Elena Cruz: Weaving personal narratives into a socio-political tapestry

In Peckham, the heart of South East London, a vibrant hub of creativity and activism thrives under the name of The Elegists Collective. This dynamic group of visual artists, writers and musicians have established a unique space for socio-political commentary, fusing art and activism to inspire meaningful change. Within the collective is Elena Cruz, a multifaceted artist whose paintings and writings intertwine personal narratives with broader social structures. 

The Elegists are not just an art collective; they are a consequence of wider socio-economic consequences. Through their bi-annual zine and frequent community events, they create a platform that challenges the status quo and visualises new possibilities for society. Their work is based on the belief that art can be a powerful tool for political change, providing a space for dialogue, reflection and action. This discursive environment is open to new participants and encourages diverse responses and challenges to their work, as outlined in their manifesto.

The Elegists photographed by Saloni Jaisingh

Cruz brings a unique voice to the Collective; one that blends social and capitalist critique with humour through an artistic lens. Her work explores how individual and personal stories reflect and shape social structures, examining the intersections of personal experience and political economy. Cruz's art is a tapestry of personal moments set against larger socio-economic concepts such as wealth accumulation, inequality, fairness and truth.

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Ironically enough, the Elegists hosted their February show, centering on rage, at the All is Joy studio in central London. Behind a nondescript door on Dean Street, hidden from the cold drizzle and crowds (but not the drink prices) of a Saturday evening in Soho, the Elegists untangled their rage across two rooms of the independent venue.

Oscar Butcher sketched the two-step process of a figure exploding into light. An unsettling amount of hair adorned the walls. Across the room, a Cain-and-Abel story bathed the room in blue. 

You could even taste the rage with some truly off-putting hors d'oeuvres – crema de afeitar on crackers, I believe.

The Elegists’ hors d'oeuvres photographed by Saloni Jaisingh

What was all the rage for? The collective was shy with the details. Looking at a welfare payment rejection letter printed on underwear, maybe it was a middle finger towards material needs. Listening to Cruz, perhaps it’s in the Sisyphian struggle between the barista and her endless queue of flat white-deficient customers. But, if you consider the hors d'oeuvre placemat of Reuters articles on both sides of the conflict in Palestine, you would be led to believe that rage is not something that can be untangled into political action.

Oscar Butcher sketched the two-step process of a figure exploding into light. An unsettling amount of hair adorned the walls. Across the room, Bessie Kirkham's Cain-and-Abel story bathed the room in blue. In between the paintings, Regina Avedaño Trueba projected a poem that described a winding, psychedelic tour through life in 2024: gore on social media, gaps in the pavement outside the community centre, and an inarticulable sense of dread.

The evening featured a reading from Cruz’s debut novel, Ode to the Market King. She made the crowd laugh and ponder as she guided the room through a spectrum of intimate emotions. Her frank and satirical words left an impression, as did her impressive word play.

Cruz’s background as a creative is unconventional, tapping into various art forms and pushing traditional boundaries. We sat down with the artist to delve into her journey, inspirations, and creative practices throughout her career.

Ode to the Meat Market King photographed by Saloni Jaisingh

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Juniper: Did any part of you want to go to art school before you embarked on your college/master’s education? If so, why’d you choose college?

EC: A big part of me wanted to go to art school, but as a teenager, I saw that as very impractical, and I ruled it out immediately…for undergrad I studied journalism with a couple scholarships fully funding my degree, with minors in visual arts and economics. From that, I was planning to go step-by step to become a business of arts journalist… I went back to school and studied international political economy at KCL. I loved how the subject explained the effects of economics through a moralistic slant, therefore relating financial decisions to people. Buuuut then I learned the theories underpinning work that I was never taught. And I realized I should just do what I actually wanted to do the whole time. But I was late to the game and didn’t have any connections. So I started hanging art up on the street with a drill.

Juniper: How did your family react when you told them you wanted to launch your art career?

EC: My family was way more shocked when I told them I wanted to study in the realm of politics than when I decided to go into art…probably because my upbringing was artistic…my mom made stained glass, and my dad played practically every instrument from the dulcimer to the fiddle…With that in mind, my family has been so, so, so supportive from the start, and I’m really thankful…I am so lucky. 

Juniper: I love your journal entry pieces, those are my favourite. I find them really honest and interesting. How did you get comfortable sharing vulnerable pieces like that, publicly?

EC: …I’m always more concerned that I’ll hurt someone else in the process of sharing something about me. But really, to answer your question, when there’s an infinite number of things to choose to write about, at least when I write and share a journal entry, I’ve chosen to tell the truth. And it’s a truth specifically chosen to reflect not just me, but also the reality of the broader world. That seems to counterbalance any individualistic worry about vulnerability.

Elena Cruz photographed by Marius Kretzschmar

Juniper: Following up to that, what are some self-limitations you’ve had to overcome with pursuing life as an artist?

EC: Not even a year ago, I had this crippling fear of public speaking and performing…I’d need to have this like frenzied conversation with my housemate, with my phone in a different room completely, after I’d post on social media. 

But I realized after so long of hiding away and denying myself of what I really wanted to do, that if I was going to pursue it, I had to do it right. And that working as an artist is still a job, and sometimes you have to do what you don’t want to. And, really, I just had to get over myself. In a weird way, I think after making the decision to just go up on stage or attend my private view, presenting my art has helped me get over my fear — I realized people don’t really care what you do as long as you try to do it well, and people do support your work if you believe in yourself. It’s not so serious. I think my fear of public speaking has gone down since starting to present art — and this is important — that I really care about.

Juniper: Your current work provides commentary on socio-political structures, what were your muses and inspirations when you were younger?

EC: Growing up going to the Milwaukee Art Museum, I was especially inspired by artists who initiated positive change by being unapologetically themselves. For example, I loved the Impressionists and the idea that they just had their own exhibition when they were rejected from society — and now their art is seen as some of the most beautiful, fundamental creations in the art history canon.

I think my muses were creators too. I never really looked at a person and had the desire to objectify them to be the source of a character in 2-D. Instead, I was inspired by the concept of the Great American writer who crafted a story encapsulating America’s zeitgeist but still died penniless. That heart wrenching life story and its prowess felt more muse-like and inspirational than any traditional person.

Juniper: How do you decide the location of your pieces when bringing them into the public realm?

EC: I’ll scout out places as I travel around London. I like to pick places that either stand out to me as a viewer or have some relationship in commentary. For example, I hung up Tesco Meal Deal: £3.40 Now at The Montague Arms, a former music venue that closed that the public has protected from being knocked down. The space related to the art’s message. Then I’ll work with the local businesses to place the art, bringing public art to the people that way.

Juniper: Describe a day in your life where your main focus is making art. What is your routine like?

EC: In winter I’ll strap on an entire winter jacket and stick hand warmers in my shoes and go into my outdoor space to paint. I’ll usually paint until after it’s dark, when I’ll need a headlamp to see, but I don’t feel comfortable stopping a painting until I know it’s at whatever stage feels like a good place to leave it, at least momentarily… In summer I’ll do the same without the cold weather gear. I’m always working on at least three pieces at a time, so I’ll switch between them after one feels right, making sure to sit on some chair and take a break so I can adequately shift my mindset for the new piece. I guess, then, my routine is: wake up and paint. Continue the next day.

Writing too. I wake up and write. Eventually, I have to myself to stop and sleep. but then I’ll think of something and edit it on Google Drive on my phone from my covers. Then I’ll really sleep. Then I'll wake up and start again. With writing either I like to wake up early, often before the sun rises and finish at two or three p.m. and know I’ve completed something, or I start around noon and continue working into the night/late morning. 

I don’t usually write and paint in the same day, oddly enough. I think I like the barrier because they’re such different media. I can make several paintings at a time, or write several poems in an evening, but I haven’t found myself doing both in a day. I hadn’t thought about that until now.

Elena Cruz photographed by Saloni Jaisingh