Are You Offended?
Nudity, depictions of the obese eating, child labor, racial caricatures, the male gaze, in the painting “Circus III” Pablo has manufactured what could be deemed a virtual smorgasbord of offense. I spoke with the Chilean born artist of Uruguayan parents today about the piece and his intent in creating the work.
by Stacy Conde
Nudity, depictions of the obese eating, child labor, racial caricatures, the male gaze, in the painting “Circus III” Pablo has manufactured what could be deemed a virtual smorgasbord of offense. I spoke with the Uruguayan born artist of Chilean parents today about the piece and his intent in creating the work.
”In Chile I lived in a constant state of culture shock, classicism and soft racism, leftovers of the colonial past which are ever present”, he stated. The artist is himself of European and indigenous descent, “I could easily be offended by the ‘red’ Indian image at the bottom of the painting, I have that blood, but I don’t spend my time crying about the past, it is a part of history. The image is the vision of the artist who created the work and is a product of that particular era.”
Much of the painting is an homage to commercial artists and illustrators from art history, for whom the artist has a great affinity. The green panel in the background of the piece has a selection of public announcements, or advertisements from different epochs, principally of American and European products.
“I enjoy powerful images of how society was constructed in those days. In this painting we see machismo - advertisers selling women’s bodies more than their brands, as the men eye them with a libidinous gaze. We see a working class little girl carrying a large fish, it is likely the canning factory this image originated from used child labor at the time. The intellectual of the group, carrying an umbrella is, of course, a white man, while the woman next to him is a dancer and not at all prized for her intellect. These concepts are still at work today, though to a lesser extent.“
“Circus III is in many ways a reminder, not of race but of the genius of the great artists working in commercial art.” When I asked him about the grouping of sterotypes in the black woman, the Asian woman, and the Native American man he responded, “I see no problem with these images when they are contextualized. They are part of a surreal history, not a literal history. The relationships between the images I choose are subjective, I saw them as having a good time together. The viewer must have their own perspective, and can interpret them as they will.”
”The dead lion is a symbol of strength, and nudity is everywhere throughout art history, even Jesus is nearly always depicted as semi nude. Naked bodies are beautiful and powerful in a non pornographic way.”
Ultimately Santibáñez Servat loves history, and his body of work bears that out. He paints images of pre-Colombian sculpture, dead conquistadors, beautiful men, women and children of all ethnicities, Mayan gods, and hieroglyphs. As I’ve asserted before, he is an amalgamation of the Americas, dancing at the crossroads of race and identity, very much enjoying the circus of life.
The Masked Man
Cuban conceptual artist Rubén Torres Llorca sees the human experience for what it is, filled with love and loss, joy and suffering and most of all, temporary.
by Stacy Conde
I first met Rubén Torres Llorca on April 26, 2016 at a CIFO talk titled “La Generación de Volumen Uno: La escena del arte producido en Cuba entre 1978 y 1984” or “The Generation of Volume One: The art scene in Cuba between 1978 and 1984”. Unlike most first meetings of strangers, I have photographic evidence published in Cuban Art News. Rubén is on the panel looking serious, dignified, and slightly annoyed, while I am in the audience apparently having some sort of spasm. See figures 1 and 2.
Figure 1 - Llorca is second from left
Photo Credit: Rafael Diaz Canas
Figure 2 - I am in the front row, second from right
Photo Credit: Rafael Diaz Canas
The entire discussion was in Spanish, and yours truly, born Stacy Goodman from North Miami Beach, followed along with no small effort. Everyone on the panel was intelligent and well spoken, however Llorca stood out. It wasn’t only the heated exchange that took place between him and Aldo Menendez, (may he rest in peace), but it was the way he spoke, how he carried himself and the tell tale sign of an exceptional mind - the expression in his eyes. Llorca absorbs every subtle detail within his focus and listens intently, with his eyes.
Make no mistake I was there, yes to hear about the seminal exhibition “Volumen Uno” of which Rubén Torres Llorca, José Bedia, Tomas Sánchez and eight other notable artists took part, ultimately changing the course of Cuban art, but mostly I was there to meet Llorca. Our then three year old gallery, Conde Contemporary, had been growing steadily since its inception. Our specialization was in representational work with a focus on Cuban art. We worked mainly with emerging artists, and Llorca, was far from an emerging artist. He was then, and is now an established master with works in permanent museum collections across the globe.
Where I first saw his work, I don’t remember, but was struck initially by the remarkable technique he exhibited across multiple mediums. Once I got past his obvious skill set, the conceptual aspect of his work came into focus. It’s a powerful one two punch. I understood some of what he was trying to say, and some I didn’t, but it all seemed steeped in a kind of pervasive cynicism.
There is no romanticism in his subject matter, he doesn’t overtly try to pull at the viewer’s heart strings nor create beauty for beauty’s sake. He draws you in with the pretty pictures then politely tells you to go fuck yourself. Obviously, I needed to know more, for I do enjoy complicated men.
Everything about Rubén’s presence is formidable and demands respect, so it was with some trepidation I approached the artist and brazenly introduced myself. I knew he’d speak with me, for a variety of reasons, that was not the basis of my apprehension. Some time later in the eight years, to date, of our working relationship and friendship, I learned one of Llorca’s favorite quotes is from William Faulkner, “In writing, you must kill all your darlings”. Rubén is the living embodiment of that quote, both in life and in art. It was as apparent to me then as it is now, and frankly I harbor a few darlings. I had zero interest in a Llorca assisted mercy killing there on the floor of CIFO.
No Te Preocupes Mi Amor, Esta Obra Carece de Angustia Existencial
(Don’t Worry My Love, This Work Lacks Existential Anguish)
As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. Though the man doesn’t exactly suffer fools gladly, neither is he rude. He accepted my invitation to visit the gallery and many Cuban coffees, Argentinian dinners, glasses of wine, conversations on philosophy, religion, systems of government, relationships, literature, film, music and art - all punctuated by uproarious laughter - here we are, with you reading and me writing, as I attempt to contextualize what even I first viewed as cold cynicism in Llorca’s work, by humanizing the man.
Como Mi Interes Por El Arte Contemporaneo, Se Fue Rapidamente Al Carajo
(How My Interest In Contemporary Art, Went Rapidly To Hell)
Having overcome my original, very healthy and not at all phobic, fear of Rubén, I called him a pessimist. His response, “Inside every pessimist is a wounded optimist.” In a dramatic reenactment of this moment, Rubén would have looked off into the distance with a poignant look on his face, brows knitted together in anguish, and a lonely solitary tear rolling down his cheek. However, in actuality his face was animated when he spoke the words, barely holding back his own laughter, like he was delivering a punchline, and that’s the thing, he was. He’s in on the joke, and wants you to be too, but you have to figure it out for yourself. He’ll leave you the breadcrumb trail but will never proselytize. He’s not out to convert; he presents the facts as he sees them, the rest is up to you, and “…si te gusta bien, y si no también”, if you like it good, and if not, that’s good too.
Rubén sees the human experience for what it is, filled with love and loss, joy and suffering and most of all, temporary. For as anyone with at least two brain cells and maybe 30 years under their belt knows, the only real constant is change. Llorca is well aware of this fact, and he delights in pointing out the absurdity of it all.
Perhaps too critically self aware, Llorca is without many blindspots. He spent three months in a Buddhist monastery in Japan, where he took a vow of silence, which he says was, “…incredibly difficult, especially for a Cuban”, this comment was immediately followed by the boisterous laughter I’ve come to expect from him because it always comes. The topic is irrelevant, there will be laughter, and if we’re being completely honest here, I take enormous pleasure in making him laugh.
There are no sacred cows in his work, he’s killed them too. Llorca applies the same unflinching analytical rigor to all the subjects he tackles with an even hand, including himself and romantic relationships, or less broadly, to the difference between the way men and women approach relationships. Fun fact, Rubén is always the masked man in his paintings. Batman sneaking out of the forest, arms extended, about to pounce on Snow White. The Lone Ranger approaching a virginal looking Catholic princess with guns drawn. Going beyond the mask, The Creature From The Black Lagoon absconding with the unconscious ingenue in his arms. Make of it what you will, just know he prefers Jung over Freud.
Even with all the murdering of cows and darlings, there is a tenderness in him. The piece, “Make Me A Mask”, 2005, touches my heart. The work consists of nine individual photos, stacked in rows of three, depicting men and women from a bygone era. The central figure is bare faced, while all the others have ink drawings of animals over their faces. The man without a mask in the middle has text across his chest which reads “Make Me A Mask”. The eight other images have text as well. All together the piece reads, “Make Me A Mask, To Escape, To Sell, To Rest, To Wish, To Love, To Smile, To Fight, To Listen”.
I’ll leave you with this from Francine Birbragher-Rozencwaig, PhD, who is far better at writing an actual academic review of an artist’s work than I will ever be. In a piece on Llorca for ArtNexus she writes, “Ruben Torres Llorca is after all a conceptual artist, and for him, the work of art is just an instrument, intellectually conceived and carefully made, that can only exist through the personal experience of each of the individuals who accepts to interpret it, live it, and in some instances, suffer it.” Perfection.
An Amalgamation of The Americas : Santibáñez Servat
The work of Pablo Santibáñez Servat is a magical synthesis of occidental and indigenous visuals intrinsic to the Americas. He often weaves ancient symbols with contemporary images as though no time has lapsed; he creates his own symbolic language, which seems to deny the very concept of time or at least the beginning and ending of eras, suggesting instead the coexistence of epochs or congruence of time.
The work of Pablo Santibáñez Servat is a magical synthesis of occidental and indigenous visuals intrinsic to the Americas. Born in Uruguay to Chilean parents of European and Native American descent, the artist himself is a uniquely American amalgamation.
Santibáñez Servat often weaves ancient symbols with contemporary images as though no time has lapsed; he creates his own symbolic language, which seems to deny the very concept of time or at least the beginning and ending of eras, suggesting instead the coexistence of epochs or congruence of time.
The work, “Ninfo”, 2016, is a perfect example of this approach. The subject’s torso is modeled after an old black and white image the artist found of a French sailor, the legs are the artist’s own with tattoos painted to match the sailor’s, while the head and face of the figure are actually female and taken from an image of an open mouthed opera singer performing in the Vivaldi opera, “Motezuma”.
The strangely beautiful Mary Shelley-esque creature is seated in a modern red leather chair, while at the upper left of the painting, injected at a hard right angle is what appears to be a neoclassical sculpture, a European woman, perhaps a saint, with a red orange stripe across her mouth. Why? I’m not sure to be honest. Is she meant to be viewed in contrast to this new form Servat has created? I will ask him.
Sanibáñez Servat painted “Ninfo” because, “…it pleased me”, and though the painting has been rejected by gallery after gallery due to the difficulty in selling such a work, it also pleases me. Not so much because I disagree with their assessment, but because I find it intensely compelling, as I do all of his work.
Perhaps most evocative of this mixing of American symbology is “Colibri”.
She shares her eyes with two hummingbirds or colibri in Spanish, hence the title of the piece. Hummingbirds are often seen as symbols of fertility and abundance. In stark contrast to her is the flat representation of death, hands bound, in the background. The flatness of death only adds to the three dimensionality of life, depicted in the foreground by the subject and her accoutrement.
She is crowned with a life giving prickly pear, (a cactus fruit), and surrounded by a triumvirate of cacao pods which were once used as currency in Central and South America. Floating in space to her right is what appears to be a heart shaped peyote cactus, make of that what you will. The nude female chimera of European ancestry, bears the tattoo “sauvage”, French for “savage” across her chest with a devil underneath and literally holds her tongue. Is it simply a sensual pose as the artist himself says, or do I see something more?
…art is the ultimate Rorschach test, and Santibáñez Servat’s work certainly lends itself to a deep dive into the American subconscious.
- S. Conde
Pablo Santibáñez Servat’s work will be on exhibition in the group show, “Scorpio 1969”. Join us for the opening Thursday, November 7th from 6-9 pm at Conde Contemporary, 204 Miracle Mile, Coral Gables.
A Humanistic Revival
In Latin American art, something more intelligent, more human, is emerging, from colossal Olmec heads and gold Inca figurines, through the paintings of Dr. Atl, the Mexican muralists and the grande dame of Salvadoran painting Rosa Mena Valenzuela, Latin American art has always been humanistic, representational and figurative.
by John Sevigny
(originally published in 2016)
In Latin American art, something more intelligent, more human, is emerging, from colossal Olmec heads and gold Inca figurines, through the paintings of Dr. Atl, the Mexican muralists and the grande dame of Salvadoran painting Rosa Mena Valenzuela, Latin American art has always been humanistic, representational and figurative. To some, that is changing as artists across Ibero-America ape the styles of artists who have done well on the ever growing art mega-market. Moreover, the lasting artists of the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s – including Leon Golub, Ed Pashke and Anselm Kiefer never abandoned representation or reflecting the human condition. An art history professor I know in the Mexican State of Coahuila recently lamented the fact that so many Mexican artists were imitating Jeff Koons, Richard Prince and Damien Hirst, artists more concerned with spectacle than substance. “They’re copying bad artists,” he said as we chatted in his office in Torreon, not far from the town where Julio Galán, one of Mexico’s most famous late 20th century painters was born. “What’s worse is they don’t even understand what they’re imitating. What they’re doing, like the artists they copy, it’s a kind of conceptualism with no concepts behind it.”
As goes Coahuila, so goes the world
But that may be changing. For decades now, since the big-money boom of the ’80s turned third-rate painters such as Julian Schnabel into celebrities, art journalism has focused on big sales of generally big art with bloated price tags produced by people with bloated egos. Last month’s auction at Christie’s was dominated not by Tracey Emin’s shallow phrases rendered in neon or Hirst’s dissected animals, but by the $58.2 million sale of a 17th century painting by Peter Paul Rubens, “Lot and His Daughters.”
The sale of a biblical painting about an ancient king seduced by his daughters after their mother was turned into a pillar of salt marks a return of interest in intelligent, historical and technically masterful painting.
But economics are also part of the equation and collectors are shying away from “the next big thing.” The art market is shrinking and, as it does, buyers who once flipped Hirsts and Schnabels the way people flip condos are looking for more secure investments. “The market has definitely shrunk,” Wendy Cromwell, an art advisor told The New York Times in July. “But that isn’t a result of sellers not wanting to sell in an uncertain market, but of a lack of spectacular guarantees.”
Art Market Trends
In the contemporary art market, it may signal a return to substance and style over glamour, glitz and celebrity.
One dealer betting on a return to representation in art is Miami’s Stacy Conde of Conde Contemporary. Her stable of artists includes the young Darian Rodriguez Mederos, whose large facial portraits clearly reflect his Baroque influences; Enrique Toledo, whose work features bold colors, complex scenarios, and a marriage of Mannerism and the surreal; Aurora Molina, who makes textile and thread drawings, which, despite their spareness, call to mind rich, domestic narratives; and Luis Enrique Toledo del Rio, whose surrealist approach to classicism brings to mind the late works of Max Ernst as well as the aforementioned Julio Galán.
Once the Sea Dreamed / Enrique Toledo
All are Cuban and all of them deal, in their own manner, with the human figure. The same is true of Anthony Ardavin, painter, sculptor, curator, and art professor born in Cuba in 1959. “These are stories from my native country, or experiences that I have had through my journey,” he says of his paintings. “In my work, cultures overlap, coexist and intermingle. I paint the past and the present, the contemporary and
the primitive.” Which is to say that Ardavin, like many artists Conde represents, is a Modernist in the truest sense of the word. He seeks to blaze a path into the future while keeping an eye on artistic traditions.
Make Believe / Anthony Ardavin
Luis Rodriguez NOA takes a different approach to representing reality. His vast cityscapes, rendered in spare lines, echo the work of the early 20th century. But his work also reflects Spanish and Latin American painting traditions. There’s a touch of early Joan Miro in these playful paintings, and a dose of the Uruguayan painter Joaquin Torres Garcia.
“I feel as though a curtain has been drawn back and at last the viewer can see The Great Oz’s machinations. Art should move you, and not require a ten page statement, which often obfuscates. I’ve invested my time and resources into this group of artists because I respect them, and their work. I know what they create is important and will stand the test of time,” said Stacy Conde.
“Conde Contemporary specializes in technically driven, representational art by, primarily, Cuban artists with a focus on contemporary Cuban art,” she said. Most of her artists were born and trained in Cuba, a fact which may have something to do with their disinclination to the Saatchi-sponsored brand of minimalist, pre-constructed, opaquely and allegedly Conceptualist work.
Mrs. Conde, and her husband Andres, a painter who is also represented by the gallery, are doing well enough to have moved their main space to Miracle Mile in Coral Gables, while maintaining a project space, CCPS, in Little Havana.
Andres Conde is a painter capable of working in diverse styles. Much of his recent work recalls mid-20th century pin-up posters painted in a crisp, almost-Edward Hopper style. In a recent piece, The Moon, he continues that approach even as a more ethereal touch of Gustav Klimt rises to the pastel-toned surface.
Cuban artists are given rigorous training in drawing and painting techniques. After leaving the island nation, they are plunged into a frenzied art market where they must establish their own styles. The difference between many Cuban-trained painters and their New York art school contemporaries is that Cubans make the plunge armed with a better knowledge of art history, often no exposure to what art magazines decide is the flavor of the month, and technical preparation that is decreasingly emphasized in U.S. art schools, where students are expected to learn their craft and “find their artistic voice” in just four years.
There is space in the American and global art markets for a vast diversity of styles. Works by Hirst, Koons and others purchased by major museums are now a permanent part of art history. At the moment, however, it appears that their age of dominance is over and something more intelligent and, most importantly, more human, is emerging, at least in Latin-American art.