Marisa Godínez, artist who illustrated the drama of women in the 70s with enigmatic drawings: “My drawings were a cry for help”

In the late 1970s, in the satirical magazine “Monkeys and monkeys”, the name of Marisa Godínez (Lima, 1950) drew attention to a series of enigmatic drawings, marked by crudeness and a certain black humor –some simply without humor–, which addressed the adverse situation of the Peruvian woman of her time: the forced marriages, domestic tyranny, stereotypes of the pristine and perfect mother. Years later, Ella Godínez started working as an illustrator of pedagogical content for the NGO Flora Tristán, where she developed her commitment to a feminism of which she, perhaps without fully knowing it, had been a pioneer.

But for decades little or nothing was known about the illustrator, at least publicly. Her low profile (not her commitment and her feminist militancy) made her a kind of legend in the field of Peruvian cartoons and graphic humor. Now 71 years old, she has just reappeared with an exhibition that brings together her recent work. It is called “The girl not looked at” and is made up of 55 drawings made between 2017 and 2021. A fantastic production, which catches many by surprise, but which brings us back to an artist in all her creative maturity. About this pleasant return of hers, we talked with her.

First of all, why the silence for so long?

The truth is that because I have been working. Working to earn money. Because art is not lived in this country. For many years I have dedicated myself to making diagrams, book covers, in Flora Tristán and as a ‘freelance’. And always dreaming of going back to drawing, although that was postponed and postponed because when you stop doing something you are out of practice and it scares you. You have a hard time starting over, it makes you uncomfortable and scares you. When I retire, I try to do several things: I tried to do theater, I started studying at Ruiz de Montoya to be a consultant, and I was working as a volunteer at Dos de Mayo. It was a very nice and satisfying job, but it didn’t fulfill me. Until I took courage, I looked at myself in the mirror and said “there is no more time, I am at an age where you have to do what you have to do, I am not going to lose anything”. I got excited, I grabbed the pen, I started to draw and I was hooked very quickly. And I took it on as a job. Locking yourself up in the morning to draw is a job. It’s a lifestyle.

And what things changed? What has felt different in this new beginning?

There has been less pressure. Nobody expected anything, nobody questioned me. Only myself, because I did question myself. They are like debts that you have, and it felt like a mandate. I realized that I did not have much time to live, I had to start doing it. And I agreed with myself when, after a year of starting to work, I felt very well. When I get up in the morning, I go back to see the drawings that I have made, and if I have achieved the image that I had in my head, I feel it as a personal satisfaction. I say personal because I haven’t shown them to almost anyone in all these years. I just made them for myself. Then George came in. [Villacorta] in my life and he encouraged me a lot. There he confirmed that he was on a path that seemed not to be bad, and started with more lights. It was no longer the dark path of before.

Let me go back to the beginning: your experience in “Monos y Monadas” magazine was peculiar because you were the only woman in that very masculine group. Did that influence your work?

It is something very strange because I did not go to the “Monkeys…” meetings. The meetings were between men. They invited me to work, but I was dedicated only to being a mother, wife and housewife. That was my situation and what was spinning in my head the most. That is something I do not wish on anyone who does not have the vocation to be. I have friends who are very happy being mothers, but there are others who are not. And I felt that it became a mockery of life. For example, that on Mother’s Day they give you a kitchen so that you continue to be the mother chained to housework. It was a joke! It’s cruel, but a total mockery. So I start to draw on that theme, which was part of my life and the situations I saw. When I saw my drawings published, I think I was not so aware that I was making a complaint. To me it was just obvious. And of course, now I realize that it was very therapeutic, those drawings were a cry for help. Because I felt that I had not raised that for my life.

And then comes Flora Tristan. Did that radically change her life?

Yes, I would say yes. Because they sought me out precisely because of my drawings. It was the year 80 or 81 and Flora was just being born. I remember that there was still no local. First we met at a friend’s house, and then we found a place in Quilca. They needed someone to see the publications, the drawings, the comics, the covers, the banners, all of that. And I started to get involved because it was a feminist center that was beginning to form. I realized that she was not alone. That it really is an injustice that just because you are born a woman, you are necessarily pigeonholed into a role. As I repeat, I respect those who have a vocation as a mother. But that everyone should have it simply for being born a woman? That’s why I quickly felt with my peers. I loved it, I was active, I went to marches. Because it was an NGO, but also a militancy. It was the opposite of “Monkeys…”, because there everyone works outside, with political issues, etc., while I was the only one who worked inside, who talked about the inside of people, which was my concern. So getting to Flora was a very important event.

And is he still fighting? How do you get along with today’s feminist movements?

Yes, I share a feminist group. We have not worked in Flora for many years, but the group has remained. We women tend to develop these friendships, we are friends-sisters, as we say. The last time I went out to march was two years ago, against Merino, pushing my friend’s wheelchair. But now I see feminism more as a way of life. Because there are many different theories and practices, but the proposal that I embrace is that of a less consumerist, more compassionate, more generous, more tolerant way of life with everyone. No phobias.

In this new stage with the drawings that make up the exhibition “The girl not looked at”, how has the process been?

When I decided to return to drawing, back in 2016, I decided to look back, make accounts, make things clear and make peace with those issues that one carries in life and sometimes does not want to assume. It’s like having a basement in your house that you don’t want to go into because you’re afraid or because you think it’s a waste of time. But I decided to go down and turn on the light to see what was there. I was lucky that my father was an amateur photographer, who chased my brothers and me all day taking pictures of us. So in my house there were many photos that my brother stored. I asked him to lend them to me because he was interested in seeing me as a girl and making peace with myself. And I began to look at those photos over and over again, I think even with a magnifying glass. And I’ve looked at myself, I’ve looked at who was looking at me, and I’ve looked at who I was looking at. And I realized that I more than anything looked. Because I haven’t been very looked at, that’s what I’ve always felt. I was raised surrounded by dolls and pots. My mom laughed when they asked me what are you going to be when you grow up? “Mom,” I said. And of course, if that’s what they prepared me for! But I never questioned myself. That is impressive. That is why I can say that my childhood was not very happy. I kept that inside of me. Luckily, in this process I reconciled with my mother, to whom I blamed many things; but through the image of her I understood her. I understood many, many things. All that was coming out in the drawings.

Did you have any routine or dynamic to do these works?

Sometimes, when I sleep badly, the images just appear. I have a little notebook in which I write down, then I revise, and I start to sketch, then I start to draw. There are several stages. And that makes me excited. I wake up thinking that I’m going to get to work in my little studio. That is the history. She is that girl who I am no longer, but who is still with me because I look at my skin, my wrinkled skin, and she is the same skin as the girl. She is always with one. One thinks that she already passed, but no. It is an interesting exercise.

Is the core just family, personal, intimate? Or is it also nourished by third parties?

It feeds too. Remember that feminists share. We have talked about everything: our motherhood, our mothers, the father figure, what military meant, where we came from. It is a very rich experience to have those friends whom I adore. The truth is that I don’t know what I would do without them. And yes, I am very observant, I am happy to watch and talk. Because I am also sure that there are many people who have a much worse time than me, and that overwhelms me. If I remember an unhappy childhood, I think of other cases and my heart shrinks.

The drawings have many vegetable references, but I was especially struck by the references to water and fish. Where does that obsession come from?

They may be fears… I don’t know how to explain it. I think they only go out… Well, as a child we spent the summer in Pucusana. That is the part of my childhood that I remember with the most joy. We lived there all of January, February and March, we didn’t set foot in Lima at all. So the sea was always present and we had a wonderful freedom. My memory of the sea is a memory of happiness. But at night it was different. My mother did what many mothers do: they install fear in your brain so that you are no longer saying “don’t do this, don’t do that”. And so that we wouldn’t go into the sea, she scared us that something ugly was going to happen to us. That’s why the things that scare me are the ones I don’t see. What is under the sea, behind a door. Today I hardly stay at home alone at night. These are things that are already part of your life and you accept them.

The other novelty is that for the first time color bursts into a couple of your drawings. Why?

Yeah, I’m getting into that. Those are the last drawings, although I already have new ones with color. They are inks, although they look like watercolors. I was encouraged because my training is painting and I have a pending challenge there. But painting is more difficult. On the other hand, the pen is a very humble material. Now it has risen to 15 soles, but in my time it cost 1 sol 50, I think. It is a small bottle of Chinese ink and a cardboard canson. I can do that anywhere, I don’t need a big workshop. I only require a place where I am alone, with relative silence or some music that I like.

And what music, out of curiosity?

Ah good. Basically classical music. I like everything, but not everything allows me to concentrate. If it’s sung music or music that refers me to a story, I can’t. Also, you know that sometimes I see a drawing and I clearly remember what I was listening to. That is quite curious.

Marisa, to finish, told me that her childhood was not very happy. What can she tell me about her motherhood?

Wow… It was hard. I was a very young mother and you cannot go back. It is difficult because one dreams of many things and they can no longer be achieved. Most women, when they start to be mothers, imitate what their mother was. Sometimes they even cook the same food. So it was difficult because I didn’t want to be like my mom in any way. I had to invent a role. But how do you invent something you haven’t seen? That’s where my criticism of the deification of the mother comes from. There is nothing exemplary in being a mother. Everyone does the best they can every day. That is why I advocate a desired motherhood. I would put it as a child’s right, the first: a child must be wanted to come into the world. And yes, I have many questions with myself, but I think all women have them.

Venue: Luis Miró Quesada Garland Room

Address: Av. Larco 450, Miraflores

Hours: Monday to Sunday from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Season: until March 27

Free entry