AMM NextGen Artist Spotlight: Gregg Yupanki Bautista

Tell us a bit about yourself

My name is Gregg Yupanki Bautista, and I’m an artist based in New Jersey. I went to school at Mason Gross School of the Arts. I’m a painter, musician, and work in the fine arts services field.

How did you become interested in painting?

Ironically, I didn’t really have an interest in painting as a practice before I went to art school. My art knowledge was very basic and superficial, recognizing a Monet here, a Pierre-Auguste Renoir there, and a Mona Lisa from copies my parents had when I was growing up. They were big appreciators of French and Renaissance painting.

I went into school thinking I would go into illustration, having leaned more towards drawing before applying. I was pretty much oblivious to the art world from modernism onwards when I took painting as my first studio elective. I was a little resistant at first, but understanding how Art History is a reflection of the world’s events and social climates really laid the foundation for what would become my love for painting. Having the opportunity to immerse myself in discussions, critiques, and a studio was an experience that really opened my eyes to how valuable and exciting a medium painting is.

Describe your artistic process/technique

I have a lot of scattered sticky notes in my studio with thoughts, book quotes, and ideas, and a pretty good collection of photos and South American indigenous art books. Everything starts with some research and a lot of looking through these sources, reflecting on stories, and searching for themes.

Once something starts to coalesce in my head, I group things together that likely have some elements that I think would be exciting to throw together, and source images usually have disparities in time or dimensionality. I work in layers, so there is a lot of masking and waiting for oils to dry. I don’t plan out layer placements, but I do use Andean textile motifs to guide how some spaces are shaped. I treat masking as another layer of “paint,” which gives the subsequent painted layers a feeling of torn collage or layers of ripped posters. There is a lot of scraping and overpainting between layers too, although I try to avoid intentional edits as a rule. I try to force layers into dialogue through the tension of their proximity, which essentially creates a new space and narrative once I take a step back.

Why Do You Make This Type of Art?

I’m drawn to the art of weaving despite being a painter, so I view my paintings as a sort of amalgamation of painting and weaving. And I mean “weaving” in the sense of intertwining spaces and patterns through my layering process, as well as introducing embroidery. The physicality of subtractive and additive elements in my paintings speak to the history of colonial violence of erasure and the resilience of indigenous cultures. The embroidery is a form of endearment to beautify, a way to connect more closely to the tactility of creating textiles, and fix or “heal” the abrasively treated surfaces.

I also think about the effects that immigration can have on someone, particularly in the aspects of how some people navigate between assimilation and integration into a new regional culture. It presents instances where some of their own cultural practices can start to change or dwindle as new ones are adopted. It’s such an interesting phenomenon because as someone with parents who immigrated from Peru, I remember how American-presenting my mother tried to be, while my father didn’t hesitate to let his heritage be evident. It was an odd dichotomy to grow up around. I’ve seen variations of this in my extended family and have heard stories in interviews I’ve had with other families who immigrated. I’ve had a few opportunities to visit and travel Peru, and spent time with my grandparents in the district my parents grew up in – so it’s intriguing to begin understanding the relationships between different lives and different times.

What Does Your Artwork Represent?

I like to think that my artwork is an homage to my Andean ancestry and a testament to the strength and resilience of cultures oppressed throughout history. They are a reflection of my own and collected stories and histories navigating through contemporary social, cultural, and political progressions.

Where do you find inspiration?

My Andean heritage is the main source that informs my work. I’m very fond of Andean weavings and the elements they’re composed of – the colors, geometry, the motifs, and watching how they all come together. I also pull inspiration from hearing or reading about individuals who went through the experiences of migration and their feelings of being “in between,” as well as books on historical accounts of colonialism.

It may seem odd, but I also credit the “silence” of the rural area where I live as a source of inspiration – it’s almost a tangible presence peppered with bird calls. I do a good amount of looking out the windows at the trees and sky, and long walks have become a form of meditation that helps me sort through ideas when I feel like painting might be too confining. It lets me confront myself and my ideas.

What’s your workday like?

I sit with a cup of coffee in the late morning and go over notes from the end of my last painting session, do some reading, and observe what I’ve done up to then. I already have a bulk of the paints mixed from initial preparations for the painting so I can get to work once I’m ready.to paint a few hours with some usually loud music on so I don’t overthink the painting, and take a break or two to walk and play with my puppy. If I reach a standstill with a painting because of the nature of oils’ materiality, I’ll switch to another painting – I usually have three or four going on at a time. I’ll also have some watercolor paintings in the works at my table for days when I need to step away from the oils. If I’ve found the right mental space, I keep working until late in the night. If not, well, then I’ll have a very tidy studio. But I end each session the same way – sit, look, and take notes.I also have my music equipment not too far from my painting space, so I’ll move over to some writing/recording on days where I’m not tired from painting. That’s a whole other process in itself.

Can you talk about the ongoing project “Cuentistas”

The genesis of “Cuentistas” came during my last visit to Peru in 2019. My grandmother was preparing dinner, and our conversation eventually led to her childhood. She started telling me about how her family moved from Ocros to Ayacucho on foot (about 500 miles) when she was about three years old, her experiences growing up, moving to Lima, and raising my father and his siblings. The story stuck with me for weeks, and I kept thinking about that window of suspended time where she passed on her story to me. I drew parallels to how my Andean heritage was historically passed on through oral tradition, as the Quechua had no written language and many of their artifacts were destroyed by the Spanish during the colonial periods.

I eventually began reaching out to others of Central/South American heritage who immigrated or had family/parents that did in hopes that some would be willing to share their stories. I was fortunate to be able to set up a few interviews. Our interactions place us in that same experience I had with my grandmother – a suspension of time where a history is transferred to me, thus making the individuals the storytellers, or “cuentistas,” in spanish. There has been a range of emotional responses to the process, but I’ve found that participants feel like it’s a cathartic experience, allowing them to relive certain memories while candidly retelling their stories. The paintings are portraits of these interactions, holding elements of the cuentistas’ experiences.