How a 1970s Chicano art group defied the mainstream and made history
LOS ANGELES (AP) — When filmmaker Travis Gutiérrez Senger reflects on ASCO’s legacy, he quickly notes they were more than an art group; they created a movement, one with remarkable influence on Chicano art history.
“That movement continues today, and it’s very expansive,” he says. “There’s a lot of books, films and things that will be written about ASCO over a period of time. And this was our contribution in some ways.”
He’s referring to “ASCO: Without Permission,” a documentary that chronicles the story of the 1970s art group founded by multidisciplinary artist Patssi Valdez, muralist Willie Herrón III, painter and performance artist Gronk and writer and photographer Harry Gamboa Jr. They met as teens, formed as young adults, and called their group “asco” — “nausea” or “disgust” in Spanish — after one of their early DIY exhibits. Their conceptual work and performance art spoke to the exclusion of Chicanos from the mainstream art world and the systemic police brutality endured by the Mexican American community in East Los Angeles.
All four founding members of ASCO became some of the most notable Chicano artists, later exhibiting works in revered museums around the United States. But in their early days, the group was denied access to the notable galleries and museums. They created their own avenues in the form of public performances, murals and more to exhibit their work, their way.
“To behave badly is the most ethical thing you can do,” said executive producer Gael García Bernal at the film’s South by Southwest film festival premiere earlier this month. “You’re building identity and questioning and unmasking the facade and the farce that exists.”
Bernal and Diego Luna executive produced the film under their production company El Corriente del Golfo. The film has yet to find distribution.
Speaking with The Associated Press, Gamboa and Valdez praised Gutiérrez Senger’s approach to their history. Both members, who appear in the documentary, saw the film for the first time with a crowd of fans and a group of young Chicano artists whose art was inspired by ASCO’s early rebellion.
“I felt the film really kind of captured the essence of all of us working together,” said Gamboa.
Valdez says it was a special moment for her, as the only woman in the founding group, to be given equal time and understanding.
“For the first time, I was given an equal voice in the group that hadn’t happened before,” she said, citing how previous stories of the group only highlighted her male collaborators.
Without permission
ASCO emerged at the height of the Chicano civil rights movement in the 1960s and 1970s. It was a time of heightened political and racial tension amid the East LA walkouts, protesting education inequality, and the Chicano Moratorium, an anti-Vietnam War movement during which many Mexican Americans were victims of police brutality.
Muralists and collectives popped up as Latino artists sought to process the systemic injustice taking place in their communities.
“The response to such violence was to create art,” said Gamboa Jr. He wanted to alter the mainstream perception of Chicanos and present the possibilities and avenues someone can create despite societal constraints.
For Valdez, being the only woman meant she was no stranger to a double dose of both racism in society and the sexism weaved within conservative Latino households, where young women were expected to keep quiet.
“I couldn’t stand it. So, I was able to act out these forms of censorship through the performance work in ASCO,” said Valdez who once taped herself to a public wall in a piece titled “Instant Mural,” a metaphor on feeling captive.
One of ASCO’s most known works is “Spray Paint LACMA.” Gamboa, Gronk and Herrón spray painted their names on the side of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art after Gamboa says he was told by a curator, “Chicanos are in gangs, they don’t make art.”
“There was another era when people said, ‘Latinx art, you know, doesn’t exist. It’s not a thing. It doesn’t belong. It’s not part of American art,’” said Pilar Tompkins-Rivas, the chief curator and deputy director of the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.
ASCO’s neighborhood performance art would often draw stares, and even crowds. In “Station of the Cross,” the group carried a large cross to the local military recruiting office to protest the Vietnam War.
In 1974, Gamboa took a photo of Gronk posed as the victim of gang violence to bring attention to the media’s sensationalist coverage of crime in East Los Angeles. In the documentary, Gamboa claims that a local news station ran the piece as an actual story.
ASCO’s work as a group remained in obscurity from the mainstream. It was not until 2011 when LACMA mounted “ASCO: Elite of the Obscure, A Retrospective, 1972-1887,” the first retrospective to present the group’s performance and conceptual art. On display was an image of Valdez, taken by Gamboa, standing above the graffiti art. Life had presented ASCO with its full-circle moment.
“Latino history has always been erased,” said Gutiérrez Senger. “‘ASCO: Without Permission’ is a story of winning a battle, not a war.”
‘No Movies’ and Latino representation
A 1974 photograph of Valdez shows the artist glammed up in a gold top, holding a golden statue of a cobra. She had won best actress at the Aztlan No Movie Awards — a fictional award show ASCO created as commentary on the lack of Latino representation in Hollywood.
The group was inspired by Hollywood cinema and popular culture, but knew the likelihood of starring in studio films was limited, unless they wanted to play a maid, cartel leader or gang member.
“Hollywood movies, rock ’n’ roll. That’s what I was about,” said Valdez. “And that’s why I responded in the way I did with my artmaking.”
Gamboa photographed Herrón, Gronk and Valdez using cinema stock to capture the essence of their favorite films. The series was called “No Movies” and later inspired their satirical award show.
Gutiérrez Senger was drawn to it and pays homage throughout the documentary by featuring a group of young Chicano artists — including local Los Angeles artists like Fabi Reyna and San Cha — in short films inspired by ASCO’s signature DIY style.
“I think it’s a necessary obligation as a Latino if you’re making films to fight very, very hard to put brown people on screen and behind the camera and to try to create films about our history,” said Gutiérrez Senger. “We have rich stories, and we have a rich history.”
“ASCO: Without Permission” includes testimonials from respected Latino artists, including actor Michael Peña and comedian Arturo Castro, who have broken into the mainstream but know the importance of preserving history.
“Our history as Latinos is not in the history books. The movements that we’ve had are not in the history books,” Peña says in the documentary.
Although it often feels like progression is slow, Valdez says artists need to continue to voice their opinions and “misbehave and not ask for permission.”
“You do not need permission to be yourself. You do not need permission to be creative. You do not need permission to be intellectual,” said Gamboa. “And the thing is, you cannot allow yourself to be repressed or silenced and or visually curtailed from presenting works.”