At the end of October, The Wall Street Journal and Current Affairs reported on National Archivist Colleen Shogan's efforts to reshape the narratives of the National Archives Museum’s exhibits. This reshaping, framed as making white conservatives more comfortable, raises broader questions about whose stories are prioritized in public spaces. After years of writing about Black, Indigenous, and other artists of color, and their challenges with visibility in museums, I find it increasingly urgent to highlight the interventions these artists make to disrupt erasure.
Reflecting on the significance of Peláez López’s four wounds of Latinidad in “The X In Latinx Is A Wound, Not A Trend” (2018), I am drawn to the local context of Southern Nevada. Here, many artists navigate the immense responsibility of resisting erasure while maintaining their truth. Two events—Ada Limón’s reading at the Clark County Library near the College of Southern Nevada in June and the "Son de Mi Ser" exhibit at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas—underscore how local artists challenge inarticulation and settler colonialism through their storytelling and mixed-media works.
Early in June, I set out to interview Yesenia Moya of Mojada Inc. after learning about Sydney Galindo’s first curated group art show, ‘Son de Mi Ser,” inspired by Moya’s poem, “I Am What I Am.” Hours after my conversation with Moya, I attended Ada Limón’s reading at the West Charleston Library. This serendipitous overlap brought a nationally celebrated poet’s voice into dialogue with Moya’s art-activist practice.
At a time when local conflicts, national elections, and global crises provoke uncertainty, Limón’s response to a question about craft provided a poignant framework: “My whole life is a combination of urgency and calm,” she said, addressing the balance many of us are navigating. Moya’s work, rooted in community and political solidarity, embodies this balance. Whether leading writing workshops at the Solidarity Fridge’s Giving Garden, creating zines that intertwine art and activism, or sharing voter information, Moya exemplifies a profound intertwining of creative and political practice.
Moya’s journey as an artist was deeply shaped by community encouragement. Initially hesitant to share their work, Moya recounts how community members pushed them to publish:
“I kind of was pushed into sharing my poetry with people. I don’t share my writing. I don’t share any of my art with people because it’s personal to me. And I’m getting emotional because I was asked by community to write my stuff down. I was just showing up and doing open mics.
The way that I would do it, I would go up, spit my shit, forget to say my name, then literally drop the mic and run. It was the community asking me, like, ‘Do you have this written down?’”
In reflecting on Pelaez’s “The 'X' in Latinx is a Wound, Not a Trend,” Moya’s work directly engages with the wound of inarticulation. Pelaez describes the struggle of many Latinx individuals to articulate the inherited pain of colonialism. Moya’s praxis—sharing deeply personal stories through poetry and collaboration—offers a way forward.
“Son de Mi Ser” brought this approach to life. Curator Sydney Galindo, inspired by Moya’s poem, worked with Emmanuel Munoz of "Scrambled Eggs" to organize the exhibit. Featuring a diverse range of artists, the show highlighted the community-driven ethos underpinning Moya’s creative practice.
For Moya, museums once felt alien, akin to a foreign country: “Museums felt foreign to me—like I felt in a different country, in the same way the United States feels foreign to me. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I’ve never felt like I was from here. Museums, predominantly white spaces, felt like spaces I didn’t belong.” This sentiment of estrangement is echoed by many marginalized individuals entering institutions like museums, classrooms, or even polling places. Moya’s work—whether through zines, writing workshops, or poetry—creates spaces where belonging is possible.
The artists in “Son de Mi Ser” responded to Moya’s poem with powerful creative gestures. Montaysia Sims, for example, described her painting as a way to connect with ancestors: “It’s like a dream you can’t piece together,” she said. “The way I painted home connects and grounds me to a people I don’t know.”
Another artist, Lille Allen, crafted a mixed-media piece using found objects to resist waste and preserve memory. Reflecting on her process, she shared: “If our memories are destroyed, what is left of us?” Her work, like Moya’s poetry, is a testament to resilience. By weaving together fragments of the past, she reclaims space for herself and her community. Moya’s poem, “I Am What I Am,” begins: "Feeling like a stranger / My home is missing / My tongue is foreignI am because I am." Allen, Sims, and the other artists responded to these themes with visual art that bridges gaps between displacement and belonging. Their work underscores the shared experiences of feeling alienated yet resilient.
For many of us, the wound of inarticulation transcends cultural boundaries, connecting us in our resistance to feeling out of place. Ultimately, “Son de Mi Ser” celebrates the power of collective creativity. Whether through sound, movement, or silence, these artists remind us that belonging can be forged through solidarity and the courage to reclaim our narratives.
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