 "Feeling Inner Space" |
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From Harlem to Main Street: Finding Inner Peace
An Interview with Soraida Martinez, founder of Verdadism
The foliage of autumn is in full bloom in Lindenwold, a serene town in South Jersey, about a half-hour drive from Philadelphia . It is in this unlikely city of small-town America that I caught up with Harlem-born Latina artist, feminist and social commentator Soraida Martinez at her recently purchased Victorian home. At 104 years old, the house still maintains many of its original features, including stern wooden panels throughout the interior that contrast with the colorful paintings that line the walls. Soraida keeps a turn-of-the-20-century brochure of the house, which claims this neighborhood was free of “colored people.” |
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“It was part of the deal when I bought this home,” Soraida tells me, referring to her house's sobering memorabilia, as she lays out dozens of old sepia-tone photographs of the home's Victorian exterior. “It's history, you know.”
Collections of social struggles are what Soraida Martinez is all about. Soraida is the founder of Verdadism , an approach to painting that dutifully blends social commentary with visual art.
Her words are at times existentialist in tone, as in her 1993 painting “Feeling Inner Peace,” where she says, “One must not be self-denying.” Other times, her work (“Little Girl from Harlem,” 1995) carries an autobiographical and introspective tone: “As an adult, I was always embarrassed to say that I was born in Harlem .” Sometimes, it is simply unapologetic, as in 1995, when a title of her painting reflected: “Feeling like a cockroach who has been stepped on: half-crushed and half-alive. That's what domestic violence made me feel like.”
Although Verdadism started in the 1990s, Soraida's early years echoed with themes of civil rights and social justice. “You looked at the television in the '60s.” she recalls, “and would see a lot about race riots, people talking about discrimination, the women's movement; I remember going downtown and seeing people burning bras. I was naturally drawn to things like that.”
How was growing up in Harlem?
It was poverty. There were a lot of people on welfare, a lot of drugs. You couldn’t go to the store after a certain time. I have friends from childhood who became drug addicts.
Did you always know you would go to college?
I think I always wanted to be an artist. I always wanted to do something that I thought was special, so I knew that would be an avenue that I’d have to take.
A lot of people have the idea that they’re opposed to each other: formal education and art.
Coming from New York City, where you see a lot of art and design schools ... that told me, “You’re gonna go to school and you have to study art.” And I studied art and graphic design. When you do graphic design for a company, you have to study about the company and whatever product they have.
You also studied psychology?
I got a degree in liberal arts. I wanted to get a foundation and learn a little bit about everything. But I concentrated on psychology. I like to find out what makes people tick. Even when I was a kid, I wanted to find out why somebody would just take drugs and why this other person decided to be a doctor or a lawyer.
Did you ever psychoanalyze yourself?
I did through my paintings; maybe subconsciously. Verdadism is humanistic and it’s based on psychology. It’s existentialism, and in college I was drawn to that. … It was about dealing with it. “Let’s go and confront your fear.”
Did you have a lot of fears growing up?
To tell you the truth, no. People always told me I couldn’t do things, but I’d just do it anyway [laughs]. I saw obstacles, but I’d say, “This is an obstacle, but I’m gonna overcome it. I’m gonna find my way.”
When I was in college, I was the only Puerto Rican girl in my class. I talk to a lot of college kids who say, “I’m the only Latina here,” and they just feel like it’s a negative thing and they wanna get out of the situation. Not me. I felt, “I’m here and I’m gonna make sure that I’m here. I’m gonna stick with it.”
Have you always been like this?
I come from a background with a lot of negativity. I’d hear things like: “You can’t do that. Who do you think you are? You think you’re special?” I even get that now. But you better think that you’re special, because nobody else is gonna think it for you.
It was a teacher who told me that I was a good artist and that I was smart. He was the only person who had ever told me that. It was a combination of hearing that, and coming from a rough neighborhood where you have to fight for everything, that made me who I am.
Do you remember the teacher’s name?
Richard Casten. I was in 6th grade. He was only 24 years old - just a kid.
What would you tell him if you were to talk to him right now?
I guess I would say, “Remember what you said? [She tears up.] Looked what happened …”
How did Verdadism begin?
It started in about ’89, ’90. I was working in corporate America doing graphic design. I started drawing about things that bothered me, like stereotypes. I would tell people I’m Puerto Rican, and they wouldn’t believe me. This inspired “Puerto Rican Stereotypes, the Way You See Me Without Looking at Me” (1992). And also through dating because I’ve dated all kinds of men. If I liked somebody, it didn’t matter where they were from … you gotta learn about different cultures [laughs]. These guys had their own ideas of what a Puerto Rican woman would look like. You know, hairy legs… [laughs] It was a different time.
Do you still feel discrimination?
All the time. Sometimes I forget about it until somebody throws it in my face. But I don’t let it bother me anymore. … Sometimes people thought because I was Latina my art was primitive in some way.
Do you remember an example of this?
I was gonna get a show in SoHo and the art director and curator were thinking about how they would get me in their show. I wanted to have the social commentary in there, but that’s not what they were about. They sold paintings to rich people and that’s it. They liked my work but were having trouble figuring out how they would present it. So somebody got an idea and said, “Well, we can tie her in with this other artist who’s African-American and has these sculptures. … We can put a bone on the floor, next to their work.” A bone! They wanted a “wild” theme. I was 30-something and I was so insulted. I just walked away and never got back to them.
What do you say to a Latina who wants to go into art?
You should be true to yourself. Find your voice. Everybody has something special. You’re not gonna make it by trying to be somebody else. There’s only one of you. Some people find that one special thing when they’re in their 40s, some people never find it. If you’re thinking money, you’re not gonna find it. If I wanted to make money, I wouldn’t be doing this. I’d be painting flowers. My mother tells me: “Píntame una casita bien linda …” I say, “No, mom, I don’t do that.” [laughs]
Who do you look up to?
If I had to pick one person, I would say Mark Twain. You look at his stories and he makes a lot of social commentary that was progressive for that time. I would’ve loved to meet him! I look up to people who have lasting power. I can read his stuff now and it speaks to me.
Do you see your art understood 50 or 100 years from now?
I think even more so than today.
How do you think feminism has evolved?
What I see today are women who think they are being open-minded but are really excluding people. In ’92, ’93, I started looking into the feminist movement and what I saw was a lot of white, Anglo-Saxon women who were excluding “minority” women. If you look at the websites, they were mostly young, professional women who might have thought of a Latina as nothing more than a maid, or the one who takes care of their kids. I’ve been to organizations where people meet me and ask me what I am. When I say I’m Puerto Rican, I might get, “Oh, the young girl who takes care of my kids is Puerto Rican!” Or, “My maid is Puerto Rican!” They’re often not looking at the whole picture. I think now they’re realizing what is missing and they’re including more people.
What’s your favorite painting?
I like “Puerto Rican Stereotype: The Way You See Me Without Looking at Me.” I was scared to show this painting, but it’s satire. When I was young, they used to talk about Carmen Miranda. That was a stereotype about Latina women. I also did a painting called “Today’s Concentration Camps: The Inner Cities.” It was about Harlem. A lot of people couldn’t move out of Harlem. My mother got out through marriage, but most people were stuck there. It’s an unspoken kind of ghetto. You’re not being whipped, but you’re being beat by being labeled; by not having any kind of money or support. If you walk around with a label, forget it, that’s what you are.
Nathan González Mendelejis is a cofounder and has served as political director of Latinos for America. Based in New York City, he sits on TheLatinaVoz.com Advisory Board.
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