Chiqui Mendoza

Nicolás Dumit Estévez Raful Espejo Ovalles Morel: Chiqui, it is a genuine pleasure to be in conversation with you. I have been following your work and there are common threads in our paths. You were the Director of Escuela de Bellas Artes in Santiago, Dominican Republic, where I started my theater studies with luminaries like Víctor Checo and José Núñez. I was eight years old! Tell me about your connections to this organization.

Chiqui Mendoza: Dumit, it is a true pleasure to engage in this conversation with you; I am a fervent admirer of your art and a devoted follower of your work over time. Wow! It is impressive that you entered Bellas Artes at such a young age—I used to think that 13 was already early, but you, at 8, truly surpassed that!

I began at Escuela de Bellas Artes de Santiago (EBAS) under the guidance of professors like Frank Polanco, Merido Lora, and Jacinto Domínguez. After four intense years, I graduated as a teacher in drawing and painting, and at the age of 17 I was appointed as a first-year teacher in that same subject in 1981. I spent 26 years teaching, and between 2004 and 2006, I also served as the General Director of EBAS during my first term. Then, a decade later, I returned to EBAS as Director, holding the position from 2016 to 2020.

I could say that I have dedicated my life to Bellas Artes, accumulating more than 30 years of service and training. EBAS is an essential part of my life and history as an artist. Wow! How wonderful that you began your journey alongside those extraordinary artists, my esteemed José Núñez and Víctor Checo.

NDEREOM: After studying at the Escuela de Bellas Artes briefly, our theater group moved to Centro de la Cultura, the new institution in the city of Santiago at that time. I am talking about the 1980s. I was part of the children’s theater group named TEPECITO (Teatro Popular del Centro), and got to study with the most radical thinkers in the country like Rafael Villalona, Mery Collado, Elvira Taveras, Giovanny Cruz, Ramonita Liranzo, and Cuquín (I can’t recall his last name). What was happening then with you in terms of your creative search and your paintings? What were you doing?

CM: Excellent! I remember very well the creation of the Cultural Center. First of all, I must mention that the building was originally conceived for EBAS. While living in the city, I learned about Bellas Artes when the new Escuela de Bellas Artes was being built during Joaquín Balaguer's government, and during the 1978 transition, President Antonio Guzmán handed it over to pianist and musicologist Margarita Luna to pave the way for the Cultural Center's creation. At that time, EBAS was located at 14 Duvergé Street.

Regarding Cuquín, the actor from TPC, his real name is Lorenzo Martínez, and he has always been devoted to his passion for the stage.

Back then, my work was deeply influenced by the "Santiago School," particularly by artists like Yoryi Morel, who had recently passed away in 1979. I fondly recall the numerous events organized in his honor, and all the students and teachers from the Department of Plastic Arts attended the nine-day mass at Altagracia Church. Moreover, the influence of my professor Jacinto Domínguez was instrumental in my development. The themes of my paintings revolved around Cibao's (in the northern section of the Dominican Republic) local customs: the iconic flamboyanes, the elderly, street vendors, and everyday characters from my surroundings—such as tobacco sellers (anduyeros), flower vendors in front of the 30 de Marzo Cemetery, horse carts, urban landscapes, boot polishers in Duarte Park, and, generally, all the characters that make up the bucolic universe of the Cibao countryside.

NDEREOM: I was taken aback by a comment about downplaying the relevance of legacies that a colleague made. With so much empty talk going around about ancestors, I can’t help it but ask those babbling about it to name names. Who are these nameless ancestors who keep getting generically mentioned in the arts but not honored? In your case, who are those who sent you forward creatively?

CM: My nameless ancestors encompass the entire vast Taíno legacy—my shamans, behiques, witches, my African roots, and all the santeros who have guided my path. In my case, there are so many influences that have driven my creativity that I must begin with my fascination for Taíno art: its legends, ceramics, petroglyphs, and cave paintings found in various caverns have deeply influenced my artistic practice.

I cannot forget the Santiago carnival, with its “joyeras” and "pepineras" masks, those who crafted chichiguas and cajones, and the carnival costumes that evoke a vibrant tradition. I also pay homage to great figures such as Yoryi Morel, Federico Izquierdo, the enigmatic paintings of Mario Grullón, Paul Giudicelli, and Gilberto Hernández Ortega; as well as to poets like Tomás Morel and Franklin Mieses Burgos. And above all, to my beloved Santiago, which I carry with me as a living entity: the rain, the majestic Yaque del Norte River and its ravine, the Holy Week rites, and even the peculiar scent of horse urine and the cars circulating around the Santiago Apóstol Cathedral.

NDEREOM: Tomasito Morel is a dear friend. He is the son of Tomás Morel, the iconic painter of our city. Now, you still live in Washington Heights/Inwood. That was quite a place in the 1990s urban imaginary. Some of the white people I knew then would not visit there me because of fear, and now some of them are moving into our communities and displacing our people. You are still there, while I decided to pack and make my permanent home in the South Bronx, after living on the Upper West Side for more than a decade. And there is a sadness in me when I think that the Dominican community that was in Washington Heights will never be replicated in the Bronx, because we will not achieve the same density/intensity like we did in Upper Manhattan. What keeps you there? What is happening in the neighborhood?

CM: When I arrived in New York in the ’80s, the first thing I did was ask my father, José Mendoza, to take me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (the Met). I lived with my mother, Shara Almonte, at 175 St and Amsterdam Avenue, right in the heart of Washington Heights. That decade in the city was extremely turbulent and chaotic; it didn’t inspire me to stay, even though I would return every summer for three months during the holidays. During that period, I was fortunate enough to discover SoHo, explore all the galleries there as well as those on 57th Street. I also found refuge in the Met, which I have since idealized as my personal version of Paradise, and in the Museum of the American Indian, located in the Hispanic Society of America building in the Washington Heights neighborhood.

When I decided to make New York my permanent home in 2005 with my wife Belkis and my children, Joseph and Nirvana, I fell in love with Inwood. Here I am, grateful to God, enjoying this charming neighborhood. Inwood Hill Park is my little slice of Paradise; my regular walks amidst its

wild flora are a true balm for the soul. Just a few blocks from my apartment is the Met Cloisters, which adds a special touch to the area—everything is close by, and Spanish is the language you hear on every corner. The neighborhood buzzes with life: every June, the Drums Along the Hudson festival pays tribute to the multicultural legacy and Native Americans, and in September the Medieval Festival is celebrated at the Cloisters. I feel that Inwood is a genuine ecological and cultural oasis, and that magic is what keeps me rooted here.

NDEREOM: Tell me about your paintings. Tell me about the Afro-Caribbean influences in them and the force of Vodoun in your work. Tell me as well as to the presence of popular culture in what you generate as a creative.

CM: I define my painting as Afro-Caribbean; it draws nourishment from the magic and primal strength of both African and Taíno cultures. Animism is at the core of my practice, and I immerse myself in the complex interplay between fear and decolonization. My intention is to illuminate the transformative potential inherent in the decolonization process while confronting the ever-present force of fear that permeates our contemporary existence.

The Afro-Caribbean people, and the Taíno, in particular, have endured a history of colonization, exploitation, and cultural erasure. My work reclaims that heritage, challenging the dominant narratives that have silenced their voices for centuries. I explore fear as a universal emotion which, when confronted, acts as a catalyst for change, propelling the collective psyche toward transformation.

Through my art, I strive to generate dialogues that empower people to face their fears, challenge oppressive structures, and reimagine a more inclusive and equitable world. Hybridity stands as an essential tool in my exploration, as I blend elements from various cultural traditions—voodoo, santería, Catholicism, and animism—to represent the intricate tapestry of identities in our increasingly interconnected global society. This amalgamation invites the viewer to question notions of purity, authenticity, and ownership, and to challenge the colonial mindset that seeks to categorize, separate, and dominate.

NDEREOM: You, and I, and people like Scherezade García, Josefina Baéz, Freddy Rodríguez, Moses Ros, Diógenes Abréu, Julio Valdez, Iliana Emilia García, among others, have the fortune of being versed on the idiosyncrasies of both places: Manhattan and Santo Domingo. We are a key connecting piece, and yet there is such a gap in the Dominican Republic when it comes to Dominicanyork contributions and cultures. Similarly, the same happens here in the US with the lack of recognition of those who tilled the path before the younger generations of Dominican artists became art stars of some kind. The story is not complete until told in its fullness. Ni aquí ni allá. Nope. How do you manage to convey in the US the complexity of your potent work, which is so much layered. There is a syncretism in Dominicanidad that is not easy to get explain in the US, especially in the art market, where almost everything must be easily understood by audiences and collectors.

CM: The essence of this syncretic tapestry in my work—woven through conquest, colonization, and their many influences—is to explore the tumultuous inner conflict experienced by those who live under colonial rule. My work delves into the paradox of oppression: how can one resist the subjugated forces of the colonized while inadvertently acknowledging the positive influences that have shaped our culture, identity, and worldview?

Colonization is not merely a territorial conquest; it is an invasion of the mind, body, and soul—a unwelcome guest that settles in our psyche, forcing us to question our traditions, beliefs, and sense of identity. These layers are reflected in my paintings, which serve as a syncretic defense of my culture. It is my internal battle, the struggle to hold on to our roots amid external forces that attempt to drag us away, forming the core of my exploration.

Through my practice, I strive to capture the pain, resistance, confusion, and ultimately the synthesis that emerges from the clash of cultures. My pieces highlight the duality between the colonizer and the colonized, showcasing the beauty that arises from the fusion of two worlds. Essentially, my syncretic approach is a tribute to resilience and to the human spirit's ability to find harmony amid chaos; it is, in turn, a celebration of our capacity to absorb, resist, and reinvent ourselves in a perpetually changing world.

NDEREOM: How are the influences of New York in your praxis received in the Dominican Republic?

CM: I've always been seen as an avant-garde artist with a New York flair. New York City is, without a doubt, the epicenter of global art. I recall how, in the '80s and '90s, I immersed myself in SoHo, where the most prominent galleries of the time were concentrated. That experience was truly enriching. Even the artist and art critic Danilo de los Santos remarked to art critic Jeannette Miller, "Chiqui is not a Cibao artist; he takes a plane from Puerto Plata airport and connects with New York art." Upon returning to Santiago from New York, my style was unmistakably contemporary, influenced by the fashion of the Village and SoHo artists. I believe I was seen as an oddity—a true extraterrestrial in the traditional city of Santiago.

NDEREOM: Do you remember the term Dominicanos Ausentes. Yes, we were the ones who for decades, and before tourism took off in the island, kept the country economically afloat: the invisible ones.

How was it for you to navigate the back and forth emotionally and creatively? My understanding is that you lived in both places through the years.

CM: Yes, that's right; I've lived in both places over the years, and it has been a privilege to navigate between two such distinct worlds. As you noted, being the economic backbone of the country at that time, the "Dominican York"—the absent Dominican—was seen as a privileged, almost divine figure. I remember that when my cousins returned in the '70s, they were already transformed in every way—it was something almost mythical. Arriving in New York in the '80s was like reaching the Promised Land, where one idealized finding fortune around every corner, a paradise. However, that fantasy would quickly fade when confronted with the harsh reality—a world built more on imagination than experience.

What truly struck me in those early encounters was seeing people who had long been absent; it was like coming face to face with a ghost, as if arriving meant leaving behind a part of oneself, almost like experiencing a death and rebirth in paradise. That mystical sensation, that nostalgia of seeing loved ones who seemed to have disappeared from our world, left a profound mark on me. I cannot deny that it was disheartening to witness such a chaotic New York in the '80s, with its violence, drugs, and, fortunately, a wealth of art. My maternal grandfather, Marco Almonte—who was also my spiritual teacher—used to say, "Chiqui, in New York you walk one block and it's paradise; the next, it's hell."

NDEREOM: What is your relationship to ritual? Are you connected to any form of spirituality? Who is your favorite saint/loa (Spirit in Vodoun), I am asking because of the subjects of your paintings.

CM: My relationship with ritual runs very deep, as I consider myself an animist; in my view, everything possesses life and a transcendent meaning. For me, the act of painting is, in itself, a magical process: it is about transferring energy to the object created, imbuing it with mystery and transforming it into an object of devotion.

My favorite saint is St. Francis of Assisi, and I feel a special devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I remember that when you entered my childhood home in Santiago, Dominican Republic, you were greeted by an altar featuring an imposing image of the Sacred Heart, flanked by two vases of flowers; that image profoundly impacted me and forged my eternal devotion.

I come from a deeply Christian and Catholic household; however, along my journey, I have drawn from various spiritual sources such as Zen Buddhism, Hermeticism, Hinduism, yoga, and Christian mysticism. I was raised by my paternal grandmother, María Contreras, a devout Catholic who attended Mass daily. In our home, there was a large altar adorned with images of saints, and she would pray novenas to the corresponding saint of the Catholic calendar, changing the image on the altar each day. Thus, my spirituality is nourished by an amalgamation of intertwined traditions, which lends my work that distinctive ritualistic and mystical dimension.

NDEREOM: I will let you go because otherwise I would keep asking questions as result of my fascination with your paintings. Muchas gracias.

CM: A thousand thanks, Dumit. This interview has been a wonderful journey. I send you heartfelt hugs and deeply appreciate the opportunity to share a part of my story.

All images and videos courtesy of Chiqui Mendoza

Chiqui Mendozas’’s links: Website / Instagram / Facebook / Contact

Chiqui Mendoza, born in 1964 in the Dominican Republic, is an accomplished artist renowned for his exceptional work in painting and drawing. Currently residing in New York City, his creative journey began at the young age of 13, when he pursued formal training at the prestigious Santiago School of Bellas Artes. This early immersion in classical techniques laid the groundwork for the refined aesthetic and technical brilliance that characterize his oeuvre.

Upon completing his education, Mendoza returned to his alma mater, first serving as a Visual Arts professor before advancing to the role of General Director. During his tenure, he helped shape the burgeoning talent of aspiring artists, contributing significantly to the cultural landscape of the Dominican Republic. Over the years, Mendoza’s dedication and ingenuity have earned him multiple awards, solidifying his reputation as a visionary figure in the international art community. His solo and group exhibitions, held in both the Dominican Republic and New York City, showcase a unique blend of heritage and innovation, allowing him to captivate a diverse global audience. Through his work, Mendoza pays homage to his roots, infusing each canvas with the rich colors and vibrant spirit of his homeland. In every piece, his distinctive brushstrokes capture personal reflections and universal human themes. As both an artist and educator, he continues to influence future generations, cultivating a legacy that transcends borders. Chiqui Mendoza’s unwavering passion, artistic mastery, and unwavering commitment to cultural exchange have secured his standing as a prominent, timeless voice in contemporary art.