A study for Panel 3 of the "Vendedoras de Flores" mural at Scripps College.
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The Alfredo Ramos Martínez Research Project
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Courtesy Louis Stern Fine Arts
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Topline:
A new exhibition at Scripps College, titled “Pintor de Poemas: Unseen Works by Alfredo Ramos Martínez,” recasts the artist's legacy. The show features a series of mural studies, drawings, and paintings by the acclaimed Mexican modernist — some of which have never been shared with the public.
Why it matters: In art history circles, said gallery director Erin Curtis, there’s a tendency to regard Ramos Martínez’s work, which often featured Mexican landscapes and Indigenous people, as merely “serene, beautiful, decorative.” But the exhibition shows that Ramos Martínez and his work were deeply attuned to injustices around him.
The backstory: Ramos Martínez, who was a respected educator and painter in Mexico, moved to the U.S.in 1929, seeking medical treatment for his infant daughter. In the 1930s,the country expelled or pressured an estimated 1 million people of Mexican descent to leave. Robin Dubin, who guest-curated the show, believes this shaped the artist’s appetite for risk.
Don’t stop with the gallery: In the 1940s, Scripps College commissioned Ramos Martínez to paint a mural in the Margaret Fowler Garden. The artist died before completing the work, but it still stands today and serves as a lesson in fresco painting.
Maybe this has happened to you: A loved one dies, and then, while sorting through their remaining belongings, you discover something about them, something that makes you see them in a different light.
A new art exhibition at Scripps College has the same effect.
In “Pintor de Poemas: Unseen Works by Alfredo Ramos Martínez,” a series of mural studies, drawings, and paintings by the acclaimed Mexican modernist — some of which have never been shared with the public — recasts the artist's legacy.
In art history circles, said gallery director Erin Curtis, there’s a tendency to regard Ramos Martínez’s work, which often features Mexican landscapes and Indigenous people, as merely “serene, beautiful, decorative.”
But the exhibition, guest-curated by Scripps alumna Robin Dubin, shows that Ramos Martínez’s work was anything but apolitical.
A quiet rebellion
The bilingual show is divided into four sections: “revolution,” “labor,” “indigenismo,” and “war.”
In the gallery, kept dim to preserve the artist’s work, viewers will encounter a series of arresting images. This includes: A woman weeping over the body of a loved one; torture victims hanging with their feet and ankles bound; men toiling over the construction of new buildings, while, in another frame, another gaggle of men, clad in suits and bowties, smoke cigars and sip apéritifs; in another frame, four barefoot women — a group of flower vendors — walk in unison, with a determined look in their eyes as they face a day’s work.
Through wall text in English and Spanish, attendees learn that after 10 years of studying art in Europe, Ramos Martínez returned to Mexico City, just ahead of the 1910 Mexican Revolution. During that time, he established art schools, where students were taught to get out of the studio and paint the world around them. In 1929, Ramos Martínez came to the United States seeking medical treatment for his infant daughter, who was battling a serious bone disorder. Then, in the 1930s, amid the Great Depression, the country expelled or pressured an estimated 1 million people of Mexican ancestry to leave, including scores of U.S. citizens.
To understand Ramos Martínez’s work — including what he made public and what he shielded from view — knowing these biographical details is important, said curator Dubin.
At a lecture in 2023, she said the artist “was somewhat pigeonholed by his reputation as a painter of idyllic, rural, and poignant religious scenes.”
“Any commissions that came his way probably would have been with the understanding that this was the type of imagery that they could expect,” she said.
For a Mexican immigrant, failing to abide by expectations could be perilous. In 1932, the famed Mexican muralist David Alfaro Siqueiros — one of Ramos Martínez’s former students — was deported after completing “América Tropical” in downtown L.A. The mural, a sharp rebuke of imperialism and the oppression of Indigenous people, was whitewashed after its unveiling.
“Ramos Martínez was the primary earner for his family, which included a sick child who needed regular and extremely expensive medical care,” Dubin added. “Especially in the midst of the Great Depression, it's probable that he could not afford any loss of income ... that could affect his ability to access or pay for medical care for his daughter. These realities likely had an outsized impact on the types of public art commissions he was offered or prepared to accept.”
But, in private, Ramos Martínez was more rebellious.
In 1932, he used conté crayon and tempera to draw a man on a page from the L.A. Times. The man has high cheek bones and a strong, straight nose — features that according to curator Armando Pulido, the artist typically used to represent Indigenous subjects. The work is titled “El Defensor/The Protector,” and in this image, the unafraid man holds up a fist. This piece is an integral part of the show.
"El Defensor/The Protector," one of several pieces created by the artist on newsprint.
Dubin named the exhibition after reading a line by Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío, whom Ramos Martínez befriended in Paris.
“Ramos Martínez es de los que pintan poesías ... no copia, sino interpreta. Él expresará la tristeza de los pescadores, la melancolía de las aldeas, los hombres inclinados por el peso del trabajo,” Darío wrote.
Those words are imprinted on a gallery wall: “Ramos Martínez is one of those who paints poetry ... he does not copy, but instead interprets. He will express the sorrow of the fisherman, the melancholy of the villages, the men bent under the weight of the work.”
Where else to visit after the gallery
Just a short walk from the gallery, visitors can continue learning about Ramos Martínez.
About 80 years ago, Scripps College commissioned the artist to paint a mural in the Margaret Fowler Memorial Garden.
The garden is housed in a tranquil courtyard, centered around a small fountain. Draped in wisteria, the garden walls are now home to a Ramos Martínez fresco. Here, students stop to leisurely read a book or catch up with friends. As a student at the women’s college, Dubin spent many afternoons there.
Making a fresco can be tough — it involves painting with water-based pigment directly onto wet plaster, so that the image becomes part of the wall.
Ramos Martínez died in 1946, before he could complete “Vendedoras de Flores (The Flower Vendors).” And because fresco work must be done in stages, viewers can see the progress of his work, how the mural was coming together.
“Las Vendedoras de Flores (The Flower Vendors)" at the Margaret Fowler Garden
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Julia Barajas
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LAist
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When Ramos Martínez painted the fresco, he was housed in Dorsey Hall, the same dorm where Dubin lived decades later.
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Julia Barajas
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LAist
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One of the walls features a Zapotec woman, wearing the same type of headdress worn by women in Yalálag, a village in the Mexican state of Oaxaca.
During her lecture, Dubin reflected on the significance of her presence: “The elevation of this Zapotec woman, as an iconic and powerful figure, is a significant statement on the walls of an institution that in the 1940s admitted very few, if any, students or faculty of color,” she said.
It is also significant that Ramos Martínez painted this image at a school that was “constructed on Tongva land, using Spanish mission revival style architecture,” Dubin added.
In her view, the fresco was and remains an act of defiance.
“She represents a reclamation of Indigenous humanity,” said Dubin, “in a time and place that sought to dehumanize people like her.”
Plan your visit
“Pintor de Poemas: Unseen Works by Alfredo Ramos Martínez” will launch with a free opening reception Saturday from 7-9 p.m. The exhibition ends Dec. 14.
