The entrance to Casa Aztlan, a community center in Pilsen that provides support services for victims of prejudice, poverty, and social violence, is adorned with intricate depictions of prominent Mexican historical figures. At around 3pm this past Saturday, however, a group of people clad in all-white paint suits were taping long sheets of black paper over the beautiful images, fighting against the gusty Chicago wind that ripped at their hair and clothing. Casa Aztlan was their penultimate stop in a successful implementation of the first-ever Day Without Public Art in Pilsen.
On a typical day, a stroll through the neighborhood’s streets is like walking through an outdoor art gallery, with the sides of buildings and exposed brick walls serving as expansive canvases. Unlike a gallery exhibition, though, Pilsen’s murals act as a constantly-expanding museum of the neighborhood’s cultural history. The murals’ bright hues weave an intricate web of old Mexican narratives, heated political disputes, and modern immigrant tales. The illustrations on the buildings document the lives of those who bustle daily through the streets. Rather than passive sentries that simply stand watch over people, the murals serve as a source of reflection on Pilsen’s identity.
Now imagine an alternate universe where those walls are desolate—brick, bare and colorless. For locals used to the bright-hued backdrop, it was shocking to find this alternate universe briefly become a reality. Passersby often stopped to more closely examine the obscured murals, the edges of which barely peaked out behind the drapes of black paper. A simple white stamp was the only interruption over endless sheaths of black: a cheeky logo of a mustachioed man in a French beret pulling drapes with the words “Sorry for the inconvenience” laid over artwork.
“In the absence of public art, we are reminded of its importance. We affirm the significance of the grassroots artists and activists who have transformed the buildings and helped shape the community,” explained the project’s leader, Art Institute faculty member Nicole Marroquin. “It’s a similar idea to how Catholics shroud crucifixes and statues during Lent in order to solely focus on the ideas and beliefs they represent.”
A year ago, Marroquin and a group of fellow artists and art-lovers won a grant from the Propeller Fund to finance the project. Since then, she has been recruiting volunteers and reaching out to property owners for permission to cover the murals on their buildings. In total, about forty-five people—ranging from artists, youths, local residents, and muralists—have contributed to the project so far.
Bianca Diaz, a recent graduate of the Rhode Island School of Design who grew up in Pilsen, read an article about the project online and then emailed Marroquin to get involved. “So often, we take all of this beautiful art for granted,” she says. “This is a reminder of how much we should appreciate it.”
Community members, including the majority of local artists, storeowners, and long-term residents, have seemed to embrace the project wholeheartedly. Enrique Salcido, manager of Benny’s Pizza, gave them permission to cover the mural that has been on the side of his pizza shop for six years. The mural depicts a scene from an old love story, in which a man mourns the loss of his lover. “The mural is a cultural artifact that speaks to Mexican people and leads to the growth of the community,” he said.
Although the drapes covered the murals for only one day, Marroquin hopes to spark a lasting discussion among members of the community. She intends to reinforce that by hosting a series of public workshops in the upcoming months, where she will discuss the importance of both supporting the emerging art of Pilsen and preserving the established character of the artistic community.
“The identity of a place is intricately linked to art,” says Marroquin. “When things start to change, when we hide the murals, people become concerned. They speak up. They ask questions.”