essay: deb leal
Devotion & Longing
I think about the loneliness that inevitably came after my parents took a leap of faith, leaving their family and home in Corpus Christi. Although Milwaukee was on the opposite side of the country, it brought secure jobs for them both. Without their example of bravery to build anew, I perhaps wouldn’t have had the courage to do the same– for that, I am entirely grateful. The devotional aspects of my Chicano experience most influence the work, which can be categorized as Baroque Pop in a Post-Documentary approach. Returning to themes of longing, the operatic vocals of Ranchera decorate my mind as I retrace pathways in my visual decision-making. I found satisfaction in the dramatic tones of Catholic iconography, accented with glitter and ornately framed, along the walls of my childhood home. Though this affinity later grew to teenage resentment as I understood the gender and colonial violence tied to these representations. What remains steady was an interest in the language of color and patterns of time; Photography provides the space to explore these interests while being in conversation with my surroundings. 
An example of looking for playful grandeur in compositions that discuss celebration and longing in a rapidly changing environment. It was the hottest hour of the day as actor Marco Roman Martinez and I were warming up on the set of “Buried Onions” (Mackenzie Mathis) in Fresno, CA. He spotted his summertime favorite, a watermelon, on the kitchen table and although we couldn't open it at that moment, he lovingly held it in excitement for crew dessert later that evening.
I’ve sensed my overt color schemes to be off-putting for some, and a surreal journey for others. However each viewer falls in their experience, their remarks stay the same: “This is very you”. As artists, our work is a direct reflection of how we see the world. On a physical level, I think back to the times I would stare out into the distance as daydreams clouded the gates of my consciousness; Flashes of sunlight would hit my unblinking eyes between trees and telephone lines on long car rides. This concocted a visual phenomenon of electricity to whatever was before me as the sunlight hit overexposed nerves. The same would happen at campsites as patterns of conversation would rise and fall before the beauty of the fire we encircled. The innate human enchantment of staring into flames presents itself as a conceptual thread to examine when considering the past, present, and future.
Color & Roadside Americana
Color historically may be tied to the commercial realm, but prismatic tones shaped the palette of my childhood with the roadside Americana that filled it. These explorations to a physical or spiritual "return" are tethered to a summer ritual I experienced throughout my youth. I got a broader experience of our familial roots in the months when my mother, a school teacher at the time, would be off for summer break. My father would lump his vacation hours, pack the car, and lay beds of blankets for my sisters and me in the back. They’d drive straight to Corpus– around 28 hours– taking turns sleeping in the passenger seat in order to lessen the stops. After growing bored of the peering into the vast expanse, I was often witness to their interactions of love and excitement as they referenced maps and fed each other french fries. The look on their faces when Tejano music would rule FM radio stations told a story, even if I couldn’t fully understand it at the time: they were home.
A Sinclair Story (Lizard on Rock) was taken in September 2020 during a road trip that mirrored my parents’ yearly ritual. I see myself in that little lizard on the rock, looking up at the kind of love that felt so grandiose as a child. This piece also revealed itself to be the marker of coming works that discuss morphing traditional practices and intergenerational conversations amid climate change. By playfully injecting these works withchildhood nostalgia, I find that it acts as a disarmed greeting to the fear and grief that come with transition or loss.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN PRINT IN THE LIFE ISSUE #7, NOVEMBER 2023