A Conversation with San Diego artist Bryan Ali Sanchez, by James Scarborough

Bryan Ali Sanchez, born in San Diego, California is a painter whose work examines the inequalities of class structure, cultural polarities and overlaps from personal experiences. He received an AA from San Diego City College in Visual and Performing Arts with a Two-Dimensional Art Emphasis. He received his BFA from California State University of Long Beach with a Concentration in Painting and Drawing. He has exhibited throughout San Diego and he recently exhibited at The University Art Museum, Long Beach; Max Gatov Gallery, Long Beach; and the Palm Court Arts Complex, Irvine, CA.

He lives and works in San Diego, California

JS: Even though you’re first-generation Mexican-American, why do you write that you’re a hybrid: neither Mexican, nor American?

BAS: I write that I am a hybrid of both Mexican and American cultures. When I mention, "neither Mexican" I am referring to a point of view, experiences I do not have in common with my parents, brother, and relatives, of what it means to be born and raised in Mexico. I am left with stories of what it was like growing up in Mexico and my recollection of the multiple visits there. As for me stating, "nor American", I am referring to my upbringings, I was raised with Mexican traditions in the United States.

JS: To continue, explain what you mean, please, when you describe your hybrid identity as misplaced?

BAS: I view my identity as misplaced because of my lack of belonging to either Country. It began when I was a kid and visited Mexico with my mom. I became aware that I was not viewed as Mexican. Despite the fact, my ethnic identity is Mexican. It felt as if I was not enough to be considered one of them. Regardless, if I spoke fluent, read or written in Spanish, which I did at the time and still do. It did not matter because I was born in the U.S. It was surprising to hear that as a kid. I remember thinking to myself "how am I not Mexican?".

Fair enough, I was born in the United States, by birthright I am American. The problem was people did not view me as an American growing up. I was told derogatory words because I was viewed as Mexican. I knew how to defend myself with words and other means if needed. Nevertheless, I was confused. "How come I am not seen as an American? In my own Country?" I asked myself.

I became accustomed to being perceived as American in Mexico and Mexican in America.

I never held resentment because of this matter. I simply was perplexed by this situation. There is so much cultural baggage associated with this ordeal and at times, I can see why a lot of jealousy and hatred can arise from Mexican-Americans towards Mexicans and vice versa.

I realized I am neither in the inside looking out nor on the outside looking in, I am simply in the center looking around and maybe, searching for answers.

JS: What, then, are some of the Mexican hyperbolic clichés your work addresses?

BAS: The idea of border crossing is one of them. I am interested in the history of the Southwest, beginning with how the land once belonged to Mexico and how Mexicans are crossing into where they once belonged.

I had uncles who had crossed into the U.S. in the '90s to work on the farms in California. My grandfather worked in the U.S. because of the Braceros program, which was a manual labor agreement between the U.S. and Mexico established in the early 1940s. The idea of coming to America and working these labor-intensive jobs is still a norm for Mexican people. At this point, it is a tradition.

I am fascinated by the willingness and rawness of human survival. This human inclination to betters one's life and finding some sense of financial stability comes with high risk when entering this country. This admirable approach of doing whatever it takes to provide for one's self or family mirrors American values yet, it is frowned upon when Mexicans are responding to their current crisis.

JS: Your work exhibits a powerful, reverberating, and timely theme, people as prey to both institution and natural violence. Contorted people, alive if barely, crammed into claustrophobic spaces. A mangled corpse, shredded, presumably, by some predator. People, presumably migrants, stalked by a mountain lion. How do you reflect this in your use of pictorial space, texture, detail (or lack of), composition and, especially, scale?

BAS: Painting on a large scale is important because it allows me to use my body's full range of motion. I improvise throughout the painting and I leave behind abrupt marks of thick paint. I rework certain areas more than others and as a result, texture starts to accumulate. The painting begins to acquire its proper form and the pictorial space begins to unfold through painting. Even at this stage, everything is in flux. I respond by what I see on the painting and I am willing to paint over any area. I am at war when searching for the composition as I try to make sense of this image. My unorthodox approach reflects the same characteristics of the figures in the painting. We both are struggling and rely on our instincts to stay alive.

JS: With its blunt, institutionalized violence, your work reminds me of Leon Golub, while its savage brushstroke reminds me of Willem de Kooning. What are the artistic influences in your work?

BAS: Many artists have influenced me over the years. Willem de Kooning is a big influence. His expressive touch and fearlessness to rework a painting is incredible. I share the same views with De Kooning's on spontaneity. I am always reworking my painting until the painting feels "right" so to speak. Maggi Hambling is another artist, her confidences radiate through her mark-making, exhibiting this effortless approach. Andrew Whyte, Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud, and Vincent Van Gogh are other artists I greatly admire. These artists reveal this psychological intensity in their works that have made a major impact on me. Richard Diebenkorn, Pierre Bonnard and Peter Doig for their remarkable sense of color, use of space and their unique quality in paint handling.

JS: You write of both your experiences of U.S. border crossings and the inequalities of class structure. Did these experiences and inequalities inspire you to become a painter? More generally, what does painting mean to you?

BAS: Maybe, subconsciously experiencing these inequalities led me to become a painter.

Painting is the reason I am still on Earth. I am captivated by mixing paint and applying it on a canvas with various brushes and tools. This process may sound simple but it is complex because many factors are in play through the duration of the painting. I am still in awe, every time I paint.

JS: What’s your working process? Do you begin with preliminary sketches? How do you decide when a piece is done?

BAS: My process begins with a quick thumbnail. I use a pen, marker or charcoal and create a gesture drawing of a scene that is in my head. These ideas for potential paintings come to mind as I am going about my day, running errands, driving, eating, showering or working.

When I look at the gesture drawing, the painting starts to unravel itself before my eyes. My imagination runs and I can see color and space. In my head it all makes sense, however, in front of me is an abstract drawing. As of late, the placement of the figures in these drawings are more recognizable compared to before.

I do not like working on preliminary drawings because I have noticed If I develop an idea, where I include a value or color study, I lose complete interest. The small gesture drawing helps as a starting point when I begin a painting but even then, the initial idea may be replaced. Nothing is certain once I begin a painting because I improvise. Ideas may submerge and resurface throughout the painting. My color scheme is invented and derived from observation.

I would say, when there is nothing left to add or subtract from the painting is when I am done. I tend to get this immense impact towards the end and I feel that is when the painting has asserted its presence.

 

Engine Bay, 2018-19, oil on canvas, 64x80 inches

Truck Bed, 2018-19, oil on canvas, 64x80 inches

Nameless, 2019, oil on canvas, 60x78 inches

2:48am, 2019, oil on canvas, 58x72 inches

El Monte (The Mount), 2019, oil on canvas, 60x72 inches

Holding Mirror (Self-Portrait), 2017-18, oil on canvas, 78x60 inches