Art I was meant to see

A block and a half from Casa Aurora, the beautiful, funky guesthouse where I am staying for my second week, there is an arresting piece of street art that I keep passing by, done in a kind of terra cotta relief. There is a large central mural depicting (I think) aspects of the history of Mexico, and then all around it skulls, with names and dates, extending for a long way along the wall of the building. There is an artist's statement in the corner that is integral to the meaning of the piece.

The work is by Efren Gonzalez, a prominent local artist who was born and still lives here in Ajijic, and apparently has his studio a few blocks away. The work is titled "Muro de los Muertos," or "Wall of the Dead' -- the full title or at least the intention seems to be "Wall of the Dead (for the Living)." It was created in 2016.

With some searching I found two blog posts by Susa Silvermarie, an Ajijic expat writer, which explain more about Gonzalez's work and its meaning, and translate his statement/poem.

In her first post, she describes the mural and points out that it is on the wall of a primary school and directly across the street from the main parish church of Ajijic, San Andres. I had failed to note either of these things, although just last night as I left dinner on the plaza the sound of drums and horns nearby drew me through the streets to locate it, and I ended up at the corner that has the mural on one side and entered an open door on the other. Inside I found an elementary-age drum and bugle corps, boys and girls in their uniforms, standing in the central courtyard practicing with their conductor, various parents watching around the edges. Very charming. That was my first recognition that the building was a school, since everything is behind walls and there was no noticeable sign.

Parroquia San Andres Apostol, across the street from the school and mural

Silvermarie writes: "The artist Efren Gonzalez was born in this town and lives in his studio down the street from the school, which his children attend. He extended an open invitation to all Ajijic families to sign up for inclusion in the project. 'The idea for the mural,' he said, 'is to honor ordinary folks.' Passing this wall of skulls, one often hears children’s voices from the school within."

In her second post, she offers a translation of the poem that is part of the art piece. I will quote it here:

Wall of the Dead  by Efren Gonzalez translated by Susa Silvermarie

All that lives will die.
All the good, the bad, will be finished.
All that is strong and all that is weak will have an end.
Everything that breathes in, has to breathe out, to expire.
Everyone who is famous will be forgotten.
Everyone who believes himself indispensable, will perish.
Every creator, the ones who sing, the ones who dance—
those that admire, those that underestimate and criticize—
will stop existing.
And if someone is lucky, they will put his name
on the wall and thus he will be remembered a little longer.
And they will be sung and danced,
or underestimated and criticized, and then,
finally, along with the wall,
they will cease to exist. 

Eat, child. Sing, dance, love.
You won’t live forever.
Make art for which you will be remembered.
Do it now, you don’t have much time.
Say what you have to say, even if
you have to shout to be heard.
Fight to defend yourself!
Ask forgiveness, or forgive,
whatever you need to do
to keep going forward
Live.     Live!

Reading this gives me chills. Yes, it is the familiar memento mori trope, but it also seems directly addressed to me, and to my very purpose for being here in Ajijic as part of what I am dedicating myself to this semester. Make art for which you will be remembered. Do it now, you don't have much time. Say what you have to say. . . . That fear and urgency what spurred me to work on this wild project; I imagined dying (perhaps soon, long before my time, from violence or environmental catastrophe) and how terrible it would be if I had never expressed the truths of my life to more than a very few people.  

And of course it is scary in ten different ways. But I keep encountering messages that tell me it is the right thing to do. Like seeing this mural.

Beyond the issue of artistic expression, I have been on a deep emotional journey in the past few weeks that involves retracing my history with someone I loved and love profoundly, formatively, but gave up contact with close to twenty-five years ago due to my fear and shame of revealing myself fully lest I be rejected. I have come to feel now that I cannot progress in my life without contacting her (while we are both alive) to share my truth and to ask forgiveness for how I went into silence with no explanation. Nothing has been more in my mind during my time here in Ajijic, and where Gonzalez's statement culminates seems to affirm the necessity of going ahead with this when I return home. How can I dream of telling the world my truth if I don't have the courage to face opening up to the one person I most long to have know about my life and her role in it but am still most scared of telling? How can I dream of writing about a woman as brave as Mary Dyer?

whatever you need to do
to keep going forward . . . . 

Efren Gonzales Art Center
More about his creation of the mural