




[These pictures relate to this Get to the 'Point from the Greenpoint Gazette.]






Emily Cantrell sat behind her Mac laptop as music softly fills Huitzilli, her store. Surrounding her are colorful objects—traditional textiles, panama hats, soaps, silver jewelry and lucha libre masks—that traveled from different regions throughout Mexico to Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Huitzilli (pronounced “weet-zeal-lee”) means "hummingbird" in Nahuatl, a dialect from Central Mexico.
Sitting in the back room while her son, Emilio, painted, Cantrell sipped her coffee as she talked about her Mexican obsession and her foray into the business world, coming from an art background.
Helming from Denver, Colorado, Cantrell spent some time in Germany studying photography before returning home to Denver. Then, she was off to New York to follow her art. Cantrell created a life of her studio world to feed her creative side and the restaurant business to pay the bills. She and a fellow artist, Jesus Pollanco, started a studio-gallery, hosting international contemporary artists.
"We made some really great connections with different artists," she said, "and we were able to get a certain amount of attention to their work through what we did." They also had showings in Colorado, one show in Cuba, and a trade show with artists in France.
It was in New York that brought Cantrell to her husband and to Mexico.
"Well," Cantrell said with a smile, "it's a love story and an immigration story." She met her husband in New York and they went back to Mexico to meet his family. They were married and had problems coming back to the U.S. because of visa problems. After having Emilio, they eventually came back. However, they couldn't let go of Mexico and made a point of regularly going back south.
"[I was] going back there and bringing handcrafts little by little because I thought they were so amazing,” she said. “I sort of started selling out of my suitcase to my friends and had this secret dream that maybe someday I could dedicate myself to it."
In the meantime, Cantrell worked in the restaurant business while working on her art. But she was ready for a change. That's when the idea of opening Huitzilli came up, opening last July.
"One of the things that's really interesting," Cantrell said of running her own business, "is that there's so many different learning curves. In doing a new business, I get to know specific families in Mexico that live in ten different states and work directly with them. It's more than just going to a trade show and buying a whole bunch of stuff from one central location, to going to where they live normally and meeting them and their families and getting to know their problems."
While giving a tour of the store, two men paused at the storefront. Cantrell excused herself and unlocked the door. In Spanish, she asked if they wanted to step inside. After declining and chatting for a little bit, they walked away.
“I've gotten great foot traffic, a really interesting mix of people,” she said, returning to the tour.
“The neighborhood is great, I love the neighborhood, I'm so thrilled I can both live in the neighborhood, have my son in a great school in the neighborhood [P.S. 132], and work in the neighborhood,” Cantrell gushed.
“It begins a lot of conversations when they come into the store and they see something,” Cantrell said, “and they either remember something or it reminds them of something. Even people from other countries, like Latin America, feel very nostalgic for the handcrafts they have in their home country.”
“They're like, 'Oh I know how to make this,' or 'My grandmother used to do that,'” she said.
“We sell a lot of different things kind of evenly,” Cantrell said of sales. Soaps with natural scents, wool, handmade jewelry, and children items are among Huitzilli's popular items.
“The lucha libre stuff, people are crazy about,” she added. “It's been fun seeing what people respond to and how they react to different things.”
Cantrell has a close connection to each and every product in the store. Traveling throughout Mexico, she and her husband seek out unique and intimate products to bring back to the U.S.
"Basically, the business started as a wild goose chase. We've bought some ponchos in Mexico City in Culiacan where they have a really great handcraft market,” Cantrell explained. “I said, 'You know, it seems like it would be really better to go where people make these things. So that started the first wild goose chase: going to some town way off in another state that turned out to be completely not where they made the stuff and that was just the beginning of the story."
"I meet the people where they sell or find out about them through asking 'who makes this?' or 'I've seen these, where are they?' Cantrell said, explaining how she finds her products.
"It was about me trying to find different people, places, on the right day, right time and the right season because a lot of these people, a lot of these crafts, people stopped doing it," Cantrell explained. "A lot of craft traditions are dying out, so there are fewer and fewer people who are doing it. It becomes harder and harder to find people that do it and get them when they actually have stuff, because a lot of times, it's a very small amount and they sell it at a very specific time. It's tricky.”
"Right now, my art is kind of my business at the moment because that's basically all I can handle," Cantrell said of her other passion. "The photography I do is part of the business and I just do stuff that I like. I take a lot of photographs when I'm [in Mexico], unfortunately I never have enough time to edit them or even think about showing them."
"It's kind of cool that through the business, I started approaching photography again from that aspect [of commercial photography] and coming back around to it again," she added.
"I sort of knew the problem of living in Mexico, or living anywhere outside, you know, if you want to call it the third world or whatever, because I've lived there," Cantrell said.
"Being a business person, you have to deal with all of those aspects of their lives too, and the uncertainties and problems they face so that's been one of the bigger challenges."
As for the store, Cantrell said, "Right now I'm really enjoying doing an entrepreneurial project of my own in something that I love.”


Dreary and solemn, the Red Hook Sugar Refinery stood empty and alone, against the gray-streaked skies of Brooklyn. Nearby, graffiti covered a dark wall against that same sky.
These aren’t photographs. Rather, these structures, which are most likely soon to be destroyed and replaced by luxury apartment buildings and condos, will live in paintings done by 28 year-old Greg Lindquist.
With his show, Industry at the Elizabeth Harry Gallery in Chelsea, Lindquist is recording the changes in Brooklyn, specifically in Williamsburg, Red Hook and Greenpoint.
To Lindquist, the warehouses he painted are the markers of industrial Brooklyn and the U.S.
The buildings are “signifiers of the industrial revolution and of importing, exporting and production in the United States,” Lindquist said. “As globalization takes over our means of production, we’re passing on the blue collar jobs to other countries. So we no longer need these spaces, and they’re being turned into more housing and residential developments.”
“The common thing is decay and the replacement of decay with luxury and development,” he said.
Lindquist described his theme as “looking at landscape as a way of expressing, landscape as a memorial or landscape as a way of expressing memory.”
During his undergraduate degree at the North Carolina State University of Design, Lindquist was taken with World War II monuments and memorials. Going to Europe on a grant, he traveled through these areas and read about their histories. He was interested in “hat role in our collective memory, like concentration camps and these spaces from World War II and the Holocaust played in those cultures.”
Then, while at Pratt for his MFA, Lindquist shifted his focus to what he referred to as “abstract paintings based on the landscape.”
He came to realize that what he was drawn to wasn’t memorials of specific events, but really just landscape as memorials.
“I realized when I looked around me,” Lindquist said, “I was like, ‘Oh, this is happening right here, right now,’ and I felt an overwhelming urge to document that.”
In regards to development in Brooklyn, Lindquist said, “It’s a really complicated issue. It’s really exciting for me to see this happening, but at the same time, I’m really skeptical about the amount of urban planning that’s gone into it.”
He finds that the new luxury buildings “disrupt a certain continuity of urban fabric.” Though, he does make the comparison between the new developments and his own work.
“I’m making luxury objects as well, but commenting on them,” Lindquist said. “The most ironic thing that could happen is if I make these paintings, and then someone buys them and puts them in these condos. This hasn’t happened yet, to my knowledge.
“That’s the complexity of art,” he continued. “You’re equally condemning and celebrating something, and they both use the same material vocabulary of construction and decay.”
Lindquist paints over stretched linen over rigid supports, because the linen will show up behind the paint. He’s “interested in the materiality of the object.” He also uses an acrylic stainless steel medium which further enhances the industrial feel to the paintings. For the paintings in Industry, Lindquist walked around Brooklyn and took pictures, which he then digitally edited and created into slides. He painted from those slides.
“It was one of the first malls in the East coast, so it had a lot of history to it, too,” he added. “So I have some relationship with empty spaces that I feel drawn to and feel the need to make things about.”
Next on his list are surface mines in Arizona, which relates to his show, "Industry."
“These mines have been shut down and they have very interesting geometric patterns and formations and a completely different color palette,” from Brooklyn.
The former Eastern Block countries also hold Lindquist’s interest. He heard of a concrete factory that was the sole concrete factory for the entire Soviet Union. “It’s this massive, sprawling Community concrete architecture,” he described.
Often, Lindquist thinks about whether he’d move his studio and home to Manhattan. Recently, Lindquist and his brother stayed in Manhattan at a friend’s apartment. After spending some time there, “it got really disorienting, claustrophobic and kind of dense pretty fast.”
When they came back to Brooklyn, they walked by McCarren Park and Lindquist realized there was still snow in the ground. He didn’t see any snow in Manhattan.
“That kind of indicates that open space is still here [in Brooklyn],” Lindquist said. “And it also goes back to the point of that open space being quickly supplanted by development. There is this overwhelming urge to do something about it, but as an artist, I don’t think I’ll ever be an activist.”
After bringing up the point that being an artist is similar to being an activist, Lindquist replied, “That’s the main goal in making art: to raise awareness. You are alerting people to your cause.”
"Red Hook Revere Sugar Refinery (Flattening the Remains, The Age of Steam)", 2007, oil on metallic on linen, 17 ½ x 50 inches.


