Jorge Luis Hernandez Pouyú - Biography

EVERY ARTIST MUST BE HIS OWN ACADEMY

By Reinaldo Cedeño Pineda
Translation by Ellen Rosenzweig

I am a free soul. You can live at the ends of the earth and still be enlightened. There are no ugly colors. I always chose the most difficult paths. In a work of art, you can never hold back.

Beneath the fig leaf, the virginal cloth, the painter is about to commit the sublime “sin” of creating his own world. “A landscape filled with rumps, eyes, genitals, cogged symbols, wide red or black filaments upon which a kind of ritual of clash and survival is performed.” (Antonio Desquirón)

Going against the will of his father and teachers, but guided by his mother and his own star, Jorge Luis Hernández Pouyú decided to be a painter.

His first steps led him to the sea, and he gazed innocently into the infinite horizon. In Chivirico, far from Santiago de Cuba, the largest city in Cuba’s eastern region, he stayed close to his mother as she taught math. While she introduced her students to the world of numbers, she left her son to look at books, to entertain himself. There, amid formulas and philosophies, he made his first simple drawings.

However, he wasn’t often seen playing with other kids. Jorge Luis, born on March 27, 1967, on 8th Street in the María Lina district of Santiago de Cuba, had frequent bronchial problems and had to stay indoors a lot, passing the time reading books and learning how to draw. The influence of American cartoons was evident; he would spend hours and hours drawing Mickey Mouse, Betty Boop and Superman with his colored pencils.
It’s a story often told, in which one’s vocation eventually wins out. He studied chemistry by day and attended art school at night. Although he was an enthusiastic pupil, learning modeling and papier mâché, those classes didn’t last very long.

“I’m mostly self-taught. I’m a free soul, I don’t like to have things imposed on me. When something comes to you naturally, it’s simple. Besides, there wasn’t the professor who could have guided me at the time, or at least I didn’t find him.”

A VERY YOUNG MAN WITH A VERY BIG PORTFOLIO

Havana presented itself as a way to escape from his parents’ disapproval and became the necessary step that would confirm his decision. He longed to study at the San Alejandro Art Academy, but in the meantime he got involved in various artists’ workshops and the Cuban Cultural Foundation, which promotes the various visual arts. An artistic spirit blossomed inside him, and he ached to explore his ideas, at an age when he could really find himself.

He became involved in a workshop located in Havana’s Playa municipality and named after celebrated Cuban artist Eduardo Abela. Pupils from the San Alejandro Academy and many expert painters and sculptors worked there.

“That was what I was looking for, the experience I wanted. I watched and learned, and later on I worked in the silkscreen workshop. I spent years doing that.”

The Visual Arts Biennial of Havana, an encounter of world-class artists and trends, was a revelation for Jorge Luis. “I met many artists, like Hernández Larrinaga, and above all I saw how artists create their work. That was enlightening. School is sometimes dogmatic, sometimes it can kill your muse or your initiative, and make you just like everyone else.” His meeting with Julio Le Parc, an Argentine expert in kinetic and optical art, marked his life forever.

In the very heart of Havana, the Vedado district, Le Parc had organized a participatory workshop featuring well-known artists such as Raúl Martínez, Aldo Menéndez and Martínez Pedro and young artists like José Finalé. It was a unique opportunity that Hernández Pouyú knew how to take advantage of. Recalling it now, he summarizes the experience with a typical Cuban phrase:

“I entered quietly, but by the end I owned the place.”
I told Le Parc, ‘I do things, I also paint.’ I was carrying an enormous portfolio, bigger than me, that I took everywhere at that time. What I said was pretty cheeky. He started looking through my work, and I waited for the verdict.”

And what was the verdict?

“He told me that everything was okay, that I needed to keep improving my technique and some other things, but it was all right, there was an idea, it had something, a variety of things.”

Were you disappointed by that?

“No, not at all, I was just beginning. I remember he told me, ‘I think you need to take all those things and bring them together.’ He was urging me to find my way, you see what I mean? That was so great for me, I started to realize what I really wanted.”

What was in the portfolio?

“Everything. Ink drawings, portraits, expressionist things, animals in a dreamlike, fantastic world.”

Nothing formal?

“No, but I don’t have any prejudice against formal work. The academy gives you the foundation, and if you are intelligent and skillful you can absorb knowledge from the academy and do something very good, but the academy is isn’t everything. Every artist should be his own academy. The use of colors, composition, that’s all yours. That’s your contribution and what all self-respecting artists have done.”

He was yet to come under the spiritual influence of Antonia Eiriz, one of the most imposing and original personalities in Cuban contemporary arts. Just one look at her painting La Anunciación (The Annunciation) makes it all clear.

“When I learned about expressionism and saw works like those of Antonia Eiriz firsthand, I was amazed. When I saw Death playing baseball and saw other things done in papier mâché in the Juanelo neighborhood, in a workshop she ran, I was so impressed. One critic commented that if there was a vulture nearby, Antonia couldn’t paint doves. They wanted to ban her way of painting, and so she started her own papier mâché workshop. Cuban painting can be divided into two periods: before 1970, a period of darkness in the arts, and after 1970. I would have liked to have that character, that figure as my teacher.”

(Essay writer Ambrosio Fornet has called the five years before 1970 “Cuban culture’s gray years.” It was a time when artistic production was viewed under very narrow parameters and some artists were severely criticized.)

We have to take into account that during the period when Jorge Luis Hernández Pouyú was involved in those workshops, he got confirmation that he was accepted at the San Alejandro Academy. At that moment, he was on his way back to his hometown, full of ideas and with an unrestrainable urge to paint.

LIFE FROM THE PERIPHERY, CANNIBAL ARTISTS

For some theoreticians, the world is divided into two parts: the center and the periphery. The center can be defined as the large capitals of the developed countries, considered the starting points of “culture.” With few exceptions, the periphery remains in the shadows, consuming and copying pre-established models.

Under this construct, Cuba is part of the periphery, and those unfortunate enough to live outside the capital city are doomed to be on the periphery of the periphery. Definitely not a good place to be. But luckily the world does not fit into reductionist theories. The true artist doesn’t go around weeping, but creating. No one can stop authentic art. It resists all stereotyping and criteria imposed from outside, and sooner or later its life-giving difference comes through. Pouyú’s creativity is guided by these concepts.

“There’s a whole generation influenced by this restless creativity, without servility. It has also been influenced by the European avant-garde and has created works reflecting deep commitment; some might call them subversive or rebellious. This critical approach has always been present; it’s a tradition that has always been there, from Carlos Enríquez to Chago Armada.

“What defines a country and a nation, what’s happening in a society, should always be the center of attention. That’s good for the people and the society. This generation of “young cannibal artists,” which is doing remarkable work, was the new avant-garde, and was permeated with all of that. It has been the time for new artistic forms like performance art, happenings, body painting...”

Such projects brought together artists from all over eastern Cuba, such as “irreverent iconoclast” Bárbaro Miyares, Mearson Daniel Zafra, Carlos René Aguilera, Raúl Estrada and the La Campana group from Las Tunas.

“It was a very heterogeneous group of people with a common aesthetic; a group that moved together and exhibited its works together. They were like the Knights of the Round Table. Now some of them are scattered throughout the world and others are outstanding figures in Cuban art.”

They created quite a stir from the periphery, didn’t they?

“If you don’t have the guts to work from the periphery, you get crushed. The members of the group spoke a common language. I think that today art tends to be more individualistic; perhaps that time will never be repeated. Art is something that cannot be stopped.”

He has already won awards in the city’s main galleries and has been part of some group exhibitions.

“Living in the eastern region has not stopped me from creating. There are people who live in Paris and never see the light, and they are at the center of the art world. On the other hand, you can live at the ends of the earth and be enlightened. Someone who’s smart can benefit from the charm, from the challenge of doing art from the periphery."

“The people I’ve been working with have never stopped, never given up. The important thing is that if you’re at the top of the Himalayas and gasping for breath, you should never give up; you should try to reach the top. Cuba has difficulties, but Cuba is a country with great depth, with history. That feeling of belonging and the way you do your art from there are very important. I want to do art from the place I’m in.”

A BIT OF RAGE AND A BIT OF LOVE

This People Is Everything was the name of his first show, in the city of Camagüey. Originally called Puerto Príncipe, with a tradition of cattle raising and a rich history, Camagüey is also known for its huge ceramic vessels for storing water, known as tinajones. Nowadays they are only ornamental, but they can still be found all over the city.

He held his first comprehensive exhibition there in 1989. Consisting of works in tempera on Bristol board, it was infused with his neighborhood’s spirit. Critic Nereyda Lahit, who provides moral support for young artists and encourages new initiatives, was closely tied to the show.

“When you have a personal exposition, it’s because you have works to show, an idea to present, a new concept, a philosophy.”

And what is your philosophy?

“My philosophy is about humans, about the need to survive. An artist must have considerable cultural background to deal with criticism and observations related to his work; he must have a very humane side. The artist should always be assertive; we should always act with a bit of rage and a bit of love. There should be that balance.”

The works of Guantánamo artist Mearson Daniel Zafra and those of Pouyú have been linked due to common aesthetic and conceptual frameworks, by a strong friendship, and by their courage. However, they have not invaded each other’s work. Far from it: each one bolsters the other. There is no ostentation; they are part of a generation that communicates honestly. They have worked as a team, presenting two-man shows like From the Watchtower and Painting with Title, and there are other projects in store.

Abstractionism is a common denominator for these two artists. In the 21st century, arts have coexist in numerous forms. Some achieve immediate acceptance; others require a deeper look and a certain level of knowledge in order to note their beauty and comprehend the idea behind unexpected, sudden or subtle brushstrokes.

“At this point I don’t think that one form of art is more acceptable than others, but the least trodden paths are the most interesting. I search for a different contribution. I believe that art is above all a concept, an idea. The pictorial element is secondary.”

Do you truly believe that?

“Yes. In my case, my work is more and more symbolic, more minimal. An artist can’t be worrying about whether he has a public or not. An artist creates. Visual arts don’t attract the masses. The crowds go to popular music concerts or to dance at a disco. A concert by the band Los Van Van, for instance – and let me make it clear that I have nothing against them, they’re a great band."

“Only a trained eye can elevate the artist to the spot he deserves. My work starts with my thoughts and the colors come out of that, as well as all the beautiful parts of artistic creation. I’ve used the same pigments and materials for many years, but I try to achieve something a bit different. I have always chosen the most difficult paths, even in my personal life; nothing has been easy for me.”

Do you believe that some lines, a brushstroke, a dot can evoke limitless sensations?

“I think so, it’s all in the way you do it. That’s where the artistry lies, in how I elaborate the idea and do sketches based on titles and even the possible colors.”

With the freedom that you give people to deal with your work, aren’t you concerned that the public might make interpretations that are at the other extreme of what you were trying to say?
“That’s interesting, too. It happened to me with the Real Motives exposition. People came and thought my works were beautiful, but I needed more than that. The theme of a painting such as Turba (Crowd) is social behavior, and sometimes it can be frustrating when someone has a different reading than what you intended. It all depends on how you use your resources, and that comes with increased skills. I don’t want to be literal. The meaning of all these works can be seen more clearly at a distance, perhaps with the passing of years. I do not believe in style, although there may be recurring forms.

“Then again, it you stopped to listen to everything people say about your work and about you, you’d never leave home, although there are people whose opinions I value. When someone says something honestly, we could discuss it forever. You know, artists have their ups and downs, too."

“For instance, a friend of mine asked me to have an exposition in the Alliance Française in Santiago. The title of the show was Unreachable Seasons, and I invited people from different walks of life: Santería practitioners, university professors, housewives, the people in general. I think there was communication, even though the show’s title may have suggested otherwise. After that I had an exposition at the Cathedral’s Parish Gallery and people didn’t want to leave the place. Most artists exhibit their works in just a few places, but I love odd places where no one has exhibited before."

I believe beauty is incredibly relative. We know that it’s easier for a person to point out a beautiful object than to define it. Your work is not characterized by what one might call “typical” colors, with those bright blues. How much do you try to achieve beauty through color? How much is it part of your concept?

“A friend of mine once told me that my colors were dirty and strong, and I told her that that was what I wanted. I can’t imagine my work with rosy or sweetened colors. My work demands a certain concept and feeling. I like blue, but sometimes I may have to take my work in another direction, and I don’t want to get categorized. I have limited my palette. There are no ugly colors, you just have to know where to put them, so that the whole looks beautiful. Ugly, rough things also have an esthetic and a philosophy.”

THE REAL REASONS

Jorge Luis Hernández Pouyú has reaped more than a few awards and considerable recognition in the cultural world. Oil paintings, books and records lie all over his room. Some call him “the albino,” but above all they call him a thinker and a friend. Many people watch over his life and his work, in lots of places. Armando Rodríguez, friend, painter and rebel, is forever in his memory.

From the Dominican Republic, Bárbaro Miyares sent him his expert analysis of his Real Motives show:

The integrity of the work produced by J. Pouyú is solely based on three elements: first, a certain graphic amplification of a visual gesture; second, an irreverent poetry of color; and third, an unquestionably critical enunciating nature... in rigorous opposition to folkloric standards, vapid localisms and facile arts-and-crafts approach.

What could he be investigating right now? What distant place, deep inside, is he coming from when he comes out of the nostalgia of an old blues song?

“It’s a pity that there’s such a distance between two such cultural powers as Cuba and the United States. I like American music very much – blues, jazz, Aretha Franklin, Sarah Vaughan, Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong. When you listen to rap, there’s an incredible force. There are a lot of interesting things being cooked up, both here and there. It’s time for a real bridge of exchange to be established, and not to be afraid of that.”

Why are your paintings so big?

“They have always told Zafra and me that we paint monstrous things, huge things. These works are about two meters tall. There was a time when we couldn’t do big paintings due to the shortage of supplies, but I think space is important. When I paint something, I want you to get lost in it. Originally it was a way to communicate, a way to attract everyone’s attention. It was like saying, ‘Here I am.’ It was a way of communicating."

“You can’t skimp on anything when you’re doing a work of art, even if you use up all your resources, all your life.”

In need of space, he is looking for his own studio, “a real studio,” because there are new ideas illuminating his future, waiting patiently for the time being. As he dreams of that project, I leave him there, under the fig leaf, the cloth virginal, the artist about to “sin.”