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| On Tenterhooks
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(2019)
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| A
series of objects, drawings and a text |
| cut
envelopes, paper spikes, cement blocks |
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| presented
for the first time in the group show: |
| (+)
Mundos (-) Imposibles |
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| Curators: |
| Jorge
Cordonet, Ana Raviña and María Laura Rodríguez
Mayol |
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| Artists:
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| Carolina
Andreetti, Corina Arrieta, Natalia Carrizo, Romina Casile,
Chiachio & Giannone, Mariana Collares, León Ferrari, Vera
Grión, Marcos López, Liliana Maresca, Juan Carlos Romero,
Luis Pazos, Tamara Stuby |
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| Museo
Prov. de Bellas Artes Emilio Caraffa |
| Córdoba,
Argentina |
| in
the framework of Bienalsur |
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| text
by Tamara Stuby: |
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| Hang
Out to Dry* |
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*Idiom:
To abandon someone
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who
is in need or in danger,
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especially
a colleague or
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dependent.
Often carries an
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element
of betrayal of someone
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who
might have expected
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protection
or assistance.
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--Wictionary
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| How
far down is the street? At what velocity does one fall to
reach it? On the street, there is a paradox, tragedy or crime
that takes place, where a life becomes invisible, right in
front of everyone's eyes. No one knows who they are, how many,
or where they come from; no one asks age, sex, sign of the
zodiac, color of preference or favorite song, etc. This twisted
form of privacy (complete lack of interest) describes--by
way of opposition--the insatiable voracity for data that devours
anyone who still finds themselves indoors, a roof over their
head and connected to the system's mainline. The slightest
hint of interest they show in response to any thing is sought
after, registered and processed. |
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| Once
on the street, one is no longer tracked by the data miners,
but pursued by agents of public order and control instead.
A loose person is dangerous; a free radical. When someone
is not encapsulated in a (fixed position) box, and no longer
has anything (to be taken or to lose), the data-inquiring
eyes drift away and the strings that manipulate the marionette
snap, with no profit to be made. |
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| In
this sense, the house has been transformed into a holding
device, a data vacuum hose, an extractor of value, a facilitator
of extortion and an exposition cell. It is the infrastructure
for electricity, gas, water, internet connection and cable;
these [secret] services are already inside. Their envelopes
slide in under the locked and bolted door with a serpent's
hiss. Perimeter security provides no protection against their
contents; they can induce suffering--cold, heat, isolation,
thirst or filth--via remote control, simply by raising a number
and patiently insisting, to the point when service is cut
off. Even with something absolutely essential at stake, this
cut is not considered an act of violence; it's merely a legal
issue, like the "pound of flesh" that we all seem to have
forgotten about. |
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| The
curious thing is that we practically rush to open the door,
anxious to give in, to give things up, to hand over control
of our finite resources to strangers. We swallow the convenience
of automatic debit schemes without as much as a hiccup. We
believe that "easier" means for us, not for them. Although
we know that cutting a foot off one end of a blanket and sewing
it to the other does not make the blanket any longer, we think--or
let ourselves be convinced or seduced to believe--that cutbacks
("austerity"), presented as the only action possible,
are capable of generating more of something. We accept the
delusion against all logic, history and science. |
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| From
the service providers' standpoint, the reasoning and implementation
are perfectly clear. It brings an example from nature to mind:
the Loggerhead Shrike, colloquially referred to as the Butcherbird,
is a little bird that kills its victims (which include insects,
small mammals, amphibians and even other birds) and then impales
them on sharp thorns, thus saving them to be consumed a bit
at a time, in a sort of automatic debit system set up by nature.
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| On
our side, I can only think of the kaleidoscope. My grandfather
made one out of cardboard (I still have it), and it has always
fascinated me due to the enigma it presents. It is an object
with a powerfully hypnotic effect, and yet the effect is in
no way diminished by full knowledge of how it works. It is
just as impossible to resist its invitation to peer inside
and make it spin, and we wind up captivated by our own hand.
The secret? Gradualism: the slow, unstopping, circular movement
is what generates the illusion of change, growth and infinite
transformation. Yes, we know that they are merely broken bits,
in perpetual freefall, seen through a very limited optic,
and that the marvel disappears the minute the gaze is lifted.
But who wants to avert their eye if it means being left with
no more than a cardboard tube and a tiny pile of trash? And
so we continue, immersed in that tunnel of darkness. |
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