Last month, the artist Edra Soto debuted Graft, a new installation presented by the Public Art Fund at Central Park’s Doris C. Freedman Plaza. It’s a grand structure that still manages to feel welcoming, with bespoke angular tables built for domino playing. Soto may be familiar to visitors of the Whitney’s excellent “no existe un mundo poshuracán: Puerto Rican Art in the Wake of Hurricane Maria” exhibition from 2022, and we caught up with her to hear about this ambitious new public project.
The rejas used in your sculptural practice are ubiquitous in Puerto Rico, but may not be familiar to all New Yorkers. Can you explain their significance?
The designs of rejas—wrought iron fences—that I represent in my work are architectural motifs that can be found in working-class homes of Puerto Ricans. My project focuses on representing the rejas and decorative concrete block motifs present in Puerto Rico; not only because I grew up there but also because learning about their cultural significance, I became aware that this information is not a part of Puerto Rico’s populous knowledge. For example, author Edwin R. Quiles Rodriguez relates that the shotgun layout of the working-class residence was adapted from the Yoruba dwellings of African slaves, which were developed in Haiti, and then migrated abroad with hacienda owners after the slaves rebelled. Architect Jorge Ortiz Colom’s monograph, “The African Influence in the Design Build Edification of Puerto Rico,” states that criollo architecture, which incorporates quiebrasoles and rejas, originated from Sub-Saharan Africa through the population brought to Puerto Rico as slaves to work plantations during the rise of colonization. He argues that this influence is largely overlooked by historians due to the impression that ‘Africans could not transplant their ancestral ways of life under the inhumane conditions of their transfer and the lack of freedom in their new home.’
It was previously thought that this decorative architecture was an amalgamation of European features that had undergone transformation through the Western lens. Graft highlights the inextricably intertwined histories of European colonialism, the U.S. and Puerto Rico, and the Afro-Caribbean diaspora through the framework of architectural intervention. I began the Graft series to address the complex sentiments generated from migrating to the U.S. while remaining connected to family on the island—a feeling of dislocation compounded by Puerto Rico’s ambiguous status as an unincorporated territory of the United States. The series Graft, which means to move living tissue from one place to another, to imagine the transplant of my homeland to anywhere on the mainland.
Puerto Rico’s current cultural identity has been intrinsically shaped by its historic affiliation with Spanish colonial military architecture, an alliance that expired 126 years ago. As my traveling to and from Puerto Rico intensified throughout the years, I kept asking myself, “Why does this reference and build identity to the archipelago live in the foreground?” My work proposes to consider the cultural and historical value of residential architecture from working-class Puerto Rico. Understanding the cultural value of the decorative motifs that embody working-class homes can influence Puerto Ricans to consider where they live as something that has value to acknowledge, protect and uplift.
This is your first large-scale public art commission in New York City, though you’ve lived and worked in Chicago since 1998. How did your understanding of this city influence your commission?
New Yorkers are voracious cultural consumers and the New York Latinx communities truly excel at this. I really love and respect their leadership and commitment to uplifting their communities and artists from the diaspora, like me. I believe their commitment’s impact will continue to reform our culture. Paving the way has not been an easy endeavor. The Clemente, El Museo del Barrio, CENTRO, the Latinx Project, U.S. Latinx Art Forum, ISLAA and the Mellon and Ford Foundations are some of the organizations committed to supporting and making visible our stories and communities with rigor and integrity.
Cultural identity shouldn’t rely solely on the past to build community connections. Unfortunately, many cultural institutions in our nation rely on this formula. This form of producing culture is not as palpable in New York as in other cities across the nation. Regarding the past is as important as acknowledging and celebrating the present and reflecting on the future.
My participation in the Whitney Museum of American Art exhibition “no existe un mundo poshuracán: Puerto Rican Art in the Wake of Hurricane Maria” was one of the best experiences I had in my life. I felt as if my presence in the art world was rendered in three dimensions. As an artist, I felt heard, regarded, and celebrated. Brilliant curator Marcela Guerrero has championed the inclusion of Puerto Rican artists in the Whitney’s permanent collection, including my Graft, which has enhanced my confidence in my commitment to the project. It also brings a certain comfort–even relief! It’s always comforting to think that your passion is not misleading.
To me, New York is a melting pot. I think New York personifies what America means to me. I think about it in terms of the people who immigrate or migrate to make a living and live their lives. I can relate to this way of moving through life.
What are your thoughts on Doris C. Freedman Plaza, its home?
The Doris C. Freedman Plaza is an entrance as much as an exit. It is a destination. It is also an impressive and lively hub where many immigrants work. The plaza is their workplace and possibly their second home away from home. What impacts me the most about Central Park is the life happening in that plaza. It is so impressive, sometimes chaotic, sometimes breathtaking. Since the beginning of this project with the Public Art Fund, I have expressed a desire to highlight the life that happens at the plaza, making that as visible as possible. It is important that the documentation of Graft reflects the life at the plaza, which has provided me with the opportunity to interact with a community that has settled there for many years, as much as the sculpture itself.
Central Park is the first public park built in the United States that serves as a refuge from urban life but also as a democratic space for all people, and it is expected that life and chaos will happen every day at Central Park. The horse manure smell is quite pungent at times… another example of the tourist economy in the city–that lives in the plaza—but it doesn’t seem to be perceived as a disruption. The predominantly African-American community of Seneca Village and its history of displacement is acknowledged and will forever be a part of Central Park’s history. The plaza’s overwhelmingly affluent surrounding vicinity and relationship to this history prompted me to think about the working-class home as a grounding point for the people who make their living at the plaza, a “home” that will be inhabited by them, as well as the people who come and go to and from the plaza. I aimed to build a monument representative of working-class communities.
Your sculpture has very clean lines and, though it isn’t imposing, does feel very solid and bold. How did you come to that decision?
Thank you! I really like the way you describe my sculpture. I meditated for many months before coming to my decision and focusing on a direction for this project. I wanted Graft at Central Park to feel monumental yet also approachable and familiar, with simple lines that make space for people to inhabit it and allow those moments to be visible. Graft at Central Park was modeled after a working-class home facade that exists in Puerto Rico. I toyed with the idea of the entrance marker or welcoming structure since the beginning of the project. As soon as you arrive, you can settle, take a moment to regroup, and go about the rest of your day, or arrive after a long walk and settle in to take a break before the end of your day’s journey. Perhaps you have noticed that there are benches bordering the park. My benches and tables—modeled after public seating found at plazas in Puerto Rico—are strategically placed or staged.
The sculpture creates a threshold, with one side representing a home exterior while the other creates the illusion of being inside a lived-in home. I remember being conflicted at some point in the development process with the sculpture looking like a theatrical prop. I reassessed the color and gave it a monochromatic look with its dimensional materials to unify the various parts—to read as a unit—and to contrast with the park’s foliage. The sculpture proportions were modeled in relation to the plaza space. It was important to me to create a sculpture with an adequate height, width, and length. I love simplicity, and sometimes that can be hard to achieve, but I worked with a great team led by Navillus Woodworks, Public Art Fund project manager Hussain Khanbhai and curator Melanie Kress, who were with me step by step throughout the making of the project.
This year’s Venice Biennale featured a whole room about Puerto Rico in the Central Pavilion. Why do you think your diaspora seems to make for such fertile artistic material?
It is impossible to detach Puerto Rico from its political status. All art comes with its political baggage, and Puerto Rico’s is not the exception. Perhaps we excel at it. Pablo Delano’s archive project comes with an explanation provided by Amanda Carneiro and Adriano Pedrosa regarding the 500 years of colonial rule. His work is compelling and determined to map or disclose information through historical artifacts and archival documentation. The heavily didactic approach of the installation is what stayed with me when I saw it online—I haven’t been able to go to Venice. I care about archives and find them compelling and sometimes essential in the crafting of a story that is backed with facts or exudes credibility. As you might know, I have been using my personal photo documentation archive which sometimes makes it to the public, as I integrate it in my sculptures and architectural interventions.
Why do people want to know what Puerto Rico thinks? It is a fair question. Puerto Rico’s political status is the core of its national identity. It has been debated for over 50 years. We are U.S. citizens, but we don’t have the same rights as people born in the fifty states. Besides the political mess, Puerto Rico has tremendous visibility for being such a small island in the Caribbean. I believe Puerto Rico has an outsized influence on American culture. Perhaps that explains the Bad Bunny phenomenon. Like it or not, he is possibly the most influential proponent of the Puerto Rican dialect. A great majority of Puerto Ricans have been, and continue to be, impacted by mainstream media like I was. Local television is relevant in Puerto Rico because people still produce and watch it. People still read the local newspapers. Perhaps it all sounds like minor things, but here we are, being chewed up by ignorant Republicans… even Republican voters deserve much more than what they have to deal with.
How have the duties of public sculpture changed in the last few decades?
I think there’s a lot of expectation from artists and institutions to invest in amending a history of racial oppression and abuse of power that continues to live out in the open in the form of public art. Since the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 after the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, a second hard look has been placed on existing public monuments. As someone who regards the present with equal importance to the past, I am on board with organizations that instigate conversations, surveys and temporary and permanent projects that consider the future of monuments. Organizations like Monument Lab, the National Monument Audit, Counterpublic and the Creative Time Summit have developed initiatives in the foreground. Public Art Fund has been a pioneer in investing in the diffusion of challenging and thought-provoking work into prominent spaces of national impact for over 40 years. After working with them on this project, I understand why they are so regarded in the field. It has been a magnificent experience.
You’ve created some bespoke dominos that borrow design elements from this work, available at the Chess and Checkers House in the park. What was the thinking behind that activation?
The dominoes are just another form of instigating visitors to convene, sit and play at my sculpture’s tables. The furniture that forms a part of my sculpture’s composition was modeled after existing public plaza furniture commonly found in Puerto Rican municipalities and public plazas. People can use the tables as they please, but I thought it would be nice to provide an intentional component that adds to the nostalgia that the rejas usually exude. The Clemente, to whom I donated a domino table that I designed, collaborated with the Public Art Fund on a “Domino Table Talks” activation as part of a two-year archive initiative titled Historias. The activation consisted of a conversation with artists and activists of all ages from the Puerto Rican community while playing dominoes.
I have been in love with dominoes since I was a kid, and I still have a very old set that belonged to my parents. I always carry a mini traveling domino set, hoping to play with anyone who wants to play with me. I’m surprised by how many people don’t know how to play dominoes. It is an activity that I associate with leisure. I used to travel to Puerto Rico with my husband years ago before my visits to Puerto Rico became dedicated to helping with my mother’s health issues. For each visit, we selected a parador to stay at, where we brought a domino set and sipped rum while playing through the night. Like idiosyncratic aspects of the Puerto Rican language that are such an authentic part of my culture, dominoes carry on as it is very much connected to a tradition that passes from generation to generation.
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