Donde esta el bigote de Marti?

A few years ago I made a flag that just said, “El bigote de Marti” but instead of the word bigote (mustache), I quilted a giant mustache. When things get the kind of hard that makes you feel powerless and increasingly fearful of our own government, I imagine myself crawling into Jose Marti’s mustache. You can say it is my magical realism safe space.

Marti was a poet master of community rallying, abolition, language and hope. In fact, Fidel Castro appropriated his poetry to sway the Cuban public in his speeches. I believe the Cuban revolution of the 1950s would not have happened without the appropriation of Marti’s writing, most which he produced and distributed as he lead the first Cuban revolution against the Spanish in the late 1800s.

As a poet in love with his country, Marti’s sincere life long dedication to rallying people into believing Cuba should be free and independent from any imperialists, colonizer or dictator made him loved beyond his lifetime. Castro, not so much.

I’ve been thinking about that fire to fight for home that Marti continues to exemplify for me. For democracy. For dignity. For undying love of patria. For abolition. As we witness the ethnic cleansing of this country, what I already knew would happen with this second round of a political orange sloppy nightmare we are living in the US, the reflex to go to my safe space and hide is not cutting it. Everyone knows these mass deportations are disgusting, filling someone’s pocket and a core tactic in a larger psychological warfare. Perhaps it is working because in all honesty I’m also questioning if making art or protesting is enough at this point. If not then what will it take to stop all of what is happening here now. It is heartbreaking and the impotence is embarrassing. What collective or individual action is effective in halting this?

For some, this crisis is very, very close to home. Some do not feel safe in talking about just how palpable the fear is in their lives to lose their family or friends or loved ones in this way. Growing up in Miami meant that everyone’s parents came from somewhere else. Everyone knows someone who is being affected or will be affected by the mass deportations. I have friends who are petrified their elderly sick parents will be deported back to a place that silenced them with prison 50 years ago. I have friends who can easily be deported to countries they do not know.

Perhaps acculturation is at the root of why so many Cuban Americans and other Latinos voted for an administration that would do this to people who are really no different than them save for the privilege of lenient immigration policies for defected Cubans in contrast to those available to immigrants from other countries. I find myself struggling to rationalize the bias people seem to justify for themselves. The lack of compassion for other humans is sadly getting some potent fuel right now. Since I started drafting this blog entry, already things have shifted in conversation. Now we are talking about being in a war?! Again.

WHERE IS OUR MARTI?!

I say I have doubts about being a creative in these difficult powerless moments but I’m lying. My first reflex is still to get to work. Get my hands on materials that can translate in ways I fail. Always. On no “Kings Day” I was reminded by the first Flag Day that was ruined by Trump’s Birthday where we Marched across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco with a flag I collaborated with the group, 100 Days Action to celebrate organizing 100 days of protests against the Trump administration. It was pretty incredible to walk across that special bridge with a giant flag whipping around with a helicopter circling above. The action was undoubtedly generative because it provoked dialogue. It was an entry point. Perhaps it’s a matter of looking back at moments of strength, symbolism, poetry to find how to move forward and against. Perhaps we find our Marti or name any other valiente figure you look to there waiting for us to reactive? No se.

* Below is a photograph of my Pre-Kindergarden graduation where I am sandwiched between two very special people. Emma y Elena. They were my grandmother’s best friends in Cuba and also distant relatives. They were reunited with our family when my grandmother found them along with their disabled brother living in the Orange Bowl Refugee encampment from the Mariel Boallift in 1980. Five years later my grandmother passed away suddenly from complications due to Hepatitis C and they stepped in as my grandmothers and taught me how to read Spanish; how to sew as they were incredible seamstresses; how to recite the Cuban national anthem; how to catch birds and eat frituritas de malanga. I am very grateful to have had them in my young life and for everything they shared with me.

Verde que te quiero verde

My dear amiguita Amy always says that. Green how I love you green. Come to think of it most of my closest friends have some sort of quasi spiritual relationship to plants or the outdoors and I am not different. I get very excited for Spring gardening. Seeing the first frog, enjoying the Azaleas hot pink short lived cycle, knowing my African lilies are super blooming this year after being dormant last year, and expanding what I grow with the knowledge from last year’s garden is honestly such a gift. I even keep a garden journal. This year we planted a peach tree and as it turns out, Kiki is a peach thief.

My oregano grew so bountiful it eclipsed the rest of the herb bed so I gave it a big chop and dried it in my garage. I plan to gift it out.

Chisme: I once worked for Lisa Schiff.

I’ve been following the Lisa Schiff story well before she became known as one of the top recent scandals of the art world for stealing from her collector clients and owing an absurd amount of money and artwork to some very angry rich people, including the state of New York. Her recent NY Times interview “Art Advisor, Friend, Thief” compelled me to share my thoughts on her situation. My interest for her comes from the fact that I was her first employee, and she gave me my first real job in 2006. I’ve been hesitant to speak out about her out of respect for her privacy and because just like I felt proud of her for thriving in the art world as she did for so long after I decided to not work for her, I now feel really conflicted about where she is and the possibility of her facing up to 20 years in prison. Go here to read some of the details of her ponzi scheme.

BACK in 2006, baby Tina gets a big girl job

The job was intimate in nature. I had just graduated from Sarah Lawrence College and responded to an ad on NYFA.org for an assistant gig to an art advisor. When I had my interview with her, she made me feel validated for the education I pursued despite having grown up in the Miami she didn’t really relate to but knew of being from the more wealthy side of the city or as 305 people would say, the white side of US1. She was impressed by my time working for the Rubell Family Collection, and for doing an internship at the Rosa De La Cruz Collection. I was green but what I did know aligned with the trajectory of her growing business. A strong awareness of contemporary art, discretion and hustle. 

I worked out of an average sized Tribeca apartment from a desk in her bedroom with an amazing view of Manhattan south. She offered me a starting salary that was generous then, an Equinox gym membership, lunches and dinners on late nights of work and gave me a good amount of gifts including art magazines and books and hand-me-down designer clothes since we were the same size and she shopped often. She had a driver, a cleaning woman and an IT guy on call. She was often away, traveling nationally and internationally for art fairs and I was always on call for anything she needed. At any hour. She even encouraged me to get a small dog I could bring to work so she could enjoy him too which is when I got Reggie. She sent me to auctions at Sotherbys and Christies and brought me along to private viewings of works at some of the most prestigious NYC galleries and graduate MFA programs like the one at Yale where I met Ruby Stiler whose work I still love. I accompanied her on some of her trips to visit US clients, most of whom she treated like best friends because they seemed to be. Sadly, some of whom are suing her now. I think Lisa exposed me to her circle to give me access and experience and possibly to see if this would be my calling too. It was not.

If you read my first post, this was the job I left to get my life together. The job, while challenging because I was so accountable to this woman’s very busy life, was probably one of the most supportive things I had at the time but my performance was taking a nosedive. When I approached Lisa about how I was feeling due to my personal life collapsing, she was compassionate and offered to have me work remotely from Miami for a month with pay on the condition I would come back to NY to keep working for her, refreshed and ready to move forward. In 2006, that was a rarity. No one worked remotely. No boss would give you that space and time to take care of yourself. Rare to find even now. “Mental Health” was not a common term. She had already hired a young girl from London who had major go getter energy, wore all black, came from money and only ate tomatoes and cottage cheese. The girl was nice but I understood what was happening. It started to become evident, “London” would be more of the face of the company with her and I would stay behind to continue to manage the paperwork I was buried under. I went home to Miami, defeated but grateful I had this option. 

My decision to stop working for Lisa Schiff had nothing to do with her. Working on the administrative side of things helped me confirm I wanted to be the artist that was receiving the studio visits, being collected, in exhibitions, printed in catalogues but most importantly, in the studio, making the work. I had plenty to say but I lacked the courage to do it. Few of the artists I handled sales for were latinx. That bothered me immensely. I even remember mentioning this to her but it fell on deaf ears. Why weren’t our voices part of this economy, being seen as a priority in building these collections? Being from Miami and witnessing the start and initial growth of Art Basel, I knew there were plenty latinx artists worth collecting, contemporary and from the past. That awareness made me question why I wasn't making work myself. Practically speaking, living in NY did not allow me the space and time to invest in my art practice and to be honest, I was consumed with crippling anxiety trying to keep up with her, my failing relationship and the absurd cost of living. Taking 6 trains a day to get to and from work everyday alone would kill anyone’s spirit. This was the moment where I had to decide if I was going to be an artist and what next steps I had to take to do that. Quitting NY and everything in it was necessary.

When I told her I was not coming back, she never spoke to me again. Her IT guy reached out to arrange for the laptop I was working on and the archive I organized of hers and her clients collection be sent back and that was it. I was either more dispensable than I wanted to believe or she was disappointed, or both. Either way, out of shame I never once listed this job on my resume and never felt good about quitting. I was grateful to her but I knew I had to leave. It was the first time I left a good job for a major life change of my own choosing and ultimately it was the best decision I could have ever made. Not because of where she is now and the criminal charges she has admitted to, but my gut told me so. 

Lisa Schiff and Schiff Fine Art Advisory grew immensely after I left. She had a handful of young women working for her, she did lectures and it seemed she was big on educating the public on how to create collections of art work intentionally. She even opened a brick and mortar space and reached a high level of respect as an art advisor. She became an advocate for art collecting and I loved following this about her career. 

Lisa was not a criminal when I worked for her, at least I don’t think she was. Nor two-faced. Nor shady in any way. She was warm, sweet, polite, kinda hilarious and treated everyone well and always paid people who worked for her without fail. What the fuck happenned? I have so many questions! When did things start to go south for her? What sale put her over the edge? Why didn’t she ask for help? Did anyone else know? She must have had financial advisors to manage that much money? Did she also have difficulty recovering from the financial impacts from COVID? Is this addiction? I can’t imagine what her team feels like right now. Shock? Shame? Petrified to be implicated?

Schiff Fine Art Advisory in NYC

She blatantly admits to having screwed up and faces some difficult court hearings to determine her punishment but what few articles seem to address is that the art world and particularly the financial dynamics of the art market in the US are at the core long overdue for being checked. For example, people like Lisa benefit from the resales of artworks by charging a fee as part of services for acquiring pieces for clients. They provide a service but there is also very little to regulate what those pieces resell for. Sometimes there are contracts that restrict what happens to the pieces for a certain amount of time after the sale, sometimes not. Something I’ve always found deeply problematic is that the artists never get royalties from the resales of their works in the US but countries such as Italy and France have laws implemented to give artists and even dead artist estates royalties for the secondary sales of their artworks. Not having this regulated in the states hugely benefits art advisors, consultants, galleries and ultimately collectors. Artists may benefit in that the value of their works could potentially go up and catch more demand and relevance…..but none of these are guarantees. Here’s a video of her talking about the art market in 2022.

Is the US art market ripe for audit?

In the US, art is seen as real-estate and investment. Many of the works purchased by private collectors end up in temporary storage, till they seem worth reselling OR unless you followed the example of the Rubells and Margulies families who built museums to showcase their extensive collections for public viewing. I’m sure there is some tax incentives but blah, blah, blah, I know zip about all that to be frank. From what I remember back when I was employed by her, Lisa’s bread and butter clients were not striving to be top collectors nor offer access to the public of their works. They were privileged AF and dabbling in a new kind of investment managed by a very well connected, educated friend who was good at what she did. They needed her to know what was relevant to buy and sell and when, and her team to manage the to and fro of the pieces (insurance, consignments, storage, condition reports, archiving….etc). I feel Lisa was trying to advocate for educated art collecting while appearing to respect the ways of the market but apparently not. The contradiction is just too juicy.

She fascinates me more now that I know this side of her. I briefly knew Lisa as a person and a boss what feels like 8 lives ago. I was young but did not see this coming. I am not interested in defending her actions but I do want to humanize her because there is an agenda to her demise aside from justice. Both by the law and by the privileged, a circle she was very much an insider of. Twenty years in prison is on par with some maximum murder sentences in some states. Just very disturbingly ironic that this is happening while a known con-artist and criminal somehow elected President, again, is handing out pardons for people who have real blood on their hands. The blood of service people by the way.

I honestly feel she is being made an example of and knows it. And I can’t help but feel that is easier to exploit because she is a woman who once very much thrived, on her own in the art world. See any parallels to the Martha Stewart scandal? The message is clear: Don’t steal from your rich friends. Don’t fuck with the art world. Carry on as is. 

I wonder who will play her in her biopic. Any guesses? In the meantime, le predo una velita, she’s gonna need it.

Thanks for reading.

Memoria y Diseño: Solo show opening this Friday, 2/28 from 6-9pm

Memoria y Diseño

February 28 - March 28

Opening reception: Feb 28, 2025 6-9pm 

Memoria y Diseño is a collection of recent works by artist Cristina Victor, (aka Sabia Ceramics) in collaboration with Nidum Studios and Island Bazaar. Drawing from memories of everyday objects and textiles in her childhood domestic spaces in Miami, Florida, Cristina presents a series of pieces that play with appropriating the mix of decorative and functional objects that filled her various family homes. As a first generation Cuban-American, these spaces were slowly built to fill the gap her family experienced in losing all of their possessions once in exile from Cuba. She celebrates the details that resonate from these spaces by leaning into maximalism, the objects that facilitated the everyday rituals, and the mix of furniture design that framed "home". 

Bucaros/ Vessels / Forms

I was recently in line waiting to get into the High Museum on a visit to Atlanta. Living in Charleston, a small city with out large art exhibition spaces that are not focused on colonial forefathers, I need to get out in order to get my fix. There was another museum goer who was also waiting and we struck up a conversation about how going to museums sometimes is like visiting an old friend or your past self. How finding works you’ve seen before can be comforting. When I visit New York City which happens at least a few times a year, I go to church. And by church I mean the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I just can’t seem to tire of the vessels in the Egyptian wing, immediately to the right of the museum entrance. The Egyptians are said to be the first civilization to make and use vessel both for purpose and decoration. I wonder if they knew that these vessels would out live them and communicate so far into the future. In all the times I visited the same Egyptian vessels behind the those glass cases, I had not idea I would be so fixated with compulsively forming my own out of the same materials. Its been almost 5 years since I’ve been working with clay and making all kinds of functional works but I just can’t seem to tire of exploring this form. I feel they have a sense of legacy even in their decorative, conceptual simplicity. Above is a collection of Sabia vessels I’ve made in the last few years.

Looking back, moving forward, looking up.

Baby Tina and Reggie in San Diego 2007

I was a young, 20 something baby Tina in 2007, not even brave enough to call myself an artist, when I moved to San Diego, California to, I don’t know, figure “it” out. I had been slowly burning out in New York City after graduating from Sarah Lawrence College, working as the first employee to a now recently disgraced art advisor to east coast elites (more on that later, maybe). I was coming to grips with the anxiety and sadness I struggled with after terminating a pregnancy and then almost immediately being dumped from that six year relationship. I was both physically and emotionally displaced, SO lost and very much operating on impulse. I headed West. No money, no car. I had a bicycle, a shitty, heavy lap top that might as well have been considered a desktop and a fantastic Weiner dog sidekick named Reggie then just a puppy. At the time, cell phones were for actually carrying voice conversations, not much else. Maybe some minor texting that often involved beeper codes. No cameras. No touchscreens. No apps. No profiles. No endless scrolling. Just time.

I think that space that is now very occupied, much to our denial, by devices allowed for introspection, daydreaming even. In hind sight, that quiet was very lonely but authentic and necessary. That quiet helped me recalibrate to the changes I had to come to terms with. I crave that space now but for very different reasons. I am nostalgic for that intangible space where my mind would just float with awareness, guiltless, and void of being uncontrollably pulled to a screen. I have to admit though, as the ever lover of contradiction, during this time, I started a short-lived blog that is still somewhere out in the internet. A short, frozen archive of young Tina, flexing her memoir skills and documenting her way through the everyday yet in the midst of aimless flux. I think I posted about growing tomatoes; the bad mixed media drawings I made that were in the first group show I ever exhibited in at the art supply store I worked for on Highway 1 in Encinitas; a Radiohead concert; Reggie getting sick and then recovering; moving to San Francisco and falling in love with the city as soon as I drove across the Bay bridge for the first time. It was cute. The blog started to collect dust when I started grad school at the San Francisco Art Institute, rest in peace.

Almost twenty years later, I find myself back to reconsidering this blog idea and practice. Perhaps out of desperation for alternatives. Or maybe to feel a little punk? Our relationship to technology has changed drastically since those early Tina days. Phones aren’t just phones, they are everything to us. Wallets, calendars, cameras, they tell us when we get our period, when our bills are due, how to get to places, where the dog is, monitor our steps, they translate, fuck, what don’t they do for us? Like many who are disillusioned with this dependency to our phones, I’m really trying to break up with most social media as a way to help mitigate what feels like a low key addiction that has been normalized. I’ve resolved to focusing on this little real-estate called my website, where I can control my narrative but still continue to connect, share and exchange ON MY TERMS. It’s a long winded experiment. I think we are at a point of reckoning about so much that seems intrinsic to contemporary culture and how it all ties to our health and livelihood. Nothing feels low stakes anymore and everything feels vulnerable. Too many connections are dependent on likes and stories. I’m old enough to know that’s just not substance but I don’t want to break up with all of it either because some of these vices have very much served me and my career as a creative. Addict excuses? No se…. Tricky right?

One of the gifts I received from Amy, Japanese Otagiri mug from Japan still in rotation in my mug collection.

I have been an avid journal and letter writer since I can remember and I have the bookshelf to prove it. As a child, my mom managed Julio Iglesia’s fan club when she was his secretary for 8 years. His fans would send me letters and toys from all over the world so they can leverage VIP passes from my mom. I actually developed penpals from it that were amazing. My first was Amy, in Korea.
It was the start of a life long practice, writing. In undergrad, I had my nose buried in Jose Marti, Reinaldo Arenas, Fanny Burney and Mary Wollenstonecraft journals and realized, memoirs, whether in English or Spanish, were just my absolute jam. Still are.

The blog was an experiment in connecting in a then new way but it was also familiar. It was far from addictive or vain. Nor was it an attempt to sell anything. It didn’t really last long as a discipline but it was my first reach at archiving and connecting publicly. It felt like a way to potentially open the sketchbook/journal practice to people I cared about who took the time to seek out what I had to share. It felt intimate, of low stakes and vulnerable in just the right way. Few people read it and that was perfect. They were the ones I wanted to know where I was and why. I was seeking but not lost. The blog was evidence.

Now in my mid forties, living in the coastal South, partnered in the healthiest relationship I’ve ever been in, a dog mom of two crazy pittie rescues (Kiki & Indy) and proud to say I have over a decade of being a practicing and exhibiting artist with a fairly strong grip on anxiety and self care, life is way slower and very precious. I’m very protective of my time and energy. The college students I had the privilege of working with recently have (perhaps unknowingly) really helped me consider how I can revisit old ways of working that seem to deserve another shot. I’m talking about both the art babies and the seniors citizens who have returned to being creatives with just as much tenacity as the young ones. Drawing. Painting. Writing. Making books. The BLOG? Coming back to supportive basics. Sharing as an exploration, not for the sake of your “brand” or a sale, or the gram or the CV but as witness in reaching for the quiet sharing & experimentation I once knew was fruitful and necessary. So retro right?

I’m really trying to put my phone down more and take a step back to recalibrate but I’m inviting you to hang out with me in it, albeit, yes, on a screen but different? At least I hope.

Thanks for reading my Blah, Blah, Blah. XO, Tina