Discolored, Misshapen, Broken:
Interview with Suzy González
by Courtney Simchak
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Driving to make a change is hard. It requires consistency, an open mind, a conviction to continue despite adversity, a mind for creative solutions, but perhaps most important to influencing change is having the willingness to be visible and vulnerable. Suzy González’s work not only explores the social and political difficulties of our culture, it is a testament to the importance and benefits of self-reflection, cultural awareness, and vulnerability in our lives and in the lives of those around us.
González’s work starts with the personal: her childhood, her personal emotions, her culture, and her body. The images in her work convey a gentleness and an invitation for conversation between herself and her viewers. But make no mistake—the result of González’s willingness to share parts of herself also includes her call to arms, with expressions of anger, displacement, exhaustion, and the complicated process of recovery.
In a recent conversation with the artist, González shares her thoughts on her art practice, the personal as political, the importance of community and connection for artists, and the encouraging but direct message González has for all those who “live in the middle.”
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COURTNEY SIMCHAK: What drives your work and your art practice?
SUZY GONZÁLEZ: It is my obligation as an artist to use my gift to make change in the world. Of course, it is easier said than done, but without this motivation, I’m not sure why I would do it. Change does not come easy, but I’m aware of art’s ability to influence culture. A major goal is to create dialogue. Conversation and relatability are so important and can help to get the ball rolling on pressing issues. I’m driven by the support of others and try to put that support back into those I know who are doing good things.
Loneliness and negativity are so unproductive, and since it’s difficult to make work about difficult issues, we need to be there for one another. Making art can be therapeutic, but it can also tear you apart. Artists do so much unpaid emotional labor, vulnerably put their images out into the world, and often don’t see much financial gain from it. It is a labor of necessity, but is still not as appreciated as it should be in our culture. This lack, along with a lack of representation for many of us, are also driving factors for me. I want to show young folks that you can be an artist no matter who you are.
Beans, like people, should not be discarded due to their appearance, but appreciated due to their contributions. In “Decolonize Your Diet: A Manifesto,” Calvo and Esquibel say that cooking a pot of beans is a revolutionary act, and I say that we are all needed for the revolution.
SIMCHAK: Your recent series, “Both | And” has both a spiritual tone as well as a political one. Do you think these two ways of processing are related? How do they intersect for you, in your work?
GONZÁLEZ: I grew up Catholic and have realized over the years the patriarchal role of religion in the lives of many. Religion and government have become twisted together and contain similar power structures. One current desire of mine is to visualize the decolonization of art and art history. A huge part of colonization has been the forceful conversion to European methods of worship. Removing one’s spiritual connection to the earth and the cosmos is a violent act that has minimized indigenous identity while benefitting those in power.
As someone with Mestiza ancestry, I recognize what it’s like to live in the middle. In the painting, “To Have Faith,” the figure holds feminist prayer beads in place of a rosary. I made this actual object out of obsidian, turquoise, and glass beads, as symbols of protection. The figure’s skin is a hybrid of muscle and maiz, and their head faces down towards Madre Tierra, praying for a new age of healing in this age of destruction. Spirituality and political values are ever-changing for both the individual and humanity. I hope to never have either one of them figured out, but to remain open-minded and willing to learn and question.
The protest march is a community ritual; people come together for a cause to walk and chant with combined feelings of anger and hope. It’s a powerful action that works to heal us and our communities.
SIMCHAK: Your cultural background and experiences are integral to your work. Can you talk more about that?
GONZÁLEZ: Everyone’s cultural backgrounds and experiences are integral to the art they make, but those with othered identities are just more exoticized for doing so. I work with ideas that are close to me and that I often can identify with, but that hasn’t always been the case. The personal will always be political, so I may create something specific to my journey that can still be relatable to others as we’re all living within the same systems.
SIMCHAK: You experiment with a wide variety of mediums in your work. What have been some of your favorites? What draws you to one medium over another, depending on the project?
GONZÁLEZ: I usually begin with a concept, then work with a medium that is most appropriate for it. Lately I’ve been focusing on the hierarchies of material and how that relates to art world elitism. There has been a disconnect between craft or folk art and fine art. I see this as relating directly to colonization and segregation based on class, race, gender, culture, and more. Society has been programmed to understand binaries; if we work to dismantle them, we will better understand complexities of identity and can become more compassionate to one another. In considering a new Mestiza consciousness, I’ve been using oil paints derived from Europe alongside indigenous natural materials. My favorite material lately has been the corn husk, or hojas de maíz.
For me, they are so charged as objects—we may think of GMO corn and the exploitation of the crop, we may think of tamales and other decolonial foods, or we may consider the fact that the Mayans believed corn to be a sacred plant that we were all born from. There is such an incredible history behind this plant; it alone holds much power that whatever I make with it is enveloped in content. When that content combines with a particular phrase or form, the meaning grows. Decorative protest posters contain a message, and the material holds a clue to what kind of perspective it’s coming from. Figurative sculptures reference traditional nudes, but the pose and the corn husks dig further into a conversation on decolonizing art history, subverting the nude, and reclaiming our bodies.
A major goal is to create dialogue. Conversation and relatability are so important and can help to get the ball rolling on pressing issues. I’m driven by the support of others and try to put that support back into those I know who are doing good things.
SIMCHAK: Your work in “Discolored, Misshapen, Broken” encourages connection, ritual, and chant as a means of healing from our current political and civil rights disparities. Can you discuss more on what influenced your outlook and more about your work in the series?
GONZÁLEZ: The threats of our current political situation have resulted in a loss of faith in government for many of us. Through chant, action, and ritual, we can gain a new faith in the people and the power we collectively hold. Chant and prayer are similar—in hopes that if we say it enough, maybe it will come true. I made a video called “Prayers to the People” in which I pray my aforementioned feminist prayer beads. With each decade, I repeat a protest chant, willing it to come true. Examples are “Education not Deportation” and “My Body My Choice, Her Body Her Choice.”
There is a realist mentality that “thoughts and prayers” do nothing, but I believe that putting positive energy into the right hands can be productive, although it should be one effort of many. Perhaps there is just a need for a shift—to whom and for whom should we pray? How can we back up well-meaning intentions with dialogue and action? One way is through art. Another—through activism. The protest march is a community ritual; people come together for a cause to walk and chant with combined feelings of anger and hope. It’s a powerful action that works to heal us and our communities.
There are some figurative works in this series, titled “Discolored, Misshapen, and Broken.” These are referring to the “bad beans” I was told to take out when sorting out beans as a kid. Over time, I have learned that broken beans should not be discarded from the pot, but should always be included because they make the broth richer. I’ve realized that the discolored or misshapen beans do not lessen the flavor of the pot; they don’t take over either. Beans, like people, should not be discarded due to their appearance, but appreciated due to their contributions. In “Decolonize Your Diet: A Manifesto,” Calvo and Esquibel say that cooking a pot of beans is a revolutionary act, and I say that we are all needed for the revolution.
Suzy González has a MFA from the Rhode Island School of Design and a BFA from Texas State University and recently received a NALAC Fund for the Arts Grant for a curatorial project occurring in Summer 2018. She is half of the collective Dos Mestizx and half of Yes, Ma’am zine.