food pantry

that every Wednesday gets
distributed in the museum.

And so I wanted to do
something for these volunteers.

Every Tuesday night I'm teaching a class
through art-making this time,

and I've taught them drawing and painting.

Ready? Let’s get started.

Today is the last class
where we'll all be together,

taking a look at all the pieces
we've crafted over the semester.

We call it the Group Critique.

Group Critique.

I've named mine “Mi Libertad” (My Freedom).

When I was going through
some really tough times,

I loved running through 
the countryside on horseback.

The more I ran with the wind 
whipping my face, the freer I felt.

It was as if I could fly.

Hence, I named it “My Freedom”
after a mare I had.

This painting is meant to represent

something quite simple
and straightforward: materialism.

We see fragments of banknotes, but why?

Because it destroys families,
it shatters homes.

We lose lives at the borders.

This country indeed welcomes us,
immensely so,

but it also separates us.

I have this next painting.

The next painting symbolizes the 
endurance of Indigenous woman

because I am a descendant of the Cañaris.

Sometimes we are voices
that go unheard,

at times we are invisible.

But despite that, we are a
powerful force here in this country.

Thank you.

When you have that sense of agency
of expressing yourself.

You can also share resources
with each other and feel a sense

of empowerment in that community.

For people to really feel
like they can use the museum

as a resource

and as a space that's really for them.

I also am interested in
the structural economy of paintings

and I've done profit sharing

when I work with a community

or with a particular individual
over a long period of time.

With this particular family, I gave them the 
first paintings that I made of them

and they were able to 
benefit later on from that.

I work as a housekeeper,

but that wasn't enough for me 
to get by for one year

or some months
during the pandemic.

The gallery was able to provide us with
money so that we could pull through.

For me, that was a relief, Aliza.

I’ll never forget it.

Do you know who is there?

Who is it?

Do you see yourself?

I believe that creating spaces

where we practice art
or make art

is a way to connect.

It is the most beautiful way.

Being with this community here,
it’s like finding a home in a way.

Aliza, hello!

So nice to see you.

The biggest resource we have is
these relationships and the communities

that have continued.

Your resources are your 
people around you.