TELL ME MORE! Q & A WITH SOUTH TEXAS ARTIST AUDRYA FLORES

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“Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing--and keeping the unknown always beyond you.” 
― Georgia O'Keefe

We are now in the ninth month of quarantine:  from fertilized egg to developing fetus to fully formed creature, it feels like we are ready to birth what it has taken these three trimesters to nurture.

When I look at Audrya Flores’s work, I feel myself shedding skin, or growing thorns, unfurling my leaves, or flaunting my petals at night and curling into myself as the sun rises.

Audrya's work reminds me that I am of this world, and that there is so much more than what the eye perceives. 

Supernatural, defined by the Oxford dictionary: caused by forces that cannot be explained by science. 

But what kind of definition is that? It says nothing about a term that touches...everything. 

When I prepared to write this intro, I took a deep dive through Audrya's Instagram @audyflor--back and back and back through her account, a refresher course to remind myself of the images she captures, how she enraptures, her captions like little woven spells. 

Home life, a blessed enterprise; motherhood, a meditation. 

Her finished projects, her works in progress, the backyard brimming with life and death, a sacred appreciation of all phases and seasons...I want to live in this world or at least become a key member of her #YerbaBrujaGardeningClub and #NightgownAppreciationSociety.  

I know Audrya had been a teacher, like me. I know she is a mother, like me. And I know she was born on the border, on the tippy tip of South Texas in Brownsville, like me, and that she grew up in San Antonio, in the nineties, like me.

I knew the day would come when we would make something happen together.

Because of the pandemic many things have become possible, oddly enough. Because the gigs stopped, because the hustle halted, because I didn’t know if death was looming, literally, I let go of many notions of how life had to be. 

Because I was hired to DJ in a garden once a month, and because time became gelatinous, I began commissioning artists to create posters not so much to promote the gig, but to preserve this moment, to pad their wallets a bit, to put their work into the world by posting it, printing it, and gifting it. 

In early September I was invited to create an hour-long radio program for a show called Radio Row on a historic, unbeknownst to me at the time, East Coast independent, freeform radio station WFMU, and though I had never recorded a DJ set, much less a real show with mic breaks, I immediately said yes. 

Radio Row had only come into existence recently, specifically because of the pandemic—the Sunday slot was usually filled by community DJs, but the quarantine has reduced the station to a skeleton crew.  

I believe the universe was teaching me a lesson in keep doing what you're doing, you NEVER know who is paying attention when I found out that one of my DJ role models, Sheila B of glorious Sophisticated Boom Boom, who had quietly followed me for years on Instagram, had recommended me for the show. 

Keep creating, learning, doing your best. You never know what's around the bend. 

So, they gave me some options on the date and I instinctively knew that I wanted Sunday, November 1, All Saints’ Day and Día de los Muertos Eve. For starters, it was the furthest away, and I had to learn an entirely new skill. Olivia at the station pointed me to audio software called Audacity, and I youtubed tutorials like I've never youtubed tutorials. 

More than that, the date set off bells---my theme was obvious, and I quickly chose a title for my set: Missing My Muertos.

Later, I found out that Audrya’s birthday is November 1, and that just confirmed the entire collaboration for me; she was the one to translate my set through collage and help me commemorate the musical altar I built in the form of my first radio show. 

(Not last: I'm booked for Radio Row on Valentine's Sunday 2021. I can't help it, I'm a sucker for a theme. And I'm addicted to commisioning corresponding artwork, apparently. Julysa Sosa, a San Antonio artist also from Brownsville, has agreed to create the art!)

Missing My Muertos is archived for all eternity on WFMU.org. You can listen to it whenever, and I HIGHLY recommend their app. A couple weeks later, and I’m still all aglow when I think about the show, and the response from both my community and loyal WFMU listeners alike. 

I got to say the names of my personal muertos on-air, I got to send them supernatural shout outs and dedications over radio waves, I shouted out Azeneth Dominguez, my musical madrina/muse, and got to play Steve Jordan and Såvila and SAN CHA, and so much more. Like my friend Ash said, girl, you played Ramón Ayala on WFMU. 

Yes, girl. Pa' mí la vida es un sueño.

Here’s a quote from Jim Jarmusch to give you an idea what this station means to people, what it now means to me:

Hands down, WFMU, is the greatest radio station on the planet. First, because of the content: an endless river of amazing music from everywhere, and DJ's with unusual taste and ideas that actively confront and counteract the mainstream mind-rot.

And second: no commercials, no playlists, and no evil corporate overlords. It's 'free-form' in the best sense, and 100% listener supported. WFMU celebrates the imagination and reclaims the gifts of expression often left lying around in the attics, basements, and ditches of our force-fed culture.

Like all my DJ gigs,  I took the show seriously, and though I knew that my personal troupe of muertos would guide the selections, I was also highly cognizant that our world is freshly grieving wave upon wave of death. 

Muertos is a season for a reason! 

Death is life is death is life. 

And I know Audrya knows this. 

In my mind, the show is subtitled "music for grieving and healing," a play on my Siempre Verde tagline, and she and I were dead serious about creating something both of the earth and beyond.

Something supernatural. 

Georgia O’Keeffe, who was born on this day in 1887, said “If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for a moment.” 

And that feels like what Audrya’s work does for many who view it. She zooms in on the natural world and rattles the magic loose. And for that moment, her world is ours. 

Audrya's responses gave me goosebumps. 

I cried a couple of times.

Had to stop. Heave a sob. Then read on. 

Like her collage work, her paintings, her life, she writes like a dream. 

I am so honored to have worked with her.

Q:    A lot of us struggle with imposter syndrome, feeling like we are not enough or that we don’t belong in spaces designated as academic or artistic. Working class backgrounds and capitalism in general don’t necessarily encourage artistic expression, much less pursuing art as a way of life that can actually pay the bills. Do you remember when you knew art was your calling? 

A:   I remember being four years old and completely obsessed with the big, juicy apostrophe in the Luby's logo. I would swoon whenever we drove by the restaurant and draw that magical sigil everywhere with invisible finger-ink. I was really fascinated by how a shape could make me feel happy and soothed. I wanted to possess that power. That was the beginning, I think.

Q:   Can you tell us about your path from professional educator to public artist? 

A:   There's not a lot to my path from educator to artist. If you don't mind, I'll just quickly gloss over how I loved teaching kids but had my heart broken by the shutting down of the small charter school I taught at for more than a decade. 

I lost faith in the education system and just didn't have it in me to continue teaching full time. These days I have a part-time office job to help with the bills and spend the rest of my time mothering and art-making.  The art gigs are less and less these days due to the pandemic, but I know everyone has had to adjust. 

Teaching my kiddo alongside his school teacher for virtual learning takes a lot of time and energy. I'm grateful to be in a position to support him during this awkward period in his schooling. He and I make art together to get through it all. 

Q:   And what is the role of social media in your artistic explorations? Many of us know you as queen of those jaw-dropping self-portraits collaged with digital gifs and stickers, so I wonder how social media plays a role in your creative evolution. 

A:   Social media is kind of like a journal that I occasionally stand up and read to my classmates. I explore ideas and tell stories and over-share weird little bits about myself. I'm a nervous creature and am apprehensive about just BEING in the world. So, for me, social media is a practice in sharing with the benefit of not having to look anyone in the eye.

Q:   Also, as an aside, how do you share your work and still keep, as Stevie Nicks sings, your visions to yourself?

A:   I love a good Stevie Nicks quote! What I show through my artwork is just a sliver of my inner world. What a witch does in the forest is only witnessed by the moon and mushroom-perching mice. And they will never tell. 

Q:   We had the opportunity to meet via Zoom this quarantine season as we plotted out this commission. Through our talks, I’ve gotten to know about your process and your meticulous drafting process. You researched deeply, you asked me on-point questions, you sent me multiple versions along the way. But somewhere between the planning and talking, you create. By the time I'd see the next draft, it was  obvious that magic has occurred. How would you describe this magic? Does it relate to your overall mission as an artist and an educator, a mother, partner, daughter, friend? 

A:   I'm glad to know others see my artwork as magic, because that's how I see it. 

The magic lies in ritual and intention. My mother taught me that if even the simplest task is done with focus, care, and love it becomes a ritual. And that ritual charges the product, whatever it is. I witnessed her prepare a glass of sweet iced tea with fresh squeezed lemon every day while I was growing up. 

Now, this woman was a multi-tasking, marathon-running, degree-earning, child-rearing, art-creating, income-earning, single-parenting QUEEN. But she was tired. The tiny fraction of the day where she prepared her glass of tea and took that first sip was her ritual. And the intention was self love, sustenance. It allowed her to go on with her miracle-working. 

I apply this practice to many tasks in my life, including my artistic process. Yes, that practice is also a huge part of who I am and what I do in every role I play. 

It's how I love.

Q:   Why do you do what you do, and what is your motivation when you’re neck-deep in a project? 

A:    I make art as a way to document and share my own lifelong, ongoing healing processes. It's the connection to other healing beings that motivates me when I'm overwhelmed and all-consumed by a project. 

I feel strongly that we owe it to each other to share our wounds, journeys, and remedies. I believe in community healing. 

Also, there's nothing like a firm deadline to scare the shit out of me and keep me going. 

Q:   Can you tell us about any dream projects for the future? 

A:   I am currently working on a sculpture that has been living in my dreams for quite a while now. It's for a group show in January that focuses on healing and trauma response. The serpent was the first creature I met on my healing journey. I think most folks know how I adore and revere her. She spat me out and sent me further down the path. Now, another creature has come to my aid: La Lechuza. This new work is exciting because it signifies a shift in my inner work. I'm both thrilled and terrified to see how that translates to a physical form.

Q:   Through all your styles, mediums, and experiments, your admirers can always recognize your work because your style is unmistakably yours. From the nopal serpent to the paintings on vintage sábanas, it’s always clear to me that your work is yours.  Can you tell us about your influences?

A:   I'm influenced by dreams, spirituality, the occult, mythology, flora, fauna, and my border roots. I have always been moved by all things that are haunting and nostalgic. I try to infuse these feelings into my work.

Q:   Please tell us about the line between admiring and studying art, being influenced by particular artists or movements, but then forging your own path/style/aesthetic? 

A:   The line between admiring and creating authentically is messy. We are all learning and evolving and soaking up the world around us. It's a constant flux and exchange. And that process is necessary and beautiful. 

For me, it's recognizing when something speaks to my soul (receiving) versus my soul speaking (offering). Each act needs the other, though.

Q:   Do you have any lifelong influences and more recent inspo (artists, movements, movies, music, etc.) that you can share with us? 

A:  I spoke of my mama, Cyndy, earlier and will more than likely mention her again before we are through. She is and always will be my greatest influence. 

She is an artist and works with natural materials. She always treated our home like an art installation. I come from a long line of makers. 

I also deeply adore Dr. Amalia Mesa-Bains. Her altar installation work gives me a great sense of belonging and the courage to share my spiritual self. 

Recently I've been inspired by Raul de Nieves' sculptural work, The Boulet Brothers Dragula, Taisia Kitaiskaia's Ask Baba Yaga books, and Etta James' 1975 live performance at Montreux Jazz Festival. 

Q:    I know you have an intensely visceral relationship with the natural world, and sometimes I see you work (both art created for exhibition and your day-to-day home/garden life) as straddling the line between what we know and what we believe. We’ve had some good conversations about portals and the blur between this world and the underworld (or other world), so can you please sum up your process for creating the artwork for the “Missing My Muertos” radio show?  I remember I told you I wanted to see myself in the work, and that I wanted you to listen to a draft of the music selections to get a feel for the mood of my concept, but beyond that you read between the lines to create the collage. I think lots of us are really fascinated by individual artists’ studio time, their process, and their breakthrough moments. How did this project unravel for you? 

A:   My process with the collage really started with acknowledging the "weight" of 2020 Dia de Muertos. There has been so much death this year, so much grief. And this damn fear continues to loom as losses are ongoing. 

The pandemic really has us thinking about our own mortality around the clock. I felt like you creating this beautiful playlist was both an offering for our muertos and an ointment for the aching hearts of the living. I wanted to create an image that reflected that. I wanted to create a visual portal. It needed to be solemn, but also full of life.

I pulled a bunch of images from my stockpile of magazines. I arranged and rearranged while thinking about bisabuelas, abuelas, mothers, and babies. I thought about our shared birthplace, The Rio Grande Valley. I thought about the border between this world and the other. I thought about borders disintegrating and becoming gateways. 

Listening to the playlist was really helpful, too. I could hear your messages to your departed loved ones in the songs. The music flowed through portal, connecting all. I just tried to reflect all of that with images.

Q:   You are a quintessential contemporary San Antonio artist. You’re from the Valley, but grew up here, like me. You draw inspiration from the land, and you’re old enough to have borne witness to the intense gentrification of the neighborhoods and shift towards transplants setting the tone as cultural tastemakers. How do you navigate the changes and mourn the loss of what was while still holding your own and not giving up? 

A:   How can we give up when what we are fighting for is sacred? Mourning is necessary. Grief is real. 

We can mourn and fight simultaneously, though. And we fight in the ways we know how. We all bring our strengths to the fight.

San Antonio needs its artists, musicians, writers, teachers, activists, elders, youth, healers, etc. to continue to tell its stories. We are doing the work and will push on.

Q:   How does your upbringing and your homeland influence your art? 

A:   I was born into a giant, rowdy family smack dab in the middle of Muertos Season in a place where The Rio Grande, Mexico, Tejas, and The Gulf all meet. 

We are seamstresses, fishermen, builders, healers, and above all story-tellers. I was raised to transform the ordinary into myth and legend. You see?

{Note from Bonnie: I see!} 

Q:   What mark do you hope to leave upon the city? 

A:   I hope to be a famous SA ghost one day--- haunting this city in a flowing nightgown, sipping the micheladas of terrified tourists, and playing Freddy Fender on every jukebox I float by. 

Maybe folks will tell stories about me and give me a romantic name like La Flor or something like that. A girl can dream!

{Second note from Bonnie: May I please join your #CuteSanAntoGhostSociety?}

Q:   What is you advice for those of us who love our city and are old to remember the past, but who also live in the reality of the present, and want to create and work towards a future where local culture and history are honored, preserved, and never whitewashed to extinction? 

A:   I would advise you to trust in cycles and believe in community. Healing is possible and ongoing. Know that. 

I teach my son that when we have those difficult questions, we must go to nature for answers. 

Observe the spider in the garden repairing its web. Spy the gato with full chi-chis in the dumpster looking for scraps. Watch the hoja santa sprout again after every winter. They are the teachers. 

Audrya Flores repurposes textiles, found objects, and organic materials for her assemblage and installation work. The mystical images in her work are influenced by dreams, spirituality, the occult, and her roots in the border town of Brownsville, Texas. Using the story-telling traditions of her family, she addresses trauma, mental health, and issues of identity. Audrya explores and documents her own healing processes as a way to promote awareness and solidarity.

You can learn more about her work at: 

http://jaguar-opossum.blogspot.com/