Marta Pérez-García shines a light on women’s violence survivors through powerful artwork and storytelling
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Through her art, Marta Pérez-García gives voice to women who have experienced domestic violence. She believes it’s important to speak up and share the stories of silenced voices who need the power to simply say “enough.” Since Pérez-García is originally from Puerto Rico, where domestic violence rates have spiked in the five years since Hurricane Maria devastated the U.S. territory, it’s an issue that has preoccupied her for many years.
“At some point, I learned the importance of presenting stories of women who are no longer with us that show who they really were,” says Pérez-García, not just as victims but as human beings and members of the community.
While she is originally from Puerto Rico, Pérez-García has lived in Washington, D.C., for more than 15 years, where she has carved out a career as an artist and educator. Despite teaching art to children between the ages of three to 10 years old and her many exhibitions and successful projects, she says she doesn’t consider herself an artist but instead someone who loves to create art. Her motivation for art is the desire to tell stories. She succeeds at creating images to tell women’s stories rather than speaking them.
Where do you find your inspiration?
Looking around me. As a Latin woman and a Puerto Rican, I don’t even know if I call it inspiration. I remember from when I was young, the story of a woman that got killed by her partner. I remember people talking about it, saying, “Oh, but you never know.” They were questioning themselves, and I would always ask why they would do that. I mean, they just murdered a woman, and they’re asking why? Since that day — more than inspiration — I knew I had to be involved. I knew I had to say something about it. That’s how I started to be involved in what I do now.
What motivates you to create art?
My motivation is the urge to tell stories. As an artist, I’m not good at writing, but I’m good at making images. I find it important to give space for other people to tell their stories. I’ve been working with gender violence for a long time. Eventually, I knew that I couldn’t just keep doing the art itself: I had to go to the community, give a voice to these women, hear their stories and give them the strength to be present.
At some point, I learned the importance of presenting stories of women who are no longer with us that show who they really were. Not just sharing that Maria Gonzalez was killed in Arecibo, but Maria Gonzalez: the teacher, the mom, the woman that was part of a community.
These women’s stories are important. My art serves to share the stories of voices that have either been silenced or are still here and need the power to say enough is enough.
As a Puerto Rican and Caribbean, I find the number of femicides in Puerto Rico striking. Just last year, it was seventy women that were killed, and ever since Hurricane Maria, the numbers have been doubling. I’m really passionate about this because people have to reflect and understand the urgency to do something about these issues.
(I’m gonna get you: body, woman, rupture)
How long does it take you to finish a project?
I never give myself a set timeframe. I did an installation against gender violence called “Si te cojo: cuerpo, mujer, rotura” (I’m gonna get you: body, woman, rupture). I spent a year working on it — talking to women, doing workshops and listening to women. The women were creating this body. I didn’t want to call them dolls. They were figures that the women would sew as a presentation of themselves, and what happened was beautiful. So I never have a timeframe. I just put all my heart into it and finish when I finish.
How do you think your skills have changed over time?
I have grown as a person. Listening to stories has made me find myself because some of the stories are related to me, too. We all have a story of different kinds of violence. They have empowered me to feel I’m not alone.
I love to do new things. I did printmaking for many years. I also do woodcuts. I make a drawing in the wood, then cut and print it. Sometimes I can spend two to three months doing a print. Then I found that I have to connect it back to the community. With these stories, I have to present myself in a way that really represents these women, so I started to do handmade paper. I used that paper to make life-size torsos.
I always say the day you think you know everything is when you die, so I’m always looking for new materials. I look for new things and objects around me. I’m always in a busqueda (search) for things that help me represent the importance and respect these women deserve in different media. My growth and my art’s importance come from listening to stories and giving voices to these women.
What have been some of the reactions from gender violence survivors when they see your work?
It’s been amazing. I worked mostly with migrant women during my time in D.C. for the installation. Then I was in Puerto Rico for three months, working like crazy. It was beautiful. For these women who have experienced violence, it was important to find a space to share their stories. I remember one woman who told me it was very different to make art rather than sit in a group where you have everybody’s eyes on you as you talk about what you’ve been through. Art allowed her to understand that these objects — these simple dolls that are creations of who I am — can come to life. It was beautiful to hear. They also said sewing together as a community gave them the space to feel safe to talk.
One of the works I did was with trans women, and I remember this young trans woman whose doll is dear in my heart. It’s the only doll I have — and I have about 230 dolls — that doesn’t have a face. I understood her choice not to include a face was her way of saying she’s invisible to people. It’s amazing what art can do. It was great for them to put their lives into these objects.
Do you have a significant artist or artistic influence?
I loved art from Haiti when I was younger. I loved the storytelling of Haitian artists, along with the forms and colors. Even if the things were very brutal, there was beauty in their form and color. I love Pepón Osorio. He’s a Puerto Rican artist that does installations that really get into the community. I met him a long time ago in Philadelphia while I was working on my master’s degree. He blew my mind with his work, interactions with the community, and the way he portrays political and social ideas for people to reflect on. I have so many other influences. Myrna Báez was a Puerto Rican artist I met when I was really young. I was almost trembling, but she took my hand. I consider her my second mom. She’s not with us anymore, but she was a powerful woman that really helped me and many others grow as artists.
How do you define success as an artist?
I’ve never even called myself an artist. I don’t know what success is, nor do I care. We have a responsibility — not just as artists but as women, Latinas, Caribbeans and as human beings. So what is success? I don’t know. Maybe it’s to go to these parties with people who buy your work without even knowing where it’s going. I don’t care. I just do what I love because I feel I have a responsibility to do this. That’s important enough for me.
Have you always believed in this definition of success? How were you able to resist the idea of success that is pretty common here in the U.S.?
I’ve always been like this. Looking at my son right now, who is 17 years old, I think the pressure they put on people regarding success and what university you have to go to is ridiculous. If you look at the world right now, it’s just going crazy. I think success has a role in what I’m doing. I’m giving a granito de arena (tiny grain of sand) to make this life better for people. Maybe I have strength, and maybe I can help others, but I can help myself too. Success is such a weird word for me. Being in a museum is not important. What’s more important is what I do in my community, and what I can bring to help this planet’s madness.
Learn more about Pérez-García’s work by visiting her website. Stay tuned for an extended conversation with her, coming later this year in Hola Cultura’s new monthly podcast, “Aristas in the Capital.”
*This story has been lightly edited for clarity and concision.
– Interview by Cristela Bonilla, Flavia Olivera, Jubilee Lucero and Claudia Peralta Torres
– Story by Jennifer Alfaro
– Edited by Michelle Benitez, Piper Russell, Rafaella Mufarech and Jordan Luz
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