Elaine Chu & Marina Perez-Wong
Twin Walls Mural Company 

Daughter of the Mission - Marina Perez-Wong

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I have a lot of incredible formative influences, but my greatest is definitely my mom. Before you go writing that off as being cheesy and thinking everyone thinks their mom is the best, let me explain. I grew up with a young single parent who survived my having a childhood cancer that almost killed me twice. Well, actually three times now that I’ve been diagnosed again a couple of years ago. Justine Perez is an incredible artist and human (though she’d say that the two are married). Beyond having survived a lot of abuse, hate, and miseducation, she’s maintained her strong sense of spirit and childlike fervor. Growing up, she had many jobs that influenced me, but two stand out the most. She was a photojournalist who was invested in her subjects and a teacher who deeply cared for her students. To this day she continues to work on helping her community, healing her family, and being a student of life. 

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I’d say this actually began with my grandfather, though, who learned it from his parents. He taught us all what it meant to be a proud Chicano, to learn from history, and fight for our culture and people. He took me to some of my first protests, which were for the union and The Farm Workers. We were proud to stop eating grapes and strawberries. He taught me about Jazz (he was an upright bass player), health (he was a marathon runner), and how to have a sense of humor. He was so incredibly charming that he could strike up a two hour conversation with a telemarketer and did on several occasions. Really, from all my immediate family—including my real aunties and my mom’s best friends who helped raise me—I’ve learned that the capacity to love and laugh is strength. I also learned to forgive, and got what work ethic really means (unfortunately often to a fault). 

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As a kid, my home life was for the most part solid. It’s not to say that I didn’t have my own set of challenges, but in my eyes, I had it easy. We were poor but I wasn’t made aware of it until I was in high school. We were rich with what mattered, and I never lacked for anything. My mom and my family would always provide for anything I needed. I grew up in the hospital on and off until I was five years old due to a rare childhood cancer called a Wilms tumor. It was at the hospital that I learned to draw even before I could speak. My mom says it was my way of communicating, but I also think it was my way of escape. 

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When I finally did come home, we lived in the Mission District. I imagine that coming from the hospital, it looked like a colorful paradise—at least on the walls. My mom had many friends who were artists, muralists, writers, activists, and musicians. One of them, Johanna Poethig, was my very first teacher and is still one of my greatest artistic influences. She taught me to fill the page, which has ultimately translated to filling a wall. Mike Rios, Michael Roman, and Carlos Loarca were also friends of my mom She would take me around to their murals or to view their work, and she encouraged me to ask them my little art-nerd questions. 

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There are plenty more influences that I could bring up in this context, but I have to include the Mujeres Muralistas, Susan Cervantes and Juana Alicia as my greatest influences. The narrative nature of all of their work made a sizable impression on me as a kid and a youth—especially Juana’s, which reflected the perspective of women—particularly from the lens of a Chicana living through it all. From Susan (whom Elaine and I call our art mom), I’ve learned the importance of community on a greater scale. I’ve learned that it’s our responsibility as visual storytellers and magic makers to be the visual voice for those who have no voice or are overlooked. Also that we have the power to help change whatever we don’t like by using our visual art as magic. She’s also taught us the importance of educating and supporting youth. But I think the greatest gem she’s passed down as a mentor is that she taught me how to collaborate. This is by far the most challenging skill a community muralist must have. Many people have asked me how I do it, as if they can’t even fathom it. 

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Growing up, my elementary school (Buena Vista) was great—full of Mission perspectives, that is to say, community minded, diverse, and full of art. However middle school was hard. It was there that I learned about divisions of race and culture. In high school and college I learned more about these divisions, along with the barriers of class. Between the standardized tests, linear, molded, academic methods of education and being a mixed-race art nerd Mission girl (before it was cool), I never felt like I fit in anywhere. I was lucky enough in high school to meet two people who would change my life forever. Elaine C. Chu. My better half. The yin to my yang, the sugar to my salt! We both went to School of the Arts (now Ruth Asawa SOTA) and had Marsha Pannone as our senior art teacher. Both of these incredible humans have taught me to appreciate, love, and trust my own lens. They taught me to value myself as a whole, and also planted the aspiration to be like them, some of the greatest humans possible. 

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“It was scary, but life was good, in my neighborhood” — Raphael Saadiq

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I grew up in the heart of the Mission, which is another way of saying that I grew up on the dividing line between two gangs. Being a survivor of life, I didn’t understand (and still don’t) the violence that ate at my neighborhood. I wasn’t allowed past the end of my block. Girls were getting raped, people got jumped, robbed, there were drive-bys, drugs and poverty was peak. This was a very real part of what it was like in the 1980s and early ’90s. On the other hand, there was people pride, a strong sense of community, survivorship joy and triumph, and color everywhere. With other kids from the neighborhood, I went to an arts and crafts class down the block from where I lived. It was taught by Kate Connell, who was an incredible influence on my teaching later in life. I went to Jamestown Community Center after school. So many Mission kids in one spot. My mom helped gut the building so that the Mission Cultural Center could open. One of my aunts and uncles started Carnaval with their friends. We danced in the processions and celebrated Dia de los Muertos together. We could walk down any street in our neighborhood and run into friends or people we knew. This was home.
   
As a child and youth, I used to have the “bluest eye” syndrome, yearning for the white, middle class world. I used to accept things and feel helpless against a lot of obstacles. Now I realize this acceptance and hopelessness is implanted by the system of oppression. Now I realize I can help change things even if it’s only through my craft, showing up, and/or putting my energy into positive change, however small.

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I could easily say that one day I volunteered, and the next I felt responsible for helping youth come up and access knowledge that my friends and I couldn’t afford. That’s partially true, but realistically, my family and my friends and their families were all rooted in an activist mindset (even if we didn’t know that’s what it was). We are just following our hearts and trying to do what is right for the betterment of society. We care about the oppressed, the overlooked, and the underappreciated because there are too many of those in comparison with the 1% who clearly are only about themselves.

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It’s incredibly hard to balance life. We might make our work look easy, but it’s taxing to give so much energy all the time. Not just on the wall, but in the creation of the initial design, in talking to people as we work, in executing it, and then in letting it go and readjusting ourselves. There is no other way, though. The alternative would just be paint on a wall, divorced from heart and community—and there’s already too much of that going around. Like fighting cancer, I just have to take it day by day and aim for the positive. Some days are easier than others, but I’m always growing, always learning. I make a lot of mistakes and sometimes I beat myself up about it, and on my better days I remember to forgive myself and move forward. Try not to repeat that mistake. I realize I’m best when I listen to my intuition and I remember that I have people who will always have my back no matter what. Especially my twinsie, Elaine.

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What I do now: I’m a muralist on my better days; an educator when I’m fortunate enough; and the rest of the time, an artistically heartfelt human just trying to heal, be balanced, and project positive energy into others and into the cosmos.