Spicy Gobou: Bet on Yourself. You’re Worth It.

Digital Assets by Alex Cao | Photographed by Rachel Karls | Layout by Paloma Blue | HMUA by Kat Tang

Rachel "Spicy Gobou" Aquino is a multidisciplinary artist, mythical being, and never-ending silly little performance. Their work explores themes of existentialism, identity, liberation, dream magic, absurdity, and mortality. "If my life is a mere performance, it won't be for prestige, but for joy.”

Gobou’s art utilizes the ego, forms, and the body as a vessel of expression. Their art shows how both real and imagined concepts exist in congruence to a sense of self. Their artistic process fuses cybernetic consciousness, movement, imagery, and experimental techniques, yielding an unreserved body of work that investigates how they can traverse playscapes of the mind and body.

Gobou's art can be interpreted as devoid of any universal meaning, emphasizing personal choice and the ultimate unseriousness of life. They pay a playful tribute to the contradictions within the human condition. With influence from the experiences of tragedy and hope, their art inspires viewers to contemplate their own place in the world through an expansive and restorative lens. By challenging the status quo and embracing the uncomfortable, Gobou's art offers a sense of catharsis and exploration.

-GOBOU GALLERY

To start, I’ve noticed you seem to have a really good understanding of your creative direction. Where did you see that creative talent start, and when did you feel like you could start taking the reins to work on it?

I noticed my creativity from a very young age, but it started with very simple things. When you're five, you've only got so much access to art materials, but I used to draw little comics — I was an illustrator. I really wanted to be an animator, but I've shifted a lot since then.

Later, I was introduced to more technology, and I got an iPod and a computer. When I was introduced to the artist Katy Perry, I thought the candy landscapes in her music videos were so surreal and amazing; it greatly inspired me. I started photoshopping myself into different illustrative worlds, into worlds made up of fudge and chocolate. It was how I connected and escaped. That still drives me, my artist statement — escapism.

I thought it was so fun.

In high school, I picked up a camera for the first time and fell in love with photography which segued into my journey as a creative director and multidisciplinary artist.

That's amazing. How do you decide on what to pursue creatively, and how do you manage whether it's worth going down a particular path?

I was a senior in high school, and I wanted to enter a photo I took in the Philippines, where my family's from, in a contest. One of the evaluators said, “I don't think that's gonna do. You should try to take more photos.” So I started taking portraits of my friends, and I fell in love with it. I started as a photographer which segued into my creative direction journey, and then into my art career as an independent multidisciplinary artist.

I just keep on finding new s*** to get my hands on, I think “Okay, now my identity's expanded; I'm no longer just a photographer or stylist or a model — I'm doing all these things, and I'm trying to show galleries. I guess I've got to be independent of that.”

I have different edges to my personality. I'm a Gemini, so my brain is everywhere, and I don't feel like there's one specific way. I can express how I feel, so I could pick up something or learn something that would help express that story. I picked up welding because I was attracted to metal fusion and digital fusion, and I was trying to get more tactile with my work, but in the end, it didn't speak to me like I thought it would.

When something grabs me, I see how it feels in my body. I have to enjoy the process. It's got to feel right.

Digital Assets by Alex Cao | Photographed by Rachel Karls | Layout by Paloma Blue | HMUA by Kat Tang

What have been some of your favorite ventures, process-wise?

Well, most recently, I've devoted most of my time to dance. I've found a beautiful journey within dance, one that I never expected. I always told myself that I didn’t know how to move my body. I had a lot of limiting beliefs, so I think the amount of barriers pushed me to find my strength and also connect to my presence. Vulnerability and different types of gender expression have always been integral to my healing, and I think that's one of the most beautiful processes that I found. Performing in front of an audience and doing performance art, and getting to have an ephemeral kind of peace.

I did my very first dance performance in June. I did martial arts as a child, and I trained intensely, so having my hands in multiple pies and being able to connect to disciplines is something I grew up with. That's what I have found here. In martial arts, I had to perform in front of judges and an audience, and learning how to thrive under pressure brought that skill I have to the plate, and it revived something for me recently.

Dance requires me to be very, very present, and that's something that also exists within photography and image-making. It has to be group-oriented, which I really love, because I'm connecting to other people's energies and tapping into that. It's more of a shared vision rather than me digging into myself. It's more outward facing.

That's why I wanted to talk to you. As an outsider, I see this as a huge superpower you have, and that it's so inspiring. You don't let these barriers come and keep you stuck.

A big part of my art is focused on breaking barriers. For example, not only aside from thinking, “Oh, I don't know how to move my body,” which was completely untrue, there's a lot of stigma around being sexy on a pole.

I find that the pole community has a lot of sex workers, strippers, aerialists, gymnasts — all kinds of people that do all kinds of things with their bodies. They all come together and make something new out of it. It’s really beautiful.

There's a lot of sexual healing there too, and I think that's important. I think it's very provocative to mention that but it's also important to talk about.

Many fear joining new communities. What helped you grow to the point where you could join these communities and be part of the creative process?

Photography is very natural. I go into things really open-minded and try not to have too many expectations, just put myself out there. I consider myself a little bit of a fearless person because I try to unlock doubt, and get it out of my way.

I face doubt a lot, but I try to move through it and do what I need to do. It isn’t a matter of, “Oh, I want to do this,” but more like, “No, I need to put myself out there. I need to find answers for myself. I need to express this thing and just move through that, not let it stop me.”

In times I let doubt stop me, I found myself very unhappy, stuck, and blocked. I guess it was never a question of caliber but more, “Am I ready to discover these things? Am I gonna be afraid of my success or my failure?” I had to keep reminding myself that you need to fail a lot. So just go ahead and feel it instead of waiting to feel like it years later.

Did you ever feel like there was a sign that you should go into these things, or was it more about throwing yourself in?

Both, there were signs. Specifically with dance, the first time I saw an artist on a pole was FKA Twigs’ “Cellophane” in 2019. I remember I watched it, and I just cried. It was so beautiful to me, and I knew that it was something I wanted to do, but it wasn't accessible to me at the time. I didn't know where to learn, and I was a student. I didn't have the time, I didn't have the money, and I was already in a phase where I was integrating myself into editorial photography and that was already new for me.

Dancing stayed in the background of my mind, and then a year ago, one of my co-workers took me to this pole show for Halloween, and I was amazed. The performers were so captivating. I talked to one of the performers after the show and asked, “Where did you learn this? I would love to do something like this.”

She was like, “You should go to my studio. It's a safe space for a lot of non-conforming queer people, and we just get together and dance.” I danced at that studio and integrated myself into the community. Funnily enough, that same performer became my mentor and invited me to dance in the same show that they produced. It was a big full circle moment.

It's exhilarating to see how people just take it up and throw themselves out there and go do it, especially when you find a support system and people to encourage you like, “Hey, I see you and I think that you're worth it. You should try it.”

Yeah, for sure! I think that's the beautiful thing about being in a community and mentorship. We're all uplifting each other. I don't believe art would exist without communities, so they go hand in hand. We have a lot of solidary artists. I believe that it's a big loop between the individual and the collective.

A true community will hold each other accountable, have hard conversations, but also uplift and empower each other.

What does solidarity mean to you as you partake in these communities?

To me, solidarity means personal accountability. A true community will hold each other accountable, have hard conversations, but also uplift and empower each other. I do think that accountability is typically the missing piece. I see a lot of people having conversations but not getting deep enough. They're supporting one another but not fully. It's like we've kind of scratched at the surface, and we're waiting to see through it. One thing I love about the community is that we're deeply honest and resilient with one another.

Strong, resilient, accountable, and vulnerable.

These are all words that I would use to describe our sense of solidarity as it relates to my art and our community. It has to be something that's regularly talked about. I've put myself in many different communities and observed how people interact and support one another. I saw a need for more active dialogue. This lack might come from a place of privilege and many communities or people that uphold that status quo. It can be uncomfortable to bring that to the table and break that bubble, but it is necessary.

What do you find helps open that channel of communication to have that dialogue and vulnerability?

Holding space for people is not passive; it’s very active.

It's something that you have to make known and to actively work with, and it takes trust. I mean, trust is something that is built and established; it's not something that is naturally there. I think that more people could do more to hold space for others and listen to them, like, “I'm here for this conversation or to hear some thoughts.” Unfortunately, some people don't understand what that means for them — holding that space, having that empathy, but I think it's vital for community health.

Holding space for people is not passive; it’s very active.

How have the communities that have shaped you helped support you?

Honestly by showing up authentically as themselves. That's the biggest thing. I can feel when someone is acting out of a place of authenticity within themselves, and their creativity. There's nothing more inspiring and moving than that. They show up for creativity, they show up for others, uplifting one another.

That's where I've been the most supported. When someone can ask you guiding questions. It's like critique, right? They're going to ask you more questions about your art so you can find the answers and facilitate that growth, instead of telling you how. How your articles looks, how you're supposed to grow, how you can learn by observing, how to see if someone is an active role model living authentically in their artistry, or just a great mentor.

Now that you have founded your own community, what is it like being on the opposite side of being a member, such as being a founder and supporting/mentoring others?

I have the opportunity to pour into others. Gobou Gallery is an opportunity to make an impact on others and pour into them. I naturally do it as a person, and it's about finding the right people who want to receive that, who are willing to accept that. It's beautiful to contribute to others' growth and to have a shared vision, to share that solidarity, like you mentioned earlier, with a group of people.

I don't see myself doing this alone forever. Establishing a community of people like that takes lots of grit and passion. I think it's one of the most beautiful things that you can find, and it is the ultimate goal for me.

I'm now a community engagement and programs manager at the Umlauf Sculpture Garden and a lot of my work is centered around the community and the arts because I want to do more of this in my personal life.

Has joining the Umlauf Sculpture Garden given you more perspective as a creative and, dare I say now, a leader in the creative space?

Aw, that was sweet, thank you. 

Definitely — I've gained so much perspective. I started at Umlauf as a full-time community service member contractor for a year. It was one of the places I volunteered and felt community. They're so vibrant, giving, and so real.

I wanted to continue to be in that space. It's so serene. I don't know if you've ever visited the sculpture garden, but it's so peaceful. I look up to our leader, executive director, and curator, Katie Edward Robinson. She's just a powerhouse. She's definitely been a great mentor and inspiration for me, she's super multi-faceted and moves at the speed of light. She's given me a lot of perspective on the art world. 

As an art historian, she's a breath of knowledge for art worldwide. I wanted to learn more about museum culture and how I could get seen in the world. I got more insight into that, and they were my first show. I was a part of the Apropos show at the sculpture garden before I started working there. I've become more efficient and organized in my work life and my artwork life. So that's where my former director role honed in.

You've been a director. You’ve been a photographer, a model, and a stylist as part of multiple creative and editorial magazines. Now, you're working for the Umlauf Sculpture Garden. You dedicate much of your time to dancing and increasing your experiences in the art world. What's next for Spicy Gobou? 

I’m so excited; I feel like I'm at the starting line. There's a huge race I have to go through right now. I want to perform, I want to dive into my performance career, and I want to integrate my other skills in that, such as world-building. I want to build worlds in a scene and dance in that scene, I want to tell a story like just how I would model. It would be a performance and a production.

You’d have wardrobe, makeup, a story, projection mapping (which I did at my show at the Umlauf), and the centerpiece would be a dance. 

I've proposed this to different museums and towns and stuff, but it has yet to happen. But mark my words — it will. 

This is the big next step and there are going to be a lot of milestones to get there like gigs and performances, more shoots to hone in on what it takes to make a production like that. It's going to take a team. 

We have such a beautiful community and if I'm not mistaken, you've also worked with other artists nationwide. Do you see Austin creating more of an environment where we can host these genuine communities for artists?

I hope so. That's my biggest hope. I think that I've been in solitude for a while, and I just reintegrated myself into communities. I'm like, “Where are these spaces? Where are artists going? What kind of artists are being showcased, and how accessible it is to people around the world?” I hope to see all kinds of diverse people and talents in Austin, Texas. Maybe I just haven't seen everything. Austin has yet to offer more. 

I'd like to see more dancers, performers, painters, new media artists, models, vendors, textiles, and art. I'm really just trying to understand the art landscape here in Austin, I feel like there are certain barriers. I'm thinking more big picture. 

You just mentioned barriers, what do you think some of them are? How can we identify them?

This is tough because if I’m brutally honest, I think this could just not be Texas-specific. This could be around the world, or at least in the United States. There is this distinction between “craft” and “high arts,” that's the first barrier where people consider some things as one and others as the latter, and I think that they just need to go together. Does that make sense?

It does, but I would love to hear more about this. What is the distinction between the craft and the high arts? 

Well, honestly to me, there should be none. I think the only reason that there is a distinction is because this is systemic and is rooted in white supremacy. That's my opinion. That's what I think from what I've learned.

We've talked about this in some of my classes at UT because I have a minor in Arts Management Administration. As I was getting ready to go out into the industry, I observed that there is a lot of white supremacy in the art industry, in the art market, and so on, and that creates this difference. From what I've witnessed here, and also going abroad, there are art dealers that are dealing new paintings worth a lot of f****** money. 

We’re here in Austin. I'm a vendor, and I’ve been doing markets with some amazingly talented artists. I keep noticing this happening around me, and I'm like, “What is this? Why is this like this?” There is an art gallery community in Austin, but then there are people who go out to sell their work and markets and love being in those spaces. I honestly feel like those are people who are a true part of the community, and they're getting their hands dirty and exploring working as a starving artist. It’s what we’ve chosen to call ourselves.

I've also met really established artists who have been all over the world whose CVs are so extensive. I always wondered, “How did you even do that? Where did you start?” This is still an answer I have yet to find. How do you bridge that gap? That disparity? That comes with having these conversations, like I mentioned earlier.

I'm still in this observational phase where I'm making my hypotheses and trying to understand these people and know their stories. These are just observations I've made, that breaking this down systemically is the route to go. That takes a lot of people and time. 

Thank you so much for your answer, I'm happy that I could ask you, especially as somebody who has covered so many disciplines. This is a problem that we find in every single creative space. 

“How did you even do that? Where did you start?” This is still an answer I have yet to find. How do you bridge that gap? That disparity?”

This feeds into my next question, as people in an organization like Glaze magazine, as people in a city in Texas, or as people in the United States of America: How can we platform artists like you? How can we support you? How can we make sure that we can tear down these boundaries, create more spaces to have these difficult conversations, and ensure that there's equity, inclusion, and diversity in these spaces?

Wow, this is a big question, and my first thought was, “It’s structural, it’s institutional.” It would be great to provide funding or residencies to artists. I don't know if this is something Glaze has ever thought of. I've thought of this as a community leader. Basically to have an artist incubator like a program or residencies that people could apply to hone in and develop their skills, even put on a show. This is obviously a lot easier said than done.

People are doing it in different studios and galleries around town, but I do think it is a great route to go. Upholding these community-based missions through programmatic offerings being able to say, “Here’s an artist that we've supported and made that space for them”, funded their artwork in some way, or gave them a platform or space to show. 

On an interpersonal level, every institution or organization needs accountability. I think that you need to have this in order to have a culture really well established and honed in on, you know? I mentioned earlier, “What does it take to have these conversations?” How do you hold space, and create space for people? 

My biggest question is how is Glaze doing that? How is Glaze telling the community, “We are space for you and this is how we're going to show up for you, and these are the ways we've done in the past and how we plan to uphold that?”

That's an awesome question, that is something that I'm extremely passionate about. I joined community outreach because I'm like, “If we're gonna say that we're a community-based magazine, we gotta put our money where their mouth is in more ways”. We've been doing grassroots projects, where every semester we donate our proceeds from the release party, towards a grassroots project of our choice. We're wrapping up our community interviews where every one of us interviews an artist or an activist in the community. Now we're going to band together and find a mutual aid or a grassroots project to support, like last semester when we donated our funds to Austin With Palestine, and recently when we donated a portion of our proceeds from our silent auction with Tweedy’s. I want to see a Glaze where we have even more stake in our work, where we can just do some good community work without needing to brand ourselves on it. I want to develop and find more opportunities where we can educate our community about financial and legal advice to protect their rights as artists and activities. 

Yeah, democratizing information and also empowering the members of the community about how they want to engage and how they want to be uplifted. It's so important and that's an open dialogue between the community members.

I'm very lucky to be surrounded by people who think like this and want to tackle these problems. Now it's just like, “Okay y'all. Let's hold each other accountable to doing it.”

Well, actually my last question for you is a deep one. If you could give a piece of advice to your younger self, what would it be?

“You're doing so much, be easy on yourself.” I would say like you know I just really want to hug them and take a lot of pressure off of their shoulders. I thrive off pressure, but I would want to nurture that, and be like, “It's okay, you're enough. Trust in the work that we put in and prioritize your safety.” I was told that a lot as a kid, but I'd say it again.

Yeah, we are often the hardest people for ourselves. We forget to give ourselves grace. 

For sure.

Rachel, it’s been such a delight to talk to you, this conversation was so nourishing. Please plug your social channels, the Umlauf Sculpture Garden, and all the things that you have going on. I want to ensure it's available and people can see what you’re up to! 

By the way, we're having an event. It’s the “After Dark Hispanic Heritage Month.” It's one of my programs, and it's gonna be a beautiful evening. It's from six to eight at the sculpture gardens. 

Wally and Rachel at “After Dark Hispanic Heritage Month” at Umlauf Sculpture Garden 

Where to find Rachel “Spicy Gobou” Aquino:
Personal: @spicygobou, @rachelbunni
www.spicy-gobou.com
goboudirection@gmail.com
Work: @umlaufsculpture
Rachel.aquino@umlaufsculpture.org

By Wally Naranjo