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Finding Familiarity in My Beating Heart

First Prize in Critical Essay, 2024 Writing Contest

December 18, 2024 by Lexi Paulino

My most impactful museum visit was at The New Museum, seeing Pepon Osorio’s exhibition, My Beating Heart/Mi Corazon Latiente. It was such an intense exhibition and it filled me with so many emotions, I found myself crying only halfway through my walk around, my eyes welled up and cheeks warm. Pretty sure the security saw. One of the first things I noticed was that the wall text was in both English and Spanish. I started to wonder if my Spanish speaking grandma had ever been to a museum before. I never stopped to think until now, were these spaces made with her in mind too? When I’d read the texts, it wasn’t overly complex or indigestible. I felt invited into understanding, which made me think of Allison Hewitt Ward’s essay “What Do Museums Have to Say to the Public?” where she mentions Tim Tiller of the National Cowboy Museum and his matter of fact easy-going approach to looking at artwork.


I don’t often see myself represented when I visit museums and galleries, so to feel so connected to the works was really emotional for me. You never really realize how left out you feel until you find what you’ve been missing, and this show did that for me. I also cried while watching In the Heights in theaters, so seeing Latin culture represented in the mainstream is a soft spot for me. Although the show was about Osorio’s Puerto Rican culture, and I’m Dominican, I found endless familiarity in it as Latin culture is so intertwined. 


Growing up, I went to schools in the lower east side of Manhattan, and I remember facing what I now know as microaggressions and feeling othered, moments like kids asking me why I “got a tan”, or when I told classmates of my Dominican heritage they didn’t know what or where DR was, which had made me feel like I must have made it up because nobody else was from where I was from, or even knew of it. But stepping into this exhibition, you see Osorio’s world building and immersion that solidifies everything you know, is tangible and valuable.


When I first walked in, I saw a huge installation of medicine bottles, garlic, and statues. Osorio talked about his mistrust in western medicine and his grief towards his cancer diagnosis, and faith. Next I was faced with a giant, bright piñata-like heart. This heart couldn't be missed, and really called for its own space in the room, and it was beating. From reading the wall text, the heart was the height of the artist, and the sound was a recording of his actual heart. In a way, this was a really powerful way to show that the artist was in the room in spirit. By this point, I knew I was in for an experience. 


The next piece that caught my attention was smaller in scale,but was something I've seen many times at parties. It was a pair of hands sticking out, handing you a plate wrapped in tin foil. This gesture feels interactive, like you're in this world. Right across, is a table with knick knacks, little white figurines I've seen in my own grandma’s cabinet. On the cloth, “State of Preservation” is embroidered. This made me connect to how even in my own home, there was a mini museum of collectibles, little things my grandma treasures and protects behind glass walls. I once saw this as clutter, and now I think of how our family travels from far, and keeps these pieces of love and appreciation protected. They work hard to have these things in their home. Each piece in the installation was delicately covered in a saran wrap, which made me think of the way my grandma has couches covered in plastic in her home in DR, and her tables too, protecting the things that she worked hard for.


Then, I saw a piece of a Piragua cart, with a woman in it. Her hair in a dubi wrap, nails done, but she's screaming. The artist stated that this piece was inspired by a woman he saw working selling piragua in the heat. Then things got darker once I got to Scene Of the Crime.


At first, this was a large room that looked so homey, and familiar. I spent a lot of time looking at every detail, a maximalist, warm home with family photos and trinkets; A sight I was so used to, but yet unlike the homes of my peers growing up, which favored more minimalist white walls and decor. I then saw caution tape as I moved back and further down. And then a covered body, and broadcasting cameras, making me think of the news channels, and telenovelas. This was so intense. I looked down at the floor, and there was a welcome mat that said “Only if you can understand that . . . taken years of pain to gather into our homes our most valuable possessions; but the greater pain is to see how in the movies others make fun of the way we live” And I felt a twinge of sadness for judging my grandma for what I felt like was “hoarding”, compared to the homes of my friends, but that I now understand was a form of appreciation, protection, and celebration. 


With every installation, I took away familiarity and understanding, infused with hurt. I literally felt it in my heart, almost like the title of the show suggests. In every part of this experience, I’d start by looking at the piece and I'd feel inquisitive and comfortable, but then I’d look deeper and notice more embedded themes. But the part that actually made me cry was Badge of Honor, a mixed media installation of a boy's bedroom, a nice one with posters, decorations, and more—adjacent to a jail cell. In the jail cell, it’s cold and empty and you only see family photos behind bars. The square of the cell is significantly smaller and more closed off looking than Nelson Jr’s room, which was far more open in comparison. The square of the doorway was taller. A video of the boy, Nelson Junior, talking was projected above his room, and his father, Nelson Sr., across from him. Both in a cool gray monochromatic color scheme. They were having a heartfelt conversation, through video and far apart. Because the boy and the man looked SO much alike, my initial thought was that this was the boy when he got older, which made me sad that this was my first thought, but then I sat and actually listened to their conversation and realized they were father and son. I looked at Nelson Jr’s room, and felt like I knew him. Your space is so intimate, and indicative of who you are, and Osorio used this to his advantage in telling a story. Family is so important, and to see the boy talk to his father, and asking questions looking for reassurance, and hearing the feeling of guilt and the father’s remorse, was really hard. I was captivated by their conversation, and left wondering where they’re at now. I learned that a lot of Osorio's work is informed by his work as a caseworker for the Department of Human Services, where he’d see all kinds of familial situations.


There were so many more captivating sections of this exhibition, like the barber shop and the school, but I highly recommend going to see this for yourselves. I don’t know what the experience would be like for those not within the culture, but go in with the intention of listening, because Osorio has a lot to say and is willing to explain it, and have you feel it and be part of it too.


Seeing Osorio’s work, as a Dominican American who grew up around these themes but never fully being part of it, stuck between worlds of growing up in America but being raised by an immigrant family, it was nice to feel like there’s value in our stories. It’s not that they need to be validated by these institutions, but they need to be heard and shared because we already know about European culture and art. In fact, we’re oversaturated by it. It’s time to share more diverse stories, because I'd like to take my grandma to a museum, and have her feel and understand the work.


Maybe we can start with dual language wall text?


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Lexi Paulino's critical essay won first prize in the 2024 Humanities & Sciences Undergraduate Writing Contest. Lexi's essay "Quitting" is also published in this issue. She is a fourth year Fine Arts major (Class of 2025). Born & raised in NYC, her work combines themes of urban transformation, imaginary creatures, and personal narrative through mixed media paintings.