Portraits in Psychology: The Art of Martín Ramírez

Martín Ramírez one of the greatest artists of the 20th century? Roberta Smith said so in The New York Times on January 26. And Peter Schjeldahl in The New Yorker appears to concur. If so, how is it that his is not a household name? The label "outsider artist" may be one explanation. Numerous other critics have recognized the inventiveness, uniqueness, and power demonstrated by the Ramírez exhibition put together by curators at the American Folk Art Museum.

Right: Untitled (Madonna), c. 1948-1963 (Photo courtesy Phyllis KindGallery, New York ); Below: Untitled (Train and Tunnels), c. 1948-1963 (Photo courtesy American Folk Art Museum)

The exhibit really starts on the third floor. As you go around, almost catapulted from one whirling painting to the next, you will see that, although having similar subject matter, no two works are alike. The vertiginous lines of tunnels almost sweep you into them, but at the bottom, often a figure looks out. Sometimes it is a woman, sometimes a man, but usually the figure is alone inside a space bound by lines, while the world hurls itself along, out of reach. Ramírez conveys these experiences by means of a variety of repeated patterns. They are extremely rhythmic, even hypnotic. Some observers have compared them with similar patterns by Saul Steinberg, Morris Hirshfield (another self-taught painter), and even Paul Klee.

Ramírez's Madonnas usually stand on orbs in the sky. Subtle colors sometimes inform the orbs. Often a colorful snake coils at her feet, and sometimes she is surrounded by lilies. On her feet she wears sandals, and there are other mestizo attributes. The horsemen (and women) usually ride their steeds on a stage-like platform, reining them in as they cock their revolvers and the horses start, turning partway around. They convey energy, action, and spirit.

Ramírez used unconventional means to piece together the scraps of paper on which he worked, making a paste of foodstuffs and saliva; he had to produce his own painting materials as well. He sometimes hid his works from attendants who tried to take them away, fearing that they could be infectious. Fortunately a professor of psychology and art, Dr. Tarmo Pasto, discovered Ramírez in 1948. Pasto supplied Ramírez with art materials and was instrumental in promoting Ramírez's work, helping him to exhibit. Martín Ramírez, born in 1895, left his native Mexico (as well as a wife and four children) for the United States in 1925. Between 1925 and 1930, he worked in the mines and on the railroads of Northern California, but political and religious events in Mexico combined with the Depression to leave him jobless, homeless, and alone in 1931. Confused and unable to communicate in English, Ramírez was picked up by police and was soon confined to a series of mental institutions, where he would spend the remainder of his life. It was while living in these mental hospitals that he produced more than 300 vibrant works of art, many of which are in the present exhibition.

Untitled (Horse and Rider), c. 1954. (Photo courtesy American Folk Art Museum)

The curators of this show—his first New York City retrospective—have re-evaluated Ramírez's art, discussing it not merely in terms of "outsider art," but also as the expression of a particular human being, affected by his cultural background, his surroundings, and the times in which he lived. They rightly maintain that it is too simplistic to consign art and artists to a generalized category—that of self-taught, or outsider—and not deal with the individual man.

That being said, it is impossible to discuss the work of Martín Ramírez without looking at the circumstances under which it was done. He produced all of it while incarcerated in a mental hospital in Northern California. No one knows whether the diagnosis of schizophrenia was accurate, or if Ramírez was simply confused and unable to speak English when he fled Mexico. As is too often the case, the tragedy of one man's life has provided succeeding generations with enduring visions and insights.

This exhibition is particularly valuable as it raises all sorts of questions about outsider art, emotional and mental illness, and what constitutes great art. One characteristic of Ramírez's approach to art, many have noted, is his obsessive, compulsive return to the same subjects. But that in itself does not separate him from the mainstream. Many artists have done this. Take, for example, Henry Moore and his obsession with reclining figures and mother-and-child groups. Or Brancusi's fascination with birds in flight.

Ramírez's three major themes are railroads and tunnels, horsemen ("caballeros"), and Madonnas. All of these are easily explainable by his jobs working on railroads, the trains passing by the hospital, the movie westerns he regularly saw, and the Virgin altarpieces of his Mexican Catholic heritage. It is also said that he was an expert horseman in his youth. On the ground floor of the museum, there is a selection of paintings from each of his main motifs. One painting was made on a paper bag with the handle still on it. It suggests that he wanted his work to be seen, since it is known that he hung it on a door in the hospital.

Untitled (Man at Desk), c. 1948-1963. (Photo by Rick Gardner, Houston )

It is tempting to see his paintings as self-portraits, psychologically closed in, but surrounded by trains, horsemen, or movie stars. He often cut images out of magazines and collaged them into his works. Sometimes women hold men on a string; sometimes death plays a fiddle; often landscapes composed of many different styles of architecture converge on huge horizontal surfaces. Other paintings have a vertical scroll-like format.

The question of whether or not Ramírez was mentally fit seems a moot one. How many artists have had mental and nervous breakdowns? Do we isolate Van Gogh, Munch, and Kokoschka into mentally ill categories or do we celebrate them as inspirational artists of the avant-garde?

This show successfully does the same thing for Ramírez. He emerges simply as a great artist, no longer limited to a category of great self-taught or outsider artist.

"Martín Ramírez" continues at the American Folk Art Museum (located at 45 West 53rd Street, just east of Sixth Avenue) through May 13.

Art historian Greta Berman has been on the liberal arts faculty since 1979.