Welcome to the Jumble
Written by Cassandra C. Jones | Photos by Marc AltCarmen abelleira in the courtyard of the pleiades
There is hidden magic in Ojai, California. Sprinkled throughout its rolling hills, towering mountains, and culturally rich Valley, there are people and places here that will surprise you. Woven into its fabric like flecks of tinsel are spiritual leaders, actors, writers, directors, musicians, and infamous artists who are part of the community but don't necessarily flaunt their status in town. There are also wondrous nooks and crannies of nature and architecture that would be hard to stumble upon unless you call Ojai "home" or are guided by a local.
On the outskirts of town, one such site, just past the Ojai Lumber Yard, and tucked into a quiet, seemingly ordinary neighborhood, is a four-bedroom single-family home with two adjacent wings on either side, turned into makeshift studio apartments. Many creative types have taken residence in this compound over the years, which is also a scaled replica of India's famed Taj Mahal. Built in the year 1930 and named after a cluster of stars called "The Pleiades," the Taj Mahal of Ojai is a swelling of enchantment. A long thin reflection pool and two large Cyprus trees adorn the property's center, where the home and apartments share a tranquil scene. There are carved wooden doors, blue and gold tiles embedded in the stark white stucco facade, colorful pots filled with blooming succulents line the walkways, and cerulean glass gems pepper the pool's surrounding gravel, tossed in to make it sparkle.
In one of the side studio apartments, with just one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen that you have to walk outside to get to, outsider-artist Carmen Abelleira happily lives and works. It seems fitting, almost poetic, for this person to have found this place. Not only does her eclectic persona fit in this unusual environment, but her paintings that line the walls, floor to ceiling, seem to belong. Her space is dense yet organized. There is noticeable consideration in the found objects she has collected, each surface she has curated, and every placement of art that she has arranged.
Walking into Carmen's space, it is easy to get the sublime feeling of "yes, this makes sense." It reminds me of Casa Azul (Blue House), the home and museum of Frida Kahlo in Mexico City, in the way that she kept her household with the same intensity and passion that she made her art. In the end, it was hard to draw a line where Kahlo's domestic life left off, and her conceptual endeavors and artistic practices picked up. The two entities, creator and Casa, went down in history as entwined. When you visit the Blue House, Kahlo's presence is palpable. She permeated the objects she collected, the clothes she wore, the kitchen she cooked in, the bed she slept in, as much as she did the many works of art that she left behind. Each object that she imbued was a gift, and we are all richer for it.
Take a tour of Carmen’s home:
Carmen, who just turned a youthful 60 years old, was born in Cuba. Her journey from there to here is a story to tell.
In 1959 her parents were newlyweds and newly pregnant, going to school, working, and living in Manhattan. Her very social father wanted to open up a small coffee shop in their village back home. They saved money for the venture and returned to Cuba just before Carmen was born. But her father's dream faded when Castro was named Prime Minister, and he never got his chance to open his own business.
From the beginning, there were ideas about the Revolution that excited Carmen's parents. However, they soon realized that the changes came with a significant loss of personal freedoms. Their requests to return to America, where they still had prospects, were denied. Instead, the government offered her father a deal. They told him that if he worked chopping sugar cane, Cuba's main export, for one year, they would grant him and his family visas and safe passage back to the U.S. A far cry from owning his own business, chopping sugar cane was more like working in a prison camp. One year of back-breaking labor turned into ten years. He worked and waited, never knowing when the government would make good on their promise.
Then, just before Carmen's 10th birthday, there was a knock on the door. In a flash, the day had finally come. Men in uniform with guns informed her and her mother that they would be leaving at that very moment. One of them slapped a notice on their front door. It said their house and everything within was now the property of the Cuban government. Carmen was standing outside, in the yard, barefoot. Her mother asked if she could come in and get her shoes, and the men said "no." Their instructions were to immediately drive mother and daughter to the Havana airport, where they would meet Carmen's father. There was no packing of bags, grabbing essentials, or saying goodbye. They left empty-handed, and Carmen never walked back into her childhood home again.
The three immigrants flew to Miami and eventually ended up in Burbank, CA, hosted by another family, at first, to help get them on their feet. Carmen entered the 5th grade in the middle of the year, not being able to speak English. There was no English as a Second Language program, and no other students or staff could speak Spanish. So for the rest of the year, Carmen sat silent. She was too scared to speak for fear of being made fun of for her accent or saying the wrong thing.
In her early 20's, she reflected on that experience, of being thrust into a new life where she did not understand the language. She took courses at a community college to become a bilingual aide in the classroom. And for the next 17 years, she worked for the public school system, teaching different bilingual programs in Los Angeles, Ventura, and Ojai. That was the job Carmen had before she took a dramatic turn to become an artist. With no formal training, no mentors, or guidance, she took a blind leap on a whim.
Through a boyfriend, Carmen discovered Ojai in her teens and always thought it would be a great place to raise a family. She moved to the Valley in 1988 as a single mother and met her second husband in town, who was Scottish. On a trip the two took to Scotland in 1995, she found herself at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, one of the world's largest open-access art and performance festivals. Back then, and to this day, Festival Fringe has never had a selection committee. Anyone may participate. Established in 1947, it is an alternative to the Edinburgh International Festival, which is, by contrast, a fully curated event. This discovery was exciting to Carmen, who saw a whole other group of artists and art, thriving outside the mainstream art world and gallery scene.
In 1997, Francine Gealer was covering Ojai for Travel + Leisure Magazine. She happened to shoot the early days of the Art Detour and Carmen in her studio.
When she got back home, Carmen had the idea to have her own kind of Festival Fringe in Ojai. It was around the time of the annual Ojai Studio Artists Tour, an artist studio tour that showcases its members. Guests pay an admission price and drive around town, with a map, from studio to studio, to see and buy new artwork made by select locals. At that point, Carmen had not made a lot of art and had only amassed ten small paintings. So she took her modest collection, placed them around her patio, made her own "ART THIS WAY" signs, and called it the "Art Detour." To her surprise, people showed up and bought her work, and other artists took note. The "Art Detour" became an annual event, with more fringe and less established artists, minus the membership and admission price. Carmen has had various levels of involvement over the years, but regardless, that was the spark that lit the fuse. She quit her job in the public school system and decided to try and make art full time. Carmen has been rocketing through life, creating with abandon ever since.
The style she developed over the next 35 years is unmistakable, and you can still see her beginnings in everything she makes. Before she came to America, her childhood in Cuba was devoid of television, telephones, cars, and store-bought toys. Her grandfather made all her playthings from found objects and watching him work was her earliest inspiration. When her family immigrated to America, a country that thrives on commerce, industry, and entertainment, it was dizzying. But she acclimated and, as a 10-year-old, soaked it up. That discord of experiencing disproportionate cultural norms at such a pivotal age left a lasting imprint. Yet even though her grandfather's influence, as a re-purposer, did not reveal itself for many years, that family history echos through her practice. It informs her style and persona in the genre of outsider art.
By definition, outsider artists are self-taught and often function on the margins of the mainstream art world. They may float in and out of the conversation of contemporary art but are not beholden to it. That is not to imply widespread fame is not achievable. Many outsider artists have become household names, including Howard Finster, a minister who claimed God compelled him to paint and whose work has graced the album covers of legendary bands like R.E.M. and The Talking Heads. Henry Darger, a hospital custodian, secretly created 35,000 maps, collage works, and watercolors that illustrated the heroic adventures of his child characters, "the Vivian Girls." Discovered after his death in 1973 by his landlord, his artwork became world-famous. It is the subject of a beloved documentary called "In the Realms of the Unreal," and his work is coveted by major collections and museums worldwide.
Outsider artists who have made their mark have been prolific and uninhibited. They work steadily, often using readily available materials, like cardboard, scraps of used paper, old wood, or rusty metal as "art supplies." They commonly depict or create elaborate fantasy worlds in ways that defy genre and break the rules. Carmen is no exception to these traits, and it is in this expanse where her work resonates. Her painting surfaces are objects found in second-hand stores, garage sales, and dumpsters or sometimes left on her doorstep by friends. The scenes she paints are a mix of rainbow colors, graphic shapes, kitschy characters, religious iconography, tribal patterns, sci-fi themes, and text. Laden with curious narratives from her fantasy world and interpretations of current events, the orchestra of symbols in her work intermingle like a trippy cartoon freakout.
Within her practice, Carmen often works in series with elaborate allegorical themes. One of her favorites was "Welcome to the Jumble," where she wrote a science fiction story involving a time travel accident that included all the paintings' characters. Another was the "Banana Peel" series, where she painted strange accidents that had an element of comedy. And the "Winter Games," depicting absurdist tales from people living in frozen worlds. One painting from that grouping, entitled "The Mothers Disappearance," shows two abandoned twin brothers, in shorts, left to perform their "winter chores," which are wrangling snowmen with bandages while blindfolded. Their only aid in this fraught task is their icy breath, which helps to keep the snowmen cold and intact. The painted caption below their feet reads, "The winter chores became increasingly difficult with the introduction of blindfolds and the Mothers departure." In a background bubble, we see Mom dancing off into the unknown, with broken bandages around her wrists, flapping merrily in the wind.
Much of Carmen's work flourishes in a flight of imagination, yet her response to the present moment is always topical. In a painting posted on social media in July of 2020, entitled "La Virgen," Carmen depicts a Cuban Saint wearing purple eye shadow, bubblegum-pink nail polish, and a COVID 19 mask decorated in red roses. She delicately balances a bar of blue soap between her fingers and a blank pink banner arcs over her pensive figure. In a description, Carmen writes, "It's La Milagrosa demonstrating the two most simple, kind and effective ways to show kindness and increase your staying healthy odds. I have left the banner for the caption blank, and the person who purchases the piece may choose the words." Carmen is not only responding to the current crisis, where we live in a world of lockdowns and 6 feet of separation, but she has invited a future-someone, whoever buys the work for $85 on Instagram, potentially a stranger, to collaborate. This conceptual bending of artistic norms gives the piece another layer of interest and intrigue.
Gestures like these contribute to Carmen's fan base and have helped keep her career productive in this small community for the last 35 years. While her success has been far-reaching, with inclusion in museum and alternative gallery exhibitions throughout the state of California, she shines as a local fixture in the Ojai art scene. She has placed as one of the top 3 "Favorite Local Artists" in the "Best of Ojai" poll a handful of times over the last decade, including this year, and collectors of all levels seek her creations. Everyone seems to know her work, even if they don't know her personally. Her life's journey, beginning as a Cuban immigrant to becoming part of Ojai's fabric, is part of what makes this Valley so rich.
