Echoes of Identity: Afro-Puerto Rican Women and the Creole House
Ada del Pilar Ortiz, Entre dos tiempos (segunda edición), 2023. Photo courtesy of the artist.
Years ago, I was walking with my mother along the streets of La Parguera in Puerto Rico, when she stopped to admire a small wooden house alongside the road. “Remember my grandmother?” my mother asked. “She had a house just like this.” Indeed, she did. The small pink wooden house with a balcony along the front was typical of late-nineteenth through early-twentieth century Puerto Rican dwellings. As we walked past, another voice echoed our sentiments. A young mother with her daughter walked hand-in-hand, “Look,” pointed the young mother, “my grandma had a house like this,” she said to her child. With a zinc roof, this Creole home reminded me of not only a Puerto Rican past but also of my great grandmother, Carmen. Born to formerly enslaved parents, my great grandmother made her living as a midwife in the small pueblo of Patillas, Puerto Rico. Her home and her figure synchronized in my mind.
In Puerto Rico, Creole houses, much like Afro-Puerto Rican women, stand as vestiges of a seemingly forgotten past. The Creole house, recognized by its front verandas and distinctive wooden framing, is typically a single-story, elevated residence often built with materials such as wood and sturdy Mampostería. Today, many of these historic homes have boarded up windows, decaying wooden frames, and scattered debris, rendering them as visual disturbances–estorbos públicos. Often abandoned, Creole houses symbolize a bygone era, resonating with a pervasive sentiment where both Afro-Puerto Rican women and their Creole homes are woven into the fabric of collective memory. For some Puerto Ricans, the act of remembering, or keeping these elements alive in consciousness, is of paramount importance. One cannot help but think of Fernando Fortunato Vizcarrondo’s evocative poem from 1942, ¿Y Tu Agüela, Aonde Ejtá?, when exploring the essence of Puertorriquenidad. The acknowledgement and remembrance of Black individuals is tied to place, particularly for Black women in Puerto Rico, who are delocalized and often remain obscured from aspects of the nation’s history. Infused with an Afro-Puerto Rican vernacular, Vizcarrondo’s verses resonate powerfully in contexts like La Parguera. As Creole homes in Puerto Rico fade or undergo “modern” transformations, they ought to stand as poignant reminders of a Puerto Rico where Black identities thrive. The US-American suburban model, emphasizing mass urbanization and modernization, promotes a US-colonial vision of reform for these architectures. Unfortunately, under the pretext of ‘development,’ the Puerto Rican Creole house becomes classified as a visual disturbance, erasing not just a Puerto Rican history but also an Afro-Puerto Rican history, as it was Black hands that constructed these vernacular spaces.
It is against this backdrop and the potential for both memory and oblivion that artistic cultivation and architectural preservation has burgeoned in Puerto Rico, though their purpose is not merely aesthetic. Through a diversity of images, forms and motifs, these processes serve as powerful mnemonic devices, anchoring the past firmly within the present urban landscape. Today, there are Afro-descendent women reclaiming their voices and the structures attributed to a Black past. From street artists to conservators, women are rejuvenating the Creole house, blending it with vivid memories and Afro-histories, and emphasizing the importance of community and place. Through the individual practices of Damaris Cruz, Ada del Pilar Ortiz, and Ahisamar Antonia, they collectively spearhead a Puerto Rican cultural renaissance, weaving tales of resistance and identity into the architectural vernacular. They engage in practices that are vibrant celebrations, bridging art, architecture and legacy, where every artistic detail resonates with the enduring spirit of Afro-Puerto Ricans and their place in community.
Ada del Pilar Ortiz, Estorbo Público - Ponce, 2023. Photo courtesy of the artist.
In discussing the Creole house, I am referring to a widespread architectural style in Puerto Rico and the Caribbean that is marked by its vernacular roots. This style is also encapsulated in the Jíbaro house, a subject often romanticized in local art. Frequently portrayed as a working-class white man, the Jíbaro has not only become synonymous with a broad Puerto Rican past but also a form of silencing an Afro-Puerto Rican history. The Creole house is what remains today of this history, yet it is seen as a symbol of white history, and not something that was defined by Black Puerto Ricans. Both Ada del Pilar Ortiz and Ahisamar Antonia engage with this architectural form by linking it to a distinctly Puerto Rican history while retaining elements reminiscent of the Jíbaro aesthetic. Their work acknowledges the historical distortion of these structures as symbols of white male dominance––a misrepresentation that neglects the diverse reality of the island. This narrative of erasure, which is characteristic of Black identity in the Americas more broadly, is confronted daily by individuals like my mother who asserts, “En Puerto Rico hay Negros,” affirming the presence of Black people in our homeland.
The work of Cruz, Ortiz, and Antonia transcends a simple shared Afro-descendancy or a superficial engagement with the imagery of the Creole House. At the heart of their work is an act of reclaiming collective memory amid colonial legacies. These Afro-descendant women are not just reclaiming their personal and ancestral stories, but they are also actively creating spaces for community interaction, asserting a place within Puerto Rico’s foundational stories and physical spaces, and reshaping the narrative and the land itself. They all work with domestic dwellings that have been ignored, abandoned, forgotten, and even those considered modern disturbances. Their work––be it preserving an early 20th century abandoned property, making screen prints of abandoned structures, or adhering a wheat-pasted mural to a crumbling nineteenth century building––all ties into their drive towards community uplifting. In my conversations with each artist, I witnessed the drive to help the communities that their work is centered around, all while preserving and reclaiming the narrative that Blackness and Black-womanhood are just as present today as in the past.
Portrait of Ada del Pilar Ortiz, 2023. Photo courtesy of the artist.
Ada del Pilar Ortiz’s artistic practices interrogate architectural blueprints and renderings or “planos,” addressing how memories mark transient spaces and position decay and displacement as pivotal to our evolving narrative of progress. Ortiz’s redefinition of architecture as fluid and reflective of life’s transient nature spotlights the interweaving of individual, familial, and societal identities within the spaces we inhabit. In Entre dos tiempos (2023), the artist presents a cyanotype on muslin, featuring an illuminated, abandoned Creole house set against a dark blue background. This depiction is a replica of the Creole house on the cover of Carol F. Jopling's Puerto Rican Houses in Sociohistorical Perspective (1988), a seminal book on the Puerto Rican Creole house's significance. Consistent with her Planos series, the artist often uses these visual elements with the ghostly Creole house as a central component in her compositions. Ortiz shares her thoughts: “Now I find myself thinking about cyanotypes as a way to document time, the expiration of ideas in space and their transformations.” For Ortiz, architecture is a dynamic canvas, advocating for inclusive design that honors collective heritage and confronts the enduring impacts of colonialism. She argues for architecture’s potential to articulate identities, particularly those of Afro-descendant communities, stressing its role in shaping socio-cultural and political dialogues. Her work advances a narrative where architecture aids in reclaiming histories and asserting self-determination.
The mural Recolectando la Semilla (2017), created by Damaris Cruz—or Damalola, as she is known—once adorned an aging Creole house in Ponce and stood as a poignant reminder of the power of architecture to hold and transmit memories. Using her own photographed image, the mural depicts Cruz as a coffee laborer, a significant figure in the development of the city of Ponce. Imbued with bold colors, this mural uses the wheat-pasting technique to adhere phonebook yellow-pages to the surface of the Creole house. This action and process does not step away from the historic significance of the house, but instead emphasizes it. With her art, Cruz connects the historical threads of Puerto Rico to the fabric of today, celebrating the nation’s coffee laborers and delving deeper into the racial discourse of the region. Her work shines a spotlight on the Black community’s enduring spirit of resistance and activism. Damalola’s mural does more than just beautify a street; it challenges us to see the significant yet unrecognized influence of Afro-Puerto Rican women on our nation’s identity and insists on the importance of honoring their legacy. This piece, situated at the crossroads of racial identity and place, brings into focus the lasting imprints of colonialism on our shared spaces and collective sense of self.
Damaris Cruz, Recolectando la Semilla, 2017, Calle Aurora, Ponce, PR. Photo courtesy of the artist.
Drawing a parallel with Ada del Pilar Ortiz’s introspective Planos, which grapple with the fleeting nature of memory and belonging, Cruz’s mural underscores a truth: though these structures may stem from a colonial past romanticized by some, for the Afro-descendant community, they hold a deep and irreplaceable significance, anchoring their sense of place and community. And while the mural itself fell victim to the earthquakes of 2020, crumbling along with the building it graced, the spirit of Recolectando la Semilla doesn’t fade into the background. Instead, it lives on, suggesting that what some might dismiss as mere rubble or un estorbo público can hold a presence that defies its physical destruction—continuing to echo through the collective memory of the community.
Parallel to these explorations, Casa Borges is Ahisamar Antonia’s initiative—a space where Black artists in Puerto Rico can celebrate and showcase their work. Located intentionally in Naguabo, Puerto Rico, an area steeped in the heritage of cimarrones, Casa Borges transcends simply being a gallery; it is also a beacon of inclusion and community engagement. The establishment of Casa Borges in a colonial-style house is a deliberate move by Antonia to reclaim spaces historically inaccessible to Black people. The construction of Casa Borges is not only a personal reclaiming of identity but also an acknowledgment of the legacy of Black builders. The site transforms into a central hub for the Naguabo community, a place that not only holds the collective’s cultural wealth but also functions as a cornerstone for city center revitalization.
Casa Borges, 2019. Photo courtesy of the artist.
Ahisamar Antonia working on Casa Borges, 2019. Photo courtesy of the artist.
From the streets of La Parguera to Ponce and Naguabo, memories cling to the walls of Creole houses. At these sites, we find a narrative of resilience and reclamation––a collective refusal to let the past slip into shadow. The Creole house stands as a physical testament to a rich history, and the work of artists and activists like Ada del Pilar Ortiz, Damaris Cruz, and Ahisamar Antonia serves as a vital cultural force, anchoring memories within the urban landscape. They do not simply remember. They breathe life into narratives long marginalized, infusing the present with the strength and spirit of our ancestors. Ortiz’s dynamic approach to blueprints, Cruz’s murals, and Antonia’s Casa Borges all stand as embodiments of an ongoing cultural renaissance.
The reverberations of the past are palpable as they echo through these streets, these homes, and most importantly, through the hearts and minds of those who choose to remember. The spirit of my great grandmother Carmen, and the essence of her time, live on through each foundation laid and each story told, ensuring that the Afro-Puerto Rican legacy remains an indelible part of our collective consciousness. In every mural, blueprint, and reclaimed space, there is a resounding answer to the question “¿Y tu agüela, aonde ejtá?”—she is here, etched into the very soul of Puerto Rico, a testament to a past that refuses to be forgotten, and a future that is being actively shaped by the hands and hearts of those she has inspired. Porque en Puerto Rico hay Negras.
Estefanía Vallejo Santiago is a doctoral student in the Department of Art History at Florida State University. Her research explores the visual representation of Black heritage in Puerto Rico, anchored by decolonial and critical race theory methodologies. Her work aims to speak on the intersections of race-based narratives within public spaces, highlighted by her engagement with street art. Her work is centered around reimagining Puerto Rican Blackness, delving into its spatial manifestations and ties to national identity, as well as to unearthing silenced stories and fostering dialogues that challenge and enrich prevailing narratives.