Growing up in Houston, TX, at the edge of the Atlantic Richfield refinery, bound between Gilley’s, home of the famous mechanical bull, and Telephone Road; the smell of sulphur in the air, and the sound of morning doves, was home.  Surrounded by tall pines and suburban housing, middle and working class neighbors, largely Catholic, I never appreciated this backdrop. It always felt like something was missing, and it was slippery.

Maybe it was due to my parents. They raised their six kids to question everything, think for themselves. Politics, social injustice and an appreciation for art were taught to us at a young age. My dad was philosophical and forward thinking; mom, theatrical and smart. Both Latinos, with high ambitions for their children, we were imbued with the sense that we were special. Satisfaction with life was hard to come by. This song, composed by brother Philip, carries the feel of Houston and its pulse.

There was poor diversity in our neighborhood. It was mainly a “white” middle class suburb. We were children from second and fourth generation immigrants, and the assimilation process left its mark on us in different ways. Philosophical thinking carries in my family, as does stubbornness, so I still think about Americanization and what it means to some.

Anglo-Americans had a different cultural sensibility than Latin Americans in the 1960′s.  They were often quieter in their lifestyle, especially middle class folks. While growing up, our house, on the other hand, was the only one in the neighborhood that was filled with a cacophony of sound; parakeets singing, piano playing and dramatically delivered opinions from my mom often punctuated the day. It was noisy and chaotic, but we were taught courtesy and respect, and basically got along with most people.

Not surprisingly, I always had a sense of being different. If not by the color of my skin, then by the knowledge that no one else ate tortillas and beans like we did. Like many latino children of my generation, we lived double lives; learned english, but listened to spanish in the homes, ate hamburgers, but homemade tortillas were a staple. Questions regarding my identity in this mix of catholic, polish and republican landscape, bubbled up over time, like an aquifer.

As an adult, my work reflected these questions, and need for further exploration. Below is an example of this exploration. Celebrities with ethnic back grounds, in this case, Jewish and Mexican, often had to change their names, covering their racial identities in order to be successful with mainstream audiences. My collaborator, Heloise Gold, is the energetic Jewish contestant.