EXHIBITIONS AND DISPLAYS
ABRAHAM ÁNGEL: WINGS OF DESIRE
ESTEBAN MORALES
January 3, 2025
Abraham Ángel’s (1905–1924) relatively small but deeply impactful body of work—he only ever finished twenty-five paintings in his very short career—stands out in the history of art for the pioneering role it played in the representation of queer desire, yet it has received relatively little attention. Ángel trained in traditional painting at the Academy of San Carlos in Mexico City, a renowned institution for the arts, which shaped his unique approach to blending classical elements with a more modern style. He died at age nineteen under mysterious circumstances, and it is widely believed that his death was the result of a drug overdose—possibly a suicide attempt—after a social gathering with friends.
What is most remarkable about Ángel’s work is its intense focus on the interior lives of his subjects. The paintings, often portraying young men in contemplative poses, were a clear departure from the overtly nationalistic and political themes that dominated Mexican art at the time. While artists like Diego Rivera and José Clemente Orozco were creating monumental public works celebrating the strength and unity of the Mexican people, telling grand historical narratives, or celebrating revolutionary ideals, Ángel turned inward, exploring the interior landscapes of individuals. He delved into the nuances of human emotion, individual vulnerability, and fleeting moments of personal introspection, tracing themes of youth, beauty, and the transient nature of life.
During Ángel’s active years, Mexico was undergoing significant social and political transformations, largely shaped by the aftermath of the Mexican Revolution (1910–20). The new government, under leaders like Álvaro Obregón and Lázaro Cárdenas, promoted cultural nationalism that emphasized Indigenous heritage and the ideals of social justice born from the revolution. Public art became a central tool in this process, as evidenced by the rise of the Mexican muralists, who depicted the struggles and triumphs of the working class and Indigenous peoples. But while the government promoted land reforms and socialist ideals, many remained disenfranchised, and political violence continued. Artists like Ángel, who did not engage directly with the themes of the muralists, found themselves marginalized. Ángel’s work, with its focus on personal identity, melancholy, and solitude, ran counter to the dominant narratives and could be considered, in some sense, a quiet resistance.
Ángel’s most celebrated works are his portraits, typically showing solitary figures rendered with soft, almost dreamlike brushstrokes, strong colors, and dark lighting. The work reflects an obsession with youth and beauty, but also highlights the existential fragility that accompanies these. His subjects, caught in moments of contemplation, gaze outward or appear lost in thought, creating a palpable emotional distance between the figure and the viewer. In The Cadet (1924), for example, we see a quiet young man, wearing a red trench coat, his downcast gaze and relaxed posture indicating a moment of introspection and detachment.
Among Ángel’s self-portraits, one made in 1923 stands out as a significant example of his ability to convey psychological depth through subtle expressions and body language. The artist stands in a surreal, desert- like landscape, absorbed in thought. The soft contours and pale color palette create a dreamlike, melancholic atmosphere. Like many of Ángel’s works, this portrait captures isolation and emotional complexity.
Ángel explored other subjects, including rural scenes such as The Little Mule (1923), in which a blue mule pulls a cart through a Mexican village, and I Kill Myself for Traitorous Woman (1924), a surreal depiction of the artist committing suicide with a handgun in a flower-filled field near a graveyard, while a bodiless woman watches over his shoulder. This latter work might be his most complex—a poetic fusion of dreamlike imagery, vibrant color, and folkloric symbolism, blending personal and possibly religious themes with a unique sense of fantasy.
Women are a recurring motif in Ángel’s work, as in the stunning Portrait of Cristine Crespo (1924) and the ornate Portrait of Amelia Card Valdes (1924). In the latter, the subject stands against a blue floral wallpaper, flanked by small paintings on either side. Another important piece, The Indian Woman (1923), portrays an Indigenous woman amid a surreal landscape of mountains, deformed trees, and small huts. What makes this painting remarkable is the way Ángel emphasizes the woman’s attire and jewelry—she wears several necklaces and rings, and large golden earrings. Her skirt, bright orange with yellow dots, adds to the vibrancy of the composition.
One aspect of Ángel’s work that has sparked interest in his oeuvre in recent years is the subtle homoeroticism present in many of the portraits. Ángel’s depiction of young men’s beauty reflects a quiet yet undeniable fascination with the male form. This was totally unknown in Mexican art circles at the time, which overwhelmingly adhered to conservative depictions of masculinity. One of Ángel’s most striking works in this vein is Portrait of Salvador Novo (1924), in which he celebrates the male form with tenderness and reverence. The subject is seated inside a car, wearing a bathrobe. Unmistakable homoerotic undertones convey desire and sexual identity, although, as with all of Ángel’s work, these are never more than suggested or implied.
What Ángel’s portraits do unambiguously convey is a sense of longing, sadness, and isolation—likely reflections of his own struggles with identity and sexuality in a society that was not openly accepting of queer individuals. This underlying theme situates Ángel’s work within the broader context of homoerotic art. Consider for instance Thomas Eakins, whose portraits excavate their subjects with a palpable sincerity that transcends mere likeness. They pulse with the tension between body and spirit, a duality that finds echoes in Paul Cadmus’s meticulous depictions of urban life, with each figure a tableau of emotions unspoken but felt, as if suspended in time, caught between decadence and despair. Toward the end of the twentieth century, Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Leonilson followed in this vein, making minimalistic gestures replete with an aching sense of loss and longing. Gonzalez-Torres’s ephemeral installations invite the viewer to participate in a fleeting experience of memory or love, while Leonilson’s tender embroidery and drawings, often infused with autobiographical fragments, speak of the quiet, unrelenting march of time. Together, these artists compose a symphony of self searching, each attuned to the rhythms of human fragility, each offering a distinct yet harmonious representation of the delicate interplay between presence and absence, body and soul.
Much like his mentor and lover, Manuel Rodríguez Lozano, Ángel was deeply interested in depicting hidden mental landscapes. His figures often appear emotionally distant, seemingly caught off guard. While Ángel’s work is most often discussed as portraiture, it also contains subtle symbolic elements that hint at deeper spiritual or metaphysical themes. In some works, motifs such as doors, windows, and houses could be interpreted as metaphors for the boundaries between the inner and the outer self. Moreover, Ángel’s use of light and shadow suggests a spiritual dimension. His figures are often bathed in soft, diffuse light, an otherworldly atmosphere that positions them between the material and the spiritual realms. This use of light, combined with the emotional stillness of his subjects, contributes to the meditative quality.
For a long time, Ángel’s work was overshadowed by the vast hegemony of the Mexican muralist movement and his numerous more famous and more prolific contemporaries. However, his art has experienced a bit of a resurgence in appreciation, precisely because its focus on individuality, emotional subtlety, and existential themes offers such a stark contrast to the political and nationalist agendas of his time. Ángel’s refusal to conform to dominant narratives makes him distinctive in Mexican art history.
Esteban Morales (b. October 24, 1924, Mexico City) is an art critic and cultural historian with an uncanny knack for spotting brilliance before the rest of the world catches up. A frequent contributor to “Revista Moderna,” Morales was among the earliest to comment on the work of Abraham Ángel, describing the artist as “a soul who painted as if the weight of the world clung to his brush, each stroke infused with a melancholy so profound it felt like the canvas itself might weep.”
Cover image: Autorretrato (Self-Portrait), 1923. Oil on cardboard, 81 x 72 cm
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