Elena Poniatowska: Andrés Barrios

TO

Through the foundation named after Ignacio Barrios, Andrés, his son, a cultural promoter in the Del Valle neighborhood, the National Sound Library and the Siglo XXI National Medical Center, treasures a mural by the painter Ignacio Chávez Morado depicting the 1985 earthquake.

As an arts lover, I treat other promoters and directors like a great friend, Pavel Granados, very nice and cultured, who has opened some doors for me .

"My father left us a tremendous love not only for the visual arts, to which he devoted himself, but also for film, dance, and literature. For his dedication, the Ignacio Barros Foundation in the Del Valle neighborhood promotes cultural expressions, including a concert for Mixe jarana, which can be heard these days at the National Sound Library, the emblematic colonial house where Octavio Paz died. To the sadness of those of us who consider him the greatest poet our country has ever produced, not only for winning the Nobel Prize, but because in one of his last books, The Traps of Faith, he vindicates Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the most comprehensive essay I have ever read on Sor Juana.

“Among those who best cared for, guided, and disseminated culture in Mexico, I admire Rafael Tovar y de Teresa, who unfortunately left us too soon, which was a disgrace for artists, writers, and cultural promoters marked by The Labyrinth of Solitude, the essay that best defines the character, psyche, and creativity of Octavio Paz, who goes far beyond the philosopher Samuel Ramos.

As a cultural promoter in Mexico City, in institutions such as the Fine Arts Museum, the Ministry of Culture, and the National Sound Library, I have a great friend, Pavel Granados, who is very enthusiastic, accessible, and, above all, extremely knowledgeable.

As Andrés says, Ignacio Barrios, his father, was a watercolorist, information that reminds me of two passionate watercolorists, one, Ignacio Beteta, promoted by his nephew, the Secretary of the Treasury, Ramón Beteta, during the six-year term of Miguel Alemán, and Serge Brachet, a radiologist, who fell in love with Tahiti and brought to Mexico a multitude of prints of palm women, as well as sketches of dancers naked from the waist up who drove Gauguin crazy with their hula hula, a dance that magnetized him and made him live and die in French Polynesia.

My father, Ignacio Barrios, painted female nudes and landscapes, peasant portraits, and still lifes, which he exhibited in Mexico as well as in Italy, Spain, Argentina, England, Japan, the Soviet Union, Germany, the United States, Canada, France, and many Latin American countries. Those familiar with the watercolor technique consider him one of Mexico's most accomplished watercolor artists. Carlos Pellicer recognized him and cites him in his writings, as did Salvador Novo and the poet Dolores Castro. The Toluca Watercolor Museum dedicated a much-visited permanent exhibition to him.

–Does watercolor appeal to many painters?

–It lives on because there's a generation of new watercolorists in the state of Mexico who remember my father as a teacher. My father explained the secrets he discovered through practice and shared them with his students. They appreciated his generosity, because other selfish teachers withhold their knowledge. My father fondly recalled how he met Orozco. He saw a man standing on the street drawing who kept dropping his pencil, and the third time he went to pick it up. Although he was very clumsy, Orozco thanked him and managed to get a smile out of him. Thanks to that smile, my father was able to tell him he also painted, and Orozco invited him to his studio in the Tabacalera neighborhood. On one of the walls, my father saw a huge canvas and in the corner he read the signature: Orozco . The painter never boasted about his name, or even gave it to him, and when they said goodbye, he didn't either. With the same ease, my father met Diego Rivera in San Carlos. There's no doubt about it: the three greats were approachable and never snubbed each other or boasted about their talent. Alfredo Guati Rojo, who taught in Coyoacán, also invited him to join the Mexican Watercolor Guild. My father accepted, although truth be told, he wasn't keen on any circle, because he was a very simple man, unassuming about his own pretensions. He never asked for favors. Since watercolors can't be erased, he tore up his own when he didn't like them. He declared that when he was satisfied with one of his works, he would buy us a glass of wine. He never invited us.