A Political Cartoon

Andrea Aguilar

Art Students for Social

On September 30, I opened a YouTube link that would take me to an art event I had RSVP’d for and waited for the host to start the meeting, the 2020 virtual equivalent of having my ticket scanned and walking inside. This event, hosted by the Museum & Curatorial Studies department from California State University, Long Beach, was just but one of many events occurring under one umbrella symposium running from late September to early October—Forms of Reparations: the Museum and Restorative Justice.

Making the trek from parked cars to classes on campus is a thing of the past now, a thing that I, a person who often dreaded this insignificantly arduous task—especially on warm fall southern California days—now miss. If you, like me, parked in the pyramid parking structure then you likely had to pass one building in particular that most students, commuters or not, often never realized was ever there. The University Art Museum (now the Kleefeld Contemporary Art Museum) stood incognito underneath the shade of the bridge that connected students near the College of Business to Brotman Hall. I myself had never visited it until fall of 2019 on assignment for an exhibit. However, beyond the tall, modern-looking doors of the museum, there is an entire world of art that exists on campus. And, just like all other worlds, conflict exists beneath its surface, unbeknownst to most Long Beach students. This was the starting point for the Forms of Reparations symposium.

Students from the university’s School of Art, undergraduates and graduates alike, have been working quietly since fall 2018 to bring to light several factors that exist in this world

Art Students for Social Justice Bria Manning

of art on campus, both in and outside of the classroom. It was during this semester that Kimberli Meyer, the former museum director, was fired. Her termination went largely unnoticed by the greater Long Beach community but was uproarious within the School of Art.

Fall 2018 was my first semester at CSULB and, like every other student, I was readjusting to school after a long summer vacation. Meyer, however, was working earnestly behind the scenes in the Kleefeld Contemporary Art Museum’s walls to restructure the way art was conveyed in our museum through an anti-racist lens. Since her appointment to the museum’s directorship in 2016, Meyer attempted to develop “anti-racist museum practices” which, throughout her time as director, was often times met with pushback. In her post-termination letter to California State University (CSU) Chancellor and trustees, Meyer chronicled her attempts to recreate the museum as well as the obstacles she faced while doing so, including from the museum’s own staff, public affairs officials at the university, and the CSU Employees Union. In her letter, Meyer wrote, “The challenge was met with mixed reception from white and non-black people of color staff members. Concerns included that the museum would have to show ‘inferior art’ or ‘community-oriented art’ and that the museum was forcing curators and other staffers to think about race/racial justice even if it’s of no ‘interest’ to them.” As tensions continued to rise after Meyer announced plans for “American MONUMENT,” an inter-media art installation by artist lauren woods dealing with the relationship between law enforcement and structural racism, Meyer was eventually let go in September of 2018. In her letter, Meyer

indicated that the discomfort of “diversity issues” being imposed upon her museum staff was given to her as a reason as to why she was let go, though she believed it to be more related to her efforts to adopt anti-racism policies in the museum.

The art event I virtually attended on September 30 featured Alma Ruiz, former senior curator at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in Los Angeles, and the potential future of art museums in L.A. The event was moderated by Jill Marriage, a graduate student of art history and museum & curatorial studies, as well as one of the leading organizers and producers in the Forms of Reparation symposium. Prior to attending the event, I had visited the symposium’s website and was equally impressed and curious as to how a catalyzing series of events could be so structurally organized during a time when a global pandemic has forced us all indoors and in the confinements of our screens. In a Zoom interview a month later with Marriage and her peer, Andrea Guerrero, a recent graduate from Long Beach’s graduate school of art and another leading figure in the movement, I was able to chat with them about the social and political climate the United States is currently in while touching upon the significance of organizing a symposium that simultaneously relates to it.

“Definitely, it feels like this is something that’s very relevant to the moment, but it’s also [that] nobody wants it to be relevant,” said Guerrero. “I would have preferred that the symposium happen without a massive social justice movement happening.”

Forms of Reparations itself had its origins in the wake of Meyer’s departure from the Kleefeld Contemporary Art Museum. With her termination came a moment of reckoning from some School of Art students who were, according to Marriage, “recognizing this multilayer, unethical element of the education.” This stemmed from what Marriage called academic amnesia which, on the discussion of other, non-Western focused spectrum of art and art history, was excluded from their studies. “It’s left out of the syllabus, it’s left out of the course offerings and the School of Art specifically is very, very Western focused and we learn about the prevalence and the importance of Europe and America,” Marriage said in our interview. “And there’s this form of Manifest Destiny that takes over within the academic spheres; and you have to actively search for the narrative in the history of this ‘Other,’ which is problematic in general.”

CSULB sits quite literally on Native American land; it is what used to be the village of Puvunga and, with the passing of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) in 1990, the campus was eligible to become a legally designated museum—a fact which many CSULB students are unaware of. According to a policy statement recommended by the Academic Senate and approved by the President in February 1996, not only does CSULB have an “ethical and legal necessity of preserving the rights of Native American tribes and communities regarding the Native American human remains and artifacts which the University holds or may hold in the future,” it also holds CSULB accountable to provide education to its students about this history. This, along with the “Other” groups in which Long Beach’s curriculum may fail to deliver in its classrooms, is what Forms of Reparations sought to expand upon. One success story of this goal has been the more collaborative conversations that were

had between American Indian Studies (AIS) and the School of Art.

The idea of different colleges, schools, departments and majors merging together and exploring outside of their respective spheres is an emerging one. I know many business students who never stray away from lower campus, for example, and other students who couldn’t even point you in the direction of the design building. What these students in the School of Art have been attempting, in the name of social justice, is to bring to light the overlaps across academia, beginning with CSULB and grassroot movements such as Forms of Reparations. In example, Marriage cites a museum practices class under AIS that relates to Native American dealings.

“If you don’t recognize how they overlap [...] or you refuse to learn how they overlap, then our actions, no matter how they’re veiled in social justice or self criticism, are only perpetuating historical trauma,” Marriage said. “It’s only pushing forward the same narrative that we are, ironically, looking to address.”

This duty, however, goes beyond just the students. As Guerrero pointed out, students have enough on their plates between responsibilities such as school and work without feeling the need to hold their university accountable to a higher standard. One recent instance of this is the grassroots movement that started at California State University, Northridge and ended with the new CSUwide ethnic studies requirement. Remembering a rally at the Chancellor’s office she attended in regards to this movement, Guerrero said, “Being a student, you have no time. You have absolutely no time to do anything. So for these students to actually go down to Long Beach, a lot of them coming from Northridge and LA, and to demand that they keep the Ethnic Studies Department, and to see very little faculty there...” Guerrero trailed off, but her message was clear: faculty needs to do better by their students so students won’t have to do better by their school.

Rethinking the way in which museums interact with art, their artists and art history is just one facet of the larger social justice movement we are seeing in the U.S. today. As Marriage mentioned, in the realm of most campuses, the spheres of various academia are oftentimes kept separate. Yet, not only are we taught under the same institution here at Long Beach, but most of us come from a lineage that is not what the curriculum teaches us. Many of us are from Native descent, or are first generation students. Others may be putting themselves through college while simultaneously helping their parents apply for citizenship, whereas others may have ancestors who did, not long ago, not want to come to this country at all. Maybe English isn’t our first language, or maybe we come from a lower socioeconomic class and feel lucky to find ourselves studying at a university at all. Despite where we come from, ultimately it’s important to keep self-awareness in mind. Be self-aware of what is being taught to you and how it is being taught to you. All of those from the School of Art and beyond who brought Forms of Reparations to our Long Beach community stand as a testament to this and, hopefully in the future, will not be composed of just art students but of individuals from all across the academic spectrum.

An Interview with Dr. Catha Paquette

By Chris Lee and Enacio Diaz

Dr. Catha Paquette holds a PhD in the History of Art and Architecture from University of California, Santa Barbara and joined the faculty of CSULB in 2003. In 2007 she received a Getty Postdoctoral Fellowship in the Arts and Humanities, gained tenure in 2009 and full Professorship in 2014.

Dr. Paquette is a specialist in the art of pre-Columbian to contemporary Latin America and has also taught seminars that explore methods and practices in historical narratives and the “dynamics of art patronage and censorship.” Currently semi-retired (and loved and missed by many), Dr. Paquette is working with graduate students and co-editing an anthology titled In and Out of Sight: Art and the Dynamics of Circulation and Suppression. Written with Dr. Karen Kleinfelder and Professor Chris Miles, “this collection of essays by artists and scholars in art history, cultural studies, ethnic studies, queer history, cultural anthropology, and museum studies acknowledges the continuing pressures and global dimensions of “culture wars” through historical reflection and contemporary critique.” This interview was conducted in written form and over Zoom in October of 2020.

In and Out of View

Art and the Dynamics of Circulation, Suppression, and Censorship

Edited by Catha Paquette Karen Kleinfelder Christopher Miles

In and Out of View, Bloomsbury Academic, forthcoming May 2021 https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/in-and-out-ofview-9781501358715/

Why did you choose Wheaton College for your BA, in particular? Are you from the East coast originally?

I grew up in a small town in south central Massachusetts. Wheaton College was the campus my parents preferred because it offered me a generous financial aid package. Also, I have a physical disability. My parents were afraid I’d be at a disadvantage at the urban school I wanted to go to—navigating city streets as a pedestrian.

But Wheaton had a strong language department where I was able to continue studying French (I was raised to a degree with French because my family was French-Canadian descent) and strengthen my Spanish, which I began studying in high school. I’m impressed with the changes that have taken place at Wheaton over the years. It’s now co-ed—which I would have appreciated back then—and it has developed a strong Latin American studies program.

Have the arts of Latin America always interested you, and if so, why?

I became interested in Mexican art when I was a senior in high school. During spring break, I visited my sister, who was enrolled in a language program in Cuernavaca. I had the chance to visit the archaeological site of ancient Teotihuacan, which is not far from Mexico City, and I saw quite a bit of the city, which has colonial-period structures, areas where 19th-century architecture predominates, and plenty of 20th-century architecture and mural art, such as those on the campus of the National Autonomous University (UNAM). I came back to the U.S. wanting to know much more about Mexican history and culture. Who were your mentors at UC Santa Barbara, and why did you choose them?

As a grad student specializing in Latin American art, I was able to study with Dr. Ramón Favela who had done groundbreaking research on Diego Rivera’s early 20th century European production, especially his Cubist paintings. When he retired, Dr. Laurie Monahan chaired my dissertation committee. I learned a lot from her as well. She emphasized the importance of strong conceptual argumentation. For my minor area of specialization, I studied with Pre-Columbian/ colonial specialist Dr. Jeanette Peterson; she too was a wonderful advisor. UCSB, which has a strong doctoral program overall, prepared me well for research and teaching.

Your bio speaks of your exploration into “knowledge practices—theoretical, methodological, and practical challenges inherent in historical narration, critical interpretation, and museum display.” How did you begin to explore these topics and why?

At UCSB, I was painfully aware of the marginalized status of 20th-century Mexican art in art history survey texts and books on global modern and contemporary art. The art I found interesting was considered less relevant or irrelevant by many in the discipline of art history. When I became an intern for curator Diana du Pont at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, who was organizing an exhibition of Latin American art, I learned that back in the 1940s many museums, including SBMA, had acquired Mexican and other Latin American art. But museums in the 1990s—when I entered grad school—kept it largely in storage; they didn’t generally show it in permanent-collection galleries. Diana, fortunately, was committed to displaying and expanding SBMA’s collection.

When I learned that New York’s Museum

of Modern Art had been instrumental in acquiring and circulating Latin American art across the U.S. during the second World War, I decided to focus my dissertation on MoMA’s reception of Latin American art, specifically in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s—and in the process I investigated Rockefeller family patronage.

At UCSB, I was introduced to the writings of Michel Foucault who basically proposed, as a fellow grad student worded it, that a fact isn’t a fact until power makes it so. So I read lots of critiques of institutional power—of art museums. I also did a fair amount of reading of feminist essays that argued that race, class, and gender aren’t essentialist aspects of identity but contingent constructs—produced, circulated, and interpreted in ways that serve period sociopolitical and economic circumstances. So I wondered what could be said about the mid-20th-century context in which MoMA acquired and circulated all that Latin American art. What purposes might MoMA’s actions have served? I was amazed to find that in different venues MoMA interpreted and evaluated Latin American art—including Mexican art—in different ways. It was clear these interpretations and valuations facilitated particular understandings of national and regional identity—of Latin America as a region and the U.S. as a nation—which had the potential to serve diverse U.S. wartime needs.

So it seems that you have, from early on, been questioning cultural and racial narratives in art history and museum discourse. How can we continue to love art, art history and visit museums but also navigate these social issues?

Before answering this question, I’d like to say that in writing At the Crossroads: Diego Rivera and His Patrons at MoMA, Rockefeller Center, and the Palace of Fine Arts (2017), which focuses on Rivera and his patrons in the mid 1930s—his retrospective at MoMA, the commissioning, creation, and destruction of his Rockefeller Center mural, and the commissioning and production of his mural at Mexico City’s Palace of Fine Arts—I became convinced that any particular identity construct, whether it’s about national, race, gender, or another kind of identity, can be made to serve different and even conflicting purposes.

That’s a sobering thought. The meaning anyone tries to give an art object or art action, whether it’s an artist producing it or a museum featuring it, can’t be fixed. Meanings are always in flux because interpretive processes are dynamic. People are forever and always attempting to take aspects of the past or present and make them serve particular purposes—social, political, economic, and/or cultural. It’s interesting to explore these possible functions, and when considering possible meanings and functions, it’s important, in my opinion, to consider how they resonate or contrast with meanings and functions of other constructs, whether in the form of images, words, or behaviors. My feeling is that power per se lies in the proliferation of parallel meanings, whether implied or inferred by individuals, social groups, and institutions in a particular historical moment.

AT THE Crossroads

DIEGO RIVERA and HIS PATRONS at MoMA, ROCKEFELLER CENTER, and the PALACE OF FINE ARTS

CATHA PAQUETTE

At the Crossroads, University of Texas Press, 2017, https://utpress.utexas.edu/books/paquette-at-thecrossroads

In other words, the potential for change in public policy or institutional practices lies not in a single work of art—one expressive act—but a groundswell of articulations across many forms of social production, from the visual and performing arts, to oral expression, to writings in many realms, to individual and group behaviors.

So be attentive to what you say through your art, your spoken words, and your actions. Accept that you can’t control how people receive them—how they’re interpreted—but do everything you can to be meaningful and make your articulations productive. While you can never assume art will accomplish what you intend, you arguably can’t do without it. Art’s a way to speak and be heard—whether you’re producing, interpreting, or circulating

I do think it’s important to not be afraid of that loaded word “political,” which to some people means counterproductively partisan. I remember a political science professor here at CSULB emphasizing that politics are the means by which groups communicate and negotiate their social needs. The political process is important. Despite the many ways in which it proves to be, and in some cases is made to be, inequitable, we as individuals should make the most of politics—speak out and act meaningfully in a way to impact legislative, judicial, and executive branches of government.

Why is art history fun? What do you love about it?

Art history is fun because learning about art involves learning a new language—a visual language that consists of color, texture, line, form, and other elements, along with their integration. And art history is a great way to explore the global diversity and inherent complexity of history and culture. At the same time, it’s a crucial way of developing skills in reading, analysis, and communication. I always tell students it’s less important to learn facts and more important to ascertain how artists, art historians and others select and link facts in a way to argue particular viewpoints. In analyzing varied viewpoints, you begin to develop your own. Paper assignments enable you to strengthen your own skills in argumentation. Liberal-arts coursework in general is a good way to learn how to assess the validity of perspectives on a given issue or question. This skill will be useful to you in every aspect of your life.

Why do you love teaching? Did you know you wanted to teach early on?

The last thing I wanted to do when I graduated from college was teach. But in grad school I realized how much I love it. I now know that with teaching I can forever be a student—what a privilege. I’ve learned a lot from not only my research but also my students.

What is one piece of advice you would give to a freshman student interested in art history?

Reading about art history takes time and energy. Students these days, who seem to prefer short snippets of text—30-second sound bites?!—have to work through essays and books that are long and dense. But if you stick with it, it’s worth it. It’s an opportunity to better understand how others think and ultimately what you yourself think and why. That’s important in life.

You are co-editing an anthology with Dr. Karen Kleinfelder and Chris Miles titled In and Out of View: Art and the Dynamics of Circulation, Suppression, and Censorship. When will it be published, and are you doing any revisions in the light of Black Lives Matter and the public’s struggle with systemic racism?

In and Out of View is a collection of writings, interviews, panel discussions, and personal statements on art production and reception from the mid-twentieth century to the present—controversies where art was deemed insignificant or disruptive. The anthology will be published by Bloomsbury Academic in late April or early May. There were two times in the past four years at CSULB when one could reasonably wonder if, or even comfortably assume, that censorship had occurred, along with acts of racial injustice. As co-editors of an anthology exploring circumstances through which art comes into and out of view and the implications and ramifications, we couldn’t ignore them. So, yes, we took the time to invite others to address them. Importantly, several components of the anthology talk about systemic racism.

Can you speak to the importance of Black Lives Matter and decolonization overall?

The Black Lives Matter movement has become so important. In 2020 it succeeded in getting many individuals and groups to not only recognize and acknowledge but take action with respect to racial injustice. That’s a tremendous accomplishment.

I struggle with the term decolonial because it’s binary in a sense. It suggests an entity that was previously colonized now is not. Colonization, which involved the taking of native lives and land, enslavement, and destruction of culture, was an integral part of the founding of the state of California and our nation. Sociopolitical economic inequities certainly persist. They continue to impact people and culture. So just as colonization is arguably a continuing process, so is decolonization, which involves publicly acknowledging and rectifying oppressive organizational structures and practices, whether public or private. This is important for those of us who live in Southern California, which has the largest urban native population in the U.S., and study or work at CSULB—the site of the sacred indigenous homeland called Puvungna. The university has a historically significant American Indian Studies program that works hard at maintaining and initiating native culture and cultural production.

I am impressed with the symposium that the School of Art Concerned Students of Color and Allies proposed a couple of years ago and that the SOA museum-studies graduate students recently organized. That series of talks was informed to a great degree by the Black Lives Matter movement and decolonizing activism.

I do disagree with those who argue that criticism of U.S. American culture stems from hatred of or lack of love for the nation. Efforts to ensure justice and equality for all, along with opportunities to thrive and meaningfully contribute to society, are integral to the ideals envisioned, if not fully implemented, by the nation’s founders. Those ideals are noble and necessary. They’re worth fulfilling.

Should art history majors learn how to paint or sculpt? We think so, but how about you?

Of course. Creative production, which is challenging and also fun, enriches our understanding of art. It’s a way to learn the visual language of art.

Do you like manga, animation or illustration? I love comic strips! When I was a kid, they were called the “funny pages.” But these days, they’re not always funny. I do like how comic strip artists are commenting on everything from public health measures to the 2020 presidential election

Have you ever painted? Do you do any kind of material art form, and if so, why?

When I was a kid, I did some drawing and painting and a lot of craftwork. What I discovered about four years ago is weaving. I have several rigid heddle looms, which are two-harness looms, but also an eight-harness loom, which I’m looking forward to using more. Fiber Arts is a new world for me to explore.

What’s your favorite dish to eat or cook? Do you have any pets?

I love chocolate, and I’m a big fan of chocolate chip ice cream.

When I was a kid, my family had a dog, but I’ve learned that cats are intriguing characters. I’ve been lucky enough in life to be adopted by four. I’m now caring for my granddaughter’s two cats. It’s been a pleasure. They’re sweet natured and entertaining. What are three books that you recommend people to read?

I’d rather not recommend particular books or authors. I recommend that students read whatever they find interesting. For whatever you read, be analytical. Ask yourself why an author is writing what they write. What’s the key question they’re attempting to answer, either directly or indirectly? What conclusions does the author reach? What kind of evidence is offered? Is the argumentation sound? What functions does the book or article seem to serve? Rather than passively accept what you read, ask questions of it. But remember that we authors don’t always say what we mean or mean what we say. Be both critical and, when reasonable, forgiving.

What is the best piece of advice you have been given?

If at first you don’t succeed, try again. If you’re unable to achieve something that’s important to you, acknowledge your disappointment and look closely at the circumstances, learn from them, and go at it again. Appreciate the process. Focus on what’s meaningful to you. Contentment lies in valuing the learning process and doing what’s personally meaningful. Last but not least, the advice coming now from the U.S. medical community regarding public health is important. Find a way to take risks creatively and at the same time take care health-wise. I’ve lost a family member to COVID-19. This is a disease that’s highly contagious and has been agonizing—tragic—for so many. Be careful for yourself, family, friends, and the public at large. Be cognizant of how precious life is. Protect and savor it.