When it comes to her hair, Anissa E. Salazar is a minimalist. She prefers natural, efficient products that won’t damage her scalp over flashy multi-ingredient ones. When we meet over Zoom on a February morning, Salazar admits proudly that she brushed her hair before our interview. She’s been busy–styling the iconic Jennifer Cooldige’s gravity-defying hairdo on W Mag’s latest cover, planning her wedding, and running her sustainable haircare brand, Tecuane, all while trying to remember to eat breakfast and take care of herself. For now, remembering to brush her hair will do.

For fans of Everything Everywhere All At Once, the Oscar-nominated and award season darling starring Michelle Yeoh and Jamie Lee Curtis, Salazar’s personal style may come as a surprise compared to the ornate looks she crafted for the film’s characters and their rapidly changing worlds. We sat down with Salazar to discuss her inspiration behind the highly stylized looks in the film, her early days sweeping hair off the floor at her abuela’s southern California hair salon, and how her haircare brand, Tecuane, honors her abuela’s legacy with its ingredients.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

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When did you first start styling hair?

I grew up in the salon like my Nina [grandmother] Mirna. She worked at a salon most of her adult life. I grew up sweeping hair, listening to the chisme, and handing over brushes. In community college, I studied stage makeup which reignited my creativity, and in 2009 and 2010, I went to Paul Mitchell School in Santa Barbara. I already knew that I wanted to work behind the scenes in film but didn’t know how. I found myself on Craigslist looking for student films and anything I could do to get my start. Once I got into the [workers] Union, I met so many amazing talented makeup people and other hairdressers, and dove into it. I was in a salon briefly, for maybe under a year, and then started working on sets full time.

How did you meet the Daniels?

I met the Daniels around 2014/2015, through a producer who called me in to do an interview. I had already read their script for Swiss Army Man, [and had found it] life changing. I was working on a Fox Studios show [at the time] and I was like, “Okay, well, I’m leaving now.” I pitched [the Daniels] a couple of my ideas and that’s what began the journey with them.

What were some of your first thoughts when you got the script for Everything Everywhere All At Once. Did you immediately have hairstyle ideas?

I got the script and I had to read it like five times. I didn’t understand any of it! I was so confused until we had our first concept meeting and then they’re like, “So long story short, this movie is about a woman who can’t finish her taxes,” and that was all they told us. I thought, “Okay, well that sounds easy. Come-as-you-are hair, you know.” I didn’t really think anything of it. Then we started dissecting each universe in each world, and they became more complex as we went, but it was really a collaborative effort.

The script gave very little description of what Michelle Yeoh’s character would look like, or what Deidre, Jamie Lee Curtis’ character, would look like. Once we started involving different departments, you really got to know these characters through how they dress and then that gave us an idea of their personalities and state of mind. “Okay, Evelyn is tired, she’s distressed. She cares about everybody around her except for herself, so she’s not going to get her roots done every three weeks, four months, she’s letting that just roll.”

It was really a collaborative effort between hair, makeup, and costume [departments], [as well as] the actors of course.

How much did traditional Chinese hair form a part of that? How did the bagel hairstyle come about?

The bagel was something I completely pulled out of left field. Through the small description in the script, I understood that the theme and environment of that bagel universe would be very celestial, very goddess-like, with white fog, almost heavenly. And I knew [Stephanie Hsu’s character] would be wearing different textiles, pearls and this latex costume. I already knew that she came off like a villain. So I thought, how can we keep it authentic to that character while having a super complex updo?

I started playing with shapes and I thought a bagel would be so on brand. I made seven different types of textures of braids, and then started hot gluing and burned all my fingers off just to make the centerpiece. I remember when we were trying it on her it was kind of flipping as we walked in, and I thought “Oh my god, how’s this gonna work?” There I was, strapping everything down, and it was really just trial and error.

What are your favorite looks from the film? Were there any style inspirations from culture or from moments in history and fashion that you wanted to bring?

I think my favorite hairstyle was Michelle Yeoh’s traditional Chinese opera hairstyle. I watched so many YouTube videos of Chinese performers.They would use tree sap to get those beautiful, sleek, waves on their foreheads, temples, and jaws. I tried to mimic that effect with different gels and hairspray on extension pieces. I didn’t have the luxury of having professional wigs and multiple backups. A lot of these wigs were based off of what I saw, and [I would] say a little prayer and hope that it worked on the day before because there was no time for any resets. I really got to learn about how these [Asian] cultures keep their traditions alive.

As far as Jobu, she had so many looks to choose from but I think my favorite is the hodgepodge look where she’s emotionally distressed. Her makeup is all over the place. She’s kind of like a Picasso art work, wearing those expressions and emotions on her face. When I saw [Hsu’s] costume would be a jumble of different textiles, I immediately thought of Vivienne Westwood in the early 90s, and I’m a big fan of Cindy Sherman, I’ve always thought it was so cool that she’s not only the model, she’s the photographer, she’s the hair, she’s the makeup.

Coming from a lack of resources, I used recycled wigs I had been using and just tried to mimic a cotton candy type of texture at the end. I wanted it to be a little bit high fashion, so I thought that disconnected fringe could be stunning and also hide the fact that it was a very cheap hard front wig.

Can you tell me about your haircare line, Tecuane, and what your goal is?

Right before filming Everything Everywhere, I had already started making samples for my brand. I wanted it to be something that I could never find in the market. It is really important to me to always keep the integrity of someone’s hair healthy. When the pandemic began, that was my opportunity to focus and dial in on Tecuane, a luxury clean haircare brand that honors our Mexican culture and [celebrates] gender fluidity. Tecuane is also inspired by my grandmother, who passed away in 2018, just before I started Everything Everywhere. I chose to incorporate ingredients that I used growing up with her, such as manzanilla, nopales, and rosemary, that I know you can use in a mindful haircare practice. I wanted to create something unique that honors my culture, my family and that you can use every day while not feeling greasy or using harmful chemicals. My goal was to create a clean alternative for any generation,any gender identity, and any hair texture.

[My grandmother] was a big fan of manzanilla, she used that for her hair, she made it as a tea [for] stomach cramps. She also used nopal. She grew up on a farm in Mexico and she went through different stages of stress in her life as a single woman who was raising nine kids while in an abusive relationship with her husband who was never there. It was hard. She had a lot of hair loss. I remember some of her stories where she would talk about mixing cow manure and manzanilla and nopales to make these concoctions and put them on with a little bandana. Stress can do a lot to our body, it starts internally and then you start seeing it manifest on the external.

The first place we see that stress is in the scalp, so I always knew I wanted to develop something 100% for the scalp. After trial and error and testing on myself and friends – who were my guinea pigs throughout the pandemic – I’ve seen customers come back with incredible feedback.

How does preparing your own hair factor into your day?

I am a very minimal person, especially because I’m always on the go. I don’t really use heat unless it’s absolutely necessary. Creating Tecuane was a little selfish [in the sense of] asking myself, “well, what do I need daily?” I wanted to make sure that my scalp is hydrated above anything else. So if I could just have one hair product that I use in my hair ritual routine then I’m good. I’m really into the less is more kind of style [while still being] put together. Grandma raised me to make sure you look good and to show up for the job that you want. So here I am.

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Alexandra Martinez is a Cuban-American writer and Senior Reporter for Prism.

The post How the Hair Stylist for ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’ Keeps Herself – and Others – Put Together appeared first on Latina.

Goyo has been passionately developing her music career since 2004, with ChocQuibTown, composed of Goyo, her husband Carlos “Tostao” Valencia, and her brother Miguel “Slow” Martínez. ChocQuibTown was born with the mission to represent their town and Colombia’s Black culture. Since then, the trio has produced six studio albums, won two Latin Grammy Awards, and been nominated twice for Grammy Awards, in 2011 and 2015, respectively. The goal for its members was always to be solo artists, but the whirlwind of acclaim and exposure sidetracked them. Now, Goyo is making a name for herself as a solo artist with her debut album “En Letra de Otro,” and the companion HBO documentary chronicling her inspirations behind the genre-defying work. 

“It’s been a beautiful experience,” Goyo said. “It’s been a huge achievement. I appreciate this opportunity and platform with HBO to launch my solo career, and to explore these genres and rhythms and make them mine.”

The documentary is part of the HBO Latino series that shows artists remixing classic hits, sharing stories from their childhood, and revealing their musical inspirations. “En Letra de Otro” has previously featured artists Farruko and Gente de Zona, but this is the first time a Black Latina has the platform to discuss her career, past and present. In Goyo’s “En Letra de Otro”, she fuses covers of salsa and urbano classics with her original reinterpretations through reggae, RnB, jazz, and hip hop. The album is mostly covers, but Goyo includes two original songs of her own. “En Letra de Otro” sees Goyo unrestrained by genre, showcasing her expansive talents, from intimate, acoustic recordings to bombastic soca and afrobeats. 

The album allows Goyo to honor industry heavyweights, such as Shakira, Carlos Vives, and Tego Calderón, who she grew up listening to during formative moments of her life: after having her heart broken or while out dancing unapologetically with friends. Her renditions of the songs “Antología,” “Pa ‘Mayte” and “Pa Que Se Lo Gozen” capture the breadth of Goyo’s many intersecting interests perfectly. She is a sensitive, Afro-Colombian woman telling stories of unapologetic joy, heartache, and folklore. 

Courtesy of HBO Max.

Goyo was raised in a matriarchal, musical family. In her small town of Condoto, in the Department of Chocó on the rural Pacific coast of Colombia, her family instilled in her a sense of cultural pride through music. She would watch her mom and five aunts rehearse as soneras for comparsas, the local street carnivals that honor Colombia’s rich folklore. She even performed a Celia Cruz song in one before she was in fourth grade. At home, her father’s varied record collection nurtured her love and respect for all genres, from salsa to American pop. One of her aunts, who toured with the salsa group “El Niche”, would recount stories to a young Goyo, who was eager to make a life out of music herself. Music, and the joy it brought her, would inspire Goyo’s nickname–she spent hours singing the song “Goyito Sabater” by El Gran Condo, a jubilant salsa. 

“As I grew up, new sounds arrived that helped me evolve my idea of music,” Goyo said during our conversation. “The urbano movement came: with its irresistible flow, that fury of the street, a revolutionary spirit of change. [It encouraged me to] explore and find a personal stamp. That’s what rap is for me: the power to keep being real, and tell my own story.”

Goyo is well aware of her prominent position and the opportunity to represent Black culture. It’s the reason why she chose to honor Calderón, whose identity as an Afro-Latino she credits for motivating her to continue in the genre. “I wouldn’t have wanted to work in the genre had it not been for him,” Goyo said. “I already liked [American] hip hop, but in Spanish, I had to find out about Tego to fall in love with it.”

The music industry has long been criticized for whitewashing and only platforming white artists in genres created and bolstered by Black and Afro-Latino artists. While white artists like J Balvin, Karol G, and Rosalia are celebrated and top charts, their Black and brown colleagues are not always treated equally. Most recently, the Puerto Rican rapper Residente criticized Colombian reggaetonero, J Balvin, for his complicity in the racist video for Perra, in which he walked Black women on a dog leash. In December 2021, Balvin was unexplainably awarded the “Best Afro-Latino” Award by the African Entertainment Awards USA, which has since changed the award title to “Best Latin Artist.” The award sidelines the countless Black and brown artists working and spearheading the urbano movement. In Residente’s diss track, in collaboration with BZRP, called “Music Sessions #49,” he shouts out ChocQuibTown and points out that they and other Black artists have had to fight twice as hard for a fraction of the same recognition. Goyo agrees with Residente’s track, saying they may be in the culture but they are not on the same playing field as their white colleagues. 

Courtesy of HBO Max.

“To represent doesn’t mean I have to be the example, because I can’t say that I’m excellent or perfect,” Goyo said. “But, it’s important to make the topic of Afro-Latin, Afro-Colombian [identity] as visible as possible because there are few opportunities for Afro-Latin and Afro-Colombian artists. In urbano, there is not much Afro representation right now, and you can’t explain how so much talent still can’t get to where they need to be like other artists have. It’s not because of the quality of the music, but because of the routes and the way that Black and Afro artists are received. It’s important to put [that conversation] on the table.”

Goyo closes out “En Letra de Otro” with one of two original songs, “Boga Boga,” which features Goyo’s mother, Nelfa Perea. Goyo and Perea composed the song about bogas, Indigenous and Black enslaved boatmen. “The boga isn’t scared of the downpour,” Goyo croons, telling the story of a boatman floating down the stream. His weary eyes expose the many challenges he faces, yet he continues into the next day. Goyo was inspired by the Black Colombian poet Candelario Obeso, whose first-person narratives give insight into the lives of bogas. Growing up, Goyo recalls her mother telling her stories about the bogas on the river, the same river her classmates traveled down to get to school every day — a kind of ritualistic passageway. 

“All of those memories, the tempo of the song, the ambiance, would take me there,” Goyo said. “It guided me and brought out a beautiful piece that is very sincere. I wasn’t thinking about numbers. I was thinking about being genuine and sharing a piece with my mom for the first time.”

Now that the film and album have been released, Goyo says she will still perform occasionally with ChocQuibTown. Otherwise, she is continuing to adapt to Miami, which she moved to from Colombia at the end of 2020. “I had been thinking about moving here for a while. This was the next step,” Goyo said. “I thought, why can’t we make it global?” 

Revisiting the album, Goyo says her favorite song is undoubtedly her other original piece, “Nanana,” whose upbeat and jovial tone disguises a song about setting boundaries in relationships. “It’s a song that accompanies you when you have to say no,” Goyo said. “When you have hope that everything will be better because you deserve better things. That’s what I’m about.”

As Goyo answers questions with serene poise, one of her few visible tattoos stands out. The depiction of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti, on her inner left forearm, is a reminder to her of the feminine strength, power, and devotion that was instilled in her from a young age. The warm colors and soft textures of Goyo’s matching skirt and vest set, made of hand-felted wool on cashmere, connote a seaside verbena lasting well beyond the sunset. But the suit’s Afrofuturistic structure also feels like armor, and the boss is Goyo.

 “En Letra de Otro” may be partially inspired by words formed by others, but it is distinctively Goyo. 

The post A Reintroduction to Goyo: the Afro-Colombian Artist On Her Debut Solo Album “En Letra de Otro” appeared first on Latina.

Self-taught producer/DJ Mia Carucci embodies this metaphysical concept in their debut EP titled “As Above So Below.” On the EP’s cover, an angelic Carucci stands firmly atop a boulder, their hands mirroring the imagery of the arcana card. By personifying the Magician, Carucci beckons others to harness their instinctual interconnection. The EP, which Carucci worked on for two years, explores Afro-Indigenous and Caribbean ceremonies, the Trail of Tears genocide, Afro-Brazilian Quimbanda, and dream-like world-building. The 23-minute prayer leaves its listeners in a hypnotic trance, fueled by Carucci’s rhythmic electronics and spellbinding whispers. The result is nothing short of an out-of-body experience, a lullaby for the senses.

Latina connected with Carucci to discuss their Miami upbringing, creative processes, and hypnotic new EP. This interview has been edited for clarity.

What was it like growing up in Miami? 

Miami is very much its own country. It feels like a strange fairytale land that I have a hard time describing. There’s so much poverty and wealth, but everyone has close access to nature, the ocean, lakes, and rivers. They’re all a bus ride/bike ride away. Oh, also, I started doing drugs and going to raves when I was 13, so it’s an insane place. I grew up in North Miami Beach and moved up to Broward because I was a troubled kid.

Why did you decide to move to LA? 

I moved when I was 19. My partner at the time told me, “I’m moving to LA next month. Wanna go?” I had nothing holding me back, so I left!

What was your LA community like at first? What is your LA community like now? 

I was [initially] surrounded by mostly white visual artists. Now I’m surrounded by brown and black visual artists, a true upgrade.

What’s your creative process like? 

My process is quite sporadic. I won’t make music for weeks until a perfect spark moment happens, and I can make a whole track in a day. In the meantime, I sleep to dream, read, watch old films and documentaries, meditate, and write down possible lyrics while I go on long walks with my familiar, Larry.

What is it about trance music that allows you freedom from the confines of sexual identity? 

I suppose it’s [due to] the nature of trance/dance music. Black and brown queer artists are the creators of these genres, so it lends itself to freedom of expression.

So much of modern artistry and promotion happens through social media these days. How do you feel about Instagram? 

I feel cynical about it all. I hope to create a familiarity with the world through my music and artistry that is strong enough to exist outside of social media.

“Pomba Gira” is so sensual and invigorating—how do you hope people feel when they listen to the EP? 

I hope people feel powerful. I hope they feel free to tap into their instincts and follow them with a balance of caution and reckless abandon.

The “Dreams” video uses VR to create a futuristic setting. Why did you choose to use VR? 

My idea for this song was bigger than what I can make happen in real life now, so it made sense to go virtual.

Can you tell me about the inspiration behind “Trail of Tears” the opening song on the EP? 

I was so overwhelmed with anger over the uptick in overt lawlessness regarding the immigration of black and brown migrants, especially seeing children in new-age concentration camps. [The U.S.] has been cursed since the forced displacement of indigenous peoples from 1830-1850, also known as the Trail of Tears. [Amidst] such a heavy concept, I wanted to keep the feeling of the song light via the melody and production by Alexander Spit, but accurate and poignant via the lyrics.

What’s next for you? Where do you hope to take your craft?

Wherever my craft takes me, I hope to continue to create from [the] Source.

The post DJ/Producer Mia Carucci on Their Creative Process and Hypnotic EP appeared first on Latina.

The duo chronicled their bittersweet return in their debut album, “Regresa,” a hopeful yet melancholic pondering of change. The timing of the album, released in May 2020, proved challenging amidst the pandemic and global lockdown. In the last year and a half, the duo filmed, edited, and released promotional material straight from their iPhones and home computers. Now, Buscabulla is returning to the stage to finally perform the intimate songs and hopefully dance us out of a pandemic malaise.

In anticipation of their ongoing mini-tour, Latina sat down with Berrios to discuss their life back on the island, how they balance parenting and their surprise collaboration with reggaetonero Jhay Cortez.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Raquel Berrios and Luis Alfredo Del Valle of Buscabulla.

How has it been returning to the stage?

I had a lot of insecurities coming back. I turned 40 this year and I kept asking myself, can I keep doing this, can my body withstand the stress? Am I going to be able to give an honest, energetic performance? I hadn’t really been on a stage since February of 2020. The week leading up to our first show in New York, I felt ill. I was nervous during the first song but then by the second one, I felt completely at home. 

Are you planning a show in PR?

It’s taken a while. It feels like in the U.S. COVID is kind of gone, at least from my perspective. There are always [some] people wearing masks [at live shows], but I think a lot of people are yearning to enjoy music freely. Puerto Rico is smaller, people are much more careful. So, it’s taken us time to be strategic about setting up a show, but we’re [planning one in] December, which will be nice to finish the year. We’re dying to play here and present the record. We never got the opportunity and this is the most important place to play this record. 

What are you most looking forward to about performing this album live, for the first time, especially once you’re able to perform on the island?

Moving back was a really big life milestone for me and Luis. We had been away for 12 years and Puerto Ricans always have a very deep relationship with this island. Many of us have come to the US to find better opportunities. But I think that almost all of us that leave always have a yearning to come back; it’s the magic of the island. I think that as a people we’re always torn, it’s a very complex relationship. The album talks about all these emotions and probably a lot of emotions that people are feeling here right now. It’s a message about people not forgetting the island, about us coming together to defend the island, to try and make it a better place. Even for those Puerto Ricans that are on the mainland, it’s a very personal record and it’s really important to play it here because it feels like we have a message to tell people to not give up on things. Keep yourself positive, keep dreaming about a better island.

[Berrios’ positive philosophy amid change and challenge is best expressed in the song “Nydia”. The title takes inspiration from Nydia Caro, a 1970s Puerto Rican actress and singer who was born in New York and moved back to the island at 19. Berrios had a chance meeting with the singer who became a mentor to her and helped her shift her perspective on their new life. The result is a poignant and transformative track.]

[The song] “Nydia” is really the arch of the record. We’ve been playing it live and something happens to me when I play it; I transform myself. It was definitely the one song that reflected my own negativity and doubt: if I could keep making music [as I get older] and after becoming a mother. It’s also about the pessimism that can exist on the island. It’s about taking those feelings and transforming them and saying, “I’m going to release them.” It’s important to bring that message to people. I want to bring a message about transformation and spirituality while still being able to dance and have a good time.

Raquel Berrios and Luis Alfredo Del Valle of Buscabulla. Photography by Maria Corsino.

How has your artistic process been while balancing family life?

The band solidified when we were going to have our daughter. Our daughter came with our first EP. Our personal life and our music have always been very interconnected in a kind of wild way. Our process is slow, compared to whatever music industry standards we live in today.

A lot of people complain that we’re not putting music out frequently, but Luis and I take our time with our records. The time we have to work is when our daughter is in school. We don’t want to be afraid about whether or not taking our time will put us at any disadvantage. We want to focus on creating something unique and creating something where we can connect with our audience. A lot of that has to do with being parents and putting our daughter first, before all of the work because she’s our most precious asset. Our band is an asset, but it can wait. Things can wait and we’re trying to do it our way.

Why did you decide to move back to PR? How has it been since you moved back?

Luis and I would talk about [moving back] even before our daughter was born. When you go to a big city in the States, there’s a certain amount of time that you enjoy it, but [at a certain point] you start yearning for the things that are familiar to you.

While we were in New York, we had day jobs and the band was a side project. So we put all our effort into trying to live off the band so that we could move back home. We had a good year with our second EP; we gathered enough money and [decided] “this is the moment.” It had been six months since Hurricane Maria had hit. The island was in dire shape.

When we got here it was hard. We [had been] living in New York around thousands of people, and then we were living on the west side of the island and it was very quiet. I got a little bit depressed and for a moment I asked, “did I make the right decision?” But ultimately, we started creating community; I saw [my daughter] speaking more Spanish and we’ve slowly transformed our New York selves into our island selves again. But we’re also new people. I became a new person with all the experiences I had learned from [living elsewhere] and I have a newfound appreciation to be here. The positive aspects are so beautiful: how social people are on the island, the sense of community that we couldn’t find in New York City, our family is close by, the warmth, the beaches, the relaxed vibe of the island. We treasure all of those things.

Did the economic crisis and the aftermath of Hurricane Maria impact your decision to move back?

It was a motivator. When we left New York, we made a nonprofit organization called PRIMA, Puerto Rico Independent Musicians and Artists, and we made it our mission to support independent artists [on the island]. We were giving out emergency micro-grants. After that, we started using the funds to bring people from the island to New York every year for a showcase.

How did your collaboration with Jhay Cortez on the song “Eternamente” come about?

We were in the middle of lockdown and I had made a post on Instagram saying what I was listening to at the moment. I tagged him because I loved his first album. I’ve always loved reggaeton and he has a fresh sensibility. He’s great with melodies and he’s a hit-making machine. I wrote to him and he said he was a big fan of us, which is wild. And I said, if you ever need anything with your record, let us know. He said, well, actually, I would love for you guys to make an interlude or an outro for my album, [and invited us to his home.]

We were feeling so lonely. We visited him [where he lives on the other side of the island] and it was a cool experience because nowadays everybody works remotely but we were able to just kick it with him. After that, we started working on a whole bunch of things together.

I think that a lot of people expect that because we collaborated, we had to do a reggaeton single, but [the outro we made for his album] is a different vibe. It was more about softening the hard masculine energy of the record. I wanted to finish it with a profound message, about things not lasting forever, which has a lot to do with how fast the reggaeton world works.

What’s next? Are you working on new music now?

We started working on new music this year and had to pause to tour. The whole tour has been inspiring. It’s what we needed. After being in the house for so long, [when we had] started working on new music, it was very slow. Now that we’re on the road, traveling, seeing other musicians play, I’m so inspired and so ready to work on new music. It’s a new world now; there’s a lot to sing about.

The post Raquel Berrios of Synth-Pop Duo Buscabulla on Moving Back to PR and Returning to the Stage appeared first on Latina.

“In this space, when you’re a brown woman and you start hearing other women that also have this certain language about, what is inclusivity? What is representation? That’s really rare here,” says Vazquez-Reyes. “When you find like-minded Latina women, that may help us see the leadership in ourselves.”

Lupita Vazquez-Reyes planting chaya cuttings on July 16, 2020, in Immokalee, Florida. The garden has been transformative for her and viceversa. Cultivate Abundance focuses on growing foods are part of the diet of their participant gardeners who act as guardians of their food sovereignty. Photography by Lisette Morales.

The two friends spent a year photographing the garden which grows culturally specific produce for the mostly Mexican, Haitian, and Guatemalan community, of which a majority are migrant farmworkers who supply two-thirds of America’s wintertime tomatoes, yet have limited access to fresh food themselves. The photos are now on display at “Down the Garden Path”, a collaborative photography exhibition at the local Immokalee Pioneer Museum at Roberts Ranch, on view until November 27. 

Vazquez-Reyes works as a garden and outreach assistant at “Cultivate Abundance”, a faith-based organization addressing food insecurity and other livelihood challenges in low income, migrant farmworker communities. Morales suggested Vazquez-Reyes take her own photos; it was important for her that the exhibit be a collaboration between the two, a reflection of living history. According to Museum Manager Brent Trout, the exhibit is the first by brown women, let alone Latinas, at the Immokalee Pioneer Museum, even though a majority of Immokalee’s population is Latinx. The photos, which were taken over the course of a year, capture the nuanced healing that comes from gardening, nourishing food and community.

Community Gardener. Photography by Lupita Vazquez-Reyes.

“Our goal was to bring up the stories for the people in our community to see it, to see themselves represented,” says Morales.

Migrant farmworkers travel north from May through November during the growing season and return to Immokalee for the rest of the year. Today, the average Immokalee farmworker makes less than $12,000 a year, and the average rate is 50 cents for every 32-pounds of tomatoes they pick.Immokalee, which means “my home” in the Seminole language, is a victim of one of the greatest ironies in this country. Despite Immokalee’s farm workers supplying two-thirds  of America’s wintertime tomatoes, their community is a food desert. 

The USDA classifies a food desert as an area lacking access to affordable produce, grains, milk, and food that make up a healthy diet. In Immokalee, where 37.4% of its population is living in poverty, most locals can only walk since they may be undocumented or unable to afford a car. The only available food within a mile radius of Immokalee comes from Family Dollar, convenience stores and a Mexican grocery store, whose prices are 25% higher than a Winn Dixie’s on the outskirts of town, where locals say the food is never fresh. Cultivate Abundance seeks to nourish the farmworkers who toil endlessly to provide food for others.

Community Gardener. Photography by Lisette Morales.

“[The food] they’re getting isn’t quality, and it’s not local,” says Vazquez-Reyes. 

Morales’ interest in Immokalee sparked in 2004 when she read “Immokalee’s Fields of Hope” for a local book club, which tells the story of Vazquez-Reyes’ parents’ plight as migrant farmworkers and labor activists in the 1970s. She has spent the following  17 years photographing, volunteering, and learning from their community. When she realized Vazquez-Reyes was the young daughter from the book, everything clicked. 

Vazquez-Reyes remembers the moment she felt a consciousness growing within her. On a cold December morning in 1994, Vazquez-Reyes, just 14 years old at the time, woke up before dawn. She kissed her sleeping father goodbye and made her way to a protest just two blocks from her home in Immokalee. Usually it was her father who would wake up at the crack of dawn, get dressed in the dark, and slip into her bedroom for a goodbye kiss. He had worked as a farmworker since he arrived from Mexico in the early 1970s. Everyday he boarded a bus to pick tomatoes for meager pay, but on this day, the routine was flipped. Her father was suffering from cancer after years of pesticide exposure in the field, and he had just undergone his first round of chemotherapy—the torch of community involvement had decidedly been passed to his daughter. Vazquez-Reyes walked in the brisk, cold air, tears streaming down her face, as she realized how the tables had turned. Her father died from cancer two years later in 1996, but she has remained committed to resisting corrupt institutions. 

“That’s when I started seeing myself as a member of the community with an opportunity to do something,” says Vazquez-Reyes.

Cultivate Abundance partner gardeners Jan-Marie and David Etzel. Photography by Lisette Morales.

Community gardeners pick flowers. Photography by Lisette Morales.

Cultivate Abundance, located across the street from the farmworker’s bus stop, is housed in an unassuming single-story white building. But if you follow the call of crowing roosters, past the chain-link fence on the side, a flush of verdant foliage awaits. Upon arriving, Cultivate Abundance appears like a secret garden. An array of culturally significant leafy greens frame the oasis, fresh okra ascends towards the blistering sun, and bursts of marigolds flourish out of five gallon buckets.  The refuge begs for a deep, grounding breath.

Inside the building is the food pantry, where produce grown in the garden, grains, and other nonperishables from neighboring food banks are distributed to upwards of 500 locals at no cost every week. Yuca, Haitian basket vine, okra, and chayamansa are just some of the familiar crops that locals are relieved to see when they pick up their food box. At Cultivate Abundance, they are giving locals the foods they already know.

Cultivating Abundance community garden with culturally friendly foods in Southwest Florida. Photography by Lisette Morales.

“We are hearing it being used in the home and in their cooking and it’s not being thrown away,” says Vazquez-Reyes. “I love handing out yuca, a lot of our Haitian families and our Guatemalan families go ‘woo!’ I love that exchange.”

The cultural and ancestral knowledge being exchanged is instrumental to the garden’s success and sustainability, Vazquez-Reyes says. The plants are more like medicine, gateways to rich histories of decolonization or herbal remedies.

“Lupita told me growing your own food is a form of resistance to colonization,” says Morales. ​​”The garden is powerful. As immigrants, we bring only the recipes in our minds and the foods in our memories. And here we have to search for the ingredients to recreate that food history, that memory.”

Community Gardener. Photography by Lisette Morales.

The intimate museum walls are lined with twenty of Morales’ and Vazquez-Reyes’ photographs. Some are Morales’ birds-eye view of the garden and food bank, others are more intimate close-ups taken by Vazquez-Reyes. In the exhibit’s first photo, Vazquez-Reyes is surrounded by chayamansa, a Mayan tree spinach, like a wise ancestor gently supporting her. The staggering shrub envelops her as she embraces it, welcoming its spirit medicine. 

When locals visit the museum, they take pride in seeing the familiar faces from their community hung on the walls. It’s a reflection of their living history, memorializing their work and cementing them in Immokalee history.

Community Gardeners. Photography by Lisette Morales.

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Once Guerrero watched “Child’s Play 2,” she got a taste of the unnerving sensation being scared can cause—paranoia, anxiety, and an irrational yet unsettling feeling that the “bad guy” is near. Her mom quickly found the VHS shoved haphazardly between Guerrero’s stuffed animals. She noticed right away that Guerrero was suddenly scared of the dark and that something was looming on her mind, like a psychological apparition.

“It’s not that I got scared at a young age watching that, I just didn’t understand what scared felt like,” Guerrero tells Latina. “I had no idea a horror movie can follow you home.”

Guerrero has spent her career chasing that feeling as a horror film director, subverting the genre known for scream queens and infusing an acute sense of culture and social commentary. Guerrero has gained recognition for her work directing television episodes of  “The Purge” (2019), “La Quinceañera,” and “Into the Dark: Culture Shock,” the latter of which depicted a portrayal of the border crisis. It is no surprise that her unapologetic dedication to narratively rich storytelling has attracted her to the likes of horror giants at Blumhouse Productions. Last week, Guerrero’s feature-length commentary on gentrification and ode to viejito power, “Bingo Hell,” premiered on Amazon Video. We sat down with “La Muñeca del Terror” to discuss the film, her influences, and the power of Latinas in horror.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Alexandra Martinez

Gigi Saul Guerrero

I know that your love for horror films goes back to sneaking a VHS of Child’s Play from Blockbuster…

Let’s make something clear, [us] Mexicans, we don’t steal. We just borrow [things] for a long time. So I borrowed the VHS for a very long time and never gave it back. Yes, it’s pretty much the same thing.

What was the first thing to pique your interest in watching a horror film? What intrigued you about the horror genre?

I couldn’t understand as a kid, but I loved that [feeling of horror]. Today, I still implement that influence: a scary movie can follow you home. I think it applies in many ways because now horror is so elevated that you can [inject] social commentary. You can [address] topical themes but obviously, throw in witches and monsters and blood. What we see in the news is already scary enough and making people suffer 90 minutes is unfair. So why not make people have fun with it? The movie will follow [the audience] home afterward and [people] can have a really good and interesting conversation at the same time.

How has being Mexican influenced your filmmaking? Especially since you deal with horror and subjects that are kind of taboo in mainstream filmmaking…

The master of horror, a Mexican man himself, Guillermo del Toro was asked a similar question when he won the Academy Award for “Shape of Water.” He was asked: where does this inspiration come from? And he said, “I’m Mexican.”

He couldn’t be more right. I think especially in Mexico, [and perhaps throughout] Latino culture, we are just not afraid of death. We celebrate it, we embrace it, we cherish it. We even have cults of it, like Santa Muerte. We even have one of the most beautiful holidays, Dia de los Muertos, which is one of my favorites. We just embrace [death] as another chapter. That’s why we’re able to talk about these stories.

In “Bingo Hell” the protagonist Lupita is an older woman. Why do you think it’s important to feature atypical protagonist perspectives?

We haven’t seen seniors helm the lead role or be the hero in the genre film since way back in the day. Films from the ’70s like “Batteries not Included” or “Cocoon” show viejito power fighting evil. These are the kinds of movies that break stereotypes of the weak and old. How many older folks do we know that have suffered through gentrification, lost control, have no voice, and have [been victimized by] scams of greed?

[Consider] the perspective of an older generation like Lupita and Dolores her best friend: not even money can break their strong friendship apart. Money can’t break a community like Oak Springs apart and that’s the message of this film. “Bingo Hell” [addresses] very topical themes such as the strength of community, greed, and gentrification, but now through the perspective of seniors. It’s really exciting because of course, who are the most honest and stubborn people on earth: our grandparents, the lady next door with all the cats. That’s what gives this movie that unique and organic charm.

That reminds me of when you were given the script for “Culture Shock” and responded that it wasn’t an authentic Mexican experience. How has it felt to advocate for authentic Mexican narratives or authentic Latinx narratives in horror films?

It’s a big responsibility to be honest with yourself as a filmmaker. If you understand the perspective of where the movie’s coming from, then you’re going to make the right choices. A film like “Culture Shock” talks very intensely about the border crisis. The script originally was very safe and [missed] the authenticity and the reality of the border crisis, the true horror of what is happening.

There was no sugarcoating any of that. Sometimes you have to make those choices of how far can you go with a message? With a film like “Culture Shock,” I needed to be very obvious about what is happening. I felt that was my contribution as a Mexican to talk about [the border crisis]. Since my voice is small, why not put it in a movie that would be seen everywhere?

With “Bingo Hell,” my partners wanted that perspective from kids that would get dragged to the bingo hall. I was the one that said this movie needs to be told from the seniors’ [perspective] because they too have a story [to tell] and they know a lot more than us. You see characters that are so strong that refuse to change [and gentrify] their community.

What are some things that scare you?

I think humans are the scariest things on earth. I think we are capable of too many things. I get scared of films like “The Purge” or anything that is very human. I believe in ghosts, I’m super superstitious. Do not put the Ouija board in front of me because something will go down.

One of the funniest experiences I had on set occurred while I directed an episode of “The Purge” TV series. One of the big scenes takes place at a cemetery. I was the only person on set that came with holy water prepared. I went to the church in that location and I [prepared] a little Tupperware of holy water. No one was afraid. I was the only one sprinkling it, saying, sorry, we’re here. Sorry, we’re stepping on your grave. I was just terrified. I don’t want to open a portal. Maybe one day I’ll make a supernatural film, but I don’t know if I’m ready yet.

Are there any stories that you are dying to tell moving forward? Would you ever deviate from the horror genre?

The movie that made me go to film school was “Children of Men.” Films like [that one] talk so much about the reality of our society and the flaws of humanity, if you will. It’s my goal to one day get to that level. On the one hand, I’m loving the horror genre. I think there’s so much fun to it and there’s so much to say. On the other hand, I do voice acting for a lot of kids’ cartoons. [It’s] the only thing my mom will watch.

Do you find a sense of comfort in telling horror stories?

Horror films bring us escapism from the realities that we have to face every day. I think that’s what makes them so important and so much fun is because we can relax and lay back. It brings us together. They’re the perfect date movie, right?

How do you go about making sure that a horror film does not just scare, but also balanced with rich character development and narrative?

I think you need to be able to see yourself in the film. If you can fully relate to either the situation and the characters, then it’s going to feel authentic. The first key is to trust your own story and understand it. It was really fun creating “Bingo Hell” with seasoned actors who are so open to strapping the camera literally to their waist or letting our cinematographer Byron be so close to their face in many moments. If the actors feel a sense of dread or claustrophobia, it’s going to portray well in the film.

Female characters tend to be objectified. If there’s a Latina character or Latinx character, they tend to be stereotyped. As a Latinx and Mexican director where do you see your role in challenging those portrayals of women and Latinx characters in horror?

Latinos are among the largest fans of the horror genre. It’s a responsibility to continue to challenge audiences. Not just for the Latino community, but to the point where now movies like Parasite are winning the Academy Award for Best Film. Who knew a subtitled Korean film would do that? I don’t think that would have been possible only five years ago.

If we continue to embrace authenticity and diversity, then we’re on the right path. But, we can’t do that if we, as filmmakers, don’t spread the word. So if I’m the Latina that isn’t right for a project, I know three other Latinas who are and will share their names. That way, I’ll keep the door open for who’s next.

How did the nickname “La Muñeca del Terror” come about?

No idea! It became a fun hashtag for me in Mexico and I couldn’t resist ignoring it. It’s an awesome name!

I saw that you posted about your Abuela’s health, that you will be going to Mexico soon to watch the film with her. I hope that she has a quick recovery and that you have a safe trip. What does she think about your films and how do you hope to honor her through your work?

I think it’s a beautiful blessing and sign that I get to show her this film in person. She will be filled with surprise. The biggest one is that she will see her favorite actress Adriana Barraza portray her in the movie. I can’t wait to see her face[light up with joy]. Sometimes we get so caught up with work and other things in life that we suddenly miss out on important moments. I am glad I can take that moment now and be with her.

 

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Kahlo and Rivera quickly married and embarked on a tumultuous and toxic relationship that was excruciatingly painful yet inspiring for Kahlo’s work. She would spend the rest of her life caught in a battle between resentment and longing for Rivera, who cheated on her with multiple people, including her own sister.

Kahlo and Rivera’s relationship is part of cultural history. It’s been written about in academia, portrayed on screen, and studied for controversial feminist implications. Now, Kahlo’s iconic self-portrait “Diego y Yo” (Diego and I) is expected to sell for $30 million when it goes up for auction in New York later this year. The historic sale will set a record for a work by a Latin American artist, and exceed Kahlo’s public auction record of $8 million that was set in 2016, according to Sotheby’s. 

Even more satisfying for the abandona tu Diego Rivera enthusiasts,  the sale would also surpass the previous $9.8 million auction record set by Rivera. Only one of these two artists’ imagery is ubiquitously recognizable, after all.

“Diego y Yo” is Kahlo’s final self-portrait of the 1940s and captures the psychological and emotional grip that Rivera had on the artist. Kahlo’s hair, usually braided, is loose and wrapped around her neck like rope, strangling her. Even more telling is that Rivera’s bust occupies the space where Kahlo’s third eye would be—he is omniscient and domineering.  The third eye is instead depicted on Rivera. Like an unwilling possession, Kahlo’s eyes may gaze directly at the viewer, but she is consumed by her partner’s thoughts and deeds. According to Sotheby’s, Kahlo painted “Diego y Yo” after learning that he had an affair with Maria Felix, a movie star and personal friend of Kahlo’s. She was distraught.

In a letter she wrote to Rivera in 1953, moments before having her leg amputated, she does not leave any minced words, “I’m writing to let you know I’m releasing you, I’m amputating you. Be happy and never seek me again. I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want you to hear from me. If there is anything I’d enjoy before I die, it’d be not having to see your fucking horrible bastard face wandering around my garden.”

The following year, she would die of a pulmonary embolism or a suspected suicide—the culmination of eternal emotional and physical suffering. On her deathbed, she would leave behind an anniversary gift to Rivera, months in advance.

“Frida Kahlo is a global icon of modern art whose work is beloved around the world. Diego y yo, epitomizes the painstakingly detailed rendering, complex iconography, and deeply personal narratives that are hallmarks of her mature painting,” Anna di Stasi, Sotheby’s director of Latin American art, said in the statement.

“Diego y yo” will be on view to the public in Hong Kong from October 7 to 11, and in London October 22-25. It will then return to New York for exhibition before the November sale.

The post Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait “Diego y Yo” Expected to Sell for a Record $30 Million appeared first on Latina.

Bad Bunny is the night’s biggest winner

The preshow started off with a special treat from Bad Bunny—his first red carpet appearance with his jewelry designer girlfriend, Gabriela Berlingeri. The Puerto Rican reggaetonero was by far the biggest winner of the night, winning 10 of 22 awards that he was nominated for, including Artist of the Year. As he accepted his award, he held an impromptu sing-along of “Safaera” with the audience. The sparse crowd due to COVID regulations went wild. In one category for Album of the Year, the industrious artist was even up against himself three times for each of the albums he released in the past year. 

In the end, 2020’s pre-pandemic salvation, “YHLQMDLG” took home the award. Later in the evening, Bad Bunny and Berlingeri, who has been featured on some of Bad Bunny’s songs, got to perrear to Daddy Yankee’s Hall of Fame Award performance of “Metele al Perreo,” celebrating their success.

Tokischa lights up the red carpet & stage with unapologetic ensemble and duet with Rosalia

Dominican rapper, Tokischa, was by far the debut star of the pre-show red carpet. Tokischa is no stranger to controversy. Just last month, the “Que Viva” singer posed in front of a Virgen de Altagracia mural in Jarabacoa wearing a white lace bustier and nude panties. In one photo, she forgoes the panties and covers herself with her hands, wearing a lace headpiece with horns. The mayor of La Vega deemed the photos disrespectful, and soon after she was summoned to court and charged with a fine. 

But, that won’t stop Tokischa from upending cultural norms in a predominantly conservative and traditional media market. She’s going to wear what she wants, as she should. She arrived Thursday evening wearing a peach, sheer and latex ensemble resembling a religious habit, similar to a nun. Her face was adorned by metal balls and around her neck was a single cross.  

The artist would go on to close out the show with a debut performance of her hit song “Linda” with Spanish songstress Rosalia. For their performance, Tokischa swapped her labial pink statement piece for a black and pink lace bodysuit. As was expected of the two “homies” “quien se besan,” and in a perhaps unintentional celebration of Bisexual Visibility Day, the two artists  closed the show with a smooch.

Paquita la del Barrio takes home Lifetime Achievement Award

With over 50 years crafting female-empowerment rancheros and boleros, Paquita la del Barrio was honored last night with a Lifetime Achievement Award. Known for machismo denouncing anthems such as “Rata de dos Patas,” “Me Saludas a la Tuya” and “Tres Veces Te Engañé,” Paquita is a force in Mexican music.

Bad Bunny was also the night’s biggest gentleman. He escorted the Mexican ranchera, and the night’s Lifetime Achievement Award winner, Paquita La Del Barrio up the stage. When he realized she couldn’t reach the microphone, and stagehands didn’t react in time, Bad Bunny stepped in, holding the mic for the 74 year-old honoree who delivered an emotional speech.

“Thank you for taking me into consideration and for distinguishing me with this honor,” she said, met with a standing ovation. “I have so many things I could say but I prefer to simply thank you for the love.”

Camila Cabello calls for Freedom for Cuba, but where was the solidarity for Haitian refugees?

Camila Cabello opened the show with a cabaret performance of her latest song, “Don’t Go Yet” which takes influence from her Cuban salsa roots. She finished the song calling for an end to the decades long Cuban dictatorship, punching one fist in the air and shouting “patria y vida.” The phrase, which means “Fatherland and Life” was the rallying cry of this summer’s historic protests that saw people all across Cuba taking to the streets demanding civil liberties. 

“Patria y Vida,” which upends the Cuban regime’s official slogan of “Fatherland or Death,” was popularized by singers Yotuel, Gente de Zona, Descemer Bueno and Maykel Osorbo, featuring performance artist and activist Luis Manuel Otero Alcantara this February when they released the eponymous song which was critiqued by the Cuban regime. 

Following the protests, conditions have only continued to deteriorate and hundreds of protesters are still imprisoned. Alcantara, who is a leader of Movimiento San Isidro and was recently named one of Time Magazines’ 100 Most Influential People, has been in a maximum security prison for over two months, facing charges of instigation to commit a crime, public disorder, and “desacato” which translates into offensive expression toward public officials.

What was missing from last night’s event, however, was a show of solidarity for our Haitian cousins who are fighting for their lives at the U.S.-Mexico border. The images have been horrific—border patrol agents on horseback brandishing whip-like reins onto Haitian refugees to keep them from entering. It may be Hispanic Heritage Month, but that means showing solidarity with all diaspora communities that face the same callous issues of immigration and forced removal.

Taboo from Black Eyed Peas calls for Indigenous Solidarity

Winners for Crossover Artists of the Year, Black Eyed Peas member Taboo gave an impassioned speech in Spanish honoring his Mexican roots in East Los Angeles, and his indigenous roots from the Shoshone tribe.

“Thank you for all the support, it is an honor to represent Mexicans,” he said. “I’m focusing on my indigenous roots, never forget that, we need to focus on that.”

Rauw Alejandro and Karol G give two of the best performances of the night

Rauw Alejandro dazzled in a roller-disco performance of “Todo de Ti,” even breaking out his own electronic moves. He was like a smooth Greaser, if Danny Zuko had pastel pink hair. Later, he performed “Loquita” on a psychedelic stage with Reik. Dancers in yellow and purple flower costumes framed the stage as giant mushrooms lingered in the distance.

Earlier, Karol G’s electric turquoise hair swayed past the backs of her thighs as she performed a hits-filled medley including “El Maquinon,” “Bichota,” “El Barco,” “Ay, Dios Mio” and “Tusa.” The artist had just won an award for Hot Latin Songs Artist of the Year, Female, and her unabashed joy and energy was palpable. When the song finished, she led her dancers in a celebratory fist pump, jumping together in unison. It’s no surprise Billboard recently named her the next Latin Queen.

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