One Jesse Shaw exists as a talented but humble print artist and TAMIU art professor — a Tennessee transplant turned proud Laredoan — whose high contrast and intricate print work illustrates a complex and multi-faceted American history, and whose excitement fills the room as he shares his love of artistic expression and a devout passion for teaching art to first generation students.

The other Shaw walks this world as a loud and slightly blundering wrestling persona, George Washington Junior (GWJ), Laredo’s ideal heel. Replete with full revolutionary war regalia and a white wig, GWJ roams the streets of Laredo as a high society reject determined to enter Laredo’s upper echelons and infiltrate the elite Country Club, at which point he will declare “golf and brunch for all,” opening doors and many possibilities, he believes, for all Laredoans. 

These two artistic mediums that appear vastly different on the surface allow these Jesse Shaws to exist as one in a dramatic interplay between ego and alter ego 

Eager to meet this enigmatic creator, I ventured to the TAMIU Print Shop to sit down with this accomplished resident artist, and to meet the man of cravats and colonial-era wigs. 

The Print Shop itself is a work of art, its walls lined with striking prints, its shelves filled with brightly colored ink and paints. On large tables, student print projects have been carefully placed to dry. 

Shaw’s energy was palpable. He led me to a massive silk-screening apparatus and then to an anvil-looking printing press, with boxes of wooden stamps of letters and symbols. He explained excitedly how he was able to acquire this equipment through university and grant funding on his mission to expand his department to create capable and professional artists. 

“We publish artists here!” he proclaimed. “Students who are part of the program, or even students that volunteer, should be able to walk into a shop and not feel uncomfortable at all to walk in and be ready to work.” 

The publishing he speaks of is Tarantula Press, a creative research program he developed in which students assist in research and fine art print publishing of nationally and internationally known artists. “Students gain professional experience in print and fine arts publishing,” he said.

 The Tarantula icon, he explained, was drawn from a piece of his ongoing opus, The American Epic; a series of layered and intricate linocut prints that he began in 2008, with the goal of producing 50 high contrast prints. With 31 prints completed thus far, this series explores the complexities of American history through social analysis, satire, and the use of animals and nature to depict very human stories and histories. 

Unfurling several of these prints, Shaw showed me the first one he created when he moved to the border— an amalgamation of his initial lived experiences in the Laredo summer: his skin melting in the dry heat; the landscape’s imported palm trees, that like him are transplants; tongue waggers who spread fear and falsehoods about the borderlands; and the giant tarantula, mascot and namesake of the Print Shop’s research and printing program.

Sharing his journey into the art world, Shaw explained that he was raised in a military family, eventually settling in the small town of Guthrie, Kentucky, where he would doodle comic books but had zero art exposure. He entered school as a non-traditional student, unsure of where he was headed, but trusting something bigger was out there for him. 

His eyes danced when spoke of his first art class and the resulting moment of transformation. “I felt at home in that department and started realizing, these are my people, this is what I should be doing. There was an entire art world that I didn’t understand or know about.” 

He pushed into this new world with all his might, challenging himself by exploring a myriad of artistic foundations, ceramics, and sculpture until the “Aha!” moment when he took his first printmaking class. “When I made my first linocut, I knew this is what I had been looking for,” he said.

The art world had been looking for him as well, and he was admitted to the Rhode Island School of Design, hoping to teach. He taught for five years at Austin Peay State University, two as an adjunct and three as a visiting professor before working for Durham Press in Pennsylvania, a renowned printshop founded by Jean-Paul Russel, who publishes print and silk screen art and artists from around the world. Publishing prints for artists by day, and creating his own pieces by night, Shaw grew as an artist, showing his print pieces around the country and leading student workshops..

Unable to escape the call to teach, he began seeking a teaching position that primarily served first-generation art students like himself, eventually finding himself in Laredo in 2018, where he began to create based on the new world around him.

As he learned more about his new home, he found himself moved not only by his new life on the border, but particularly by the George Washington Birthday Celebration. Inspired by the vulnerable one-man-show performed by TAMIU dance professor, Timothy Rubel, Shaw wanted to expand access to the arts in the most Laredo way he could imagine and to invite everyone to partake in this rich and vibrant creative world. 

It occurred to him that wrestling was the perfect medium for such a project, and George Washington Junior was born, quickly becoming a local internet viral sensation. 

This larger-than-life character invited Laredo not just to watch and observe — but to take part in and interact with his ‘shock and awe’ performance pieces. He stormed the Martha Fenstermaker Fine Arts Gallery at Laredo College, splattering tomato sauce on a portrait of himself. He staged a surprise wrestling match at the faculty art show on the floor of the gallery, witnessed by the patrons of the arts who stood in attendance. He transformed himself into a vampire during one Halloween punk rock wrestling match, was tarred and feathered in a humiliating defeat in another, and commanded a parade float along with Five Star Wrestling in the 2026 Washington’s Birthday Parade, establishing their place among the elite. 

The crux of his character lives where the ego and the alter ego find common ground. Because despite GWJ’s pompous, grousing, and bumbling persona, he stands unwavering in his colonial britches as a champion of accessibility and promoter of the arts in whatever form they may manifest, inviting spectators to the art gallery every chance he gets.

When asked about bringing art to the wrestling fans and wrestling fans to the art world Shaw mischievously exclaimed, “This was always the plan!” 

Shaw’s work, in both print and performance, are an invitation to students to become trained artists and to the community to explore a world that for many seemed exclusive or elusive. All are invited to wrestle with their own identities through these works to fortify what we know is true, to honor our identity and that of those who came before us, and to question those parts of our pasts and histories that merit evaluation and retrospection.

In the fall of 2026, GWJ will grace the silver screen in a full-length feature film that documents the anti-hero’s comic exploits and Shaw’s unique version of the history of the George Washington Birthday Celebration, as seen through his own absurdist lens.

When Shaw speaks, it is readily apparent that what first appears to be a drastic difference between carving linocuts and staging lucha libre wrestling matches exists rather as a passionate common purpose that invites everyone to participate in the arts. Whether it’s art lovers in a gallery, wrestling and social media fans, students in a classroom, or the entire city of Laredo, Shaw’s lifeblood ignites by sharing the arts with others and inviting them into the world he fell in love with, effusively proclaimed as: 

 “When you love something, you just want to share it with everybody!” 

(Hannah Frey is a freelance writer, student, partner, and advocate for the disenfranchised. Not originally from Laredo, she moved to the border in 2014 with her children, quickly falling in love with her new community that she proudly calls home. Her writing ranges from academic research to trauma-informed community columns to stories about the arts. She is consistently grateful for the opportunity to share her work with the community that she loves so dearly.)  

Season 1 of George Washington Jr.

Throughout the Laredo Theater Guild International’s (LTGI) Spring production season, long before audiences even took their seats for The Last Five Years, vocal coach Paulina De Leon was preparing actors to carry Jason Robert Brown’s emotionally demanding score. Through a focus on technique and deep collaboration, De Leon guided performers through both the physical mechanics and vulnerability of singing. 

A graduate of Texas A&M International University with a bachelor’s degree in Music Education, De Leon traces her musical roots back to the choir program at Vidal M. Treviño School of Communication and Fine Arts, training under choral director Celia Hernandez. Though she has been a vocalist for eight years and a coach for three, The Last Five Years marked her first collaboration with LTGI, describing the opportunity as intimidating but rewarding. “I was so scared [with it] being my first time,” De Leon admitted, “but also grateful because I knew I would gain experience in the theater world.” 

De Leon’s role extended well beyond simple rehearsal accompaniment, requiring her to work individually with the actors portraying Cathy and Jamie (Lisa Martinez and Roland Vela), as well as coaching their duets. Her main focus during all coaching sessions was building the actors’ vocal endurance, which she described as a necessity for a production as musically intensive as The Last Five Years. “Singing for an hour and a half is a workout!” she explained. “The music has a jazz feel, and the songs move fast and sit high in the voice, so stamina becomes one of the biggest challenges.” 

A typical coaching session with De Leon begins not with singing, but with physical preparation as the tension released before vocal warmups help pinpoint areas needing attention. “Warmups are my favorite part,” she said. “They tell me what a singer might be struggling with, and we build from there.” This holistic approach reflects a broader philosophy common among vocal coaches: healthy technique emerges from an awareness of breath, posture, and emotional comfort, in combination with musical precision.

 Another aspect that De Leon emphasizes during her vocal instruction is sensitivity. “Singing is a very vulnerable skill,” she noted. “I always ask singers how they feel first, because helping them feel comfortable is what allows improvement.” She implemented this belief throughout her stretch of rehearsals, meeting with performers three times a week in order to balance technical corrections with encouragement as the actors navigated the show’s emotionally layered narrative — one that balances opposing timelines chronicling the start of a marriage and its dissolution. 

Despite tight schedules, demanding rehearsals, and charged performances, what stood out the most to De Leon was the performers’ commitment. “In those first weeks, seeing how dedicated they were to their roles really stayed with me.” 

Outside the theater, De Leon coaches at Flat 5 Music Academy, but her experience with LTGI has thoroughly shaped her future ambitions. “I hope to help more,” she explained of assisting the organization in future musical productions, a sentiment that reflects the same collaborative spirit her work helped bring to the stage.

 Ryan Duncan-Ayala has worked his way up from beginnings in local theatre to the Broadway co-producer of the musical How to Dance in Ohio, based on the documentary of the same name.

 He credits his success to his hometown of Laredo.  

“Laredo is at the core of a lot of things I do and my work in the industry as a whole,” Duncan-Ayala said. 

He started in theatre as an eight-year-old with Laredo Musical Theatre International, which became Laredo Theatre Guild International.

“The year before, my dad and my brother did a production together, and I sat in the audience, and I said, that’s what I want to do,” he said. 

He went on to participate in shows onstage and backstage for several years. 

While enrolled at Texas A&M-Kingsville, he participated in the Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival, in which he presented the idea of renovating Downtown Laredo and turning it into a nonprofit cultural space and performing arts center, which earned him an internship in Connecticut.

“That was my jumping board into working in professional theatre,” he said. “The reason I get to work in this field is because of my love of my hometown.”

Duncan-Ayala hopes to inspire and encourage Laredoans pursuing theatre as a career. 

“It’s always been the core of my mission to go back and influence the art scene by showing that professional arts and making a living in the arts is possible in Laredo,” he said. “When I was growing up that didn’t feel like an option.” 

The musical focuses on a group of autistic young adults in group therapy who decide to throw a formal dance as a way to learn skills that help them navigate the world. 

“All of the actors in the show were on the spectrum.” Duncan-Ayala said. “Getting to work on a piece of art that reshaped how we look at and tell stories about learning disabilities, mental health, and representation really excited me.” 

Today, he is the company manager of Berkeley Repertory Theatre in California.

Duncan-Ayala shares this advice to aspiring artists:

“Absorb as much information as you can, ask the right questions, meet the right people whenever you have the opportunity, and [know] when to jump in.” 

In the borderlands, where resources are often scarce but imagination runs deep, theatre becomes less about spectacle and more about survival of stories, voices, and community. My conversation with Cesariván Gaitanos, a Nuevo Laredo theatre director shaped by this land, revealed not only the evolution of an independent theatre practice, but also a philosophy rooted in resilience, collaboration, and reinvention.

Theatre Without Permission

Gaitanos is part of a generation that did not wait for institutional validation to begin creating. His first theatre collective, Laberintus, started as a self-funded workshop, an experiment sustained entirely by the commitment of its members. Without access to large budgets or formal infrastructure, they learned to build from the ground up.

“We had to be resourceful,” he explained. “Cardboard, fabric, anything we could reuse became part of our visual language.”

This constraint became a kind of aesthetic. Minimalism was not a stylistic choice, but a necessity, and from it emerged a distinct creative voice. Yet the financial limitations were — and continue to be — real. In cities like Nuevo Laredo, theatre audiences are accustomed to free or low-cost performances, making it difficult to establish sustainable ticket pricing. Even publicly funded structures, while essential, often require free performances as part of their conditions.

The result is a paradox: theatre is supported, but not always sustained.

Unlike major cultural centers, Tamaulipas lacks a dedicated institution for formal theatre education. Gaitanos’ generation, therefore, learned in motion — through rehearsals, productions, and collective experimentation.

Early on, Laberintus worked with original texts, many written collaboratively or by playwright Luis Edoardo Torres. This allowed them to test ideas freely in rehearsal spaces, integrating lighting, sound, and costume design from the very beginning of the process.

“There’s no single way to make theatre,” Gaitanos said. “You learn by doing, and by watching.”

This openness extended to roles within the group. Members often rotated responsibilities: actors became directors, directors experimented with scenography. While this approach offered insight into different aspects of production, it also revealed its limits. At times, these “deconstructed” processes felt more like critique than growth, highlighting the tension between experimentation and structure.

A turning point came when the group applied for national funding through a cultural grant. To qualify, they had to formalize as an association and present a documented history of work. It was a crash course in institutional language and expectations.

With funding came opportunity, but also pressure.

At one point, the group attempted to stage 100 performances in a year, an ambitious goal that quickly proved unsustainable. Payment per performance was minimal, and the logistical demands were overwhelming. Still, the experience was formative. It forced the group to confront the realities of production at scale and to reconsider what sustainability actually means.

“We were naïve,” Gaitanos admitted, “But we learned.” Like many independent collectives, Laberintus was built on friendship as much as artistic vision. Over time, key members moved on. Others aged out of the intense rehearsal schedules that had once defined their lives. What remained was a difficult question: how do you preserve a collective identity when the people who shaped it are no longer there?

Gaitanos chose not to continue under the same name. Instead, he let Laberintus end as it was: intact in its legacy, rather than diluted by change.

“There’s a responsibility in carrying a name,” he said.

Today, his work continues under a new structure: HIJK Teatro. The shift reflects a more sustainable approach to creation. Rehearsal processes are shorter, no more than three months, and projects are more clearly defined from the outset.

His artistic language is deeply influenced by cinema. As a child, he was drawn to films through his father’s home videos and a fascination with special effects. Later, directors like David Lynch, Pedro Almodóvar, and Wes Anderson shaped his sensibility.

These influences are evident in his theatrical work, particularly in its narrative structure and visual transitions. Scenes unfold with a cinematic rhythm, blurring the line between stage and screen.

“Theatre, like film, requires you to see a lot,” he said. “You have to feed your imagination.”

One of the most compelling aspects of theatre, Gaitanos noted, is its inherently collaborative nature. Unlike solitary art forms, theatre demands the convergence of multiple disciplines — acting, directing, design, and production.

In Tamaulipas, festivals like the Festival Rafael Solana have played a crucial role in fostering this ecosystem. They provide not only a platform for performance, but also a space for learning, exchange, and professionalization.

“Theatre teaches you to work with others,” Gaitanos reflected. “It’s about building something together.”

As our conversation came to a close, what resonated with me was not just his experience, but his perspective. In a context where resources are limited and recognition is not guaranteed, making theatre becomes an act of persistence.

It is about showing up — again and again — with whatever you have.

And building something anyway.

On any given night in Laredo, collaboration is the fuel that continuously ignites the spark within the creative community. Yet, for first-time producer Katelyn Kahn, the process of bringing John Logan’s Red to life demanded a new level of creative synergy, pushing her to re-evaluate her relationship with risk. 

As an “actor, producer, stage manager, director, and theater maker,” Kahn’s roots in performing arts run deep, stretching back through high school one-act play, local community theater, and formal training at New York University Tisch School of the Arts, where she received her BFA in Theater. 

Her current production, Red, offers a fictionalized look at painter Mark Rothko and his newly hired assistant, Ken, as they work to complete the Seagram Murals. What unfolds is a clash between the fading dominance of abstract expressionism and the rising popularity of pop art. “Who has the right idea about art?” Kahn asks. “You’ll have to see.” 

At its foundation, the production “explores the vulnerability of releasing your art to the real world and how terrifying that can initially be.” Lacking the safety net of recognizable talent and a built-in audience has made the fear of producing this show all the more tangible, but it’s a risk that Kahn was prepared to face head on, embracing the challenge of managing permits, budgeting, and compliance logistics alongside her collaborators: “You have to jump through that first hurdle or you’ll always be left wondering.” 

The draw, for Kahn, was found in the play’s thematic resonance, reflecting first-hand conversations about art that she, herself, has engaged in. “It’s very relatable, especially when you’re having conversations with older and younger artists,” she explained. “Everyone’s perspective is different, and each has their advantages and disadvantages.” 

Yet, aside from the discourse the production is sure to prompt, Kahn hopes more than anything, that Red works to expand the perceptions of what is possible in local theater. Drawing from immersive and unconventional performances she attended in New York, the show incorporates an interactive element that challenges traditional audience expectations. “I want people to see a new side that Laredo theater has to offer,” she said. “There’s no binary definition of what theater is. It can morph into anything you want it to be with no limits.” 

Ultimately, Kahn’s heart as Red’s producer lies in the core belief that the people of Laredo “deserve to have their minds expanded.” The production serves as a reminder of why theater exists in the first place. “Theater here shouldn’t be limited to money,” she said. “It can be or look like whatever you want.”

Tucked into downtown Laredo at 819 Iturbide street, RED on Iturbide feels like an underground gem, a location you simply stumble upon with a curious anticipation rather than a neatly packaged event one simply attends. It is this sense of secrecy the building exudes that made it especially fitting to host the production of John Logan’s Red, a play that invites its audience to bear witness to the volatile intimacy of abstract painter Mark Rothko’s studio. 

The venue works because it feels like somewhere we should not be. With no visible windows and no easy sense of exit, the audience is enclosed within the same charged atmosphere as Rothko (Joe Flores) and his assistant, Ken (Pepe Treviño). 

At such close range, the audience becomes part of the arguments, ego, doubt, and revelation. Despite this physical intimacy, the mental and emotional distance we keep from our actors creates a necessary friction that becomes the basis of the play: are we the artists privy to the sacred and unstable creative process that Rothko is speaking to, or are we the voyeuristic consumers that he is talking about? We are no longer just audience members being entertained; we, by proxy, become core contributors to the tensions mounting within the play, driving the plot forward. 

The building itself, its aged wood, exposed brick, props that feel suspended in another era, reinforces the sensation of being stuck in time, mirroring Rothko’s own resistance to a rapidly commodifying art world. Yet, the outside refuses to disappear. Throughout the performance, the external noise of downtown life seeps inward: car stereos blasting, pedestrians shuffling past mid-conversation, the distant blare of train horns, all become unintentional additions to the play. 

Despite the production’s best efforts to keep us locked in to a certain space and time, we cannot ignore what is happening outside the walls we willingly step into. No matter how fiercely Rothko rants about what art should remain, no matter how tightly he attempts to seal himself inside his philosophy, the world persists beyond his studio walls. Society moves forward, life continues, and the artist cannot fully remove himself from it. 

At its core, Red is not a narrative that is solely about painting, but one about reciprocity. Rothko attempts to awaken the artist in Ken, while Ken’s presence forces Rothko to confront his own humanity. 

Their dynamic reflects the much alluded to Nietzschean tragedy between Apollo and Dionysus, that tension between order and ecstasy, intellect and instinct, revealing to us that the perfect balance between the two is ultimately unattainable — one is always either too human or too artist. But during moments of genuine exchange, when both men listen rather than posture, something closer to equilibrium emerges; they’ve inched closer to the fulcrum point, together, than they ever would have done on their own. 

Like Rothko’s canvases, the production suggests that true meaning is not found in isolation or consumption, but in community and engagement. In this sealed yet permeable space on Iturbide, art and theater become less about mastery and more about witness. 

What do we see when standing before one another, suspended between chaos and control, daring to engage? 

(Xiomarra Milann is a borderland storyteller, multidisciplinary artist, activist, and educator whose roots lay in Laredo, TX. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from UTEP, and her writing has been published in Sybil Journal, Querencia Press, and Acentos Review, among others. She has been the recipient of fellowships with MoveTexas, the Rowan Foundation, and The Heart of It. She was nominated for Sundress Press’ Best of Net 2025, a finalist for the Jack McCarthy Book Prize in 2024, shortlisted for the 2024 Peach Pit Grant, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2023. Follow her journey on Instagram @90strashpop.)

Melissa Barrera González attributes her interest in theater to the encouragement of her parents and to the words of her grandmother Lola de Llano, who as a young woman in Lampazos, Nuevo Leon acted in plays.

“She gets it from me,” De Llano announced when Barrera performed in the Laredo Little Theater’s (LLT) 1979 production of Funny Girl, costumed at times in the dresses and hats of her grandmother. 

“I treasure those words that she spoke in her beautiful thick accent, and the photos we have of her in theatrical poses,” Barrera González said.

“My first appearance in an LLT play came about when Sammy Johnson, who was in production for Carnival, asked my mother if I could do cartwheels,” she recalled.

“From the age of eight I was exposed to all types of dance and music in ballet, jazz, and flamenco classes with Altagracia Azios García,” she said. 

Barrera González shared her mother’s love of music and theater. “We would watch the Tonys every year. One of my best memories was when my parents took me to a dinner theater performance of My Fair Lady in San Antonio.”

She spoke fondly of Juliard-educated Hortense Offerle, her music teacher at Ryan Elementary. “I was a regular in the audience for performances of the Laredo Civic Music Association (LCMA) with my friend Nina Neel, whose mother Ann was involved with the association and encouraged us to attend their programs,” she said.

In 1978 her Nixon High School classmates talked her into auditioning to sing the song for senior prom night. She recalled that others who auditioned had taken voice lessons, and some showed up with a pianist. “I sang Barry Manilow’s Looks Like We Made It a capella in my untrained voice and got the part. That was a great memory,” she said, adding, “I knew I could sing, but I also knew I wanted to sing and act.”

That opportunity presented itself while she was at UT-Austin, when she auditioned to become part of a Student Union troupe that performed musicals and reviews. She sang Cabaret a capella without sheet music. “I got the part. It was an enriching experience. I didn’t know then that I was in the company of greatness. One member of the troupe became the artistic director of the Zach Theater Company in Austin and another the artistic director of the American Ballet Company at the Kennedy Center and later the artistic director of the Hong Kong Ballet,” she noted.

In the mid-80s Barrera González moved to Dallas, completed a degree in business at UT-Dallas, and became part of an immersive musical theater group through the Performing Artists Musical Theater Conservatory, which was modeled after the American Music and Dramatic Academy. She recalled, “I loved every minute of it, but it wasn’t in the cards for me to do this as a living at the time. It would have meant leaving my life to be a gypsy, and that was never for me.”

Barrera González moved to San Antonio, and in 1999 she auditioned for and was cast in the lead role as Miss Mona in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Thereafter she was a frequent performer in San Antonio theater in productions that included A Chorus Line, Damn Yankees, Chicago, Cabaret, The Sound of Music, In the Heights, Young Frankenstein, The Addams Family, Annie, On Your Feet, My Fair Lady, Anything Goes, Hairspray, and Steel Magnolias.

In 2007 she was cast in Menopause the Musical, which was staged by Broadway producers who had exclusive rights to the show for an extended period of time in San Antonio. “They established a sit-down company of local actors. The play had an eight-month run, seven shows a week, every show sold out,” she said.

From 2010 to 2014 she performed in Laredo Theater Guild International performances, notably in 2010 as Baroness Elsa Schareder in The Sound of Music, in 2011 as Miss Hannigan in Annie, in 2012 as the Wicked Stepmother in Cinderella, in 2013 as Velma Von Tussle in Hairspray, and in 2014 as Evalita in Daddy’s Dyin’, Who’s Got the Will?

“For that, I owe special thanks to my friend Joe Arciniega for the opportunities to return to my hometown and do some great high-quality shows,” she said.

Last January she performed Canciones Del Corazón at Teatro Audaz in San Antonio. “I jumped at the chance to audition for it because it meant being able to sing in Spanish. The music evoked many good memories of growing up in Laredo,” she said.

Barrera González continues in theater with performances in San Antonio and also as a supporter of the theater arts, having served 10-year tenures on the boards of the Wonder Theater (formerly the Woodlawn Theater) and the Alamo Theater Arts Council.

She and her husband, Edgardo Cruz González III, support programs that promote arts education for children, such as the Wonder Theatre Academy that has educational programs and classes and produces full length musicals for children ages 5 to 18.