Raymond Michael Patlán, an internationally esteemed Chicano muralist once dubbed mayor of San Francisco’s Balmy Alley, died on April 15 in Oakland. He was 77.
Friends remember Patlán as a “dynamic force.” His powerful, politically outspoken murals about labor, the Central American crisis and inequality have not only adorned the walls of the Mission District since the 1980s, but spread internationally and intergenerationally, as he mentored younger artists in his craft.
“He just had that gift of being able to teach and inspire people,” said artist Carlos “Kookie” Gonzalez, who met Patlán in 1980, when Gonzalez was a 20-year-old on a summer back from college. Patlán was establishing himself in the neighborhood after moving here from Chicago, and Gonzalez became his liaison with the youths. “I introduced him to a lot of the neighborhood homies. And Ray took me under his wing.”
Patlán was simply a “cool cat,” Gonzalez said, in more ways than one. He had his iconic glasses and sideburns, and wore multiple silver rings and chains around his neck — and threw a great house party. But Patlán also knew how to remain cool under pressure in a conflict.
“Whereas other cats just fucking want to fight right away, he didn’t — he’d say, ‘No no no no, we’ll come back to this. Let’s just do something else, just keep moving forward,” Gonzalez said. “He’s that kind of guy.”
His first major project in San Francisco came in 1984 when Patlán organized PLACA, a large-scale mural project in Balmy Alley calling for peace in Central America, which put the tiny alleyway on the map. Twenty-seven murals were painted over the course of nine months by a coalition of dozens of artists. It remains the most mural-concentrated block in San Francisco.
Like much of Patlán’s work, the Balmy Alley murals had a purpose: They protested the U.S. involvement in Central American political revolutions. In Spanish, placa can mean “badge” or “plaque,” and alludes to the term for a graffiti tag, or leaving one’s mark.
Patlán was born on Sept. 4, 1946 in Chicago, and grew up in the Mexican-American community of Pilsen, one with many parallels to San Francisco’s Mission District. From a young age, Patlán enjoyed making artwork — in a documentary about the Chicago suburb of Blue Island, he called himself “a little capitalist” who drew pictures as a child and traded them with his friends for candy or toys.
Patlán was a member of the Brown Berets, a pro-Chicano paramilitary organization, and also briefly attended seminary before being kicked out. In 1966, he was drafted to serve in the Vietnam War, where he worked on “combat art” and painted his first mural in a chapel in Vietnam.
That first mural was made possible with the support of his older sister Anne Bernal, who shipped paint to him in Vietnam, according to Patlán’s niece Cherise Chico Roberts.
“His artistry was definitely cultivated by his oldest sister, Auntie Annie,” Chico Roberts said. The siblings’ parents did not allow Anne to attend art school as Patlán, as the youngest of five, eventually did, but he was ever-grateful for her support.
Upon his return to Chicago, he attended the Art Institute of Chicago, and in the early 1970s painted the first mural that won him wider reach, on the Casa Aztlán community center in Pilsen.
“I think that might be the mural that really makes a name for him — not just in Chicago but throughout the mural community in the United States,” said Patlán’s friend, fellow muralist, and former business partner Eduardo Pineda.
The Casa Aztlán mural, too, became embroiled in controversy: In 2017, a developer remodeling the building painted over it, sparking outrage in the community. Ultimately, the local Mexican art museum flew Patlán back to his home neighborhood to repaint the mural on the new building.
“There’s a reflection here about just how relevant his work [remained] throughout his life,” Pineda said.
Even the Chicago developer Andrew Ahitow said he found the Casa Aztlán dispute to be a good experience.
“The building was kind of in shambles,” Ahitow said, and significant repair work was necessary. But Patlán was understanding, and even excited to do a modern rendition of the mural. Patlán’s attitude, he said, “turned a kind of a sour situation into a positive one.”
It was not his only tussle with the powers that be. In 1974, Patlán won a legal battle to paint what was dubbed the “forbidden mural” in the city of Blue Island. Titled the ”History of the Mexican-American Worker,” the mural highlighted Mexican-Americans’ evolution from farmworkers and meat packers to doctors and lawyers. Despite city leaders’ protests, the work was deemed by an Illinois district court to be protected as free expression — and has been cited as a precedent-setting case for murals across the country.
That mural, too, was painted over in later years as its host building fell into disrepair. And similarly, at Blue Island, Patlán was invited back in 2016 to repaint his mural — with the city’s blessing — the once “forbidden” mural.
By 1975, Patlán moved to California, first living in Berkeley before moving to the Mission District of San Francisco, where he lived for many years on Balmy Alley. He got his master’s degree at the California College of the Arts, and he taught for many years, holding positions at UC Berkeley, Stanford University and Laney College. He also went international, teaching at and producing murals for The Academy of San Carlos in Mexico City and Dartington College of Arts in England.
No matter where he was painting, his focus was always on social change and fighting injustice.
In 1983, he became the founding director of Creativity Explored, a studio for artists with developmental disabilities, a role he held for some 15 years.
“He was generous with his knowledge, with his knowledge about art and murals and the mural world,” said Paul Moshammer, the current studio director, who was first hired by Patlán in 1990.
Patlán also hired fellow artist and longtime friend Horace Washington to work as a ceramics teacher there.
Their boss, who hailed from a prior generation, would tell the two artists: “The problem with what you artists do, is you use too much color!” Washington said, laughing at the memory. “So that would amuse us.”
Many of those who worked closely with Patlán remembered his stubborn nature — a bent that served him well in advocating for public art and his beliefs.
Pineda and Patlán went into business together in 1989 as “Fresco,” and for several years, the pair began painting the town — literally. They painted Leonard R. Flynn Elementary School at Cesar Chavez and Harrison, and years later, created the tiled mural facade on the clubhouse at Jose Coronado Playground.
“We shared a real interest in having murals be something that would really support community and really move, create positive change,” said Pineda. “He’s really an expansive mind; it’s easy to be imaginative with him, but also be practical and concrete. That’s a good combination for public work.”
One of Pineda’s fondest memories with Patlán was their time working in 1990 at Sonoma’s Gundlach Bunschu winery, whose owners wanted to honor the Latinos whose labor make the wine industry possible. The pair verified that the owners treated their workers well, and Patlán was able to expand the project into one much grander than the original plan to paint a few tanks.
“Ray can be pretty convincing,” Pineda said. “They got the idea of what a mural could be … He was able to get them to realize that they could actually change the whole setting.” The owners ended up building an entire wall for the two muralists to paint as a backdrop for their public space.
Patlán cultivated his community outside of the art world, too. For years, he was inseparable from his dachshund Carmelo, and after he died, Patlán ended up with another mini dachshund, who he named Carmelita.
“He had a purse kinda thing that he would walk around with her in it,” said Leslie Bialik, who met Patlán when she was looking for volunteer work after she retired as a public defender. “And so she was always with him. They were joined at the hip, Ray and Carmelita.”
Bialik began helping him transfer slides while Patlán worked at Laney College, and walked Carmelita around campus for him. At first, she received a gruff, one-word email response when she offered to help Patlán out. But in person, Bialik said he was extremely friendly. After Patlán left Laney, Bialik said the pair stayed friends, going to events or shopping at Costco, one of his favorite lunch spots.
But conversations often tied back to art. Bialik said he explained Cubism to her, and brought her around to appreciate Frida Kahlo, whose work she previously considered overhyped.
Ray Patlán is preceded in death by his parents Candido and Remedios, and sisters Anne Bernal and Gloria Cerda. He is survived by his sisters Cecelia Patlán and Sally Chico and several nieces and nephews.
Patlán’s work can be found at Jose Coronado Playground, the International Longshore and Warehouse Union at Mission and Steuart streets, La Peña Cultural Center in Berkeley, and elsewhere.
