The Academy Blog

Welcome to Wangjing.

A district of Beijing, primarily inhabited by Koreans, bustles with the latest western style malls and taxis lining the streets. Situated along the north east section of the Fourth Ring of concentric circles that make up Beijing, this district is home to the Central Academy of Fine Art and is where we would be spending the next six weeks.

With the first week I aimed to suspend any judgment. I tried to feel that culture shock that I was anticipating considering it was my first time leaving my home country, to probably the most foreign place I could end up. A full twelve hour difference on the exact opposite side of the globe, but for some reason it still felt familiar. Sure all the signs were in a different language and it was unquestionably more difficult to communicate, but I felt a similar underwhelming sense when I first came to New York. For me, major metropolitan cities feel pretty homogenous, and despite some minor adjustments you never really have to leave your baseline of modern comforts.

I passed the feeling off as bleak cynicism for the time, but I was still optimistic that China had something to show me. Our amazing CAFA contemporaries that we would be sharing a studio with in order to create an exhibition had shown us a street just behind the major art store next to campus.

This was the first glimpse I had at something I hadn’t seen before anywhere in the US. This small street shared by family run stores, street food and apartments alike showed me something unexpected about Beijing. As a foreigner, you would never have found these stores, since the art store around the corner on the main road would have everything you need. It was here that I first started to think about my first painting teacher, Zhimin Guan, a native to southern China who often painted what I learned were called hutongs. I wasn’t sure at first why this was important to me, as this street certainly wasn’t a hutong, but it recalled a similar feeling and aesthetic that I gathered from his paintings.

As the second week came around I continued to carry on doing the small plein air paintings I had intended on doing before I left, still unsure what was going to drive my imagery for the exhibition. I knew I didn’t want to paint the usual subjects, based on superficial understandings of a place I would only barely scratch the surface of. I, for some reason, thought heading to the old city at the center of town would guide me toward something uniquely Chinese. So I made my way to Tiananmen Square near the Forbidden City, a place that is supposed to have historic architecture and an important place in Chinese history.

And there it was, I had just rubbed salt into the wound. Hordes of crowds, selfies as far as the eye can see, and more foreigners than I had seen in my all of my time in Beijing put together. I had accidentally walked myself into the Times Square of Beijing, a place no average citizen would go on a normal day by choice.

I turned around and little bit of my inner punk died, seeing a place that was a teenage symbol of revolution and anti-militarism turned into a shrine of tourism made me cringe. Thankfully my old teacher’s paintings kept coming back to my mind. A local I had talked to mentioned that there were hutongs near the square. I felt I needed to try and find my own version of what he saw, and luckily the guards were reasonably accommodating. They pointed me in the direction of a small area just south of Tiananmen, and what I found was a whole different world.

I found a place where there were no crowds, no taxis, and even some quiet solitude. There was no rush here, no glamour, or competition. The markets had great-looking produce and everyone seemed to know each other. Obviously I stuck out like a sore thumb, and almost got into a fight with a stray dog, but this was a place unlike what you imagine a modern city to be. This was where the culture must have really come from. Not in the fancy western façade that is being displayed to the world, but in the back alleys, hutongs and family owned shops. These are the places where people aren’t trying to become something different, and where the only important aspects of life seem to be adapting to survive and finding happiness within a community.

If there’s anything that will lead me back to china, it’s these small areas with honest working people just getting by, not the newest shopping malls.

Let’s start this entry with some Pushkin inspiration. I still remember back when I decided to move to NYC, the chills it gave me watching Anna Netrebko and Mariusz Kwiecien starring Eugene Onegin. Hopefully, we will be able to watch some Russian opera at St. Petersburg but for now, let’s embrace the Moscow atmosphere.

Novodevichiy Convent

Study nature. graphite on paper. 2015 Magaly Vega-Lopez

Short stories inspired by this whimsical land.

Ms. V was remembering the first time she heard about Moscow. Meanwhile she was waiting for a nice lemon sorbet tea. She was old enough to remember her father telling her about the USSR and how most orthodox churches were closed or vanished away. It was a faraway land where everything would be closed by 17:00 just to watch some old Mexican soap opera. Ms. V remembers her 5 old year self looking carefully at old Kodak photos. Somehow there was a place really far away where candy shape churches exist and beautiful ballerinas would depict delightfully, the Stravinsky music or maybe Tchaikovsky. In the winter the snow would be sweet as caramel and the famous Anastasia would be hidden in some magical forest, where you can find lost magic of ancient times.

Gorky’s House

Ms. V is slowly opening the window of her room, thinking how time passes on such strange matters. The world will change and collapse more than once, it barely feels like the old stories her father used to tell her. She looked through the window; a living fantasy. Thinking she feels something different inside a sort of happiness.

-A really weird emotion-

She grabs her purse full of dreams ready to explore the unknown.

Cathedral of Christ the Saviour

This is an ordinary story, or perhaps a sort of unordinary tale at least for those who like to explore the world or are some kind of forest dwellers. If you are not this kind of person, then maybe you would not be interested in continuing reading, and that is just fine. You don’t need to hear about little girls that have parent frogs as pets or drink birth cake tea every morning just to feel a rainbow explosion inside. Maybe you are the type person that drinks English breakfast without sugar, likes to eat plain potatoes each day and insists to be realistic about life. Well, I have bad news for you. This story requires you to look at sky and search for cotton candy clouds and strawberry stars.

There was a tiny little girl called mmm… lets keep it like V, she prefers to be called Y but that is our little secret. V has a quest going around the world, she is in pursuit of real magic. The magic that makes you ride unicorns and for that she needs to take really long walks, journeys that would take months. She is quite gifted to find those places with true magic. There is people skilled to find bars in middle of nowhere, others to find substances that would open doors to other worlds, others to find abandoned places where to create art, but if you are looking for fairy castles V is the one to call for.

Kolomenskoye

Now, V is in search of a wooden palace belonging to Tsar Alexis and within this search she is not alone and she needs to convince the non-believers to trust her.

“I don’t think this palace exist at all, maybe was burned in the Great Fire,” said S.

V smiles. “It does, just keep walking.”

“But there is nothing here.”

Kolomenskoye

V looks at the grass, the tiny flowers growing, some insects drinking water.

Kolomenskoye. Alexis I Wooden Palace

Far in the distance a strange palace appears.

V smiles; she was home.

After a month and half of burning our candles at both ends, Marcello, Valerie, Charlotte, and myself had our official opening show at LIA in the Spinnerei! Having prepped and cleaned the space the previous day (an artist studio, however organized, is never the cleanest thing), we were ready and excited for our big evening. The culmination of all our hard work came together wonderfully: we filled our studios respectively, and had our work curated in the main hall with the four other residents. I was tasked with cocktails for the opening – something my past as a cocktail bartender came in handy for – so whipped up a simple Pimm’s Cup Punch for the night.

The night started when Anna (the founder of the program) herded all the attendees to introduce us artists and give a guided tour of each of our studios. Cocktails in hand, everyone listened to her eloquently talk up each artist in their own unique way, giving the audience a more complete view of who and what they were looking at. Once touring through and talking about all the artists, we were free to mingle and chat. Much like any opening, there’s an odd sense having to be on display that I find awkward and unique, but that just might be me: I’d rather be fully there answering questions, or behind the bar helping people enjoy their night. The space in between is what gets me! But everyone we ended up talking to was very nice and complementary of our work, even if at times it had to pass through multiple languages! Words can’t describe all the artwork, so I’ll leave it to the pictures to do the rest of the talking.

Me in the sunflower garden

I called my mother and told her I was hoping for a residency. She was of course very excited for me and after asking many questions she jokingly added with a hint of loving fret, “Oh God, I hope they don’t send you to China!”

I laughed with her.

And as I unhurriedly boarded the plane, I was still managing to reluctantly accept my good fortune.

Oh God. They’re really sending me to China.

I realize now that the stagnant panic I felt, was just my mind’s feeble reflex to the idea of possible discomfort. Though it seems that this very concept has been a beautiful overarching theme during our trip in many ways. It has been about more than painting and sight seeing. It has affected our self awareness, mind sets, our bodies, and tested our hearts with a dramatic, and all-consuming game change.

Mysterious rabbit in 798 District. We saw William Kentridge’s Exhibition

New friends

New, Beautiful, Weird, Gross, Confusing, Alien, Complex, Overwhelming, Awesome, Hilarious, Polluted, Inspiring, Large, Pungent, Ridiculous, Traditional, Exhaustive, Graceful, Hot, Powerful, Intelligent, Loud, Human, Terrifying, Delicious, Mystical, Different

These are just a few words I have used repeatedly to describe my China experience since I arrived here three weeks ago and began adapting.

These words are pretty exciting to me because they are an honest measure of change, and I think that change is exactly what art is all about.

Our first authentic Beijing meal

Playing an Ancient Instrument of Earth and Sky called Guqin

Pong Pong, Taylor, Daniela, and part of Ben’s arm

Being here has forced us out of our comfort and familiarity, and has required us to become quite helpless, confused, and overwhelmed in many aspects of daily life.

Change has asked us to be brave, curious, open minded, humble, creative, responsive, and positive as we seek answers and solutions in the unknown.

Taylor

The studio mascot cheers us on!

A documentary moment crossing the street

Adventures with Melody

As for me, I feel all the new experiences are echoing in my work. For the first time I feel unafraid to enjoy the discomfort of searching for the answers in making images. Im embracing the change! For once I realize how much I have to say and paint about. I find myself in the studio each day with my own self, my own problems, and no distractions. China has forced a mirror and a microscope on me and I find myself unabashedly defining what I see.

I feel like I am actually beginning to enjoy this crazy ride my work is taking me on and in an amazing way, my own paintings have become a metaphorical life raft.

Barbeque seafood place that ended Ben’s stomach the first time

Crossing the street on the way to school

Daniela and me

I know it’s not over yet, but I can already say that this trip was exactly what I needed and I am so incredibly thankful for it. I am glad I know this before it’s over, because I am embracing all the change and newness with open arms. There is so much to learn and take away from this incredible adventure.

And here is my juicy episode update.

We laugh.

We cry.

We are working hard and sweating hard. Unfortunately the two are unrelated.

Poor Ben..his stomach says so much about him. He’s tough, but stubborn. When he isn’t indisposed, he’s eating exactly what makes him sick.

Taylor is tall and hilarious. He walks and talks at a super human pace and never stops hoping in vein that the Chinese will understand what the word “vegetarian” means.

Daniela is so sweet and determined, always laughing; and often an anchor of sanity when I’m confused with work.

We are all bonding and laughing and eating and working together all the time.

We have made some great friends who have shown us more than the ropes, Pong-Pong, Melody, Ian, Zhe-Zou, and Quentin have been taking good care of us.

I bought a bunny from a street vendor. Yes, to keep as a pet.. and everyone keeps making jokes about eating it.  Mostly the Chinese kids.  His name is Huasheng – Peanut in Mandarin

We have plans for some much needed spa time and The Great Wall this weekend. Wish us luck.

More updates soon to come! WOOHOO!

Best art store!

We have been in Moscow almost a week now and have visited numerous museums, galleries, Russian Orthodox Churches, restaurants, and shops. The culture is so rich, however, I think one could live in Moscow a lifetime and not run out of sights to see. One of my favorite excursions has been walking back to the hotel one evening along the back streets and alleys and down numerous winding narrow roads. The experience felt very European. We were away from the heavy traffic and tourist attractions that Red Square draws, walking home like a local Russian.

Our hotel, Hotel National, is located right in front of Red Square and the Kremlin. Red Square is very striking and strong by day, but at night it is lit up with different colored lights allowing one to feel the magic and mystery of the city.

I have been newly exposed to two Russian artists living during the 19th and 20th centuries that I have marked as my current favourites. I had the privilege of seeing their works at Tretyakov Gallery. These include Filipp Malyavin and Mikhail Vrubel. Their paintings, “Whirlwind,” and “Demon Seated” are among some of the paintings I’ve enjoyed seeing most thus far.

“Whirlwind,” Filipp Malyavin, Tretyakov Gallery, 1906

“Demon Seated,” Mikhail Vrubel, Tretyakov Gallery, 1890

Being inundated with so much new information while suffering from jet lag, I decided that I really needed the last few days to reflect and recharge my batteries in the studio. One of my colleagues kindly let me photograph him to paint. As I was unable to capture his likeness to the extent he deserved I have decided he will remain nameless. For the purpose of these studies his image serves as a vehicle which I have used to process emotions, knowledge and stimulus that have left an imprint on me over the last few days. In the spirit of the two expressive painters to whom I am partial, I too have created a selection of expressive paintings concerned more with the material qualities of the paint and surfaces and less with academic realism.

Untitled, acrylic on paper, 2015

Untitled, acrylic on paper, 2015

Untitled, acrylic on paper, 2015

Over the next several days I plan to venture more into the depths of this Moscow’s history, culture and modern day living and discover the ways it challenges my mind and art.

When it was my turn to write a blog post for the Academy’s blog I thought “Oh boy! I don’t know where to start!” I think I actually went: “Ay Dios!”

Should I begin the week before our flight, when I texted my boyfriend at 2 am and told him on the verge of hyperventilation: “I don’t know if I want to go to China, I am too anxious, I can’t sleep!” Or, a month ago, when I curated the perfect ‘to do’ list with my usual over-planning, wanting to make sure I was 100% ready for China.

Or, the moment Sophia, Taylor, Ben and I were in line at the gate B26, at JFK airport waiting to step into the plane and decided to break the ice by taking the typical (and official) first group ‘selfie’. ‘We are going to China’ said Sophia. It sounded more like: This is it, there is no way back!

I have come to recognize those worrisome moments as life’s sacred mountains waiting to be conquered. It was 2:30 in the morning when I texted back my boyfriend after he tried to calm me down: “Life scares me in a good way. It scares me sometimes to know how you can touch destiny with your own hands.”

In a conference given by the Spanish writer Javier Moro, author of ‘El Sari Rojo’ (The Red Saree), ‘The Adventure of Writing,’ the interviewer introduced the lecture by recalling artists that lived in times when travelling was understood in the full sense of the word. They referred to times when the land was not treated but discovered; times when one would place their ear on the ground to hear its heart beat. A true traveler converted physical journeys into artistic journeys, and artistic journeys into vital journeys leading one to return home changed into a new person. Like life itself, the best part about travelling is the unexpected, when your plans are changed and turned upside down, filling your head with stars, with more questions than answers.

It was already 3 am. The morning before, I had Skyped with my dad. It was Father’s Day and my whole family in Peru was getting ready to go to the cemetery to visit my grandpa. My dad advised me: “You are in the party, now dance!”

I finally fell asleep.

We were making our way through the line at the gate. I took my phone before our signal would get cut. I thanked life for that moment and typed:

Que empieze la fiesta!
#XieXie
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