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Liz Hernández

Población de la máscara (Population of the Mask)

May 31 - July 3, 2024

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Máscara de hombre (Man Mask)

Máscara de hombre (Man Mask), 2024

Acrylic and gold leaf on wood panel
48 x 60 inches

Máscara de muerto (Dead mask)

Máscara de muerto (Dead mask), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
48 x 60 inches

Máscara de perro (Dog Mask)

Máscara de perro (Dog Mask), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
30 x 64 inches

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Revelación (Revelation)

Revelación (Revelation), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
54 x 44 inches

Máscara de tiempo (Time Mask)

Máscara de tiempo (Time Mask), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
27 x 64 inches

Máscara de diablito (Little Devil Mask)

Máscara de diablito (Little Devil Mask), 2024

Acrylic and silver leaf on wood panel
48 x 60 inches

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

La mujer se enfrenta a sí misma (The woman faces herself)

La mujer se enfrenta a sí misma (The woman faces herself), 2024
Embossed aluminum on wood panel, Walnut frame

23 x 28 inches

La mujer se protege detrás de la máscara (The woman protects herself behind the mask)

La mujer se protege detrás de la máscara (The woman protects herself behind the mask), 2024

Embossed aluminum on wood panel, Walnut frame

23 x 28 inches

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Ser todas o ser nadie (To be everyone or become no one)

Ser todas o ser nadie (To be everyone or become no one), 2024
Embroidery on raw cotton, walnut frame
24 x 24 inches

¿Existe una parte de mí que todavía me espera? (Is there a part of me that is still waiting for me?)

¿Existe una parte de mí que todavía me espera? (Is there a part of me that is still waiting for me?), 2024
Embroidery on raw cotton, walnut frame

24 x 24 inches

Máscara de patria (Homeland Mask)

Máscara de patria (Homeland Mask), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
48 x 60 inches

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Liz Hernández, Installation View

Mascarera (Mask maker)

Mascarera (Mask maker), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
58 x 44 inches

Máscara de niña (Girl Mask)

Máscara de niña (Girl Mask), 2024

Acrylic on wood panel
48 x 58 inches

Perhaps the multitudes we are cannot fit within the person we show. Surely, all that crowd suddenly peaks through cracks, lurks when we are silent, slips in at some point in the day, or takes us by surprise with its appearances. We may have to disguise, mask, or mimic ourselves to explore those other unknown bodies.

 

Liz Hernández, who has previously worked around the multiplication of the self and the fantasy of personality, explores in this exhibition the power of the mask and its enticing and repulsive mystery, the one that allows us to evade our constraining identity, to be several at once or to become no one.

 

In the masks that populate these rooms, two, three, or four pairs of eyes can coexist: those of a serpent, those of a woman-man, those of a dead person, those of water, an axolotl, or a dog. And it seems as if with all those eyes it were possible to see, at the same time, the world of the dead, that of animals, humans, or of rivers; that is, as if those piled faces full of eyes allowed not to have a single or firm gaze, but a diverse and scattered one.

 

The mask as an artifact enables so many movements and pleasures that it may be fair to strip it of its negative or deceptive burdens. Since it makes us, for example, lose fear, invert class or gender roles, suspend judgment, and be everything we would like to be if there were no consequences. It allows us to rebel against the so-called "true version" of ourselves to unfold other narratives in which we can even alter time: to be a girl, a woman, and an elder at once.

 

In the dances and rituals of the various groups that coexist in Mexico, the mask is a very present element. It is a tool of metamorphosis that has allowed communication between the earthly and the supernatural realms for many centuries. In Liz Hernández's imaginary, always nourished by folk art and ritual, complex characters reside, such as the devil, who, unlike the dark and malicious charge usually attributed to him by Christianity, is for other worldviews a mischievous and joyful figure who mocks without malice because he has permission to play.

 

Just as in the scene painted by Liz Hernández where a woman appears carving her own masks, in some towns in Mexico, there is a very intimate relationship between the person and their mask, as it manifests the strength of the one who wears it. That is why each dancer must carve their own and imbue something of their being into it. When the person can no longer use it - because they have lost their strength -the mask is kept until the death of its wearer and then placed in their tomb until the person and mask disintegrate. Perhaps they have always been the same, or have always been integrated, because who really lives behind the mask?

 

Text by Valeria Mata


 

Liz Hernández (b. 1993, Mexico City, Mexico) is a multidisciplinary artist whose work blurs the boundaries between reality and fiction through painting, sculpture, embroidery, and writing. Influenced by Mexican craft traditions, her work explores the rich language of materials, drawing inspiration from literature, anthropology, syncretism, and the cultural traditions of Mexico. Hernández has exhibited nationally and internationally. Her work is part of the permanent collections at KADIST, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and the de Young Museum.