: SELECTED PRESS / ESSAYS

JAMAICA CENTER FOR ARTS & LEARNING
An Interview with José Ruiz
By Erin Donnelly
May 21, 2007

Erin Donnelly: From where did the idea of the show originate?

José Ruiz: Around 2004 working as an art handler in Washington D.C., I realized there was a whole issue of labor in the art world. Day laborers awaiting work on the street, maids or cleaning ladies were also really apparent in the world and in the mass-media.

ED: How did you arrive at the title Descendents of Ascension?

JR: I use the term Descendents of Ascension because, like a lot of my work, I use two symbols, words or situations that oppose one another or cancel each other out. In a literal way, I see it as a group of people who are descendents of those who seek to ascend.

ED: You have addressed Latino male identity in the U.S. in your previous work and in art historical precedents. For example, A Revolution: Now and Then considers the farming industry and links to the era of Diego Rivera and his political murals. How does your work take the question of labor and immigration a step further?

JR: In my previous work, I was simulating situations based on stereotypes, both the good and the bad. I consciously inserted myself into the earlier work. The idea led to the day laborers and what their roles are now, almost 100 years later.

ED: And how is this evidenced in the current project?

JR: The men who wait outside on the street for work are most associated nowadays as symbols of labor. One aspect is a series of photographs shot from the hip, taken quickly, where you see groups of immigrant workers. If you pay attention you may notice the artist among the men.
So the first approach was to integrate myself with these groups, not necessarily to work with them, but to experience the concept. Observing, listening, and disguising myself allowed me to understand some of the key issues of what the project is about.

ED: I see younger artists interested in an ongoing engagement with identity politics. Can you address any generational shifts that you have observed within this practice?

JR: Identity politics is a part of history now. As an artist, it is a lot to inherit but I have followed my natural instincts. There is a big legacy and I’ve seen a shift back. When I was in graduate school a couple of teachers told me specifically “Don’t bother. It’s very 90s. And now we’re in ’01” and I listened but at the same time developed my own ideas.

ED: But 2001 is actually an important year in terms of politics, 9/11, the Patriot Act and subsequent effect on immigration. Do you think about the implications and what’s at stake now in questions of identity?

JR: One of the events that really triggered the work was the war in Iraq. Whether it was a national distrust of, what the art world would say “the other,” foreigners, immigrants. Or the limitations enforced by the Patriot Act, which situates identity politics differently.

ED: Since we’re talking about politics, when we first met last November and during a more recent studio visit, you talked about incorporating emblems into the project. Can you talk about your choice of such loaded nationalist and political party symbols?

JR: The decal is a bald eagle hovering down or preying but its wings are actually American flags. I’ve painted over the eagle’s head so you just see the wings ascending above, so it’s less predatory and more positive. The other emblem refers to a Communist flag. To symbolize a different type of worker’s movement or revolution, a hand drill and a paint roller replace the hammer and sickle. I’ve tweaked both of the images so that they can be evaluated in a less nationalistic and more human sense.

ED: It is commonplace to consider the art gallery a “neutral” territory, but can you talk about how elements of the show, such as the tools of its own production, make it more political?

JR: One of those objects is a traditional A-frame ladder that is 6-feet tall. Instead of presenting the ladder as a found object, I’m actually recreating it by hand out of sheetrock. It embodies “the corporate ladder,” getting on top, or getting ahead but at the same time, it is more spiritual, lifting towards heaven or the afterlife. As an actual form, the ladder is also related to Incan, Mayan and Aztec temples, which is another way I’m connecting to the heritage of the immigrant workers.

ED: In a review of an earlier exhibition you said: “Verticality is overrated,” a statement which went along with your agenda to bring “underprivileged information into the foreground.” What may be the limitations of progress?

JR: What is true of labor production is also true of the day laborers. One piece of underprivileged information is that illegal workers are here because there is a demand for them. That demand is part of verticality, where everyone wants something more, such as new buildings and the day laborers are actually creating the opportunity for other people.

ED: Other writers have commented on the notion of doubles or oppositional images in your work. Can you talk about some of the elements in the show that create counterpoints in the discussion?

JR: The video Stampede has two channels that oppose each other; on the one side, people running down a hill, “sneaking into the country,” and the other, a quiet, dead-end road in the desert. These are actually very opposite but when they’re put together a new context is created. That’s why I call the gallery a “territory” because it’s my way of making the rules within the space where the subject matter is represented in the best way possible, or in a welcoming way.

One part of the installation that creates a counter to the whole project is a video that borrows clips from American Idol with cheering fans holding signs. But I’ve switched their signs with those used by the Minutemen, a nation-wide group that’s against immigration and illegal day workers.

This conservative view towards immigration is the counterargument. As much as anything else, I feel it’s just to include it, even though thinking about the workers first outweighs it. It wouldn’t be right to start a conversation without the other side.

ED: Another component of the show is an industrial container labeled “blood, sweat, and tears” that leaks liquid onto a cactus planted in unmixed plaster which functions like a commemorative fountain you’d find in a plaza or a public square. What is your interest in public space and the neighborhoods near Jamaica Center for Arts and Learning?

JR: To exhibit in a gallery can be limiting, especially when a lot of the bigger issues are happening outside, whether it’s demonstrations or the workers themselves. After sitting in with the workers, I also left stickers with miniature flag logos on the public sites. Like place markers, graffiti or tagging, I am marking those spaces—a street corner, storefront, gas station or Home Depot—for what they are.

ED: In the marking of these places there’s a certain sense of the visibility of the laborers but also an amount of protection guaranteed by invisibility. With that in mind, can you address your own presence photographing these potentially undocumented workers?

JR: Visibility and invisibility are key issues to why the day laborers function. Some towns are trying to make dedicated places where they can wait. But why highlight something that’s illegal? It makes it worse for the workers.

But I’ve approached it the same way. The photos have to be taken with hidden cameras. The photos that I use are ones where everyone’s in profile or shot in dark areas because I don’t want to impact anyone’s life for an art project.

Erin Donnelly is the Residency Director and Curator at Lower Manhattan Cultural Council.