Pretty Pictures

Train Tripping: The Martín Ramírez Exhibit

After procrastinating for weeks, we finally found time to make the pilgrimage to the south bay to witness the Martín Ramírez exhibit at the San Jose Museum of Art. Our adventure started at around 9:45 outside the local Popeye’s franchise where the smell of sizzling oil only intensified my hangover induced nausea. The Labor Day weekend in SF was hot. And the few among us who can actually call themselves natives often hide under the nearest spot of shade (in this case an awning), resting in the quickly evaporating morning dew like a couple rattlers in the Mohave.

This trip promised to be an adventure. I had never been aboard the line, let alone traveled as far as San Jose on any form of public transportation. You’d be lucky to catch me south of Fell Street! After transferring on a few Muni lines we ended up at the station right on time as our train was leaving. We purchased a Day Pass for $15 and hopped aboard the sleek, double-decker train and proceeded to find a suitable area on the top level of a sparsely filled car where we’d have a clear view of the strange and rarely seen sights along the southern portion of the city.

Aside from residents and workers, most people have absolutely NO reason to visit the southern-east portions of the city. And once past the last remaining neighborhoods, a cold and lonely world of tin-roof encampments, automobile salvage yards and industrial refuse facilities litter the landscape along these forgotten hills. As the train goes speeding past, this desolate world seem so far removed from the picturesque coast line of the Pacific Ocean just a few miles west. It was odd to say the least.

The rest of the air-conditioned train ride was pleasant, filled with sunny views of small communities I’ve heard of but never visited. At some point along the way, I noticed that some kid below us had this funny shirt from Israel that incorporated the characters from South Park.

We also got a reassuring pep talk from a rail-side sign along the tracks. I immediately felt as though things might finally be looking up for me.

After an almost 2-hour ride, we arrived in San Jose and stepped out from the comfort of an air-conditioned car to the muggy, sweltering heat of a summer morning in the valley. The museum was about a half mile jaunt from the station, so being the adventuresome urbanites we are, we decided to walk. Since neither of us had eaten we figured we stop somewhere for a cold beer and a bite. We ended up at a New Orleans styled Bistro for a Po’ Boy and a beer.

After a mediocre lunch, we ventured back out into the mid-day heat. Along route we found ourselves in the midst of a summer street festival filled with suburban families buying the kind of bad art that all moms like while feasting on funnel cakes and deep-fried fish sandos. Also no outdoor festivals is complete without a middle-aged blues band playing uninspired songs about abstract loss. Ironic considering their audience is tapping their feet and dancing amidst a celebration of summer abundance.

Here’s an interesting video of a little-known movement called “Circle Dancing,” which is like Square dancing except an announcer calls out different moves every measure. The ring-master tried to sell us on coming by the classes until we politely told him we were from the city. He told us there were groups that met in the city as well, but he soon realized that this dance craze might not appeal to the under 65 demographic.

And a miniature yellow porta-potty just for the lil’ ones. How cute!

After trekking through the throngs of revelers, we arrived at the museum with it’s cool, air-conditioned rooms and library-like silence.

Martín Ramírez (1895–1963) was a self-taught artist who migrated to California from Mexico around 1925 to work on the railroads where he was diagnosed as a catatonic schizophrenic and institutionalized soon thereafter. A psychologist named Tarmo Pasto first discovered Ramírez and began cataloging the large drawings he made on scrolls, composed of salvaged sheets of paper and glued together with a paste made from starches and saliva.

His work incorporates reoccurring themes and iconography steeped in both Mexican folk traditions as well as a contemporary, modern aesthetic. He favored subjects ranging from caballeros and images of the Madonna to landscape and railroad scenes. His work is often characterized by it’s intricate line work incorporating layers of parallel, concentric lines, shifting perspectives and a skewed sense of spatial awareness.

After snapping a few pictures, museum security caught up with me and told me it wasn’t allowed. I just waited until they left the room and sneaked a couple more.

Up close, the scale and texture of his work was often quite moving. Many of his large almost mural-sized pieces are framed with spacing clearly meant to illustrate the colorful, densely layered canvases he chose to work on.

My favorite of his works draw on his experiences on the Northern California railroads and feature trains racing along stretches of winding tracks, in and out of dark and nebulous tunnels. His contoured lines carving out the geographic dimensions of the surrounding hillsides like a topographic map.

On our way out we noticed a guest book where visitors could share their thoughts and about the exhibit. Interestingly, we found an entry by the artist’s granddaughter.

We also uncovered this insightful critique. I wonder if Martín knew his train tracks would insight such lustful feelings?

On our way back to the train, we stopped by a convenience store to grab a 6-pack of Negro Modello for the ride home. It made the return trip much more enjoyable. As we were getting ready to board the train, we caught a glimpse of another interesting t-shirt. We wondered what kind of man would spot a shirt that said “hot poop.”

Once back in civilization, we headed to our local pub for shots of Powers whiskey and a couple cold PBRs. If you ever get a chance to see the works of Martín Ramírez, I highly recommend it. It stands as some of the most awesome and compelling art I’ve seen.