Grey

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
I always have several projects going at the same time because that keeps me happily busy. Right now, my main work is a long essay (which I’m turning into a doctoral thesis, though I’m not sure I should say that publicly) about art and human rights. I’ve spent years writing for myself about this topic: how different works of art (literature, film, photography, music, street art) have changed the narratives around violence in Mexico and have become vehicles for protest and memory.

As an illustrator, I’m working on a couple of small projects (I’m only taking editorial commissions that truly interest me) and a couple of personal projects: I’m making ex libris for close friends and continuing my vignettes (similar to the vignettes in Dibujo por no llorar, my most recent book, but in other formats). I’m also doing a lot of analog photography. I recently returned to it, but I neither do it nor want to do it professionally. I only do it because it makes me happy and helps me stay very present. Besides, I’m interested in making art without it being my job, because drawing—which used to be my hobby—is now my work, and sometimes everything becomes a bit confusing.

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
I think writing and photography help me stay present, as I mentioned. You learn to look differently because you become aware of other people’s voices, of light, of gestures. You can walk down the same street a thousand times, but when you have a camera with you—or you’re in a “camera mood” (when you don’t have your camera but your eye is searching for something to capture)—you see something you’ve never seen before. There’s something a bit magical about falling in love with the everyday.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
Fear and pain about the political situation in the world. The social normalization of ongoing genocides being streamed terrifies me, as does the growth of dehumanizing discourse from the far right around the world—particularly now in the United States. I don’t know; I wish I could say the word surrounding me is hope, but it isn’t. Even so, I try to cultivate it. That said, I do have faith.

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
Always—absolutely everything I do is inspired by something else. For better or worse, I’m a very obsessive person, and other people’s work or the beauty of something (a flower, a mountain, an insect) always stays in my mind for a while—sometimes for years. There’s a phrase by Leonard Cohen in “Anthem” that I think is something like a creative and life mantra: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” That’s how I understand faith—what moves me to keep existing and what makes me creative. Creativity is the result of my existence; I don’t see it as work, as “I have to do this” (well, sometimes I do, with certain projects I complete more out of discipline than pleasure). But so much of what I do comes from feeling the need to do it. It’s what keeps me alive: making things. Wanting to make things.

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
I’ve lived with depression for many years, and recently it was diagnosed as “severe,” although I think it has been part of me since childhood… it has peaks and stages, and I’ve learned to live with it and to ask for help. But in the hardest moments it becomes terribly disabling: it immobilizes you and you stop being able to do things or think. Still, art somehow always helps me get out of there. In fact, Dibujo por no llorar is also the result of that. I wouldn’t recommend living with depression to anyone, but I’ve learned to turn it around—to recognize it, accept it, let it be, and create from there while avoiding romanticizing it.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
I live between different cities, so I’ll go one by one. I love Fratemo in Xalapa, Veracruz—any pasta there is delicious. In Mexico City: the eggs with beans at Fonda Margaritaa; the donuts at Masala y Maíz; Grey in Tlatelolco is delicious and the menu changes, but I always order agua de sabor; and even though it’s a bit cliché, I love Contramar —obviously the tostadas drive me crazy. Mexico City is one of the best places in the world when you’re hungry. The fava bean tlacoyitos from Doña Mari in Escandón (Minería and José Martí) are incredible.

In Cambridge, my favorite is Fin Boys—I’d order any appetizer with a good glass of wine. And in London I have many favorites, but I think some brunch eggs at Esters and a roti at Roti King.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
It would be called Grey (because of the emotional and physical climate—right now I’m in England and everything feels quite somber, like the politics), and the music would be by Diles que no me maten.

Which studios, laboratories, or workshops have you collaborated with recently or would you like to collaborate with in the future?
EFE Center—they’re super kind, patient, and treat me well.

Recommend one or more artists you follow who inspire you, and tell us what you like most about their work or their way of working.
Sonia Madrigal, Mayra Martell, Greta Rico, Zahara Gómez Luchini.