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The myth of memory: interpretations of site, memory, and erasure in Los Angeles.
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The myth of memory: interpretations of site, memory, and erasure in Los Angeles.
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Content
The Myth Of Memory:
Interpretations Of Site, Memory, and Erasure in Los Angeles
by
Nadia Estrada
A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC ROSKI SCHOOL OF ART AND DESIGN
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
(CURATORIAL PRACTICES & THE PUBLIC SPHERE)
DECEMBER 2023
Copyright 2023 Nadia Estrada
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost, I would like to express my gratitude to the chair of my thesis
committee, Professor Amelia G. Jones. Her unwavering support, guidance, patience, and
kindness throughout this process have been invaluable. I would also like to thank Professor
Jenny Lin and Professor Nao Bustamante for their insightful feedback on my ideas and writing.
I’d also like to acknowledge the USC Roski community, specifically my 2023 MA and
MFA cohort whose camaraderie was a lifesaver in the massive wave of grad school. To
Professors Karen Moss, Andy Campbell, and Rotem Rozental and Roski advisors Nazeli Hosik,
Timmy Chen, Antonio Bartolome, thank you for your wisdom and encouragement. To the
educators at USC Architecture, Professors Alex Robinson, Peyton Hall, Emily Bills and lecturer
Aurora Tang, thank you for nurturing and strengthening my love of architecture and site.
Additionally, I would be remiss not to thank Emma Schiewe and Salma Soliman at USC for their
unconditional regard.
Thank you, Mami, Abuela, Sebas, tios, tias, and primos; my love for my family is why I
continue putting one foot in front of the other every day. Thank you to the Minoofar and Taylor
families for their support and letting me work at their kitchen table. To my friends Taryn,
Clementine, Nina, Esther, Guillermo, Roxy, Lauren, Amanda, Casey, Sam, Ankush, Lien; you
made space for tears, stresses, and laughs that kept me in good spirits. And of course, I am ever
grateful for the unconditional patience, love, and support from my partner Elizabeth, and our
zoo. I dedicate this to Caro, Felipe, and Santiago.
iii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS...............................................................................................................ii
LIST OF FIGURES........................................................................................................................iv
ABSTRACT....................................................................................................................................v
INTRODUCTION: WALKING SUNSET & WESTERN..............................................................1
CHAPTER ONE: DEFINING SPACE AND PLACE....................................................................5
CHAPTER TWO: MYTHOLOGIZING NOSTALGIA.................................................................8
CHAPTER THREE: FABRICATING OLVERA STREET.........................................................12
CHAPTER FOUR: ERASING AMÉRICA TROPICAL................................................................21
CHAPTER FIVE: WALKING EL PUEBLO: KEN GONZALES-DAY.....................................26
CONCLUSION: REFRAMING NOSTALGIA............................................................................33
APPENDIX OF FIGURES............................................................................................................35
BIBLIOGRAPHY..........................................................................................................................46
iv
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1a. Target at Sunset and Western, 2022..............................................................................1
Figure 1b. Ed Ruscha Sunset Archive, 1998..................................................................................1
Figure 2. Mario Carmen Ramirez and unknown Bracero, 1959.....................................................2
Figure 3. Olvera Street side of Pelanconi House and Sepulveda House before restoration.........14
Figure 4. Portrait of Christine Sterling around the time she began work on her plaza
project............................................................................................................................................15
Figure 5. Olvera Street construction c. 1920s……………………...............................................17
Figure 6. El Paseo de Los Angeles, 1930…………….................................................................17
Figure 7. Photograph of Olvera Street stalls in front of the Olvera Candle Shop,
1941…………………………………………………....................................................................18
Figure 8. Little girl grinding corn, c.1930.....................................................................................18
Figure 9. “A Mexican Street of Yesterday, in a City of Today,” El Paseo de Los Angeles
postcard, c. 1940. ..........................................................................................................................18
Figure 10. Harry Chandler at his birthday party on Olvera Street in 1938...................................19
Figure 11. Bolivian artist and Siqueiros’ frequent collaborator, Roberto Berdecio, stands
on the rooftop with the newly finished América Tropical mural, c.1932......................................21
Figure 12. América Tropical, Street view of the Sepulveda House façade, c.1933.....................22
Figure 13. Conservators surface clean América Tropical during the final phase of
conservation……………………………………………...............................................................24
Figure 14. Ken Gonzales-Day, Historical Marker #141, 2002....................................................27
Figure 15. Ken Gonzales-Day, East First Street, “Erased Lynching” Series, 2004.....................30
Figure 16. Pico House from Fort Moor Hill, 1870.......................................................................31
Figure 17. Artist Ken Gonzales-Day leads Lynching in the West walking tour.
Union Station, 2022.......................................................................................................................31
v
ABSTRACT
This thesis examines the intersections of site, memory, erasure, and the frame through
which we experience our urban environment. Situating this exploration in Los Angeles, this
thesis asks the following questions: What happens when a place no longer belongs to us, is
forgotten, or replaced? How do the memories of a place shift the perspective of our current
surroundings? What role does the erasure of memory play in Los Angeles? Utilizing the
scholarship of Yi-Fu Tuan and Svetlana Boym, defining the meanings of space and place and
their relationship to memory and nostalgia are central to answering these questions.
Consequently, juxtaposing their theories allows a close reading of Olvera Street’s development
as a framing device to romanticize Los Angeles’ Spanish and Mexican past through tourism.
Furthermore, the artistic practice of Los Angeles-based artists Ken Gonzalez-Day and Mercedes
is used as an example to draw connections between the different ways they utilize the frame as a
method of control over an image or idea that was abruptly stolen or lost to time. Coupling
Gonzalez-Day’s Erased Lynching series with the origins of Olvera Street, we can understand the
approaches used to obscure, intentionally or otherwise, the brutalities of Los Angeles’
involvement in lynching in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. we can recognize her efforts
to regain control of the historical narrative and unearth the buried and fragmented past of Los
Angeles. By examining the complexities inherent in these concepts within the context of
contemporary art in Los Angeles, we can build a foundation for exploring how artistic and
cultural practices have the power to reshape the dynamics of space, place, and memory.
1
INTRODUCTION: WALKING SUNSET & WESTERN
On the southwest corner of Sunset Boulevard and Western Avenue in Hollywood sits a
massive silvery structure resembling an object from outer space. A giant silver disc rests atop its
steely frame while the metallic façade reflects the golden sunshine onto the road. At street level,
the building towers over pedestrians impatiently waiting for the slowly approaching city bus. On
this busy stretch of Sunset, the shopping complex, home to a new Target, commands attention
yet is somehow still quite unremarkable (Fig. 1a). The structure appears out of place as if
developers carelessly planted it onto this corner without much attention paid to the
transformative effect it would have on its surroundings.
The previous shopping complex bulldozed to make way for the new silvery structure was
also architecturally insignificant, a commonplace sight in the land of strip malls. That stucco box
vernacular-type complex resulted from the seventies’ obsession with concrete and stuccoed
peach walls expressed in a vaguely southwestern theme. As seen in the Edward Ruscha
Photographs of Sunset Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard 1965-2010 archive, the
development of Sunset Blvd. can be traced quite easily.
1
The first iterations of a bigger city block
appear from thin air in 1974 and quickly evolve into another stucco strip mall in 1979. In 1998, it
was home to a Carl’s Jr., Sav-On Drugs, Farm Fresh Ranch Market, and the obligatory palm
tree-lined parking (Fig. 1b).
Ruscha’s 1998 snapshot is the version of Sunset and Western imprinted in my mind.
Memories of walking past the Carl’s Jr., clutching my abuelo’s calloused hands as we wait
eagerly at the bus stop to meet my mother after work, are clear and vivid. I can still see the
1
The photographs of Sunset Boulevard documented in this archive were captured by Ruscha and a
camera mounted on the back of his truck over nearly fifty years. The archive is viewable on the Getty
Foundation’s website and is remarkable in its consistency and duration of time. It serves as a yearbook of sorts
for one of Los Angeles’ most famous streets.
2
fluorescent lights illuminating the aisles at the Sav-on Drugs as my abuela and I browse the
shelves searching for nail polish and candy. Although this version of the shopping complex no
longer stands, I still remember the warmth and joy I felt in this space. Finding Ruscha’s
documentation of Sunset’s evolution is the only physical remnant of this period in my life to
which I can refer. Perhaps it is the only accurate representation of this corner I could ever come
across, save for traveling back in time. Without this documentation, the 1998 corner of Sunset
and Western would only ever continue to exist in my mind, significantly altered and distorted
through rose-colored lenses.
On a recent visit to the new Target accompanied by my abuela, we looked out onto
Sunset from the upper balcony, facing east. The shopping center across the street that was home
to the McDonald’s had also recently been razed to make way for a new affordable housing
development. My abuela had not seen this corner in over a decade, and I knew that she too felt a
profound sense of loss for words and memories at that moment. I snapped a photograph of her
overlooking the busy street as glimpses of us passing time at Sav-on came flooding back.
Any time I drive past this corner, I feel a slight tug in my chest. After all, East Hollywood
was my family’s first home upon arriving in the U.S. from Mexico. My abuelo came over first in
the 1950s as part of the Bracero program (Fig. 2), which allowed him to work across agricultural
fields in the U.S., often traveling back and forth to see his children and wife in Mexico.
2
He
eventually settled in Los Angeles in the 1980s and lived in a small studio apartment in East
Hollywood off of Western Avenue with eight other laborers. Later in the decade, the rest of my
maternal family arrived, and all concentrated in the surrounding neighborhood. Soon,
2
The Bracero program was a U.S. initiative that spanned from 1942 to 1964 to bring millions of
Mexican agricultural workers legally across the U.S. border on short-term labor contracts. Often facing
difficult working conditions and low wages, the Braceros helped address the agricultural labor shortage in the
U.S. during WWII.
3
grandchildren were born, friends were made, and parties were thrown; my family became firmly
rooted in this gritty enclave of Los Angeles that slowly grew into a home.
It’s no wonder that the yearning to relive memories of our home or frequent haunts is
overwhelming. It becomes even more evident when the places we were intimately familiar with
no longer belong to us as we once knew them. However, why does this yearning matter, if at all?
Ultimately, every place evolves over time; it’s only a natural progression. Yet, knowing that
places do not exist as they once did can elicit a profound loss around what used to be and will
never be again. A place does not require an officially designated monument in order to be a
significant marker of our lives. So, what about a specific space or place that evokes feelings of
yearning, displacement, or disorientation? Is the power of nostalgia stronger than our ability to
accurately represent past memories of a place? And does our interpretation of memories
outweigh the truth of the past? If the answer is yes, how does this interpretation erase, alter or
affect the history of places we once knew?
Situating Los Angeles as a focal point for studying space, place, and memory is an
important undertaking. Like any city, Los Angeles has undergone numerous historical
transformations. From its iteration as home to the Tongva community that first inhabited the
L.A. basin, to the missions and pueblos of the Spanish colonizers, to the subsequent American
government that took over the land after Mexican control, to the metropolis of the twentieth
century, dominated by the film and cultural industries—Los Angeles has seen it all. Yet, within
this historical evolution, questions arise concerning who is responsible for narrating these events
accurately and representing them in our cultural and historical landmarks. While it's convenient
and comfortable to accept the officially designated accounts we've been presented with and never
4
look beyond them, this approach might prevent us from truly comprehending a place's
significance to its inhabitants.
To effectively address these questions, it’s important to establish a comprehensive grasp
of the nuances behind place, space, and nostalgia. By examining the complexities inherent in
these concepts within the context of contemporary art in Los Angeles, we can build a foundation
for exploring how artistic and cultural practices have the power to reshape the dynamics of
space, place, and memory. Because contemporary art challenges conventional perspectives, it is
the perfect tool for asking us to reconsider our understanding of these interactions and perhaps
see through the myth of memory. While focusing on a specific facet of Los Angeles' history and
the current cultural landscape, examining contemporary art's role is a powerful tool for unveiling
hidden stories, prompting critical engagement with existing narratives, and ultimately shedding
light on the broader question of how our physical place in the world can shape our collective and
individual identities.
5
CHAPTER ONE: DEFINING SPACE AND PLACE
In his influential book, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience, geographer and
writer Yi-Fu Tuan explains the interconnected nature of space and place and emphasizes their
indivisible relationship. According to Tuan, space encompasses our sensory awareness in
relation to the environment and the ability to navigate within it, while place designates a point of
significant value that emerges within the broader context of space.
3
Tuan asserts that the two
concepts are inseparable, as they rely on one another for their existence and meaning. Both are
needed to define the other and consequently, “if we think of space as that which allows
movement, then place is pause; each pause in movement makes it possible for location to
transform into place.”
4
If we consider Tuan’s perspective on space as dynamic movement and
place as meaningful pause, we gain an understanding of the importance attributed to the urban
landscapes we inhabit. The locations we frequent hold immense value for human beings because
they serve as vital intermissions, inviting us to stop and dwell amidst the ebb and flow of our
daily lives. Within these centers of assigned value, we find solace in the repetition of our routines
and derive comfort from the assurance of the familiar.
Our home and the surrounding environment serve as markers of the expectation of
routine. For example, when returning home, certain landmarks indicate that we are approaching
our place of residence; the fading neon sign on the liquor store facade comes into view, followed
by the video rental shop, eventually leading you home. These familiar places shape our
individual worlds; therefore, it is no coincidence that our memories of home evoke strong
3
Yi-Fu Tuan, “Experiential Perspective,” in Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977), 12.
4
Tuan, “Introduction,” 5-6.
6
sensory experiences. The time spent within our homes and neighborhoods allows us to forge
connections between our present experiences and our past, embedding feelings, smells, and
sounds into our psyche. As Tuan explains, possibly every group of humans that has existed has
declared their own home as the center of the universe and as the portal through which they could
reach the divine.
5
While Western society may not perceive the home as a physical gateway to the
heavens, it undeniably serves as the focal point of our personal universe—a sacred space where
we engage in our most intimate daily rituals. Home represents the ultimate sanctuary, providing a
sense of security that nurtures and serves as a foundational landscape, shaping and molding who
we are as individuals. Within the home and its surroundings, our narratives take shape and
intertwine with our past, becoming an integral part of the stories we tell about ourselves. The
physical location of the place we call home is “viewed as mother, and […it nourishes]; place is
an archive of fond memories and splendid achievements that inspire the present; place is
permanent and hence reassuring to man, who sees frailty in himself and chance and flux
everywhere.”
6
It comes as no surprise that a deep bond exists between a place and one's sense of self.
This connection can often evoke a longing to revisit times gone by that can no longer be
experienced in the present. Just as previous civilizations attributed cosmic significance to their
home as the center of the universe, today, we can equate the sentiment regarding our homes as
the birthplace of our personal mythology.
7
Yet, why does yearning for a past version of a place
remain a recurring question throughout time? In contemporary Western society, it is rare to
5
Tuan, “Attachment to Homeland,” 149-50.
6
Ibid., 154.
7
Ibid., 152.
7
remain rooted in the exact same place from birth to death and bear witness to the evolution of a
city or town in real time. When we leave, or circumstances compel us to leave, we often return to
a completely different version of a place. If we never revisit our place of origin, perhaps we are
inclined to seek ways to replicate a version we thought we once knew intimately. Yet, the
question remains, why recreate a place that is now unfamiliar? Moreover, in attempting to
recreate the past, does it succeed in accuracy, or does it inadvertently displace another, more
important narrative?
8
CHAPTER TWO: MYTHOLOGIZING NOSTALGIA
For this interpretation of nostalgia, I draw heavily upon the work of cultural theorist
Svetlana Boym and her influential publication, The Future of Nostalgia. When we conjure
images of a home we once had, the longing to relive a specific moment in time floods the
physical and emotional senses, often prioritizing more vivid details over others. Nostalgia
possesses the power to sway our recollections, shaping the way we recount them in the present.
Thus, what sets nostalgia apart from memory? While memory resides within the depths of the
mind, nostalgia is experienced throughout the body.
As Boym points out, when the term was first coined by Swiss doctor Johannes Hofer in
1688, he deemed nostalgia to be a severe disease that infected and debilitated all aspects of the
body, specifically occurring when European soldiers were shipped off to distant lands for war.
8
She explains that Hofer concluded that symptoms of nostalgia caused the afflicted to “lose touch
with the present,” thereby incapacitating the body and their ability to function in daily life.
9
Despite nostalgia’s ability to viscerally recall physical sensations such as smell, taste, and touch,
no amount of pining over memories or a lost homeland could ever transport those suffering from
this sickness to their desired destination.
10
Boym illustrates that recognizing the source of one’s anguish does not diminish the
feelings of loss, nor does it assist in remedying the pain.
11
In fact, she argues, nostalgia is not
8
Svetlana Boym, “From Cured Soldiers to Incurable Romantics: Nostalgia and Progress” in The
Future of Nostalgia (New York: Basic Books, 2001), 3.
9
Ibid.
10
Ibid., 4.
11
Boym, 6.
9
necessarily a bodily ailment but rather is “dependent on the modern conception of unrepeatable
and irreversible time.”
12
Although one can argue that pain associated with nostalgia comes from
acknowledging humankind’s mortality, if we consider Boym’s assertion, we can presume that
nostalgic yearning originates from the physical inability to transcend time and place. Nostalgia is
not solely caused by acknowledging life’s impermanence; rather, central to this particular source
of heartache is an awareness of our body’s limitation to override the laws of physics.
Although our bodies can deceive us into imagining the physical sensations linked to a
memory, often intertwining them with nostalgia, we can never be entirely sure of their veracity.
Conflating hazy visions of the past with fragments of clear memories frequently results in an
amalgamated, dreamlike image that exists neither here nor there. This creation becomes an
independent entity, existing only in the recesses of the mind. Thus, memory lives in a liminal
space, straddling the line between the real and the mythical. The impulse to mythologize past
experiences from our lives is what distinguishes nostalgia from factual memory.
However, conjuring echoes of fading memories to alleviate longing versus using them to
motivate certain actions are separate matters. As a result, Boym draws a distinction between two
types of nostalgia:
Restorative nostalgia puts emphasis on nostos and proposes to rebuild
the lost home and patch up the memory gaps. Reflective nostalgia
dwells in the algia, in longing and loss, the imperfect process of
remembrance [...] Restorative nostalgia manifests itself in total
reconstruction of monuments of the past, while reflective nostalgia
12
Boym, 13.
10
lingers on ruins, the patina of time and history, in the dreams of another
place and time.
13
Viewing nostalgia as a defiance against the modern notion of time, Boym informs us that
humans strive to rewrite history and transform it into our “private or collective mythology, to
revisit time like space, refusing to surrender to the irreversibility of time that plagues the human
condition.”
14
In other words, restorative nostalgia involves an idealized longing for the past,
aiming to recreate and restore what is believed to have been lost. Restorative nostalgia can then
be defined as a resistance to the passage of time, often involving an idealized longing for the past
and an intense desire to restore or recreate what is believed to have been lost. It seeks to
recapture a specific moment, attempting to bridge the gap between past and present through a
reimagined version of history. In contrast, reflective nostalgia takes a more contemplative
approach, recognizing the irreversibility of time and change. It engages more critically with the
past, acknowledging its complexities and contradictions. Through reflective nostalgia, we invent
stories to mask the realities of foregone moments, whether consciously or not. If memory exists
in an unchanging past, then nostalgia is the malleable future by way of our personal histories. In
this regard, nostalgia can act as a precarious tool when recounting history, confusing the realities
of time and its truths with an imagined impression from our minds.
15
Consequently, memory
transforms into a nebulous image indiscernible from fact.
13
Boym, “Restorative Nostalgia: Conspiracies and Return to Origins,” 41.
14
Boym, “Introduction,” xv.
15
Boym, xvi.
11
Understanding the nuances of nostalgia and its impact on memory reveals how emotions
often cloud our perception of time and the past. Boym's insights remind us to critically approach
historical accounts, acknowledging the potential for bias and distortion. By doing so, we can
preserve the integrity of past histories and develop a deeper appreciation for the complexities of
memory and its influence on collective remembrance.
12
CHAPTER THREE: FABRICATING OLVERA STREET
This version of restorative nostalgia attempts to bridge the gap between the present and a
romanticized past, allowing visitors to experience an imagined sense of authenticity and
continuity. However, as Boym suggests, this idealized version of the past is constructed to fit a
particular narrative and emotional yearning, often overlooking the complexities and
contradictions inherent in historical reality.
Boym’s distinction between reflective and restorative nostalgia is evident in Los
Angeles’ history of seemingly humble and simple origins. This is especially clear when
examining the case of Olvera Street, situated northeast of downtown Los Angeles. Restorative
nostalgia, with its tendency to idealize and long for a past era, is apparent in the fabrication of
Olvera Street. Situated in the historic district of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los
Ángeles, it is marketed as a return to Los Angeles' Spanish and Mexican past and embodies the
restorative nostalgia that seeks to recreate and restore history. In its modern iteration, Olvera
Street, often referred to as the birthplace of Los Angeles, presents a carefully curated version of
history that aims to evoke a specific image of California history through its architecture,
ambiance, and commerce. This version of restorative nostalgia attempts to bridge the gap
between the present and a romanticized past, allowing visitors to experience an imagined sense
of authenticity. However, Olvera Street and El Pueblo are not a tribute to the “imperfect process
of remembrance;”
16
rather, they are a prime case study in examining the effects of restorative
nostalgia disguised as innocent entertainment.
Today, the area is designated as the El Pueblo de Los Ángeles Historic Monument,
demarcating the old Los Angeles Plaza and its surroundings. However, the layers of memory
16
Boym, 41.
13
defining this site are varied, complex, multidimensional, and still largely invisible to the general
public. For thousands of years prior to the arrival of the Spanish to California in 1769, the Los
Angeles Basin was known as Tovaangar, home to the area's original inhabitants, the Tongva
Nation. Tovaangar consisted of over one hundred villages and was home to approximately 5,000
people.
17
The largest Tongva settlement was Yaanga, or what we now know as downtown Los
Angeles, and it acted as the central commercial and social hub for the surrounding smaller
villages in the area.
18
Although the exact site of Yaanga is still unknown today, historians have
placed its center around Union Station.
19
Between 1769 and the end of the Mexican-American
War in 1848, Yaanga and its inhabitants were slowly and forcibly colonized by Spain, Mexico,
and eventually, the United States. Under the direction of the Spanish governor of the Californias,
Felipe de Neve, forty-nine racially diverse pobladores from the Northern Mexican states of
Sonora and Sinaloa arrived in the Los Angeles basin to settle the already inhabited area.
20
Soon,
the pobladores constructed their homes from local materials such as tule and willow, eventually
transitioning to using adobe and brea, or tar, to construct the homes that are still standing today.
They subjected the Yaangavit to violent mistreatment and forced manual labor.
21
As with the
17
Sean Greene and Thomas Curwen, “Mapping the Tongva Villages of L.A.'s Past,” Los Angeles
Times (May 9, 2019), https://www.latimes.com/projects/la-me-tongva-map/.
18
Ibid.
19
Cecilia Rasmussen, “From Site of Ancient Tribal Tree, the City of Angels Grew,” Los Angeles
Times, April 12, 1997, https://www.latimes.com/archives/la. Historians have connected the original Yaanga
village to the site of El Aliso, or the sacred Yaanga council tree. The centuries-old sycamore towered over six
stories and dominated the surrounding landscape. At the time of its destruction in 1892, its estimated age was
approximately 400 years old.
20
Jean Bruce Poole and Tevvy Ball, El Pueblo: The Historic Heart of Los Angeles (Los Angeles, CA:
Getty Conservation Institute and the J. Paul Getty Museum, 2002), 7.
21
Greene and Curwen, “Mapping the Tongva Villages of L.A.’s Past.”
14
Yaanga village before it, the site of the Pueblo’s streets and settlements was the social hub of the
burgeoning city. Today, the Historic Monument and Plaza are comprised of culturally significant
eighteenth and nineteenth-century sites such as Olvera Street, Ávila Adobe, Pico House,
Sepulveda House, Pelanconi House and La Iglesia de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles,
among others.
By the time the pobladores were comfortably settled in the area, Olvera Street was just
one of many buzzing commercial alleyways branching off from the main Los Angeles Plaza onto
the main roads around the town. What was once known as Wine Street, is now considered the
oldest street in Los Angeles and is synonymous with the Pueblo.
22
Visiting Olvera Street today,
the same site remains a bustling marketplace – albeit a carefully fabricated one – and doubles as
a living museum. Walking through the crowded cobblestone walkways among the colorful
family-run puestos, the aroma of grilled onions and charred steak emanates throughout the plaza
and breathes life into the historical structures that anchor it. Olvera Street is now touted as a
portal to life in California before the arrival of American governance in 1848. Although the
buildings themselves are indeed part of Los Angeles's history, their presentation to the public
does not paint an accurate picture.
Throughout the late nineteenth century, the area in and around the Plaza became a
hotspot for illicit dealings and violent encounters that resulted in residents abandoning their
homes and businesses (Fig. 3).
23
By the early 1900s, the once grand and booming commercial
22
Olvera Street was formerly known as Wine Street or Vignes Street due to the sheer number of
vineyards in the area at the time. Some grapevines from the original settlement still stand today and are older
than grapevines found in Northern California. See S. Irene Virbila, “What to Do with Grapes from 150-Year-
Old Vines at Olvera Street? Make Wine, of Course,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles Times, September 18,
2015), https://www.latimes.com/food/drinks/la.
23
William D. Estrada, "Los Angeles’ Old Plaza and Olvera Street: Imagined and Contested Space,”
Western Folklore 58 (Winter, 1999): 113.
15
center fell into disrepair and neglect and was soon inhabited by Chinese, Italian, and Mexican
immigrants. The city, looking to raze the dilapidated Plaza to make way for newer railroad
developments, condemned the adobe and brick structures for demolition. The sole reason the
Plaza and its buildings stand today is due to the efforts of amateur preservationist and the
“Mother of Olvera Street,” Christine Sterling.
24
Sterling, a middle-class Anglo woman from San
Francisco, moved to Los Angeles with her husband and two children in the early 1920s (Fig. 4).
After a few years, her husband abandoned the family and died soon after, leaving them with very
little financial security.
25
Despite her financial constraints, Sterling chose to remain in Los
Angeles and found herself enchanted by the city and its advertised Spanish heritage. Of her
observations, she wrote:
The booklets and folders I read about Los Angeles were painted in colors of
Spanish, Mexican romance. They were appealing with old Missions, rambling
adobes – the “strumming of guitars and the click of castanets.” At last Los
Angeles as Home. The sunshine, mountains, beaches, palm trees were here, but
where was the romance of the Past? I visited the old Plaza, the birthplace of the
City and found it forsaken and forgotten. The old Plaza Church, Mother and
Grandmother of every church in Los Angeles was suffocated in a cheap, sordid
atmosphere. […] Down a dirty alley I discovered an old adobe, dignified even in
its decay. Across the front door was nailed a black and white sign,
“CONDEMNED.” […] I closed my eyes and thought of the Plaza as a Spanish-
24
Estrada, 113.
25
Ibid.
16
American social and commercial center, a spot of beauty as a gesture of
appreciation to México and Spain for our historical past.
26
Sterling's motivation to preserve the Plaza was rooted in a longing for an “almost ideal
existence” – one in which people of diverse races and social statuses coexisted harmoniously and
“lived to love, to be kind, tolerant, and contented” before the Americans arrived.
27
Nevertheless,
Olvera Street and its surrounding environment were deliberately preserved, not as an
outstretched hand to welcome immigrants arriving in Los Angeles, but to construct a
mythologized, “timeless, romantic, homogenous, Spanish-Mexican,” past to further cement Los
Angeles as a cultural tourist destination.
28
Sterling was not alone in her desire to reshape the city’s image for personal gain.
Although the city's cultural commission and private investors, like Harry Chandler, the owner of
the Los Angeles Times, were also involved in restoring Olvera Street, their motivations weren't
purely altruistic – they were keen on ensuring the new monument's commercial success for their
own profits. Yet, it was Sterling who took the lead in the effort to preserve and restore El Pueblo
de Los Angeles. In the late 1920s, when the city revealed plans to demolish the deteriorating
Avila Adobe – the first house built by early settlers in Los Angeles – Sterling wrote an
impassioned letter to the Chamber of Commerce in which she pleaded for the preservation of the
area to prevent its destruction:
26
Christine Sterling, Olvera Street, Its History and Restoration (Los Angeles, CA: Old Mission
Printing Shop, Church of Our Lady Queen of the Angels, 1933). 9.
27
Sterling, 6.
28
Estrada, 107.
17
When we consider that there are approximately some 200,000 Mexican people in
Southern California; that our city is of Mexican, Spanish origin; bearing a Spanish
name, that strangers think of us in terms of sunny patios, old missions, Spanish
costumes, etc. It might be well to take our Mexican population seriously and
allow them to put a little of the romance and picturesqueness into our City, which
we so freely advertise ourselves as possessing.
29
In other words, the Mexican residents of Los Angeles were only seen as valuable if their
contribution to the city was limited to a decorative role. Although the area was already home to
communities of Mexican, Chinese, and Italian immigrants, Sterling also ignores the fact that the
original inhabitants were not Spanish or Mexican but the Tongva, specifically the Yaangavit of
Yaanga. In Sterling’s version of Los Angeles history, its Indigenous roots are virtually non-
existent and written out of her historical account; instead, they are supplanted by her vision of
what the city’s narrative should be. Sterling stressed the importance of preserving the entire
Pueblo as a crucial aspect of Los Angeles’ story. By 1926, she managed to raise sufficient funds
to transform the neglected area into a fabricated town square frozen in an artificial representation
of the past (Fig. 5). On Easter Sunday in 1930, Olvera Street opened to the public with great
fanfare (Fig. 6).
30
In Sterling’s preservation efforts, Olvera Street served as an alternative to travel and a
fantasy of Mexico, “free of all the abominations of rural Mexican village life, its folk culture,
29
Sterling, 9.
30
Estrada, 113.
18
abject poverty and dirt.”
31
More importantly, the restoration of the Plaza gave the City of Los
Angeles the power to control the narrative of its own origins. Meanwhile, Mexican immigrants in
the city were facing widespread discrimination and deportations throughout the 1920’s and
1930’s, all while Sterling and her team preserved the allure of Spanish Mexico (Fig. 7). By
presenting the public with a sanitized amusement park that overlooked the realities of the period,
white Angelenos were free to dabble in the romantic charm and pleasures of Mexican culture
while remaining sheltered from the harsh truths of the past
(Fig. 8).
32
The choice or refusal to accurately depict the city's history as it happened is not unique to
Los Angeles; it is a common phenomenon when discussing historic sites, monuments, and even
personal narratives. The nostalgic wistfulness for a place that has seen various iterations of itself
over time can erode critical histories that new inhabitants might find discomforting. It is ironic
that someone with no ties to Spain or Mexico would become known as the “mother of Olvera
Street.” Sterling, herself of Anglo, middle-class background from San Francisco, never once
traveled to Mexico during her lifetime.
33
For Sterling, the decision to save the Avila Adobe and
its surroundings was partially driven by her interest in preserving Los Angeles history, but it was
also spurred by a nostalgic sentimentality for a past that was not entirely accurate (Fig. 9)
As Boym asserts, restorative nostalgia is more than an innocuous attempt to preserve
pleasant memories; instead, it is a deliberate strategy to erase memory and history, providing a
31
Estrada, 116.
32
Sterling was also responsible for spearheading the creation of China City in 1938 around the corner
from Olvera Street. Like Olvera Street, Sterling selectively preserved aspects of Chinese culture into a
lucrative attraction for the city. China City was eventually destroyed by fire.
33
Ibid., 113.
19
blank canvas for new narratives to improve collective perceptions of specific historical events.
34
In this sense, the type of power necessary to entirely shift perceptions and restore nostalgic
sentiment on such a large scale usually lies with governments or institutions. Although lacking
institutional power at the beginning of her project, Sterling managed to reshape Olvera Street's
history according to her personal vision by aligning herself with influential city figures. Today,
visitors to Olvera Street’s alleyways can take in the wall of images of Sterling, Chandler, and
city officials smiling, shaking hands, and congratulating each other on the success of the new
attraction (Fig. 10). Infographics about Sterling’s life and her passion for Los Angeles greet
visitors at the entrance of a churro shop, where Spanish-speaking families line up outside the
door. However, the presented information doesn’t offer a comprehensive view of the Pueblo’s
history. Only upon speaking with docents at El Pueblo or stepping into the exhibition spaces at
La Plaza de Cultura y Artes across the street could visitors even begin to gain a sense of
historical accuracy of the area. It is not hard to believe that Sterling may have never envisioned a
pushback of the narrative she and the City of Los Angeles presented to the 1930s public.
In essence, the case of Christine Sterling and Olvera Street illustrates the interplay among
history, memory, and identity. Sterling's endeavor to reshape the narrative of Los Angeles' past
reveals the dual nature of nostalgia – both as a tool for erasing inconvenient histories as well as a
means to build new stories. Viewing her case as an example underscores the dynamic
relationship between past and present, demonstrating memory’s ability to shape our
understanding of place and identity. While Sterling's efforts resulted in preserving and restoring
one tangible piece of Los Angeles heritage, they also exposed the difficulty in defining a specific
area as one objective narrative. Olvera Street has transcended its original purpose and has been
34
Boym, 41.
20
embraced by the Latinx and Chinese communities in Los Angeles as a space to gather, celebrate,
and share their stories.
21
CHAPTER FOUR: ERASING AMÉRICA TROPICAL
El Pueblo today stands not only as a testament to the past but also as one to the power of
communities to reinterpret and reclaim their heritage for a more inclusive and meaningful
present. Only two years after its opening, the attraction faced resistance from some of Sterling’s
artistic contemporaries. When El Pueblo unveiled David Alfaro Siqueiros’ mural in 1932 (Fig.
11), América Tropical: Oprimida y destrozada por los imperialismos (Tropical America:
Oppressed and Destroyed by Imperialism), a counter-narrative to her rosy vision emerged.
In the early 1930s, the acclaimed Mexican muralist, part of the artistic trio known as “Los
Tres Grandes” and a political exile, sought refuge in Los Angeles after being ousted from
Mexico.
35
In Los Angeles, he quickly found ways to support himself by teaching fresco
techniques, painting commissioned murals, and exhibiting works in several local galleries.
36
By
the time the director of Olvera Street’s Plaza Art Center F.K. Ferenz reached out to the painter
for a commission, Siqueiros had already caused controversy with two communist-themed murals
that were swiftly destroyed.
37
To this day, historians remain uncertain about the precise reasons behind Ferenz’s
decision to hire Siqueros for a commission. Still, as S. Janelle Montgomery explains, much like
other city officials, Ferenz sought to “advance the Plaza Art Center and contribute to the ongoing
effort to improve Los Angeles’ standing” amid the city’s broader campaign to raise its profile as
35
“Los Tres Grandes” refers to Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, and Siqueiros as the three masters of the
Mexican muralist movement.
36
S. Janelle Montgomery, “‘Oppressed and Destroyed’ David Alfaro Siqueiros’s América Tropical
and 1932 Los Angeles,” Pacific Historical Review 89, no. 4 (September 29, 2020): pp. 528-556,
https://doi.org/10.1525/phr.2020.89.4.528.
37
Ibid.
22
a culturally-competent metropolis.
38
Despite hesitation from the rest of the committee, Sterling
and Chandler included, Ferenz selected Siqueiros to paint the mural on one wall of the Italian
Hall, positioned to face City Hall (Fig. 12). The arrangement would be part of a fresco painting
class organized by the Center to allow local art students to work with a world-renowned
painter.
39
Ferenz proposed the theme of “Tropical America” to forge a connection between
Central America’s vibrant landscape with Los Angeles’s sunny conditions. However, contrary to
the romantic and simplistic mural the commissioners anticipated, Siqueiros unveiled a fresco
featuring a larger-than-life Indigenous Christ crucified on a double cross. In the mural’s
background, a decaying Mayan temple entangled in overgrown tropical foliage is flanked by a
peasant and a farmer aiming their shotguns at an American eagle perched atop the cross.
As Siqueiros saw it, the fresco posed a direct challenge to city officials, aiming to
confront them with the oppression experienced by Latin America in the wake of the United
States’ imperialist inclinations. Themes such as this were not uncommon for a Mexican
communist muralist. It is quite remarkable that the Plaza Art Center, under Ferenz’s guidance,
selected an artist like Siqueiros, given that Mexican muralism was widely recognized for its
radical political messages critiquing corrupt governments and highlighting the struggles of the
working class. The mural, naturally, stirred outrage among Sterling and her patrons as its
message pointedly refuted the peaceful depiction of love and harmony they believed defined a
tropical America.
The lack of knowledge on Sterling’s part and that of the committee about Siqueiros and
Mexican muralism serves as a prime example of the widespread ignorance of the realities faced
38
Montgomery, 544.
39
Montgomery, 545.
23
by the Mexican Angeleno community in Depression-era Los Angeles. The seemingly
harmonious blend of the U.S. to its Tongva, Spanish, and Mexican historical elements, as
depicted by Sterling and city officials, was far from the idyllic picture they had painted.
Siqueiros’ multiple attempts to subvert colonial narratives and communist ideals were extremely
well-documented. It’s therefore surprising that the commission believed a communist political
exile like Siqueiros would conform to the romanticized vision they had presented.
Uncoincidentally, Siqueiros’ U.S. visa extension request was denied only a month later.
In 1934, the visible part of América Tropical from Olvera Street was whitewashed, and
by 1938, the mural was fully concealed, hidden from public sight. As a result, the mural
disappeared from Olvera Street’s public image for decades until the late 1960s and 1970s, when
Chicano artists and activists revived conversations around its destruction and potential
restoration.
40
Ironically, although intensely deteriorated by the harsh Southern California
sunlight, the white paint acted as an unintended protective layer, shielding the mural from
completely fading into obscurity. Through their efforts, the mural was brought back into the
public consciousness, garnering enough attention for its restoration to finally be deemed worthy.
We can correlate the mural’s whitewashing and subsequent restoration to the physical act
of uncovering a hidden artwork and bringing the absent truth into the present. Although the
mural itself was obscured from view, the memory of the piece was always present, especially
among Mexican Americans in Los Angeles. Despite efforts to expunge Siqueiros’ anti-
imperialist message, the mural remained preserved, much like a fossil in amber, beneath layers
of white paint that eventually began to crack. As French scholar Michel De Certeau asserts,
“places are fragmentary and inward-turning histories, pasts that others are not allowed to read,
40
Shifra M. Goldman, “Siqueiros and Three Early Murals in Los Angeles,” Art Journal 33, no. 4
(1974): 321–27, https://doi.org/10.2307/775970, 321.
24
accumulated times that can be unfolded but like stories held in reserve, remaining in an
enigmatic state.”
41
These histories, forgotten or intentionally veiled, remain unseen over time yet
always await an opportunity to reveal themselves. América Tropical was ultimately rescued
thanks to the early efforts of artists who recognized the image beneath the white paint and sought
to restore an accurate representation of the cultural climate in 1930s Los Angeles.
42
In direct
opposition to Sterling’s motives, the restorative nostalgia evident in the mural’s conservation
efforts should not be mistaken for a desire to relive the era's harsh conditions. Rather, they serve
to rectify the falsely romanticized account of history.
Since 2012, with the support of the Getty Conservation Institute, visitors to the Placita
can access the once-opulent Sepulveda House and explore the América Tropical Interpretive
Center (Fig. 13). These galleries present an updated account of the mural's life cycle, allowing
visitors to witness Siqueiros' original vision from the rooftop viewing deck. As they make their
way through the first-floor gallery, visitors can closely examine the mural’s more intricate
details, supplemented by interpretive signs that narrate Siqueiros' journey and the mural's origins.
A collection of metallic plates showcases a variety of reproduced photographs, including flyers
from the mural's opening day and Siqueiros' rejection letter for his U.S. visa extension. Through
this exhibit, El Pueblo seeks to rectify history, acknowledging the decades of erasure the mural
endured, without shying away from the perspectives held by individuals like Sterling at that time.
The strength of the América Tropical Interpretive Center is largely attributed to the resources
supplied by the Getty. If only the remaining structures along Olvera Street could receive the
same attention, a more genuine foundation of the El Pueblo Historical Monument might emerge
41
Michel De Certeau, “Spatial Practices,” in The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Stephen Randall
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 108.
42
Goldman, “Siqueiros and Three Early Murals in Los Angeles,” 321.
25
from beneath layers of memory. Although not as vibrant as it once stood, América Tropical is no
longer an enigma. Its gradual resurgence is an encouraging step made by the city and a powerful
institution, but it underscores the ongoing need for diligent efforts to uncover and present
accurate histories at El Pueblo for a more complete understanding of its indisputably complex
past.
26
CHAPTER FIVE: WALKING EL PUEBLO: KEN GONZALES-DAY AND ERASED
LYNCHINGS
Reframing or restoring erased histories is a long-standing artistic strategy; artists of every
generation have attempted to rewrite or unveil past narratives for personal or political
motivations. When artists challenge established historical narratives, dominant power systems
can often reshape and bend the dominant narrative to suit their own agenda. Siqueiros’ defiance
against the Plaza Art Center demonstrates that even the boldest acts can be temporarily obscured
until external forces allow the opportunity to restore them. By closely examining the practice of
artist Ken Gonzales-Day and juxtaposing it with the discussion of Olvera Street’s nostalgic
origins, we can draw connections between the diverse methods artists use to alter our perception
of an image or idea that was lost to time.
Ken Gonzales-Day’s work does not merely aspire to imagine an alternative history;
instead, it actively unlocks and offers up an alternative account of social circumstances in
nineteenth and early twentieth-century California. The Los Angeles-based Mexican American
artist urges us to look beyond the idyllic scenes of Spanish romance propagated by figures like
Sterling. He provides a counternarrative through his works, particularly through the altered
historical photographs and postcards in his Erased Lynching series. This series is part of a more
extensive project that addresses the absence of lynching documentation in the American West.
Combining historical research, archival materials, photography, and even guided walking tours,
Gonzales-Day weaves a comprehensive narrative. His research resulted in the 2006 publication,
Lynching in the West:1850-1935, in which the artist details his findings on the prevalence of
lynching across the region, with a primary focus on Indigenous, Chinese, and Latino
communities in California that have been sidelined in the state’s historical account. Lynching in
27
the West not only uncovers and documents these overlooked stories but also endeavors to
visualize and re-embody the brutal memories intentionally lost to time.
Gonzales-Day’s work opens a dialogue to explore different ways of disseminating
knowledge as an artistic practice. The artist re-activates historical archives through altered
photographs and postcards and challenges us to confront the gaps and biases within conventional
historical narratives by asking his audience to change roles from viewers to active participants.
By delving into marginalized experiences of the past, Gonzalez-Day’s approach prompts a
reevaluation of our collective memory, fostering a more inclusive understanding of history. His
methodology demonstrates that art can serve as a potent tool for unearthing suppressed histories,
reshaping our perception of established narratives, and promoting active bodily engagement with
tangible pieces of history.
One example in which Gonzales-Day highlights overlooked history is his discussion of
the lack of information on the prevalence of lynching outside of the Deep South. Throughout his
research, the artist uncovered around 350 undocumented lynchings from 1850-1935 in
California. Out of this number, there exists but one officially designated historical marker in the
state located in Placerville, nicknamed “Hangtown,” situated just east of Sacramento.
43
Gonzales-Day draws our attention to this Disneyfication of grim histories in Historical Marker
#141 (Fig. 14). The black and white photograph captures the scene of a sun-bleached mannequin
that dangles cartoonishly above the painted marquee of Hangman’s Tree. A tilting signpost
announcing the site's historical significance is positioned prominently in the foreground,
prompting the visitor to look more closely. Remarkably, not only is the historical marker the
43
Ken Gonzales-Day, “Introduction: Searching for California's Hang Trees,” in Lynching in the West:
1850-1935 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), pp. 14-15.
28
only indicator in the state that lynchings occurred, but it also functions as a tourist attraction in
which visitors can gleefully pose and take photos in front of a mannequin hanging from a noose
on the balcony of the local bar, Hangman’s Tree. Unfortunately, the minimal wording on the sign
offers no other information about the site’s historical significance, leaving the hovering dummy
as the sole clue for visitors to interpret. Gonzales-Day's composition within the frame could
easily be mistaken for a snapshot taken at a frontier-themed Disneyland attraction; it might as
well be. Despite being one of many historic California gold rush towns, the Hangtown name
adorns souvenirs and is even on Placerville’s official city seal suggesting a sentiment of
unflinching local pride in its sordid past without acknowledging its contemporary implications.
44
.
Perhaps because Placerville is marketed as a gold rush settlement of the “wild, wild,
west,” motivations to visit the town are not spurred by an earnest attempt to understand the
history of lynching or “vigilante justice” but simply to revel in the fantasy of traveling back to a
romanticized lawless and rugged time. The fact that Historical Marker #141 is the sole state-
designated indicator of lynching in California is perplexing, not only because of the site's theme
park–esque nature but because it celebrates a troubling history rather than condemns it. The
residents of Placerville maintain that their commemoration of nooses and hanging trees carries
no malicious intent. However, the caricatured portrayal of their past perpetuates a reductionist
view that minimizes the profound impacts of racism and lynching in Placerville and around all of
California.
So, how can cities or other entities address the neglected accounts without inflicting more
trauma or belittling the prevalence of lynching in the West? In 2020, some Placerville residents
44
Lila Seidman, “Placerville Is Keeping the Nickname 'Hangtown' after Removing a Noose from Its
Logo,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles Times, April 30, 2021),
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2021-04-30/placerville-is-keeping-the-nickname-hangtown-after-
dropping-a-noose-from-its-logo.
29
petitioned California’s Office of Historic Preservation for the removal of the historical marker,
claiming that it was never a valid designation to begin with and was mainly devised to boost the
downtown economy. More importantly:
For many, the Hangman’s Tree celebrates the murder, rape, theft of property,
removal, and extinction of a large percentage of the state’s initial Gold Rush
population. The marker is the only state-sanctioned one of its kind in California
that enshrines the crime of lynching, which terrorized California’s Gold Rush Era
Indigenous peoples, Asians, Spanish-speaking peoples, and African Americans.
45
Despite the presentation of facts, the petition did not rescind the historic designation, and the
effigy continues to hang. More recently, a debate over removing the noose and hanging tree
featured on the city seal resulted in a small yet significant win. The City Council agreed to
redesign its logo in 2021. However, in another turn of events mere weeks later, Placerville still
voted to keep its nickname of “Hangtown” to reflect its reputation for pursuing justice with any
means possible.
46
Conversely, no official markers documenting past lynchings in Los Angeles in the
nineteenth century will be found. Nonetheless, subtle traces of this brutal past are ever-present if
one knows where to look. Similar to América Tropical’s continued existence underneath white
paint, the specter of traumatic memories always lingers beneath the surface, patiently waiting to
emerge. Gonzales-Day accounts for the numerous lynchings in Los Angeles and California
45
State of California, California State Parks, “Hangman's Tree Removal CHL,” Office of Historic
Preservation, 2020, http://www.ohp.parks.ca.gov/.
46
Seidman, “Placerville Is Keeping the Nickname 'Hangtown.'”
30
during the “fantasy heritage” period romanticized by Sterling and challenges this vision.
47
In
Erased Lynchings, his altered renditions of lynching postcards, the artist removes the victim,
leaving a blank space where a hanging body would generally be, instead foregrounding the mob
responsible (Fig. 15). Gonzales-Day allows the viewer to focus on the perpetrators, relieving the
victim from continued suffering and degradation. By removing the victim from the photograph,
the artist urges the viewer to look past the imperceptible and consider the absence of bodies as
presence. Absence and presence define each other; one cannot exist without the other.
48
To be
present is to be absent elsewhere, always in a state of flux between one absence and another. In
this sense, Gonzales-Day’s works suggest to the viewer that, despite the absence of victims’
bodies in the photographs, their memory lies present elsewhere. If we accept the artist’s
invitation, the audience can only conjure the victim’s trauma through viewing the photograph.
Couple this idea with De Certeau’s assertion that spaces transcend mere physical
location, as they hold social, cultural, and historical significance; spaces embody remnants of the
past, a past in which its influence lingers even in the absence of tangible proof.
49
Sociological
theorist Avery Gordon builds on this concept in her book, Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the
Sociological Imagination, and contends that spaces can be haunted by the ghosts of history,
serving as vessels for unresolved historical traumas, social injustices, or overlooked memories.
50
47
Gonzales-Day, “In the Shadow of Photography,” pp. 122-23.
48
Jacques Derrida, “Translator’s Preface,” in Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
(Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016), xxxvi.
49
De Certeau, pp. 108-09.
50
Avery Gordon, "Introduction," in Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008), ix-xxiii.
31
These haunted spaces are not confined to their physical location, but they also capture fragments
of the past, becoming part of the collective memory (Fig. 16).
51
In this way, Gonzales-Day’s altered images function as a repository of sorts, storing the
lingering echoes of places that can only be reawakened by revisiting the scene. His photographs
act as a catalyst, prompting the audience to take these unresolved historical echoes and activate
them through an alternative walking tour around the city. The tours are organized around El
Pueblo and the surrounding streets in Downtown Los Angeles.
52
Led by the artist and
documented on a map, the tour invites participants to inhabit the city differently, to look and
listen for the unacknowledged truths of a site that may be familiar to us (Fig. 17). Weaving a
narrative through the various government buildings and monuments, Gonzales-Day breathes life
into his photographs, reanimating the slumbering echoes of the subjects erased from the image.
One example the artist presents is the story of Francisco Cota, a 15-year-old Mexican boy who
was lynched in 1870 after being accused of murdering a white shopkeeper without evidence
against him.
53
On the tour, Gonzales-Day walks the audience over to the corner of Aliso and
Alameda Street, now the entrance to the Historic El Pueblo, pulls out the photograph and
recounts how the young boy was left to hang publicly in the square. A striking contrast between
the bustle of Olvera Street in the background and being confronted with Gonzales-Day’s
account, the walking tour allows the viewer to actively re-embody the postcard's subject at the
same site. In turn, walking and activating the body by retracing invisible steps begins to embed
corrected memories into the cityscape, retroactively correcting the course of historical traumas
51
Gordon, “Introduction,” pp. ix-xxiii.
52
Ken Gonzales-Day, “Walking Tour: Los Angeles Lynching Sites,” Ken Gonzales-Day,
https://kengonzalesday.com/events/los-angeles-lynching-sites-walking-tour/.
53
Gonzales-Day, “Introduction,” pp. 2-3.
32
with every step taken. Given Los Angeles’ car-centric nature, the act of walking the streets of
downtown has a unique power to activate the city’s sidewalks, recontextualizing memories in
familiar terrain. Through this deliberate reconnection, Gonzales-Day’s work prompts us to
reexamine the past and alter our communal memory, one step at a time.
33
CONCLUSION: REFRAMING NOSTALGIA
Today, Olvera Street and its attractions still function similarly to when they debuted on
Easter Sunday in 1930. The stalls are still lined with ceramic Mexican cookware, colorful
embroidered blouses, assortments of spicy candy, and curios that serve no real purpose other
than to entertain. Yet, signs of corrected history are beginning to emerge, but they fail to
comprehensively address El Pueblo’s own involvement in the erasure of the past. Notably, the
presence of the Tongva people remains inadequately acknowledged. Even Olvera Street's
updated official website, with its meager mention of the Gabrielino/Tongva Nation, seems to use
outdated terms while barely acknowledging their presence. Only a few lines on the site
acknowledge their presence, reading, “Los Angeles did not begin with the Spaniards; it was
settled under a different name by the Gabrielino/Tongva Nation, aborigines who were
established centuries before King Carlos the III of Spain ordered his countrymen to come to
Southern California” (emphasis added).
54
This portrayal perpetuates the idea that indigeneity is a
relic of the past, dismissing their ongoing existence. They still fail to recognize the original name
of the land upon which it sits while simultaneously using outdated terminology. The Tongva
presence is mentioned with minimal effort, seemingly only to serve as a bridge to transition into
the arrival of the Spanish. By offering the bare minimum, the website can absolve itself from
claims of omission.
Yes, the Pueblo is attempting to correct its revisionist history, and the Latinx community
of Los Angeles has reclaimed the space as a place of its own. Yet in doing so, whether
intentionally or not, the erasure of memory lingers as long as important voices are left out. It is
54
John D. Trausch, “History of Olvera Street,” Discover Olvera Street, n.d.,
https://discoverolverastreet.com/about-olvera-street/.
34
up to city officials and cultural committees to enact and set revisions in motion at the highest
level. An example in progress is the creation of a monument to the eighteen lives lost in the 1871
Chinese Massacre, but it will take more than a bronze plaque or statue to rectify the inaccuracies
and omissions within Olvera Street's historical narrative.
55
Nevertheless, a sincere effort at
correction is a step forward, yet these initiatives must encompass the intricate tapestry of
Spanish, Mexican, and Chinese influences while authentically incorporating the Indigenous
community’s perspective.
Just as Sterling’s nostalgic imaginations of Los Angeles influenced her conceptualization
of it without having visited, the memory or imagined memory of a place, and how we choose to
remember it, can perpetuate common assumptions around people and cultures. A nostalgic
approach to historicizing a specific place and time obscures the historical facts. Stereotypes
formed in the nineteenth century, such as the derogatory “lazy Mexican,” continue to shape our
contemporary culture, even reaching the highest echelons of power in the United States.
As it stands today, downtown Los Angeles owes its existence to the labor of Indigenous,
Chinese, Black, Italian and Latinx communities. Our collective memories of a place should not
hinder the recognition of the trials endured by those who existed before us. It is imperative to
continue unearthing these fragments of memory, often belonging to a privileged few and
disseminating this important history to the rest of society. By acknowledging and sharing this
history, we may start to comprehend the adversities marginalized communities have confronted
and continue to navigate in the present-day.
55
Carolina A. Miranda, “Six Finalists Chosen for Memorial to L.A.'s 1871 Chinese Massacre,” Los
Angeles Times (Los Angeles Times, January 23, 2023), https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-
arts/story/2023-01-23/six-finalists-chosen-for-for-memorial-to-l-a-s-1871-chinese-massacre.
35
APPENDIX OF FIGURES
Figure 1a. Sunset Blvd. & Western Ave., 2022 - Google Maps
Figure 1b. Sunset Blvd. & Western Ave., 1998 - Edward Ruscha Photographs of Sunset
Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard 1965-2010 archive
36
Figure 2. The author's grandfather, Mario Carmen Ramirez (left) and unknown Bracero (right)
picking heads of cabbage and lettuce in Santa Ana, California, 1959. Courtesy of the author.
Figure 3. Olvera Street side of Pelanconi House and Sepulveda House before restoration.
Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo Monument.
37
Figure 4. Portrait of Christine Sterling around the time she began work on her plaza project.
Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo Monument.
Figure 5. Olvera Street construction c. 1920s. Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo
Monument.
38
Figure 6. El Paseo de Los Angeles, 1930. Courtesy of University of Southern California
Libraries and California Historical Society.
Figure 7. Photograph of Olvera Street with booths on the left side and stores on the right one of
which is the Olvera Candle Shop, 1941. Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo Monument.
39
Figure 8. “A Mexican Street of Yesterday, in a City of Today,” El Paseo de Los Angeles
postcard circa 1940. Courtesy of the Department of Archives and Special Collections, William
H. Hannon Library, Loyola Marymount University.
40
Figure 9. Little girl grinding corn, c. 1930. Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo
Monument.
Figure 10. Harry Chandler at his birthday party on Olvera Street in 1938. Courtesy of City of
Los Angeles, El Pueblo Monument.
41
Figure 11. Bolivian artist and Siqueiros’ frequent collaborator, Roberto Berdecio, stands on the
rooftop with the newly finished América Tropical mural, c. 1932, Courtesy of the LLILAS
Benson Latin American Studies and Collections, The University of Texas at Austin.
Figure 12. América Tropical, Street view of the Sepulveda House façade, ca. 1933. 19.7 x 98.4’.
Plaza Art Center, Los Angeles. Courtesy of the LLILAS Benson Latin American Studies and
Collections, The University of Texas at Austin.
42
Figure 13. Conservators surface clean América Tropical during final phase of conservation.
Photo: Emily Macdonald-Korth/GCI. Mural: ©2012 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New
York/SOMAAP, Mexico City.
43
Figure 14. Ken Gonzales-Day, Historical Marker #141, 2002, chromogenic print, 8x10in.
Courtesy of the artist.
44
Figure 15. Ken Gonzales-Day, East First Street, “Erased Lynching” Series, 2004.
45
Figure 16. Pico House from Fort Moor Hill, 1870. Courtesy of City of Los Angeles, El Pueblo
Monument.
Figure 17 Artist Ken Gonzales-Day (right) leads Lynching in the West walking tour. Union
Station, 2022. Courtesy of the author.
46
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Asset Metadata
Creator
Estrada, Nadia
(author)
Core Title
The myth of memory: interpretations of site, memory, and erasure in Los Angeles.
School
Roski School of Art and Design
Degree
Master of Arts
Degree Program
Curatorial Practices and the Public Sphere
Degree Conferral Date
2023-12
Publication Date
09/01/2023
Defense Date
08/31/2023
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Tags
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