6 DALLAS OBSERVER • KALEIDOSCOPE Victor “Marka27” Quiñonez, an Immigrant Artist, Will Not Be Silenced Growing up as an undocumented child in Old East Dallas, Victor “Marka27” Quiñonez’s art paints the tragic stories of immigrants in vibrant color. BY ALYSSA FIELDS S oon after his family crossed the border and settled in Old East Dallas, muralist Victor “Marka27” Quiñonez’s father was deported for the first time. At four years old, the little boy didn’t understand what happened until his father, having crossed back over the border, was deported again in the late ‘80s when the artist was 10. By the time he was a teenager, his fa- ther, a day laborer, was deported a third time. In the ‘90s, Old East Dallas was riddled with crime, and turf wars between rivaling gangs ravaged the area. Surrounded by violence and constantly fearing deportation, Quiñonez’s only solace was street art, bringing vibrant color to under- passes and building walls. An undeniable skill granted the young artist enrollment at Booker T. Washington High School for the Performing and Visual Arts, and then a full-ride scholar- ship to the School of the Museum of Fine Arts at Tufts University. The artist, achieving national recognition, and never straying from his roots, had two scheduled installations in North Texas, one titled Ni de Aquí, Ni de Allá (Not From Here, Not From There) at the University of North Texas College of Visual Arts and Design (UNT CVAD), and another, Elevar La Cultura at the Latino Cultural Center (LCC) in Dallas. But the exhibit at the university, which had several references to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), was canceled without warning or explanation. Now the charged messages that brought him national recognition are launching him back into the spotlight, this time because of censorship. “I’m fighting against something that is pushing so hard to take away the humanity and the people that they’re affecting,” he said while speaking about the university closure. “If I’m showing the beauty and the humanity in people that are being affected by this administration and everything that’s going on with immigration right now, then it’s not suiting [people in power’s] purpose.” In the face of the impromptu closure, the community rallied around Quiñonez, demanding an explanation, which has yet to be provided. The artist, who spent decades voicing the struggles of undocumented citizens, finds himself silenced. But it won’t stop the artist from shedding light on the current administration’s im- migration efforts through art inspired by his childhood as a proud Mexican immigrant with all its colorful suffering. Art Immitates Life In the absence of his father, Quiñonez’s family depended on the community of other immigrants facing the same struggles. “When my father was deported, women would support each other when they knew that their husbands were deported or were no longer able to help,” he said. “There were many times that [street vendors] would just give us food from the coolers, and I would never see any money being exchanged. Those are some of the memories that I have as a kid about community support for each other when they know there’s some challenges going on.” Moments like those influence his work now. Coolers, a build- ing block for undocumented citizens’ livelihood, build Elevar La Cultura, a 22-foot Mesoamerican-style pyramid constructed from the barbecue staple. The center row of coolers is con- verted into ofrendas, traditional honorific altars common in Mex- ico. The work defines Quiñonez’s signature style, which he describes as “neo-Indigenous.” The art is a fusion of traditional art from the Mexica people of the Yucatán Peninsula and graffiti street style, an homage to his identity as a Mexican-American. “I thought it was such an interesting object to work with be- cause it means the complete opposite to most people,” he said. “They look at a cooler, and they think about tailgating, they think about the Fourth of July, they think about barbecues. It means that you’ve made it and they’re used for leisurely things. But for immigrants and people who just got here, it’s actually a tool for survival.” The artist pinpoints attending Booker T. Washington as a turning point in his life. There, he discovered the work of Los Tres Grande – Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco and David Alfaro Siqueiros, the three Mexican master muralists who played an integral role in reshaping culture after the Mexican Revolution in the ‘20s. “I saw what the Mexican masters were doing and how they were creating artwork that was about social justice, that was re- ally fighting against the Mexican government, which at the time was exploiting laborers, exploiting Indigenous people… It gave me a voice as a very young man to think about, not just doing graffiti, but doing things for the sake of the culture. I wanted to do something that was reaching a broader audience.” His desire to create boundlessly led to his arrest in early ado- lescence. Charged with vandalism as a teenager and handed a punitive 30-day sentence, the stern slap on the wrist prevented Quiñonez from gaining citizenship. After several application re- jections, his lawyer advised him to wait until Donald Trump’s first term ended before applying again. After more than four de- cades living in the United States, he became a legal resident in 2022. Living with the awareness that, without citizenship, he would face the very real fear of deportation under the current adminis- tration, Quiñonez’s art emphasizes the humanity of immigrants. “[This] has nothing to do with protecting the borders and ev- erything to do with making a terrible, corrupt system even more powerful,” he said. “...The biggest message [in my art] is that this is a humanitarian issue. It’s not an immigrant issue.” Steve Visneau Ni de Aquí, Ni de Allá, installed at the University of North Texas, was removed without warning.
