19-05-2025
For Some Immigrant Artists, This Is No Time to Retreat
For some immigrant artists, now is not the time to retreat. In the South Bronx, Ruddy Mejía works in a small studio, creating brightly coloured brass foil plates embossed with images of body parts—his interpretation of traditional Mexican milagros, tiny charms used for healing and offering prayers.
Crafting these requires hours of meticulous labour, symbolising sacrifice and hope. Mejía, 36, is part of '¡Te Amo Porque S.O.S. Pueblo!,' a new exhibition at BronxArtSpace featuring 34 artists—most of whom are Latino immigrants or children of immigrants. The show celebrates immigrant resilience amid heightened crackdowns and deportations, serving as both an artistic expression and a community outreach, connecting attendees with legal resources and advocacy groups.
Organised by Blanka Amezkua, Marco Saavedra, and Maria Ponce Sevilla—artists who themselves crossed the US-Mexico border illegally as minors—the exhibition's title translates as 'I love you because you are my people,' echoing a poem by Uruguayan writer Mario Benedetti, with a twist indicating an emergency. Amezkua, a key figure in the Bronx immigrant art scene, crafted the show as a tribute to those who enrich the world through their labour. She sees this as a moment to celebrate despite adversity, emphasising love and solidarity.
From left: Marco Saavedra, Maria Ponce Sevilla and Blanka Amezkua, organizers of the new BronxArtSpace exhibition ¡Te Amo Porque S.O.S. Pueblo!, together at a restaurant in the Bronx, May 6, 2025. (Luis Corzo/The New York Times)
Amezkua's journey reflects a lifelong pursuit of art and community, starting from her childhood crossings and separations—clinging to her parents' cotton farming life, moving to South Central Los Angeles, returning to Mexico, and reuniting as a teenager—before earning a painting degree in California. Her work and mentorship have fostered a vibrant community of artists who share similar turbulent paths: family separations, financial hardships, living under the shadow of legal insecurity. But this exhibition is not centred on trauma; instead, it offers a sanctuary. Sevilla notes that despite the political climate, the art demonstrates that beauty persists and resistance continues.
The artworks at BronxArtSpace evoke themes of border struggles and cultural resilience. Erika Harrsch's 'United States of North America' passport project envisions open borders, symbolised by a monarch butterfly—a migrant crossing freely from Mexico to Canada. The Colectivo Voces, a group of Indigenous women from Guerrero, embroider and crochet in their native Mixtec dialect, embodying cultural preservation and community bonding.
Some pieces subtly confront border violence. Rigo Flores, 36, created embroideries honouring the disappeared students of Guerrero, including Antonio Tizapa, whose family fought for justice after their tragic massacre.
Flores depicts Tizapa surrounded by lush plants, seeking to humanise victims and convey a message of hope. Patricia Espinosa, 54, crafted wings made from tissue paper, barbed wire, and handcuffs, with the inscription 'Nunca olvides que tienes alas'—'Never forget you have wings.' She considers returning permanently to Mexico but remains engaged in helping her community amidst rising anxiety. Her career at institutions like MoMA and the United Nations offers a platform to lift spirits during turbulent times.
The exhibition's opening on 25 April was lively, despite fears of interference from authorities. Preparations for the worst were made, including legal support on site. But the event was a celebration—raffling art prints and dancing—to honour those who have crossed borders and made a home in the Bronx. Amezkua declared, 'We carry that border with us, and many of us came as minors without consent. We created this space to celebrate what we bring to the world.' She concluded with determination: 'And this is just the beginning, because we're not going anywhere." —NYT
