The creative world has been graced by many amazing artists from all corners of the globe. Today, we celebrate Latina painters who've significantly contributed to the art world, embedding their vibrant heritage into timeless masterpieces.
These women, brimming with talent and boundless creativity, have not only carved their names in art history but have also revolutionized how we perceive art:
We can't talk about Latina artists without starting with Frida Kahlo. This Mexican painter is world-renowned for her surreal and symbolic works. Drawing deep inspiration from her personal experiences, Frida's art often tackles themes of identity, gender, postcolonialism, and race in Mexican society. Her piece "The Two Fridas" is a beautiful representation of duality in our identity, a subject that many Latinas can deeply relate to, especially in the United States.
Carmen Herrera
Born in Havana, Carmen Herrera is a minimalist artist who's been painting for over seven decades, but she only gained significant recognition when she was in her 90s. With her striking geometric paintings, she proved that simplicity can carry profound meanings. Her work, like the celebrated "Blanco y Verde" series, beautifully mirrors the balanced integration of her Cuban roots with her life in New York.
Remedios Varo
Remedios Varo, originally from Spain, adopted Mexico as her home during World War II. Her work often blends elements of surrealism and mysticism with a fascinatingly precise technical style. Her painting "Creation of the Birds" embodies her distinctive style, synthesizing science, magic, and nature in a way that leaves viewers spellbound.
Ana Mendieta
Ana Mendieta, a Cuban-American performance artist, sculptor, and painter, used her body as a canvas to express themes of feminism, life, death, and spiritualism. Her "Silueta Series," where she molded her silhouette into outdoor landscapes, created a deeply visceral and moving connection between the body and the earth. This groundbreaking approach to art has left an indelible mark on the art world.
Doris Salcedo
Born and raised in Colombia, Doris Salcedo is known for her large-scale installations and sculptures that communicate powerful messages about the socio-political landscape. Salcedo’s work, such as her installation "Shibboleth," a large crack in the floor of the Tate Modern in London, addresses the themes of racism and colonialism. Her art, both provocative and impactful, continues to echo loudly in modern society.
Beatriz González
Beatriz González, another incredible Colombian artist, is known for her bright, pop-art style that starkly contrasts the often heavy, sociopolitical themes she tackles. Influenced by pre-Columbian art, her piece "The Suicides of the Sisga," a reinterpretation of a classic painting with a Colombian narrative, is a great example of her unique approach.
Tarsila do Amaral
Hailing from Brazil, Tarsila do Amaral is a significant figure in the Latin American modernist movement. Her work, like the iconic painting "Abaporu," combines elements of Cubism and Surrealism with a distinct Brazilian sensibility. She drew inspiration from indigenous art, creating pieces that were filled with local color, presenting Brazil's vibrant culture to the world.
Each of these phenomenal Latina artists revolutionized the art world in her own unique way. They serve as role models for us, demonstrating that our cultural heritage and personal experiences can be a source of strength and inspiration.
First things first: I’m a “mande” girlie. That’s just how my mama raised me, even though I won’t say it’s right.
Having had the experience of interacting with people from different cultures in the classroom, there’s this one thing that always gets a strong reaction from me: when a professor addresses a student and the student responds with: “WHAT?” Or “WHAT’S THAT?”
I’m telling you, the reaction from me is instant. My eyes dart back to the professor, my fight or flight kicks in, and I’m almost drafting a mental apology for this person who, in my opinion, has just been particularly rude.
Of course, that never happens. The thing is, it’s not universally seen that way, right? Maybe it’s just the Mexican in me reacting based on what I’ve been taught.
“Se dice mande,” my mom would correct me if I responded with any other answer to her calls like, “Qué? Qué pasó? Eh? Mm?”
“Se dice mande!” Apologies would follow, and naturally, I’d switch to the “mande” to continue our chat, otherwise, a flying chancla might have been my fate.
In recent years, an intriguing debate has surfaced: is “mande” polite, or is it a subtle form of teaching submissiveness?
In a culture that places immense value on respecting our elders, it's unsurprising that "mande" has been deeply instilled in us from a young age. We say it out of respect. Yet, it still amuses me how I react to someone not using it. My immediate response is to be on guard, as if I'm bracing for someone to become angry or reprimand them. That’s rooted in my upbringing, a conditioned reflex.
Where does the term “mande come from?
To trace the roots of "mande," we need to explore Mexico's colonial past. When the Spanish colonized Mexico in the 16th century, they introduced not only their religion and administration but also their language, customs, and societal norms. The indigenous populations were subjugated and served the Spanish rulers.
It is in this backdrop that "mande" is believed to have been born. Directly translated, "mande" means "order me" or "command me." The indigenous or lower-class people were expected to reply with "mande" when addressed by Spanish rulers, signaling their readiness to obey. Over time, this phrase permeated the common vernacular, evolving into a way for Mexicans to say, "Pardon?" or "Excuse me?".
For many, especially older generations, saying "mande" is akin to "please" and "thank you." They see it as a sign of respect, especially towards elders or authority figures. However, many believe it's a colonial relic, symbolizing the historical subjugation of the Mexican people. Using "mande," they argue, maintains the power dynamics of colonial times, subtly promoting submission.
This debate is so potent, it’s even become a marketing strategy. Ever seen the Corona “Yo Mando” campaign?
Corona wants Mexicans to transition from “mande” to “mando.” It’s a bold move, but will it stick?
Language is dynamic. It changes and evolves, reflecting shifts in societal values and understanding. Take the “Latine/Latinx” debacle, for example. Whether you like either of the terms, actually use them, or feel so strongly against them you need to comment on every social media post using them with a flurry of insults, the terms exist. The terms are used by some, or by many. And they are here to stay.
Similarly, with “mande,” there's no definitive answer. With the rise of decolonial movements and a broader awareness of historical contexts, there's been a noticeable shift in how younger generations approach the term. Many choose to opt for neutral alternatives like “Qué?” “Qué pasó?” “Sí?” which are all perfectly valid. If you value “mande” as polite, “Dime?” or “Diga?” can be just as courteous.
This is not just an attempt to break away from colonial ties but also a part of the larger global trend where societies are reflecting on and challenging their historical and cultural baggage.
So, is saying "mande" wrong?
Here’s a hot take: there's no right or wrong way to express oneself (provided you aren't being hurtful or discriminatory to anyone), and I’m certainly not here to tell you what is right or what is wrong. What is important is that we challenge and question our language, our words, and the way we express ourselves and interact with the world, because language has been around for ages and, well, times change.
It’s great that we’re even having this debate, and it’s great that many of us are now taking a pause to ponder which word better suits us - and that’s the beauty of the Spanish language, and any language, really. It’s also the beauty of our choice to participate in the changing of norms that no longer match the times.
Ever since President Joe Biden announced on Sunday afternoon that he would not seek a second term and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as the 2024 Democratic Party nominee, several Latino Democrats and organizations have been sharing statements of support. Here is just a sampling of the Harris endorsements.
(FYI, the New York Times has a comprehensive list of all Democratic elected officials who are all in for Harris as of Monday morning. This list is being updated, and other Latino Democrats are on the complete list.)
Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY)
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Sen. Alex Padilla (D-CA)
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Sen. Catherine Cortez Masto (D-NV)
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Rep. Ruben Gallego (D-AZ)
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Rep, Nydia M. Velázquez (D-NY)
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Rep. Joaquin Castro (D-TX)
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Rep. Veronica Escobar (D-TX)
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Rep. Greg Casar (D-TX)
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Rep. Pete Aguilar (D-CA)
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Rep. Yadira Caraveo (D-CO)
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Rep. Robert Garcia (D-CA)
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Rep. Andrea Salinas (D-OR)
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Rep. Delia Ramirez (D-IL)
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Rep. Maxwell Alejando Frost (D-FL)
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Rep. Sylvia R. Garcia (D-TX)
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Rep. Raúl Grijalva (D-AZ)
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Rep. Jesús “Chuy” García (D-IL)
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Several Democratic-leaning Latino organizations also shared support for Harris. Here are links to four of those groups and their statements:
Today there are many labels I proudly use during introductions. I am a first-gen Guatemalteca-Mexicana college student. Identity is one of the things we use to define ourselves and we cling to it- it’s our orgullo. Latino culture is orgullo. I, along with many others, understand what the experience is like when we’re told we don’t look as if we have the privilege of feeling the pride that is our culture.
I never questioned the cultural experiences or events I followed my parents to as a kid, I found my comfort in the grande backyard fiestas, Noche Buena celebrations, endless (and sleepless) quinceañeras. I felt spoiled being the kid that had tamales and champurrado for breakfast before school. My mom’s outrage at novelas was mine as well. To put it simply, all I knew was being Latina meant I had warmth, comfort, and celebration surrounding me.
When I got to middle school, I began to comprehend how my identity was both used as an insult and simultaneously disregarded. I witnessed people I cared about deal with microaggressions for their language barrier, yet on my end, I would be told things that left me confused:
“you don’t look Latina,” “you’re acting white,” ”you don’t look like someone who would speak Spanish.”
I felt conflicted, should I be thankful I’m seen as what the “norm” is? Does being called white mean I’m being seen as educated? Why am I so insulted but strangely relieved? Who the hell decided being Latina came with a template anyways?
Reflecting back, I realize that subconsciously I was associating not being seen as a minority with a sense of safety and acceptance. This eventually manifested into believing I was just a white-washed Latina. I looked in the mirror and believed this was the way I was supposed to present myself as. I pushed away where I found my comfort and leaned into the identity others were essentially defining for me. I pushed away what was my orgullo. By the way, no thanks to the mandatory school surveys where I had to mark “Other” or “White” alongside “Hispanic/Latino”.
Down the line, I learned what the term “Eurocentric” meant. It put into perspective how the views and beauty standards of today came to be, how it shaped the expectation of what “educated” and “not a minority” looks like. At the end of the day, this is an outdated mindset that shouldn’t carry weight or value today. I began to look towards strong badass Latinas who never hesitated to correct anyone trying to doubt their identity.
There was a power in hearing someone say the words “No, I am Latina.”
It’s freeing when you’re the one taking charge of what defines your Latinidad. It runs a lot deeper than appearance, Spanish fluency, or stereotypes. It’s generations worth of cultura and experiences to carry. I’m still strengthening my connection to my roots today, and when I think of the diverse women who confidently take pride in their identity, it pushes me to tap into my orgullo even more.
