The evolution Hilda Palafox has been one of the most exciting and fascinating to watch in recent memory. Her work has a foundational structure that stems from Mexican muralism, and there was a time not to far back that contemporary muralism was changing the landscape of public space and conversations about art. I think, funny enough, I wrote at length about muralism during my time at Juxtapoz; not so much in the framework of “street art,” but more of thread that extended to the social realist murals of nearly 100 years ago. Hilda, more commonly known as Poni in those days, was at the forefront of what the muralism movement was becoming in Mexico City and the Americas. She was then known as a storyteller, her signature female characters seen in both group shows and multi-storied paintings overlooking the city. And, in her fine art explosion, she remains deeply entrenched in myth-making, folk tales and the human connection through generations.
“I like to think that my practice articulates a dialogue between the monumental legacy of muralism and Mexican modernism as well as the political and poetic potency of contemporary feminist practices,” Palafox says. You can see it in her practice quite clearly as she began to preview, and now exhibiting, her newest works in the solo show De Tierra y Susurros (Of Earth and Whispers) at Sean Kelly in New York. Textured and entrenched mark-making is a key characteristic, her characters not only entwined together and locking arms and bodies, but the way in which she has incorporated engraving, reliefs on stone and ceramics to the paintings and works on paper are her subtle way of acknowledging how much her work stems from working in a public space. She thinks of urban texture as a way of communicating our collective stories, that we all share in these spaces, tell and make stories in these places we call home.
Palafox’s color choices are also, which I say lovingly, realistic. She uses earth tones as reality, not necessarily in places you expect, but the warmth and tonal balance feels connected to something ancient, solid. That is her way of saying, so to speak, that what we have done to the earth is pretty fucked up. This was supposed to be a place of nurture and centrality, a home base for which our stories and histories come from. And the work here is trying to come to grips with the idea that if we don’t paint it, if we don’t visualize our ancient connections to earth, to the feminine spirit, to our folk tales, we will lose the ability to conjur these essential elements of the collective self for good.
I think the use of “whispers” in the title is essential. Humanity seems to be screaming a lot. We are loud. We are angry. We are at odds with one another. We are trying to eliminate our souls and memories and replace them with artificial intelligence. The earth, yes, it screams at us with earthquakes, extreme weather and fissures at the surface. But nature is quietly asking us to back off, to go back to thousands of years, to think of ourselves as temporary and leave her the way she once was. I think Hilda is channeling the loudest whisper, and has she ascends to the higher rungs of the contemporary art ladder, the whisper is getting heard. —Evan Pricco
