What should that conversation entail? The industry just needs to be more responsible. They need to look more closely at the working conditions and what’s going on in the orchards. They need to be more responsible with their workers. They need to be fair. The companies know that many of their workers are undocumented — which can be convenient for them, because [the workers] can’t complain. As a farmworker, especially an undocumented one, who do you even complain to? It’s kind of inhuman, really. The agricultural system can feel like a machine, and it needs more humanity. What artists inspired you as you became an artist yourself? I always loved drawing landscapes, all through my teenage years, but I was never professionally trained. I went to school as an adult pretty late, and suddenly I realized that there were some really amazing painters out there, and that blew my mind. I grew up in Oaxaca, Mexico, in a small farming town. Painters like [Vincent] van Gogh and [Jean-François]
Millet, their paintings were about the peasants, the people that worked in the fields, so their work actually spoke to me really strongly. David Alfaro Siqueiros was a big inspiration, too, him sharing the stories of indigenous natives. I’m Zapotec, so when I was working in the fields over here, I met a lot of Zapotec people and I reconnected with that part of my identity. Siqueiros was the inspiration to speak about those communities and tell their stories through art. Talk to me about your process. You take photos too, right? Yes, I use my own photographs for source material. I’ve been taking photos since I first started working in the fields. It’s interesting because each year, people would know that I was going to art school, and I’d have my digital camera and sketchbook with me out there, but the work is seasonal, so I wouldn’t always see the same workers. But people would often send me photos of themselves from their phones if I missed them. So, it was like they wanted to be included. They want to be acknowledged.
“In general, I want to speak about farmworkers and their contributions to the economy and to the country, and show that what they do is very important. They are essential workers, and I feel like that’s my main goal with these portraits and landscapes. Because they’re not often treated like essential workers.”
Are there any pieces you’re particularly proud of? You know, every piece has a story. Each one, I remember the situation of how it happened and what that person was like, and sometimes it becomes quite emotional. Sometimes I have to compose myself and come back to it. I don’t think I can choose, but some pieces seem to interest academia more than others. Those pieces that speak to academia are important to me, because they get
put in museums and they are talked about in terms of history and in terms of inclusivity. And that represents what an artist can do or what an undocumented immigrant can do, and I’m proud of those pieces. Mostly because it’s not about me anymore, it’s about this community. The farming community, the immigrants, the Oaxacan community — hopefully they feel more included in the art world now.
ABOVE: MARTINEZ USES HIS OWN PHOTOGRAPHS OF FARMWORKERS AS SOURCE MATERIAL. SOME WORKERS SEND HIM THEIR PORTRAITS IF THEIR PATHS DIDN’T CROSS DURING THE FARMING SEASON. “THEY WANT TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED,” HE SAYS.
Follow @NARSISOMARTINEZ on Instagram.
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ISSUE 02
WHEN FARMWORK BECOMES ARTWORK
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