Critical Art

After knowing the work of Emily Jacir, I get the idea of art as an evolving consciousness of mankind. A deeper force in our existence, a drive we all have if we only dare to get in touch with our feelings. First artistic expressions are estimated to date 40,000 years B.C and are either pictographs or carved stones; they all alluded to the prevailing need to transcend our existence either through a divine force or through our outstanding capacity to create. However, regardless of the ability of men to discover stronger media of expression, he was still producing dyes or molding metals to allude through art the same need of a God supremacy and/or a human domination on earth.

Two millennia passed and art in our era was still the product of such reaction. Even the renaissance questioned for two centuries this dilemma and after that movement, baroque, neoclassic and contemporary artists kept portraying transcendence through real, subjective, illusionary, mathematical proportions, purity of color, icons…. All these steps have beet taken to arrive finally to the core nature and purpose of art: the transformation of the artist by the subject, and not discoveries.

Emily Jacir, not only revolves outside a gender restricted area, but deeply assesses the emotions derived from war. Her work of art is no different than the work of het physical constitution, her pieces are no distant from the situations and testimonies she has witnessed, ht power in weapons is no remote to her  for she herself has endured shooting courses and holding weapons before producing  a piece of art resulting from the impact of  bullets.

The Avant-guarde was the force originating the possibility for everyone to explore not only areas of artistic expression and combine them, but also enter into exclusive circumstances and experience firsthand controversial emotions.

Art becomes the experience and its testimony demands presence, understanding and survival, acknowledges a battle and a powerful opponent force to the status quo.

Through Avant-guarde artists unite history to photography, videography, paining and 3D creations. Art becomes a cross boundary connection, a mirror of the many sides of truth.

Emily Jacir has built a legacy of presence and heroism for the followers of the Avant-guarde. It is no longer valid to sit in your studio and get brushes gliding on a canvas. Art has acquired a compromise and enabled a social response. It has become so powerful that it could be the force which stops us once and for all from our arrogance in carving our faith of a total massacre in planet Earth.

Emily Jacir’s personal artistic carrier has been built with blocks apart. Her education reflects a trajectory of contrasting worlds: America, Europe and the Middle East. Her mind and heart have been exposed to historic ramifications in the quest for power among these continents, yet her soul guides her instinct for expression, and her motives are as valuable as her pieces as now a days it is common now to include in most museographic works, the research involved in mounting pieces, technology and documentation are equally important for the beholder. And it is  the Avant-guarde the door into profound collective consciousness, already exposed by artists own life and beings such as Emily Jacir.

Mob: Cuando Las Calles Suenan, Voces Llevan.

This most misleading statement was heard two summers ago when the Pop King had a fatal heart attack arrest: “Michael Jackson is dead. He was 52.” His body, his persona and his stardom could have vanished from this planet, yet his essence through Pop music had never become more alive and present. The passion for authentic expression, the urge to change, inward, as an individual, a society and an entire humanity was outstanding. Collective expressions the arts in urban settings have dragged us humans to break any possible paradigms. The power emerges from our human desire to reach the entire world. Crowds of diversity, different ages, social contexts, and religious believes have transcended neighborhoods, cities, and entire regions allowing us to transcend and in turn receive the echoes for freedom we all seek in these events.

Why do we human reverberate these movements? What do we linger for as we engage or passively appraise them? And how do these movements impact us and possess us? These themes have been abundantly explored and researched not only in social sciences but also in poetry. Antonio Machado has several compositions regarding these issues. In his poem “La Fiesta” he celebrates impact a villain and a king embracing each other’s hand in a festivity, only to wake up the next day as opponents once again. The fairytale “Pied Piper of Hamelin” from the Grimm Brothers illustrates how a single man was able to articulate such a powerful strategy which proved effective beyond any other attempt: with his magic flute he convinced a crowd of rats to abandon their routines and leave the city, freeing it from the infestation they had caused. There was enchantment beyond merely clearing the plague-ridden town, since this musician’s tunes were able to trap all children as well, as a revenge of the debt for his services. This tale, familiar to most of us, is full allegory, metaphor, symbolism and irony but these literary devices can and do become real in our daily lives. The synergy propelled by collective marches and fine-tuned rhythms, leads us into unison. The same power prevailed in combats during World War I and civil wars all over. As a result, our emotions connect within each other and we no longer are isolated. Individuals participating in parades, marches and bands act like tributaries of a river, the more they advance and the greater number of contributors, the more powerful their actions and impact become.

There have been “Walks” these last decades, a slower pace of this same phenomenon, which are devoted to a cause; marathons and marches fit the same scheme of Pied Piper of Hamelin. Becoming enacted, the end prevails and only the means diversify.

When serious actions on art are taken, one of the first angles is the training of the mind to analyze the scene taking place in front of it: an altar piece, an illuminated manuscript, a triptych, etc. They all trigger a reaction on the observer. We begin appraising art by analyzing the piece, maybe the medium, the historic context of the artist, the composition and theme, but it takes the eye of an expert to understand its purpose, the movements which lead to its creation in the first place and it is this approach, the tool that should enable us to analyze the impact of a Mob.

In an artistic collective phenomena such as the Mob mentioned by Shukaitis, music becomes an object; its sounds and composition materialized into diverse alive entities which portray the melody imprinting their own volume and accent.  Thus this robust face and that elderly vocalization are the prevailing notes, while the astonishment and silence of some kids give the composition its own tempo. As the march progresses the power in number is enhanced and we can clearly distinguish a triumphant rhythm and a melody of conquer.

Why are these events still the exception and not the rule? What deprive us from engaging in them or creating our own? There are severe barriers to get an answer and the first one is related to the division between personal and public space. We would have to conceive space differently: the streets not only lines of danger where vehicles run at very high speeds and pedestrians are impeded to transit except during the infinitesimal blink of a green light. We conceive streets the same way we do now with rivers. They are death, confined to a tube, distributing every single drop of water hiding, silently out of sight.

We need to regain livelihood of our public spaces and allow streets to be out of congested traffic of vehicles, turn them into scenarios where every spectator has a seat in first row as the march progresses in from of each house and dwelling. We need to lower the speed of our daily chores and be able to assign time to reach to each other, be equal to each other.

The most challenging barrier to overcome our stagnated lives and remove impediments to flow, to migrate as we did it millions of years ago, is to reassign priority values to the things that deserve it. As long as we rush ourselves from bed every morning to remain at least 8 hours looking in one direction, answering rather than questioning and confined instead of in touch, our communities’ live will continue to erode.

I lived in Montréal during my teen years and was amazed by the livelihood of the streets: from the Laughter Festival, Just pour Rire, to the Jazz festival, the Saint Patrick, Twins and Gay couple parades, to the Grand Prix, there were flows of crowds during Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall. The streets of this tiny island in the middle of the Saint Laurence river were vibrant. In this case these flows were the rule and not the exception. The Montréal community has citizens from all over the world, they as a diverse majority who knows better what it means to be human and act accordingly to have their bare necessities fulfilled.

Intersubjectivity Inside/Outside

I shifted my leader role into the one of a follower. What a relief! All of a sudden, after three intensive weeks giving instructions, setting objectives, explaining tasks, highlighting outcomes, guiding, directing, comforting, talking, listening, clarifying, assuring and over attempting to all control, I let go everything. When the sun reached the zenith and our students got a recess; it casted a spell and I became a child again. I no longer kept being the director of the program and I simply engaged in the kids’ group as one more among them. I remained in this stage for the entire afternoon. Del Tingo Al Tango Summer Camp is intense and rewarding; by week three, everyone had already learned I would be the steward. I am amazed; the minute I turned into one more among the young ones they no longer demanded anything from me.

I remember the film “Freaky Friday”, when a mother–daughter role is inverted by a magic spell as well, in my case I would love to remain a kid. I think I do not even have to pretend; as long as I free the child within me totally I am relaxed. If I could only tell my adult version that there is no need for all of her effort, that no instructions is the best, but I am absorbed in a hairstyle endeavor: I have mine done in two braids while I do a San Miguelito vivid pink tiara for Maria’s in front of me. Everything revolves in harmony… maybe it was all an illusion, my presence was not as important because with me now as another child everyone can concentrate in their own intentions which are balanced with regard to each other’s.

An hour or so have passed and we are still engaged in playing with each other’s hair; while doing so someone began to hum a tune and we all engaged. There are other instructors. They do not have a clue of my intentions but they have never had it before so they follow my abandonment as if this was the plan for the day. Occasionally they glance at me in search for frugality; purposefully I respond to their seeking with eternity. They may want us all to come back to verticality, both physically and as a metaphor, we all remain seating, horizontally, only them, the other instructors, loyal to me, remember there was an agenda, breaks, conclusions to perform. For the rest of the group, this apparent chaos is a sparkle of the cosmos. From my perspective harmony prevails and the concentric orbits of logistics and expectations find their own inclination and confidence.
I may have to return to the world of grownups tonight, I want everyone surrounding me to remain in the astonishment of my Tao trance of do not do only this time, when I return to my molded being. I will make a pledge to never again forget what I promised myself as a child.

Creating a Tag or Burn: Imborrable.

What else more public than the public? The large numbers of people surrounding me, specially the little people, I chose them as my medium. Their hearts, to be more precisely, have been tagged by me over and over for the last three weeks during the afterschool gatherings we have. Roundups that I hope to turn into a continuous niche for them to find inspiration, joy, and happy childhood memoirs as they live in this magical town of Álamos.

I used unforgettable memories as my palette. These small creatures’ lives have been colorfully marked with playful learning experiences that will endure all years to come. Each one has chosen a dream to come true and together we have painted it in their minds, in their hearts and in their will. When you look at these boys and girls, they glow. The tag is brilliant; it reflects spontaneity, lack of control and happiness beyond their expectations. My tag has color, like the landscape before us, it is not pale, it is not neutral. It communicates to the rest of the world how good it feels to laugh and play, to inhabit a child’s soul. The tag in their hearts has a peculiarity: it ignites in the beholder the most potent desire to share, a trustworthy eagerness to belong, stronger than our need to remain alone as observers. Beware!!! Their tag is contagious; it will immediately reach you. Just a first sight, that is all it takes, and their gaze will introduce a palette of wishful thinking trough your eyes and unleash the longing to share it yet another time with someone else. You will notice it has happened when you smile.

 

Kiko, I walk in your name.

I never imagined the ways in which I could endure this walk for you. At eleven years old, such a young age, you have recapitulated already your older brothers’, your parents’ and grandparents’ personal histories. How can I design such an intricate route? It will be an honor to advance. A walk in your name forces me to settle and enjoy the conversations of countless people about you.

I devote the first steps of this walk on behalf of your immediate role models, may you and your siblings grow into a strong brotherhood; a circle of power based upon the need to protect you from the many shoots, screams, defeats, scarcities and confusion you overcome every day.

I envision as the arriving point of my walk, a celebration of your personal emblems. Your First Communion day, the occasion when you, Jesus Cristo, take Jesus Christ to be in you forever. You are made to his image and resemblance, you are him, and Jesus Christ is you as well, as He dwells within you, in Kiko. You do not know it yet, but your Padrino Valentín will guide you trough this reassurance of communion, a unity among every single particle of the universe, a complex conviction which will reveal itself when you most need it in life.

As I advance in our walk I also envision deep creeks, disguised, deathly… You are still a kid and what you play with you may become in adulthood. However I respect your culture, your attraction for weapons, particularly guns. I walk in your name removing every step of the way any symbol of their destructive power. Kiko, the road of this walk on your behalf is meandering and tilted, do not make it worse. Nevertheless any road you decide to take in life will lead you to discover the diverse forces which celebrate your being, just as you do it now on the bench in the Plaza in a hot day.

Scales of Social Space

Social creatures we are, thus equipped with sharp senses to acknowledge everyone else’s presence, intrusion, proximity or threat. But we do not live in the wild anymore. Our daily routine is a massive pattern of confluence in public places. We spend more and more time forced to remain outside of our comfort zone, our own home, our private and intimate rooms.

Since I was born, two decades ago, more than 50% of the rural population migrated into the urban and suburban settings in my country: México. Since then, public transportation systems fully subsidized by the federal government, have become traps for over sixty million pairs of eyes in Mexico City only. People crowd, their gazes avoid and cope with steering from all directions.

Although I imagine the situation has been researched extensively, the use of personal stereo causes on me an intense reaction. I use an i-pod and at times I see myself trapped this way.  Being absolved or being rescued by technology is what we consider the best option to create a niche of our own. Who else in the world does it? What is the purpose of a cricket’s song, of a butterfly scent, of a bee dance, of a flower’s colorful petals if not attracting….!?  In reality if we only dared to make eye contact, we would commune, relax, engage and belong to the moment. Hiding in manipulated sound is only a source of deeper alienation because the overwhelming feeling we get from human presence, proximity and contact, is an element of neglect. Our inner nature and personal stereo, although familiar, pleasant and manipulative, brings us back into solitary confinement.

The moment we plug in our earphones and immerse ourselves in the personal stereo we become judges of our own human condition; naively, we place ourselves aside regardless of the same fate. When we hide within, as we place ourselves aside from the crowd, we phenomena of strategies to build personal space. The use of personal stereo being devises to retrieve and protect a person’s identity and space.

How are we going to learn, how are we going to provide ourselves with the most comfortable feeling which is the presence of other humans on an average peaceful situation?

The answer is not simple and the point we have reached to need isolation reveals our numbers have exceeded the balance and density which we can tolerate as a social species.

Consequences of this forced existence could be worse, personal stereo providing us with relaxing calming sounds is a very simple solution. What will come next? This step is already a virtual reality, how far could we go, why do we want to go?

Personal stereo devises create already more of the same as if we had not enough forces pushing to erase in us any trace of individuality and personal convictions. By using these devises we are not creating an individual by allowing the system to enter in our brain and be manipulated not only in our ideas but also our emotions. The title is biased; all elements could be analyzed to prove our social space shortens or vanishes absolutely when we attempt to protect ourselves and motivate our individuality by an unreal comfort zone.

Mapping Social Territory in Place

My 1998 model metal/acrylic cocoon enables me to go around the main public space in the Álamos town: La Alameda. I do it on the outside, as one of the inconspicuous old cars surrounding the site circling it over and over. The only difference is my rolled up windows and turned off radio. This Explorer car is already familiar to everyone in town; its sight captures no one’s special attention. It is Friday, early morning hours and the Alameda is fully alive. Under the shade of three millenary Uhanacastles the same traditional gatherings, duets, solos and family dialogues are picking up their climax as merchant transactions and lingering traditions increase. Scenes of engagement and belonging are bountiful. From my car, at a speed of 5 miles per hour, I notice mainly men, their white ranchero hats are a common factor among members of these gender from any age groups. They are strategically placed in their territorial sites, eyes making contact mostly with other males, most of them settled, immobile. In contrast, women and children roam all around, some demand, others provide, all of them take: time, chances, risks and looks.

A shoe shining stand expands its domain over half of the Alameda area making sure access is possible to his booth from every angle.

On the opposite extreme, a more humble, yet elder and wiser man competes for clients. He knows how to get advantage over his adversary by simply allowing his clients to have an outside view rather than one looking inward towards the gardens in the Alameda, all the while having their boots brushed. Consciously or not he enables their desire to show off in a very attractive macho body language. Men in their ranchero style attires, fitted bodies and tanned skin take this stand to emphasize their notoriety on the Alameda.

I penetrate reality, park the Explorer and walk towards as strategic lookout. Once in the Kiosk, I get targeted by my fans, little kids with whom I have been playing in town for the last three weeks. They found me at once and ran towards me. Their mothers’ sight follows. I decided not to be the focus of attention and take a walk, meandering through all the stands hand in hand with a few of them.

Children are the true kings of this emporium, everything in the Alameda alludes to their pleasure: colorful candy and plastic toys, stairs and benches; perfect scenarios to play hide and seek. Taco stands, fruit and juices.

On the periphery of the Alameda portals to other dimensions open wide: the bus station can take passengers away from the Alameda back into their ranches where a culture of the 1500’s prevails nowadays, bars sponsored by Tecate and Corona, invite humans to question and forget their condition, a brothel spreads desires, secrets and disease among customary visitors. But the street separating the interior rectangular field of the Alameda from these terminals sets the boundary for the kids’ ruling games and requests.