Alexander Hernandez
Interview by PJ Gubatina Policarpio
San Francisco-based artist Alexander Hernandez utilizes scrap fabrics, found images, pop culture artifacts, and traditional textiles to create works that embody visions of queerness, absence, alienation, and displacement. Mixing together a wide variety of textiles and techniques in his studio, Hernandez patches together fabric collages and soft sculptures with enigmatic provenances to visualize hybrid identities and histories that speak to today’s unsettling present. Last December, I spoke to Hernandez as he traces the sites and moments that inform his practice.
PJ Gubatina Policarpio (PGP): Do you have any memories of Oaxaca? Were you aware of the region’s influence in the art and craft culture of Mexico?
Alexander Hernandez (AH): I was born there but I moved to the U.S. when I was four, so I have very few memories of growing up in Oaxaca. I remember a lot of nature, a lot of landscape. It's one of those blurry memories that I have. I remember it as very family-oriented. It was a very close-knit community. My family is from the Mixtec part that works mostly with pottery. Going back with my family and stopping in Oaxaca City is where I was influenced by all the colors, all the textiles and all the handiwork.
PGP: What was it like to move to Colorado?
AH: We moved to Grand Junction, Colorado, four hours away from Denver. It was not very diverse, and I suddenly felt totally out of place. That's when I realized I'm an alien, or I'm an outsider. My family moved around quite a lot. So we were never really in one place at a time. Moving to Colorado really made me realize how nomadic I am.
And also finding out I’m queer. Here I am brown and gay and surrounded by all these things that I don't understand. So the only thing that I really connected with was craft, like quilting and sewing. All these arts and craft things at school or in other places. It also kind of brought me back to Mexico, too.
Siesta, 2019
Site-specific soft sculpture installation in the desert
50 x 84 x 10 in.
PGP: You went to Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design (RMCAD) in Colorado. What made you decide to go to art school?
AH: In high school I got into painting, and one of my teachers saw something in me that other people didn't see, not even my parents. I started doing paintings and then eventually my teacher helped me put my portfolio together and we went to a portfolio review in Denver. She talked to the school and pretty much got me in.
PGP: What kind of things were you making as an undergrad?
AH: I was making really bad paintings. And then I started getting into collage and mixed media, and that's when I started introducing fabric that I had in the back of my mind the whole time. Then I learned how to sew and got really into it.
PGP: What was it like learning how to sew and finally incorporating fabric and textiles into your work?
AH: Learning a new tool was so exciting! Not only did I make art stuff, but I would also embellish things and I started to make things from my house, and it felt nice to do that. Also, this was around 2007 when the economy was bad, so a lot of people, not just me, suddenly started getting into do-it-yourself (DIY) stuff. I would make pillows and things that were just for me.
PGP: In 2010, you started your MFA at California College of the Arts. What made you decide to go there?
AH: I graduated from RMCAD and then I got a job but then I got laid off and so I had no choice but to move back home to Grand Junction, Colorado. I dreaded it because I returned to a place that was triggering. It was a very conservative place and I needed to get out. I decided to go to grad school like everyone else. Plus, I really wanted to focus on textiles. I was looking at all of these schools and CCA came about because they have one of the best textile programs in the United States.
“That's what I did during grad school. I was into craft and drag, and how that was related. I was really interested in how communities of drag would teach each other as a way to pass things on. How when people dress up and get ready together it's like a quilting circle, right? Everybody gets together, shows each other tips and talk shit. I was interested in the performance of getting ready and how that's related to craft.”
PGP: Did you know a lot about San Francisco at that time?
AH: Actually right before I left Denver I had started getting sick and that's when I found out I was HIV positive. So one of the other reasons that I wanted to move to San Francisco was because it is known for HIV services.
PGP: So you were aware of San Francisco’s progressive attitudes on homosexuality and HIV. Did you know about its significant Latinx presence? Was that part of your thinking?
AH: Yeah. After undergrad I finally started to be more proud of my Latinoness. Taking more liberal arts classes and learning about inequality made me aware of internalized racism—I hated myself. This was the first time that I started to embrace myself, and go back to my roots. Moving to San Francisco really reinforced that because there were all these people I could speak Spanish to. And Esta Noche was incredible. I was here within the last few years of Esta Noche.
PGP: Tell me about Esta Noche.
AH: It was a dingy bar in the Mission. It was the only gay Latino bar in the city. Actually, it has an interesting story. Originally in the eighties or nineties, they wanted to open it in the Castro, but the people said no because they didn't want that kind of music. So they opened it in The Mission, off 16th Street. Back then, it was still pretty shady but when the tech people came it eventually got gentrified. It was dingy, dark, and it was a really good mix of queer Latinos, but also different types of queers and Latinos who were questioning their sexuality. There were immigrants that were finally able to do things that maybe they weren't able to do back home. It was the first time they could be around other gay people and participate in different things. It was also the first time that I could see drag mixed with Latino themes and culture. Drag queens who were lip syncing to songs that my mom would listen to when she was cleaning. It was nostalgic and familiar yet new and different. All these things finally connected.
Then I started getting into drag because of that. That's what I did during grad school. I was into craft and drag, and how that was related. I was really interested in how communities of drag would teach each other as a way to pass things on. How when people dress up and get ready together it's like a quilting circle, right? Everybody gets together, shows each other tips and talk shit. I was interested in the performance of getting ready and how that's related to craft.
At the same time, I was learning about a Trans and two-spirited community in Mexico. So I traveled to Mexico and participated in this procession. That's when I got into performance as craft. Even though I don't do that anymore, it left something in my work.
Digital Love, 2019
Printed and quilted textiles
15 x 20 x 1 in.
PGP: Tell me about your trips to Mexico, meeting the Muxes. That’s in the state of Oaxaca?
AH: It’s in the southern part. They are Zapotecs. It's actually a good thing I read Esteban Munoz’, Searching for Queertopia. It made me realize how I overly romanticized it. A lot of people tend to do that.
Even moving to San Francisco, I thought I was going to be in paradise. But there’s also a dark side: If you're not cute, white, and tiny, then nobody cares about you. How classist the gay community can be. A lot of these spaces in the Castro were not as welcoming as I thought they would be. I learned that even though I'm in a queer place I can still be an outsider.
So when I heard about the Muxes, I believed I was going to be with my people: With indigenous people that are queer. It sounded exciting, and then I went, and I had to learn so many new things. I was young and I didn't know a lot. That's when I realized that even though we were Mexican and all this, there's the privilege that I had because I was an American citizen. There's all these things that kind of opened up for me. And again it reinforced how I'm still an outsider. It was exciting to participate but I was also let down a little bit. I still learned a lot and I still love them. It opened up my eyes about never really belonging. I realized I had to create my own identity instead of always trying to be a part of something.
That's kind of what my work is about. I make these Frankenstein-type pieces, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and sewing them together to make a beautiful mess.
“With painting there was way too much freedom because you can literally create anything, right? Any color, you can mix. But with textiles there was a limitation because you had to work with what you had. When I first started, I did a lot of thrift store finds. There were things that I realized that I loved, like finding patterns that I grew up with.”
PGP: A lot of the work that you do addresses issues of absence and migration. When did you decide to use textiles as a medium to address these concerns?
AH: I realized that fabrics and patterns were very ingrained to identity. A lot of the embroideries and a lot of weavings from Mexico were things that I grew up with in my house. There was an identity about all these fabrics. At the same time, I was also very inspired by punk, goth, and do-it-yourself (DIY) culture. I was interested in patches and the back of denim jackets, and how you create an image, curating how you want the world to see you. That kind of goes into it.
I wanted to use fabric because it's something that's very familiar but also very personal. It's something that we take for granted because of fast fashion. We forget that fabric is everywhere. It also shows where we come from. People don't realize how much of an identity can be embedded in textiles.
PGP: What is your process in collecting these fabrics?
AH: It's years and years of buying and searching. That's actually one of the things that I enjoy about textiles too, that search. With painting there was way too much freedom because you can literally create anything, right? Any color, you can mix. But with textiles there was a limitation because you had to work with what you had. When I first started, I did a lot of thrift store finds. There were things that I realized that I loved, like finding patterns that I grew up with.
I practiced mixing fabrics based on what I had around me. I developed my own way to make patterns and colors work together. It's been a ten year process of figuring it out knowing what I know works together. Not just color, but the material, the denseness of pattern. And also failing, a lot of failing.
Weeping Ladder, 2018
Soft sculpture installation
16 x 25 x 5 in.
Made during a resideny at Mass MoCA
PGP: Let's talk about some of your earliest experiments with textiles?
AH: I was doing a lot of mixture, mixing clothes but also mixing crazy fabrics that I would find. In undergrad, I was making a lot of amoeba, oblong shapes, and then slowly evolving into other things. Then after graduating from grad school, I worked as a social worker in the Tenderloin, and made things out of the lost and found items.
PGP: The remnants of other people?
AH: Yeah, exactly. Also, these were from disappeared youth; we weren't quite sure what happened to them. That's when I started doing figurative soft sculptures. I made figures out of those found clothes.
One of the reasons I did that is because I was working with HIV-positive youth who just found out their status. One of my responsibilities was to check the rooms to make sure people didn't overdose. And so, I would see these bodies laying there. And there was always this anxiousness of, "I hope they're not dead.” That's the beginning of those figures. At that time I was still making them small.
PGP: How did these small soft sculptures evolve into the Art in Odd Places (2019) project?
AH: I was used to seeing all these bodies just laying everywhere, and so I wanted to make life-sized versions of those sculptures for Art in Odd Places in Florida.
So here’s the thing, as I'm creating these bodies and about to do this installation in Orlando, the Pulse tragedy happened, and I'm thinking, "I can't show these. If I show these bodies on the floor, they're going to look like dead bodies." It's going to be triggering. It’s not what I wanted to do. That's when I started to make it interactive. I invited people to come and hug the figures. To console and find comfort in these colorful soft bodies. And then people were, "I like this because I can hug somebody and there's freedom. It's comforting and I don't have to deal with the baggage that comes with being with an individual." Or, "I don't have a partner. It feels comforting to have somebody." Or, "I miss my mom and this is like hugging her." So there was this surrogate-ness to it.
Fer, 2018
Printed and quilted textiles
35 x 45 x 1 in.
PGP: It's so interesting to me to hear you talk about your work and how it charts certain moments of the 2010s in the Bay Area, from night life to gentrification, those feelings of queerness, freedom and liberation. Moving to San Francisco, living in the Mission and then hearing you also talk about Pulse and how your work was influenced by this great tragedy.
AH: It was very personal to me and a lot of my Latino friends because these were people that I could see in my community. And actually for a second, I felt like mainstream queer white men were taking away this story for themselves. People were saying, "They're attacking us." Yes, but there are layers to it. These are Latino men. In a Latino bar. In a Latino neighborhood. That a lot of these queens would never even visit.
PGP: Going back to your process, how did you decide the shape? How did you select the fabric for these figures? You use these bright, patterned fabrics and also traditional Mexican textiles.
AH: At first it was more of a visual thing. But then I realized these are patterns that have influenced me—being Mexican, being queer—it’s an accumulation of all the fabrics that I’ve worked with, during my drag period, growing up in Colorado and seeing granny square quilts. Combining all those things.
PGP: And how about the pose? This kind of fetal position.
AH: That’s based on the youth that I was finding, but also the people that I would see in the Tenderloin. I wanted the shape to be vague. I want you to question, "Are these figures asleep? Are these people dead? Are these people okay?” I wanted a sense of vulnerability and also a sense of beauty.
"I want you to question, "Are these figures asleep? Are these people dead? Are these people okay?” I wanted a sense of vulnerability and also a sense of beauty."
PGP: From what I can tell, the figures are also non-gendered or ungendered? Is there a reason for this?
AH: Yes, I wanted them to be ambiguous because I wanted everyone to feel that they could connect with the sculptures. I want them to be as gender neutral as possible, so that anybody can connect with it.
PGP: We are in this interesting moment where we see othered bodies as easily disposable. I think of bodies of migrants, refugees, and other displaced people crossing the border, by the water, in oceans and rivers. Have you ever thought about this moment in relation to the soft sculptures that you make?
AH: For me, it also shows the diversity of the populations that are dying, impacted or displaced. It's not just about death but also about displacement. Seeing all those homeless bodies just reminds me of how gentrified San Francisco is.
PGP: Can you talk about abstracting these figures into snippets like an isolated arm or a leg. How did this happen?
AH: I did a residency at Elsewhere in North Carolina in a town that was once a booming textile town in Greensboro. Everyone had jobs and then once globalization happened and all these jobs were sent somewhere else. I was fascinated by that narrative, so I created these ghost-like figures. I used all the fabric left over from the textile industry there, and took pictures of the figures around the city.
A year later, I did another residency at MASS MoCA. It was another industrial town, a mill town that suffered the same fate. They didn't know what to do with the buildings so MASS MoCA bought it in the '80s. I was really interested in these spaces that were not being utilized, that were not open to the public. I didn't want to do the same thing that I did in Greensboro, so I was thinking of something from a zombie movie. Where things were coming out of these corners and spaces. The spirits of all these workers that used to work here kind of coming out of nowhere. And so that's where the limbs started off.
PGP: Without seeing the body fully there's a kind of haunting that’s even more menacing.
AH: I put the limbs in places that were hard to get to. Really intricate spaces. I like to create situations where people ask "What happened here?" And then they are able to do the research on the history of the building, or town, or space.
Somebody actually just recently told me that they love my forms because it’s fun, bright and colorful and lures people in, and then they realize, "What the fuck is going on?" It tricks them and then they start thinking about the real issues.
PGP: You recently returned from a residency. Can you describe some of the things you were making?
AH: I got accepted into the Vermont Studio Center residency. I didn't know what I was going to make. I took some images that I already had printed with me. I found these pictures of gay people in jail in Mexico. I was really fascinated by incarceration, and how it affects different communities. So I was going to work on things around jails and incarceration. But then things always change, right?
Anytime I do a residency, I like to connect with the history of the space. This time, I was in the East Coast. I realized, "Oh, I'm where all these witches were persecuted." The witch hunts. At the same time I was also very fascinated by how gay men love witches. There's something alluring about them. They're strong women and they're being persecuted. They contain a lot of wisdom. There's this weird fascination with healing, healers, and witches in Mexican culture. So, even though they are Catholic and they're not supposed to believe in magic they still go to healers.
And so I wanted to combine those two things together. I was looking at all these devices that people were making for witch trials, and how people would dunk people into water to see if they could float.
In the back of my mind I kind of always wanted to use the image of the Wicked Witch where she dies and you see the feet. It's always stuck in my head. That's when I made “Bruja Legs.” But instead of making the stripes [on the leg], I wanted it to be more me. So I chose the Mexican sarape pattern. Which kind of perfectly lined up with the green and looks like her stockings. So I created the witch legs and went around and took pictures of her in Vermont.
“There are lots of layers in my work, hence why I like using textiles, patterns and techniques that overlap on top of each other. I like creating bright colorful pieces that draw people in but they don’t know what’s going on yet. Like a Venus fly trap, I like to seduce viewers into topics about displacement, acculturation anxieties, defying gender expectations, and the intersectionality that bursts between the seams.”
PGP: I’m noticing that along with or in addition to the soft figures, you're also staging and photographing the sculptures in various settings. Do you consider the photos as artworks, moving your practice into photography?
AH: I've always taken pictures as documentation because I don't know what's going to happen to the sculptures. For example, at Elsewhere we couldn't take what we made there. So how do I make something to take with me? So I took photos of the work. Now, I'm in a weird stage where I'm trying to figure out if I should also show the images? I'm kind of still figuring that out.
PGP: What do you hope folks take away from your work?
There are lots of layers in my work, hence why I like using textiles, patterns and techniques that overlap on top of each other. I like creating bright colorful pieces that draw people in but they don’t know what’s going on yet. Like a Venus fly trap, I like to seduce viewers into topics about displacement, acculturation anxieties, defying gender expectations, and the intersectionality that bursts between the seams.
PGP: Lastly, what’s next for you?
AH: I am currently working on pieces for an upcoming solo show in late May thanks to a grant from the San Francisco Arts Commission. It will open at Accion Latina in the Mission on 24th Street. The show titled “Staying Positive”, presents a series of new portraits of Latinx and people of color who are living and thriving with HIV. This series aims to dismantle social stigmas around being POZ and demonstrating this community as survivors rather than victims. The show opens on May 29 and will be on view until July 10th.