Red Flag Warnings: The Winds Are Shifting

Editor’s Note: This is Viva Arte’s first-ever op-ed, written by artist and writer Angela Weddle. In “Red Flag Warnings: The Winds Are Shifting,” Weddle speaks with clarity and urgency about the political climate and what it means to create as a disabled, queer, Black artist in the U.S. right now. We are proud to share her voice—and this call to action.

March is a month known for its shifting winds. In San Antonio’s case, not only did it herald Contemporary Art Month amid red flag warnings and isolated wildfires, this was mirrored in the very contemporary effects of the political climate shift and instability that we find ourselves living through. Artists and institutions must take a clear-eyed look at their role and responsibility. What does it mean to create now—and for whom?

As I made my way through a whirlwind of openings—both my own and others—one could scarcely tell we were a nation in constitutional crisis. There were a few anti-Trump artworks, works proclaiming identity and humanity, my mind harkening back to the innumerable social media discussions about our current reality.

As artists crowded around tables filled with hors d’oeuvres and filed in and out of galleries, my primary thought was: does any of this matter? All I could think about was the woman dragged out of a town hall meeting in Idaho for protesting. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this persistent sense of normalcy was anything but—this performance of calm is deeply unnerving as such abuses become increasingly normalized.

Angela Weddle, “On Our Backs,” Digital Drawing, iPad Pro, Apple Pencil, Procreate, 2020.

I’ve grown used to being called an alarmist. Since Janaury 20th, prominent artists and musicians have pulled out of events at the Kennedy Center, grants are being slashed, artists and musicians are being detained, and deportations and disappearances are happening—even to U.S. citizens and tourists. Artists such as Rebecca Burke have faced detention without cause. Musicians like the punk rock band UK Subs have been detained and deported, their work and travel interrupted by sweeping enforcement practices that now reach far beyond undocumented communities.

The question that looms largest in my mind, perhaps somewhat selfishly, is: will I have a place to live? Can—or should—I agree to future shows? Most art supplies are imported—how much will they cost next year? Is our obsession with lightfast, acid free, and archival materials just another institutional norm that we need to deconstruct and decolonize ourselves from? What alternatives do we have for creating and showing work? How sustainable are large works? Who will come to our events when boycotts of the U.S. are starting?

How sustainable is an artistic practice under threats of an autocratic regime, and not just financially but psychologically, socially, physically? 

I ask these questions not just for myself as a Black, queer, disabled artist, but as a citizen, a human being, and someone who has lived here for fifteen years—long enough now to be called a San Antonian and a Texan.

The Arts and Free Speech Under Attack

We’re watching the ACLU sue the National Endowment for the Arts over gender policy that will almost certainly silence and censor LGBTQ+ and marginalized artists. In a further blow to DEI, the NEA’s Challenge America program was shut down—unless artists comply with federal overreach.

Meanwhile, corporate donors are vanishing. Nonprofits have always competed fiercely for funds, but now we’re also battling a crisis of speech, of autonomy, and serious questions about institutional capacity and agility to protect and preserve resources and funding for the artists they serve.

Beloved children's books by Eric Carle are being banned. Classical musicians like András Schiff and Christian Tetzlaff have canceled U.S. performances due to our government’s policies.

Here in Texas, we face proposals like the criminalization of trans identity, branding it as “fraud.” Proposals like this are often a testing ground for what our government can get away with on a national scale. San Antonio itself has been hit especially hard by cuts from the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), which continues to act as an unauthorized government agency. 

We also have hyperlocal concerns: whether moving On and Off Fredericksburg from February to March was a good idea, the level of competition artists face, and the disappointing attendance at some events as a result. We wish for better communication and planning for all artists in San Antonio and the surrounding areas.

From Local Logistics to National Crisis

These local concerns pale in comparison to what we’re facing nationally. People keep saying “We need art in times like this.” That may be true—but as artists, we also need food, housing, and access to care.

 I found myself Googling “art of the Holocaust,” wondering what creation under duress looked like before. I also wonder what our institutions are ready—or not ready—to handle.

 We need the ability to make work in a real and practical sense—something that platitudes or abstract references to creating under duress fail to capture. We must do everything we can to prevent the conditions that force us to create under the worst possible circumstances. Because the truth is, we cannot create well if we cannot meet our basic needs.

Will our poets and writers, our musicians and actors, comedians and collaborators, receive tangible, meaningful support if they—or their institutions—are attacked? Do we have support for undocumented families and artists, for mixed-status families? Do we have support for elderly and disabled artists, for women and transgender artists, for anyone whose identity has been reduced to a banned word?

Are we going to continue ignoring the threats in our country—the undeniable rise of fascism and autocracy, the attacks on our health, autonomy, and freedom—so long as we don’t feel personally affected? Alongside our moral imperative, do we have any practical plans for what happens if tariffs escalate, or if buyers disappear from this blue-collar city that has long been one of the most economically segregated in the U.S.?

In Conclusion

One of the best things about being an artist is the blend of autonomy and community it fosters. As tragic as the current circumstances are, San Antonio artists have the opportunity to reimagine what it means to be both artist and U.S. citizen.

Although that reimagining includes fear for many, it also includes possibility. What could we build if we weren’t constantly trying to prove our worth to systems that don’t see us?

It is time to go beyond the status quo. It means taking action instead of asking permission, creating networks instead of just “networking,” and becoming the catalysts for the change we claim to want. Examples include the gallery and space for resistance Galeria E.V.A., and the work of 18-year-old local musician Ricardo Lazaro. Ricardo’s talents evolved into a political story broadcasted on CBS’s “60 Minutes” Sunday.

Although red flag warnings started earlier than anticipated, both locally and nationally, we have a chance to collectively do our parts to shift the winds of change both for ourselves as artists and as citizens. We can not afford to wait. Let this be our call to action. As artists, we are used to facing and overcoming artist’s block; our limitations often make us more creative when we challenge them. We are facing the biggest artist’s block of our lifetime—now is the time to be defiantly creative in our resistance, in equal measures.