Portrait en Rouje: Gabby Steib
Gabby is a mixed-media artist working primarily with images and the archive. She is based between New Orleans and Mexico City.
I met Gabby during one of my trips down to Mexico, a week before she moved back to New Orleans. We talked for an hour in her sun-bathed loft, where the light is filtered through small patches of color filters she hung in front of her living room windows. Our conversation was rooted in the question of working with one’s own transnationality and the multiple roots of identity. Through both the personal and the collective archives, across media, Gabby reconstructs narratives from her family’s history, at the crossroad where documentary and fiction meet.
Photography by Maureen Evans for Speciwomen
Philo Cohen for Speciwomen: Where did you grow up?
Gabby Steib: I was born in New Orleans. My mom is Mexican and her mom is Nicaraguan. My dad is from New Orleans. Over a year ago I got my Mexican citizenship. I was teaching full time and struggling to take care of myself and it really took a toll on my body and health. I needed to change many aspects of my life.
I feel like a lot of second and third generation Mexicans who come back to Mexico come back because they want to connect with their roots or their past and I think it can be something cliche. A part of me feels “No it's not -- I want to know part of my family's history.” Since coming here I've been so much more aware of my role and my privilege. There is absolutely a privilege in being an American and having these papers. Coming here I am so much more conscience about who I am, and my role and other people's roles.
PC: New Orleans has this sort of mix of a historical nest but it’s also timeless. It’s an interesting place. Can you tell me more about your thoughts on New Orleans?
GS: It is a very interesting place. I feel being from New Orleans I never overanalyze it, but I know a lot of writers that have spoken about it being one of the most important cities. San Francisco, New York and New Orleans. In many ways it is stuck in the past, like I feel we were really behind in segregation and our school system -- working in education is really really horrible. And it’s because of the white supremacy that's still controlling which kids are getting educations based on their neighborhood and race. There are still these imprints of slavery and of all these people who came there through migration. It is also a beautiful place. It has its own kind of magic as well.
PC: Do you teach here [in Mexico City]?
GS: I’ve taught some workshops, but I've mostly been doing freelance work. One of the projects we did was an installation in the festival Nrmal. It was a car that was converted into a recording booth. We made it from an undriveable 1960s Valiant. We filled it with stuffed animals and we had trinkets and a television to simulate memories. Then we left a phone for people to record their voices and those voices were transmitted to the radio station that funded us to create it. I went back to New Orleans a couple times to work and do residencies.
PC: What do you primarily work with? Your own family archives or the archives of others as well?
GS: Before, it was mostly my family’s archives and then I was trying to mix these images with found ones. Not really recreate a story, because that can be problematic too, but taking pieces and making your own story. Trying to preserve these things and connect them. Especially between Latin America and New Orleans. I am interested in looking at the borders between the United States and Latin America. I did a lot of screen-printing this summer at a residency at Joan Mitchell in New Orleans. I also worked with some images that I found here in Mexico and overlaid them on some text I found of my Great-Grandfather who had written about the dictatorship in Nicaragua -- which is completely still relevant today.
I think I'm interested in other people’s stories because I have this fear of roots disappearing. If we don't keep looking at them and keep in touch with the people we know in other places, we lose these connections. I think it’s very beautiful how families save so many artifacts, whether that be photos, or marbled figures, or fabrics. I want to preserve these items, and recognize their value.
PC: Could you tell me about the contrast between the people whose story you explore and your own?
GS: When I first left the United States to come to Mexico I felt a lot of guilt. I had worked primarily with immigrants. I was teaching immigrants. I have a lot of family and friends who are immigrants. A lot of those around me were upset. My parents weren’t happy. I feel like all the people I knew, who tried so hard, who struggled to cross the border and went through so many painful experiences, we’re kind of like “What are you doing?” A part of me was asking myself “Is this stupid?” However, another part of me just pushed me to take that risk.
I never took myself seriously as an artist. I used to work a lot with sound and field recordings. I always did photography. But when I came here I started exploring more archives. I’ve been fascinated in the dimension of public vs. private. Preserving things that some people don't care about. For example, nobody in my family ever thought “Oh we should do something with these photos.” All of the photos and documents that my grandparents had saved, documenting political landscapes, migration, New Orleans. . I feel like she should have a museum.
PC: Do you feel like having gotten away from the US has allowed you to reshape your perspective?
GS: Absolutely. We are in a city, which is so different from other parts of Mexico. There is a lot of poverty here. I feel so aware about our roles and contributions as Americans. For example, there are a lot of drugs in New Orleans. I never deeply thought about how much American consumption of drugs is literally destroying communities in Mexico. For cocaine to come from Latin America to U.S. capitalism, profit, and for people to receive these vices and pleasures they are literally tearing families apart. I’ve never met anyone in the U.S. who regularly consumes drugs and is aware of this -- or at least anyone who cares.
PC: There are some elements of hybridity in your work. Your work has some writing, some voices, some sounds. You collect some items and draw from your personal identity. Could you speak a little bit about the mixed media in your work?
GS: I can't completely stick with one thing. I'm interested in learning about other ways to make art or send messages, which I feel is constantly evolving. It's not that I gave up on these mediums, it's that I want to try everything: sound, video, photo, screen printing. I wouldn’t say I'm really great at any of these things but I do feel most connected to photo and video.
PC: Is that what you worked on or studied in school?
GS: I went to school for English (Writing) actually, I wanted to do a photo program, but my school didn't offer any. I had lived in New Orleans my whole life. I didn't want to go out of the state at that time, so I studied English and Media.
PC: Do you find that video is easier to explore yourself?
GS: With video there are more options. It's more fluid than with photo. I didn't really utilize it that much until I started shooting Super 8. I shot a music video for a friend and he ended up not using it so we had all this extra footage. I realized I wanted to start shooting more Super 8. It is expensive, but it’s incredible. The feeling of painting over it -- and it's amazing how film applies this huge image of color and shapes. I think video, specifically analog, is something that is definitely timeless. I’m interested in being able to manipulate it and play with it and have different options for it and how it looks. I feel like it's my main medium right now.
PC: Could you speak to the issues of class and gender in Mexico? How is it different or the same in the US?
GS: Here in Mexico I feel like you are either really wealthy or really poor. There isn’t a middle class. And I’m so conscious of gender here. The women protesting here in Mexico are literally fighting for their lives. The femicide rate is outrageous here in Mexico and it’s also really high in El Salvador and Honduras. I feel like in the United States we can be very “Oh yeah, I guess I’m a feminist, but it's not really affecting me.” but here there's no other option. 10 women are killed a day in Mexico. The women here are fighting for a basic human right -- to not be killed by a man. I've been to protests, when Alton Sterling was shot in Baton Rouge, when they were taking down historical and racist monuments in New Orleans. All of this was around the last elections in the U.S and it seemed race and violence were always in the air. However the protests were much smaller-scale than here in Mexico. Here they are bashing down doors at government offices. Burning police stations in Zona Rosa.
When I moved here the street harassment was really bad for me. I had to adapt to the environment. I had to change the way I dress. For example, I would never wear shorts here. It's really frustrating and it's so common for women to wear jeans when it's 100 degrees. I’ve been followed multiple times and verbally harassed. There's definitely violence against women here. It doesn’t even have to be a physical thing. The way men look at you here is so different than anything I've ever experienced. When I first moved here I was more open to learn and to explore and be in the streets. Now I mostly just stay in my house.
PC: How has this new lifestyle affected the work you make or changed it?
GS: I don’t know. I feel like I used to be more open to meeting new people or exploring. It’s not that I’m afraid, but I’m just not interested in going out as much or trying to be involved in as many projects here. I’m also moving back to New Orleans in a few months so I think I feel like I don’t want to continue building something if i know I’m leaving. I will say I’ve definitely been reading more about violence against women here. This past summer I went to Nicaragua, I have some family there, and they continue being repressed by the dictatorship. I worked on documenting that with photographs and video, and I did some interviews with mostly female artists in Managua and Esteli -- to see their perspectives in creating art in a time of such strict control over bodies and actions.
When you go back to the States and Europe or wherever, people don’t even know what's going on. I wish there was more consciousness about Latin America. It is also part of the media blocking the information. Many countries' leaders are controlling who has access to information. It's complicated, but I wish more people were trying to read about things that are happening. That they try to find more information.
This interview was conducted as part of Speciwomen’s partnership with Rouje.