During the first half of the twentieth century, representing the body was a pivotal means to reimagine national and regional identities at a moment when the legacies of colonial power structures were coming under increasing scrutiny. The body became a vehicle through which artists could envision new, expanded, and intersecting notions of race, gender, class, nation, and region. Through close readings of single images created in eight different countries—Guatemala, Bolivia, Brazil, Uruguay, Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia, and Cuba—this Dialogues contains essays by scholars from South America, Europe, and the United States that reveal the capaciousness for the body to encapsulate local racial, class, and gender dynamics, to illuminate regional and national politics, and to embody divides between socially progressive politics and entrenched conservative social systems and hierarchies. The authors pay careful attention to form, subject, and style to demonstrate the potency of modernist figuration, an international and vibrant visual language, to interrogate issues of race, ethnicity, indigeneity, and gender. Together, the essays point to the critical particularities of iconography, context, and style. In so doing, they reinforce the ability of representation to resonate in multivalent ways and assert the power of the image to stir debate, fix (or challenge) convictions, and raise questions about histories. The authors harness the power and visual variety of realisms and representation in Latin America, revealing the malleability of the modernist body and its efficacy as a carrier of meaning and locus for debates about power, progress, and identity.

Durante la primera mitad del siglo XX, la representación del cuerpo fue clave para reimaginar identidades nacionales y regionales en un momento en el cual los legados de las estructuras de poder coloniales eran objeto de un escrutinio cada vez mayor. El cuerpo se volvió un vehículo a través del cual los artistas podían concebir nociones nuevas, ampliadas y entrecruzadas de raza, género, clase, nación y región. Este Dialogues examina imágenes individuales de ocho países –Guatemala, Bolivia, Brasil, Uruguay, México, Venezuela, Colombia y Cuba. En estos ensayos, académicos de América del Sur, Europa y los Estados Unidos revelan la capacidad del cuerpo para encapsular dinámicas locales de raza, clase y género, iluminar políticas regionales y encarnar divisiones entre progresismo social y sistemas y jerarquías conservadores arraigados. Prestan atención a forma, tema y estilo, demostrando la potencia de la figuración modernista para interrogar cuestiones de raza, etnia, indigenismo y género. En conjunto, los ensayos señalan particularidades críticas de la iconografía, contexto y estilo, reforzando la capacidad de la representación para resonar de forma multivalente y afirmar el poder de la imagen para suscitar debates, fijar (o desafiar) convicciones y plantear preguntas sobre las historias. Los autores exploran el poder visual de los realismos y la representación en América Latina, revelando la maleabilidad del cuerpo modernista y su eficacia como portador de significado y locus de debates sobre el poder, el progreso y la identidad.

Durante a primeira metade do século XX, representar o corpo foi um meio fundamental para reimaginar identidades nacionais e regionais num momento em que os legados das estruturas de poder coloniais estavam sob crescente escrutínio. O corpo se tornou veículo através do qual artistas podiam vislumbrar noções intersectadas de raça, classe, nação e região novas e expandidas. Através de leituras atentas de imagens únicas criadas em oito países diferentes – Guatemala, Bolívia, Brasil, Uruguai, México, Venezuela, Colômbia e Cuba – este Diálogos contêm ensaios de estudiosos da América do Sul, Europa e Estados Unidos que revelam a capacidade para o corpo para encapsular as dinâmicas raciais, de classe e de gênero locais, para iluminar políticas regionais e nacionais, e para corporificar divisões entre políticas socialmente progressistas e arraigados sistemas e hierarquias sociais conservadores. Os autores prestam atenção à forma, ao sujeito e ao estilo para demonstrar a potência da figuração modernista, uma linguagem visual internacional e vibrante, para interrogar questões de raça, etnicidade, indigeneidade e gênero. Juntos, os ensaios apontam para as particularidades críticas da iconografia, do contexto e do estilo. Ao fazê-lo, reforçam a capacidade da representação de ressoar de forma multivalente e de afirmar o poder da imagem de suscitar debate, fixar (ou desafiar) convicções e de levantar perguntas sobre histórias. Os autores aproveitam o poder e variedade visual dos realismos e representações na América Latina, revelando a maleabilidade do corpo modernista e a sua eficácia como portador de significado e locus para debates sobre poder, progresso e identidade.

Carlos Merida’s 1919 painting El alcalde de Almolonga (The Mayor of Almolonga), depicting the leader of an agrarian town in the Guatemalan altiplano (highlands), is a cunning exercise in pattern (fig. 1).1 Its Maya textile–inspired decorative style demarcates Indigenous material culture as both subject and form. Indeed, the red tzute (head scarf) and colorful chevron-patterned woven shirt—distinctive of Almolonga—locate the figure precisely, while the sharply angled mask-like face (also a nod to modernist primitivism) denies physiognomic specificity. Though easily readable Eurocentric portraiture conventions declare the figure’s authority—note the contrapposto stance, staff, and arched colonnade background—Mérida’s deployment of repeated, flattened, closed forms fix that authority within a long history of Indigenous labor, knowledge, and tradition. The overwhelming surface flatness of Mérida’s modern, indigenist abstraction insists on the continued vitality of that past to embody a distinctively contemporaneous figure.

Figure 1.

Carlos Mérida, El alcalde de Almolonga (The Mayor of Almolonga), 1916–19, oil on canvas, 70½ x 35 in. (179 x 88.9 cm). Museum of Modern Art, New York (585.2022, bequest of Janice H. Levin [by exchange] and gift of Ramiro Ortiz Mayorga in honor of Patricia Gurdián de Ortiz through the Latin American and Caribbean Fund (© 2023 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SOMAAP, Mexico City, digital image © 2023 The Museum of Modern Art, New York)

Figure 1.

Carlos Mérida, El alcalde de Almolonga (The Mayor of Almolonga), 1916–19, oil on canvas, 70½ x 35 in. (179 x 88.9 cm). Museum of Modern Art, New York (585.2022, bequest of Janice H. Levin [by exchange] and gift of Ramiro Ortiz Mayorga in honor of Patricia Gurdián de Ortiz through the Latin American and Caribbean Fund (© 2023 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SOMAAP, Mexico City, digital image © 2023 The Museum of Modern Art, New York)

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In deploying the flatness and abstraction of Indigenous material culture, Mérida sought to avoid what he called “archeological” representations of local subjects and to create instead a new—and wholly American—aesthetic, resulting in “current and vibrant realizations that, like traditional ones, are in themselves pure forms, and essentially ours.”2 The figure is made up of a series of flattened geometrized panels, each like one stone in a mosaic. These forms never meet, as if pushed through stencils. Around each, Mérida left an outline of raw canvas, sometimes sharply delineated and other times blurred. The angular and flat forms suggest planes rather than facial features, clothing elements, hands, or feet. Slightly rounded, even bulging elements, like the tzute, waistband, and cuffs, put pressure on that flatness. The figure both merges with the background and emerges from it. The background at once seems an ascension of vertical planes and to recede to the horizon where water meets sky (a jarring element, given the supposed Guatemalan highlands setting). The thin, flat oil paint on the figure appears to be cut with something, eliminating surface texture and the artist’s hand, while the background asserts the artist’s presence with brushstrokes that almost suggest finger-painting. The vara de mando (staff of office), an object both conveying and holding the power of authority, moves vertically up the canvas. This staff has a long history of visual representation, including in Maya stele representations of rulers, but here it is humble, the only adornment two simple dangling tassels made from precisely repeated rounded and triangular forms. The vara de mando echoes the flatness of its steward. The planarity of both come into stark relief when set against Varayoc de Chinchero, a similar subject painted six years later by Peruvian José Sabogal, where decidedly modeled, rounded, and naturalistic forms tie the figure to its hilly landscape and cloudy sky.3 Mérida’s painting instead submits modernist abstraction to the forms of Indigenous textiles.4

El alcalde de Almolonga belongs to a series of oil paintings and watercolors that Mérida made in Guatemala from 1916 to 1919, after having spent several years as an apprentice of modernism in Europe. When first exhibited in both Quetzaltenango (1920) and Mexico City (1921), Mérida’s Guatemalan types and scenes from this period were aesthetically innovative while encapsulating the classed and raced problematics of early twentieth-century indigenism. This groundbreaking work arguably represents one of the earliest attempts at an American modern art. In search of subjects, the artist traveled to Indigenous communities around Quetzaltenango, the birthplace of his parents, source of his proudly claimed part Maya-K’iche heritage.5 Traversing the altiplano, he sketched the region’s varied Indigenous cultures from close observation. He learned this method of examination from life from his former music teacher, the ethnomusicologist Jesús Castillo, who traveled with him and had for some time already based his musical compositions and ethnographic studies on his work in the field, collecting fragments of autochthonous music.6

Though based on models, the works are far from portraits, given their simplified, planar physiognomies. Mérida’s observation methods focused instead on material culture, notably the textile tradition found in the region. In his notebooks he carefully documented types of garments, such as huipiles (shirts), fajas (sashes), rebozos (shawls), headpieces, and stockings, noting distinctive locations, colors, and patterns.7 In some of the works, figures hold pottery vessels inspired by Maya archaeological sites, such as Copán, Quiriguá, and Palenque, their stylized forms echoing Mérida’s modern Guatemalan types.8 But in all of the works, textiles hold pride of place as examples of Indigenous agency, a form of folklore persisting through generations but decidedly not ahistorical. This culture is a living one, not an ancient past.

In the decades around the period that Mérida conceived these works, Guatemalan textiles became an object of attention from US and European anthropologists.9 Mérída was among those valuing this material culture, admittedly in language with patriarchal overtones revealing the reality of his lived elite Ladino status.10 In a 1930 lecture, he posited that textiles preserved “pure” Indigenous culture, in their “decorative character, aesthetic delineation, grace, and simplicity,” with production in the wider Quetzaltenango altiplano the most varied and strong. This living tradition, he argued, joined present-day Guatemala directly to ancient Maya civilization: “The same marvelous hand which sculptured the bas-reliefs of Quiriguá embroiders today the shirts of San Cristobal Totonicapán.” The link between “spirit” and the “indigenous soul” that Mérida found in textiles, he believed, had parallels in the music studied by Castillo, both art forms evidence of the vibrancy of native American folklore.11

Mérida also acknowledged “criollo” changes to the expanding textile industry, as the modern machine transformed making. “To love our own things,” he wrote, “does not necessarily mean to throw a wrench into the wheels of progress.”12 Indeed, Quetzaltenango was home to the famed Cantel factory, a privately owned, state-of-the-art complex operating since 1876, reportedly the largest in Central America and earning the textile industry fame as one of Guatemala’s most modern. The first to industrialize cotton thread production, the factory widely distributed basic cotton cloth in the altiplano (most of its cotton imported from the United States), and provided yarns to traditional weavers. Some weavers worked Cantel’s power looms as well, the factory profiting from its employees’ knowledge received over generations.13 As historian Greg Grandin has shown, in the colonial period, textile material trade and production in the altiplano had remained in K’iche control, resisting Spanish incursions into the industry.14 The Cantel factory ushered in a new settler-colonialist threat; it was not only Spanish-owned but also built upon Indigenous communal lands, its growth leading to threats against it in 1884 that were quelled by federal troops, and ultimately to an uprising against President Justo Rufino Barrios and the execution of Indigenous opposition leaders.15 Cantel also represented an increasing wave of industrialization that by the thirties included synthetic dyes and fibers and inflected traditional production.16 Nonetheless, Mérida remained steadfast in his belief that twentieth-century technological developments could not unseat the autochthonous industry, which had endured for more than four centuries since colonization, and “has given to the production of the country its most individual characteristic.”17

El alcalde de Almolonga embodies Mérida’s ideas about the Guatemalan fabric industry. Its decorative nature and regional specificity speak to that K’iche past, while the deliberate simplification of form, signaling what he considered the “evolution” of Indigenous aesthetics, recognizes the continued currency and vitality of that tradition.18 The figure wears a shirt with a fine silk base fabric in red, a traditional type created from backstrap loom fabric, with supplementary weft-brocade, typical of male ceremonial garb in Almolonga. Its decoration includes the town’s distinctive multicolor chevron and parallelogram appliquéd forms on the chest, with lighter red facing around the collar, cuffs, and waistband, the former two elements also embroidered with darker red chevron forms.19 Although the town is known for colorful, richly adorned ceremonial garb, Mérida’s figure remains somewhat subdued and sports unadorned European-style trousers, likely referencing those made from the factory-woven cloth becoming ever-more prevalent in the region. Similarly, the flecked-fabric tzute is plain and undecorated, but still nods to tradition, since that Indigenous form was then disappearing in favor of European-style hats.20 Mérida’s 1951 Almolongan type for the print portfolio Trajes indígenas de Guatemala, with the figure’s tzute, shirt, and trousers awash in brilliant, varied patterns, serves as a foil to the abstraction and spareness in El alcalde de Almolonga.21 The earlier painting insists on indigeneity not as pure and unchanging, reduced to the picturesque, but acknowledges it as a living and evolving identity.

The pared-down forms in Mérida’s painting also challenge an ethnographic reading, a surprise given that he specifically located his subject in a town where Mérida lived as a child briefly. Two visual elements of the painting insist on this geographic specificity. The structure, styles, colors and patterns, and elements of altiplano textile developed as closely guarded forms of specific Indigenous origin, language, culture, and customs and varied from locality to locality: Almolonga’s famed finery could be found nowhere else. The vara de mando—an object passed down from local leader to successor over centuries—if less specific, nonetheless proclaims ancestral wisdom that ties the figure to place.

At the time of their creation and exhibition, El alcalde de Almolonga and related works were deeply embedded in Guatemala’s rich intellectual and social context (which receives short shrift in the literature). Mérida, Castillo, and the sculptor Rafael Yela Günther, leading a group of fellow Guatemalan writers, artists, and intellectuals, carefully investigated the country’s autochthonous Maya culture, establishing links to their Indigenous past through their paintings, sculptures, and music. Mérida’s Quetzaltenango opening was accompanied by a Castillo concert, and on that occasion Yela Günther published a two-part manifesto-like text, filled with allusions to ancient spirituality and emphasizing common cause and shared perspectives. By recalling the art of the past for its form and not merely through superficial motifs, Yela Günther argued, they created an updated, modern means of expression endowed with a sense of autochthonous authenticity. He pointed especially to Mérida’s rendering of “currently used textiles” to convey the “unity of the artistic sentiment of our Indians of today with their ancestors.”22 Numerous critics advanced these ideas, situating this work as evidence of an early “American renaissance” and not of Guatemalan identity but of a continental consciousness—from Mexico to Argentina—steeped in an ancient Maya culture that rivaled the Greco-Roman, recast in modern visual forms. With their combination of ancient spirit and vibrant contemporaneity, these works signaled the roots of a hemispheric, not national, identity, one that decidedly differentiated this region from Europe and Anglo-America.23

In Mexico City, the artist encountered instead a deeply nationalist environment. Critics certainly perceived in his works a wholly new current, while determining the place of his works within the local scene. Perceiving that the artworks moved away from the mere imitation of motifs to achieve something ineffably autochthonous, critics readily, if amorphously, applied the adjective “American” to them.24 Mérida’s concerted effort to create a hemispheric identity went unmentioned, however. Instead, this Americanness became understood through the pictorial mechanism of the decorative, an abiding pejorative within modernism but an adjective clearly applicable to Mérida’s work.25 After all, he considered Guatemalan popular arts like textiles “essentially decorative,” thanks to “the undoubtable geometric equilibrium, harmony of line and color”—characteristics perceived in his paintings as well.26

At that time in Mexico, the decorative was a respectable and desirable aesthetic, linking Mérida to then-favored contemporaries such as Roberto Montenegro, Adolfo Best Maugard, and Jorge Encisco. Mérida’s stylizations became less connected to what he himself called the deliberate “visuality” of Mayan artists and more evidence of a pure and healthy pastoral population—whether a national or American soul—a device deployed in Mexican nationalist rhetoric at this time that simultaneously exalted and distanced Indigenous culture.27 His artworks’ intellectual origins became effaced through this project, and though critics consistently recognized his Guatemalan heritage, they readily noted his growing inspiration in emblems of Mexican indigeneity, such as Teotihuacan and the tehuana. Increasingly and unremarkably welcomed by Mexican critics as the production of one of “our artists,” Mérida’s Guatemalan works lost their pretensions to a pan-Americanist, Maya-based contemporary indigeneity and became marginalized, along with the work of his fellow decorative painters, by the vortex of muralism.28 Subsumed into an environment newly obsessed with the political value of figuration, the abstracted, decorative works in Mérida’s earliest indigenist series became stripped of their radicality.

Like many of its contemporaneous works, El alcalde de Almolonga thus stands as an equivocal carrier of ideology, typifying the efforts of the lettered class to root identity in the manipulatable body of an internal other. By refusing to dwell on the picturesque or the ethnographic, Mérida deployed decorative pattern as a resistance to bodily knowledge or fixity. The Indigenous figure speaks not to a static and distant past but insists on its evolving and changing nature. These works were conceived, and received, in Guatemala as deeply connected to the stylizations of ancient art and therefore simultaneously emblems of a living ancient soul and a vital present that speak to American consciousness. They are an early example of what artists such as Xul Solar and Joaquín Torres-García continued to aspire to for decades. Yet they easily became readable in Mexico as representative of the healthy roots for a specific nationalist project, one that, while framing a noble past, overlooked the social realities of the present.

I thank Valerie Thai for her research assistance and Anna Indych-López for comments on this essay.

1.

Long in the Andrés Blaisten Collection in Mexico City, this painting was acquired by the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York in 2022.

2.

Original: “concreciones vibrantes y actuales al mismo al que tradicionales que sean de por sí formas puras, pero eminentemente nuestras.” “Mérida nos habla de un renacimiento del arte,” Diario de Guatemala, May 19, 1926. Mérida had distinguished his works from those that focus on local motifs without pictorial innovation in two earlier texts: “Introito,” in Exposición Carlos Mérida (México: Academia Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1920), n.p., and “La verdadera significación de la obra de Saturnino Herrán: los falsos críticos,” El universal ilustrado 4, no. 169 (July 29, 1920): 14, 26. On the latter text see Harper Montgomery, “Relocation: Carlos Mérida Moves to Mexico,” chap. 2 in The Mobility of Modernism: Art and Criticism in 1920s Latin America (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2017), 59–67.

3.

José Sabogal, Varayoc de Chinchero, 1925–26, oil on canvas, visible at Google Arts & Culture, https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/varayoc-de-chinchero/tQH1eovgrdus_A.

4.

My visual analysis of this work has been enriched by a viewing and discussion at MoMA with both Pedro Cruz-Castro and Beverly Adams, Estrellita Brodsky Curator of Latin American Art. I explore this period more fully in the essay “American Icons: Carlos Mérida and Indigenism in 1910s Guatemala,” to be published in a forthcoming volume on modern and contemporary Guatemalan art, organized by Cecilia Fajardo-Hill, José Falconi, and Hugo Quinto.

5.

Mérida made this often-quoted declaration in “Self-Portrait,” Américas 2, no. 6 (June 1950): 24. He used the spelling Quiché.

6.

On Mérida’s early years in Guatemala, see Luis Luján Muñoz, Carlos Mérida, precursor del arte contemporáneo latinoamericano (Guatemala City: Cuadernos de la tradición guatemalteca, 1985).

7.

I thank the Galería Arvil in Mexico City for letting me view the loose sketchbook pages in its collection.

8.

These works include Religiosa, in the Museo Nacional Carlos Mérida, Guatemala City, and India de los vasos (location unknown, but illustrated in “Notas artísticas: la próxima exposición de Carlos Mérida,” El universal ilustrado 4, no. 171 (August 12, 1920): 17, accessible from the ICAA Documents Project: https://icaa.mfah.org/s/en/item/781727#?c=&m=&s=&cv=&xywh=-2001%2C-18%2C6551%2C3666.

9.

Ann Pollard Rowe, A Century of Change in Guatemalan Textiles (New York: Center for Inter-American Relations, 1981), 21–22.

10.

I follow Greg Grandin’s definition of Ladino as “all non-Indians, including Mestizos, Creoles, and Spaniards,” in The Blood of Guatemala: A History of Race and Nation (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), 239.

11.

Carlos Mérida, “Folk Arts of Guatemala—Textiles and Music,” in The Genius of Mexico, lectures delivered before the Fifth Seminar in Mexico, 1930, ed. Hubert C. Herring and Katharine Terrill (New York: Committee on Cultural Relations with Latin America, 1931), 97–99; 102. Mérida had published most of this essay as “Las artes populares de México,” Diario de Centro América, July 19, 1930, and later as “Los tejidos guatemaltecas,” Ars: revista mensual (Mexico City) 1, no. 3 (March 1942): 15–18.

12.

Mérida, “Folk Arts of Guatemala,” 98, 101.

13.

“La fábrica de tejidos Cantel,” Diario de Guatemala, May 30, 1926; “Industrial Department: A Great Modern Industry of Central America—The Cantel Cotton Mills, Guatemala,” Pan-American Magazine X, no. 1 (May 1910): 62–68; Lila M. O’Neale, Textiles of Highland Guatemala (Washington, DC: Carnegie Institute of Washington, 1945), 9, 11, 38, 229; Manning Nash, Machine Age Maya: The Industrialization of a Guatemalan Community (Glencoe, IL: The Free Press/Research Center in Economic Development and Cultural Change, The University of Chicago, 1958), 13–15.

14.

Grandin, The Blood of Guatemala, 31.

15.

Nash, Machine Age Maya, 13; unidentified author, preface to “The Saddest Day in Cantel,” in The Guatemala Reader: History, Culture, Politics, ed. Greg Grandin, Deborah T. Levenson, and Elizabeth Oglesby (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011), 31.

16.

Noga Bernstein, “Maya Modern: Ruth Reeves and the Guatemalan Exhibition of Textiles and Costumes,” American Art 4, no. 3 (Fall 2020): 62.

17.

Mérida, “Folk Arts of Guatemala,” 98.

18.

Mérida, “La verdadera significación de la obra.”

19.

William H. Hempstead, ed., Huipiles mayas de Guatemala: expresiones tradicionales de identidad / Maya Huipiles of Guatemala: Traditional Expressions of Identity (Guatemala City: Museo Ixchel de Traje Indígena, 2011); O’Neale, Textiles of Highland Guatemala, 188.

20.

Rowe, Century of Change, 18; O’Neale, Textiles of Highland Guatemala, 188, 250; Lilly de Jongh Osborne, Indian Crafts of Guatemala and El Salvador (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1965), 67, 79.

21.

Carlos Mérida, Almolonga: Quetzaltenango, offset print, in Trajes indígenas de Guatemala: 10 láminas a color por Carlos Mérida (Guatemala: Byron Zadik y Cia, c. 1950s). The portfolio was distributed to tourists; see https://emuseum.miami.edu/objects/18723/almolonga-quezaltenango?ctx=62c76901-cb10-440f-8f39-866e3a756361&idx=1.

22.

Original: “los tejidos usados actualmente …unidad del sentimiento artístico de nuestros indios de hoy con sus antepasados.” [Rafael Yela Günther], “El arte indígena y la actuación de los artistas guatemaltecos en su nueva evolución,” part 1, Diario la tribuna, December 13, 1919; RA-XELAJ [Rafael Yela Günther], “El arte indígena y la actuación de los artistas guatemaltecos en su nueva evolución,” part 2, Diario la tribuna, December 15, 1919.

23.

Hernán Rosales, “La nueva pintura de Carlos Mérida y la música indígena de Jesús Castillo,” Paisaje de América por Carlos Mérida, Albúm de Carlos Mérida, Fondo Carlos Mérida, Centro Nacional de Investigación, Documentación e Información de Artes Plásticas (CENIDIAP), Mexico City, rollo 11, no. 49–51; published in La República (Guatemala City), November 19, 1916; Santos Vela Forno, “Crónica de emoción: visita al artista,” La República (Guatemala), July 1919, CENIDIAP, Mexico City, rollo 11, no. 55–56; Andrés Largaespada, “Carlos Mérida: el joven y eminente artista concluye su nuevo ciclo pictórico,” Diario de Centro América, August 30, 1919, CENIDIAP, Mexico City, rollo 11, no. 057–058. This text is reprinted in Luján Muñoz, Carlos Mérida, document 5, 139–41.

24.

Montgomery also notes this aspect of the Mexican reception to Mérida’s works. Montgomery, “Relocation,” 44. See also the sources referenced in my note 25.

25.

For references to the decorative, see [A]ntonio C[astro] L[eal], “La nueva y muy americana labor de Carlos Mérida,” El universal ilustrado, 3, no. 153 (April 8, 1920): 13; “Notas artísticas”; Manuel Horta, “La obra de Carlos Mérida,” in “América para los americanos: la obra americanista de un jóven pintor,” El universal, August 29, 1920 (note that the header mistakenly dates this text to Sunday, August 28); José Juan Tablada, “Arte mexicanista,” El magazine de la raza (September 1920); Albúm de Carlos Mérida, Fondo Carlos Mérida, CENIDIAP, Mexico City, rollo 11, no. 109–10; El Caballero Puck [Manuel Horta], “Carlos Mérida: interpretador del alma americana,” El universal ilustrado 8, no. 368 (May 29, 1924): 44, 91.

26.

Carlos Mérida, “Las artes populares de Guatemala” (1930), in Luján Muñoz, Carlos Mérida, 113.

27.

Mérida, cited in Horta, “La obra de Carlos Mérida”; see also Fradrique [Frías], “La exposición de Carlos Mérida”; Tablada, “Arte mexicanista.”

28.

Tablada.