I met Kevin López Pardillo last year while working at Root Division. His work stood out to me for its clarity and the affinities I recognized between his practice and that of more established Bay Area artists. López Pardillo has since found his own footing within that same network: showing in group exhibitions, refining his studio practice, and working in art handling alongside several of the artists I’d once linked him to in theory.
In his first solo exhibition at Adobe Books & Arts Cooperative in San Francisco, America’s Most Wanted, López Pardillo channels the militant and improvisational energy of a pulga, a marketplace that rises and falls within the day. A diligently resourceful artist, López Pardillo’s practice has thickened around the rasquache politics of “making do.” Presenting new mixed-media sculptural installations and airbrush paintings, he embraces a counterfeit logic by recasting familiar icons and replicating the material language of working-class culture. In doing so, the artist darkly—and, at times, humorously—inverts the capitalist hierarchies of authenticity and possession to propose the bootleg as a form of faithful resistance.
Situated on 24th Street in the Mission District, the show is inseparable from its surroundings and political moment. A few blocks away from where street vendors have faced increased surveillance and criminalization, López Pardillo’s marketplace becomes both a mirror and an altar for the dispossessed. On this occasion, I spoke with him over Zoom to learn more about the show and how his practice has evolved over the last year.
Vanessa Pérez Winder: It’s been exciting to watch how your work has developed in the last year. America’s Most Wanted is your first solo show, right? How does it feel to have all of these works together, and how did the show come about?
Kevin López Pardillo: Yes, this is my first solo show, outside of school. It’s always been a goal of mine. Since moving to SF and going to school and becoming tapped into the scene in different areas, one place that I’ve always heard about, no matter who was showing, was Adobe in the Mission. I’ve always seen it as such a vital lifeline to the SF art scene. There’s so much history behind it, and they do so much more than just art shows—programming, poetry readings, music shows, and film screenings.
VPW: Clubs and community gatherings, too.
KLP: Exactly. I’m happy that Adobe is the one to host this work, especially with the topics I’m approaching and where my practice is at the moment. For the past year, this idea of a swap meet has been sticking to my mind. I often go to flea markets in the East Bay, near the Oakland Coliseum. Whenever I go back home near Modesto, I go to Crow’s Landing flea market. Being in those spaces, seeing the way vendors compose and put work out…To me, there’s such an artistry to it. I tell my artist friends all the time, “If you ever want to be humbled, just go to a swap meet and see how these fools set up.” I think there’s something very interesting about something that comes up and then comes down that same day, especially when it comes to showing artwork.
VPW: Can you say more about that? The temporality or theatricality of that process.
KLP: When going into these vendor spaces, I see the way everything is composed and organized. Later, if you stick around long enough, you get to see folks packing their stuff into trucks, vans, U-Hauls, etc. I think when it comes to making work, I try to pay attention to things like that.
Earlier this year, I threw a small group show with my homies [Jacob Li Rosenberg and Alex Acevedo] at a friend’s barber shop. It was quick and spontaneous, but I had such a great time planning it. We had music, food, and drinks. I had to think through whether it was possible to create an art space that comes up and down on the same day. What would that look like? How would it function? Where?
VPW: I feel like you’ve been playing on the restless energy that’s cultivated and felt in those spaces. It’s a fun space too, because sure, you might get a little drunk at the swap meet and have fun getting down to music too.
KLP: Exactly. That’s something that’s captivated me this whole time. I think I’ve mentioned it before with some of my airbrush paintings—this idea of reproduction and counterfeit culture—but here, I’m exploring how I can put my own spin on that idea through the energy of the swap meet.
VPW: Would you quickly walk me through some of the materials you used? I’m particularly interested in what you used in the piece with the corn and cast body parts, titled Mayan Maize Merch $tick (2025).
KLP: Most of the materials in the show I bought from the swap meet. I’ve recast them and then made duplicates of them to make counterfeits. I used foam and urethane rubber. I was going to do resin originally, but it felt too much like the material. Rubber and foam added a more bodily feeling to me. For the piece you mentioned, I also used a merchandise stick. I was reading this Mayan folklore book, the Popol Vuh. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it.
VPW: It’s technically an ancient text, which contains a Maya creation story, correct?
KLP: Yes. Some time ago, I was talking to a friend, Dani [Tinoco], who was a graduate student at SF State when I was an undergrad. We were talking about her work and how she sees Indigenous practice and life as working in a full circle. In the West, time is seen as progressing forward. There’s a part in the book where the two twins go fight evil to avenge their dead father. They plant a corn stalk in their grandmother’s kitchen, and they let her know that if they die, the corn stalk would wilt, but if they live, it would bloom into corn. I wanted to take that story and make a sculpture out of it. Like, what if these figures were reincarnated, but in today’s world? In my version, they’re born into a merchandise stick. Their body parts are sold as goods and their flesh is commodified.
VPW: I was certainly curious about how you are thinking of the body’s relationship to labor. You’ve previously carried out a durational performance work that, if I remember correctly, was an homage to your father’s line of work. It was interesting to see the body—your body—come back in this form.
KLP: I think those themes are finally coming back for me. I see it all as connected to a community of working-class people, people who sell things at flea markets. To take the objects they sell, reproduce them, and then present them in a particular way is becoming increasingly prominent in my practice.
VPW: Throughout the show, you stage your reproductions alongside the real objects. How are you thinking about this doubling—placing the actual object and its copy side by side?
KLP: The theme of the show, America’s Most Wanted, is about the reproduction and counterfeiting of objects and how that’s deemed wrong. When I was working on the show, I was thinking more about what these objects mean to me, and in a broader sense of the world. I see [recasting] as an act of resistance in a way. I’ve always seen making work as going against the grain and being part of a counterculture, so taking these tools—that are already being resold—and recasting them feels connected to that. I’m not selling them, but they technically look like they’re being sold.
VPW: I like that you’ve chosen to present them laid out on a light table and with the painter’s tarp, but on the ground, the way you might encounter them on the street.
KLP: I am thinking about how things are right now in SF. I don’t know if you’ve heard about the recent crackdowns on street vendors on 16th and 24th Street.
VPW: Yes! I live in the Mission. I am always staring down police officers patrolling the area; it’s just a mess.
KLP: It’s weird to me. Who cares if those things are stolen? I grew up kind of going to these places and I’ve always found them super charming. People work hard, regardless of what they’re selling. I’m hoping that people see this issue differently through my work.
VPW: I feel like there is an ever-growing sense of militance in your work, which I feel kindred to. I think I counted eight guns or so. I’ve had my own interpretations of what that title means, between criminalization, commodification, and demand, but I appreciate you sharing your own thinking.
Returning to the Popol Vuh, I was interested in how you’re bringing this story together with cartoon and superhero references throughout the show. You’re bridging these familiar symbols with sacred and ancestral cosmologies, and it’s one of the more energizing aspects of your work.
On the surface, these two worlds seem almost opposed, but both involve fantasy, survival, fighting, and even elements of costuming, adornment, and ritual. What draws you to the superhero figure and how do you think about bringing these two worlds together?
KLP: Thank you for asking that. To me, a lot of these references are often seen as indicators for Latino people. I feel like it’s very much the culture to like Dragon Ball Z, Spider-Man, that kind of thing.
VPW: Spider-Man. Latino boys love Spider-Man!
KLP: They do! It’s really interesting and funny to me. That’s the playful aspect of my work that I enjoy exploring. When I was working on this show, I thought a lot about ancestry and connecting back to history. I was doing research on my mother’s Mayan culture and how I could connect to that. I started thinking about how they had superheroes back then, too. I read the Popol Vuh within the context of a superhero story. I wanted to approach it that way—how these two twins are fighting off evil, how the stories are told, the mythology behind it all.
VPW: There’s a strong, divine protection aspect to this. It reminds me of your Salvi-Man (2024) work emulating Spider-Man, a hero fighting for the working-class communities of El Salvador. On this note, I will say some of your work has a gendered tone, but it doesn’t feel “macho.” Are you thinking about your own relationship to masculinity and culture, and what it means to be in community with others?
KLP: I’m glad you asked this. I think there’s a lot of silly theatrics when it comes to machismo, how to carry yourself, how much money you make, how to dress, how to talk, how much you can drink, etc. I like to think that I’m poking fun at that while also being aware of the space I take up. Being in community with more Hermanos/Hermanas/Hermanxs allows me to see and take in what resistance looks like for other folks.
VPW: You mentioned “silly theatrics.” Does how you’re choosing to develop this message feel connected to humor at all, or even absurdity?
KLP: I think so. For a while, I wanted to be this super serious artist. Like, “no funny business. I’m here to make people cry.” I grew out of that pretty quickly when I was at school. I realized I have my own way of talking about things if I want to talk about them. I think the show is a little silly. It’s a little funny. I also think there are undertones of things that are a bit more serious. Like you mentioned, there are a lot of guns, militancy, there are resistance fighters, and other symbols. There are keys scattered all over.
VPW: Of course! You have several Zapatista fighters, an airbrushed image of Leila Khaled, references to a Free Palestine, and homages to immigrant and racialized labor. You just reminded me that I was very curious about the keys and what they meant.
KLP: The keys to me signify land back.
VPW: A right of return.
KLP: Exactly, I have them scattered on the tool light box, and also in the painting with the pink Power Ranger and Leila [Khaled]. But I do enjoy having fun and seeing work that’s a little silly. That’s definitely a big aspect of the spaces I visit—there’ll be rosaries next to Portal DVDs, Taekwondo gear next to bananas. They’re playful places, and I think there’s something for everyone. I’m always trying to convince friends to come with me. It’s so much fun. Drink micheladas and just walk around and sweat.
VPW: You captured that lightness well. I took a friend to see your show, and we were smiling, pointing out familiar references, just having a good time in there.
As we wrap up, I did want to ask if there’s anything that feels particularly urgent to you right now. Tomorrow is your opening reception, so you’ll probably get more feedback and things to think about, but is there anything that feels pressing to you right now, crossing this juncture?
KLP: I want to be more involved in my community. That feels really important to me right now—to nurture that side of things, even outside of art. I help out a lot in the Mission with Lovers Lane, but I’d like to do more.
The same goes for art spaces. I mentioned to you earlier that I quit my job, so now I have more time. No more night shifts! I can actually go to friends’ shows and see things I’ve been wanting to see. I’m just grateful for all the opportunities this past year. It’s been wonderful, but I’m also excited to take it a little easier for now and work on some new stuff. I guess I’m just feeling kind of restless, in a good way.
VPW: Wow, I love that for you! I hope you can get some rest, too. There are so many brainy themes emerging in your work, I am excited to see how it all continues to develop.