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Stroll down Paseo Boricua along Division Street, between Mozart Street and Western Avenue, and you’ll find more than just businesses and organizations. Along with murals that mirror the faces of Humboldt Park’s residents and the occasional overnight masterpieces from graffiti Picassos, you’ll find some of Josué Pellot’s work when you least expect it.
 Born in Mayagüez, Puerto Rico, and raised in Chicago, Pellot initiates conversations on colonialism and culture through his artwork. And although his pieces address what could be considered taboo themes, Pellot breaks through those barriers with humor. “I use humor as an opening line,” he says. “I have to warm up the crowd, while at the same time having some impact.”
With a Bachelor of Arts in art and biology from the University of Illinois at Chicago, Pellot planned on combining both concentrations to pursue a career as a medical illustrator. Instead, he went on to earn a Masters of Arts in art theory and practice from Northwestern University. “The theory being that if you practice, you’ll improve,” he jokes.
Luckily for Pellot, much of that practice began during his childhood, giving life to coloring books and copying street graffiti onto paper. Years later, those early exercises would lead him to develop thought-provoking work and exhibit everywhere from Puerto Rico to Bosnia.
Using “whatever works,” Pellot’s materials come from his life. His art supplies can be found in Humboldt Park’s stores. (In “Acquired Instinct,” for example, he uses cases of malta drink.) The topics he addresses are familiar: immigration, colonialism and consumerism. Yet, as with family, his work can sometimes resemble that brutally honest relative we unsuccessfully try to avoid, making us face some uncomfortable truths.
Pellot transforms common materials with a hint of comedy, the boldness of conceptual sculptor Tom Friedman, a tinge of pop artist Andy Warhol and his own artistic vision to discuss the influence of post-colonialism in the United States and Puerto Rico. Through his work, we are invited to laugh, remember and think – to embrace that annoying relative with a sip of malta.
Pellot’s works represent the many stories of people either haunted by colonization or trapped in a bullying capitalist society. “Many of the conversations are about post-colonialism and commerce,” Pellot explains. “Today, you colonize by invading and taking over the market.”
His use of malta raises this concern. He gives the beverage the glorification that Puerto Rican culture invests in it, but reminds us that much of the malta we drink is produced in the United States. Inevitably, Pellot reminds the viewer of the often forgotten colonialist implications of Puerto Rico’s association with the United States.
This question of colonization resulted in a 15’ x 25’ Puerto Rican flag raised in a pole in the middle of a highway in San Juan, Puerto Rico. It waved its red, white and blue colors, and glittered 51 stars. Yes, not one, but 51 stars. “My flag gained 50 stars,” Pellot says, “to ask questions about colonialism, like, why not colonize the colonizer?”
On the other hand, Pellot’s “Boricua Family” series gives us a closer look at ourselves. His “Boricua Family” toys take on “Boricuas” vending machine toys, that like the well-known Mexican-American “Homies,” mold offensive stereotypes into toy figurines. Pellot’s version was inspired by his own family members, as opposed to the lusty wide-hipped women and the men wearing tank tops and holding beers. “‘Los Boricuas’ was not part of an evil plan. It was just done irresponsibly. It made us, the ‘other,’ into a commodity,” Pellot explains. “I made my family into ‘Boricuas’ to create a balance, because just as some stereotypes hold truth, there are other truths we need to see.”
In more recent work, Pellot uses advertising tactics to recall history. On the storefront windows of a Paseo Boricua grocery store, Pellot installed neon signs that animate historical events with flashing lights. One of Pellot’s multi-colored neon signs is that of a Spanish conquistador aiming a sword at the back of a native Taíno male. In another neon sign a luminous conquistador waves his arms as he is drowned by two Taínos. “The people I talk to through my work tend to be from this community [Humboldt Park], so I come here to address them,” Pellot says. “I just hope people ask questions.”
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