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The Mississippi River flows around Raspberry Island as a menagerie of technicolor beasts stand guard. 

Looking down from the Wabasha Street Bridge that connects downtown St. Paul to the West Side Flats, the pack looks like Jurassic psychedelia: dinosaur-size creatures who’ve found themselves in a city park.

There’s Tochtli, a bunny-lizard hybrid smiling with buck teeth, painted in blue, purple and orange stripes and polka dots. 

Across the island’s grassy field is Xolo — based on the ancient Mexican dog breed Xoloitzcuintle — with a glossy black coat, red paws and tall blue ears. Holding down the center is Michael.

“Michael is what appears to be a giant toad with very long legs, kind of like an elephant, and sharp teeth and a long tail, kind of like a lizard or a crocodile, and then butterfly wings,” says Aaron Johnson-Ortiz, staring up at Michael’s fangs. “So, that’s an amazing 

,” a free public art exhibition organized by Johnson-Ortiz, the executive director of the 

On view are 16 of these handmade chimeras — from 4 to 16 feet tall — June 1 through Oct. 26. 

) are a fantastical folk art tradition that began in Mexico City in the 1930s. The art form employs a unique type of papier-mâché, Johnson-Ortiz explains, called cartonería. As the story goes, alebrijes were invented by Pedro Linares, a Mexico City-based 

 (cartonería artist), after he had a fever dream in 1936.

“He started having hallucinations,” Johnson-Ortiz says. “He was walking through this forested area, and he started seeing these animals. He saw an animal that was something like a crocodile, except it had an eagle face.”

Johnson-Ortiz continues: “Then he saw a fish walking on land, and he saw a bird that was a little bit like a lizard and a cow mixed together. All these animals started chanting at the same time, ‘Alebrijes, alebrijes, alebrijes!’”

When Linares recovered, he started making cartonería creatures based on his dreams and called them alebrijes, a nonsensical word, Johnson-Ortiz says. 

Almost a century later, the art form thrives, seen in the annual Mexico City Alebrije Parade that coincides with Day of the Dead celebrations, as well as in the 2017 Pixar film “Coco.”

In 2022, Johnson-Ortiz saw the alebrijes in a West Chicago exhibition curated by colleague and artist Fernando Ramirez of the Mexican Cultural Center DuPage.

“I really begged for him to bring them to Minnesota, because I was just so fascinated by this art form, by the curation, and just by the fantastical dreamscape that he came up with,” Johnson-Ortiz says.

In several trucks, the alebrijes traveled from Mexico City to West Chicago and now Raspberry Island. Johnson-Ortiz also invited cartoneros to Minnesota. 

This spring, Edgar Camargo and Alberto Moreno of Mexico City arrived in Red Wing for an artist residency at the Anderson Center at Tower View. Here, they repaired and repainted many of the alebrijes that are now on view at Raspberry Island.

“The creatures themselves are an ephemeral art form. They're not a form of permanent public art, and so they evolve and change over time,” Johnson-Ortiz says.

The Anderson Center is also hosting the exhibition

which features the creative process with the artists’ preliminary drawings and 3-D models.

On the island, Camargo stands with his creation, Michael. In Spanish, he describes how he's been making alebrijes inspired by his love for nature for two decades. Johnson-Ortiz translates. 

“Coming here to St. Paul, and being on the island, being in the middle of nature, in the middle of the Mississippi River, it's hard to put into words. It’s a dream come true,” he says.

Camargo hopes Minnesotans come out for the exhibition. In a way, the art is an act of diplomacy.

“I want them to see that there's no borders to art and that nothing can stop art,” he says.

Nearby, Moreno looks up at his towering creation, Bicéfalo, which is like a snaking cerberus with the heads of a dragon and cobra instead of hounds.

“The two heads form an infinity sign, and they represent a yin and yang, and for me, it represents the struggle within people of good choices and bad choices and the good and evil that we do in our daily lives,” Moreno says with Johnson-Ortiz translating. 

Moreno, who has also been a cartonero for two decades, says the piece took a year to complete. For Minnesotan visitors, he says, “I hope they are fascinated by this work, because all of the work and labor that goes into it is done with passion and love, and it's a small present that we bring from Mexico to the United States.” 

Andy Rodriguez, the director of St. Paul Parks and Recreation, walks around the bunny-lizard Tochtli.

“This is a bit new for us,” Rodriguez says. “I mean, we have art in our parks that’s been established for quite some time, but to have an actual art exhibition is a bit of a new concept.”

Before the pandemic, Raspberry Island was a popular place for weddings and events. 

“It just hasn’t gotten back to the glory that it once had. So, we’re hoping that this exhibit will help transform the space and kind of spearhead it back to what it used to be,” Rodriguez says. The alebrijes “also tell stories of Mexican history, culture, tradition and I think it’s important to amplify those types of things so people become aware.”

Raspberry Island also holds a certain significance for this exhibition and the mission of the Minnesota Latino Museum, which is currently fundraising to build a physical space 

proposed for a site just across the river at Harriet Island Regional Park.

“It’s an island that separates the historic downtown area from the flats neighborhood, which historically was a space where the Mexican community in the 1920s through the 1960s lived,” says Johnson-Ortiz, looking up at the Wabasha Street Bridge that soars above the Island. “Many of them faced discrimination when they tried to cross the bridge.”

Monica Bravo, the executive director of the St. Paul 

, says the alebrijes and the proposed museum could help heal the past. She says it could also help change what she calls a negative narrative about Latinos in the current political climate.

“That this is a criminal element, these people come to take, they don’t give,” Bravo says. The alebrijes and the museum “will challenge that narrative, because it will bring all the creativity and culture and assets of the Latino community,”

Johnson-Ortiz says the Mississippi itself is key to community-building, as it connects Minnesota to Mexico.

“We think that the Mississippi River is the most important natural asset of the Twin Cities,” Johnson-Ortiz says. “We're very happy to bring our art here.”

On June 14, the Minnesota Latino Museum will host a community celebration for “Alebrijes: Keepers of the Island.” The event will include live music, dancing and arts and crafts, including a chance to help paint Xolo. Two more alebrijes artists from Mexico City, Miriam Salgado and Alejandro Camacho, will come to Raspberry Island later this summer to repaint and repair some of their pieces, including Tochtli the bunny-lizard.

Alex V. Cipolle

Author

A vibrant exhibition of giant, hand-crafted Mexican alebrijes now transforms St. Paul’s Raspberry Island, blending folk art tradition with community revival efforts led by the Minnesota Latino Museum.

Where the wild things are: St. Paul’s Raspberry Island

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