Daniel Quiles

  • Carlos Garaicoa, No Way Out, 2002, wooden table, wire, rice paper, light, dimensions variable.

    Carlos Garaicoa

    Since the 1990s, Cuban-born Carlos Garaicoa has been deploying idiosyncratic materials to investigate architecture..

    Since the 1990s, Cuban-born Carlos Garaicoa has been deploying idiosyncratic materials to investigate architecture. Take, for instance, his manipulated photographs of modern “ruins,” in which damaged sites—collapsed buildings, shop facades with missing letters—in Havana and other cities are traced in lines of colored thread. Or his constructions made from books, candles, rice-paper lamps, and so on, which engage functional Neoclassical structures as often as they do the mid-twentieth-century creations that followed, giving a rest to the tired fad of singling out modernism

  • Black-and-white and color photographs from Marta Minujín’s Minucode, 1968.


    DURING HER FREQUENT TRIPS to New York in the 1960s, Argentinean artist Marta Minujín noticed that “cocktail parties were very important” to the denizens of America’s cultural and economic capital. And so, in the third week of May 1968, for her project Minucode, Minujín held four such soirees in as many days at Manhattan’s Center for Inter-American Relations (CIAR). Each party was attended by people from a different field—politics, economics, fashion, and art—who were filmed, photographed, and recorded as they milled about. This documentation in turn became the raw material for an immersive film installation, which opened to the public at large at the end of the month.
    Until April 30, Minucode, unseen for forty-two years, is again on view at its original venue (since renamed the Americas Society), in an exhibition curated by José Luis Blondet and Gabriela Rangel. Watching the films now—footage from each party flickering in multiple synchronized projections on the walls of a darkened gallery, as well as on visitors’ bodies—one is struck less by the period look of the guests’ clothes (and cigarettes) than by the attendees’ curiously deadpan quality. People idly chat, sip their drinks, notice the camera, glance away—and gradually it becomes apparent that these are not really cocktail parties, but representations thereof. This impression is considerably strengthened by a perusal of the archival material the curators have assembled: The attendees, it turns out, were solicited via newspaper and magazine ads and then selected by a computer, which tabulated their responses to a questionnaire in order to find the people who were most obsessive about their respective jobs. The spruced-up flirtations of the fashion and art contingents and the banal networking of the political and economic technocrats, we realize, are in truth subsumed within the same ascendant meritocracy.
    Minujín has long been recognized as a pioneer of the Happening, and Minucode is one of a series of projects for which the artist used different media to build intricately interlocking circuits of information, image, and experience, facilitating a highly self-critical mode of participation. Minucode, however, is the most context-specific of these works; it cannot be fully understood without a consideration of its venue. The CIAR, funded by the Rockefeller family, was one among many nongovernmental organizations that formed a phantom arm of state, practicing the soft diplomacy so essential to the prosecution of the cold war. A closer look at the work suggests that it contains a subtext of institutional critique in its mimicry of the center’s ideology and outreach. At each of the cocktail parties, eight guests were sequestered in an ancillary gallery with the artist Tony Martin, of the Electric Circus discotheque (where Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable had been first staged in 1966), to produce colorful slides and transparencies for light shows. These collaborative objects, now on view at the Americas Society, are striking in their resemblance to the examples of color- and light-based abstraction in Latin-American showcases of the period. The most salient example here is “Beyond Geometry: An Extension of Visual-Artistic Language in Our Time,” an exhibition curated by Jorge Romero Brest, which immediately preceded Minujín’s show at the CIAR. Mixing Op, kinetic art, and Minimalism, that exhibition posited a network connecting the CIAR to its counterpart in Buenos Aires, the Instituto Torcuato Di Tella, which was supported by the eponymous Argentinean industrialist; at the same time, the show unabashedly sought to strengthen the link between the internationalization of Latin American cultural production and the region’s “development.” A work in “Beyond Geometry” by David Lamelas made direct reference to this enterprise by arranging nine Di Tella–made televisions on a shelf along three gallery walls. Minucode, for its part, staged a farcical send-up of Pan-American optimism: Anyone, it would seem, could craft a “Latin American” work.
    One little-discussed aspect of Minujín’s art at this time—her involvement with the extrainstitutional pedagogy of Oscar Masotta—sheds light on the critical dimension of her practice. A cultural theorist and occasional artist who periodically lectured at the Di Tella, Masotta gave a series of talks in September 1965 advancing an idiosyncratic and brilliant reading of Pop that would profoundly influence the emergence of Conceptual art in Argentina. He argued that instead of merely reproducing the content of advertising and popular culture, Warhol’s deadpan repetitions guide the viewer to apercepción (apperception): a heightened awareness of the semiotic and mediatic structures underpinning the mass media message. Masotta later led weekly reading groups that, particularly after the military coup of 1966, were directed toward critical resistance to media’s power in society. A strategy that Masotta, Minujín, and others attending these lectures, such as Eduardo Costa, Roberto Jacoby, and Lamelas, came to deploy in the service of this resistance was that of discontinuidad, or discontinuity—a term denoting the breaking up of artworks into temporal or spatial stages or sections. To experience or participate in such projects was necessarily to have a partial or contingent view. Minucode exhibits precisely this discontinuous structure. No participants experienced the work in its entirety, nor was anyone permitted to be wholly present—the hovering cameras neutralized the possibility of unself-conscious, spontaneous experience. The exhibition stage, however, enabled visitors to follow the artist in surveying the entirety of the project, juxtaposing the rituals of different professional tribes. Viewers in this final phase of Minucode partook of the distinctly critical participatory mode that characterizes Minujín’s works: They were prompted to assemble an impression from disjunctive parts that, when cobbled together, unveiled parallel operations of institutional and international power—allegorized through media’s conversion of partygoer into information. —Daniel Quiles

    IN 1968, the Center for Inter-American Relations was a very uptight place, so my idea was to use the center as a way to produce a subversive work. I’d noticed that cocktail parties were very important in New York—a way of social climbing. I decided to have a series of these parties, inviting the people who were the most fanatic about their jobs: politicians who only talked about politics, economists who only read about economics and who decorated their offices with portraits of other economists, people from the fashion world who only thought about clothes and how to be beautiful, and artists

  • Artur Barrio, SITUAÇÃO.................. ORHHHHHH..., 1969. Performance view, Museum of Modern Art, Rio de Janeiro, 1969. Photo: César Carneiro.


    Reprising a 2006 survey at the Barbican in London, this show focuses on the generative effect of Oiticica’s 1967 Tropicália environment.

    The recent fire that destroyed much of Hélio Oiticica’s oeuvre portends that even more attention will be given to an already hot area—1960s Brazil—in coming years. Reprising a 2006 survey at the Barbican in London, this show focuses on the generative effect of Oiticica’s 1967 Tropicália environment, which spawned a short-lived but fertile movement across the arts in Rio de Janeiro. As with the earlier effort, Tropicalismo is here conflated with neoconcreto (Oiticica, Lygia Clark, Lygia Pape) and Brazilian conceptualism (Cildo Meireles, Antonio Dias), emphasizing

  • Tania Bruguera, The Burden of Guilt, 1997–99, decapitated lamb, rope, water, salt, Cuban soil, dimensions variable.

    “Tania Bruguera: On the Political Imaginary”

    Tania Bruguera’s midcareer survey will feature eighteen works, almost all of them documentation of past actions.

    Tania Bruguera’s midcareer survey will feature eighteen works, almost all of them documentation of past actions. The exhibition will balance the Cuban artist’s early performances—such as Tribute to Ana Mendieta, 1985–96, a series of reenactments of the older artist’s body works, and Studio Study, 1996, an endurance piece in which she stood for hours on a high pedestal while holding raw meat—with pieces that followed her development of Arte de Conducta, or the “Art of Behavior,” around 2002. While the former prominently featured the artist’s body, the latter have largely

  • Damián Ortega

    THERE IS A STRIKING DISJUNCTION between reproductions of Damián Ortega’s Cosmic Thing, 2002, and the real article currently on view at Boston’s Institute of Contemporary Art in his first major survey, “Do It Yourself.” In photographs, this dismembered 1989 Volkswagen Beetle is suspended like a digital chimera—a lost specialeffects explosion from The Matrix, perhaps. In person, objecthood returns with a vengeance. The metal wires, taut with weight, are insistently visible, and instead of a futurist celebration of technology there are merely the rusty, dirty, and fraying parts of an old car.

  • Joaquín Torres-García, Two White Men, ca. 1929, oil and iron tacks on wood, two parts, from left: 10 1/4 x 3 1/2 x 3/4“, 8 3/4 x 3 x 3/4”.

    Joaquín Torres-García

    This focus of the exhibition unveils a more complex project involving the reconciliation of painting and sculpture, whether through totemlike structures, idiosyncratic assemblages, or toys that verge on folk art.

    One of the key advocates of abstraction in Latin America, Joaquín Torres-García (1874–1949) is best known for paintings that situate pre-Columbian symbols within modernist grids. This exhibition’s focus on the Uruguayan artist’s use of wood unveils a more complex project involving the reconciliation of painting and sculpture, whether through totemlike structures, idiosyncratic assemblages, or toys that verge on folk art. The show comprises some ninety drawings, oil paintings, and works in wood from Torres-García’s formative period in 1920s New

  • León Ferrari and Mira Schendel

    A PAIR OF PHOTOGRAPHIC PORTRAITS of the artists adorn the entrance of the Museum of Modern Art’s joint retrospective “Tangled Alphabets: León Ferrari and Mira Schendel,” the first major North American survey for either of these two key figures of postwar Latin American art. Similarly framed, equally expressionless, and each flanked by abstract sculptures, the two artists look strikingly alike. This coincidence reflects the show’s primary operation: The dearth of actual historical connections between Ferrari and Schendel is repeatedly eclipsed by immediate visual affinities. While a retrospective