Butterflies appear in much of Héctor Duarte’s art as metaphors for human migration and immigration.
By Lisa Biehle Files
The art show “Third Coast Disrupted: Artists + Scientists on Climate” was scheduled to close on Friday, Oct. 30, but will reopen Monday, Jan. 11, and continue through Friday, Feb. 19, at Columbia College Chicago’s Glass Curtain Gallery, 1104 S. Wabash.
After seeing the show recently, one of its artworks continues to haunt me.
Héctor Duarte, an accomplished muralist, ventured into three-dimensional territory by creating a 13-foot tall monarch butterfly chrysalis out of wire, interfacing, cloth, and gauze, with milkweed and marigolds plants below. An homage to the monarch butterfly, Danaus plexippus, or so I thought.
Only by peeking within the giant chrysalis could I see a dark secret revealed. With acrylic and pastels, Duarte had painted the faces of two men whom I had never heard of before: Homero Gómez González, 50, and Raúl Hernández Romero, 44.
In a short video accompanying the artwork, Duarte explained, in Spanish, that Gómez and Hernández died protecting monarch butterfly habitat in Mexico. Duarte wanted to honor them and their courage.
How could supporting habitat for butterflies have put their lives in peril?
“Requiem for Two Spirits, Defenders of the Migrant Tümü (Butterflies)” by artist Héctor Duarte. Raúl Hernández Romero, left, and Homero Gómez González, center, both worked at El Rosario sanctuary, part of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve. After they disappeared days apart, their bodies were discovered in separate locations. Murder is suspected.
The Mystery of Monarch Migration
Monarch butterflies carry out a circular migration pattern similar to that of many birds. In the fall they travel from Canada and the USA all the way down to the mountains of Michoacán, Mexico, where they roost in Oyamel fir trees (Abies religiosa) for the winter. Then in the spring, the butterflies make their way back north, laying eggs on milkweed along the way. During this process, 4 generations of monarchs might be born, become caterpillars, then butterflies, and die. How each successive generation instinctively knows its appointed path is a scientific mystery.
But every fall, monarchs return to the mountains of Michoacán by the millions. Local Indigenous people believe the butterflies are the souls of departed ancestors returning with perfect timing near the annual Day of the Dead celebration, Nov. 2, which honors loved ones who have passed.
What Happened to Gómez and Hernández?
Both Gómez and Hernández worked at El Rosario sanctuary, part of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve, which is federally protected land and a UNESCO World Heritage site in Michoacán.
On Jan. 13, Gómez, manager of El Rosario sanctuary, went missing. His body was discovered in a holding pond on Jan. 29. Cause of death: drowning and head trauma.
Hernández, a tour guide for El Rosario sanctuary, disappeared on Jan. 29. On Feb. 1, his body was found at the top of a hill, badly beaten with a sharp object.
Monarch butterfly ecotourism draws many to the region, but the benefits are insufficient for some. Those who protect the forests run up against those who plunder for wood and clear land for avocado farms, also known as green gold.
Gómez was a strong advocate for monarch butterflies, leading groups of anti-logging patrols protecting the forests. He also worked to reforest hundreds of acres that had been cleared for crops, feeling that tourism would benefit the region more than logging.
Thoughts from Artist Héctor Duarte
With bright yellows and oranges, butterflies appear in many of Duarte’s murals as metaphors for human migration and immigration. He himself is from a small town in Michoacan: Caurio de Guadalupe. In 1985, he transplanted to Chicago, where he subsequently established himself as a muralist, creating more than 50 throughout the region, including “Ice Cream Dream" at Western Avenue CTA Pink Line stop, and "Compass Rose" at the Ridgeland Ave. and North Blvd. viaduct in Oak Park.
Columbia College Chicago student Kaylee Fowler interviewed Duarte about his “Third Coast Disrupted” piece, which is titled “Requiem for Two Spirits, Defenders of the Migrant Tümü (Butterflies).” She asked why he chose to focus on these two men. In response, he said,
A portion of “Ice Cream Dream” from Héctor Duarte’s mural mosaic at the Western Avenue CTA Pink Line stop.
“Honestly, they went about their labor quietly and intently. I was moved to make them the subject of my artwork because I believe people should know that these two men doing such noble work, quietly standing up to powerful logging and organized crime interests, were sacrificed in this way. I also wanted others to understand the need to protect the habitat of the monarch, which Raúl Hernández and Homero Gómez died for.”
The fact that no one has been charged with these murders makes their hidden pupation in Duarte’s chrysalis even more significant. Will they be forgotten in this shrouded state, or will their memory transform and be released?
Let us hope that Gómez and Hernández will not be forgotten. By planting milkweed for monarch caterpillars, each of us can do something simple and significant to remember their valor. And when you see two butterflies landing, remember they could be the spirits of these dearly departed.
Third Coast Disrupted: Artists + Scientists on Climate
Glass Curtain Gallery
Columbia College Chicago
1104 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago.
Exhibit hours: 9 am to 5 pm, M-F.
The gallery is closed through Jan. 11, for winter break.
To view images of the show, go to: https://www.facebook.com/media/set?vanity=TerracomChicago&set=a.10159039762992558
For more information, go to:
www.ThirdCoastDisrupted.org and www.colum.edu/thirdcoast