Ed Note: This Opinion piece is part of our Underground Good series, which focuses on providing a window into the mindsets of ordinary people doing good work in their community. It’s written by sociologist, coach and evaluation consultant Sharon Brisolara. You can find the rest of our Underground Good series here. Want to nominate someone? You can do that here.
Karlo Henry is an artist, artistic director, and curator who has had an important role in creating opportunities for local community residents to create, show, and appreciate art. In this conversation, he shares a bit of his personal journey, as well as his experience leading The Art Hunger, an art space located in the former IOOF building now occupied by Viva Downtown.
How do you typically introduce yourself to people?
My full name is Karlo Henry Vargas, but I usually go by Karlo Henry. I’m the founder and creative director for The Art Hunger. I’m an artist, but somehow I also ended up as the Arts Director for Viva Downtown. We moved to Redding seven years ago. My pronouns are he/him, I’m a queer person, a friend, a brother, a son, a husband, and the father of three pets. I like to have fun and try to stay away from negative things. I don’t dwell in the past. I look into the future, and I want to make my life and the lives of people around me better.
How did you first begin creating artistic communities and opportunities?
I was born in Barcelona, Spain. My mom is from Serbia. My dad is Mexican and I moved to Mexico when I was thirteen. I first lived in Central Mexico, then traveled all over the country when my dad, who is a doctor, was hired to open hospitals in rural areas. We ended up in Monterrey in Northern Mexico and I went to college there.
I could not have asked for a better upbringing, although it was chaotic at times. When we lived in Spain, I was not Spanish enough. Especially in Barcelona; I didn’t speak Catalan, I spoke Spanish and my dad was very Mexican. He wanted to have a Mexican family, from the food we ate to the way we interacted. When we moved to Mexico, I was not Mexican enough because I had an accent and my family was Spanish. It was the same after I moved to the States: I was always trying to belong, but here I was just another Mexican.
My background — socially, education, or money wise — didn’t matter in the States. In Hispanic culture, your family’s name has a lot of weight. I come from a family that is well educated. We were not rich, but we were very stable, so I was accustomed to having a certain position in society.
I studied to become an electrical engineer. You know, parents want their kids to find a way to sustain themselves. Art and music and culture are very important to my whole family, but I knew I couldn’t just practice art as a second career. At the time, my life was pretty much just like it was for them. I had just followed that path. But I didn’t want that for myself. So after I graduated as an engineer, I told my parents, “Here’s the diploma. I’m going to see what’s out there for me.”
Nothing against my parents; they are awesome. They gave us a lot of structure and knowledge about life. Even through their divorce, we were very stable economically, socially, and culturally. At the same time, I knew that if I stayed in what they wanted me to do, I would not find what I wanted to be myself.
I moved to the states to study art in 2000 and started taking English classes, of course, and studied Studio Arts and Art History, graduating from the University of Texas at Arlington.
At the time in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, art was contemporary and exclusive. To break into the gallery scene was very difficult. You had to be an established artist doing contemporary work. Somehow, I found a group of people who were hosting art shows and art parties. People were renting storage units or gathering in basements in an old church or a Masonic temple. They couldn’t break into the art scene, so they started art parties — people would hang stuff on a wall in one of these places, some would play music, some would dance, and at the end of the night, people would take their stuff and go home, and wait until the next party. If artists sold pieces, that was a plus.
That created a community of artists. There was no competition; it was more about community and wanting to find spaces to show our work. There was a lot of urban art, graffiti. I will never be a graffiti artist, but I wanted to be part of this group. We were all in our early and mid 20s and they welcomed me. We were a very diverse group — African American, White people, Hispanic, Asian, Pakistani people. We worked in the Mexican barrio because it was not gentrified, it was cheaper, and people were more open to sharing space with us. Most of these shows were free for the artists and for the public.
That experience changed how I approach art. Instead of having a teacher tell me what I had to do, I was with people who asked each other about their work, who said “That’s cool” and tried to feed off each other and discover opportunities. I became part of the group. We would get together and say, “Let’s see what we can come up with.” Little by little, that group of people changed the way art was seen in the whole Dallas-Fort Worth area. A lot of the artists that I shared space with are really famous now.
How did that experience lead to what you are doing now?
I knew, when I got my own gallery space, I wanted to make it affordable for other artists to participate.
In 2015, we moved to Bakersfield, California, but it was very segregated and I couldn’t find places to show. I’m really shy and quiet, but if I know someone is an artist, I’ll start talking to them. I was there for nine months and doing shows in Los Angeles because there was nothing in Bakersfield.
After that, we moved to Redding, and the first day we moved in I met Shelly, the curator of the O Street Gallery. She asked me what I did. I told her I was an artist and she said, “You should join the next show”. It made me feel welcome and not just a new person in Redding. It made me think maybe there’s a chance for me here.
And now you do that for others. What is important to you about that?
It is important to me because I’ve been on the other end — not feeling welcomed, excluded, people not liking you. I’ve gotten that a lot.
When I was brand new, I thought I was the one that didn’t belong; my art was nothing like anyone else’s.
I know what it’s like to be rejected. I know what it’s like for people to judge me because of their perception of what art is. To me, everything is valid. I’m not a critic. I am a curator. And I encourage people to keep creating.
People tend to think that I’m selfless. The truth is, I wanted to have a group of people that were my people. That’s the selfish part of it. I wanted my people with me, I wanted to see people making stuff, loving art, supporting each other. That’s what I want.
I had started going to the Bay Area to find places to show art, but thought, why can’t we have that here? The first show I put together, I collaborated with the NorCal Outreach to showcase LGBTQ+ artists. We got a mini-grant from the McConnell Foundation to support it.
Carrion Foster was in charge of Turtle Bay [Exploration Park] at the time and she asked me, “Do you want to do something with Turtle Bay?” So we put together a space for fifteen artists there. It was free and all they needed to bring was their art. It was very difficult to find fifteen artists, but I started searching and, in the end, we did it.
The way Carrie worked with me gave me the sense that what we were doing was valid and valuable. She’s our biggest supporter; she’s kind of like the mom who gave birth to The Art Hunger. She said, “You’re good. You need to keep doing this.” That gave me the confidence to do this. We’re such good friends now. I love her. She’s one of the most encouraging and supportive people that I’ve ever encountered.
That experience meant a lot to me. No one was doing anything like this; we created a space where artists could build on each other and pull each other up so that we could have a richer area for all of us that live here, one that is full of opportunities for everyone. Until then, it was all temporary. That’s where the idea of a cultural district was born.
The Art Hunger came about in 2020. The best way I found to create pop-up shows was to partner with businesses. I’d say, “We’ll come, set up, and bring people into your business and they’ll also get to see what we do.” All of this was free to the artist and the community. Whatever overhead there was, I paid for it. Later, John Truitt of Viva Downtown found a grant that allowed us to rent empty spaces around downtown for a series of shows. He didn’t know who I was or how I work. I’m shy and reserved, but I had to sell an idea. John bet on us and put his money on it.
In all of these opportunities, I have had to prove to people that this is valuable, and that it is not about the money made. It’s about the people it reaches, it’s about the artists that participate. This is not about me. This is about us. It’s about the people coming in. It’s the face of the artist that finishes their first painting, the nine-year-old that comes to a show and sees his work next to that of people he admires. I believe that people need to create instead of destroying, so that’s what I do.
You engage people from a range of communities and experiences with art. What has that experience been like?
The Art Hunger is a judgment-free space for everyone. It has been good to have a diverse group of artists from the established, to the nine-year-old, to the people that use art as mental health therapy, to the LGBTQ community.
One thing I tell artists is that there’s a lot of bullshit in the world. Leave it outside that door. Here, we support each other. Sure, there are some that don’t get that, and they just go away. But the people that stick around, they get the idea of us as a community. They understand that their painting looks better surrounded by other cool paintings.
I encourage artists to celebrate each other and to talk to other artists, see what they make. Maybe you’ll get inspired. As much as you’re going to love that $50, $120, whatever money you get for your painting, you’re going to love that your fellow artists recognize and celebrate you even more.
We began The Art Hunger in January, three years ago, with the group of artists that make this possible. We’ve all learned how to do this better and have fun. We’ve also started Creative Hangouts where everyone from twenty-year-olds to ladies that are scientists all get together and talk about, you know, movies from the 60s. People come in and think, “I can be myself without judgment. I can connect with others.”
The creative process of an artist is very lonely. The value of The Art Hunger is the safe space, visibility, and celebrating each other. All of this made the larger community celebrate us, too. And who doesn’t like being recognized for what they do creatively?
Redding was ripe for this to happen. There was the pandemic, and there were other groups of artists who had done this type of thing for years: the Art League, Armando’s Place, Art Mart, the Arts Council, O Street Gallery, Turtle Bay. All of these places were doing something for the public who wanted to see art, but not be judged for how they looked or dressed. All we needed was a space where everyone could be visible, get recognition, and have encouragement to keep making stuff.
This all takes a lot of work, but I’m so grateful. It is humbling to be in this position; I have to keep delivering not just for myself, but for those who are just starting to discover The Art Hunger. As a community, we need this. A better society, from my point of view, is a society that grows together. This is one thing that is helping us grow. For some people, it might seem frivolous. There are more important things to tackle as a society, but this is a little thing that gives us hope: the fact that we can come together, regardless of where we come from or our political ideas, and make something happen.
The Art Hunger is one project of many. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m sure that it’s going to last as long as we have the love and support of the people we have. I always encourage people to do their thing. If you feel like maybe what we do is not really what you want, go find your thing and put in the work. And invite other people! We cannot do things by ourselves. We need the support of others, we need the encouragement, we need the love.
We need the money also, but having fun is one of the things that brings happiness and peace of mind. That’s what I want to do, bring people together through art.
What else motivates you?
My first job in the States was carrying boxes. I had never done physical work; I had been an engineer working in quality control in a factory. That humbled me a lot. Then, I worked for the school district in Dallas before moving to California.
I’ve seen how people get treated. I’ve seen Hispanic people being treated poorly. I’ve seen Black people being treated poorly, Middle Eastern people, Asian people, queer people; people being attacked just for who they are. I don’t want that. I want to treat people with respect, and I expect the same respect in return.
Where I’m from matters; it made me who I am. The people who have surrounded me, from the time I was a kid up to today, have also made me who I am. I am at peace with myself.
I am vocal about my ideas when it is the right place and the right time. When there’s an injustice or something wrong going on, I will speak up. But I don’t need to be talking about that all the time. The Art Hunger is a place for all of us. I’m not here to teach people how to think or who to vote for. I can say things in my art that might be social or political. But I’m not going to tell people what to do.
My mom told me a story a long, long time ago when I was a kid. Once upon a time, someone had a potato, an egg, and some coffee grains. When things get harsh, it is like you put on pots of water to boil and throw each thing in different pots. You have a choice during hard times: you can be the potato in boiling water and become mushy and tasteless. You can be the egg and get hard and bitter. Or you can be the coffee that changes the environment and makes it better. I want to be the coffee.
If I stopped doing this tomorrow, I’ll know that I have done my best. Independently from what other people think, I know that I did my part. Even if I were to move on to other things, I would want to keep putting my best into it, so I can make my environment better.
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