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| Axa Negron-Schnorr / Photo: Furr |
Not bad for an Anglo man and Muslim convert.
America’s burgeoning border art community lost a visionary
pioneer in July when Schnorr jumped from the same Coronado Bridge that
features his stunning murals. His suicide shocked and saddened legions
of admirers, including hundreds at Chicano Park who gathered for an
emotional memorial. Schnorr had recently retired as a Southwestern art
professor after 39 years.
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| Bob Filner / Photo: Furr |
Art major David Bonafede said he was devastated by the news
of Schnorr’s death and that Schnorr remains a teacher, mentor and
friend in his heart.
“No matter how hard or how easy you think something is, he
always made you look at things from a different perspective,” he said.
“He never let you quit and he always made you finish.”
Bonafede said he did a biography on Schnorr for his art
history class and came to know his mentor well. He said he loved not
only his art, but also his sense of humor.
“I remembered when I asked why he chose art, he looked at
me and laughed and said, ‘To meet girls,’” he said. “But more than that,
he taught me to never give up, never second guess myself, even though
you are your own worst critic.”
Murals painted by Schnorr gazed down at family, friends,
colleagues and students as they gathered on July 14 at Chicano Park to
celebrate the life of Schnorr.
Tables of balloons, flowers, candles and notes to the
artist were scattered throughout the iconic grounds. Pools and eddies of
mourners and celebrants formed around each shrine, shapes changing as
Schnorr’s friends moved from place to place. Hard hatted restoration
workers stood shoulder to shoulder in solidarity.
Under a gray, cloudy sky, all eyes turned to the park stage
and the central shrine to the missing artist. As the first music notes
dedicated to him and his family began to echo across the park, the gloom
broke apart and the sun began to beat down on the celebration.
Schnorr’s admirers spoke of his talent and compassion,
played music in his honor or told a story about him. Calpuli Mexica, a
Mexican folk dance group that practices three days a week under
Schnorr’s murals at Chicano Park, performed in his honor.
When Schnorr’s wife, Axa Negron-Schnorr, went forward with
their four children and several nieces and nephews, they released a pair
of doves. One immediately soared into the trees. The second one landed
next to the central shrine and gazed up at the crowd placidly.
“Michael is with us!” someone shouted.
As his family, friends and vivacious art energized Chicano Park, it seemed that he was.
Schnorr, a soft-spoken man, created art that was loud,
powerful and shouted down inhumanity. He once transformed a Southwestern
College lawn into a symbolic migrants’ cemetery by planting hundreds of
white crosses with dead inmigrantes’ names hand-painted on each one. He
traveled to Afghanistan, Argentina and other troubled nations to create
art that cried out for freedom and justice. A former Catholic who
converted to Islam, Schnorr possessed an aesthetic that was stunning in
its breadth and rich in its depth. When United Nations High Commissioner
for Human Rights Mary Robinson visited Tijuana to study the immigration
situation, she asked to meet with only one American. It was Michael
Schnorr.
SWC’s quiet megaphone for human rights could seem sullen,
his friends said, but had the heart of a revolucionario visionario.
Schnorr painted injustice and protest, but spoke with eternal hope and
optimism.
“Change is not a dream,” Schnorr once wrote. “We can leap
over history and monsters. Not even the stars are out of reach.
Barriers, walls and fences must be moved. Must be broken down between
countries, between people, between neighborhoods.”
Schnorr’s paint brush moved barriers and moved people by
prodding them to reconsider their points of view, his friends said at
his memorial. Schnorr himself, they insisted, was a work of art.
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