Memorias
Memories like to present themselves in the weirdest way. It’s always when you’re least expecting them and at the most inopportune time that they seemingly pop out of nowhere. And usually don’t let up until they’ve been fully addressed (yeah, I’m talking to you, Hells Angels + Spring Break memory I’d like to forget). Some kind of acknowledgement is usually required to appease said memory. It’s like dealing with a kid who needs a little extra attention. A sweet treat might calm things down for a bit. But with memories, it’s different.
I was recently reminded our thoughts and memories are a very powerful thing when I went for a stroll down Valencia Street and felt the gravitational pull towards a shop brimming with culture and Trump piñatas.
How could I resist?
Casa Bonampak opened for business in the nineties to a changing Mission neighborhood. Since then, it has seen its share of gentrification, rising costs, and local history slowly stripped away. The eclectic store offers a well-curated mix of Latin American goods whose focus is on the preservation of Latin and indigenous cultures. Next month, the small community shop closes its brick and mortar operations but will live on on the web. Because its own preservation depends on it.
On this occasion, I’d take in every nook, every cranny from the festive papel picado to the racks of rainbow colored indigenous textiles. One could spend an entire day at a place like this but I had stuff to do so I quickly moved from one bin to the next.
As I rummaged through boxes of paper and fabric, I came across something that sparked a thought and caught my eye. “Michael Roman” - I could spot his work anywhere! The marigold hued print propped up in a dusty corner was bold and beautiful in that classic Michael Roman type of way with intricate stenciling and multi layered imagery. But if I’m being totally honest, what really stood out was a word; one word emblazoned right at the top. A name so familiar, part of my psyche, ingrained in my memory.
Carmencita.
Carmencita was a nickname given to my mom early in life and it stuck through most of it. The name, a term of endearment in Latin culture, suited her as she was sweet and kind to most. Unless you crossed her but that’s another story altogether.
The image of a young girl at the center of the print bears an uncanny resemblance to my daughter, my mother, me. In any case, I carefully looked the print over to confirm it was indeed a Michael Roman original. I knew Michael and have several paintings he generously gifted me while we worked together at the Mission Cultural Center. We were friendly but sometimes at odds. The thing is, you never knew who you were getting with Michael. Half the time, you were just along for the ride. I loved hearing about his early art days in New York and his connection to Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat and even Madonna. Michael passed away a couple of years back but his art and passion live on in this piece and in the ones that hang in my kitchen. I pass them daily and think of him, the Mission, and my own history.