Music and More

Pardoning the Ex-tradition of a Legacy

 I come from Latin privilege and Chicano scarcity.  My maternal grandparents are a large influence on who I became in life.  They didn't seem to struggle with identity openly.  They did label though.  And for whatever social influences or lack of need they rarely promoted any label themselves.  They established the bedrock for what I rely on as a character compass.  They created what I know as my family.  They were raised in a generation that inspired the need for a Chicano mentality.

My grandparents were taught under a regime of Catholic dictators enforcing laws that disabled a lot of their reckless creativity.  I paint with a bias that overlooks the love and tradition the same Catholic ordained paradoxically brought with them.  This Christian archdiocese, including the radical authorities, enforced a catholic tradition of shame and guilt right along side a message of stewardship and compassion.  The penitent façade of Catholic Christianity seemed to bind my grandparents into obedient stewards to humility, handicapping them, while protestant Anglos capitalized on their, reformed alignment with prosperity and wealth.  I don't need to be Protestant I need to radicalize my Catholicism.

My religious attitude paints with broad strokes.  I am inflamed by my commitment to the Catholic rules that don't seem to stifle the liberated "Christian".  Blessed are the meek, while my ego looks up at the Christians who seem to be lavished by the sleek.  I am dull by the sadness from the discouraged attitude the Catholic church has towards the spiritually creative and grip on dogma.  I am jealous of the prosperity that comes from Anglo-American Evangelical modalities.  I want the same freedom to interpret and create revolutionary mentalities around the gospel that aren't commercialized.  I want to dismantle the  faith that rooted my grandparents in hesitancy, fear, and obedience.  My grandparents died obedient Catholics and I want to die a believer in Christ.  I don't know how different these deaths are, and pray they lead to the same heaven.

Immigrating Without Borders

      I immigrated from Albuquerque’s city life to a quieter Santa Fe.  Santa Fe is 50 some odd miles north of Albuquerque along the Camino ...