The City: Marcela Avelar
“Writing is like making love. Don’t worry about the orgasm, just concentrate on the process.””
Foreword
Artista multidisciplinaria. Founder of TheArtruist. Performance painter. Global citizen. Mexican-born. Brooklyn-based.
Preface
I was born in Guadalajara – the middle child of a non-typical Mexican couple of chemical engineers. As an artist in the house full of scientists, I had to be messy in the most organized way, with clothes being carefully color-coded and cans always facing in the right direction. Following the rules and learning math helped me to camouflage, while being occasionally loud between the silence of my parents. Don’t get me wrong, I had (and still have) the most beautiful family, with my upbringing being far from tough, but even the most beautiful family can’t shield you from big feelings. Art was my way to escape, the only drug and meditation that would temporarily quiet down my mind. My mom taught statistics at the local university, and I loved coming with her to draw on the board – not gonna lie, I also ate some of that chalk. One day, she showed my drawings to a phycologist friend, and she said they were too advanced for a 5-year-old because they had too many details. At the age of seven, I remember lying on the couch, looking at some shadows dancing on the walls, then closing my eyes and praying God to take me with him – I have no idea why it felt that way, but I remember very vividly wanting to die. Life kept going, and I kept adapting, but when the time came to pick a career, it came with many questions. I was good at art, but still wasn’t sure if it’s gonna be enough, so I studied design. First client at 17, opening an agency at 22, closing it at 23…years of freelance prior to eventually moving to NYC in the search of adventures and answers. What was supposed to be just one year quickly turned into 15 years, and I’m still looking for answers. Adventure, on the other hand, I found plenty of, with every day being better than I could ever imagine. New York is a wonderful lover, but a self-absorbed one. Every time I thought I was going to leave, it would give me just enough to stay. NYC might be my longest relationship to this day, and it’s always been good to me: it gave me a beautiful family of friends, it opened doors for me, and it continues to challenge me. For many of us, 2020 hit really hard and left us feeling lonely with very little to none basic care. One day, I found myself crying on the floor in my living room – depression was back, and it felt like this time I was aware of it settling in. In the months leading up to that, I kept materializing it as a woman flirting with me, I kept fighting Her, but as I was lying on the floor that day, I gave up and asked Her to Kiss Me Goodnight. The artist in me couldn’t paint, so I wrote what I felt, and I kept writing because I had no choice. Painting as a kid was meditation, but poetry became my medicine. All these poems were never meant to be read (not by strangers and even less by my loved ones), but the words kept burning, so I had to let them go. Marcela had a facade to keep alive – she was supposed to be full of color, not black and white. Looking back, I was probably still in the gray area (I thought I’d leave the white pages blank), but I had the courage to show it to my good friend and poet Emily Fiskio, and, as naked as I felt, her words made me keep going.
Kiss Me Goodnight / A Tale About Depression, Melancholy, Joy & Other Drugs
Photos: Emily Hart Fiskio | Event production: Liz Yilmaz | Kiss Me Goodnight (2025)
Epilogue
On April 27th, the book was finally published. The release party was a night of intertwined media in lower Manhattan at 334 Broome Gallery, with me reading the poetry out loud for the first time, surrounded with my art and Dan Iead’s music. The two-waist dress came to life in the hands of costume designer Erica Johnston and moved with the pedal steel sounds while I painted live. Composed of nine feet of fabric and brushed tempera, the fluid sculpture was a dance between light and shadow, the duality within us personified by dancers Billy Cannon and Tiffany Mangulabnan moving from Darkness to Light in an unending quest for balance. Poetry followed by art and performance stimulated all senses and told the story, the story that is not only mine but ours. The more I share it publicly, the more I realize that hiding it didn’t serve me, and that there are so many of us out there in the wild. Today, I would like to keep co-creating live with other talented artists, with every night turning into a unique experience that can’t be repeated. Art is my way of healing, my gift and my offering to the world. Kiss Me Goodnight intends to give Hope, while I intend to keep doing art with purpose.
To this day, I had three serious depressions: (1) when I closed my agency, which led to my identity being crushed and disintegrated; (2) when I moved to NYC, with lack of sleep and unclear prospects making the worst combo; (3) during Covid-19, when I felt alone in the most crowded city, spending the days in bed until getting up was not an option. Now I know that Depression is the alarm that goes off when something is out of place, and that I must learn to listen to it before She gets stronger than me.
Bibliography
The City
Favorite thing about living in New York ↝ Any normal day becoming an adventure
One thing you can't survive without in the city ↝ Community and…my cold brew
Three adjectives describing New York ↝ Chaotic, bold, expensive
The most inspiring spot in the city ↝ The subway
Current obsession ↝ Fun clothes (interactive, LED, upcycled)
