The Brooklyn Rail

Mildred Howard’s exhibition is the most recent installment of a far-flung project begun at two other venues a year ago, all interrogating the ways that idealized historical representation falsifies actual history. In this case, the falsification is represented in the figure of the Spanish Franciscan priest Saint Junípero Serra, who founded nine missions in California during the eighteenth century. As a Franciscan priest, he was to be a kind and beneficent person, as was indicated by Pope Francis in his 2015 canonization. Most likely, he was more so than other priests associated with the Benedictine, Dominican, or Jesuit orders. But historical research paints a different picture. Yes, Serra did advocate for the rights of Indigenous people, but the mission system that he and his military accomplice Gaspar de Portolá founded was instrumental in the enslavement (and some would say genocide) of Native populations.

Five years after Serra was canonized, nationwide protests broke out in the wake of the murder of George Floyd by police. In San Francisco’s iteration of the protests, a nineteenth century statue of Serra was pulled down and vandalized in Golden Gate Park, which became national news and prompted a vigorous counter-protest. Howard’s installation conjures many facets of this complex history and counter history. It manifests as a ten-foot-tall figure, presumably a representation of Serra and his crucifix-crowned staff, standing upon a pedestal on an outdoor terrace. Like an Egyptian mummy, it is tightly wrapped in layers of bandages, soaked red—not exactly like blood, but close enough. The figure stands tall on a pedestal that looks like the foreshortened prow of an antique galleon, cutting through cresting waves. It most certainly is a sentinel figure (albeit a blind one), ironically resembling the Statue of Liberty when viewed from a distance.

The strategic placement of Howard’s figure resonates for several reasons. One is the fact that it turns a cold left shoulder toward Mission Dolores, a few blocks away, that being the northernmost of Serra’s theological establishments. That district is also home to a longstanding mural painting community that often celebrates pre-conquista narratives from Indigenous culture, or other visual sagas of resistance and resilience. In our current moment of warrantless arrests and mass deportations without trial, these details are also integrated into the complex ramifications of Howard’s Collaborating With the Muses. The fact that the exhibition opened on Juneteenth was another salient feature that further complicated the plot.

There are two other reasons why the outdoor placement of Howard’s work is so effective. The simplest is that its bright red color contrasts the soft foggy gray of the surrounding buildings, making it stand out. The other requires a bit of explaining. The 500 Capp Street residency is ensconced in a house that was once occupied by sculptor David Ireland, who reconfigured its interior into an enigmatic immersive environment with shiny molasses-colored walls. Upon these walls, Ireland’s sculptures hang like giant surrealistic insects. Since 2021, artists have come to reside and work in the house to develop a concluding exhibition. The exhibitions by those residents are often problematic because their work is put in direct competition with Ireland’s own, usually to poor effect. Howard avoided that problem simply by placing her work on the house’s outdoor terrace, escaping Ireland’s overbearing ghosts while also addressing the fraught cultural and historical dynamics of the world near and far from that address.