Sweet Memory, 2024
Acrylic on Panel. Purchase

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Art by Lexi Alvarado
Prose by Isabela Ortega

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On the one hand, I can admit that seat belts are the safe way to go. The thought of being tossed around in an accident with abandoned french fries and dust bunnies is enough to make me crave the click of security. On the other hand, the generous rash that sits diagonally on my neck at the end of every other car ride says otherwise. In some cities, the only remnants of painted solid and dotted lines marking the streets now exist as potholes and a need for extra vigilance, seat belts were always a waste of time here. Turn signals might as well be a flashing Las Vegas sign, “CUT ME OFF” twinkling back at you. I’m led to believe that these drivers have been blessed. Because I have yet to hear about a single car crash and the best seat of every ride remains consistent: holding on for dear life to something, anything, in the bed of a truck as we speed down main roads, or squished between a cousin sandwich; 3 underneath, 1 on top, in a 2-person car on our way to the baile.

We share much of the same mountains, pollution, emotions, and murderous desert, yet the whole car unbuckles the second we cross that line in the sand, automatic gate arms raise as if winding up for the tightest hug saying “welcome home.” Back to the land of guardian angels protecting the streets and endless childhood. Never mind the countless sandwiches you sacrificed to stray dogs or the stares and loud whispers about your alienism. Daily mangoes prepared with chile or blue sugar that leave hands sticky and dripping heal any ailment. With each passing day, the words will return and it’ll become easier to ask abuelita, tita in my case, for more stories in the only tongue she knows. I’ve waited patiently for them.

But why did the words escape so quickly? I asked the chip dealer for my fix every middle school morning and have fewer fingers than quinceañeras I was asked to be in, so I was never out of practice. These Midwest teachers permeate Southwest roots declaring “NO SPANISH IN THE CLASSROOM” to fulfill white savior fantasies. “I need to know if you’re talking bad about me” they announce as I ask the homie beside me for a pencil in our language of hot meals and tough love. I’ve kindly corrected their extra L as they write my name for the dozenth time, they must be doing this on purpose. I can taste how badly they want to make me Elizabeth, much like my grandfather Guadalupe became Wally, tio Miguel became Michael, and grandma Mercedes is now Mercy. Language of exile that taught me to love like waves.

I yearn to not have to italicize myself, provide the footnotes to my guts and give you the password to my heart. To translate these complexities is to sift out its true meaning. You see, our nonfiction is magical realism. I understand that you find my words to be bland because you do not understand it right here and there and here and here and here. But maybe if you listen, you will finally let me take your hand and guide you through the landscape of torres and azucar and Parangaricutirimícuaro. I must warn you, you may be left with a craving for more that leaves hot welches on your tongue. If you get a chance to truly encounter my abuelita’s native lingo, and you listen close enough to the rolling of my r’s, inside them you might just find the bumpy roads of laughter and love-stained glass fingers.

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Isabela Ortega | Born in Albuquerque, NM, Isabela is a multidisciplinary artist. She has always been community and social justice oriented and her artwork reflects such. Isabela’s interdisciplinary method of storytelling explores numerous mediums, from audio stories to found object installations, and writing is always the starting point. Her family and Chicana identity have inspired her profound appreciation for the borderlands and their complexities. Loss is a constant experience of life, in multiple and mundane ways. Through the autoethnographic lens of Isabela’s first-generation experience, these complexities are brought to light.

Lexi Alvarado is from the south suburb of Chicago, Blue Island and attained her BFA with an emphasis in painting from Eastern Illinois University.

Using mainly acrylic paint, Lexi seeks to explore the depths of the human psyche and the complexities of human emotion. Each piece is a unique representation of the human experience, with layers of abstract forms and figures that invite viewers to delve deeper into their own thoughts and feelings. The use of bold colors and intricate patterns adds a sense of depth and intensity to the artwork, mirroring the depth and complexity of the human soul.

The abstract backgrounds may seem chaotic and confusing, but upon closer inspection, one can discover a hidden harmony and balance within the chaos. This mirrors the constant struggle within the human mind to find balance and understanding in a world that is often chaotic and unpredictable

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1000 Words | Home Not Home Artists + Writers

Noa Alemán + Tamar Brooks • Jacqueline Almaguer + Alanis Castillo Caref • Lexi Alvarado + Isabela Ortega • Danielle Arend + Janina Gatilao • Sofia Brunwin + Spencer Hutchinson • Andrea Cole + Rocio Franco • Lydia Collins + Tarnynon Onumonu • Gregory Diaz + Irvin Ibarra • Danielle Dykerhouse + Betsy Van Die • Jonathan Espinoza + ben-aki • Jaymes Fedor + Maria Requena • Samantha Franco + Angeles Rangel • Ines Gardea + Angelica Davila • Frank Geiser + Penny Mann • Evelyn Hernandez + Valeria Osornio • Stephanie Hererra + Neha Chawla • Ivana Jarmon + Theo Sullivan • Vivian Jones + Luz Silva • Lewis Lain + Thulasi Seshan • Cesar Luna + benedicta m badia • Marie Magnetic + Jasmine Rodriguez • Delisha Mckinney + Paloma Velasco • Diana Noh + Juj-Lepe • Andrew Rehs + Corbett Berger • Clau Rocha + Maria Jose Ramos Villagra • Amyia Ross Brittanii Batts (Tanae b) • Fawaz Sakaw + Arianna Maggio • Lucero Sanchez + Clay-Cofre • Ramin Takloo-Bighash + Yiwen-Lyu • TEEL ONE + Melody Contreras • Pamela Trejo + Kim Yeoh • Cindy Uriostegui + Scum Drop • Ami Vasilopoulos + Stephanie Cruz Rincon • Ivy Waegel + Aryn Hills • Emily Schroeder Willis + Angelica Flores • Raine Yung + Micaela Petkus