Mask Exhibition Reveals Passions of 2 Latin American Cultures

An orange-faced devil with fiery eyes and a black goatee grimaces behind two tusks. A mustachioed macho with thick sideburns chomps on a lighted cigarette. And a ruddy-cheeked Spanish conquistador, sporting curly gold locks, peers disapprovingly down his beaked nose.

No smiling faces here. The 200 Mexican and Guatemalan masks that go on exhibit Monday at the Anthropology Museum at Cal State Northridge are part of a deeply rooted cultural tradition that has been sustained for centuries by Latin American folk artists.

The masks, which reflect both the Christian influences of the Spanish conquerors and pre-Columbian deities, are used primarily to act out ceremonial dances. But even removed from context and mounted on a wall, they form a sea of fantastic faces: fierce, gentle, humorous and grotesque.

“Even though they’re inanimate, these masks have a freeness, a spiritual quality that I love,” said Phil Morrison, one of the curators of the show, which runs until May 26. “For me, each one is like an individual character.”

About three-fourths of the masks are from Morrison’s collection, which he began in the 1960s when, as a self-described hippie, he left his job as a puppeteer in the Orange County schools and spent months wandering through the tiny Indian villages of Mexico and Guatemala.

Morrison, 47, who teaches a CSUN course on the history of design, said he paid from $5 to $20 for most of the masks--all 20th-Century creations--which he picked up at open-air markets or in the homes of local craftsmen. Now, with replicas being churned out for tourists, the value of his masks has soared. He can get from $200 to $400 each, Morrison said.

Carved from wood and often decorated with leather, animal teeth and horsehair, the masks range from horned animalistic monsters to fair-skinned Europeans.

Typical of pre-Columbian Indian themes are the masks used in the Mexican Dance of the Tiger. Green with black spots, the tiger mask has a snarling red snout, porcupine quills for whiskers, a red leather tongue and boar teeth sticking from its mouth. The dance, which is usually filled with horseplay and rough humor, depicts the hunt and capture of a wild cat that has been terrorizing a small agricultural village.

Other masks, which are decidely more European in nature and which were introduced after the 16th-Century Spanish conquest, include those used for the Dance of the Moors and Christians. Many of the masks in this dance bear the likenesses of light-skinned Spaniards, with soft features, golden, ornate facial hair and eyes of painted glass.

The dance re-enacts the centuries-long battle between the Muslim Moors and Christian Spaniards for control of the Iberian Peninsula, ending when an act of divine intervention turns the tide in favor of the Christians and compels the Moors to accept the victorious faith.

Anthropologists believe that the use of masks in Mexico and Guatemala, as in virtually every other culture from ancient Egypt and Africa, permits the elevation of everyday reality to the level of ritual enactment.

For Morrison, who said looking at the masks “is a little like crowd watching . . . searching for interesting faces,” that potential for transformation imparts life to his collection.

“They enable you to be something that you’re not,” he said. “You can just look at them and imagine. . . .”

“Mexican and Guatemalan Masks” runs Monday through May 26 at the CSUN Anthropology Museum, 18111 Nordhoff St. Museum hours are 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Mondays through Fridays. Admission is free.