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IN REVIEW | ALBUQUERQUE

IN REVIEW: Up from the underworld: MFA thesis show by Saúl Ramírez turns pain into poetry

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Saúl Ramírez is a trans nonbinary artist and poet whose University of New Mexico master’s thesis exhibition, “Seeds of Compromise: In Search of Digestive Architectures,” is currently on view at the nonprofit AC2 Gallery, aka Albuquerque Contemporary Art Center. Their assemblages are multilayered but approachable, with a lack of preciousness — some are literally held together by shoelaces — that keeps the focus on the materials and the stories those materials tell, as opposed to the mechanics of their assembly.

Ramírez, a descendant of the Rarámuri people of Mexico, blends the Mesoamerican myth of Tlazolteotl and the Greek myth of Persephone into a complex allegory of artistic upcycling and personal transformation. Tlazolteotl, whose name means “Filth Goddess” or “Deity of Dirt,” is associated with literal dirt as well as sexual “dirtiness.” Her adherents believe she causes sexually transmitted infections but also cures people of them by eating the disease. Persephone, meanwhile, is a nature goddess associated with blossoming and fecundity. But because she once ate pomegranate seeds in the underworld, her soul is metaphysically bound to return to the underworld once a year. The ancient Greeks believed Persephone’s yearly descent is what causes winter, while her return to our above-ground world is what causes spring. If an ordinary human had eaten the same pomegranate seeds as her, they would have been condemned to the underworld permanently, but Persephone, being an immortal goddess, like Tlazolteotl, can consume and digest things most mortals cannot.

‘Seeds of Compromise’ by Saúl Ramírez

WHEN: 9 a.m. to noon, Tuesday–Thursday; 1–4 p.m. Friday–Monday; through April 24

WHERE: AC2 Gallery, 301 Mountain Road NE

HOW MUCH: Free, visit


The ability of these goddess figures to metabolize filth or death corresponds to the artist’s own practice. As Ramírez states in the exhibition text: “By thinking of the studio as a stomach, painting can absorb an earthly function of digestion where waste and death are reborn as fertility and generosity.”

Most of the works in “Seeds of Compromise” are found-object wall installations that use paintings as one element among many. Some of Ramírez’s paintings are representational — self-portraits or paintings of pomegranates, mostly — while others are abstract. Ramírez places them on shelves or hangs them next to the cabinet-of-curiosities-style wall installations, which include a mélange of objects, both sacred and profane, from old library books, images of saints and bundles of dried herbs to lacy underwear and bondage gear.

The idea of curating one’s own art into a self-consciously “museumified” presentation dates back, at least, to Marcel Duchamp’s “Box in a Suitcase,” which he launched in 1935. It included miniature facsimiles of his most famous artworks. Duchamp was partly inspired by the American outsider artist Joseph Cornell, who had begun making his signature found-object shadow boxes just a few years prior. Later artists introduced the practice of arranging found objects on shelves, including Haim Steinbach in the late 1970s, Damien Hirst in the early 1990s, Carol Bove in the early 2000s and Rashid Johnson from 2008 on. How we interpret such works depends, in part, on whether we think of the shelves as referencing anthropological museum displays, retail shelving or domestic interiors.

Ramírez’s wall installations seem to operate in the personal, domestic, quasi-spiritual space of memorialization or enshrinement, since the objects the artist chooses are personal in nature and their presentation lacks the regularized formality of museological or retail displays. People of many spiritual traditions have small home altars or shrines, and even nonreligious people often place special souvenirs or mementos on shelves alongside their favorite books, a practice that might be regarded as secular shrine-making. The works in “Seeds of Compromise” contain a mix of sacred, mundane and even potentially embarrassing objects one might find buried in an attic or closet. By reconfiguring them into shrine-like assemblages, Ramírez gets us to reconsider each object’s symbolic potential.

Does Ramírez like and agree with the books they incorporate into their assemblages? Probably yes, in the case of “Visions of Excess” by the early-20th century philosopher of transgression, George Bataille. Bataille’s idea that mystical transcendence can be achieved by immersing oneself in everything grotesque and painful about human bodies seems to have influenced Ramírez significantly. But that’s probably not the case for “We Were There with Cortés and Montezuma,” a 1959 historical fiction novel for children, which Ramírez has wrapped in underwear and shoelaces and affixed to the wall as a standalone sculpture, titled “A Thing of Awe.” The bundled underwear could suggest sexual violence — part of the story of Spanish colonization in the Americas that’s often left out of children’s history books — or it might symbolize the artist’s own nonbinary identity in contrast to the macho warrior identities of both Hernán Cortés and Moctezuma II (Montezuma). By wrapping the book in underwear, the artist enacts a ritualized profanation of a sanitized, bowdlerized work of historical fiction, thereby reclaiming their own cultural and sexual identities in a way I think Bataille would have approved of.

A book that shows up in at least two works in “Seeds of Compromise” is “The Word: A Philosophy of Words” by Edna Sarah Beardsley. This obscure and rather bizarre 1958 linguistic treatise claims that some letters of the alphabet are “literate,” while others are “illiterate.” The author also classifies various English verb forms as “masculine” or “feminine,” noting that words are “forever propagating” according to what she calls “the spiritual logic of the sexes and the literacy of word-gender.”

In one assemblage, Ramírez balances the ripped cover of Beardsley’s book on a stack of bricks on the floor, beneath a shelf assemblage that includes pomegranate art and underwear — motifs that reappear throughout the show. In this case, Ramírez’s relationship to the text is not entirely clear. While I might assume that a nonbinary artist would be irritated by the book’s gender essentialism, which Beardsley exaggerates to the point of absurdity, the fact that she imbues ordinary letters with both sexual and mystical significance opens the possibility of an alternative, “against the grain” reading of Beardsley, and the English language itself, as something fundamentally queer.

In a floor piece, Ramírez sandwiches a small, abstract-expressionist-style purple canvas between two tall, rectangular pieces of roughly cut mattress foam. The front of the foam is pale green and stamped with a grid of holes, some of which Ramírez has plugged with purplish-pink dried flowers. When I saw the long, pale green forms riddled with holes and interspersed with flowers, I immediately thought of cholla cactuses, which are commonplace here in New Mexico, as well as in the artist’s ancestral homeland of Chihuahua, Mexico. Ramirez’s sculpture is like a boxy, Minecraft version of chollas. At the base of the smaller shaft of foam is a stack of library books, including ones by the 16th century proto-scientist, Francis Bacon, and the 19th century naturalist, Charles Darwin — two of the most significant figures in the development of Western science. A pink charm bracelet rests precariously on the taller foam shaft.

How are we to interpret this sculpture? By pitting Bacon and Darwin against a highly unnatural representation of organic forms, are we meant to question the meaning of the word “natural”? By connecting a sentimental piece of jewelry, sentimental dried flowers and a painting emblematic of turbulent emotions with materials like mattress foam that have no inherent emotionality, are we meant to ponder how artists are able to enliven inert matter with genuine human feelings?

The paintings themselves are of such disparate styles that I read them less as expressions of the artist’s authentic self or soul than as found objects, no different than the other objects Ramírez uses. They happen to have been painted by the artist, but probably at different times and for different reasons. Some look like academic exercises. Collectively, they represent the art-making impulse, but the real art is what Ramírez creates by cannibalizing them.

Ramírez’s practice involves struggling against, or struggling through, various texts and materials in search of an artistic, linguistic or even alchemical transformation. Whatever else the work is about, it is first and foremost “art about art” — an exploration of the processes by which artists turn the ugliness, filth, pain or even boredom of everyday life into something transcendent. Like Tlazolteotl, who can only create health and beauty by consuming filth and disease, or Persephone who can only create the bright fecundity of spring after journeying deep into the underworld, Ramírez metabolizes pain and suffering and produces visual poetry.

Logan Royce Beitmen is an arts writer for the ϼ. He covers visual art, music, fashion, theater and more. Reach him at lbeitmen@abqjournal.com or on Instagram at .