This past Saturday I was invited to attend the opening reception for the latest exhibit at the UBC Museum of Anthropology called The Marvelous Real. The MOA website offers this explanation for titiling 55 stupendous Mexican works of art:

“In 1949, the Cuban writer and ethno-musicologist, Alejo Carpentier (1904 – 1980), coined the term the ‘marvellous real’ to describe a particular kind of magic realism that is manifest in the arts and everyday life of Latin America. Eluding the expected through bizarre amalgamations, improbable juxtapositions, and fantastic correlations, the marvellous real is, as Carpentier said, ‘neither beautiful nor ugly; rather, it is amazing because it is strange.'”

After an hour-long journey through the exhibition in the Audain Gallery, I can say that the pieces were outstandingly marvelous, in fact inexplicably more than this. But I’m biased: I have always had an interest in Latin American culture, and hope to major in Spanish, so when my Mexican friend Natalia asked me to join her I was beyond excited. She and her family recently moved to Vancouver from Mexico City, and her father happens to be in close contact with not only the Vice Consul of Mexico to Vancouver (they had Thanksgiving dinner together!), but also the Mexican Ambassador to Canada. The Ambassador, among other speakers and representatives, gave an insightful speech about Canadian-Mexican relations. He emphasized that the social and economic connections between the two countries are imperative to their thriving relationship and that, as a representative to Mexicans, he was proud to be a part of such a contemporary and inspiring exhibit. You could say I was star struck, especially because after the reception I was able to meet him as well as the head Consul General of Mexico to Vancouver (a lovely woman) thanks to Natalia.

As for the actual art pieces, you should definitely go see them yourself. There were a variety of famous Mexican painters, from the colorful Rufino Tamayo, to the contemporary Carlos Amorales, to the classic Frida Kahlo. Two paintings in particular stood out to  me the most. I’m not going to analyze the paintings, but they are fascinating, beautiful works that I thought would be nice to share. Surrealism is, in my opinion, one of the coolest approaches to art because of the use of color, brush technique, and the endless interpretations it provokes. Surrealist art through the past century has a rich, fascinating history especially when comparing and contrasting cultural trends, as shown in the uniqueness of these Mexican wor

The first is by painter Leonora Carrington, called Step-Sister’s Hen (or Marigold, Marigold, Tell Me Your Answers Do) (1954) :

The second is by Juan O’Gorman, entitled The Myths (1944). I could spend hours staring at the intricacies of this painting. I am also fascinated by how many surrealist paintings, such as this, use quite morbid themes which can be interpreted philosophically or religiously.

All of the artwork displayed in the gallery is part of a travelling exhibition which is owned by Mexican corporate giant FEMSA (also known as the #1 bottler of Coca Cola in the world). This is the first time the exhibition has been shown in Canada, as it mostly moves around Latin America. I find this to be a sublime example of how globalization delves into every single aspect of society, even the most innocent of them: art. FEMSA controls the exhibit and owns all the pieces, making the works not only widely available for a multitude of audiences (via exhibition travels or even the internet) but also transforms the very essence of art and creativity into a commodity. There’s two sides to this: The negative implies that although artists need to make an income to survive in this capitalist world, it does seem a bit twisted to manipulate and put a price on one’s creative talent; However, from a more positive perspective, the globalization of art into a mass market increases availability for people like you or me who appreciate art for leisure or academic value.

Do yourself a favor and go see the exhibit. The Mexican and Latino community in Vancouver is extremely small compared to our southern neighbor, so it’s a great way to get some cultural insight and to get lost in the intricacies of surrealist art.

Also, one of my and Natalia’s favorite Mexican artists who was not in the exhibit is called Remedios Varo. Pop a Google image search of her and your mind will be blown.

My best friend Ben is currently attending University of Pittsburgh in the United States. We frequently send letters back and forth across countries, just to check in and mail each other university gear or gifts, etc. This past week he sent me a letter telling me about a restaurant in Pittsburgh called the Conflict Kitchen. The restaurant only serves food from the country in which the US is currently in conflict with, and the country rotates every few months. Currently, the country is Cuba, and in the past they have done Afghanistan, Venezuela, and Iran. The Iranian version is what stuck out most to me because of our recent class readings of Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis and Hillary Chute’s critical analysis of the book.

The restaurant organized a traditional Iranian menu and several events around the politics Iran-US conflict. The restaurant invited Iranians around the world to write part of a speech that they would like President Obama to deliver to Iran. The ideas were composed into a solitary speech which was then presented by an Obama look-alike around Pittsburgh. The introduction to the speech stuck out most to me:

“As President of the United States of America, I am well aware of the mistakes we have made in regards to your country. You struggles for you freedom and democracy for decades and when it was finally being achieved in the early 1950’s, we orchestrated, organized, and financed a military coup to overthrow your elected government and bring back the Shah who ruled the country with an iron fist for over a quarter of a century more… That is the legacy of the United States in Iran, and the main factor that led to your uprising in 1979.”

This passage provides context to the sentiments expressed in Satrapi’s writing. While Western culture was idealized and worshipped, I now recognize a sense of bitter irony when she wrote about parents’ involvement in the Iranian revolution. The United States has not only been involved in Iranian affairs for the past half-century, but also is responsible for the corrupt regimes that which internally destabilized the country for decades to come, including during Satrapi’s childhood. Perhaps Satrapi doesn’t explicitly blame the US, but the Conflict Kitchen’s Iran Speech provides some historical international background information that is left out in the graphic novel.

Relatedly, Satrapi maintains a very unique social position during the Iranian revolution and the Iran-Iraq war. I can appreciate that the Iran Speech puts other voices into context, and perhaps dissonant ones in relation to Satrapi’s. Her childhood character idolizes Western culture and media and seems to have little knowledge of its political responsibility for the country’s dishevelment. In her teenage years, she left Iran to attend boarding school in Europe and was therefore absent from later international involvement and trauma. Comparatively, the voices expressed in the speech have a significant distrust and dislike for the United States because of its corrupt political intricacies with Iran from the latter half of the twentieth century until today.

Ultimately, not only is the Conflict Kitchen a tremendously creative and impactful idea, but it provides insight and context to current and past international conflicts by bringing forth real-time opinions to the public sphere. Most of what we hear comes from the news, but the Conflict Kitchen spotlights individual voices and their sentiments from the other side of the conflict and in doing so shapes an unconventional national identity.

Both the blog written by pseudonymous author Riverbend and the graphic novel Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi are vivid examples of female narratives in the face of wartime and trauma. Though geographically and historically different, one was documented during the American bombings of Baghdad and the other during the Iranian Revolution and Iran-Iraq war, the two autobiographies confront westernization, desensitization of violence, and a theme that scholar Hillary Chute coins as the “procedure of memory” (97). Each narrative (either by post or by chapter) systematically presents an important event, turning point, or peek inside daily life; its holistic effect is an account of identity representation in traumatic and politically chaotic circumstances.

Riverbend writes her blog much like a novel, eliciting strong emotional and visual descriptions that are empathetic with broad audiences, whether or not they have experienced trauma at such extreme levels. Many of the posts deal with daily fears and frustrations accompanied by wartime, yet her explanations maintain a heavy cynicism towards both the Iraqi and American governments. A striking example of her criticism is outlined in a post titled “Liar, Liar” written in September of 2004, where she unabashedly denounces President Bush’s speech. She writes, “Imagine long nails across a chalk board, Styrofoam being rubbed in hands, shrieking babies, barking dogs, grinding teeth, dripping faucets, honking horns all together, all at once, and you will imagine the impact his voice has on my ears.” In this quote, and in the blog overall, Riverbend emphasizes her unique perspective as an educated, politically involved, feminist female Iraqi, effectively drawing an audience (likely Western) which identifies with a similar mindset but also which takes interest in the special context of her writing.

Comparatively, Satrapi’s Persepolis takes a similar political and feminist undertone but from the angle of a privileged, westernized young teenage girl. Her writing style within the graphic sphere focuses on Marji’s juxtaposed position in the largely oppressive and extremist society of post-revolutionized Iran; this is portrayed not by stark verbal narrative but rather by the use of black/white imagery and spacial representation of scenes and characters. Persepolis is not as fluid in daily events like Riverbend but instead depicts important turning points in Marji’s childhood and the effect that trauma has on her adolescent development of identity. On the first page of the book, Satrapi bluntly explains the first day she was forced to wear a veil to school: her emotions are emphasized by facial expressions and body positions, black or white backgrounds, and self-orientation in the frame in relation to reader viewpoint. Persepolis requires stronger visual insight of small but important stylistic choices than does Riverbend, creating a different but equally complex ambiance to the narrative.

Riverbend and Persepolis ultimately share strong similarities in author perspective. Both women are educated, young, politically aware and involved, critical, feminist to a degree, and most importantly, vocal in their rebellion. While Marji participates in riots and wears inappropriate clothing in public, Riverbend strongly speaks out against political inequalities and injustices by narrating the war from an insider perspective. Both blogs effectively draw audiences who are not in the same position, but who share similar critical views and who appreciate stories with familiar Western ideals.