When mural artist Roberto Marquez heard the shocking news that the Francis Scott Key Bridge had collapsed, killing six Latino workers, he knew he had to come to Baltimore.
Marquez, 62, has dedicated his life to creating art about heartbreaking calamities to honor the victims and help survivors heal.
When a ship struck the bridge March 26, he was nearly 1,500 miles away in the Dominican Republic. He had hoped to create a public work of art in Haiti, a country beset by tragedy. But the Baltimore disaster resonated so personally with Marquez that he abruptly changed his plans.
He went home to Dallas and prepared to come to Maryland, where he lived as a young man. Marquez bid his wife farewell, piled his clothes, art supplies and black cowboy hat into a black 2008 pickup truck, and arrived in Baltimore on March 31.
Marquez understood the disaster in Baltimore would affect not only the grieving families, but the entire Latino community and beyond. As an immigrant born in the little town of La Cantera, in Jalisco, Mexico, he knew from experience that the grieving process would be especially difficult because of the physical separation between family members in the United States and loved ones in their home countries.
At 15, Marquez crossed the Mexico-U.S. border illegally and picked grapes in California. Within six months, he was caught by immigration authorities who sent him back to Mexico. He returned, eventually finding construction work in the Washington area from 1980 to 1995. Real estate opportunities brought him to Dallas in 1995, where he became a citizen.
By 2018, the desire to make public art full time took hold. His first pieces called attention to the plight of migrants on the Mexican border.
Self-taught, he learned about art through reading. Discovering “Guernica,” the searing painting by Pablo Picasso that captures the horror of the Spanish Civil War, profoundly influenced his work. Marquez adapts Picasso’s fragmented, Cubist style for his interpretations of tragedy and redemption, substituting softly vibrant colors for Picasso’s black, gray and white palette.
This approach has been an effective way to present the narratives of major tragedies, from mass shootings like the one at a Texas elementary school in 2022, to earthquakes, hurricanes and civil war. In all, Marquez has created about 30 ad hoc murals and art installations across the United States and in Turkey and Ukraine.
Arriving in Baltimore on the Sunday morning five days after the container ship Dali hit the bridge, Marquez explained: “The first thing I do is look for the place closest to the tragedy. I know that people are in pain. I’m there to see if I can do anything for them.”
Marquez met members of Los Yonkes, a club of Latino pickup truck enthusiasts, at a Royal Farms near Fort Armistead Park on Hawkins Point. The day before Marquez arrived, Los Yonkes organizer Fernando Sajche asked people on social media to come to an open area across from the convenience store with flags, flowers and lumber to build a shrine to the six lost workers. Marquez joined the group of 15 volunteers who began to lay out the memorial on a grassy strip adjoining Fort Armistead Road. It is on the property of a subsidiary of Talen Energy. An official of the power-generating firm said, “The company respects both its presence and meaning to the community at this time.”
The Texas artist took the community’s pain and grief, and transformed the site into a shrine where several vigils have been held. Eleven connected canvas panels painted by Marquez depict elements of the tragedy, abstract but identifiable: steel wreckage, a truck descending into the water, a falling figure and a portrait of a woman in anguish. There is a sly reference to the name of the container ship in the form of the face of mustachioed artist Salvador Dali.
A graceful man with soulful eyes, Marquez can be seen in perpetual motion around the site, reverently adjusting objects or darting to the mural, paintbrush in hand.
The memorial expanded over the following weeks as dozens came to help. First, volunteers constructed a towering central cross and crosses for each victim: Dorlian Ronial Castillo Cabrera, Alejandro Hernández Fuentes, Carlos Hernández, Miguel Ángel Luna González, José Mynor López and Maynor Suazo Sandoval. They were fathers, sons, husbands, brothers, cousins — struck down by chance. A common refrain by visitors is the recognition that random disaster can strike anyone: They are us.
Family members and friends, plus strangers touched by the devastating loss of the six breadwinners, donated photos, work vests, boots, hard hats and tools, flowers, candles and other mementos. Flags from the home countries of Guatemala, Mexico, Honduras and El Salvador flutter in the breeze next to flags of Maryland and the United States.
More volunteers planted roses, built a large mulched bed in the shape of a cross, and added low decorative fencing. In May, a replica red pickup truck with a shattered windshield was added to the site. It tilts downward to suggest falling into water, a gruesome reminder of the highway workers’ final moments. The helpers water the flowers, trim the grass and connect with one another and the many strangers who come to pay their respects.
Marquez encourages visitors to add messages on the mural. On one panel, Suazo Sandoval’s relatives wrote their names, and on the opposite side, Luna’s family members left vivid red handprints.
After 12 days, Marquez returned home, but the healing was not complete. He returned at the end of April, adding panels to extend the mural to almost 64 feet.
Marquez believes he understands when to connect with visitors, and when to leave them to their reflections.
“Sometimes I wonder, am I helping them, or am I helping me?” Marquez ponders. ”Maybe it’s both. It is rewarding; it keeps me going. I’m here to serve somehow.”
Los Yonkes gave to the families the modest sums donated by visitors, but Marquez does not accept payment. His art projects are funded through his family’s real estate business. A Mexican-born roofer with Los Yonkes, Bernardo Vargas, opened his nearby home to Marquez during his visits.
Although several museums have acquired the Texas muralist’s works near scenes of catastrophe, often the art left on-site is ephemeral.
The Baltimore Museum of Industry is collecting the human stories behind the history of the Key Bridge. Curator Rachel Donaldson said that “this community-generated memorial, featuring the mural, is important to preserve. We would be honored to be considered as a partner in the efforts to preserve this and other materials regarding the legacy of the Key Bridge workers.”
For now, the intimate memorial continues to provide solace to visitors from near and far. The symbols of the handcrafted shrine “reflect our cultural identity,” says Gevene Alarcón, secretary of Latino Racial Justice Circle. “Volunteers invest a lot of time to build a community of love and solidarity. It gives us strength to carry on.”
