From the concrete walls of East Dallas to the prestigious halls of contemporary art, Victor “marka27” Quiñonez has spent decades proving that the streets are a sacred archive. For Quiñonez, graffiti and skateboarding were vital survival mechanisms and an escape from an environment imbued with mass incarceration, violence and immigration enforcement. He was raised in a resilient community where neighbors looked out for one another during sudden deportations and street vendors offered free tamales to families struggling to get by. That upbringing instilled an unshakeable ethos into his practice. Those lived experiences serve as the spiritual bedrock of his current work, transforming grit and neighborhood solidarity into monumental, public expressions.
What sets Quiñonez apart is his ability to operate with the meticulous precision of an industrial designer while keeping the soul of a graffiti writer. He spent 15 years navigating the upper echelons of fashion and product design, mastering everything from independent vinyl art toys like his coveted “Minigods” to sourcing sneaker molds in Asia for Converse. Because of that, he approaches massive installations with a disciplined eye. This blend of corporate design acumen and genuine street knowledge allows him to explore art beyond the canvas. His studio in Ridgewood, Queens is a testament to this duality. Loaded with analog machines stacked with vintage boomboxes, vinyl records and artworks he’s collected from the across the globe, within this emphemera-filled studio Victor conceptualizes his next projects that champion the immigrant hustle whilst operating his and his wife Liza’s creative agency Street Theory.
At the core of his visual vocabulary is “Neo-Indigenous,” a term Quiñonez coined to describe the convergence of ancient Mayan and Aztec iconography with the sharp, geometric visuals of graffiti. This aesthetic approach comes to life most powerfully in “Elevar La Cultura,” a striking 22-foot-tall pyramid constructed entirely out of ordinary ice coolers, which Victor describes are the ultimate symbols of immigrant hustle and street vendor resilience. Whether he’;s subverting nostalgic pop imagery like fluorescent paletas to touch on the cruelty of enforcement systems or collecting major accolades like the Frieze L.A. Impact Award, Quiñonez remains strongly tethered to his roots. Alongside his partner Liza, he’s actively building his own table to ensure that future generations of Black and Brown artists see their beauty, history and survival elevated to the status of high art.
By mentoring the next generation of BIPOC creatives through Street Theory, the pair actively pass down the ancestral wisdom, discipline and smart business acumen required to understand challenge institutional barriers. His trajectory went from dodging felony graffiti charges in the ’90s to now navigating museum shows and exhibiting at major contemporary spaces like The Shed NYC and SCOPE Miami. We sat down with Victor at his studio to discuss his interdisciplinary practice and journey that reflects such an inspiring and unique road towards creative defiance.
“We were a community that looked out for each other.”
You’ve mentioned that graffiti was an escape from an environment of mass incarceration and immigration enforcement. How did those early years in East Dallas dictate the purpose-driven approach you have today?
It’s interesting that painting graffiti on freight trains, roof tops, and creating large scale graffiti productions would get me incarcerated and charged with a felony that would affect my life for decades. The irony is that graffiti and skateboarding were my escape from the gangs, violence and drugs affecting my life and family. I would eventually apply the skill set and work ethic gained from graffiti to paint massive murals. The 90’s were a difficult time for my family in East Dallas.
My father was deported several times when I was young, and my mother worked many jobs available to immigrants, such as cleaning offices and factory assembly lines for cosmetics.
Oftentimes when we struggled financially street vendors would give us food from their coolers—like tamales, fruit, and water—without asking for money. We were a community that looked out for each other. Families knew when parents were being deported and looked out for each other. These lived experiences profoundly influence my work to this day.
After 15 years in fashion and product design for brands like Converse, how does that industrial mindset influence the way you construct large-scale installations today?
I was fortunate to create my own designer vinyl art toys, the “Minigods” independently and work with brands like Kidrobot as an artist. Working with big brands like Converse on footwear, apparel and accessories developed my ability to manage my personal work logistically. The trips to Asia sourcing materials opening molds for sneaker outsoles and producing original fabrics would allow me to think beyond 2D work and give me the experience to express complex ideas for building art installations. It’s a blance of technology and handmade techniques with raw authentic expression that I strive for.
“My work needs to have an organic approach and a certain level of ancestral and spiritual connection.”
You coined the term Neo-Indigenous to describe your style. How do you balance ancient Mayan and Aztec iconography with the modern geometry of graffiti?
I look to my cultural heritage for inspiration. It seems ancient civilizations were far more advanced than the colonizers in many ways. I’m inspired by Mayan and Aztec architecture and their use of materials, hieroglyphics, and textiles to tell stories. My Neo-Indigenous style is not specific to one culture but informed by many. I create something familiar but new.
The patterns I use are a mix of traditional and original designs. My pyramid is an example of contemporary art inspired by ancient geometry rooted in Neo-Indigenous expression.
Your studio is filled with an incredible collection of speakers, toys, and global artworks. How does surrounding yourself with these specific objects fuel your creative process?
I believe the objects in my studio keep me rooted, forming a foundation built from nostalgia. The vintage speakers and boomboxes speak to a special time when everything was analog and you had to be present to enjoy the experience. The physical act of purchasing music, making a mixtape, pressing pause and record, all things that remind me to be in the moment when creating and connecting with people. I feel like my work needs a certain level of handmade technique that demands focus and discipline, like playing a vinyl record, You need to take several steps before starting that sonic journey. I treat technology like another tool but I’m careful not to rely on it too much. My work needs to have an organic approach and a certain level of ancestral and spiritual connection.
“These coolers carry more than food or flowers. They carry stories. They carry legacy. They carry dreams.”
Whether it’s a mural or a massive installation, your work is inherently accessible. Why is it vital for you that your art is in the streets rather than private galleries?
First, it’s extremely difficult for Black and Brown artists to transition from the streets to renowned galleries and museums; historically, this has always been the case. I believe many artists who paint massive murals and have a significant street presence also maintain a serious studio practice. It’s unfortunate we are often put in a box and labeled “Street Artist,” including graffiti artists and muralists. For me it’s extremely important to have my work in the streets because it often reflects the indigenous communities that make this country beautiful. I want future generations to feel seen, represented, and uplifted, the same way I felt the first time I seen Mexican muralism and artwork from legends like CHAZ BOJORQUEZ,John Biggers, Rivera, Orozco, and Siqueiros, to name a few.
I recently won the FRIEZE L.A impact award and the opportunity to have a solo exhibition at FRIEZE L.A. I also showed a major installation “Elevar La Cultura,” at The Shed NYC has traveled to major cities and was the main featured installation for SCOPE art fair in Miami during Art Basel. My transition from the streets to galleries and museums is thriving but I’m staying connected to my roots.
In “Elevar La Cultura,” you transformed everyday coolers into a monumental Mayan-inspired pyramid. What is the significance of elevating such a humble, utilitarian object into a spiritual structure?
There’s a unique kind of genius born from struggle; a creativity sharpened by necessity and resilience shaped by survival. For immigrants, especially those who arrive with little more than hope and hustle, creativity isn’t just self-expression, it’s a strategy. It’s how we feed our families, how we build community, how we leave our mark.
This spirit — the ability to turn anything into opportunity, to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary — is what inspired “Elevar La Cultura.” At its center stands a monumental Mayan pyramid, not made of stone, but of ice coolers, the same coolers used by street vendors across the country. This large-scale, 22-foot-tall immersive installation infuses cultural textiles, spiritual objects, and mural work. Blending ancestral symbolism with contemporary survival tools, the installation reclaims space and uplifts the beauty, resilience, and cultural power of marginalized communities. These coolers carry more than food or flowers. They carry stories. They carry legacy. They carry dreams.
Your exhibition at the University of North Texas was abruptly closed due to works critical of ICE. Can you walk us through that experience and how it felt to see your work censored?
I can honestly say it came as a big surprise because previously before my solo exhibition “Ni de Aquí Ni de Allá” was abruptly taken down the university asked me to judge their annual competition that gives students an opportunity to showcase their work and win financial awards. I was also given a tour of the university and introduced to several staff members. My artwork was displayed on everyone’s desktop with a banner on the UNT website and several social media posts and stories. My exhibition was fully installed and opened on January 3rd with the reception scheduled for January 19th. As the reception date approached, I started reaching out to the gallery director to ask when I could send out an RSVP link. I also asked numerous times for an update on the exhibition and for the gallery to send images of the installed work. When I didn’t get a response for several days I looked into their social media. By January 11th, every single social media post from UNT had been taken down and all information and images about my exhibition had disappeared from the official UNT website.
I was officially ghosted by an entire university and the feeling was incredibly frustrating. It was a miracle that UNT students began sending me DM’s through I.G an warned me that my exhibition had been covered up and removed. I asked them to send me photos and video for confirmation, and they did. Jenny Yanez, a student journalist at UNT, broke the story that went viral. I wanna be clear that no one UNT staff or employee reached out to let me know what’s happening. I’m proud of the UNT students for standing up to the faculty, protesting the censorship of my exhibition, and fighting for their freedom of speech. Finally the gallery director sent me and the Boston University Gallery Director a vague email stating that UNT has decided to terminate our loan agreement and will be returning the artwork to B.U. There was zero explanation why they censored the exhibition but it became clear that the work I created, titled “I.C.E “Scream” series, was the reason for the censorship.
“I was told that whoever controls the image controls the mind, so be mindful of what you choose to put into this world.”
This series uses the nostalgia of a paleta to reveal the reality of systemic oppression. Why is subverting “sweet” imagery so effective for delivering a heavy political message?
My artistic vision was to create an image that works in two very impactful ways. The first is that it draws in the viewers because of the bright colors and many of the pieces are lit using fluorescent LED lights illuminating the images etched into each paleta. The second element is the messaging etched into the paleta sticks and encapsulated within the large resin sculptures. All of the paleta sticks have my versions of the Homeland Security logo. My interpretation has the seal with the words “Department Of Stolen Land Security” and a masked I.C.E agent with the acronym saying Inhumane and Cruelty Enforcement. The opposite side of the paleta stick has an image of a child in a detention center cage etched into the wood. The large resin paleta sculptures have objects encapsulated like handcuffs, guns, and a rosary, each symbols of abuse, violence, corruption and hope. I have witnessed over a thousand viewers interact with my work during art exhibits and art fairs. Thye rush over to the large, bright palette that is first perceived as nostalgic pop art, but they are suddenly forced to engage with a harsh reality: many people choose to look the other way if an issue isn’t affecting them personally. Ultimately, the work was created to celebrate our beauty and humanity, and to bring awareness and empathy to a vulnerable community being villainized and targeted by the current administration.
Through your agency, Street Theory, you mentor other BIPOC artists. Looking ahead, what mark do you want to leave on the next generation of graffiti artists entering the contemporary art world?
I first want to say none of this would be possible without my better half and partner in crime Liza Quiñonez founder and Executive Director of Street Theory and the support we receive from our loved ones ancreative community. Our daughters Reina Quiñonez, my son Micah the sneaker head and highly opinionated music nerd and Luna Quiñonez are a big inspiration for us and are part of the next generation that will take these sown seeds to the next level. I’ve been fortunate to receive advice from some amazing people and I’m happy to share some of it with the next generation. I was told that whoever controls the image controls the mind, so be mindful of what you choose to put into this world.
The other thing I would like to say is never wait for opportunities or to be discovered. As artists, we often feel like we need a seat at the table to receive validation; it’s time we start building our own tables! God Bless and thank you to the Artisans, and ancestors who sacrificed so much for us to be here.
All images captured by Brian Nguyen for HYPEBEAST
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