“I taught myself to U the O’s, fizz the TH’s and water down the R’s. San Fernando. Los Gatos. San Hosey. Love and fear made this place real, like the vaccine scar on my arm,” writes Sebastian Gomez Biggeri, a Latino visual artist living and working in San Jose.
We were mesmerized by Sebastian’s turns of phrase in both English and Spanish and are delighted to perform a series of his short pieces on June 17 in partnership with the San Jose Museum of Art. He is currently exploring a series of vignettes comprised of short writings, drawings, and digital art, and will be participating in the Cultura Power Fellowship through Movimiento de Arte y Cultura Latino Americana (MACLA).
Sebastian Gomez Biggeri, photographed by Juliana Rico.
Sebastian was kind enough to answer a few questions about himself and his work in advance of the show. We are providing his answers in Spanish and English.
How did you hear about Play On Words?
My partner may have forwarded it to me, or perhaps I learned about it through the SJMA.
How has your creative practice changed during the pandemic?
Siempre he percibido el presente como algo muy precario, y la pandemia hasta ahora no ha catalizado ningún cambio fundamental. Al contrario, parece ser otro estertor más de la gran pesadilla que se devora a sí misma con nosotros adentro.
Pero si me ha ayudado a desprenderme de ciertas pretensiones que me demoraban creativamente. Hay cierto consuelo en la melancolía de las escalas geológicas, la certeza de que el plástico y las penas eventualmente serán otra capa sedimentaria. Un proceso mucho más lento pero no muy diferente al régimen de una cultura curada algorítmicamente, donde todo es novedad e inmediatamente sepultado para siempre bajo el flujo de información.
Sumándole a esto un momento de verdadera crisis material donde mi interés se enfocó más en la solidaridad comunitaria y la acción política, mi práctica artística logró reconciliarse con lo efímero. El mío es un acto insignificante pero universal, como regar las plantas o caminar con una piedra en el zapato.
Our present always felt utterly precarious, and the pandemic so far hasn’t catalyzed any fundamental change. On the contrary, it only has exacerbated the ongoing conditions, one more gasp of the great nightmare that devours itself, with all of us in it.
Nonetheless, the sudden direness made obvious for me that certain pretensions had become creative obstacles.
There’s solace in the melancholy of geologic time scales. The certainty that plastic waste and sorrows eventually will be just another rock layer. A process much slower but not that different from the regime of a culture algorithmically curated where everything is novelty and immediately buried forever under the flow of information.
In a moment of true material crisis where my focus and energy turned into mutual aid and political involvement, I was able to reconcile my artistic practice with the transience of its fruits. An insignificant but universal act, like watering the plants or walking around with a stone in my shoe.
What does “immigrant heritage” mean to you?
Herencia es una palabra pesada para alguien que siempre vivió de paso, pero con los años he descubierto cosas de mi origen que atesoro. No sabría decir cuánto se debe a la nostalgia del expatriado y que otro tanto a la erosión que va revelando nuestros rasgos más fundamentales. Cualquiera sea el caso, es parte de una conversación continua con los demás que me obliga a ser honesto conmigo mismo. La complacencia de estetizar las afecciones regionales nos termina transformando en caricaturas. Me tomó tiempo entender que el exotismo es una dinámica colonial, es la sintetización benigna e inoculada de lo foráneo. El rol que me hacía sentir especial es un viejo yugo imperial. La verdadera herencia son las costumbres con las que entendemos la justicia, el amor, y la soledad.
Heritage ended up being two faces of the same coin for me, depending where I am. As an immigrant, I can’t tell how much of it is nostalgia and what’s due to our fundamental characteristics contrasting against the foreign landscape. However it may be, it is part of a continuous dialogue with others that compels me to be honest with myself. Indulging in exotic affectations turns us into caricatures, for exoticism is the synthesis of a colonialist dynamic that inoculates what’s foreign and processes it into something benign. Partaking in the role that made me and others feel special but void is an old yoke. I see my heritage as the elusive customs through which I understand justice, love, and loneliness.
What else should we know about you?
I was born and raised in Argentina, and I’m a graphic designer by trade. Since last year I’ve been intermittently working on vignettes and short stories @gunsgermsandmemes. I’d also like to plug a new podcast by Juliana Rico that focuses on conversations about art with BIPOC creatives, @artinmotionpodcast.
Play On Words 