“I’m not moving,” Carlos Rivera Pineda often said in that mildly obstinate tone of his. He was speaking of his home in Austin, and although the words came from the silver-haired man who walked with a cane, the spirit was that of a 4-year-old. You couldn’t help but grin when he took on that tone and think to yourself, “Ay tú.” But you also knew he was serious. A couple of hip surgeries had made it difficult for him to get around, the “old-timers disease” sometimes made him lose his train of thought, and he would not drive at night anymore, but Carlos’ spirit was as spry as anyone’s a third his age. He was doing just fine, thank you very much. So it came as a shock to family and friends when he passed away on May 4 after a short illness. His funeral was held May 8 at San Jose Catholic Church. Carlos was 70 years old.
The Arizona native called Austin home because it was where he found his voice as a visual artist. He worked as an administrator for the city of Austin’s Cultural Affairs Division, most visibly as manager of the Dougherty Arts Center, where, before his retirement in 2003, you could see him, always dapper and ready for business, strolling through the gallery or checking in on classes in the studios. He was a proud advocate of the Mexican American Cultural Center, serving as the city’s liaison to an early organizing committee in the 1990s. So it was appropriate, after a 30-year struggle to see the MACC come to life, that Carlos was the featured artist in the center’s inaugural exhibition in 2007. A retrospective of his work, “Hacia la Vida (Toward Life),” brought together not only his work but his family, friends, and admirers, who celebrated his achievement with a surprise serenade of the Cuco Sanchez song for which the exhibit was named, sung by Austin’s Celeste Guzman Mendoza, accompanied by Tucson, Ariz., classical guitarist Joshua Brown. Carlos could not have been happier. Surrounded by his daughters, he sat regally, his eyes filled with happy tears, his ever-present cane held before him like a scepter. That profoundly joyous moment was among the most astonishing things I have witnessed in my life.
Carlos had four daughters that he, in a word, adored. To be honest, I always wanted to be the fifth member of “his team” – an inside joke among Carlos and his daughters when teasing or expressing appreciation for one another. I received the next best thing when he suggested that I sit for him. He had painted a series of portraits of Mexican-Americans and Chicanos – his effort to celebrate raza, he said, using the form usually reserved for royalty and dignitaries. When he asked if I would be his next subject, I thought he was joking. I put him off, saying I didn’t want to be captured at this size. “I can fix that,” he laughed. No, maybe when I’m thinner, fitter, my hair is longer, I get my hair cut, I find the right outfit …. Frankly, I thought he’d forget, but whenever I ran into him at the H-E-B or called to see what he was up to, he always brought it up. That my vanity prevented me from accepting this amazing honor is, well, there are no words to express what that means.
His daughters – Mairena Pineda-Balfour, Mirea Pineda, Maura Hose, and Ariadne Pineda, – and his wife, Yolanda Acuña Pineda survive Carlos. A public tribute to his life and work is being planned for Dia de los Muertos at the MACC.
As Carlos would say, “¡Que empiece la fiesta!”
This article appears in May 15 • 2009.